I know I have one story unfinished and another unwritten, sorry. I'm hoping that once I get this down on paper, as it were, the muses will stop wandering off at tangents and let me get on with them. ;) Thanks as ever for reading, hope you enjoy.

'What do you mean, you can't go?'

'I've done my back in, Harry. It's gone into spasm. I can hardly bloody walk.'

Harry rubbed his forehead. 'Do you need anything? Painkillers?'

'No, no, I'm sorted, thanks. But this evening's just not an option.'

'Right. Right. Well, thanks for letting me know.'

Harry disconnected the call and groaned. His first Saturday night off for weeks, and he'd been looking forward to spending it with a takeaway, a bit of Led Zep, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. He glanced at his watch. Dimitri would still be in Yorkshire with his asset; he had no choice but to do it himself. Trudging upstairs he showered, shaved and contemplated his wardrobe, eventually plumping for a navy suit and pale blue shirt. Less than thirty minutes later he was in his car and heading to the Grid.

As the pods hissed open Malcolm emerged from the Forgery Suite. 'Harry? I thought you had tonight off.'

'So did I. Alec is...indisposed.'

'Oh dear. So does that mean...'

'Indeed it does.'

'Oh dear.'

'Care to elaborate on your lack of enthusiasm, Malcolm?'

'Not really, no.'

'Okay. Let me rephrase that. Elaborate on your lack of enthusiasm, Malcolm.'

''Well...we created a legend for a couple, and you two...well...you don't exactly seem to be getting on terribly well at the moment.'

'We should be pretty convincing as a couple, then.' He sighed. 'Malcolm, we're both professionals, and grown ups to boot. We'll be fine. Now, can you get me wired up, please?'

He followed Malcolm through to the Armoury, half listening to the younger man's rhapsodising about the various options on offer. These were, however, swiftly narrowed down when Harry realised that most of them would depend on his keeping on his jacket and tie. 'It's July, Malcolm. I'm going to a wedding reception. There'll be alcohol, food and, god forbid, dancing. I've no inclination to sit trussed up like a Christmas turkey all night.'

'Rightio.' Frowning, Malcolm returned to his box of tricks.

'Can't you just give me the same gizmos as you gave Alec?'

'Impossible, I'm afraid. He's got a prototype. It's very clever, actually, based on a Bulgarian...'

And as Malcolm fluttered around him, enthusiastically imparting minutiae about Cold War militaria, a weary Harry zoned out and turned his thoughts to the evening ahead.

For a moment he thought Alec had forewarned Ruth and she was pretending to be out, but as he reached to ring the bell a second time the door was flung open and she stood on the threshold before him, her face alight.

'Sorry, sorry, I...Harry! What are you doing here? Where's Alec?...Harry?'

She was wearing a dark blue sleeveless, strapless dress, fitted to the waist then flaring out slightly in soft folds to just below the knee. Matching high heels, surely too high to dance in, brought her up almost to his height. Her hair was up, wispy tendrils framing her face, which for the first time in longer than he cared to remember was expertly, but subtly, made up. A silver necklace nestled just below her collarbone, the only piece of jewellery she wore.

Words deserted him as quickly as her smile had faded.

'I...um...he..he hurt his back. Sent his apologies. And me.'

'Huh. Do you really expect me to believe that? Harry, exactly how stupid do you think I am?'

'I'm...I'm sorry?'

'As setups go that is particularly pathetic. Even for you.'

'I promise, if it is any kind of setup, I knew nothing about it, and if it makes you feel any better, I had rather more leisurely pursuits planned for my evening off.'

'Well, how about we head to Alec's local and witness a miracle cure?'

He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Or how about we just go to this bloody reception and see if we can pick up any useful intel? Is an evening in my company really all that repugnant a prospect?'

She took in the slump of his shoulders, the resignation in his voice, and felt a stab of guilt. 'I'll just get my things.'

In the taxi he checked the intercom was off then asked about their legends.

Ruth, busy adjusting her pashmina, took a moment to respond. 'Will Bennet, late 40s, architect...'

'I know bugger all about architecture, Ruth.'

'You're not arguing about the 'late 40s' I notice...anyway, Alec does. You're a partner in a small firm that specialises in listed buildings. Divorced, no children. You live in Merton and we...we've been an item for seven months. We met at the British Museum. I dropped my scarf, you picked it up, and...'

'And what?'

Her focus remained fixed on a point in the middle distance. 'And our eyes met and it was love at first sight.'

Harry swallowed. 'This is the legend you created for you and Alec? Is there something I should know, Ruth?'

The fingers clutching her handbag were still. 'No.'

He wondered what aspect of his question this was an answer to. 'So who is the woman Will is besotted with?'

'Sarah Austin, early 40s, academic. English Lit. Unmarried, no children. Lives in Wimbledon.

As they wound through the city streets in the evening sunshine, he sat back and let her voice wash over him. At least over the past weeks he'd read the files and knew the bride, groom and their families: he probably knew them better than they did themselves.