Saturday 17th July – early evening:

Ruth has decided that Harry should drive her home to her own flat, and he has to go along with that, as much as he'd prefer to have driven them both back to his own house.

"I don't especially want you to rekindle your friendship with Sam," he says, knowing Ruth will object to his high-handedness.

"You can't tell me who I can and can't see, Harry," she replies coldly.

"I know that, and I wouldn't want to. It's just that by speaking with us today, Sam could have put herself in danger's way, and I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

"My only thought is to protect her," Ruth replies quietly.

Harry has no answer to that. How like Ruth to think of others first, and in so doing risk her own safety. He takes a long time to formulate an answer, a reason for his caution, by which time they are only a couple of streets from her flat.

"I've been thinking … since last night … I'd really like it if we could try … you know ..." and he glances at her pleadingly.

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

"I'd like us to try ... being together," he says, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the road, hoping to hide his fear from her, fear that she may not want the same thing he does. How Ruth reacts to his suggestion will determine so much about their future, both at work and away from it.

Ruth doesn't reply until he has parked outside her flat. "I also have been thinking ... along similar lines," she says, "and I think ... I'd like the same thing," she says. "At least .. I think we should try." Having turned off the engine, Harry turns to see her staring through the windscreen. He is hiding his joy rather well. "And were I to see Sam again, and we haven't made any future plans to that end, our contact will be purely for social reasons. I have no wish to further the discussion she began today." It is only then that Ruth turns to face him, her eyes wide, her rising anxiety clear. "I'm sorry about the comment I made earlier about marriage. That was insensitive, and it wasn't meant as a comment on your … proposal of marriage."

"It's all right, Ruth."

"It's not all right. I know I hurt you."

He nods, and turns to look through the window towards her flat. "Are you going to invite me inside?" As soon as the words are spoken he regrets them. How could he have made such a blatant foot-in-mouth? "Sorry. That sounds bad."

Harry is surprised to see that Ruth is smiling. "It's fine," she says. "I know what you mean, and I was going to invite you in anyway … for a meal … if you're game enough to brave my cooking. Beth has a family thing on tonight. She's probably already left."

But Beth hasn't left.

Ruth shows Harry inside, and where he can hang his coat in the front hallway. As they turn into the living room from the hallway, a half clad female figure darts past them, and Harry is sure he hears her say, "Fuck. Sorry," but he can't be sure. Just being inside the flat with Ruth has him feeling happy.


Beth isn't a prude, but in her opinion being seen by her boss in her underwear with her head in the fridge is taking familiarity too far. Still, she's glad Harry and Ruth have dropped in, because she has news.

"Today I discovered something really random," she says, announcing herself just before she enters the living room, this time fully clothed.

Both Ruth and Harry turn her way. "What?" they say together. Beth is relieved that she hasn't interrupted them doing anything of an … adult nature. They'd been standing innocently enough, just inside the doorway to the kitchen, talking quietly.

"It's about Meg Meredith's business. She organises terrorists for a living. Didn't I say she was dodgy?"

"We know," Ruth says, "we just found out too. Who told you?"

"I rang Tariq today, just as he put all the pieces together. We won't be able to do anything about it, you know, not with the probable connections with government."

Both Ruth and Harry nod. She'd been sure Ruth would react with outrage. "We know that, too," Ruth says calmly.

It is then that Beth realises she has stumbled into a sensitive situation – a private moment between her boss and her flatmate. It's clear they are waiting for her to leave. "Well," Beth says, smiling, "I can't hang around here, making small talk. It's my brother's engagement party, and … they're probably waiting for me to turn up so they can crack open the champagne, so … I'm off."

Beth wiggles her fingers in a goodbye, and quickly leaves.


"Will she be gone for the night?" Harry asks, once the front door closes behind Beth.

"I hope so."

"Not that I was … thinking that we might … you know .. later." Harry stumbles to the end of his sentence, clearly embarrassed. Again.

Ruth is smiling up at him. "You never know," she says. "Stranger things have happened."

This time he sighs audibly. At last he and Ruth appear to be singing from the same song sheet.

It is fragile, this thing which exists between him and Ruth. He has been in love before, but never like this, never with the sense that he is not the one in control, and that one false move, one foolish word spoken by him can rip apart the gossamer threads which hold them together. He had believed marriage would take care of that, binding them together for ever, but even that option is no longer available. He is having to work harder, tread more carefully, and speak with more thought than at any time in his life so far. He happens to believe Ruth is worth the added effort required.

"Can I do anything to help with dinner?" he asks, following Ruth into the kitchen.

"There is. You can prepare the vegetables, while I cook the chicken fillets."

So they stand side by side in the kitchen as they prepare their meal. Occasionally their arms touch, and when Ruth leans across him to grab a sharper knife from the knife block, the subtle tones of her perfume reach his nostrils just as her breast presses against his upper arm, perhaps deliberately. He doesn't care. He is in his own private Paradise, and he'd be happy were the evening to never end. Their conversation lilts and sways between checking with Ruth whether he's cutting the vegetables correctly, and Ruth asking him whether he's managing. Managing? He's ecstatic.

He offers to prepare the sauce. "I'm the king of sauces," he says, smiling down at her.

"That's good, because, no matter how careful I am, my sauces are always lumpy," Ruth replies lightly.

By the time they are ready to eat, they are relaxed around one another. Harry opens one of the bottles of white wine he'd bought at The Soldiers' Rest, pouring wine into two glasses to accompany their meal. He cannot remember being this happy, at least, not since Ruth's return from Cyprus.


They have just finished eating, and Harry has pushed away his plate, declaring it to be the best meal he's ever had. He tops up their wine, then lifts his glass to Ruth in a toast. "Here's to rounding up the real terrorists," he says, watching her carefully.

"Or to the terrorists bumping off one another," she adds, and he smiles.

"That sounds like a much better plan," he replies.

"Then what will we do with all that spare time?"

Harry sits back in his chair, his glass of wine still in his hand. He looks across the table to where Ruth is watching him, the gentlest of smiles on her lips. "I can think of several things I'd rather be doing than chasing terrorists," he says quietly. He watches Ruth while she blushes, dropping her eyes from his. "Wouldn't you rather be doing that than trying to identify the real terrorists?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

Very slowly, Ruth lifts her eyes to meet his, and then she nods. A green light. Harry feels as though he's been waiting for this his whole life. Never has he waited as long, or as patiently as he has for Ruth, and never has he wanted her as much as he does at this moment. While they hold the gaze of the other, he feels his body responding, and this time he doesn't suppress his ardour. As he watches Ruth while she watches him he is already half hard, and his face and neck are warm, and he is sure she can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He wants to kiss her more than he wants to breathe. He is sure her lips are fuller, and darker than usual.

"Harry?" she says, carefully placing her wine glass on the table.

"I'm hoping you're not asking for more wine," he says, barely able to get the words out, "because .." and Harry hesitates, unsure how Ruth will react to what he is about to say, "because right now all I want is to make love to you."

The ball is in Ruth's court, and Harry barely breathes while he waits for her response.