What Ruth might or might not be feeling when the plane reaches what the pilot is describing as their cruising height, is anyone's guess. Harry isn't worrying, despite her having closed her eyes, but only because Bridget has advised him to not to assume that if she seems anything other than cheerful, that there's something wrong.
Whereas prior to that, if anyone other than Ruth, who let's face it knows him better than anyone does, had asked him how he'd been feeling, he'd have said read my lips. His concerns, because they had been concerns, during what for him had been a stress filled couple of hours while they'd been waiting at the airport, being jostled by the crowds who were either arriving for, or departing after a holiday, had made him wonder why Bridget hadn't applied the same advice about him. When Ruth had asked him if he was enjoying himself, when she'd clearly known that he wasn't.
Banter, which largely due to Ruth's renewed sense of humour and his ability to drive any car well, continues as they negotiate their way out of the car park without having to go round it twice, so are on the ring road within moments. Maintaining its momentum, even when they take the wrong turning into a side street which is within a couple of hundred meters from where they're staying and get stuck behind a camping car with a flat tyre and an even more deflated owner. Where Harry is wondering how long it will be before Ruth says, 'oh look there's you' and is quite disappointed when she doesn't. Or when it's suggested by a passing gendarme, that they have time to do some shopping. Which Ruth knows only too well will test his patience to the limit, but the only thing she raises is an eyebrow.
Finally convincing him that her cheerfulness is genuine and he doesn't need to worry, when he opens the front door of the apartment.
Her response of, 'this is wonderful Harry, how did you find it?' Continuing as she goes from room to room, in an apartment which is one of four in a house that has been converted. Where every effort has been made to retain its original features. Where the beamed ceilings and white paint, have been cleverly lifted by the bright colours of the fixtures and fittings. The only place that he's so far booked, but not before asking Ellie what she would have liked, had she been Ruth. Steer away from hotels being her only suggestion, when Harry had said he wanted it to be special. Well, this is certainly that and now that they are actually indoors and have the shutters open, he realises is in a perfect location. With a boulangerie, a small non-chain convenience store, bars and restaurants, just around the corner and with a view of the medieval fort and the church at the end of the harbour wall.
Ruth's enthusiasm comes she finally tells him, from the knowledge that Cyprus and all that had happened there, both good and bad had been of her making, whereas being here and whatever they do from now on, they'll decide together.
First things first though, which means that the shopping needs to be unpacked and put away. A voyage of discovery in itself, into the kitchen cupboards and drawers, Harry leaves to Ruth, while he carries their luggage through to the bedroom. Returning to find Ruth, who of course had spent two months in France, looking completely at home. A prologue, to what will be many things that he'll learn over the days and weeks ahead. Not only about her time here, but why she had so wanted to come back. For now, in what is described and was the reason that he'd chosen it, Collioure is one of the most historic and picturesque towns on the French coast. A town, where artists past and present have and still live. But without the pretentions and the over-priced lifestyle which brings in the rich and famous. Which suits him just fine. He is a man who is very much in love and there is only one person he intends to impress. Rewarded when Ruth opens the second of two windows in the kitchen and sighs.
.
'When in France, it's only good manners to behave like the French,' Harry can still remember hearing from his very attractive, no surprises there, French teacher, when she'd been describing an upcoming school trip to Calais. At a time when his hormones had been raging, along with the rest of boys in his class. A trip that they'd gone on and he hadn't, but for whatever reason he can no longer remember. Whereas now, when he is walking along the top of the pedestrian only harbour wall and holding Ruth's hand, he is allowed to behave in a way that is obligatory if you believe what is said about the French. Making love at every opportunity might be some way off for him and Ruth, but it is something to look forward to. That and because it is a beautiful late summer evening and they have an hour to spare before dinner, that they don't have to hurry.
Ruth who having said she needed to stretch her legs as she'd downed her latest pill when they'd been changing, is gazing out over the same sea that surrounds Cyprus. Not she tells him for any reason other than she is happy. Stopping briefly, they stand side by side, watching one of the small fishing boats coming through the opening between the harbour wall and the rock face where the lighthouse had been transformed into the church. The sea birds screeching overhead, in anticipation of the inevitable cast offs.
'Meals on wheels with a difference,' says Ruth, who is still maintaining her smile. A smile that is now matched by his, as they walk on. Only turning back when Harry looks at his watch and it's time to go to the restaurant.
Where having been shown to the table, Ruth is gazing at the menu and Harry is gazing at Ruth. Wondering if it's too early to ask her to marry him? The waiter who has returned stands patiently beside their table. Order pad in hand. He eventually coughs, politely of course. They look up simultaneously, but it's Harry who apologises. The waiter takes their order from Ruth, although it's Harry who orders the wine. No prizes for guessing which one, but he's told it's a good choice. The waiter walks away and back to his parents, who are where they always are, busy in the kitchen.
'Having an affair would be my guess,' he tells his mother who is sitting on a stool in the corner. Taking a short break, before the washing up that will inevitably arrive and require her to be chained to the huge sink, long after the final customers have gone home. His sister plating up the food, which his father has cooked with the dedication of a man who loves what he does. A man who had instilled in him from the day that he'd made the decision to join the family business, that a good meal was the way to a woman's heart. Contrary to old the adage, that the way to man's heart is through his stomach. What his father had also told him, was that it almost always guaranteed you sex. Something that he can't disprove as he is the eldest of five children, or that making love isn't something that is confined to the young. Just as well then, because he's still looking for the woman of his dreams at forty.
'Table three,' says his happily married sister of ten years, pointing to the plates that display in a way that can only be French, the food which Harry and Ruth are looking forward to. Which when delivered to their table, neither of them mentions is the first time in over two years that they've sat together in a restaurant and are about to share a meal. Or that they are both remembering that evening and how ridiculously reticent they'd been. Whereas now, by which time several other couples and family groups have placed their orders, so the restaurant is filling up, they feel differently. With the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon, they share an openness that would have astounded those who had been around during that time. Harry still appreciating that Ruth has been accustomed to evenings where the sun sinks slowly over the sea, whereas for him, this setting is so far remote from anything he's experienced, that he is barely aware of anything other than her. That her confidence which a week ago had been at rock bottom, has been replaced by a calm. A calm which just adds to the countless reasons that he thinks she's beautiful. Something that of course he'll tell her later. Yes, the evidence of her fall is still there, but Bridget has given her something to cover that. Something that he can now rub on without hurting her. Enough that she feels confident to wear a sleeveless dress. Which he remembers as if it had been yesterday, is light from day to what she'd worn when he'd first taken her out. Mind you, he'd been wearing a jacket and discarding his tie had taken a lot of effort. Whereas now.
He lifts the bottle of wine out of the bucket. She declines another glass. The painkillers and wine not mixing, only permit her to have one glass. He tops up his own glass and then replaces the bottle. The crunch as it sinks into the ice, he barely hears. His concentration on Ruth is all consuming. To the point where he almost forgets that he has a meal in front of him and a glass of wine to go with it. Instead, remembering his own desire and those of his colleagues. To use drink as a means to forget and to sleep. Only to wake up with a headache the next morning. What would they think of him now? Don't go there he tells himself. Instead raising his glass to the woman he loves.
They take their time over the meal, so it almost an hour later when the waiter asks them if they'd like coffee? Coffee which when it arrives is accompanied by a choice of chocolates, and Harry's world is complete.
.
Waking up in the morning, he finds a cup of coffee beside his bed and a text from Ros. A text which tells him that Mani is mid-way across the Atlantic, where the US Special Forces are eagerly awaiting his arrival. That there will be nobody to help him when he pleads with them to stop. Ros has been assured. And plead he will, is something that Harry will keep to himself. Ruth already knows she will never see Mani again.
He on the other hand is looking forward to his day. Still dishevelled after good night's sleep, whereas Ruth when he walks into the kitchen, is looking bright as a button. Ignoring the urge which is to ask her if she'd like to come back to bed, he wanders over to the table where she's sitting and helps himself to a fresh croissant. Ruth has obviously been to the boulangerie. His thanks, earning him a look of recognition that tells him without the need for words, other than, 'good morning Harry,' that her memories of the previous evening, are as vivid as his.
The question as to why she has a guide book of the region in front of her, he knows. That she has a map of France which is covered in a random series of markings, he doesn't. Enjoying his croissant while he watches her, he knows she'll eventually tell him.
'I decided early on, to mark the places where I stayed,' she says, pointing to a star which indicates a small town on the coastline in Normandy. Something which requires him to move his breakfast across the table so that he is sitting next to her. Ruth waiting until he's settled, before she tells him, it was where she'd stood on the clifftops overlooking the World War beaches. Her mood which had been what she'd thought was an all- time low, plummeting even further as she'd contemplated the thousands who had died on that day and the families who had and still mourned their loss. The futility of it all.
'I'm fine now, I really am Harry, but I'd like to show you where I went and tell you what I did. How I ended up in Cyprus. I had this theory that if anyone came looking for me, they'd assume I'd stay in France and believe you me, I was tempted. It was common sense and will power that eventually got me going. Despite being desperately lonely, I did find comfort in my surroundings. The diversity, the space compared to the UK. I soon discovered that if I planned a route, I didn't have to change it. I stayed in some amazing places and the people I met were so kind, but I don't think I ever stopped looking over my shoulder. I would have stayed. I wanted to stay, in fact that's where I was when I almost rang you,' she told him, pointing to a small village close to the border with Italy. Before adding, 'how stupid would that have been, because by then I'd been travelling for the best part of two months. Which was when I flew to Greece. Cyprus just felt like another step towards safety.'
There were several ways in which Harry could have responded. He could have told her that she should have rung him, that looking over her shoulder hadn't stopped Mani from finding her, or that he'd missed her more than she could ever imagine. Instead, he waited until she folded up the map and then to his surprise, asked him to throw it away.
He didn't ask her why, or when later that afternoon when they were in the Tourist Office, she wanted to buy another map. Which in this case was in book form and meant that if you wanted to see where you were, or were going, then more often than not it would require you to turn a page or use the index. Until with an enthusiasm that he hadn't witnessed since those heady days when she regularly bounced into his office without knocking, he found himself following her into a section that was described as off the beaten track, the hidden France. The wild and less populated areas, where sheep, cattle and in some areas, even goats outnumbered the humans. Where walking boots and energy were a must and raised a question that until she confirmed it, wasn't a million miles from what he wanted.
Except that he'd imagined it to be in England that they'd set up home. Where they'd go for long walks, eventually reaching the point that he didn't have to stop to get his breath back. Whereas, without actually saying it, Ruth was giving him further insight into the person she was now. This new and liberated Ruth, who just maybe he thought, would be happiest if they stayed in France?