Thirty-six:
First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

"Oh, Harry, you stupid old bugger," Ruth sighed in annoyance. "You should've left that for me to carry – your knee isn't what it was…"

"Stop nagging me, woman," Harry grunted, dropping a box of tinned food on the countertop. "I'm seventy-nine, not dead. I can still do a few things, you know."

She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid reminding him what had happened the last time he'd said that. "Fine," Ruth muttered. "Did you lock up the car, then?"

"Yes."

"So, we're home now," she said softly. "And we need to unpack. But I'd rather take a nap."

He chuckled. "Getting old makes things interesting, doesn't it, my love?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm the one who drove," she pointed out. "You fell asleep in the car."

After the girls had all gone their separate ways – Zoe to wander the world and take photographs, Lizzie to Aberdeen with her boyfriend to work, and Fiona to New York – they'd been too lonely in the big house in Holland Park. So they'd decided to keep it (for when they must be in town), but let Sophia and her friends use it for their bath and body start-up business, and had picked up and finally moved house to the little house in Suffolk. It had taken several trips to move the necessaries, but with help from Graham and Catherine, it had been done in a relatively short amount of time.

"Of course I fell asleep in the car," Harry grumped. "I'm bloody seventy-nine."

She leaned over and gave him a kiss. "You look good for an old man, Harry Pearce," she murmured against his lips. He'd lost weight after he'd retired, chasing their daughters, so he was definitely more physically fit than most men his age. His hair had finally gone white, though, and his eyesight had gone downhill, so he wore glasses now. But the way he looked at her still thrilled her – and they still had more than their fair share of falling into bed, ripping offending articles of clothes off of each other.

"And you look amazing, always," he said with a smirk.

"Oh please," she snorted. "No one but you gives me a second glance. You're a very attractive man, Harry, and I'm just… I'm just me." She'd managed, somehow, not to go grey aside from a few random strands, but the lines and wrinkles on her face had gotten more numerous. As she'd gotten older, it had gotten harder to lose weight, so she'd given up trying – and now had gained padding in her breasts, hips, and belly that hadn't been there before. He seemed to take it in stride, but he was blind as far as she was concerned – and she'd seen too many photos of them at royal events to feel immune to the ravages of age.

"I love you," he said, leaning in and whispering into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "No matter what you look like, no matter what you do, I love you, Ruth. There is no one in the world like you, nor would I want there to be. And you're still mine, after all this time," he added softly, tenderly. "Mine."

"Yes," she agreed. "I am." She suppressed a shiver. "Harry…"

"Hmm?"

"Should we be this happy at our age?"

"Absolutely," he said with a smile.

Harry put the finishing touches on lunch while Ruth napped in the sitting room. He was glad he'd insisted on having the overstuffed lounging chair sent up from London because it was their favorite place to cuddle and nap together. She'd been so tired and he just wanted her to rest and to be happy.

So much had changed in their lives since he'd retired. When things weren't so urgent as terrorists blowing up Parliament Square, he'd been able to relax and enjoy his family. He'd turned out to not be a terrible failure of a father after all – it had mostly been the fault of the job and the stress and not being suited to marriage with Jane that had ruined everything before. Graham and Catherine had seen that and rebuilt their relationships with him accordingly.

Of course, spending time with Ruth was just as important as chasing after the girls. They'd take long walks, read together, cuddled up on the sofa before the fire, take cooking lessons together, go to the theatre or the opera or the Palace, and they'd just enjoy each other's company. He supposed to an outside perspective, they were staid and stodgy and boring, but behind closed doors, their simple day to day routine was full of hidden passion.

So often, she would come out of nowhere with a kiss or a suggestive look and he'd respond in kind, winding each other up until they were upstairs for the night. Then everything became about them, their needs, their wants, the desires that were still so strong for each other even after so many years of marriage. He loved her still as desperately as he'd done since she'd walked onto the Grid; she loved him in kind, but she showed it in far subtler ways such as picking up his dirty socks and putting them in the hamper because she knew he had a hard time bending over. But at night… they were free to love as they chose.

Ruth appeared in the doorway, her eyes still bleary with sleep. "That smells good," she murmured. "What's it?"

"Mozerella, tomato and basil grilled cheese," he said, "and that spinach and garlic soup you like so much."

She smiled and said, "Have I told you I love you today?"

"No, you've nagged a lot," he said, a slightly teasing lilt to his voice, but he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. "But I've been a crotchety old bugger, so maybe it was well deserved."

"Harry, thank you for making lunch," she said, sitting down at the dinette. "I don't know what came over me – I just fell asleep."

"You're tired," he replied. "Moving takes a lot out of you."

"Why didn't you take a nap, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I seem to have an overabundance of energy today – I took Jules out for her walk," he added, referring to their dog, "and she was having so much fun I left her in the garden to play. It was a long walk, too, but I'm not tired enough to sleep yet. And there's nothing on telly. So I made lunch."

She smiled, looking happier now just for having gotten out of London. "Well, then, I'll cook dinner," she said. "So you can take a nap this afternoon."

Harry smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "What if we both… take a nap?" he suggested.

Ruth laughed and said, "Cheeky sod. We've still got to unpack –"

"Ruth Pearce, we've got the rest of our lives to unpack," he reminded her. "And neither of us is getting any younger. I could die tomorrow, and without knowing you intimately one last time –"

"Henry James Pearce, you are shameless," she scolded, blushing a little.

"You know, I think I am," he agreed, winking.

The phone roused Ruth out of warm sleep. Warm because Harry was curled around her and they were both naked beneath the blankets. They both still enjoyed sex very much – and he'd insisted on making love after lunch… just because they could.

She pried his arm out from around her waist and rolled over to get the phone. "Hullo?" she murmured.

"Nana?"

"Oh, hello, Verity," Ruth said, yawning. "Sorry, Papa Harry and I were just taking a nap – how are you? How's Oxford?"

Graham and Beth's other daughter laughed. "Lovely, just like I thought it would be… um, can we talk a minute?"

"Sure," Ruth said, "but let me move downstairs so I don't disturb your grandfather, okay?" She got up and pulled on her dressing gown, then headed downstairs to feed the dog and the cat. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

Verity laughed nervously down the line, then said, "Well, ah, I don't know how to say this…"

"Oh no," Ruth sighed. "Are you pregnant?"

"NO! I mean, not yet – but – ah – oh, god, Nana." There was a long pause, then Verity stammered, "George asked me to marry him. And I might have said yes."

Ruth dropped the bowl of dry cat food, sending pieces flying everywhere. "BLOODY HELL, VERITY!"

"I mean, he's my best friend – we've been best friends since we were kids, right? When you and Papa Harry took me to the Palace for play dates and –" Verity was rambling now, and Ruth was in shock. "I mean, I've always been in the photos as his best friend, right? The press has always thought he was chasing other women or gay or – but it was me. It was always me, Nana." She paused, then laughed. "Bloody hell, I'm going to be the Princess of Wales. It just hit me – "

"Oh my god, Verity, your grandfather is going to have a stroke when he finds out," Ruth finally managed to say.

"Oh, no, please you tell him – I can't," Verity gasped. "He'll be so upset – I told mum and she cried. A lot."

"He's meant to marry a princess," Ruth said quietly. "Not the second daughter of an Earl… His Majesty has been grooming him to marry one of the Swedish princesses – this isn't going to go over well."

"Well, I don't care," Verity said. "It's all just politics, isn't it? I don't know why it matters. I'm a citizen, a member of the peerage – thanks to you and Papa Harry – and a member of the Church. They can't possibly have a complaint about that."

"Their complaint will be with your Papa Harry and my appointments and what we did to receive them," Ruth said softly. "I know you love George, but you must be the one to make him see sense, Verity. You can't stand between him and what's best for the country, even if – especially if – you love him." It had been the same argument she and Harry had been having for years and years during their time in the service: sacrifice to the state for security.

Verity fell very quiet and she whispered, "I thought you'd be happy for me, Nana. That I love someone so much that I'd want to get married to them –"

Ruth exhaled shakily and murmured, "I am. But you can't."

There was a long silence, then Verity said, "No, of course, you're right. Everyone's right. I can't. But it was nice to think I might – I could." She sniffled miserably, then dissolved into tears.

"Oh, sweetheart," Ruth sighed.

Harry came into the sitting room, starkers. "What's going on?" he asked. "You made enough noise to wake the dead –"

"It's Verity," Ruth said. "She's having a crisis."

Harry took the phone from her hand. "Verity, it's me," he said softly to his granddaughter. "Tell me what's wrong, sweetheart." He was silent for a few minutes, just listening. And then he turned to Ruth, scowling. "I see," he said. "Well, Verity, I say sod the lot of them. Marry George, if he makes you happy. Who cares what everyone else bloody thinks? It's down to the two of you, ultimately. You've loved each other since you were children. It's a damn long time to know someone's faults and still love them for those faults, don't you think? And if someone dares come after your grandmother and me, I'll put them in their place." He paused for a long time, then said, "Verity, love, listen to me. Listen to ME. There is no hope in putting the needs of the State before your needs. I learned that lesson the hard way; it cost me my marriage to Granny Jane, and I almost lost your dad and Aunt Catie. I almost lost Ruth more than once, and we lost two children because I was a fool and thought that I was the cog that would keep the world spinning. There is no hope without love, Verity Eloise Pearce: and you love George. It's as simple as that. So say yes. Keep the ring. Be happy with him. And sod anyone that says you're not suitable or high enough ranked or anything like that. It's all bullshit." He paused again and said, "Yes, she's listening and looking at me with disapproval. But I don't care. Everything I've said is true, Verity. Go think about it and call your mum back when you've stopped crying – and apologize for shouting at her." Another pause, then he smiled. "I love you, too, Verity. Good bye."

When he set the phone back in the cradle, he turned around and said, "Ruth, you certainly know how to screw up a good operation, you know that? Do you know how furious with me His Majesty will be if Verity said no to George? Bloody hell."

"What?" Ruth said.

Harry sighed and said, "Sit down."

"Harry, you're naked –"

"Yes, and I'm not going back upstairs just to get my dressing gown," he muttered irritably. "George has rejected out of hand every 'suitable' candidate that was presented toward him by the Palace. It came out that he's in love with our Verity but he didn't want to rock the boat and upset her any more than he already had. So His Majesty asked me to work on making her receptive to any advances George might make toward her. And he would do the same. And you almost ruined it with your talk of Swedish princesses and, bloody hell, you think we won't get strung up outside Traitor's Gate?" he said, throwing his hands up. "We want her to marry him, all right?"

Ruth just stared at him. "I hate politics," she groaned.

"So do I," Harry agreed. "But anything for our Verity, Ruth – she deserves this. She deserves to be happy, and she loves him. And our great-grandchildren will be in line for the throne, not that that matters at all, but it's a good thing. All of our children and grandchildren deserve good things and they deserve to be happy. He makes her happy."

Ruth sighed and said, "Now I feel a right fool –"

"You're nothing of the kind. You didn't know we were working an angle."

"You could've bloody told me you were interfering, you old bastard!" Her words sounded angrier than she felt, but, really, it did hurt that he'd left her out of the loop on this.

"Plausible deniability," he said. "I never thought you'd buy into all the rubbish in the papers about George wooing that Swedish girl. God knows, Verity's always out with him, but why the papers think she's just a friend, I'll never understand." He looked really grumpy for a minute, then said, "I caught them snogging once and just about had a bloody heart attack."

She giggled at the mental image, then said, "Well, I'm sure you've seen worse…"

"Yes, but MY granddaughter snogging some bloke in the corridor? I almost punched him in the teeth, till I realized who it was," he grumped. "Our babies are all growing up, aren't they?" he sighed. "And we're getting old."

"Speak for yourself," Ruth replied.

"Do they have a 'grandparents of the bride' section at weddings?" he asked with a little grin. "I might have to show up like this, stir things up a bit."

She scowled at him. "Don't you dare," she said.

"Come upstairs, Mrs. Pearce," he said firmly, "and let me take your mind off your troubles."

END PART THIRTY-SIX