A churchyard outside London – a Friday afternoon in spring, 2010:

Harry glances upwards to where a vast blanket of grey cloud hovers just above the church's spire. He shoves his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, hoping the rain will hold off until after he's finished paying his respects. It has been six weeks since her funeral, the day on which the sun had had the audacity to break through the clouds, providing him with that small sliver of hope, a moment of madness which had been so quickly dashed.

He chances another glance at the spot where his marriage proposal, which had sounded quite reasonable inside his head when rehearsed, had been turned down so unequivocally. He still hasn't properly recovered his equilibrium. He's been going through the motions, hoping no-one will notice that he's not fully engaged with them, or with his job, a job he's no longer sure he wants, or should have. For now his job is all he has, so each morning he hauls his body out of bed, and presents himself as usual. He is a man on a mission, and for six weeks the mission has been to pretend to fight the good fight, no matter the cost.

"Harry? It is Harry … isn't it?"

Shocked and surprised to hear his name, Harry swings around to see a woman of around his own age, her brunette hair carelessly tucked beneath a leaf-green beret, an enquiry in her eyes as she closely examines him from beneath arched eyebrows. Her face is familiar, and he knows he should know her, but in that moment he is lost somewhere in that vast territory between the past and the present, and try as he might, her name just won't materialise.

"It's Helene."

Helene. Of course it is. He relaxes, removing his hands from his pockets, taking a small step towards her. "Helene. Of course. How are you? And how strange to find you here."

"You must be aware we're all destined to end up here," she says, a slight smile turning her lips. "You're about the last person I expected to run into. Are you … visiting someone? Have you lost someone?" Helene's eyes take in the grave where he'd been standing while contemplating the sudden death of a loved colleague, his marriage proposal, and Ruth's unexpected response. It is not until her eyes settle on the lone fresh posy of flowers, placed there by him, that he again finds his voice.

"A … work colleague," he says quietly, hoping he has managed to hide the emotion which Ros's death always stirs in him.

Helene is now only a couple of yards away, her eyes following the inscription on the grave stone.

"A woman," she says unnecessarily. "Were the two of you close? Was she your …?" Helene lifts one eyebrow as she closely watches Harry, which is when he remembers how pushy this woman can be. Together she and Jane were almost capable of overthrowing governments, had that been their want.

"We were close, but not like you're implying. We -"

"I'm not implying anything, Harry. It was just a question. After all, how long is it since we've seen one another? For all I know you could have remarried."

Helene's eyes move up and down his body. He'd forgotten that about her - her intense scrutiny; her personal, but private judgement of others. "Her funeral was only last month," he says, breaking eye contact, deliberately ignoring her last comment. "I miss her, and I'm ..." What is it he's doing exactly?

"You're making a connection, perhaps an apology for words left unspoken," Helene finishes for him, and this time her voice is gentler, the sharp edges of her previous tone having softened. "I visit every month, even though it's been over ten years now since .."

"Ross is buried here?" Helene nods, an embarrassed smile softening her face. "But you two were .."

"Happily divorced, yes. It's a bit unconventional, I know. I just … I don't want his grave to fall into neglect, as if no-one ever loved him. I don't want our differences to overshadow the good times we had. The girls hardly ever visit his grave, so visiting him has become my job." She shrugs, as though apologising for caring.

"I'm not sure I could muster that level of .. devotion," Harry says, more to himself than to Helene.

"You know Jane and Robin have split up … don't you?" Harry turns to look at her, a frown drawing his eyebrows together. Did he know that? He's not sure. Perhaps Catherine had told him, but he'd forgotten, his mind forever divided between regrets from his past, and his plans for future reparation. "It was about two years ago," Helene continues. "She's now `safely single'. Her words. She seems happy. There's no sign of the depression which plagued her back when you were married to her." Helene's expression has suddenly become playful as she tips her head to one side. "Maybe you could call her, Harry. I'm sure she'd like that."

"I doubt it. Jane and I are definitely past tense."

Helene ignores him. She used to do that back when they were younger. She'd do that when they were all at university together. "It was only last month that she and I met for coffee. Since Robin's retirement Jane found they had run out of things to say to one another, that he'd become dull. She also mentioned that you'd never been dull."

"I was a terrible husband," he says, and he means it.

"And you haven't married again?" Harry shakes his head. The truth is much more complicated than a simple Yes or No. "But you had two children together. I like to think that our three daughters still bind Ross and I together in some kind of spiritual knot."

Harry can think of little worse than being forever bound in a spiritual knot with Jane. "I take it you regret your own failed marriage," he says bluntly.

"Well … doesn't everybody?"

Harry shakes his head. "No," he says, "I don't, although I do regret the way in which it ended."

Helene's shrug seems dismissive. "I don't know anyone who doesn't harbour at least some regrets. Ross wasn't that bad, really. There are worse men." Harry wants to remind her that Ross had been a serial philanderer. By comparison Harry had been a saint. He notices Helene lift her eyes suddenly from him to a spot behind him. "It looks like we have company," she says, "and I have a train to catch." She grasps Harry's arm and squeezes it, before dropping her hand. "It's been lovely seeing you again."

Then she's gone. He turns to watch her as she hurries along the path towards where another woman has entered the churchyard. The two women exchange a nod, before the younger of the two lifts her eyes to his, slowly walking towards him, her eyes on him, while she steps carefully on the cobblestone path. She appears all at once reluctant, embarrassed, apologetic, and eager. Only one woman can display such conflicting behaviour, making it appear perfectly natural.

Harry heart sings, and he can't help but smile. Has the cloud cover lifted, or is the sun emitting a burst of warmth just for them?

"Hello, Harry," Ruth says, hesitating and then stopping just short of him. "I hope I'm not … interrupting."

"No. You may have saved my life. Helene is an old friend of my ex-wife's. It turns out her husband is buried here." He hesitates, not quite sure how best to continue. "Is this a coincidence … us both being here? Are you visiting Ros …?" Or me remains unspoken, hovering in the air between them.

She lifts her eyes to his, watching him through her eyelashes. He feels his stomach contract in fear. Perhaps her being here has nothing at all to do with him. Perhaps his presence annoys her.

As is usual for her, Ruth takes a few moments before she speaks. "Just after the meeting finished I overheard you telling Lucas where you were headed. I thought it about time we ..."

".. talked?"

She nods, breaking eye contact, her gaze wandering to Ros's headstone. "I thought that ..," and then she turns towards where they had stood, the place where Harry had suggested marriage. In his head it was a proposal, but even he knows how short of the mark his words and actions had fallen. "I thought we should perhaps revisit .. that day, but under different circumstances."

"You mean do it over again?" he suggests hopefully.

Ruth sighs heavily, and with her expelled breath his hopes fade once more. "Not exactly," she says. "Perhaps we can rethink the whole thing." She turns back to him, and this time Harry reads hope in her eyes. "I thought that .. back then ..."

"It was only six weeks ago," he says softly, taking a step closer to her, close enough to reach out and touch her should the need arise. "That's not so long ago."

"I know. The problem for me was that you suggested marriage, when ..."

".. we should begin slowly."

Ruth's wide smile is the most wonderful thing he has seen all day. "Yes. That would be better. I don't know exactly where we should begin, but ..."

"Not with a wedding."

Ruth's glance is shy. She nods. "We need to start small … with something less binding, and more .. manageable."

"You mean like .. dating?"

"I suppose that's what I mean. I don't know what I mean, really. It's just that marriage is … too much all at once. It's a serious step, not to be taken lightly."

He can't argue with that. For a long moment they stand, each watching the other. One of them has to take the lead, and Harry supposes it should be him, although the last time he took the reins it didn't end well. "I can handle that," he says, not knowing if he can, nor what it is exactly he's signing up for.

"We need to get to know one another first," Ruth says carefully.

"But Ruth, we already know one another very well."

"That's at work. I don't know your favourite TV show -"

"I rarely watch TV," he says quickly.

"- or your favourite food."

"I eat pretty much anything," he says lightly, "although I'm not terribly fond of bread and butter pudding. Sorry," he adds, noting Ruth's lips pursed in what is probably irritation.

Perhaps he should leave Ruth to take charge of this; after all, it is her idea. He breathes out heavily, hoping he hasn't sabotaged her efforts to right wrongs.

"I owe you an apology," Ruth says at last, lifting her eyes, not quite meeting his, but instead focusing her attention on his left ear.

"Ruth, it's alright. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. It wasn't altogether fair."

"I was thinking more of the excuses I made … the reasons I gave for … turning you down. I was unintentionally cruel, and I know that you were hurt by … the things I said." Harry would like to say that he hasn't been hurt, but that would be lying, so he says nothing. "All I knew was that I wasn't ready to marry you … or anyone else, and so I suppose I panicked." She lifts her eyes to his to find his attention fully on her. "I overplayed the reasons behind my initial response, and as time passed it became harder for me to … retract those statements. All I ever needed was time to think about it."

"And now you've thought about it .."

"I have. I suppose this is me changing my mind, and .. apologising for any distress I may have caused you."

"I imagine you have also caused yourself some distress."

Again Ruth lifts her eyes to his, nodding slightly. Harry experiences another one of those mad moments where he longs to step closer, and wrap his arms around her. He doesn't. He waits.

"I .. I'm not sure what should come next," she says, dropping her gaze to his mouth before sliding her eyes to a spot somewhere near his right shoulder. "I hadn't planned anything beyond an apology."

Harry takes a small step closer to her, and away from the grave of Ros Myers. "What is it about funerals and graves?" he says, not altogether seriously.

Ruth shakes her head a little before looking past him to Ros's grave. "I suspect it's because we've seen so much death that we .. naturally gravitate towards graveyards … and funerals."

"We've certainly attended our fair share of funerals together." When Ruth nods, he continues the thought. "But attending a funeral together is not a date, Ruth."

"If I ever have to attend another funeral, I'd want you beside me," she says quietly, and Harry recognises this as her way of declaring herself to him.

"It still won't be a date," he adds. "We need to celebrate the life we still have, and that is best done somewhere a long way from here .. or any other churchyard."

They could talk about this until the sun sets, but Harry knows that words are not enough, and some time soon they will need to act. He swallows, quickly preparing what he is about to say.

"Ruth … would you like to have a drink with me … now? Afterwards we can have a bite to eat. There's a pub a couple of villages over that still serves home-made soup and a decent beef casserole."

"Will it be a date?"

"It will. I am asking you to accompany me, not as your boss, but as a woman I … fancy."

He has noted with relief that as he'd spoken Ruth's face has relaxed into a smile. "And I," she says carefully, "as a woman who fancies you, will be honoured to accompany you to this pub two villages away."

They've done it! They have successfully negotiated the transition from the past through the present to a possible future. Now what? Should they kiss … hold hands … what?

Harry stands beside her, gazing down at the top of her head, not sure what he should do next, but knowing they need to somehow mark this moment. Very slowly he reaches out with one gloved hand, hoping she will welcome his gesture. He watches while Ruth removes the glove from her left hand before grasping his right hand, and removing his leather glove. Very carefully she threads her fingers through his, before lifting her gaze. Without breaking eye contact with her Harry lifts their hands, turning them so he can press his lips to her knuckles in a slow and deliberate kiss.

Ruth smiles into his eyes before once again turning towards Ros's grave. "Do you think she'd approve?" she asks lightly.

Harry waits a moment, needing to answer honestly. "I suspect she – somehow – arranged this meeting. I'm not sure it's approval so much as Ros having the last word."

Ruth responds with a light chuckle, and a squeeze of his hand. "I suspect you're right," she says.

"Shall we go?" he asks, and to his relief, Ruth nods. Speaking for himself, Harry can't wait for them to be on this date.

It is not until they are sitting in his car, and he is about to start the engine that Ruth lays her hand on his arm. "Haven't we forgotten something?" she asks gently, her voice warm and mellow with affection.

"Forgotten? What exactly? There's you, me, and our plans."

"And there's this," Ruth adds, leaning closer to touch his cheek with her fingertips.

At last Harry grasps her meaning. Quickly unbuckling his seat belt he leans in to meet her as she presses her lips against his. As he feels her pulling away he reaches out to cup her face with his hand. "One kiss just isn't enough." he growls, bending to kiss her once more.

This time the kiss lingers, and just as their lips part their tongues touch, tipping them perilously close to passion. Harry gently pulls away, silently noting Ruth's open expression as she slowly slides her fingertips down his cheek, from his cheekbone to his chin, before once more resting her hand in her lap.

The kissing over, they both sit back in their seats, gazing at one another. The glow in Ruth's eyes shows him she's as thrilled as he.

"At the risk of offending you, I'd like to suggest we skip the drinks and dinner," he ventures.

"And at the risk of offending you, I'd rather we ate first."

Harry smiles and nods. His sensible Ruth. How has he survived all this time without her beside him?

"Shall we go?" he asks, starting the car.

"The sooner we eat, the sooner we can resume the kissing."

Did Ruth actually say that? He glances across to see her smiling at him impishly. "I'll vote for that," he says, easing the car away from the churchyard, and towards what he hopes and plans will be a future spent together.