The view from on top of the hill which rose behind the farmhouse was not breathtaking, nor was it beautiful. In Grace's eyes Essex had never been beautiful. The view took in the Blackwater and the two islands, Northey and Osea. She would have preferred the open sea, but as she often told herself, beggars could not be choosers, and while she was no beggar, nor was she free to choose. She lived with Uncle Frank and Auntie Maisie on their farm, and during the day she worked as their farm hand. Her cousin Reg had died in the war, and she had stepped into his shoes.

It was not the life she'd planned for herself, but with each day that passed that plan faded, until it was little more than scratch marks in the sand, washed smooth by the tide.

Great Yarmouth – next morning – 10.58 am:

Graham had asked that they meet at the very same coffee shop where Ruth had lain in wait for Derek Mitchell. Was it only just under four weeks ago? Ruth didn't mind at all, after all she had gone there willingly, effectively entrapping the man. She felt able to view the shop as the site of her most recent exercise in the field, and perhaps her most successful, notwithstanding the unfortunate murder of Mitchell, which may have been inevitable.

Graham ordered lattes for them both and a selection of Danish pastries. "I'm always hungry," he explained, when Ruth's eyes took in the food on the table in front of them.

"You'll have to eat the lot yourself, then," she said. "I only just ate breakfast."

They spent a few minutes catching up on the events of the last few days – especially since Graham's car had been stolen, and for several awful minutes, Harry had believed his son to be dead.

"I slept through the whole thing," Graham explained to Ruth, "so when Dad rang me I was mainly irritated by being woken during the night."

"I've never seen him like that. We lost a number of our operatives during the time I worked on your father's team, and while he was shocked and saddened by their loss, he had to think of the team, and keep everyone together and focussed. He never seemed to take time out for himself, so when he believed you'd died, it was as if someone had extinguished the light inside him."

Graham had no response to that. He was shocked, and even a little pleased by his father's apparent grief. There was still a small part of him that wanted to hurt Harry, but mostly he was able to keep that part in check.

"You have something to discuss with me?" Ruth asked at last.

Graham nodded. "I suppose I'm searching for wise counsel, and you're not so close to me that you'd be invested in my decision regarding this .. issue." He looked down at his latte, and turned the glass around, just to occupy his hands. "This is about a woman." Ruth nodded and smiled. "But it's complicated. She's married."

Ruth's eyes widened as she remembered what she'd said to Harry the night they'd believed Graham had died. "I thought it might be."

"Does Dad know what you suspect?"

"I .. I have no idea, but he may. He was a little miffed that you hadn't wanted to confide in him, but I tried to explain to him why you might feel that way."

"Did he understand?"

"I think so. In a way. Tell me about this woman, Graham."

"Like I said, she's married, but not happily. They got married very young. She's twenty-eight, and she's been married for ten years."

"Children?"

"No."

Ruth nodded, filing away the information. "How did you meet?"

"She's an event manager, and she organised several events at the café where I work. We hit it off straight away."

"How long have you known her?"

"Nearly six months."

"Six months .. but you were sleeping with that girl who got killed."

Graham looked down to where he was drawing concentric circles on the tabletop with his finger. "At the time I was … seeing Maddie, Myf and I had decided to call it a day. She was worried about hurting her parents, her husband's parents, and everyone else she could think of, so I thought, why not? It was just sex with Maddie. With Myf it's .. closer to what you and Dad have."

Well, he'd sucked her in with that comment, hadn't he? Ruth couldn't help but smile. "For your sakes I hope there are less long silences and stamping of feet."

"I take it that's from Dad and not from you." Graham looked up at her with a glint in his eyes.

Ruth nodded. "Your father is sometimes a difficult man, but I find that in the final analysis, he's worth it."

"Around a week ago Myf called me to say she's ready to leave her husband. She wants us to get a place together and live together. I want that, but I'm hardly in a position to pull my weight in the partnership. I mean, I only work part time, I have no car, I share house with a bunch of sweaty mates, and I regularly visit my father."

"But surely she already knows all that."

"She does, and she said she doesn't care. She earns good money, and doesn't mind helping to support me. I'm not sure I feel comfortable about being supported."

Ruth sat back in her chair and watched this man who so resembled his father. Her mind raced ahead. As she saw the situation, she and Harry had the solutions Graham needed. Dare she tell him? What if he reacted in the same way Harry would react? The son was certainly a chip off the old block. The apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Like father, like son. She couldn't remember all the myriad sayings which would describe the uncanny similarity between Harry and Graham.

"I think that your dad and I may be able to help you."

"I don't want your charity."

"Perhaps not, but if this woman leaves her marriage to live with you then you are going to need it."

And so Ruth shared with Graham the offer she and Harry had planned. By the time Ruth had outlined the whole plan, Graham had moved from sulky to half-listening, and then to interest, and finally barely concealed enthusiasm. "You'd do that for me?"

"It's Harry's idea. The car will belong to you, and there are no strings, and no expectation that you pay Harry back."

"Even if I want to?"

"You still owe money to your mother, so it's hardly practical."

"What about the flat? He can't just give that to me."

"No, and he won't. Harry and I will own it. It will be our investment property, and you will be expected to pay rent. When you move on, then it will still be ours, but for as long as you look after it and need it, you'll be free to live there."

Graham sat back in his chair and watched Ruth closely. Then he said something that perhaps had a grain of truth to it. "You know, Ruth … had Dad not been with you, I very much doubt he'd be making me such a generous offer."

"The car was his idea, but I encouraged it. His main concern was that you would refuse his offer of help."

"Had you not been the one to make the offer, I no doubt would have refused it."

Oh, how much like his father was he? Stubborn, obstinate, self-defeating, often irrational; yes, Graham was most definitely his father's son.

They met Harry in a small pub only two blocks from Sarah's restaurant. Harry had looked for flats for sale. Apart from the requirement that the flat be close to the restaurant, as well as Great Yarmouth College, it also needed to have safe parking for residents' cars.

"You're making massive assumptions, Dad," Graham had said, scrolling through the flats for sale in the area.

"Only that you'll be offered an apprenticeship. I expect that to happen."

Graham looked up at him, his eyes flashing in much the same way Harry's did when he was angry. "Working in a kitchen is difficult enough, but when there are personality clashes, it's the last one hired who gets shown the door."

Harry knew that to be so, so he kept any further comments to himself.

"Perhaps we need to look at cars first," Ruth said, hoping that her calm approach would cool the air between father and son.

By four in the afternoon Harry had bought a 2010 Suzuki Swift in bright red for Graham, and they had inspected five flats, and Ruth and Harry had submitted an offer on one – a second storey, two-bedroom apartment, which was clean and newly redecorated. Graham was so rapt with the car that he was happy to live anywhere at all, so long as he didn't have to share a bathroom with three other men. "I'll pay you back," he said, eyeballing Harry.

"You don't have to, son. It's a gift to you .. for all the times I was too busy to give you the attention you craved."

"Perhaps when I've dumped Harry in one of those homes for the aged and confused you can assist me with the fees," Ruth said with a distinct twinkle in her eye.

Graham grinned and reached out his hand. "That's a deal," he said, and he and Ruth shook hands, while Harry looked from one to the other, hoping they were joking.

"You were joking, weren't you?" Harry asked, as he turned the car off the A12.

"About what?" As if she didn't know. Harry had been bursting from the effort of holding in his enquiry ever since they had left Graham in Yarmouth.

"You know what, Ruth."

Of course she did. She was just playing with him. "You mean the reference I made to putting you in a nursing home." It was a statement and not a question. Harry said nothing. Ruth knew it was down to her to put things right. "I'd only consider that were I to no longer be able to care for you, or .. if you began to get difficult."

"Difficult? Me? I'm a lamb."

"Of course you are," she replied, reaching across to place her palm on his thigh. Harry took his left hand from the wheel and quickly squeezed her hand, and then lifted it and placed it back on her lap. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't be sorry, Ruth. Save the affection for when we get home."

They travelled in near silence, and once they arrived home Harry began preparing dinner.

"Can we talk first?" Ruth asked, wearily placing her bag on a chair.

"Sure," he said, "but look at that."

Ruth followed Harry's gaze, and there on the bottom stair, curled in a ball, was Misty the kitten. "She was there when I came down the stairs first thing this morning," Ruth said. "I think she was waiting for me. We'll have to watch where we put our feet."

Harry sat at the table opposite Ruth, waiting for her to begin, so she sat in the chair next to where she'd dumped her bag. Hearing a small squeak behind her, Ruth turned her head to see Misty crossing the floor from the foot of the stairs. "I don't know why we bother with a pet bed," she said. "Misty never uses it." with that, the kitten took a leap at Harry's trousered leg and clung to him, her claws grabbing at the material of his trousers, and clearly through to his skin.

"Bloody hell!" he called out, and then reached down to detach Misty from his leg.

"Careful. You'll frighten her."

"Frighten her? She just took around five years off my life."

"She's gorgeous."

"Gorgeous, but lethal."

"If you say so."

"Oh, right, so it's two females against one poor male."

"You're hardly a `poor male'."

Harry had already lifted Misty and held her on his lap, curtailing her wandering tendencies with his hands. "She'll settle down now," he said as he stroked the back of her head with one finger.

"I'm planning to spend the next three months writing," Ruth began, "solidly. The novel has a firm plan – which my editor has okayed – and I would like to have it ready to submit for publication by mid September."

"That's only a little over three months."

"I know, but I know my characters, so writing it should be a breeze from here on. Angela emailed me yesterday suggesting September next year for the launch. So, once I've sent it off, I will be in desperate need of a holiday."

Harry grinned at her. He liked that idea. He liked it a lot. "How about Paris?" he said softly. "I've always wanted to take you there."

"I'll be happy with anywhere, so long as you are with me."

From threatening to dump him in a nursing home to saying something like that. How had she managed to wrap him around her finger like that? He sighed and then smiled. "I'll do some online research then, shall I?"

Ruth nodded. "There's just one more thing." Harry lifted his eyebrows. "I'm planning to write for at least six hours each day, longer if the muse remains. I'm a little worried about you. How will you spend your time?"

Harry sat back in his chair, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. "I wasn't going to tell you this right now, but … perhaps this is the right time."

Ruth felt her stomach drop. The worst possible news would be that he was considering doing contract work for MI5. He was much too old, he was out of practise, and she needed him at home. When she shared her concerns he smiled across the table at her. "That's not quite the kind of contract work I'm about to embark upon," he said carefully. "I'm about to begin my first assignment. While you're busy in your office, I've set up my laptop in the living room."

"Doing what? Harry, don't tell me what you'll be doing is dangerous. We plan to live peacefully into old age, remember?"

"I've found it difficult to simply go cold turkey. The section chief who replaced me – her name is Erin Watts – has asked me to do some investigating into our own government. She's uncomfortable having the work done from Thames House, but I can do it from here. She suspects that our Home Secretary is .. dodgy."

"They're all dodgy, Harry. You were the one to teach me that."

"This isn't necessarily anti-terrorist work, but it's relevant. What if the worst of the terrorists are on our side? What if what we're doing in the Middle East, in Syria and elsewhere is inciting terrorism on our shores?"

"I consider that a given. What can she do about it when you prove her suspicions correct?"

"Erin can pretend to comply."

Ruth gave a small laugh, which stopped when she noticed that Harry was serious. "You don't mean resist, do you?"

"No, Ruth. Resisting was what I did. Even with Towers, the last Home Secretary -"

"The tubby one with a quaint turn of phrase?"

"That's the one. As politicians go, he was a decent man, but there were times when I had to .. resist his wishes, and look for alternative solutions."

"Is this to be like Wikileaks? Will you be the new Julian Assange, or Edward Snowden?"

"God, I hope not. This work will be soft by comparison to their contribution."

"And what will happen to the evidence you have on Tony Blair and Co?"

"At this stage, nothing. I'm not a whistle blower, Ruth. I value my life here with you, and I have no wish to be throwing it away, even for a good cause."

Ruth stared through the window to the back garden where quite heavy drizzle was falling. "And in your spare time you'll be building a glass house around the vegetable garden." Harry nodded. "So between protecting our emerging vegetable patch and protecting me, you'll still be saving the world."

"That's the theory, Ruth."

Ruth turned her eyes to him and watched him for a few moments. He was more than an aging man who was kind and caring and passionate. He was her own personal knight in shining armour, and she wouldn't want him to be any other way.

"Just keep me informed," she said, and he nodded.

"I have every intention of doing so."