Late in the afternoon, Harry asks me to help Ruth out with some research, which involves venturing into the dusty and dreaded Paper Archive (I have to be sure to take my inhaler with me, whenever I go in), but in the circumstances, I am very glad to get off the Grid and away from her presence. I spend a fruitful hour in my shirtsleeves amongst dusty boxes and paper files, glad of the quiet, slightly musty-smelling coolness which reminds me of the Scientific Periodicals Library at Cambridge. Ordering my research into a logical sequence is calming, and I become so absorbed in my work that I don't hear the door open behind me. Ruth can be as soft-footed as a cat, and when her hand touches my shoulder, my heart nearly stops altogether in shock.
I spin around to face her, shaking off that intolerably gentle hand as I turn, sending my neatly compiled papers sliding across the polished linoleum floor. Awkwardly, I scramble out of my chair, and feel better once I am standing up. I take a couple of steps back, putting some distance between us. I don't yet know what's going on here, but I want to meet whatever it is on my feet. "Ruth! You surprised me," I begin, my voice higher than usual. She smiles – the first smile I have seen from her today – and says, "I can see that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you," and her voice is full of warmth, her eyes gleaming with gentle amusement. We could be back in the hotel room again, so changed is her demeanour now from her frosty mien earlier. She takes a step nearer, and my pulse rate escalates; another step, and she is standing close enough to lay her hand softly over my heart, palm flat to my chest, fingers splayed...my heart is in her hands, I think absurdly. I instinctively reach out for her; then, remembering her earlier baffling, hurtful behaviour, I take another step back instead, until the centrally placed table that runs down the middle of the Archive blocks my way. Her hand slips away, and a look of confusion passes across her face.
In that moment, I realise that she doesn't know what's going on, either, and that both terrifies me and fills me with foolish hope. "Ruth, what's going on? Have I done something to upset you?" I ask, in a slightly more normal tone of voice. She stares at me, then, anger flaring in her eyes, "Well, you did leave me crying my eyes out, but I suppose that's how you leave all your women," she snaps, then puts a hand over her mouth as if shocked at her own words. I blink in pained surprise, and counter with, "But you said we couldn't be together, that this job chewed people up and spat them out, and you didn't want that to happen to us. We're spooks, our best assets are supposed to be our self-restraint and self-denial. What else was I meant to do? And then today…I never knew you could be so unkind, Ruth." Her eyes haven't left my face as I speak, and I see all the conflicting emotions flickering in them as she listens. The air between us is tense; I finger the inhaler in my pocket uncomfortably, and force myself to breathe deeply, calmly, even though I feel anything but calm.
Ruth is silent for a few moments after I finish speaking, and then she nods, looking down at the floor between us, at the papers lying there. "I shouldn't have said that, about the job chewing people up. And I know I've been weird today…I was terrified that I'd give myself away, out there, in front of them all. This…us…what happened, is none of their business. I won't be talked about, Malcolm. I can't. I couldn't bear it. I've never done anything like this before, never become involved with a friend, or a colleague. I don't know how to be…" her voice gives way, and I see my opportunity. "I would never do or say anything to make you uncomfortable, and I understand that you want to keep your private life off the Grid. Believe me, so do I. Very much indeed." I push thoughts of Harry out of my mind as hope swells again in my heart. I can't help myself; I have loved her for too long.
She's here with me, talking to me; Harry is just a crush – the older, glamorous boss – a mere cliché – and if I can just hold her attention long enough for her to realise how much I love her, then I'm in with a fighting chance, or so I tell myself. Ruth smiles ruefully to herself, still looking at the floor, and then she steps forward until she is standing between my feet, barely inches away from me. She looks up through her lashes, and in her softest voice, she says, "We're a real pair, aren't we." I don't know what that means, so I ask, "Are we?" She moves closer, leaning towards me until her forehead is just touching my chest, her arms wrapped around herself protectively. I can feel the tension and hesitation in her, so when she straightens up to look at me, I fear I already have my answer. "Malcolm, can we just be friends? Or am I asking too much?" she wants to know.
My heart sinks, but I want to be part of her life in any capacity she will allow, and I am a very patient man. "Of course, we can be friends," I reply, and draw her closer for what I hope is a friend-type hug, before reluctantly releasing her. She beams up at me, her relief evident, and then laughs, pointing to the papers scattered all over the floor. "I really did give you a fright, then, I'm so sorry!" she chuckles, as she helps me to pick them up and sort them, then heads for the door. "I have to get back, Har..they'll wonder what's happened to me." I flinch internally at the sound of Harry's name, then hear myself say, "Ruth, you are allowed to mention our boss, you know". She nods once, eyes down, her hand already on the doorknob, and then she's gone. Why did I have to say that?
As her footsteps recede, I sink onto the nearest chair and bury my face in my hands as I try to get things straight in my mind regarding Ruth. We're friends, and that's all she wants, or so she says. But I've watched enough surveillance subjects in my time, and I can tell she's lying. She's lying to protect me, to protect herself, or to protect us, but she's still lying. I could feel her heart racing as I embraced her; then her breathing changed to short, shallow breaths, and she felt tense and tight. When she looked up at me, her pupils were enormous. In short, she was displaying all the textbook signs of arousal – or fear. Gathering up my research, I head back to the Grid, on my way to erase the last twelve minutes' footage from the cameras monitoring the Paper Archive. if I just loop it back and alter the time code, no-one will notice…or so I most fervently hope. No-one ever looks at the internal surveillance footage but me or Colin, anyway…Oh Ruth, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.