She steps from the taxi, and turns to the driver and hands him some notes. She has little idea how much she should tip, so she hopes that she has covered it, and more. She steps away from the taxi, and stares up at the facade of the hotel. How like them to choose something a little old-fashioned and out of the way. It's in Shoreditch, just off Hoxton Road. She'd expected something more …... up market ….. but then, what does she know? She'd missed the engagement party – and who in the 21st century bothers with all the fuss of an engagement? - so her presence on this night is expected. They'd been living together for at least three years, and as she sees it, even a wedding is unnecessary. After all, nobody stays together any more. She and Roger had been in the US at the time of the engagement party, and she'd not had the energy to fly back. She is arriving at this party – a `pre-nuptial knees up', the invitation had read – alone, and that is what most bothers her. As she walks through the double doors into the lobby, she almost expects a siren to sound, and a Dalek-type voice to scream out, `warning - single woman entering'.

When no alert sounds, and barely anyone noticing she has entered the building, she almost turns and leaves. She doesn't have to be here. She has every intention of attending the wedding. It's just that without Roger's arm to lean on, and his solid presence to prop her up, she's not as brave as she once was. Age has dimished her, and she is irritated by that. What irritates her most is that Harry will be here, and she's successfully managed to avoid him these past few years.

The Garnet Room is down a long carpeted corridor towards the back of the hotel. She stands outside the double doors, hesitation evident in her silent stance. She is not quite ready to enter the fray, so she darts back down the corridor to the Powder Room. Yes, that is what it says on the door, above an embossed brass outline in the shape of a woman, her wide skirts spilling about her like it's 1870, rather than 2012. Through the dark purple draped doorway are the basins, above which is a large mirror. She stands in front of the mirror, leaning close to check her makeup. Well, of course her makeup is fine. She looks like the middle-aged woman she is. She takes a lipstick from her bag, and touches up, using the little finger of her right hand to ensure no lipstick has found its way to the corners of her mouth.

She hears a toilet flush, and a woman – younger than she - is soon washing her hands at the basin next to hers. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and the striking aquamarine eyes of the woman smile at her, and out of courtesy she smiles back. She waits a few minutes after the woman has left, and then, having taken several loin-girding breaths, she leaves the powder room, and heads back along the corridor. This time she barrels through the double doors of the Garnet Room before she can change her mind.

No-one notices her entry. People are gathered in groups, and above the murmur of around fifty voices, she can hear the gentle strains of a harp and a flute. If her memory serves her correctly, they're playing Bach. She considers attaching herself to a group – any group – and introducing herself, but her pride won't allow that. All she knows is that she's not yet ready to see Harry. She has been told that he has moved on – really moved on this time – and is even talking of getting married. She doesn't deny him his right to happiness. It's just that she hadn't quite finished with him when he'd walked out …... after that final, ugly argument, about what she can no longer remember. They had never quite managed a healthy and normal relationship, but she was still prepared to try …... so she now tells herself. Catherine has told her that he has met the love of his life. This she has to see. It is one of the reasons she has returned to the UK for this night. Like most middle-aged women, she is curious about her ex, while at the same time, she doesn't especially want to actually see him. She is curious about what kind of woman is capable of felling a man like Harry. She is curious, and at the same time, she is just a tiny bit angry. He has found the love of his life, while she has found …... Roger. Dependable, predictable, ridiculously rich Roger …... but she doesn't love him, and she suspects nor does he love her. It is more convenient arrangement than love affair.

She moves through the throng, searching for a familiar face, until she finds one. It would be him, wouldn't it? He sees her, and she notices the irritation pass across his face before he smiles, and breaks away from his own group – an attractive young couple, Catherine, and the woman with the aquamarine eyes. Those beautiful eyes watch him as he moves towards her, and it is then she knows that this is the woman who holds his heart. How very extraordinary. How unexpected. How …... terribly old-fashioned.

Harry's smile does not quite reach his eyes, "I'm glad you could make it." He then looks past her. "No Roger?" He stops just short of touching her, and for that she is very relieved. The only touching they did well was make-up sex, and there's been no call for that for some time. Momentarily, she imagines him in the throes of passion with the woman with the striking eyes, and she experiences a stab of envy. Harry had always been rather good in bed.

"No. He's …... seeing someone about some deal or other, and won't be back until next week."

It is then a familiar voice has her looking past Harry. "Mum," Catherine says, "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

She hugs her daughter to her, but as she glances over Catherine's shoulder she notices that the woman with the blue eyes has joined Harry, and is grasping his hand, and looking up at him. She can't be much older than Catherine.

"Have you met Ruth?" Catherine asks, pulling out of the hug. "Mum …... this is Ruth. She's Dad's ….. other half."

"My much better half," Harry quips, letting go of Ruth's hand, leaving her free to shake Jane's.

"I'm sorry I didn't recognise you …... in the Ladies," Ruth says, having shaken Jane's hand, briefly but firmly.

"There's no reason you should recognise me," Jane replies, wondering whether she is expected to actually befriend this woman.

"There is a family resemblance. You and Catherine. Not quite peas in a pod …... but close."

Jane can't fault the younger woman's manners. She is gracious and friendly, and Harry clearly adores her.

"I …... could do with a cigarette," Jane says, fumbling inside her clutch bag for a lighter.

"Follow me," Catherine says, as she leads her mother across the room, through the French doors, and on to the terrace.

Left alone in the middle of the crowd, Ruth and Harry stand and stare at one another, until Ruth smiles into his eyes.

"That wasn't so bad, was it? You were both quite …... civil."

Harry laughs lightly as he winds his arm around her waist. "We can always do civil, Ruth. It's marriage we had difficulty with."

"I thought I detected …... interest in her eyes."

"Interest in what?"

"You, Harry. There's nothing like a man in love to spark a woman's interest."

"I know her, and she definitely has no interest in me. Other than in one department, we were …... poorly suited."

"And what department would that be? As if I didn't know."

He looks down into the eyes he hopes to see first thing each morning for the rest of his life. "Shall we take a turn around the grounds?"

"Coward," Ruth says, almost under her breath.

Jane has been joined on the terrace by her son and daughter. Graham is relieved that his mother still smokes. It makes him feel slightly less of a loser.

"I thought you'd given up," she says, as he lights his own cigarette after lighting hers.

"I had. Then Kim threw me over for a solicitor called Myles, so I took it up again. You?"

"Oh, every middle-aged woman needs a vice. I consider that smoking is less harmful than random sex with strangers."

"Mu-um!" Catherine objects.

"I'm joking. Really …... I am."

Graham smiles as he breathes out a stream of smoke. One thing he can rely upon is his mother's ready ability to shock others. May she never lose it.

"Speaking of partners," Jane continues, "where's the wonderful Benedict?"

"He's helping his Mum organise the food."

"I could have paid for the whole thing, you know."

"We wanted to do it our way. Ben's vegetarian and gluten intolerant, so his Mum has organised the menu right down to the very last olive. We look upon tonight as a trial run for the wedding."

"You're having the reception here?" Jane almost spat the words.

"Sure. Why not? Ben's Dad knows the owners."

Graham has been watching the couple walking through the hotel gardens. Harry and Ruth are strolling hand in hand, and talking quietly. Every now and again, they smile into one another's eyes. Graham still can't believe the change in his father.

"He saved her life. Did you know that?" Graham says to no-one in particular. "He did it twice. I wish I had his balls."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Jane says, following Graham's line of sight, and eventually seeing what he sees. "Are you talking about your father?"

"You know," Graham says, turning to look at his mother, "that's the first time since I was a child that you've referred to him as `your father'."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh … never mind. This is meant to be Catie's night. Catie's and Benedict's." Graham's jaw sets, and his resemblance to Harry is striking.

"What my brother was saying is that our father saved Ruth's life twice – once just over a year ago, when she was kidnapped and drugged by one of his officers, and again a few months back. That time, Dad took a slice of glass to his abdomen – thus saving Ruth. He was in hospital for a week."

"Who on earth would wish to hurt her?" Jane asks, mildly shocked. "She seems so …..."

"Looks can be deceptive," Catherine says sharply. She'll not tolerate any negative comments about Ruth, not even from her mother. "The perpetrator was FSB."

"FSB?"

"Russian secret service," Graham replies, his voice curt.

"Well …...," Jane says, lighting another cigarette from the stub of her last one, "that's …... exciting, isn't it?"

"I need to give Benedict a hand," Catherine says, stepping towards the French doors.

"I'll help you," Graham says, stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette in a potted palm at the edge of the terrace.

Jane is left alone …... again. She knows she said something wrong, but she can't work out what. As much as she loves her son and daughter, there are times when they are both so much like Harry that she wants to scream. She draws on her cigarette, breathing the smoke deeply into her lungs. She's over half way through her cigarette when from behind her, she hears Harry say her name. When she turns towards him, he is alone, and in each hand he carries a drink.

"Gin and tonic?" Harry asks.

"You know me too well," she replies, taking the drink from him, "and let me guess …... yours is a whiskey. Single malt?"

He nods, but doesn't smile.

"Where's Ruth?" Jane asks.

"She's giving Ben's mother a hand with the food."

"So …... you took the opportunity to sneak off to chat to your ex."

"Hardly," he replies, staring hard at her across the top of his glass. "If I had my way, I'd be with her. It was her idea I come out here to keep you company."

"What a good little girlfriend." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. Harry's eyes are flinty, but he holds in his anger.

"Don't, Jane …... just don't."

"Does she know about the infamous Pearce temper?"

"Yes. We worked together for almost eight years. She knows everything about me."

"Everything?"

"Everything important."

Jane turns from him and stubs out her cigarette in the potted palm where only minutes earlier their son had done the same. She then turns back towards Harry and sighs heavily, like she has just breathed out the sum of their shared past.

"You're really in love this time, aren't you?" she says, before she takes a sip of her drink.

"Yes."

"And with us, it was …... what?"

"Youthful exuberance and lust, followed by years of delight taken in hurting one another. It was never love, Jane."

"Can we ever be friends?"

"Not friends, no, but I hope for Catherine's and Graham's sake we can be civil."

"Of course." She looks away, and gazes over the grounds. "Graham said you saved Ruth's life twice."

Harry smiles, and purses his lips. "That was the easy part. It was her going into exile to save my neck I found the hardest. She was gone for three years."

Suddenly, Jane sees the light. She turns again to look at Harry. "That was her?"

"That was Ruth, yes. She's without doubt the bravest woman I know."

Jane holds back her own words …... about having to bring up two small children alone, while her husband was off fighting an unseen enemy, while in his spare time he screwed other women. She'd had to be brave, too. How like Harry to be attracted to brave women.

"Quite the romantic couple, aren't you?" is all she manages to say. Harry gives her another warning look. "I meant that in an admiring way."

Harry nods, not so sure. "I'm going inside now. I need to be with Ruth. You can accompany me if you wish."

Harry holds out his arm for her to take, but she shakes her head.

"Thanks, but I'll finish this drink before I venture in there."

"As you wish," and Harry turns to leave.

"For what it's worth, I think Ruth is lovely," Jane says quietly, and Harry stops and turns to face her.

"Yes. She is," he says, before turning to enter the room through the French doors, making a beeline for Ruth, who greets him with a wide smile, and then tucks her hand through his arm.

Jane has another cigarette while she finishes her gin and tonic. Harry is right. They would never have made it together. The love just wasn't there to begin with.

The cigarette smoked, and the drink finished, she leaves the terrace, and again enters the room, her dignity restored. She is once again assaulted by the sound of many voices drowning out the music. Seeing her future son-in-law, she calls out to him.

"Benedict – I've been looking everywhere for you."

Fin