Thanks for all your comments. They've been fab, keep 'em coming! Now, let's up the fluff - and the angst.
= 4 =
Harry feels Ruth snuggle against his side. It's a sensation so delectable that an audible sigh escapes from him. She is so soft, so warm, so calm in his arms; so altered from the passionate woman of five minutes ago. The pain that blazed in her eyes has now been tempered, yet he cannot shake it from his thoughts.
He recognises its origins. It is a pain borne out of frustration at the emptiness within; at the restlessness that does not abate; and most crucially, from the hunger to connect with the one person that gave life meaning. Yes, he knows how she feels.
It is a testament to her strength that she has not given in. Instead, she has not only endured exile, but established a good sort of life on the other side of the world. Then again, he knows that her strength comes from having to endure many tragedies: the loss of her father at a young age, the unhappiness of her mother's second marriage, the death of her step-brother as well as her colleagues. He knows now that she survives by immersing herself in her studies, her work, to the point of excess. It was how she carried on after being held hostage, after Danny died, when their relationship frayed.
Yet there is something about Ruth that brings out all his protective instincts. She has endured so much that he would do anything to shelter her from further tragedy. Although he has been the prime cause of it in the past, it is the last thing he wants for her in the future. Yet how can he ensure that all will be well when tragedy follows him wherever he goes?
The feel of soft lips against his neck compels him to turn to her – and what he sees moves him. Her eyes and cheeks glow with love; her lips upturned in a delicate smile meant only for him. Without a thought he slants his mouth over hers, trying to imbue all that he feels into one kiss.
"I love you, Ruth." he murmurs against her parted lips.
His words touch her deeply, their simplicity and sincerity evident in the warmth of his voice, the ardour in his brown eyes. She could scarcely remember when her heart was so alive and full; perhaps on their one and only date, when the future was so full of potential.
She lifts a hand to his cheek, stroking the rough, worn surface delicately with her thumb. She traces the high cheekbones, the lines around his mouth, deepened by time, and the furrows in his brow: all familiar, all precious. Yet she notices new scars, both physical and mental in kind. The mark on his temple spoke of violence inflicted, but more visibly, the radiance that usually surrounded him has dimmed. She wonders what he has endured in his efforts to find her – what he has endured since they parted.
With great gentleness she leans in for a heartfelt kiss, whispering, "Love you too, Harry."
To her alarm, his face crumples as he fights back the tears. Lifting her other hand to his cheek, she rests her forehead against his.
"It's alright, you've found me."
Tightening his hold on her, he struggles to speak. "It's not that," he tells her, "But that you still care for me, after all I've done to you."
"You've done nothing wrong. I made my choice, and I'm glad I did."
"Yes," he quietly admits, "You have made the right choice from what I've seen. You looked so happy yesterday at work – so happy in fact that I thought you've forgotten about your old life."
"Oh Harry." she sighs, "I get on well enough as Rita Ealing, but it doesn't mean that I've forgotten who Ruth Evershed was; and what Harry Pearce meant to her. It doesn't mean that I don't think, wonder or worry about you. You are, and will always be, loved by me. Always."
In time the train makes its way from the flat Sydney basin, up to the Blue Mountains. As they zigzag higher up the escarpment, the bush – a dense canopy of eucalyptus trees and scrub – duly closes in. The train travels through sandstone gorges, tunnels and small villages. Every now and then they glimpse expansive valleys and domed peaks – a tantalising taste of what is to come.
They chat light-heartedly about their lives for another hour – how his dog has befriended her cats, how she has begun Vietnamese and Mandarin lessons in an effort to extend her linguistic repertoire – until Ruth says, "Next stop is us."
Gathering their things, they make their way to the doors just as the train pulls into Wentworth Falls station. An icy gust of wind whips through them as they exit, causing Harry to quickly zip up his jacket and mutter, "Not the warmest place in the world, is it?"
"Well, we are almost a kilometre above sea-level." Ruth replies, wrapping a scarf tightly around her neck. "You cold?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"You can buy something warm if you like on our way through the shops."
In answer, Harry merely thrusts his hands petulantly into his pockets.
They make a quick stop for lunch provisions before finally setting off down the highway, then through a park to the start of the track.
"Charles Darwin Walk." Harry reads, "Was he really here?"
"Oh yes." replies Ruth, "Darwin visited Australia on his way back to England from the Galapagos Islands. He took this walk one afternoon after lunch apparently."
"That's some claim to fame."
"It is considering he composed Origin of the Species because of that voyage. He wrote that he was impressed with Wentworth Falls. A bit later on you'll see why."
They enter the walk, initially a path through the scrub. A creek lined with ferns flows alongside, bubbling now and then over small cascades as it makes its way downstream. Bar the occasional passing couple or family, the track on the whole is a quiet one.
Occasionally, Ruth would stop to examine something that caught her eye: yellow pom-pom wattle blooms; a tall, orange Banksia; or the graffiti-like insect trails in the trunk of a scribbly gum. Harry meanwhile examines her: how her expressive eyes change in the varying light, how the corners of her mouth crease upwards as she smiles, how her perfume mingles with the distinct fragrance of eucalyptus to create a scent that is at once fresh and intoxicating.
Eventually the path turns from dirt to boardwalks that criss-cross the creek. After a short stint of stairs, they come to a large rock overhang, bordered by a small, golden beach. They cross the creek via some dubious stepping stones, laughing as they wet their shoes. Underneath the overhang, they sit on top of cool stone to watch and listen to the flowing water.
"How peaceful it is here." he quietly says, glancing upward at the curtain of moss and fern hanging from the ceiling. "It's so different from anything back home."
"That's what struck me when I first came out here. There's almost nothing I recognise in either landscape or vegetation."
"It's… alien."
"Only because everything's so ancient; the plant species are already over ninety million years old."
"When Britain was hardly an isl-"
A riotous laugh from the trees interrupts him.
Harry smiles. "I guess that would be the kookaburra." he says, "Catherine liked to sing a song about a kookaburra when she was at school; almost as much as she liked quarrelling with me."
Ruth too smiles. "Takes after her father then – although I've not heard you sing as yet."
"You're not missing out on much." he replies, a tinge of sadness in his voice as he thinks of his daughter.
"How is she?"
"Catherine's well. She's settled in the Pyrénées with her boyfriend Fabian – when she isn't volunteering in Sierra Leone."
"She hasn't changed then."
"No, Catherine's not one for the mundane. But at least she's out of the Middle East. I'm sure I told you that she was working for the Red Crescent in Southern Lebanon."
"How could I forget? You were so worried about her."
"I had a right to be. Straight after you left she got caught in a bomb blast."
Her eyes widen with shock. She knows how much Catherine means to him, particularly since she is the only family member he is on good terms with.
"Harry, I'm sorry."
"I flew to Beirut the day after I said goodbye to you. I thought…" He takes a deep breath. "I didn't know what to think. I just knew I couldn't lose two people I loved in one week."
Silence.
"And did you find her?"
"Yes, in a hospital in Beirut. Fabian was there by her side, so at least she wasn't alone. I managed to bring her back to London. Even Jane had a smile for me when she met us at the airport."
Threading her arm through his, she lays her head on his shoulder, trying to absorb his pain. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.
"I missed you." he whispers.
"I know." she replies, clutching him closer. "If I knew what was in store for us I wouldn't have turned you away. I would have done everything possible to make those last few weeks happy ones."
Harry exhales despondently. "Hindsight is something we both wish for." he tells her, "But we can't undo the past, Ruth. Let's just be thankful that we have the present to work on."
Hand-in-hand they stroll down the track, now oblivious to their surroundings. They walk in this way until the track narrows. Then relinquishing their hold, they negotiate the steel steps down the side of a small waterfall. The walk is wilder now, the track skirting around a sandstone cliff face and then down the first of many steps to the top of a bigger waterfall. There, the tree line opens to reveal an expansive valley.
"Ah…" Harry sighs, "I see now why Darwin liked this place."
Fifteen hundred foot cliffs, carved by millions of years of erosion, extend for miles around. Topped by bottle-green eucalypts, they gradually slope down to a valley floor rich in rainforest. Apart from the odd roof top on a nearby plateau, the scene is one of uninterrupted wildness.
Ruth draws in a deep breath as she looks about her.
"Beautiful, isn't it? A friend at work brought me out here last year." she tells him, "I fell in love with the cliffs, the bush, the walks – the way the horizon seems infinite. I like how on sunny days the evaporating oil from the gum trees makes the distant hills appear blue."
"Hence the name of this area, I suppose."
She nods. "Unfortunately the oil makes everything very flammable, especially on hot, dry summer days."
"I can't imagine all this being razed to the ground."
"This valley's escaped the fires in recent years, but I've been in Australia long enough know that fire is a fact of life. Still, it's amazing how fast the bush can recover. A huge fire went through the valley on the other side of the ridge a few years ago. Now you can't even tell that it was burnt through."
"If only humans are so resilient." he murmurs.
She looks at him curiously. "They are; and you, Harry, are the epitome of human resilience."
"I don't feel too resilient lately. This last year I've started to feel my age. Perhaps it comes from one too many betrayals; one too many friends lost."
"You're talking about Zaf," she deduced, "And Adam."
"Ah, Malcolm did say he's been in contact with you."
"Don't be cross with him," she says guardedly, "He only did it at my insistence."
"I'm not. Why should I be when I've thought many times of doing the same?"
Gazing at the fast-moving clouds, he ponders, "All those lost since you've been exiled: Zaf, Adam – almost Ros – among others. It never stops."
No, it never does, Ruth thinks. The cost of their profession has always been high. It was high for her in the few years she spent in MI5. She couldn't begin to imagine how it is for him who has spent a lifetime there.
"When I heard about Adam, all I could think about was little Wes."
Harry recalls the moment he came to tell the young boy of his father's passing; how Wes stood on the rugby field, wide-eyed as he comprehended the meaning of Uncle Harry's presence. "One shouldn't have to tell a ten year-old that he's orphaned."
"I can still see Adam's face after Fiona died – and now his son has to bear that burden alone."
"Not quite alone." he tells her, "He has his grandmother – Adam's mother – in Blackpool. He goes there when he's on holidays from boarding school. And I see him whenever I can."
His admission brought a smile to her lips. "I'm glad."
"It's really the least I can do. Besides, for some strange reason he seems to enjoy my company."
"That's because you are good company – and he looks up to you."
"A vast improvement considering my previous record with children."
Noticing the bitterness in his voice, Ruth decides to leave that Pandora's Box unopened for now. Instead she asks, "What about you? Did you get a chance to mourn?"
The image of Kachimov's body on the cold ground flashes before him; followed by the grim satisfaction he felt afterwards.
"Yes." he resolutely answers, "Yes, I did this time."
If you visit the Blue Mountains area in Sydney, the walks around Wentworth Falls are highly recommended!