A/N: This is the final chapter. Thank you to all who have read this fic, and especially to the kind reviewers.

I have quite deliberately not rounded off the plot with a bow neatly tied. I rather like the idea that not everything is known, and not everyone got their comeuppance – at least, not within the time frame of the story.

Next day – Monday afternoon:

"Harry …. do you mind if I don't go with you? It's just that you and Graham need some time alone together and I don't especially wish to come between you."

"Whatever you want, Ruth. What are you planning to do?"

So she told him. She'd been worried about his reaction, but he understood and once the taxi arrived he kissed her goodbye at the door.

"Just watch out for tails," Harry warned as she stepped through the front door. The look she threw at him told him what she thought of him playing the worried husband.

"Don't come back with a car which is orange," she said. "I refuse to be seen in an orange car."

As if I would, he thought, closing the door behind her.

The taxi dropped her off at the cemetery gates, where she pulled her coat tightly around her as she headed towards the electronic grave location guide which nestled under the eaves of the main building. She keyed in the name and initial and immediately the position of the grave came up on the electronic display of the cemetery. She looked around, orienting herself and then headed off along the pathway.

The grave was quite a distance from the main building, so it took her well over five minutes to reach it. The grass around where the body had been interred had still not grown to match the surrounding grass. She'd brought a small bunch of yellow flowers, because to her mind he had been special – a golden child cut down too soon. She placed the flowers at the foot of the tombstone on which Max's name and dates of birth and death were recorded. Kneeling on the grass, she traced a finger over the etched letters of his name, a well of emotion sitting just beneath the surface.

Had someone asked her Ruth would have been loathe to say why it was she had been so moved by Max's short life, and then by his senseless death. Squatting beside his grave the truth hit her like a slap. For that brief time he had visited her and Harry while they were hiding away near Cromer, Ruth could imagine that he was their son, visiting them while he had a couple of days off from work. Ruth was shocked to admit to herself that she had fancied this young man may have been like the child that she and Harry might have had, had she been braver and more honest about them sooner. He'd been everything she could want in a child – brave, decent, honest and open – although knowing she and Harry, a child of theirs was more likely to have been wary, insecure, moody and neurotic. Ruth swallowed her tears, coughing to clear her throat. It was silly really. She and Harry were too damaged, too self absorbed to be parents. For them, and any child who may have been waiting in the wings to be born to them, things had turned out the way they should. It was better they each had the other, with no child to divide them, as children sometimes could.

Ruth had only just stood up, wondering how long she should stay there, thinking about this young man whom she had known only very briefly, when she sensed the approach of another person. Turning towards the sound of footsteps, she saw a young man slowly approaching. Perhaps a little older than Max, although shorter in stature, this young man had dark eyes and longish, thick dark curly hair. He smiled at her, but she was not ready to smile back at him, not until he had stated his business.

"Ruth?" the young man said, and noticing her expression, he slowed his pace, strolling towards her. "My name is Will …... Will Holloway."

"Oh, of course. Will. How did you know my name?"

Will stepped closer to Ruth, stopping short with still a yard or two between them. "Malcolm Wynn-Jones told me you'd be here."

"Malcolm? I've said nothing to Malcolm."

"Look over there," Will said, and beneath a spreading beech tree, hoping to be hidden, stood Malcolm. The older man lifted his hand in a greeting and Ruth waved back.

"Don't tell me Harry rang him."

"No. He rang Harry only minutes after you'd left home, and since I was visiting Malcolm, he suggested we both ….." Will's words ran out, and so he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked slightly bashful.

Ruth nodded, suddenly understanding his need to be there. One degree of separation. Thinking quickly, Ruth pulled her phone from the pocket of her coat. "Would you like to speak to Harry?" she asked. Will nodded and smiled, so she rang Harry's mobile. "Harry? Are you free to talk? I have someone here who wishes to speak to you."

"You're not communicating with the dead are you, Ruth?"

"No. It's Will Holloway. He's here, at Max's grave."

"Graham and I were just about to leave, but ..." Ruth listened as Harry covered his phone with his hand and spoke to Graham. Ten seconds later he was back on the line. "Put him on," he said, so Ruth handed her phone to Will.

To give him some privacy she wandered across the grass to the beech tree where Malcolm still stood. "It's good to see you," she said, smiling.

"And you. I hope you don't mind the cloak and dagger. Will was keen to meet you. After all, he saw how bereft Harry had been when he'd believed you were gone. I suspect Will was curious."

"Have you any idea what they're talking about?" Ruth asked, looking back to Max's grave, in front of which Will paced up and down, speaking animatedly into the phone.

"None at all. You know spooks, Ruth. It's probably something about an old asset, or maybe they're just catching up. Will keeps his cards close to his chest, but I think he views Harry as a father figure." Ruth nodded, glancing back at Will, who had just let out a quick burst of laughter.

"Harry's son would find that …. amusing," she said, almost to herself.

"I'm glad you're here, Ruth. I have a program running day and night in an effort to find Meilin Peng. I keyed in her activities in London – especially her financial activities – and I have it set to pick up anything similar in the far east."

"Any bites?"

"Thousands. It seems graft and corruption are common throughout the world."

"Who knew?" Ruth replied softly, smiling. "She'll turn up again somewhere. To be honest, I don't much care. Finding her and putting her away won't bring back Max."

"Funny …." Malcolm mused. "Harry used to say a similar thing about Sasha Gavrik. Tom Quinn offered to ensure the boy met with a nasty accident, but Harry wasn't interested. He said he'd rather Sasha lived and suffered with knowing what he'd done, and that killing him wouldn't bring you back."

"Being here has reminded me of something else," Ruth said, almost to herself. "Max told Harry and me about copies of memos and notes from a JIC meeting he had locked in a safe in his flat. The flat belongs to his parents, and so I'm wondering if ..."

"They can be accessed?" Malcolm lifted his eyebrows as he spoke.

"Yes. Something like that."

"Leave it with me. I can get them. They might come in useful some time in the future."

"How will you get them?"

Malcolm tapped his nose. "I thought I might pretend to be a tradesman that Max had called."

"And you can crack a safe?"

"Of course. Can't everyone?"

Ruth shook her head and smiled. She wasn't sure Malcolm was serious, but she hoped he was.

They stood in silence for a minute or so, both watching Will listening to what Harry had to say. "Harry's selling his house," Ruth said at last, not looking at Malcolm. "It will mean having no base in London."

"You can always stay with me. With Mother in the nursing home, I have two large bedrooms spare. You're welcome any time."

"Thank you, Malcolm. That's very kind of you. I'll speak to Harry. Currently he's putting his life in London behind him. Our immediate future is to be spent on the Suffolk coast."

"Do you know when you'll be able to move in?"

"No idea. Hopefully before next summer. Things are moving rather slowly, I'm afraid."

Malcolm stood up straighter and took a step closer to Ruth. "I needed to speak to you ….. away from Harry."

Ruth drew her eyebrows together. That was such a strange thing for Malcolm to be saying.

"I have a …. contact in the industry …... our industry ….. who has a website, and is looking for someone to write articles about organising and interpreting data. It's a subscriber site, so he can pay his writers. I could probably do something for him, but I think you'd be better. My writing style is a trifle … dry, or so I've been told. There's quite a lot of scope for series' of articles – one on different kinds of data, another on the language of data. I think he also wishes to address the cultural differences to be found in the way data is organised. The list is almost endless. He may also have some translating for you. The money won't be a lot initially, but if membership grows, then so will his ability to pay you. I've already spoken to him, telling him about you, and he was interested. He doesn't want to be the one writing articles. He'd rather pay the experts."

"He's legit?"

"Alistair Growden. You've heard of him?"

Ruth gave a light laugh. "Yes, I've heard of him. He was `let go' from GCHQ just before I joined MI5. He was far too smart for that job."

"So ….. you'll meet him?"

Ruth hesitated. She'd need to speak to Harry, of course, but then …... he'd only suggest she do what makes her happy, and he'll be happy with that. "Yes. I'll speak to him. Where is he?"

"He lives in a boat on the Thames."

Again Ruth laughed lightly. "How typical."

Hearing footsteps approaching, both Ruth and Malcolm turned to see Will crossing the grass towards them, his conversation with Harry over. "You must be good for him, Ruth," he said, handing her phone back to her. "I've never heard him so happy. He was always such a grump."

Ruth took the phone and thanked him. "I really need to get back home," she said. "As soon as he has the house ready for sale Harry wants to head home. We have so much to do."

Malcolm offered to drive her home, but she declined the offer, preferring to take the tube. She kissed Malcolm's cheek and shook Will's hand before heading across the grass towards the entrance.

Will watched as Ruth disappeared from sight. "She reminds me of one of those shape shifters the Native Americans speak of. Back from the dead, then she appears at this boy's grave. Are you sure she's real, Malcolm?"

"Oh, she's real alright."

Ruth took her time travelling home, stopping off on the way to check some shops which sold soft furnishings. She knew online browsing was easier, but she liked to touch fabrics, running the tips of her fingers across them, taking in the texture. By the time she arrived home there was a smart silver-grey car in the driveway.

"What do you think, Ruth?" Harry said as she entered the house and hung her coat on a hook in the hallway.

"Of what?"

"The car. It's a 2012 MG 6. I thought of you when I bought it."

Ruth reached up and took his face in her hands before kissing him. "No you didn't. The car looks like something you might drive. I'd buy one of those little Suzuki cars."

"I can buy you one of them, too."

"No, Harry. I don't need a car. I have you, and you have a car. That's quite enough cars."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"Let's have a pot of tea."

Ruth grasped his hand to stop him, and as he turned towards her she put her arms around his neck and drew him into a hug. They stood like that for a long moment, arms around the other in the front hallway of Harry's house.

"What was that for?" he asked once they'd drawn apart.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I just wanted you to know how much I ..."

"Love me?"

Ruth nodded, words having failed her.

"I know you do. Now, how about that tea?"

Fin