8th June 1991
Oxford
He's walking through the centre of Oxford enjoying the sun on his face. It's a beautiful summer's day and he feels exited, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through him. The streets are full of people, some rushing about their business, others ambling through the streets chatting with their friends. The crowd movers in irregular patterns as he approaches the traffic light to cross the street. He looks across scanning the crowd out of habit, looking for any unusual movement, anything out of place. The crowd parts and he sees her.
She's wearing a light blue summer dress that swirls around her knees in the slight breeze. Her arms are bare and her hair is loose. He stares at her for a few moments, rooted to the spot by the unexpected pleasure of seeing her like this. She's looking at something and a smile spreads across her face. No, not something, someone. A tall young man approaches her, and she laughs before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him to her. The man smiles into her hair and kisses the top of her head lovingly. Harry's heart shatters. He watches for a few moments as the couple part and she links her hand though his arm, laughing at something he says. And then, as if sensing his eyes on her, she turns her head toward him and he whips round, away from her, and disappears into the crowd.
She starts as she sees the man across the street. She lets go of her companion's arm and doesn't even register him calling her name as she rushes over to the spot where she saw him... Harry... She spins around looking in all directions, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he's too good at his job; he's disappeared.
"What's the matter?" her companion asks with concern.
"Nothing," she replies with a sigh. "I just thought I saw someone I know."
He smiles at her and offers her his arm.
"Which decade do you live in, Matt? Offering a girl your arm like that," she teases.
He laughs and replies, "Come on, you've got to show me around."
"All right," she smiles. "I can't believe you're here." She beams up at him and takes him on a tour of Oxford.
Harry gets back to his hotel, and though he feels like going straight to the bar, he forces himself to check out. He berates himself for thinking that a young girl like her wouldn't have moved on. To her he was a one-night-stand, and no matter how much it hurts him, he cannot blame her. He's almost seventeen years her senior after all. He could easily have been her father! And yet it hurts. It hurts so much that he can't breathe. He unbuttons another button on his shirt and grips the counter in front of him so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
"Are you okay, Sir?" the clerk asks.
"Fine," he replies, schooling his face and voice into an expressionless mask. "I'm just in a hurry."
"Yes, of course," the man nods as he turns back to the credit card he's holding.
Harry signs the slip, and thanking the clerk, takes his bag and gets into his car. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths. He knows what the problem is. He's let himself become attached to the idea of Ruth too much. It's his imprisonment and torture that are the cause of this obsession. Under normal circumstances, he tells himself, he wouldn't have let himself fall so completely for her. He needs to get a grip. With grim determination and a lot of effort, he puts the feelings and shattered hopes of Harry Pearce in their compartment and shuts them away in a corner of his mind. Being a good spook is all about control. Self-control and self-denial. And if nothing else, Harry's a good spy. Opening his eyes, he backs the car out of the parking spot and drives home.
He throws himself into work, always being the first to arrive and last to leave. He meets women in bars occasionally and has a few one-night-stands, but they pale by comparison to Ruth and the time he spent with her. So eventually he stops and concentrates on work. In three years, he becomes the head of Section D.