'We're going to have a lovely time aren't we sweetheart,' Mrs Harris, a godsend where Harry was concerned, was telling his small dog, as she bent down to tickle her behind the ears, just as Harry arrived back from the kitchen with an unnecessary box of chocolates, given that their mutual arrangement leaned heavily in Mrs. Harris's favour. His spritely neighbour who although she'd never voiced it, thought that Harry was the epitome of a good neighbour and a lovely man into the bargain. Because not only did he look after her house when she went to stay with her daughter, but he always found the time to chat to her over the garden fence and on more than one occasion when he'd noticed she was having what she referred to as one of her bad days, had popped round and made her a cup of tea.
The combination of which meant that if he needed a favour in return, he only had to ask. Especially as he spent his working days and sometimes weekends when they were busy, sitting behind his desk in the Town Planning Office. A building which against all the odds had survived the blitz, when those on either side of it had been raised to the ground. A building which unlike the modern ones that had shot up in no time to replace those that had been lost, had been and still was, rumoured to be damp and an awful place to work. Both of which she'd concluded, were reasons that when Harry came home late, he almost always looked weary and as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. That and because on the odd occasion when he'd asked her if she'd feed Scarlet for him, which had of course necessitated her opening his fridge, she'd come to the conclusion that he didn't feed himself properly. Which meant that if he was going out this evening, even if it was to spend it sitting in the cinema on his own and then have a bite to eat at the pub on the way back, it was an improvement on doing nothing. Which was all very well and good, but what was he going to do tomorrow? Go back to his old ways by spending his spare time mooching around the house on his own and listening to classical music?
.
Never assume anything had been Harry's motto for years and it was no different this evening, when he closed Mrs. Harris's back gate and walked the short distance to where Malcolm who had all the appearances of someone who had fallen asleep under his cap, was parked in the street that ran parallel with his. Whereas in reality, Malcolm was on high alert and had been since he'd arrived. Only now and after he'd watched Harry climb into the passenger seat and buckle up, did he reach for the file which Colin had gone to great lengths to download, given that Juliet had been in and out all day. Having been told by Adam, that he couldn't risk meeting Harry again and certainly not this close to Harry's house. Or get Ruth to engage in anymore smuggling, despite both of them knowing that Harry was going over to her house for what had been described as dinner. Dinner which she was going to cook, if the shopping list that she'd been compiling before they'd both left was anything to go by.
That he was party to knowing what going on, so was only person left to deliver the information that Harry had requested, then drive him to within spitting distance of Ruth's house he was fine with. How Harry intended getting home again and at whatever time that might be, they hadn't discussed, or was he about to ask him. Or had he responded when Adam had hinted that dinner was the just the precursor to what was going to be a moving forward evening for the pair in question.
Whereas now as they turned right at the first junction and then left as they approached the roundabout, to join the stream of traffic that was heading into the city, he could feel himself building up add his own two pennies worth on the subject. A little nudge if you like, but in his own words.
Helped when Harry said, 'I'm really grateful Malcolm and I'm sorry you're being dragged into all this,' as they crossed Tower Bridge, where the buildings that were all too familiar and although it was less than forty-eight hours since Harry had seen them, Malcolm could sense was bringing a deep longing to be back behind his desk. Which encouraged by a voice in his head which was telling him to get on with it and as one friend to another, caused him to step off the verbal cliff.
'At the risk of getting my head bitten off, work isn't the be all and end all you know and yes I concede that we need you back behind your desk Harry. But unlike you, I made a decision a long time ago to settle for a quiet life outside of work and on the whole I'm happy with my lot. You on the other hand are not, no matter what you tell yourself.' Wasn't at all how Malcolm had intended to word it, or did it sound like something he might have said, either to himself or to Harry.
Which was why, apart from glancing across the car to check that he wasn't mistaken and that Malcolm hadn't been replaced by Adam, or Ruth herself after the previous night's conversation, Harry kept quiet.
The result being, that after a short pause, Malcolm took up the reins again. This time though following the script.
'This image of being able to cope on your own, might convince other people, but I've known you far too long to be taken in Harry. The same applies to Ruth, who we both agree is a kind and seemingly capable person Harry. But believe you me, I've spent enough time with her to know that she's just as lonely as you are. So, against my better judgement, given what we do, I hope that between the two of you, you can find a way to make this work.'
All of which was a very noble and well thought out argument which deserved more than, 'I hope so too,' from Harry, who by now was gazing at the entrance of the National Theatre and imaging Malcolm standing on its stage and shouting, 'Friends Romans Countrymen, etc, etc. An image which stuck, until they were within a hundred or so meters from where Ruth lived and Malcolm pulled into the only spot that was available, in a road where every house was a two car or more residence. Malcolm who by now was more than ready to make a quick getaway, but not before Harry shook his hand and assured him that he appreciated what he'd said. Then waiting until Malcolm driven away, before computing as best he could, what Malcolm had really been trying to tell him. That he put on a front to hide what he was really thinking, he accepted. But that Malcolm had recognised that behind the façade was a loneliness that he hadn't recognised in himself, let alone Ruth, made Malcolm a very good judge of people.
.
That she was a good analyst Ruth had never doubted, or that her abilities extended beyond solving complicated puzzles with her eyes closed. One of which was cooking, which had developed at a time when school dinners were designed to fill you up, rather than invite you to enjoy what you were eating. An interest which had increased when she'd gone on a weekend course during her time at GCHQ, where more often than not, she arrived home on the same day as she'd left. Something that didn't apply when you worked at Thames House and meals fitted around work and not the other way round. Which meant that she rarely had a chance to cook something that fell into the category of being good for her. Which explained why amongst the many things that she and Harry discussed, what he did or didn't like when it came to eating a wholesome meal, hadn't come up. Which had left her with something of a dilemma given the time she'd had available to her, so in the end had settled on what you couldn't really get wrong, and was why there was a chicken roasting in the oven. Which meant that she'd had plenty of time to prepare the veggies and set the table, before she'd gone upstairs to get ready.
Where tidying her bedroom, was she'd told herself when she'd been doing it, unnecessary at one moment and essential at the next. Because on the one hand, when Harry had turned up the previous evening, she'd made it quite clear that this was the one room in her house that he wasn't going see any time soon, and on the other and during what had felt like an interminably long day on the grid, it had taken on the title of the most important room in her house. Which since she'd arrived home had morphed into the prime reason that she'd invited him again this evening, in the hope that they could explore that extra something that had been missing from both their lives, which during the phone call the previous evening, they'd come so close to saying they both wanted. But in this instance with the security of knowing that he wouldn't be able to stay the night.
Which meant that, 'you can do this' she was telling herself, when the doorbell rang.
Harry hadn't needed to tell her that he'd enjoyed the meal, because it had been clear from the moment that he'd walked into the kitchen that he appreciated the effort she'd made. A meal during which very little had been said, other than a polite 'let me do that' when she'd picked up the bottle of wine, and 'help yourself' when she'd put the veggies on the table.
During which time any talk that was work related had been kept at bay until, 'what's on that?' she asked him, when Harry produced the memory stick that Malcolm had given him, before offering to help her stack the dishes. Something which Ruth had no intention of adding too by tidying up any further, or discussing anything that had emanated from Harry meeting Malcolm. The meal having been negotiated without the fumbling of the previous evening and certainly not now when she was about to make the coffee.
'A timewaster?' Harry suggested, trying not to smile, having seen what he hoped was a flash of disappointment on Ruth's face, before she turned away from him. Now filling the kettle with water and reaching up to take two mugs from the shelf. An action so simple and one which he'd watched hundreds of times, in what was laughing described on the grid as a kitchen. But now that he was in her home and after a meal that had left him feeling completely relaxed and so full of optimism, looked to be happening in slow motion and with nothing but a table and a decision that was his to make, standing between them.
.
While Harry was pondering whether or not walking up behind Ruth and putting his arms around her waist, before burying his face in her hair, was a good idea, or suggesting that they had what he'd always avoided like the plague, in other words that they have a chat before they took this into the sitting room, Juliet was trying to decide if going home, at what was considered by Harry's staff to be indecently early, was acceptable when Colin was the only member of Harry's team who was still on the grid. Because Zaf was on Khurvin watch outside the cottage where he was hold up, with Adam and Jo on standby to move as and when Khurvin did, whilst Malcolm and Ruth who had volunteered for the early morning shift, she was imagining were at home. Malcolm doing the crossword and Ruth with her head buried in a book.
Which just left Harry who she was imagining by now would be on his second glass of whisky. Watching the late news to see what if anything he'd been missing.
Harry, who had assessed how she was feeling about sitting in his chair and had hit the nail firmly on the head. That this was the last place she wanted to be, because she'd never coped with monotony that came with sitting on the grid during an op, while the field agents rushed about and was one of the main reasons that she'd gone to the states in the first place. Or that she was currently longing to do something which didn't involve her supporting Adam. Adam who when she'd hauled him over the coals about meeting Harry, when her explicit instructions had been that none of them were to go anywhere near him, had described Harry as a friend. Causing her to make the decision as she watched Colin open his newspaper and study the crossword, at the same time as he had one eye on the screen, that she'd had enough. That in an hour from now, providing it hadn't all kicked off, that rather than go home, she'd pop round to Harry's in the hope that he was still awake and up for some company.
Not knowing which was just as well, that Harry had the only company he wanted and having taken those few steps was kissing his analyst. Or that Ruth was kissing him back with equal fervour and with the bedroom beckoning.