Harry saw her before she saw him. She was leaning over a wall, looking out on the Thames. Marie-Elise Daquise. He walked towards her and knew he'd hear her steps. She was too good at her job not to. "They changed it," she said, her accent just audible over her fluent English. "What happened to the pub?"

"It closed down," Harry said. She turned to look at him, and he remembered everything about her. She was still as she had been twelve years ago, when he'd last seen her. The sheen on her blonde hair was slowly fading into grey, but otherwise she was just as she always had been. So vibrant and alive. Marie smiled at him, she couldn't help it.

"It is so good to see you Harry."

"It is," he agreed, surprising himself at the truth of those words. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"I know you're angry with me," Marie said. "I would never have hurt her. The gun, it was empty, I wasn't going to shoot her, no matter what happened."

"Now I know that it was you who threatened her, I actually believe that," Harry said, standing next to her and folding his arms on the wall and watching the river flow by. "But that doesn't excuse it, Ruth was terrified. She's been through so much, and she didn't deserve it." Harry sighed, but Marie gave no apology. Not that he expected her to. "Marie, what have you gotten yourself into? And why on earth did you leave your job?"

"You've been looking into me?" she asked. "Ah, of course you have. I didn't leave, I was pushed."

"That's not what I found out. You weren't sacked."

"Well, no," Marie said. "But that's because I chose to leave with dignity. A teenager came along who was young, beautiful, pretty and could do the same job as me for half the price. If I hadn't left, I'd have been sacked. I wanted to leave with an ounce of grace. And it's nice to be spoken about as the best there ever was. If I'd have stayed, I'd have been told I was "losing my touch." I couldn't have that."

"Ah," Harry said. "That must hurt, being ousted for a glamorous counterpart."

"Harry, don't be cruel," she said. "I'm getting old, and I know it. Though you…. you still look the same as the last time I saw you."

"And you're being kind," he said. "I have more lines and many more worries than I ever did back then."

"Speaking of more glamorous counterparts…" Marie started.

"Don't say it," Harry replied, but his voice was light. Marie Elise always did this to him. Made him forget how serious things were and become involved in some light hearted verbal sparring. He enjoyed it, and he knew it, but somehow that didn't help him break the pattern.

"Why are you with that Ruth creature? She's so plain and dowdy… and so very English."

"I'm very English," Harry countered. "And Ruth is… she's Ruth," he finished, because it was true, and he didn't feel like explaining her many finer points with Marie.

"She's too plain for you," Marie said. Not in a tone of jealousy, just a simple statement of fact. "You're so passionate and immediate and alive, you need a woman who can match you."

"She does match me," Harry said quietly. "Why did you want to meet me?" he asked, bringing it back to the subject in hand.

"To apologise," she said. "I needed money. I've…" she sighed. "It's distasteful, but I gamble." She sighed and shook her head, looking disappointed with herself. "I've spent too much money. And with the fact that I had to leave my job… well, I needed more money than I make. I've been taking little jobs for petty criminals. I have marketable skills you see. Nothing serious, and nothing to implicate me, or have me taken back to Paris, but… I needed money."

"And Charles Thomas paid you?"

"It was one small favour," Marie said. "I had to deliver a note. No one would get hurt. It seemed simple. Then I realised you were involved." She sighed heavily. "And nothing with you involved is ever simple. I'm sorry Harry."

"How much did he pay you?"

"Enough," she said unhelpfully.

"When did you meet him? Originally, I mean."

"When he was in prison," she said. "And I'm not going into what happened Harry. That's private." He shrugged and waited for more. "But I do feel like I owe you something. I didn't mean to… well." She handed him another note.

"What is it?" he asked, handling it gingerly.

"It's where Charles Thomas wants to meet you," she said. "It's where he'll be in a weeks time. Don't go Harry. Please."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't go?"

"He wants to kill you," Marie said. "He wants to destroy you. If you go, you will simply be playing into his hands. Call the police, or back up, of whatever it is you have in this country. Do not go on your own."

"But the police, they'll take him into custody. They won't kill him."

"Is that what you want? Thomas dead?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Apart from what he did to Ruth, he's a dangerous man. He's bombed the city I love, changed the landscape, and I hardly think the general public would want him alive and on our streets, able to bomb again."

"Well, you have the information," Marie said, nodding at the envelope. "Do what you will with it."

"Thank you," he said reluctantly. "Don't get involved with anything stupid again."

"Well, you know me," she said. "I always did live on the edge."

"Marie, this was foolish."

"Yes," she said easily. "It was."

"I'm never going to see you again am I?"

"No," she said. "I'm going back to France. And I'm going to stay there. And you won't leave here. Even years ago I knew that. You are British to the very bone Harry Pearce."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said with a smile.

Marie chuckled. "It is a compliment. You know, you remind me of that poem."

"What poem?"

"That Rupert Brooke one. If I should die, think only this of me," she quoted. "That there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England."

"Ah," he said.

"You spent some time in MI6, a long time ago. And that poem always did remind me of you Harry. Nothing on this beautiful earth would make you turn away from your homeland. I envy that steadfastness sometimes."

She kissed his cheek, much to his surprise. "Goodbye Harry." She turned and walked away, her heels clicking on the street. He watched her leave, and then turned to look at the river again.

"Oh Marie. You stupid woman."


So I tried to write Harry hating Marie, but it just didn't work out that way. Hope it's not too unbelievable. Thank you for the great reviews. More soon.