"Watts," Erin answers her phone – Harry's phone, in Harry's office – her first call for the day.

"Erin? I was expecting to speak to Harry. It's Ruth."

Erin has an answer for most things, but at this moment – at 8.12 on a crisp and clear Monday morning in February 2012 – she can find no words.

"I rang early hoping to catch Harry," the caller continues.

The voice sounds like Ruth's, but it can't be. She'd been at the funeral, she'd kept her eyes on Harry while he stood next to Malcolm Wynn-Jones, his face impassive, his jaw set, his emotions tightly held. She'd been there when Ruth had died. She'd been pulled away from Harry leaning over Ruth's body - his shoulders shaking, his tears flowing freely - by Calum, who for once had acted much wiser than his years.

"I hope you'll understand why I say this, Ruth, but I need proof that you are who you say you are."

"Of course, I understand that. Do you want my call number?"

"Yes."

Ruth gives her correct call number, but Erin knows that could have been obtained by anyone using any number of means.

"Ruth ….. can you tell me my child's name?"

"You have a daughter named Rosie, and if my memory serves me correctly, she turns six next month."

That still may not be enough, but for now, it has to be.

"Ruth," Erin continues, "are you in London? If so, can we meet?"

"What aren't you telling me, Erin? Where's Harry?"

"Harry had to take some time off. I'm sitting in his chair. Literally."

"I'm not currently in London. I thought it unwise to simply turn up on people's doorsteps. I've been staying in my mother's house. She, er …... she …."

"We heard about your mother, Ruth. I'm very sorry to hear that." Harry had attended Elizabeth Bickley's funeral, and then promptly announced that he was going on leave.

"Thank you, Erin. I didn't get back here quickly enough. She died within hours of her stroke... I can be in London tomorrow, if that suits."

"Tomorrow suits me, but why don't we meet half way?" Erin gives Ruth an address, and they agree to meet next day at midday.

Very gently, Erin puts the phone receiver back in its cradle, noticing that her hand is shaking.


Ruth is already there, standing under the awning outside the coffee shop in Aylesbury, as Erin hurries down the street towards her. It is definitely Ruth. Erin stops for a moment, and watches her unseen. She is dressed in a long, dark green coat with the collar turned up, a maroon scarf around her neck, and woollen maroon gloves. On her feet are long brown boots which disappear under the coat. She looks softer than the Ruth who always wore black or dark blue to work. Erin decides that it is the hair which softens Ruth. She is wearing it just short of shoulder length, and layered, so that it curls around her face. For the first time, she is struck by Ruth's dark, exotic beauty. Previously, Erin had considered her to be rather plain, even dowdy. How terribly wrong she'd been.

"Ruth," she says, as she draws level with her, and the older woman turns, and smiles.

"It's good to see you, Erin. It's been …... a long time."

"Over three months. Harry would know the number of days and hours."

They both smile at mention of Harry, and then Ruth's face becomes serious. "How is he? I haven't been able to contact him. It's one of the reasons I'm back in the UK."

"Harry is …... Harry's been better. He's taking a few weeks off. He's been …... burning the candle at both ends."

"I'm hoping he misses me."

"I think you'll find that he misses you very much, Ruth." Both women look at one another knowingly before Erin continues. "Before we have lunch, there's something I need to show you. To do so, we have to go across the street." Erin points across the street. "To that church."

"St Mary's. Lovely church. Very old, too. Thirteenth century, I believe. Prior to it being built, a Saxon church stood there."

Erin is sure Ruth's information is correct. It usually is.

They cross the road, having to hurry to avoid a stream of cars driving a little over the 30 mph speed limit.

"Ruth …... I chose that coffee shop because it's over the road from this church."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd found religion, Erin."

"No, I haven't. I suppose you could say that MI-5 is my religion."

Ruth smiles as Erin guides her past the church's entrance, and towards the churchyard at the side. Ruth suddenly stops, her eyes wide, her hand over her mouth, stifling a cry.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" she whispers. "That's why you're in his chair. He's -"

Erin reaches out a hand, but stops before she touches Ruth. Comforting others does not come naturally to her. That is something at which Ruth excels, and Erin envies her that. "No, it's not Harry. He's alive and …... well, he's not all that well. There's something I need to show you which may explain Harry's absence from work."

"His children?" Ruth's face is again stricken.

"No, not his children. Come with me."

And Ruth does. She's wary, of course, but she follows Erin to the new part of the churchyard, where the graves look fresh, the gravestones bright and shiny, and yet to be weathered, and the dates of death are all in the 21st century. Erin stops by one of these new graves, and then turns, her arm out to Ruth.

"You need to see this, Ruth. This will explain everything."

Erin watches Ruth's eyes, as she turns to read the inscription on the gravestone. Then, she steps close to her, ready to comfort her should she need comforting.

"Is this a joke?" Ruth asks, her face torn between confusion and laughter.

"It's not a joke, Ruth. You were declared dead at the scene of your stabbing. We all believed you to be dead …... even Harry. He held you in his arms and cried. He was devastated ….. he still is."

Ruth reads aloud the words of the inscription.
"Ruth Evershed," she reads, "1970 to 2011. Loved daughter of James and Elizabeth. Always My Beloved." And then she puts her hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs which emerge from her chest, and into her throat, almost choking her.

Erin places her hand firmly against Ruth's back, while she cries out her anguish. "That poor man," she says, in between her sobs. "That poor, poor man."


A/N: There is a Church of England church called St Mary the Virgin in Aylesbury, but I can't claim there to be a coffee shop across the road. For the purposes of this fic, there is!

And as to why Ruth was buried in Aylesbury …... your guess is as good as mine.