The Thames barge chugged gently up the river. It was shabby, colourless and utilitarian in the chill autumn wind, but the river sparkled and everything was suffused by the soft golden glow from the low afternoon sun reflecting from the glittering glass of the buildings along the water. As it made landfall, bumping against the concrete jetty, a slight form in a long dark coat jumped down and called her thanks to the bargee.
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly in a juddering sigh, looking around as if seeing her surroundings for the first time, her dark hair whipping around her face.
A stocky figure in a black coat with a velvet collar over a tie-less white shirt emerged from behind another boat moored close to the new arrival and came striding toward her. He paused, ten feet from her.
"Harry." There was a look of exasperation on her face, but a half smile too. "I told Malcolm not to tell you."
"And I told him I would give him the sack if he didn't." He was grinning broadly. He stepped closer, suddenly serious. " I don't know how I managed without you Ruth. What did..?"
She shook her head, eyes filling with tears.
"You took good care. Yes?"
She nodded violently and began to smile, drinking in his face, his voice, his presence, warmed by his concern. "And you. You didn't get shot."
"No, I didn't" he agreed gently.
'Did you feed my cats, take them to your house, adopt them?"
"Of course." He inclined his head in a gesture that was a cross between a nod and a bow.
Silence fell, a pause. Their lives had been on hold. The awkwardness of long-endured absence hung heavy in the air between them. There was too much to say, to explain. Another beginning was required, but the dead demanded delicacy and absolute trust (the Eurydice moment) for certain resurrection.
"Hello Harry."
"Hello Ruth." He paused as if unsure how to continue, although by now it was obvious that fate was writing the script. "There's something I have to tell you. I should have told you three years ago."
She was breathless with anxiety and euphoria. "Harry please…"
He was shaking. "If I don't tell you now, I never will." He saw the tears welling in her glorious eyes, the rapid pulse at the base of her throat mesmerising him, rendering him incapable of speech. What if she didn't want to hear this?
She looked into his eyes and saw the agony, fear and self-doubt there.
"Please say it. I can't bear it that the 'something wonderful' was something that was never said."
She stepped closer to him so that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell his cologne, hear his ragged breathing. She looked deep into his eyes and her hands cupped his face, feeling slight stubble under her gentle, stroking fingers before pulling him down to her kiss.
He was paralysed with ecstasy. He sighed as she adjusted her lips and when she drew back slightly he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, until her lips made contact again. He felt his world take on all the colour and warmth and meaning that had been missing for so very long.
"I love you Ruth," he breathed as he clung on to her tightly, his lifeline, his one hope of salvation.
"Never let me go Harry."
He knew in that moment that it would be all right, that hell, high water and Armageddon didn't have a chance as long as she stayed with him.
"Never, my darling."
And in that moment, so did she.