I keep thinking this will end every chapter but it just seems to keep going! Not long left ... surely!
"Would you like to walk for a while?"
The streets had been a comfort to him and now he thought he would like the memory of walking them with her.
She nodded, picked up her bag, smiled at the waiter and followed.
"How was Rome?" she asked.
He glanced at her, eyebrow raised.
"I may not be in Section D anymore, Harry, but I still have … means."
He smiled but chose not to answer.
"So, where next?"
"Florence, I think."
"Good choice."
"And what about you, Ruth, is this a flying visit?"
He tried not to weight the question, but for him, weighted it was.
"Yes," she said, "I suppose it is."
He masked the disappointment expertly.
"It was a miracle you escaped from Towers at all. He's very impressed, Ruth."
She hefted her bag from one shoulder to the other.
"I suspect he's a lot less so now,"
He looked at her questioningly.
"Told him I hadn't had a day off in two and a half years: that I was breaking every European working time directive; and if he didn't let me have at least a couple of days off, the Daily Mail would have a field day."
Harry laughed a warm, resonant laugh: it was balm to them both.
They walked and they talked and when it was too busy they turned away down the side streets, crossed the bridges and lost themselves besides the quiet canals.
"Do you want me to take that?" Harry asked, as Ruth began to swap her bag over once more.
"It's not quite your style. Harry," she smiled.
"It's not floral and it's not pink, I think I can cope."
"Thank you," she said, handing it to him.
"Dear god, Ruth, what have you got in here?" he dragged the leather strap onto his shoulder. The bag was rotund and incredibly heavy.
"Just a few bits and pieces."
"What and half the British Library?"
"There may be a couple of books in there," she shrugged.
"Feels more like the Rosetta stone. You really need a kindle, Ruth."
She grimaced at the very suggestion, as he knew she would.
"How long are you staying away for," she asked, in a quieter tone.
"The world's a big place," he sighed, "I don't know… until I've had enough."
They walked on.
Two galleries and one church later, Harry turned to her.
"Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous."
"Do you have time for lunch?" he glanced at his watch, surprised, "Or, practically dinner?"
"Yes, I think so."
They found a small square, well off the tourist route and sat outside one of the three restaurants, drinking crisp, cold white wine.
The sun began to drop behind the buildings and the shadows crept across their table. Harry recognized the shadow that was passing over Ruth.
"Do you feel safe?" she asked, suddenly.
"Safe? Here?"
"Travelling."
"I'm hardly backpacking, Ruth," he smiled.
"I mean … "
"He waited: one thing he had learned with her; sometimes it was better to wait.
"You know … what Elena said …"
He raised a disapproving eyebrow at the mention of the name.
"Former agents don't retire … we find them after unexplained 'accidents'. You can stop, Harry, but the secrets you hold: they don't stop; they live on."
He raised his glass, examining the pale colour of the wine.
"At the table behind us, three to the left, is an officer, I suspect DIA, he's on obs tailing the man in the cream jacket to our right. We have passed, as we were walking, one member of Six and several plainclothes Italian police."
His lips savoured the taste: the cool, sharp taste.
"It's true, Ruth, it doesn't all just stop."
"But there are so many out there, Harry. So many we've … so many with grudges. With more than grudges."
"I wasn't in it for making friends and influencing people."
"But…"
"Ruth, you're right. Someone could try and they might succeed: but I could, just as easily, leave this table in an hour, pick up your unfeasibly, ridiculously heavy bag and have a heart attack. Life's like that."
She wasn't laughing.
"But I can't feel like that again," she said quietly.
"Feel like what?"
It was her turn to take the wine: but she did not savour it; she needed it; she hid behind it.
"When … the gunshot … Elena."
"Nice to know we're not talking about her."
"When ... When I thought it was you, not her."
He leant forward, leaning across the table from her, eyes wide and warm and hopeful.
"And what were you feeling?"
She looked at the wine, swirling it around in the bottom of the glass.
"Like I have everytime I've been told you've been shot, stabbed, blown up, or probably thrown off the top of a large building," she glanced up at him, with a wry smile.
"Bit of a habit," he shrugged apologetically.
Distant church bells began to ring out across the city, the peels echoing closer, as one by one they joined together in announcing the hour.
"You still haven't answered my question, Ruth. How did you feel?"
She looked up at him, holding his gaze, not glancing away this time.
"Like everything I cared about had been taken from me."
He closed his eyes momentarily.
"You asked how Rome was?" he said.
She nodded.
"That's how Rome was."