Norfolk - Monday - 5.12 pm:

"I hope we didn't make too much noise," the tall man called Felix says apologetically, as he passes Ruth in the front hallway.

Ruth and Harry have an unspoken agreement that she is best suited to interacting with the archaeology team, while he stays well away.

"We barely knew you were here, Felix," Ruth assures him, conscious of Harry hovering in the kitchen doorway, watching while the four members of the Little Diggers, as he calls them, file through the doorway and to the yellow van driven by Felix.

Ruth closes the door behind them, and turns towards Harry. "Two days down, many more to go," she says, slowly covering the distance between them.

"I'm missing the daytime sex," Harry says, chiefly to shock her, Ruth is sure. He reaches out to grasp her upper arms before planting a kiss on her lips.

"Since we've only managed to do that once, I don't see how you can miss it."

"I thought I'd head back to London on Thursday," he says, watching Ruth closely while he slides his hands down her arms to grasp both her hands in his.

"Why? Surely you're not returning to work. Harry -"

"Not work, no, but I have two appointments which I need to keep. I'll be home by bedtime .. I hope."

"Do I need to know about these appointments?"

"One is with Towers. I tried to reschedule an earlier date, but he's out of the country until tomorrow."

Of course. Ruth already knew that. Given it's her birthday next week, she suspects Harry has ordered some kind of gift or surprise for her. Surely he knows how much she hates surprises. She watches his face closely, but spy-like as ever, he gives nothing away.

"And how are the Little Diggers progressing?" he asks, dropping Ruth's hands.

"I've no idea. It appears to be a closed dig, although I've invited Ruth Galloway here on Thurday morning for coffee. I suspect she'd like to check their progress." She waits while he absorbs that information. "I believe I've also made a breakthrough about our body downstairs."

"Are you going to share that with me?"

"I'd like Ruth to be the first person to hear it. She'll know whether what I have found might relate to our dead woman."

"World War Two?" Harry is fishing. She'd be disappointed if he didn't.

"Possibly," she replies, smiling, reaching up to cup his cheek.


Norfolk - the following Thursday morning - 10.35 am:

"Harry not here?" Ruth Galloway asks, her gaze taking in the front hallway, and the doorway to the kitchen.

"He's in London. He left before dawn. People to see, places to go."

"It must be difficult being in a relationship with a busy man."

Ruth leads her visitor into the kitchen, where the coffee is made, and a plate of biscuits is already on the table. She indicates that the Other Ruth should sit down. Given her ability to assess a person's state of mind at a glance, Ruth suspects the Other Ruth is tired and a little run down. She understands that Ruth Galloway is not one for makeup, or designer clothing, because neither is she. Both are impractical in the archaeologist's job, and in her role as a single mother to a small child.

"I'd been hoping that once we moved in together, Harry would relax a bit, but the opposite appears to be true."

Ruth Galloway drops her eyes, which surprises Ruth, since her gaze is always so direct, and honest. "I have to confess that after you left King's Lynn eighteen months ago, Nelson and I were certain the two of you were ... together."

Ruth is mildly shocked by the other woman's honesty. She'd like to say that she and Harry had wondered about her and Nelson, but given Nelson's marital state, to share such a thought would be indelicate of her.

"We moved in together three months after our visit to King's Lynn. Sometimes all it takes is twenty-four hours away from one's normal routine, and environment. We both loved our visit, and I think that .. separately .. we vowed to return some time."

Ruth pours coffee for them both, and while they are adding milk and sugar to taste, they are each remembering that flying visit Ruth and Harry had made to King's Lynn eighteen months ago. Ruth sits, and as she glances up at the other Ruth, she wonders, not for the first time, whether Nelson is the father of her little girl. She'd daren't be the one to raise the subject; it is just too personal.

"Nelson paid us a visit last Thursday afternoon," Ruth says, "just as the students were packing up and leaving for the day."

The Other Ruth feigns surprise, since he had already suggested to her that he might do that. "He refers to you as Spies R Us," she says furtively, taking a biscuit from the plate, not that she's hungry or anything. It's just that chocolate-coated biscuits are her favourite. "I love these," she says guiltily, "but I never buy them, because of Kate."

"How is your little girl?" Ruth asks, knowing that mothers need opportunities to talk about their children.

"Growing fast. She begins school in September. She can't wait, while I'm dreading it. Someone I've not yet met, and whose values I have no idea about will be spending more time with my daughter each day than I do."

Ruth knows that in that very moment there is an opening, a window of opportunity. She could ask about how Kate's father feels about her starting school, but Ruth allows the moment to pass by. It is too soon.


Ruth Galloway is showing Ruth the progress at the site in the tunnel beside the callar. Portable LED lights have been set up at various points along the tunnel wall, and another series of lights are strung along the roof. The combined effect creates a level of brightness Ruth can only describe as stark and hospital-like.

"They've done a lot more than I expected," the archaeologist comments, "but that would be because the space is unaffected by the external weather conditions."

"Perhaps it's also because the soil is moist," Ruth offers.

"Partly yes, but the soil close to the coast is quite sandy and coarse, so it doesn't become completely impacted when it dries. It's still quite free-moving, and easy to brush away from old bones." She stands looking at the partially exposed skeleton, concentration clear in her eyes. "Given how much has already been done, I think they will only need another five or six sessions, and if they need more, I'll suggest they arrive earlier, and stay later. It's unfair to inconvenience you any more than you already have been."

This is the perfect time, and place for Ruth to share her findings on the Pickersgill Woman. Ruth Galloway has killed the lights in the tunnel, locking the door once more, when Ruth turns in the half light to speak to her.

"I've done some research," she begins, "and I'd quite like your opinion." When the Other Ruth nods, Ruth continues quickly. "Prior to World War Two, this tunnel was refurbished, renovated, and the ceiling strengthened with local stone. Some German families, seeing the writing on the wall, were being smuggled into the country, partly as refugees, but chiefly to boost labour on the farms, seeing the need for farm labourers to be enlisting."

"That's true," Ruth Galloway says, listening closely.

"But at the outbreak of war with Germany, the smuggling of families with healthy fathers and sons ceased .. for obvious reasons, but it didn't stop entirely. Young, healthy German Jews were brought in under cover of dark, remaining in this house ... possibly living in this very cellar. Over time, young Jewish men and women were simply integrated into the community, but only for a time. By `44 and `45, most people were focused on doing all they could to survive, but occasionally a German airman shot down over Norfolk was taken in by a local family, and put to work, but most were handed over to our authorities. No-one is sure how many made it through to the end of the war. There were perhaps only a very small number whose English was good enough for them to remain free, and most of those were spies. Three such men married local women ... war widows. When it was discovered what had happened, some local ne'er-do-wells captured these three women, killing them, cutting off their heads, and then burying the bodies close to the sea. The headless bodies of two of these women were found during the 1950s, but the third has never been found."

"The women's heads were delivered to their German husbands, who then went into hiding until the fuss died down. Yes, I'd heard that story. There isn't any official record of any of this, though. It's all hearsay."

"I know, but official or not, it's a good story. And that's all I was able to find on bodies being buried without their heads ... other than in gangland killings. Whoever it was buried the Pickersgill Woman was clearly sending a message."

"They certainly were. At this stage, everything depends upon the dating process, and a DNA test, which won't happen until the whole skeleton is back in the lab, and that may be weeks." Ruth Galloway stares at Ruth, as though thinking deeply. "You know ... you'd make a fine archaeologist, Ruth. You already have the analytical brain. All you need is to add the science, and the history. And, of course, you'd have to enjoy working outside, often in difficult conditions."

Ruth smiles. "I don't know about working outside, but I do find the past fascinating. I'm not sure I could manage the science side of archaeology."

"Give it some thought," the Other Ruth says, turning to take the stairs to the front hallway, where Ruth joins her, leading her back to the kitchen, where again she prepares a fresh mug of coffee for them both.

"I don't mind at all the students coming in," Ruth muses, "but Harry feels rather put out."

Ruth has just placed the mugs of coffee on the table, when the Other Ruth speaks quietly.

"Men are not as patient as we are, although Nelson has more patience than most men I've known. He's wonderful with Kate."

There it is. Another window. Another nanosecond in time, bringing with it an unspoken invitation.

"Nelson?" Ruth says, equally quietly, determined to take the baton offered, and run with it. She places their coffees on the table, and sits.

"Nelson is Kate's father," Ruth Galloway says, and Ruth notices that her eyes are on the crumbs on her plate. "He's married, so ..."

"Does his wife know?"

"She does. She ... wasn't happy at all at first, but so long as Nelson and I pretend to be nothing more than casual friends who occasionally have to work in close proximity, then ..."

"And are you?" Ruth is afraid to speak too loudly, unless this delicate moment is shattered by the wrong word, a phrase spoken without care, or a glimmer of judgement in her eyes. Ruth could never judge this woman. Ruth Galloway is one of the strongest, fiercest, and most fair and intelligent women she has ever met. Judgement has no place in her presence.

"Most of the time." Ruth Galloway lifts her eyes to Ruth, her gaze unblinking. "You don't know how lucky you are, being able to live openly with the man you love."

Ruth nods slowly, taking in the other woman's words. How sad, how unjust is it that these two people cannot openly express what they feel for one another. "Oh, but I do. Harry and I had loved one another for years before we felt able to do anything about it."

"He was married?"

"Only to his job."

Ruth Galloways smiles. "Yes. a job can be equally as demanding as a marital partner." She waits for several seconds before saying what she's never before told another human being, even Nelson ... especially Nelson. "Nelson's wife, Michelle and I have nothing at all in common - other than Nelson - and yet we quite like one another, and we get on very well. I'm grateful to her for that, because Kate needs stability; she needs family around her." She momentarily stops speaking to try her coffee. "Despite that, I like to imagine a time when Nelson chooses me. I don't wish ill of Michelle. If she were to die, if anything were to happen to her, Nelson would be inconsolable. I don't imagine her dead or gone. What I want ... what I'm waiting for, but don't expect to ever happen ... is .." and she just can't say any more. She has said enough.

"If it's any consolation, Harry and I noted the way he looks at you. There's love and admiration in his eyes."

Ruth Galloway's expression, when she lifts her eyes to Ruth, is one of such distress, that Ruth can hardly bear to hold her gaze. "Sometimes love and admiration isn't enough. I have my home, my job, and my wonderful daughter, and as much as I'd love to share those with Nelson every day, he's not mine to share them with .. other than Kate, of course."

Ruth nods. She reminds herself, when Harry returns that evening, to tell him she loves him.


Nelson suspects someone is talking about him. He is driving to the site of yet another car theft, this time a late model Lexus, and he feels a burning on the back of his neck. It's probably Michelle, chatting to a client about the odd thing he'd done that morning, when he'd been about to put the butter in the oven, but checked himself at the last moment. If only Michelle knew the truth, that he'd had a lapse in concentration because he'd been thinking about Ruth and Katie. If he has his way, she never will. He will never tell her the truth, and nor is he prepared to give up Ruth.


Ruth is woken by a rustling of clothing on the other side of the room. When she'd turned out the light, it had been after ten o'clock, and Harry had not yet arrived home. She'd considered messaging him, but were he on the motorway, he'd not be free to answer.

She rolls over in bed to see his solid shape silhouetted against the light in the landing. "Hi," she says sleepily.

"I'm sorry I'm so late. I was about to leave the city when my son called me, so we had a coffee."

"How is he?"

"He's good. I'll tell you about it in the morning."

Ruth murmurs a quiet `goodnight', and only then does she remember what she'd planned to say to him when he got home. "I love you," she adds, her voice much stronger, hopefully her conviction clear.

Harry lifts his head from untying his shoe-laces. "And I love you, Ruth. Very much."

"That's good," she says, before rolling over, and going back to sleep.

Harry wonders what had brought that on, but knowing Ruth, it was probably nothing much at all.


A/N: The `story' Ruth Evershed tells about the smuggling of German citizens into Britain is made up, although it's also possible that it happened, but perhaps under different circumstances.