"What did the Home Secretary want?"
"Nothing."
"He just popped over for a chat, did he?"
"Ruth, you asked me to marry you."
"I believe I did. Yes."
"But I'm meant to ask you."
"And you did, Harry."
"You said no."
"That was then."
"But you can't ask me."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the man."
Ruth laughs.
'No, Harry you're the dinosaur."
'What?"
"It's the twenty first century and if I choose to ask you, I can."
"But…."
"No buts. At least I had the good manners to answer you."
"With a no!"
"Yes, I said no but that was before I discovered your hidden genius."
"Hidden genius?"
"In the kissing department."
"Oh," he says unable to resist the compliment to his ego.
"And because of it," she steps closer, her hand reaching for his lapel, "I've changed my mind. Woman's prerogative."
'But, Ruth, I need to ask you."
"Again?"
"Yes, again."
"Fine, go on then."
"Not like this, Ruth. Where's your sense of romance?"
"Romance, Harry? A funeral! Where was yours?"
"Please Ruth, let me do it my way."
She sighs and her hand reaches up to stroke his cheek softly.
"Okay, Harry, but it needs to be better than the last time."
"Dimitri! Did you see that?"
"What?"
"I'm sure Ruth just touched Harry's cheek!"
"Oh, give over, I don't think they know the meaning of physical contact."