Exeter – Friday 23rd August 2013:
Harry has wandered through the house, checking that everything works as it should. In the bathroom he sees two cracked tiles above the hand basin, and a broken towel rail. He makes a mental note of each. In the kitchen the previous tenant had left a note listing everything which needed repairing. It was quite a list. Harry wonders whether he will have the time or the expertise to handle the repairs himself. Were he retired it would be a welcome distraction. He again enters the front room, it's floral carpet and the heavy brocade curtains framing the large window overlooking the street both testament to a different time. People now want white walls and kitchen surfaces, minimalism and bland blinds. Harry hates modernism. He is a man caught between two eras.
Looking out the window to the street beyond, he sees a figure slowly walking along the pavement towards the front gate. The figure stops and turns as she reaches the gate. He'd know her anywhere, and he'd been correct in believing she'd want to visit this house, even if only to gaze at it from the street. He leaves the front room through the double glass doors, and then heads towards the front door. As he opens the door, she looks up, clearly surprised, as he steps out on to the front porch, and stands on the top step. He notices the shock on her face, and hopes she will not be angry with him.
"Come in," he says, beckoning with his hand. Head down, she opens the gate and walks towards him along the path. She doesn't lift her eyes to take in the rose bushes which line both boundary fences. It is clear that the garden, once well loved and tended, has since been allowed to become overgrown ….. another thing to which he must attend. Perhaps he can organise for a gardener to visit regularly.
Soon she is standing next to him on the porch and she looks up into his eyes. "Don't tell me you own this," she says, her eyes suspicious, a smile about to form.
"Last year, when your mother died, I saw it for sale online, and I couldn't allow it to simply go to anyone. I knew how much you'd loved living here, so …..." Seeing the emotion in her face – the accusation, the outrage, and even the love – he can say no more. Suddenly he sees how presumptuous he had been, believing that with Ruth dead, he, as the `next of kin', should purchase the family home. He lifts his arm to show Ruth into the house. As she passes him, the look she gives him is one of gratitude, and he sighs heavily, allowing the tension to leave his body.
"Why hadn't you rung me?" she says, her eyes taking in the high ceilings in the hallway, and the delicate woodwork of the cornices, all painted white.
"I thought I'd first check the house. The tenants left owing a months rent, and so that usually spells bad news. It's not too bad at all."
"Do you mind if I look around upstairs?"
"No, Ruth, I don't mind at all."
Harry stays by the foot of the stairs, still nervous about seeing her again. Ten minutes later she comes downstairs and stands close to him. He waits for her to make the first move.
"Thank you, Harry, for buying this. I'm not sure it's a very good investment, though."
"I've put all the rent money into a separate account. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but now I know. It's yours, Ruth. I'm giving it to you. It can be your own investment …... if you want it, that is."
Ruth's nod is barely noticeable, as she smiles up at him. Harry takes a risk and leans down as if to kiss her. Ruth reaches up to put her hands around his neck, and meets him half way. The kiss is careful and gentle and very welcome. Harry slides his hands around her waist and pulls her close. They then hold one another for a long time.
"My bedroom looks smaller," she says against his neck. "I always remember it as being a big room."
"Which one was yours?"
"The one at the end of the corridor. The smaller bedroom was Peter's, and the large room was my parents'. I'm glad I've seen it again. Some of the magic has gone, and that's a good thing. I'll not be longing for the old days …... not now I have you."
"You have me, Ruth, totally and completely." Again they kiss, aware that they are standing in an empty house with very little furniture. "It must be about lunchtime. Do you know of somewhere we can go for a good meal?"
"Do you know about the fate of the three Russians?" Harry throws the question out there once they've ordered. The pub is busy, but most people are choosing tables outside, given it's a warm day, and the sun is shining.
Ruth looks up at him in surprise. "What Russians?"
"The ones you saw in the coffee shop."
She looks away from him briefly, as if to work out what to say next. "You've been …... spying on me." Ruth's tone suggests she is making a statement of fact, rather than an accusation.
"I asked Malcolm to ….. find out the real reason you left Birchington so quickly. I knew it had to be more than just needing a break ….. from us."
"I didn't Harry …... I didn't need a break from us. I hadn't time to formulate a proper letter to you, and using our personal history was the first thing I thought of. I knew it would make you angry …."
"I wasn't angry, Ruth. I was …. confused. I knew we were closer than that, so I refused to -"
"- take no for an answer."
"Yes." Harry smiles and reaches across the table with his hand. When Ruth covers his hand with hers, he feels more relaxed than he has in five days. "The Russians are dead. It was on the news."
"I haven't been watching or listening to news."
"They got into a fight with a member of the Albanian mafia, and the three Russians are dead. The official story is they were in the UK illegally, and they drank too much, and got into a fight. Their deaths will not be investigated, not unless the Russian Ambassador kicks up a fuss."
"Has the security service intervened?"
"Nothing has come through to the Grid, although it's likely Six are involved." Harry has no knowledge of the deaths other than what he'd seen on the TV news service. MI5 had not been informed. "They were no doubt looking for you, Ruth."
Ruth squeezes his hand. "I know. I've been terrified, but I feel safe here in Exeter. No-one in the US knew my history prior to Oxford. I was annoyed when I first saw you on the steps to my old house, but I ….. was worried you might have been …..."
"Followed?" Ruth nods. "I'm a better spy than that, Ruth."
"I know."
Their conversation is interrupted when their meals are delivered.
They spend the day with Ruth showing Harry around Exeter. Firstly her old school, which she'd attended prior to her father's death, and then the museum, and lastly, Exeter Cathedral. Harry is just happy being in her company, and seeing her so relaxed and happy. She is in her home town, showing him places which had been important to her. They stay inside the cathedral until 5 pm, when it closes for visitors. Outside the sun still shines, although there are a few clouds gathering on the western horizon. Ruth leads him to the grassed area beside the building and sits down, curling her legs underneath her. Harry joins her, groaning a little as his knee joints complain. Ruth smiles up at him, and then places her hand over his, caressing his skin with her thumb.
"I am so glad you've been with me today," she says. "I've enjoyed every second of your company, and it meant so much for me to show you my home town." Harry watches her as she hesitates. He knows she is thinking. "Harry …... I know you probably have to work tomorrow, but would you stay with me tonight?"
"In your hotel room?"
"Yes. With me ….. in my bed."
Harry nods, smiling. This day is getting better and better. He'd expected at the very least the cold shoulder from Ruth. He would not have been surprised to have received a tongue lashing over ignoring her request about him not contacting her, as stated in her letter. He'd expected some kind of disapproval from her for his eagerness to see her, and his turning up in Exeter unannounced. She had seemed surprised, and genuinely pleased to see him, almost as though she had hoped he would ignore her request. As he sees it, eagerness to see the other, even after only a few days apart, is a good sign for their future.
They eat in the hotel dining room, after Harry pays the extra for his staying in Ruth's room for the night.
"I know people who'd simply smuggle you into their room," she comments.
"It might be difficult to smuggle me, Ruth. I'm ….."
"You're larger than life, Harry."
"Well, I thought I'd lost weight."
"You have. I was speaking metaphorically."
Harry watches Ruth eating. He could watch her all day and most of the night. She is different …... unusual …... not some cardboard cutout of womanhood like so many other women he's known. One of the things he'd admired about his ex-wife had been her ability to be herself. She was different from other women her age, and in his eyes she'd stood out. That was, until he became an absent husband and father, and Jane's responses mimicked the opinions of her mother and her friends. Not that it had been her fault exactly; he'd been the one to let the marriage go, and it had served him right. As Harry sees it, any man who doesn't learn from his mistakes is a fool, and deserves to end up alone.
Over dessert they talk about the food, which is rich and filling.
"How do you feel about spending the rest of your life with me?" Harry asks Ruth when they are taking their time over coffee.
"That's a ... giant segue." Ruth drops her eyes, clearly discomforted. "Is that a marriage proposal?"
"Would you like it to be?"
"I asked first."
"You know I've always wanted us to be married, Ruth."
"Alright."
"Alright what?"
"I suppose I'll marry you."
"That's not an especially …... enthusiastic response."
"I don't see the need for it. We want to be together. Isn't that enough?"
"I suppose so, but I thought something more binding might be needed for after I retire, and I'm rattling around the house looking for things to do, and I annoy you. That might be a time when you have second thoughts."
"So, you're retiring soon?"
"Of course. I have done everything I can."
Ruth nods, a small smile lifting her lips.
"What?"
Ruth looks up at him shyly. "When I left the US, massive cheque in hand, they gave me one last task, to be completed within a year, preferably sooner." Harry lifts his eyebrows with interest, so she continues. "The CIA want you gone, Harry ... from MI5. They no longer wish to be dealing with you."
"The feeling is mutual, Ruth."
"Good. That's good."
After dinner they take a walk outside, along the street, and around the block. There are groups of young people outside other pubs – pubs with bright lights and loud music which causes the air around them to vibrate.
"I wouldn't want to be young again," Harry says, close to Ruth's ear.
"Me neither. I'm happy as I am."
Harry squeezes her hand.
They shower together, and then once they are dry they are in such a hurry to make love that they allow their towels to slip to the floor so that they can couple on top of the duvet. Afterwards they collapse together and fall asleep. An hour later they both wake, cold and shivering. Wearily, they shuffle under the duvet, and then kiss one another goodnight. Harry is almost asleep when Ruth speaks, her mouth close to his ear.
"Are you serious about retiring?"
"Mmm. I am. What about you?"
"I have nothing to retire from."
"What I meant was are you serious about moving in with me? Will you come back to London with me and share my home?"
"I will, but not right away." Harry turns his head to catch her eye, and she can see he is upset. "I still have to get myself settled ... by myself ... before I can move to London with you. I'll need at least another couple of weeks, and I'd like to spend it here ... in Exeter."
Harry sighs heavily, the next few weeks already weighing heavily upon him.
"I need it, Harry, and it's better for me to be doing it this way than to travel back to London with you and hide myself away until I feel comfortable being around people again."
"I know."
"You're sure?"
"Of course. Do what you have to do, Ruth. I'll always be waiting."
"And there's just one more thing."
"Which is?"
He waits for Ruth's reply, which takes a long time.
"No more marriage proposals. The next proposal must come from me."
This time Harry is almost asleep, but he just has the energy to answer. "Deal," is all he can say.