He's found a spot inside the pavilion from which he can watch the cricket on the large flat-screen TV located on the far wall and also keep an eye on the pool, which unfortunately appears to be currently overrun by children. There are about twenty adults here today, he estimates, and half as many children.
Sadly, Ruth has yet to make an appearance in her bathing suit.
He can wait though.
He's good at the waiting game, especially when there's cricket to watch in the mean time – even if England's game leaves a lot to be desired at the moment, and Mick and his friends are gloating.
He who laughs last, laughs best. Come on, England!
Ruth seems to have disappeared inside the house with her friends, no doubt doing whatever it is that women do when men aren't around. He's never worked out that particular mystery despite his many years as a spy.
Probably for the best. Of some things in life, it is best to not know a great deal, and sometimes, nothing at all.
Ruth's watched a bit of cricket, mainly as an excuse to be near Harry, but most of the morning has been spent catching up with her friends, now that they're all still sober. It's amazing the difference it makes; they're all acting almost normal! She doesn't hold out much hope of it lasting though – not once Bridget starts making the cocktails.
In the meantime, there's so much to tell! She hasn't really kept in touch for several years now – not since she made the move to London. So much has changed, yet at the same time, it feels like yesterday that they were carefree students together. She's the only one who read Classics. June studied Philosophy, Politics and Economics, like Harry, she can't help but remember.
She smiles as she thinks of him and gets up. "Just going to..." She indicates vaguely over her shoulder.
"Can't stay away from him long, can you, Ruth?"
"Yeah. He's got you well and truly snared."
"Not that I blame you, mind. He's scrumptious. I get first dibs if it doesn't work out."
"Maggs!"
"What?"
She smiles as their voices fade when she steps out of the house. They really are mad, her friends, but she loves them dearly and she's missed them, despite their relentless teasing. She feels freer with them than she does with anyone else. They've known her so long that she can be more herself, more like she used to be before she became a spy. It's liberating in many ways, in spite of having to pretend she works for DEFRA. She'll have to make the effort to meet up with them more often, preferably when they're sober and especially now that they'll have to stop with the matchmaking. She works too hard anyway. It'll do her good to have more of a life outside work and – who knows? – perhaps she can persuade Harry to play the dutiful boyfriend again next time.
She smiles at the thought despite the niggle of worry that's wormed its way into her heart. It's becoming alarmingly easy to get lost in the fantasy of being with Harry now and more real every time he's near.
You're playing with fire, Ruth, and you're going to get burnt.
But she can't back out now. It wouldn't be fair. She brought him here. He's only helping her out.
Is he though? What about the presents? The way he looks at me?
All part of the legend, she tells herself crossly.
Just today, she promises herself, then she'll step back to guard her heart.
This has to be the last time, no matter how much she might long to do it again. And again. And again.
It's not real, Ruth. Get a grip.
She takes a deep breath and steps into the pavilion.
Right. I can do this. And enjoy it while it lasts.
"How's it going?" she asks, boldly running her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.
"Pretty bleak. It's 244 for 8 with seven balls remaining." He sighs, but then lifts his eyes to hers and smiles up at her, humming with pleasure at her continued caresses. "I like that," he confesses softly.
"I know you do," she lies. In truth, it's the first time she's ever touched him like this and it feels quite wonderful. His hair is so soft and it's making his eyes grow darker by the second, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. It's mesmerising and thrilling all at the same time.
Christ! I'm in so much trouble.
How can they go back to being just colleagues tomorrow? How do the rest of the team cope when they come back from the field, she wonders.
The way he's looking at her is sending her heart into overdrive and she can feel the dampness pooling between her legs.
She doesn't, can't think as her lips are drawn inexorably towards his. She can't do anything but sigh into his mouth when he pulls her onto his lap. She's powerless to stop the whimper from escaping her as his large, warm hand slips under her top and up her back, his fingers gently running up her spine.
"Get a room, you two," Mick's laughing voice brings her back to reality with a bump. "We're trying to watch the game here."
She blushes, turning her face to bury it in his neck, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment.
Good God, but he smells divine!
She feels his chest quiver as he chuckles, his hand slipping down to rest against her lower back, still inside her top.
Then she hears him say, "If you insist, Mick. Should we take the master bedroom or one of the guest rooms?"
"Ha!" Mick's laughter is explosive.
"Harry!" she protests, thumping his chest with her fist as she leans back, her cheeks redder than ever.
"What? It wasn't my idea, Ruth. Blame Mick."
"Insufferable man," she huffs, extracting herself from his lap and leaving the pavilion with as much dignity as she can muster, the laughter of the others following her out.
"You're in trouble now, Mate," Dave grins.
"Yeah," Bill laughs. "You and England both."
"We'll rally," he replies with an easy grin though, privately, he's not so sure. Things look pretty bad for England and he can't help worrying that he just pushed things too far with Ruth.
He hadn't meant to do it. He'd intended a quick, chaste brush of their lips, but she'd responded so quickly, so perfectly, that he hadn't been able to hold himself back.
Self-control, self-denial, he reminds himself sternly.
He'll be the perfect gentleman from now on and hope that he hasn't ruined everything already.