Chapter 11

She had hoped to arrive quietly and discretely. She had hoped to slip in at the back and duck behind one of the huge Ionic columns before anyone she knew (or didn't know for that matter) spotted her. An arrival that drew the least possible attention to her, at the most.

Her plan was completely destroyed even before she stepped into the room: firstly, when Beth all but flung her into the ballroom; secondly as she almost knocked out someone as she fell through the door; and thirdly as she looked at the person she had almost sent flying in order to apologise, and locked gaze with Harry Pearce.

"Ruth? What on earth are you doing here?"

He sounded as shocked as she felt. I have no idea, she mumbled to herself, but the clamour of the ballroom was enough to drown out any sounds that left her lips. She lowered her eyes to the ground and bit her lip nervously, what little confidence she had before Beth forced her into the room now completely vanished.

Seeing her reaction to his shocked outburst, Harry kicked himself mentally. You idiot, he berated himself. You've only gone and made things worse.

He would have taken back his words and blabbered out an apology of his own, but he'd done enough damage already and lingering on the topic would, he knew, only make things worse for the both of them. Instead he straightened up and did what he ought to have done instead of blurting out his surprise; he gazed at Ruth, marvelling that she was there, true, but marvelling at her.

The dark blouses and long skirts she wore on the Grid did not do her justice, he decided, casting his eye appreciatively over the hidden curves now revealed, and across the expanse of creamy skin the dress exposed, up to her face. Her hair was swept upwards and held in place by a simple silver clasp while a few curled tendrils fell to frame her face, and the smoky grey colour dusted lightly over her eyelids complemented the allure of her eyes. Fastened around her wrist was the bracelet he had given her for her birthday the previous year, to match the delicate silver chain she often wore.

And, to top it all, she was wearing that dress. It skimmed her waist and hips and fell tumbling to the floor in a wave of teal satin, and rippled like a breeze over water when she moved even the tiniest amount. Even as she rubbed her arm in awkwardness at his attention, the dress fluttered with the movement, every bit as simultaneously flowing and form-fitting as he had always imagined. Ruth wasn't to know that Harry had already seen the dress, had passed the silken material through his fingers and lifted it up to his face to inhale her scent, had imagined her wearing it, then let tears fall at the knowledge he would never see such a sight. After she had gone into exile, he had paid a last visit to her house, trying to cling on to every memory he had of her. He had gently pushed open the door to her bedroom and stepped in, and something had compelled him over to the open wardrobe.

Now though, the reality was far and beyond anything he had imagined, and made even better by the fact that this vision was real, and she was here. Aware he was in danger of crossing the boundary between staring and gaping, Harry open opened his mouth to say something – anything. Before he could utter a word, he was interrupted.

"Ruth," Dimitri purred, practically elbowing Harry aside and coming to rest beside her. "You look wonderful."

She finally raised her gaze from the floor, and Harry watched her train her eyes on her colleague, his words stirring a flicker of confidence in her. "Really?" she murmured.

"A delicate balance between perfection and beauty," he replied, enunciating each word precisely.

His theatrical deliverance of the compliment drew out a smile from her. "Flatterer," she laughed, nudging him with her elbow.

"Fisher for compliments," he retorted.

"Flirt." Before he could bounce back with another response, she nudged him again, and nodded in the direction of one of the tables. "Beth's over there," she prompted him, and watched with a smile as he ducked away.

Unable to be cross with Dimitri for butting in on a non-existent conversation, especially when he had wheedled a smile out of Ruth, Harry now stepped up to her.

"Matchmaker," he chastised her gently.

She smiled up at him. "Someone ought to be. They need a bit of a nudge in the right direction."

He raised an eyebrow at the irony of her words. She looked away again, once more fascinated by the polished wooden floor.

Harry gazed at her softly. "Dimitri did get it right though," he murmured. "You do look beautiful."

She smiled slightly to the floor, still too shy or embarrassed to meet his eyes.

"Well," he amended, "almost right."

That got her attention. Her head snapped up. "Oh?" she asked, intrigued.

"I think we've seen enough evidence – right from your very first day on the Grid – that you and the word 'balance' should never belong in the same sentence."

Ruth tried to appear miffed and frown at him, but it barely lasted a second before his words educed a laugh that was part indignation and a part roll of her eyes, and part relief that the ice between them had been broken. They were still smiling at one another, eyes locked, when a bell rang and it was announced that dinner was served.

"Shall we?" Harry asked, offering her his arm.

It took every inch of his self-control not to react when she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. But it took even more than that when she gave him a smile that was for his eyes only, squeezed his arm gently, and pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

The most difficult chapter yet, but my favourite to write regardless. Hope you enjoyed!

I've put a link to my Photobucket folder on my profile, where you can see pictures of the venue for this dance (a real-life location used for formal governmental etc. occasions – Banqueting House, in Whitehall) and also an image of Ruth's dress. Many thanks must go to Lady Devonshire, who once again saved my neck by identifying the style of columns (because it would not do for Ruth to get that wrong!), who suggested Banqueting House as a venue all those months ago, and whose Photobucket folder idea I pilfered. Consider this chapter your payment ;D

Oh, and there's a few lines in here inspired by a scene in Doctor Who. Any DW viewers will probably be able to figure out which bit I'm talking about easily, but have a guess anyway! xxx