*** Readers: an informal poll at end of chapter. Would love your input! xo

-11-

Ruth's birthday, still. :)

They alight from the Underground at Gloucester station and cross the street, heading towards his car where he had parked it hours ago.

"Ok?" He asks, gesturing to the pub just feet away.

She nods. "Fine."

In moments they're skirting the small cafe tables still left outside the busy establishment despite the rapidly approaching winter. Opening the door for her, they are greeted with a wave of noise, a stark contrast to the relative quiet left behind them. Although crowded, Harry manages just as he had done so on the train earlier in the evening to find two seats moments from being vacated. Two older men still seated there catch their eye and smiling, make way for them, rising slowly from their perches. Sliding onto the bar stools at the small square table tucked into the corner, Harry and Ruth nod in gratitude at the previous occupants. The seats, still warm, are not unwelcome given the rapidly falling night air.

"What will you have?" He asks, raising his voice over the din.

She reaches for the menu, studying it. "Well," she says, then points almost immediately. "That."

He squints down in the semi-dark. Then looks back up at her. "You do realise that apple pie with ice-cream not really a proper birthday cake?"

"Says who?" she counters, smiling. Then adds, "besides, it's not quite my birthday yet, is it?"

He glances at his watch. "Nope. Not yet."

"Good, "she says triumphantly. "Then I get to eat my pie. And cake. And have it, too. Or something like that." And she laughs.

He laughs along with her. "Yes. You shall have pie. And cake. And whatever else you want." And he beams across at her.

She reaches for his hand." Thank you. For everything. Really. It's been...well, perfect," she says. And her hand reaches up to her pendant.

"Entirely my pleasure. Really." Then he leans in a bit. "You deserve it, you know. And I don't have to tell you that I'm enjoying it as much as you. Especially," and he gives her hand a little squeeze, "after the ...uh... the last few weeks."

She nods. "Yes. I think it's why I'm enjoying it so much as well."

They stare across at one another, both nodding.

"But there is one tiny thing," she says quietly.

He leans in even more, his face a study in concentration.

"Where did you say we're staying?"

He smiles back at her, shaking his head. "Don't worry. The room will be there for us, I promise. "

"Seriously, It's getting late and..."

"Nice try," he says, smiling smugly at her. "And just in case you're really wondering, it's not far away at all."

"How far?" she asks quickly.

"I think I'll have coffee," he says, glancing down at the menu. "Irish coffee, actually." He looks back up at her and smiles innocently.

She simply smiles back at him. "Make that a double. But don't think, Harry, that I can't see through your subterfuge. Trying to change the subject and all. Not very subtle, either, you know. Not at all. " And she lowers her voice, "especially for being a ...you know." And she stares across at him.

He laughs outright. "Well, neither are you."

"Huh. You think you're too smart for me, don't you?" she says, her dimples flashing.

"Not at all," he replies. "In fact, I know I'm not. But in this case. Miss Evershed, you will just have to wait." And he gestures for the server.

xoxo

Not long after, each holding a fork in their hands, the remnants of the pie in front of them, they drain the last of their coffee.

"People are waiting," she says, crumpling her napkin and placing it next to her mug. "We really should give them the seats." And grabbing her shopping bag next to her, begins to rise.

"Yes," he nods, following suit. "We should."

Moments later, once again they are outside. One hand now resting on the car handle, she asks, "Ok. Really. Where are we going?"

He shrugs. Then smiles.

"Harry. Really."

His only answer is to walk a few steps towards the boot of the car.

Nonplussed, she stares at him.

Popping it open, he reaches inside for the overnight bag containing their change of clothes. "Told you it's not far. Not far at all. "He says, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She looks at the bag in his hand. Then follows his gaze.

Her mouth drops open. "Here? The Bailey's?"

He nods.

"Harry! Here?"

"Is it ok?" He asks, grinning, knowing the answer.

"Oh!" She says. "I can't believe it!"

"I am, " he says, dropping his voice, "a spy, you know. And a damn good one," he adds, shifting the overnight bag in his hand a bit.

"You!" She says. "All this time you...I can't believe that you..." In her excitement, she steps back a bit, her heel catching the edge of the kerb. She teeters and begins to pitch forward. "Oh!"

His hand shoots out and grabs her, catching just in time. "Good God, Ruth. Are you ok?"

She clutches at his arm. Then nods. "Yes," she says, a bit out of breath. "But I'm afraid my shoe is not." And still holding onto him, she raises her right foot, showing him the shoe and the broken heel, now hanging off to one side.

He shakes his head. "Those damn shoes. I knew they...Never mind," he says. "As long as you're ok. Did you twist your ankle?"

"No, " she says, moving it around a bit. "It's fine. But now I ..."

"Don't worry," he says in all earnestness, "If I have to carry you..."

She begins to giggle. "Carry me?" Then catching the look on his face, bites her lip. "Sorry. I know you could if you had to. But, you won't." And leaning into his arm, she removes the damaged shoe, her foot still suspended a few inches off the ground.

"You're not planning on walking barefoot into the hotel are you? It's freezing out."

"Won't have to," she says. "Open my bag. Please. Unless you really want to carry me," she adds, biting her lip again.

He nods. And with her still leaning into him, he quickly unzips the bag and begins to rummage through it.

"Right there." She says, shifting her weight a bit, her shopping bag still clutched in her other hand.

"Where? I don't see another pair of shoes. Just your slippers."

"Right. " She says, shifting again, her exposed foot still in the air and growing colder by the moment.

"Don't you have another pair of -?"

"Harry. Slippers. Now."

He complies. And holding onto him still, she removes her other shoe then steps into her slippers, one foot at a time. Finally, she lets go and looks down in satisfaction at her now warm feet, encased in fuzzy and bright pink slippers. The very same ones she had worn when he had returned from Catherine's house on that stormy night not too long ago.

He smiles at her, shaking his head. "Well. Perhaps you'll start a new style." And begins to laugh in earnest.

"Do shut up, Harry," she says. "You've been after me all night for my taste in shoes. Now you will just have to walk with me wearing these." And she laughs as well, her peals of laughter filling the street.

"I'm fine with it if you are."

And shoes dangling in one hand, shopping bag in the other, she walks the remaining few feet to the hotel with him at her side.

x0x0x00x0x0x

And the party continues...

**informal poll:

Oh, and please let me know (here is fine) if Harry's use of "my dear" should be left in the rubbish bin! (Or as we say here—in the garbage.) My own dear hubby calls me "my dear" and although I think it's terribly sweet, perhaps others do not. So, will much appreciate it if you'll let me know, please! And if you have a suggestion as to how H should call R, [sweetie, my love, etc.] feel free to add it as well! And if there is a majority, I will edit accordingly, using it as a thank you AND shout out to all to of you! xo

And a happy birthday to all, whenever and however you celebrate it!

:)