Two days later, Harry and Ruth are sitting at a table at an outdoor café. Harry orders a latte for Ruth and a cappuccino for himself.
"And we'd like something to eat, as well. Darling?" he says, looking across the table to Ruth, who reddens at the endearment.
"I'll have a blueberry muffin," Ruth says, recovering quickly.
"And I'll have the apple pie," adds Harry, "with cream."
The waitress leaves with their order, and Ruth lifts her eyebrows and smiles at him. She just wishes that the idea of really being married to Harry didn't send her into a state of such turmoil. After all, why would he look twice at her?
"Wasn't that pushing it a bit?" she asks.
"Calling one another by terms of endearment is what we'll have to do, Ruth. It's what married people do."
"I thought it was what courting people did, and once they're married, they no longer have to try so hard."
"I wouldn't have taken you for a cynic, Ruth."
"Well, Will, I suppose I am rather jaded."
"And you haven't even been married to anyone before me."
"You've noticed. I've known enough married people. Love seems to turn to resentment rather quickly."
Harry watches her as she fiddles with the clasp of her bag. Being married to Ruth – even if it is a fake marriage – allows him some simple liberties which are not normally his to take.
"What should I call you? Apart from Will. What did your ex-wife call you?"
"Mostly she called me a cheating bastard, and she was right. But when we were first married, she used to call me Harry."
"Is that all?"
Harry nods. "We never got into the habit of using endearments. I once called her pumpkin, and she refused to speak to me for 48 hours. She thought I was criticising her for putting on weight. It was just after my son was born."
Ruth doesn't know what to say to that. Other than the time his daughter had been caught up with the November Committee, Ruth has never heard Harry mention his children or his former wife. His small story about his former marriage has made him seem softer, perhaps more vulnerable, neither adjective being ones Ruth would have assigned to Harry. Perhaps his story just made him more human …... that is, if the story is even true. Harry has been a spy for a long time. Lies fall from his lips with ease.
"What would you like to be called, Will? I'm afraid I'll forget to call you Will, and then we'll be sprung. Were I to use an endearment, it might be easier."
"So long as you refrain from using it when we're at work, then I rather like being called honey."
"You do?"
He nods, smiling.
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. It has a smooth and sweet feel to it, without being saccharine."
Ruth breaks eye contact with him, and looks down, smiling. "What about sweetie?" she suggests.
Harry grimaces. "I used to call my daughter sweetie. I'm not sure I could cope with it were you to call me that."
Their coffee is brought to their table, and a few minutes later, their food arrives. Ruth watches Harry – her pretend husband – as he charms the waitress with a wide smile and direct eye contact. She sees the gold band on his ring finger, and privately feels pleased that this ring means that he is pretending to be married to her …... just as the matching band on her finger is testament to her one to two week commitment to him. Against her wishes, Ruth is beginning to enjoy herself.
"Do you remember our honeymoon, Ruth?"
"The week we spent in the Lake District? It was lovely, but only after I recovered from an attack of gastro."
"You blamed it on the shrimp."
"Yes, and you were sure it was the extra bottle of champagne we had at dinner."
"We stayed an extra night to make up for it."
"And how did we meet?" Ruth asks him, smiling across her muffin at him.
"At a book club meeting which you held at your house. One of the members contacted me, and suggested the club invite me to speak about my blog. We couldn't take our eyes off one another."
"And it appeared to almost everyone present that you'd forgotten almost everything about setting up your blog, and even why you began it in the first place. At the end of the meeting, everyone went home except you."
"And I never left."
Ruth smiles across the table at Harry …... who is to be Will for the next week or more. William and Ruth Garside. They have been married for a little over two years. It is her first marriage, and his second. His first wife left him while he was still in the army. He is Captain Garside, retired, formerly of the Royal Artillery, and he served (very briefly) in the Falklands War. Colin has created the legend for Will, and has temporarily altered online military records to back up the legend. Will's post-military career as a journalist is supported by a website, and a blog. It is Ruth who has done most of the blogging. She just hadn't known that she'd be involved in the operation in a more personal way.
After they've finished their coffee and cakes, they leave the coffee shop, and head down the street. As they walk along the pavement, Harry grasps her hand in his, and hooks it into his arm. They exchange a quick look, and he sees a smile begin to form around Ruth's mouth. They could be any married couple, enjoying an hour in one another's company before they head back to work.
"This is a safe house?" Ruth asks, as she struggles through the front door with her suitcase. The house seems comfortable, and the furnishings appear to be new. Ruth hadn't expected any more than a very basic council flat, but this is a roomy apartment in a large Victorian villa.
"This is the closest MI5 safe house to the Carlyon Hotel, and it's also the most presentable safe house we have, so I demanded it be our home away from home."
Ruth leaves her suitcase in the living room, and walks through the house, checking out all the rooms, while Harry heads to the kitchen to make them a pot of tea. He hears her climb the stairs, and then within a few short minutes, he hears her heading downstairs, and into the kitchen.
"Was this your idea?" Ruth says, her voice raised, her tone accusatory.
"Was what my idea?"
"Come and see," and Harry follows Ruth upstairs.
She shows him the main bedroom, where a rather large bed fills much of the floor space, and then into the upstairs bathroom – in which they find a bath, a shower, a toilet, and a hand basin. It is in the second bedroom that Harry is met with a surprise. There is a laptop open on a desk, and along with the desk there are two large book shelves, and three chairs. There is also a small writing desk under the window. But no bed.
"Did you know about this?"
"No, Ruth. I didn't. Last time I was inside this house, there was a single bed in here. I'd planned to sleep in it, while you take the big bed."
All the time he's been speaking, Ruth has been watching him. She is satisfied that he hadn't planned this. It hasn't been his idea. He feels equally as awkward as she.
"I imagine that it was thought that an office is more important to us than a second bedroom. I can sleep downstairs if you like, Ruth."
"No. No, I don't want you sleeping downstairs. That's not fair. You're the one who'll be heading into the unknown, and so you'll need plenty of rest." Ruth thinks for a while, and then her decision is made. "We can both sleep in that big bed. I'm sure we can be adult about it."
"I'm sure we can, Ruth."
And so the decision is made, although Harry is not so sure that it's a good idea. He has already spent sleepless nights at home in his own bed, thinking about Ruth, wondering whether he should let her know how it is he feels about her. The prospect of lying in bed next to her, listening to her breathing softly as she sleeps, is all at once a joy and a source of dread.
How to walk that fine line between pretend partner and real life lover? He knows which one he'd rather be.
