During a week when it had felt as though he and Ruth had looked at every available house within spitting distance of the sea, Harry was walking on the beach with Scarlet. A beach that was no longer the sand swept haven of the previous morning, but an undulating bank of pebbles which was causing both of them to struggle to stay upright. Only to become even more uncomfortable when the wind changed direction and the temperature dropped, causing him to shiver.
He wasn't alone in thinking that he'd made a mistake. Scarlet who was used to flat wide-open spaces in the parks that they frequented in London, looked up at him with an expression to suggest that she was far from impressed. One that said, I've done what you brought me out to do, so the least you can do in return is to pick me up and carry me.
Which when he did, he felt what had always been a comfort in the form of his small dog. Someone who would listen to him whatever he was worrying about, which today was how did they find a house they both liked without going further afield?
She couldn't reply of course, although that didn't mean that she didn't understand every word he was saying. Made easier now that he'd tucked her inside his jacket. That and because there was nobody else on the beach and this certainly wasn't the first time that she'd listened to her master airing his concerns. Although this looking for a new home business was a lot more interesting than the usual less than uplifting subjects when he came back home after a busy day at Thames House. That and because she could now put a face to this Ruth person, who he'd spoken about so many times, that it had got to the stage where they were rivalling Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester. Sentences that in the early days of their acquaintance had contained words like brilliant and intelligent and more recently, longing for, lovely and on one very emotionally charged evening, the suggestion that he'd finally met someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Which in the beginning had been with a faraway look in his eyes and now more recently with a look to suggest that they'd started on this journey.
Halted, only briefly she hoped, by one particularly aggressive house agent, who had suggested nothing would satisfy her master, when he'd said after a quick glance in Ruth's direction, 'that it wasn't quite what they were looking for.'
That it happened to be this particular agent's own house, an agent who was going through a prolonged and unpleasant divorce, whereas they were still exploring the joys of being together, 'wasn't the point,' Ruth had said when they'd climbed back into the car. Something that she heartily agreed with.
.
That had been then and this was now, the start of a new day or the second week in Harry's mind. Time which was going far too quickly in his opinion. Back on the level he'd stopped for a moment to take stock, on what was a pedestrian only seafront where the shops were starting to open up and one or two hardy souls were making an appearance.
He blew into his cupped hands to warm them up. His need to re assess their options, but without losing his patience. Remembering their first trip here in October, an unusually warm one even for the South West of England. Whereas now at the beginning of December and with Christmas rapidly approaching, the forecasters were already talking about a cold winter.
A paper boy who peddling into the wind, a blast from his own youthful past, reminding him that they'd so far avoided buying a newspaper. Even his favourite broadsheet god forbid that he'd buy one of the tabloids, because it was printing less and less about what was happening both at home and abroad and more about holidays which were designed to lure people away from the British winter, or buy presents for their friends and relatives, who would probably pass them on to somebody else after what they considered to be a reasonable length of time.
Besides he'd had the only news he needed from Malcolm, during a conversation which had predictably drifted towards what was happening within the confines of Thames House. That the grid was functioning like clockwork, had been said in a voice to suggest that Malcolm thought he'd been debating driving back, if only for a couple of days. Which of course he hadn't. In the same way that he had never doubted that Adam and Ros would be getting on famously.
Still, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to buy the local paper, which in this case according to the billboard outside, had a supplement about local events in the run up to Christmas. Local which in terms of the Devon Gazette covered the entire County. Christmas Fairs, musical performances and alternative suggestions as to where to eat, for those who didn't want to, or like them, wouldn't be spending Christmas Day at home. Something that he and Ruth needed to think about and make a decision. His first Christmas with the woman he valued more than life itself and unlike him, was taking their failure to find a house that they liked with her feet firmly on the ground.
A thought which had him remembering the early Christmases with Jane. When the children had been small. When Graham had still loved him. Something that stayed with him as he walked the last half mile around the sweep of the bay. Only to be highlighted when they walked through the front door and, 'Ruth's been worrying about you love,' said Alice who was on her way to the dining room.
The voices he could hear were from a family called Edwards, that much he did know. Something about them going to visit grandparents in Cornwall Ruth had told him, having bumped into them when they'd arrived. Just another in a long line of prompts that meant he had to ring Catherine before she rang him. To tell her he was no longer on his own. In the hope that curiosity would be her overriding emotion. That once she met Ruth, she'd understand why he felt as he did. That this time it wasn't all about him and what he could get out of a relationship that was based on sex and very little else. Because as great as that was, Ruth was what his mother would have described as the only girl for him. Something which God rest her soul she'd never said about the mother of his children.
.
Showered change and a good deal warmer, during what was a much-needed breakfast, Harry found himself agreeing with Ruth, that the Edwards family who he couldn't help but like, were as ordinary as he and Ruth were longing to be. A couple of primary school teachers with their two children. Freddie who was shovelling porridge into his mouth as though it was his last meal, while his elder sister Grace, who looked a lot like the Ruth of her school photos, was buttering toast. A confident child who at Ruth's invitation was telling them about previous Christmases that they'd spent in this part of the country and how much fun they'd had.
Which meant that any chance to have a look at the newspaper had been delayed until they'd said their goodbyes outside their respective doors. A paper which as they ploughed their way through it, finally got to the point where Harry who had never imagined that he'd be spending Christmas with Ruth, let alone outside of London, felt as though he knew every aspect of what was on offer in her preferred county.
The first of which they'd discovered in the properties for sale section and was why, having not stopped for a coffee and with lunch on hold, they found themselves in the small town of Ottery St. Mary. Waiting for a Mr. Baines, who was due back any moment according to his assistant who'd made them what she'd described as a nice cup of tea. Mr Baines who could explain better than she could the ins and outs of a property called Brookfield, being sold at a public auction. Which according to the details, details that Ruth was clinging too as though her life depended on it, were the polar opposite of what they'd imagined they'd buy.
More importantly as if in anything in Harry's mind which was more important than ensuring that Ruth was happy, was that the guide price was well within what they could afford.
'There have been several viewings and online enquiries, but we never know how many people will turn up on the day.' Mr Baines told them, in a voice that matched his appearance of being related to Skippy the bush kangaroo.
Harry responding, with a look that inferred that if he didn't stop bouncing, that either he or Ruth would feel compelled to be sick, before saying, 'we'll follow you in our own car.' Maintaining his optimism despite having never been to an auction in his life and with a vague plan forming. If the details were just a carrot that didn't match up to the reality, then they'd keep looking, but if they did and they really liked the house, then spending the rest of the day looking around the town where they'd shop, most certainly eat out and because it had what was described as a thriving community atmosphere, would be the sensible thing to do.
Not that sensible was an adjective that was usually applied to him, that title belonged to Ruth. Reckless and impetuous were his labels. That and a being a manipulative bastard, the last of which he thought was well worth resurrecting in the short term, but in Skippy's case, without the bastard attached.
.
The moment that they pulled up in front of Brookfield, he heard himself asking, 'if they could look around on their own and then drop the keys off at the office before it closed.'
A house which was the last of three down a quiet lane that terminated in a farmyard, which implied that there would be very little passing traffic, set back from the road with a high hedge on one side and a small stone-built wall on the other, with a five-bar gate at the entrance. In a setting that had caused them both to pause, to take it all in and in both cases imagine spending time here. A feeling that deepened without a word needing to pass between them, when Harry turned the key in the door and they stepped inside.
Characterful said the details, a very apt description as they wandered from room to room. Along a corridor on the first floor where the windows were at knee height and where there were three bedrooms and what was described as a family bathroom. But it was the downstairs that captured their imagination and it was here that they lingered. In the kitchen where there were windows on both sides that overlooked what was a more than adequate garden, with a utility that ensured that the appliances were tucked away. Then into the beamed ceilinged sitting room, where Harry was imagining what he'd long hoped would be his grandchildren sitting on the floor in front of a Christmas tree.
For Ruth though it was the unbelievable quiet that was causing her to well up. That and feeling closer to Harry than she ever had, which was ridiculous given where they were. Her expectations of living close to the sea in tatters as she stood by the window and reached for his hand to steady herself as the room started to spin. Harry's instinct kicking in and saying, 'come on I need to get you outside.'
Where having registered a possible interest, an attempt on Harry's part to play it down in front of Mr Baines, they watched him drive off to do whatever else he had planned for what remained of the day, before looking at the garden. Overgrown and needing attention, since the previous owner had died and his elderly sister had no means until the sale went through to employ a gardener, it had what the details described as potential.
'Nothing that can't be put right,' said Ruth, in a voice that suggested she thought it was as daunting as Harry did, 'but if they came back in the Spring with a workforce of who in her mind would be Adam and Wes, that they would be able to knock it into shape.' At a time when the sun would be shining.
Harry who in his mind was moving in, but because the temperature was dropping and he'd worked out that Ruth feeling faint was because they hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, cut into her thoughts by saying, 'I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry? I think we ought to go.'
.
The terms and conditions when buying a house at auction, having been explained down to the finest detail, were backed up by a copy that Harry had tucked in his pocket. The most important of which was that they'd be able to provide proof before the auction began, that they were able to pay in full. That they didn't require a mortgage before they could complete. The sum total of which made it plain sailing, if Harry could overlook how much Ruth loved and wanted this house. In a county, where if you ignored London and the South East, was one of the most popular, so was guaranteed to attract a lot of interest.
'But it's - perfect,' he said, finishing Ruth's sentence when they were sitting in a teashop, with a plate of sandwiches in front of them, him pouring the tea and despite every effort on her part to hide what she was feeling, had an expression that was tearing at his heart strings.
Her reaction to him saying, 'there's no guarantee that we'll get it sweetheart.' The first time that he'd called her anything other than Ruth, absorbed or not he wasn't sure?
For the simple reason that he was as excited as she was and had been praying from the moment that they'd leant against the front gate, that they'd be successful. Whilst being equally worried that if they didn't, where did they go from here?