This will be the last chapter for a few weeks as I am off on my hols. Hope you enjoy reading it.
For Em and Katie pea - who make me giggle whenever I talk to them, or read their imaginative, and brilliant fics.
Thanks Kate for the beta.
Chapter 4
"S…sorry," Ruth stammered, drawing in a long shaky breath and finally managing to successfully sweep the hair away from her face; looking up at the man in front of her as she did so.
Carefully avoiding making direct eye contact, more through embarrassment than anything else, her gaze slowly travelled over him, taking in the Botticelli like blond curls, the slight crease in the middle of his eyebrows which looked to her like it was fond of deepening, and the plump lips which, according to the latest gossip magazines could be described as bee stung, although, maybe that was only when referring to women's lips she mused.
He was, she speculated, maybe fifteen years older than herself, was of average height, and from what she could tell beneath his casual chino's and short sleeved, open necked cream shirt combination, he kept himself trim through some sort of regular exercise.
Caught up in this slow appraisal of the man she had careered into, Ruth had failed to acknowledge the hand that remained comfortably attached to his chest, absorbing the reverberations of his heartbeat through her palm as it calmed from its initial shocked response to a strong and steady beat. But as he cleared his throat, her eyes were drawn back up his body, passing over her hand, and Ruth was pulled back to reality instantly. Horrified, she snatched her hand away as if burnt, but then found herself at a loss over what to do with it, and the pleasant tingling feeling which continued to travel up and down from wrist to fingertips.
Who was he? She wondered, loosely clenching and unclenching the sensation heightened hand absently. He wasn't wearing the dark suit and tie that appeared to be the teachers unofficial uniform here, but neither did he look anything like a student, or secretary…………..or dinner lady! Ruth giggled at the thought, despite the awkwardness of the situation, then noticed it had caught the mans attention.
"You're laughing?" His statement was pitched almost as a question.
"Sorry," She instantly recognised the Yorkshire lilt to his voice as he spoke, having spent the last few years of her life surrounded by similar accents. Posh Yorkshire, she mused, remembering the phrase used by her friend from Barnsley whenever she had visited her in Harrogate.
The man in front of her chuckled, a wonderful, deep rumbling sound, and Ruth realised she'd spoken aloud.
"Well it's been a while since I've heard that description with regards to my accent. Are you from the north yourself?"
Ruth smiled and shook her head. "No, at least not originally. I have just spent the last couple of years in Harrogate though."
"Ah," the man nodded. "Beautiful part of the country."
"It was……is," she agreed.
Silence fell, and Ruth shifted uncomfortably. She was unused to making small talk, but for some reason, neither did she want to take her leave and terminate contact with this intriguing stranger.
"Harry."
"What?"
"My name is Harry."
"Oh, yes. Ruth……, I'm Ruth." She berated herself inwardly for stammering. Why was it she either babbled, or lost her ability to communicate entirely at exactly the wrong moments?
"It's a pleasure to meet you Ruth." He replied, sounding like he meant it. "Now, I wonder if you could help me find the secretaries office in this maze of a school. I appear to be slightly lost."
"Yes," Ruth nodded enthusiastically, having once more to sweep her hair back as it dislodged itself from behind her ear and fell across her face in a shining wave. "Yes, of course, it's this way."
"S….sorry"
Harry watched as the young woman softly stammered an apology, whilst struggling to keep her hair away from her face. Beautiful, he thought distractedly, noticing how the filtered sun from the skylight above caught it here and there, highlighting the rich brown tones.
Unmoving, he allowed his eyes to linger in an unhurried appraisal of the stranger, sensing, more than seeing, her do the same.
Her hair had now been successfully pinned behind her ears to reveal smooth, soft pale skin and delicate lips which, in spite of the circumstances, held a hint of a smile in them. She was petite and slender beneath the blouse and soft brown skirt which floated around her boots, and he felt she could be aged anything from about fifteen to twenty five. Not that he would ever speculate openly. It didn't matter what age you suggested a woman might be, it would offend them somehow.
Harry cleared his throat, trying to swallow the amusement that accompanied the thought of how often she must get asked for proof of age in pubs, wondering even as he did so, why his mind had leapt to images of this unknown female, buying drinks with him, in his favourite Yorkshire pub.
The sudden withdrawal of her warm hand from where it had comfortably rested atop his heart, snapped him back to the reality of the empty school hallway and he mourned its loss, contemplating if she did too, when he caught the movement of her fingers as she gently rubbed her thumb and fingers together.
Who was she? He considered. She wasn't wearing the more sober clothing that he now realised constituted the teachers uniform, but neither did she look anything like a school student. Perhaps she was a new supply teacher, like him, caught off guard by the strict policy, or was on placement from university.
Even as the thought of how much brighter this woman might make staff meetings, the sound of her barely suppressed giggle interrupted his minds ramblings.
"You're laughing?" he asked, hearing her quiet apology, and then laughing out loud himself, as she repeated an almost forgotten, but well used phrase from his youth. There had been a lively rivalry across the regional boundaries that made up the largest county in England, but unusual for anyone this far south to either know or care about it.
A couple of sentences of small talk and silence fell again, Harry wondering whether she would lift her eyes to meet his as she moved from one foot to another as if about to take her leave.
"Harry," he blurted out into the quiet, unusually anxious all of a sudden, to draw out the conversation and find a reason to keep talking to this beguiling young woman.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Ruth," he continued, following her answer. Such a tired, overused expression, but he really meant it this time, and he enjoyed rolling her name around in his head, whilst asking for directions, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets to prevent the sudden desire to sweep her hair back for her when it fell across her face as she nodded her assent.
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