Ruth sat within the circle of Harry's arm and said nothing. He certainly was a man of hidden qualities, the most recent being his ability to stun her into silence.

"It's OK with me if you don't want to get married. So long as we're together, marriage isn't necessary, really."

"I know you want to marry me, Harry. You said so before – the day of Ros's funeral. But you have never actually asked me. Will you please just ask?"

"I asked you after Ros's funeral -"

"Harry, you gave an order. Your words were: Marry me, Ruth."

"Did I? I meant it as an implied question. Is that why you said no?"

"No, not really. I just felt there were too many complications in our relationship then, too many things left unsaid, and too many ambiguities, too many secrets, too many deaths. The deaths, Harry. How could we have possibly considered marriage when so many of our friends were dying? To have done so seemed profane. Things are clearer now."

Ruth waited. Perhaps he was hurt or offended, and if he was, then he'd better get over it.

Harry turned a little, took his arm from around her shoulders, and took her hand in both of his.

"Ruth. Will you do me the honour of being my wife? Officially, that is, because I consider you to already be my wife. I think it's time we formalise our relationship, just in case you decide to change your mind about us, and run away again."

Ruth laughed lightly. It wasn't the most romantic of proposals, but it was Harry's proposal, and that was all that mattered.

"Come live with me and be my love

And we will all the pleasures prove...." Ruth quietly quoted Christopher Marlowe. She wasn't showing off. She felt that Marlowe matched the occasion. The small fact that he'd lived in 16th century England seemed like a minor detail.

"I could never have come up with the right quote, Ruth," Harry said. "Maybe I should have left the proposing to you."

"Of course I'll marry you, Harry. I consider it an honour that you have at last asked me."

Still holding her hand in both his hands, he leaned in to her and kissed her chastely.

"There, that's us engaged," he said quietly.

He then rose quickly and walked to the kitchen. Ruth heard him opening and closing drawers. After a minute or two he returned to the sitting room with both his hands behind his back.

"Close your eyes," he said, a smile in his voice.

Ruth closed her eyes.

She felt him near her, the heat of him radiating from his body. He took her left hand in one of his. She then felt him tie something around the ring finger on her hand.

"Open your eyes," he said.

On her ring finger Harry had tied a length of string – the kind once used to tie up brown paper parcels. Threaded through the string – in place of a gemstone – was a small orange bead which, along with the other beads from a broken necklace (possibly belonging to Justine), had been thrown in the drawer with all the other bits and pieces.

"Now it's official," Harry said, kissing her lightly on the lips, then putting his lips to the `ring' on her finger.

He was a man full of surprises. Harry Pearce, man of action, former chief of MI-5, Knight of the Realm, protector of Queen and country, was kneeling by her side, wearing the widest of smiles because he had presented her with a home-made symbol of their betrothal. Total cost? £0

"I'll buy you a proper ring when next we go to London."

"Oh, no you won't, Harry. I want this one."

And she meant it.

Soon after they became `engaged' they retired to bed.

While nestling together under the duvet, the curtains pulled back to allow the moonlight to bathe them, they talked of marriage and what they expected from it.

"It won't change us, will it Harry?"

"I doubt it."

"You do realise you'll be marrying Eva Carlson. I'll have to use my legal name."

"That's fine with me, so long as you know that I'll be expecting to spend the remainder of my life with Ruth Evershed."

"Harry, that is one of the most beautiful things you've ever said!"

"Even better than my proposal?"

"Infinitely so."

He turned towards her and kissed her softly and slowly. Her hands sought his chest, and she began slowly to undo the buttons of his pyjama top, running the tips of her fingers over his bare chest until she reached a nipple. She flicked his nipple with her fingernail. Harry, taking his lips from hers, pushed her hand away.

"Not until after we're married, Ruth. You know it's wrong."

Her laughter broke the moment, sending them both back on to their respective pillows, each overcome by waves of uncontrollable giggling. They laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. For Ruth and Harry, this was a release easily as necessary as sex. They lay side by side in a state of exhausted pleasure, both still smiling.

"Harry, you can't believe how much like my mother you sounded when you said that."

"Glad to be of service."

And after a while -

"Harry -"

"Mm?"

"There was a third thing you mentioned."

"I thought you were maybe avoiding talking about it."

"No, I think it's best we do...talk about it, not avoid it."

"I'm happy to have children with you if that's what you want, Ruth. I won't deny you that just because I've had a family."

"That's just it. I'm not even sure that I can. Statistically, I'm already too old."

"Bugger the statistics!"

"I tried to get pregnant with a steady boyfriend back in my early thirties, and nothing happened."

"Maybe you were not compatible genetically – it happens."

"Maybe."
Ruth wasn't sure how she felt about having children. Were she to conceive now, she'd be almost 66 when the child reached 21, and Harry would be 81. Put like that, the idea seemed fanciful and self indulgent, even selfish.

"It's not as though you're Rupert Murdoch, Harry."

"I should bloody well hope not! What brought that on?"

"He had his last two children while in his 70's. I was just thinking how old we'd both be when a child we'd created this month turned 21. It's hardly fair on the child, and it's not fair on you."

"I'm happy with whatever you want, Ruth. I've hardly been a model father."

"Let's just deal with what we can manage first – a house, a wedding. Perhaps that will be enough for us."

"I already have enough right at this moment, Ruth. Anything more than what we have now is a level of abundance I'd never imagined would be mine."

They slipped into sleep, their betrothal blessed by the moon, the stars, and no doubt also the angels and the archangels. That night their bedroom was awash with moonlight and protected by love. The Eiffel Tower snow dome, which sat permanently on Ruth's bedside table, gleamed in the light from the moon.

These last 2 chapters have been my own favourites so far. They wrote themselves, and all I had to do was press the right keys in the correct order.

Around 2 chapters to go – maybe 3. I can't make this go forever, although I'd quite like to see if I could!