A/N: Parts of this chapter may be borderline M rated, with some strong language and adult themes. (But I'm reluctant to change the rating of the story.)

Thanks to all who have read this, and to those who have reviewed so far.

As much as she was stimulated by the discussion going on around her, she just wanted to get back to her hotel room and lie on her bed and empty her mind. Ruth needed to empty her mind. She believed that being busy in this way, as well as away from London, her conscious mind would be free from Harry's assignment. The only time when she had not been obsessing about it was while she was giving her lecture. That meant that in the past ten hours, since her eyes had opened in the morning, only forty-five minutes of her time had been free from thinking about Harry, and what he might have had to do with that woman after drinks the night before.

She ended the discussion while it was still in progress, citing time limitations, and a need to be elsewhere. She left the building, her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else who would tell her how informative and stimulating her lecture had been. For once, the approval of others was not high on her list of needs. She hailed a taxi, and gave the driver the address of her hotel. Once in the privacy of her hotel room, she was about to strip and stand under the shower for a long time when her mobile phone rang. Seeing the name on the display, and acknowledging her need for a shower, she almost declined the call. As usual, curiosity won.

"Harry?" she said.

"I hope you don't mind me ringing you. I know you said you'd rather I didn't. I just needed to ….. How did your day go?"

"It was good. My lecture seemed well received, and the discussions were lively. That's all good, of course, but my mind wasn't exactly …... on the task."

"I'm sorry about that. I thought I'd tell you how last night panned out."

"Harry, you don't need to …."

"But I do. Have you been thinking about it at all?"

Ruth hesitated, not sure how honest she wanted to be with him, but then she remembered their kiss in his office, and she knew that the thing she owed him most was her honesty. "I've thought of little else," she said quietly.

"It wasn't terribly exciting. We had drinks at Jasper's. It was pleasant enough. I got the sense she was sussing me out."

Cynthia had seemed overly interested in Harry's marital status. He'd not expected her to care. Someone in her line of work, and who would be prepared to do almost anything for money, did not normally possess any kind of moral conscience, and he knew that this was what bothered Ruth far more than the likelihood of him sleeping with her.

"What's the name of this woman in your life?"

"Rosalie," he'd said without hesitation.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. Very much."

"So why are you here with me?"

"To keep our relationship – er – alive, we each occasionally stray – just briefly, mind you – to remind ourselves of how much we value what we have." Harry felt there was an element of truth to everything he said. He still viewed George as Ruth having `strayed'. He could have said he was with someone but had never been faithful to her, but that would not flow from his lips in a way which would be believed. He was a different man to the one who had gone home to Jane smelling of some other woman's perfume, and then blithely lying to her about where he'd been and with whom.

A little under two hours after he'd ordered their first drink, she'd received a phone call, and had to leave. As she left the bar, he rang the driver of the car sent to follow her, and asked that they find out where she is going, and who she is meeting. Despite following her for fifteen minutes, the driver lost her, and Tariq had been unable to trace the call she'd received, having come from a blocked pay-as-you-go phone.

"She rang me at midnight," Harry continued, "asking me to dinner at her apartment tonight."

"Oh," was all Ruth was able to say. Her jealousy aside, she was afraid for Harry's safety. Her gut was churning in the way it did when she felt danger imminent. "You have to be careful, Harry. I have a bad feeling about this."

"I will be careful, Ruth. I'll ring you tomorrow to let you know I'm alright."

"Thank you. I'd like that. Goodbye Harry."

Cynthia's apartment was devoid of any signs of her having a personal life. There were no photos anywhere, no articles of clothing slung over the backs of chairs, no shoes lying under couches, no keys left carelessly in an ashtray, and not even an ashtray. It was clear to him that she used this for overnight stays when in London, and little else. He watched as she poured him a drink, taking in the details, and then he didn't take a sip of his drink until she had sipped her own. When she announced dinner was ready, he asked to be directed to the bathroom. He hadn't known what he expected to find in there, but there was nothing more than a packet of paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, so he flushed the toilet, and then washed his hands and dried them on the towel provided. As he left the bathroom, he quickly and quietly checked the two doors leading off the corridor. One appeared to be the door to her bedroom, while behind the other door he was sure he'd heard movement. He stood quietly just outside the door, and heard nothing more, but in that moment, he made a decision that he should hurry the night along.

Back in the dining room, Cynthia was sipping her drink, and as he entered the room, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you ready for your entrée?" she asked, meaningfully.

Harry, deciding it was time he bit the bullet, strode across to her, took her glass from her hand and put it on the table, and then took her in his arms. With one hand on her buttocks, and the other at the back of her head, he leaned into her and placed his mouth on hers. Her body was quite bony and angular, with none of the softness of Ruth's curves. Her kiss was not soft and gentle and cautious like Ruth's kiss, and her lips were hard against his. She snaked her tongue deeply into his mouth, and he resisted an urge to gag. His 30-year-old self would have enjoyed this immensely, while his 56-year-old self felt only repulsion. Despite their kiss deepening, and him uttering a fake moan so that she'd believe he was into her, he knew his body would never react to this woman.

Therein lay his miscalculation. Harry loved women. He had always loved women. And as far as he knew, he could respond to any woman, given the right circumstances. He was in a luxurious apartment with a – some would say – beautiful and desirable woman, who was eager and available, he had had a drink, and there was more where that came from. He should have been experiencing the heat and surging of a man who wanted her in every way, but his body was doing nothing at all. Niks. Niets. Nĭsta. Niente. Nada. He couldn't understand it. That had never happened to him before. All he had to do was think of Ruth, and …... He thought of Ruth. He imagined it was Ruth he was kissing …... but his body wasn't buying it. He should have known that the distaste he was experiencing kissing the thin-lipped Cynthia would be communicated to the rest of his body.

He pulled her slowly towards the wall, thinking that his body might respond to the idea of him having her against the wall. Still nothing. He felt her hand snake down his trousers to his groin. She grasped him through two layers of material, and began a slow massage. Her fingers were bony, and her massage was not gentle. He tried to imagine her hand was Ruth's, but it didn't work for him. Ruth would never be so inappropriate, or that rough with her hands. There was movement, but not a lot, not enough.

She pulled away from him in a jerking motion. "Who the fuck are you?" she snarled. "You obviously don't want my body, so what is it you do want?"

"I'm sorry, Cynthia. This was perhaps a really bad idea. I'm missing Rosalie," he added, hoping to add that touch of authenticity. In that moment, when she'd pulled away from him, he knew that he'd failed, and that aside from knocking her out and capturing her, he had no options left. And he was tired, and bored with this stupid cold war spy game, and he wanted to see Ruth, because he'd missed her while she was in Cheltenham. "I won't stay for dinner."

"All men fancy me," Cynthia said, her face angry, "and even gay men have been known to lust after me."

Harry resisted a laugh, because he found the idea of gay men fancying her quite absurd. Right now, in the aftermath of their long and reptilian kiss, he fancied a Cornish fisherman more than he fancied Cynthia.

That was when he made another fundamental mistake. He turned from her, and took his eyes from her. He heard a movement behind him, and just as he was about to turn back to see what it was, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and his world went black.

A/N: Sorry to all who were waiting to see how Ruth would handle Harry having sex with Cynthia. When I began writing this, my intention had been for that to happen... but, like Harry, I just couldn't do it. In truth, I couldn't do it to Ruth.