Harry found that he missed Ruth terribly when she was at work in Dundee. He hadn't asked her about her work there, figuring that if she wanted to tell him about it, she would. When she was home, Ruth read a lot, prepared for work, marked papers, and walked with him. On inclement days they stayed inside and talked. They had a lot of catching up to do. The third person in the house – awkwardness – was still there, but less noticeable, and as the days passed, awkwardness took up less and less space.
At every opportunity, Harry walked, sometimes with Scarlet, but often without. He'd admitted to himself that Ruth's presence in the house, in his life, was stirring something within him which had laid largely dormant since she'd left to go into exile. During the years she'd been in exile, his love for her had had to enter the realm of his imagination. Ruth had already mentioned that he loved her chastely, and in a way she was right. In the week or so she'd been in Scotland with him, his physical feelings for her had once again surfaced, and he was having difficulty dealing with this. The easy answer would have been for him to join her in her bed, but his instincts told him they were not quite ready for that. In the meantime, he was living in close proximity to the woman who stirred these feelings in him, and so regular walking became his substitute for sex. Were he a younger man, he'd probably visit the pub regularly and pick fights with other men.
Two weeks after Ruth arrived, on the Monday night after she arrived home from work, Ruth suggested they go to the pub for a meal. Harry was glad of the distraction. The night was cold, foggy, and with steady drizzle, so they drove the short distance to the village pub, surprised to find the pub carpark almost full. They entered the bistro to find it noisy and filled with people, music playing in the background.
"If this is what it's like Monday night, I'd hate to be here of a Friday," Ruth commented, as Harry led her to a table for two at the back of the room.
"Friday's tend to be quiet, since a lot of the locals go to Montrose – for the karaoke, I believe - which is why I usually eat here of a Friday."
"But you didn't eat here last Friday."
"That's because you cooked chicken parmigiana, Ruth. Why would I want to eat here when I can share a meal like that with you?"
"Perhaps we should have stayed in tonight, then," she said quietly, placing her hand on his.
"Do you want to stay here …... or shall we go home?" His words were equally as quiet, spoken only for her.
"We're here, now, so... what would you like? It's my treat."
"No, Ruth, you don't have to do that."
"But I want to. What would you like?" Ruth was already on her feet, ready to cross to the bar to order. "I'm having the fish."
"Then I'll have the steak," he said, resigned to Ruth buying their meals.
After they'd finished eating, they noticed a few couples shuffling around the dance floor. The music playing through the PA system was country rock – The Eagles, The Byrds, Johnny Cash, The Band – and while some sang along, others danced. The mood in the room was more Saturday night than Monday, and smiles could be seen on the faces of most. Even Harry was tapping is foot in time to the music, and had reached his hand across the table to cover Ruth's hand. In that moment, they were the most relaxed they'd been in the whole seventeen days she'd been with him.
"Let's dance, Harry," Ruth suggested, realising at last that Harry was never going to ask her.
"You want to dance with me?"
"Yes, you. Come on, it's not the tango."
"Now, the tango I can do. This foot shuffle, I'm not so sure about."
Ruth led him by the hand to the dance floor, where she waited for him to put his arm around her and pull her close. He held her away from his body, but she enjoyed the warmth of his hand on her back, and the way he'd wrapped his other hand around hers and held it against his chest. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, but suspected that would make him uncomfortable, so she resisted the urge. By the time the second song began, Harry's arm had moved further around her, pulling her against him, and his cheek rested against hers. She closed her eyes, and breathed out heavily, allowing all the tension of the past couple of weeks to leave her body.
Harry knew he was taking a risk by dancing so close to Ruth, pressing his body against hers so that her soft breasts rested against his chest, and he could feel every breath she took. He was exhibiting every ounce of self control he possessed to not begin undressing her on the dance floor in front of everyone. His body was displaying the early stages of excitement, and he knew she'd be able to feel it. Deciding that a public place such as this was not the best place for this to be happening, he slowly drew away from her. He looked down at her, and saw the confusion in her face, just as a man loomed beside them and tapped Harry on the shoulder. He turned, irritated, to see a thirty-something man with a full head of floppy brown hair standing far too close to the two of them.
"I'm cutting in, mate," he said, in what Harry swore was a Geordie accent. Were there no Scottish people left living in Scotland?
"Sorry – mate – she's with me," Harry said, his words heavily laced with sarcasm.
When the Newcastle man grabbed Harry's jacket collar, Ruth intervened.
"Harry, it's alright, I'll deal with this. Go and sit down. I'll join you in a minute. I know him," she said, her eyes showing Harry that arguing would be pointless.
Very reluctantly, Harry went back to their table. He nursed his drink while he watched Ruth dance with Floppy Brown Hair. They seemed deep in conversation, and if Harry's instincts served him well, Ruth was not happy being with the interloper. Once or twice, Harry thought of cutting in and rescuing Ruth, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate it. He finished his drink, and went to the bar and ordered another for himself and for Ruth. On his way back to their table with the drinks, he searched the dance floor, but couldn't see any sign of Ruth. He felt the beginnings of panic – not a panic of jealousy, but of fear for her safety.
Harry was half way across the room, heading for the door, when Clive Simper (husband of Harriet) intercepted, his hand on Harry's arm.
"I think you need to get out there, Harry," he said. "Your lady needs you."
Harry needed no further encouragement. In a few strides he was at the door, and then through it. He heard them before he saw them. They were standing under an awning, out of the drizzling rain, and Ruth was shouting something at Floppy Brown Hair, at the same time she was poking him in the chest with her finger.
"I don't need you," she was saying, "to turn up here like some kind of Neanderthal, staking a claim on me. You have no right to be doing this. I'm with someone else now."
When Floppy Brown Hair grasped Ruth by her upper arms, Harry stepped in.
"I think she's said all she has to say – mate. Now, clear off."
"You and who else?" the man said, not nearly so cockily as he had earlier.
"Me and most of the men in the bistro. Now – bugger off."
Harry put a hand on the man's shoulder, and he let Ruth go, so that she could accompany Harry back inside.
"I can fight my own battles, you know, Harry," she said as they stepped through the doorway and into a cacophony of Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the voices of patrons in the bistro as they sang along to Bad Moon Rising.
"I think it's time we went home," Ruth suggested.
Within minutes, they were driving out of the pub carpark and up the hill to home. Since they'd left the pub, neither had spoken.
"I'll make some tea, Harry," she said as they stepped inside. "We need to talk."
They sat on opposite sides of the table, waiting for the tea to steep in the pot. Harry's mind was in turmoil, creating all kinds of scenarios, most of which he didn't want to think about. Either way, it seemed that Ruth and the man from Newcastle had once been something to one another. Ruth poured their tea, and added milk to both, and then three sugars to her own cup, and two to Harry's. They stirred their tea, and only then was Ruth ready to talk.
"I met …... Neil …... soon after I moved to Dundee. He was a graduate student in my language history class. It's policy for staff and students to not fraternise, but Neil pursued me right from the start. I suppose I found his attention flattering, I don't know. At the time I put it down to loneliness. I was back in the UK – my home – but in a city where I knew no-one. Neil and I didn't really have a relationship as such. After all, I'd been in a sort-of-relationship with you, and there'd been more unexpressed passion between us than most people experience in a lifetime. And I'd lived with George for almost a year and a half, so I knew what a relationship looked like. Neil …... I have no idea what it was with him. He seemed obsessed with me, so I should have known better than to sleep with him. It only happened twice, and then I realised I'd opened a Pandora's box of all his insecurities. He said he loved me, even though we'd only known one another a few weeks. When I told him I didn't want to socialise with him any more, he threatened to kill himself. I didn't waver from that. Anyway, he dropped out of classes, and last I knew he'd gone back to Newcastle. Until tonight. I'm sorry, Harry. Trouble seems to follow me."
Harry said nothing. He was circling the rim of his cup with his finger.
"Harry, are you mad at me?"
His eyes shot upwards, and he looked at her. "Of course not, Ruth. You're not the reason this guy followed you here, but we need to keep all the doors and windows locked just in case he saw us drive home. Darling, he's sick, and you couldn't have known that."
"You're too good to me, Harry."
"Not at all. If I told you all my little secrets from the past, we'd be sitting here until Christmas."
"I know it's none of my business, but did you meet anyone while I was in exile? It was four years, after all."
"No. I never stopped loving you, Ruth. Since I knew I loved you, I've not even looked at another woman in that way. Ironically, on the same night you turned up here, I'd been attending a dinner party where one of the woman put her hand on me and suggested we have a meaningless shag. I declined her offer."
"I don't think such self control is good for you, Harry."
"Maybe not, but it's the way I am. When I love someone, it means something to me."
"Speaking of love," Ruth said, standing up, "I have something for you. Wait there."
She ran upstairs to her bedroom, and brought back a small package, gift-wrapped in dark purple paper and gold ribbon.
"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, handing him the gift, and kissing him lightly on the mouth.
"Christ, I had no idea. I'd lost track of the days. Is that why we went out tonight?"
"Yes, and that's why I had to pay. It was part of my birthday gift to you. Open it."
So Harry removed the paper carefully, and took out the book of ancient Mediterranean poetry.
"Thank you, Ruth," he said. "Thank you for remembering, and thank you for this gift …... and thank you for being here …... with me."
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I've marked a page. Read it to me."
He turned to the page she'd marked with a large, heart-shaped bookmark, and he read aloud to her.
"Don't ask what will happen tomorrow.
Whatever the sum of days given to you,
Think of it as a treasure,
And when you are young,
Never say no to dancing and sweet desire.
Ruth, that is such a beautiful sentiment. I'll treasure this. `dancing and sweet desire' …. we've taken care of the dancing bit."
He stood up and walked around to her and kissed her on the lips. It was a tender kiss, without passion, but heavy with promise.
"We're still considered young, Harry," she said, looking into his hazel eyes.
"I know we are."
He went back to his own chair, and flicked through the book, occasionally stopping to read a few lines. "These ancient Mediterranean people were hot, Ruth. No wonder they bred so prolifically."
"I'd thought you'd enjoy the X-rated poems," she said with a smile.
They finished their tea, and citing a long day and resultant tiredness, Ruth retired to bed. Harry had almost expected her to once again invite him to join her, and had she, he would have said yes. There had been a change in both of them during the evening – the dancing, the incident with Neil, her sharing with him the story of Neil, her tender gift to him for his birthday – it had all served to move them closer together. Besides, he ached for her, and he didn't know for how much longer he could hold in his intense desire for her. After he'd kissed her on the mouth, and while he was looking through the book she'd given him, every cell in his body had been screaming to him to take her upstairs to his bedroom.
Like every night since Ruth had been with him in this house, he hesitated outside her closed door, wondering whether she was asleep, and if she desired him as much as he did her. In his bedroom, he took off all his clothes, and dressed for bed in a t-shirt and track pants. Despite his need for Ruth – or perhaps because of it – he tumbled into bed and was asleep within minutes.
Since he'd retired, and especially since he'd moved to Scotland, Harry had slept deeply, and without waking. Until this night. When he awoke suddenly, he noticed two things – one was that it was still nighttime, and the other was that there was someone in his bed with him.
A/N: Poem extract from `Odes 1.9', by Horace. (65 BC – 8 BC)