'There's nothing more that we can do today, but first thing tomorrow morning, you and I are going to make a trip to Clifford and Jones,' Ros said, turning her attention back to Alec, before switching off her laptop and telling them both to go home and get a good night's sleep.
After what had already been a very long and exhausting day, especially for Jo, Alec's insistence that Clifford and Jones Electrical Installations might not be what they seemed, saw her glancing round an almost deserted grid before heading into the small kitchenette to make herself a coffee. Twenty six plus miles on a bike and she was pretty sure that her legs had deserted her. Before she headed home she needed caffeine and a breather and surely life wouldn't begrudge her those would they? Dragging herself up the stone stairs that led to the roof terrace, she pushed open the ridiculously heavy door and taking a deep breath, walked the short distance to the railings and gazed out over the city, which despite the lateness of the hour was still vibrant and buzzing. Even though Harry and Ruth would be holed up in their nice new safe house by now and it had been over two years since they'd frequented this space, she felt like an intruder who had barged her way into what was still essentially theirs. The roof terrace had belonged to them, pure and simple, everyone had known it and if Harry and Ruth were missing, then heaven help anyone who was sent to find them. Was this where he had asked her out that first time, what had he said, had he dared to kiss her? She liked to think so. Had Ruth hesitated before she'd said yes, possibly, probably? Maybe one day she'd get the chance to ask her and tell her how envious she was that she'd found someone that truly loved her, whereas she was still stumbling around in the darkness, with nothing to cling onto apart from her job.
Malcolm stepped out of the lift, reluctantly was the best way to describe it.
'I hope that you're here to tell me that they're safely installed?' Ros asked him, having opened her front door and found him standing on her doorstep, at the time when she'd been expecting him and Tariq to be moving Harry and Ruth to their new location.
'I'm presuming so,' he told her, handing her the note that Harry had written and addressed to him, and then going on to explain that the reason he'd come in person rather than phone, was that he was worried that there might be a security risk.
'What the hell's he playing at, is this genuine Malcolm?' she asked him, waving the note in the air as though he was a schoolboy who'd come home with a note for his mother, telling her that he'd been naughty. Reluctantly crossing the threshold, he followed her into what to Malcolm's eye was the most unwelcoming home he'd seen, before perching uncomfortably on the edge of Ros's copious and cushion filled sofa, with a glass of whatever Ros had given him clutched in his hand.
'Oh absolutely, it's Harry's handwriting without a doubt and the flat was spotlessly tidy including the fridge and Tariq's looked at the cctv and they're clearly not being forced to get into the taxi,' he hoped answered her question.
'And now I suppose you're going to tell me that you've got no idea where they might have gone?' wasn't a question that he could answer without lying. The clue was in the note and was one that he and Harry had devised years ago, should either of them need a bolt hole. If Harry thought it necessary to avoid another safe house in favour of something that he owned and had entrusted him with the information, then he wasn't going to breach that confidence to anyone, not even to Ros.
After Colin had died, Harry had taken him under his wing, something that none of the others had known about and when Ruth had been exiled he'd done what he considered to be his limited best to return the favour. Everyone needed a friend and away from the grid, Harry Pearce, should he be allowed to, became a very different person from the one that most people perceived him to be. He'd been deeply saddened almost to the point of breaking when he thought he'd lost Ruth and Malcolm still considered it a great privilege that he'd confided in him. Did it matter that their close friendship had been forged by drinking their way to the bottom of two bottles of whisky and fearful of what Harry might do if he left him, he'd spent the night sleeping in Harry's huge armchair whilst Harry slept it off on his sofa, no it didn't, because it had bound him to Harry in a way like none other, not even to Colin.
'At a guess, I'd say that since our system's been breached, Harry imagines that it will happen again. I'm sure that he'll call you in the morning to explain,' was as far as he got, before Ro's expression changed to one that said bollocks Malcolm, you surely don't expect me to believe that?
'Well I don't buy it Malcolm, you're a rubbish liar and you know exactly where they are. But if this is how Harry wants to play it and he's prepared to let you visit them and you're prepared to do it, then so be it,' was a far less sarcastic response than Malcolm was expecting.
'Thanks,' he told her.
Six hours earlier.
Packing wasn't going to take them long, so why Harry insisted that they start the moment that Jo left, begged a question. Apart from their clothes, they had very few personal belongings other than what had been squirreled in.
'Trust me with this one Ruth, it's going to be so much safer where we're going,' was the answer that he gave her and for now she accepted without question. If she couldn't trust Harry then who could she trust? Jo's insistence that Ros thought she might be targeted again had been a huge hit to her confidence and although she'd done her best to hide it and draw support from Harry, her resolve to hold it together, had become as strong as a beach that was covered in quicksand. She'd been resurrected for Christ's sake, how on earth could that have happened? There was someone out there that had the same skills as she had and could break into systems and bring up information that had been closed down and buried for years. Whoever it was had to be an analyst and someone that she or Harry had worked with, no one else would have the knowledge that was required. But breaking down and throwing herself into Harry's arms and pleading with him to take her back to Boston wouldn't solve anything, she needed to pretend at least until they were safely ensconced wherever Harry was taking her, that she was still his calm and capable Ruth.
'I'll start with the fridge and then clean round,' she told him, needing to get her teeth into something that she could vent her fear and anger on and was less mundane than packing their cases and personal belongings, or he realised how distressed she was, which wouldn't solve anything.
If there was one thing that she hated more than anything else, it was tackling housework. Her kitchens and bathrooms she'd been fastidious about, which she put down to the fact that she'd spent a lot of her childhood with her granny who had quoted ad nauseam, stories about germs taking lives, but when it came to anywhere else, it was a case of what doesn't get done today can be done tomorrow.
'You only move dust around sweetheart,' she'd told her, 'as soon as you turn your back, it'll be there again,' and at that very informative that stage of Ruth's life, her granny had been her best friend.
Harry had made up his mind even as Jo had been talking, that moving him and Ruth into another small flat or less than comfortable safe house with no outside space wasn't an option, or to be more precise, it wasn't going to happen. They'd already spent over three weeks cooped up in this tiny flat with virtually no fresh air, and if you ignored the benefits that they'd been enjoying, they'd been deprived of everything that amounted to normal. Jo's visits had been necessary, he didn't deny that, but surely Ros could appreciate that spending each and every evening eating their dinner with her, was depriving him and Ruth of what Harry had now come to consider as a special time of day.
As long as Malcolm had understood his message and could convince Ros that they were safe, surely she'd be pleased? Rather than spending her time worrying about them, she'd be able to concentrate full time on solving the case. Putting an end to this fiasco without his help would be seen as a huge achievement on her part, but in the meantime if they were needed, they'd still have their encrypted link to Tariq.
First things first though, he needed to convince Ruth that the over -zealous attack on the kitchen sink that he could hear going on in the background wasn't necessary, or fooling him for a minute. In the past, he might have been inept when it came to reading the signs that women were putting out, but in Ruth's case he'd had years of practise, so apart from the still unspoken where do we go from here that he hadn't asked so she hadn't answered, he truly believed that he knew her almost as well as he knew himself.
His cause was helped by the fact that by the time that he'd packed their cases and reached the kitchen, Ruth had lost the battle with the cleaning and had convinced herself that what she knew to be her irrational yet genuine fear was justified. Strong and dependable had been replaced by sobbing, as she clung to the sink as though if she didn't, she'd be sucked down the plughole. The old Harry he told himself, as he stood in the doorway and watched her heaving shoulders would have rushed over, pulled her into his arms and told her that everything was going to be fine, but Ruth wasn't a child or someone who was stupid enough to believe that, and would tell him so. Maybe words weren't necessary and actions would be sufficient? He hoped so, because he'd ordered their taxi and they were rapidly running out of time.
'Ruth' and one step forward was all it took, before she turned round and flung herself at him, apologising because her nose was running and that her tears were soaking his shirt, as he attempted to reach behind her and retrieve the box of tissues that she was demanding.
She must have been going hammer and tongs he realised, because the fridge had been emptied and the kitchen was spotless. All he had to do now was to convince her to put him down for long enough so that they could get the rest of their stuff close to the door for when the taxi arrived. Before that though there was still time for him to hold her until she calmed, there would be plenty of time for talking things through later.
'It's all been a bit last minute and we're both tired,' Harry told the taxi driver, by way of explanation as to why Ruth was looking so exhausted as they loaded everything into the taxi.
'Moving's never easy is it mate, it took us weeks before we got settled, but you'll be fine after a good night's sleep you'll see,' from the taxi driver, elicited a weak smile from Ruth who was already feeling better, but whose eyes couldn't disguise the fact that she'd been crying.
Her attempt to get Harry to tell her where they were going had got her no further than I hope you'll like it, so by the time that they took a full sweep around Portman Square and then turned into a gated side road that indicated that it was a resident's only zone, she was still none the wiser. Whatever she'd expected, however much thought she'd put into it, even Ruth Evershed at her very best would never have come up with what she saw when Harry unlocked the front door.
'It used to be my Dad's house,' he told her, as they carried the last of their boxes into the kitchen, and switched on the kettle for the inevitable cup of tea. 'Catherine stays here occasionally when she's in London, but apart from her, the only person that knows that this is mine is Malcolm.'
'Why?' Ruth asked him, still wondering how it was possible that Harry had never mentioned this house before, especially to her.
'For an occasion such as this, and no I've never brought anyone else here,' he told her, clarifying what he meant, 'although up until now I never dared to believe that I'd ever get the chance to bring you here, do you like it?' was the most ridiculous question that he could have asked her, given that she'd lost her home when she'd been exiled, had what she considered to be the smallest flat in the world in Boston, and then for the last three weeks had been hiding away in a shoebox compared to this.
But she knew Harry, and there was so much more behind his question than just a simple enquiry, but as they'd only walked down the hall and into the kitchen, she couldn't really answer his question honestly, and yes wasn't going to be enough. Lost for an appropriate reply, she kissed him in a way that she hoped he'd realise meant she did.
'Dinner this evening is going to be for two, no interruptions,' he promised her, as they carried their bags upstairs before leaving her to explore and unpack, what in all senses of the word was a home.
'Oh that, my Dad had his moments, he was a bit of a devil,' he told her with a real glint of affection in his eyes, when she questioned that size of the bed that was in the room that Harry had said was theirs. She'd read Harry's file more times than she cared to remember and there had been no mention of his parents. Maybe she'd be able to get him to elaborate later, but for now she needed to unpack, have a shower or better still a bath and change as Harry had suggested, whilst he prepared dinner.
If Malcolm was the only other person who knew that this was Harry's house, then the large basket of toiletries that were tidily stacked in the corner of the bathroom were Catherine's she concluded, as she lay back in the bath and closed her eyes. Showers were all well and good, but to really be able to relax and let the troubles of the day disappear, there was nothing like a long soak in the bath and it was over two years since she'd been able to do that.
She'd barely got comfortable before,'Do you fancy a glass of wine?' asked an expectant and the most familiar of voices from outside the door, as she contemplated the fact that up until now, unless she was stupid enough to say no thank you, that Harry and she had never seen each other without their clothes other than when they'd been in bed. At this precise moment, he was presumably standing outside the door fully clothed, whereas she in a nutshell was naked as the day she'd been born. For a moment she wished she had Ros's courage. Had she been required or wanted to do it, she'd have shouted come in without hesitation, although hopefully not to Harry. But she wasn't Ros, and this them was all very new and Harry had promised her that they could take things at her pace, so she slipped as far as she could beneath the water without actually drowning and looked down to ensure that the bubbles were covering all but her shoulders, before she called come in.
If Harry felt overwhelmed by what her saw or had any desires other than to deliver Ruth a glass of wine before he headed back down the stairs to continue preparing dinner, he thought that he'd made a dam good fist of hiding it. He'd lingered just long enough so that his eyes could feast on what he could see of Ruth's dripping wet hair and body and the tiny droplets of water that were tracking their merry way through her cleavage, that had appeared as if by magic just for him, when she'd lent across to take the glass that he'd held just teasingly out of her reach. If it hadn't been for his promise that they'd take their relationship at her pace, certainly until the op was over and the fact that the veggies needed his attention, he'd have followed in his Dad's footsteps and to hell with the consequences. How on earth he was going to stick to his promise, now that they were here without interruptions and where he knew they were safe and secure, was another question entirely.
'Veggies,' he managed, 'see you when you're ready,' and with that the door closed behind him.
Ruth lay back, sipping her wine with a huge smile on her face and her mind awash with thoughts that mirrored Harrys, pondering if it would be too early if she suggested that she wanted to take another bath before they went to bed. She might not be Ros and she certainly was Juliet bloody Shaw, but life was too bloody short so to hell with taking things slowly and at her pace. Poor Harry he'd done his best, but veggies and I'll see you when you're ready, when his eyes had been raking across her breasts and more besides in his imagination, if the state of his breathing had been anything to go by, just wasn't fair.
Once Malcolm had left, Ros lent back and closed her eyes, wanting to take stock before she went to bed. Harry was right in what he'd done and the less people that knew where he and Ruth were the better. Jo's constant comings and goings might well be being monitored and if he knew somewhere that was off the radar which he considered safer, then she had to trust in his instincts. Alec's insistence that the street lighting or lack of was something that they needed to consider could wait until the morning, as could the issue of the list and who posed the greatest threat and why. Now it would be Malcolm rather than Jo who went to visit Harry. Jo, Ben and his crew of helpers were all standing by, waiting for her instructions which depending what happened in the morning might see them scouring the route again for anything else that needed to be tagged up as suspicious. Which left Tariq, the baby in all this, the only one that she didn't have to worry about, beavering away at his desk with whatever she demanded of him.