It wasn't until they'd booked into the hotel that Harry turned on his phone to see that he had three missed messages.

The first from Malcolm, which was to the point and brief saying, 'job done, ring me when you have a moment.'

The next was from Adam. 'Harry. Ruth. I'm sure you've got far better things to do than think about what's happening here? But Wes keeps asking me where Devon is and what your new house is like? Look I know it's a long shot, but if I'm being honest and with Christmas coming, I could really do with a change of scenery.'

The last, unexpected or worrying, depending which way Harry looked at it, was from Catherine. 'Your neighbour tells me you're on holiday Dad. But you don't do holidays, so where the bloody hell are you?'

All of which he chose to ignore for the moment, and not only because the first two messages weren't his to answer on his own, but because he and Ruth were properly warm for the first time that day. With the house that they wanted secured and in an area that meant so much to her.

The urge to just pick up the keys and drive over there, as opposed to waiting until the morning which was the most sensible of the two options, was almost if not completely under control, as Harry gazed out of the window at the busy street full of Christmas shoppers. The understated lighting and the decorations, causing him re-evaluate his perception of London in the run up to what was always described in the media as the best time of the year. Gearing up to welcome thousands of revellers from all over the world. The place where up until now he'd played the part that had been expected of him for the sake of his colleagues. Remembering how he'd joined in with a smile at the endless Christmas parties, in a way that had convinced them that once he got home, he was going to enjoy himself as much as they obviously were. Instead of which, he'd shut his front door with nothing on his Christmas wish list, other than the hope that for one reason or another he'd be called back into work.

Compared to now, when here with Ruth, there weren't enough words to describe how much he was looking forward to this year's celebration. That and believing that his decision to retire quietly was the right one. To hand over the reins to Adam or to Ros, or whoever the panel decided to a appoint wasn't his concern. Because all that mattered, was that from now on, he was going to wake up beside the woman he loved and just as importantly, in a house where they could enjoy every day without being disturbed.

'Our lunch,' said Ruth, trailing her hand across his back as she crossed the room in response to someone knocking on the door. Soup and sandwiches which they'd ordered when they'd arrived. As basic as it got, but because of the way he was feeling, suggested that they were about indulge themselves in a three-course banquet.

.

'Sorry to have missed you Malcolm, but we spent the morning in church,' Harry told him when they were lying side by side on the bed and admiring the ceiling.

'Church?' Harry could hear the suggestion as clearly as if Malcolm was standing in the room.

'Yes Malcolm, we've been to a very low key Christmas Market, but before you start getting any ideas, I'm assuming that job done means that you managed to have a word with my solicitor?'

'Signed and sealed by this time tomorrow and he'll send the paperwork to the new house.'

'That's good and thank you for all you've done Malcolm. We'll be in touch again before Christmas.'

'Make sure you do and don't forget to give my love to Ruth.'

'I will.'

The paperwork in question, was Harry's attempt to formalise his relationship with Ruth. To ensure her future financially. Because pretty much everything she had, had been eaten up by this new purchase. He of course was of an age where he could demand his pension immediately, whereas she still had years to wait. Added to which, if something happened to him, she had no legal claim on his house in London. The proceeds of that were destined for his kid's fluctuating bank accounts. But by altering his will, to ensure that Ruth would be the sole beneficiary of his not inconsiderable investments, but also his pension, would see her comfortable for the rest of her life. Anything and everything other than that, was on his to do list for another day. Not without acknowledging the help he'd received from the man that had seen the best and the worst of him over the years and still considered him to be worthy of his support.

'Your turn,' he told Ruth, handing over the phone after a brief word with Adam, because Wes wanted to talk to his recently acquired auntie.

Neither of them expecting that despite Adam's offer to roll up his sleeves and lend a hand if they needed one, that Wes was going to ask, 'can Dad and I come and stay with you for Christmas?'

Adam who during his chat with Harry, had announced, he'd applied for compassionate leave. That Ros was going to cover Christmas if he did New Year and that his offer to come and do some lifting and shifting for a couple of days was a genuine one. Although perhaps on reflection there had been a tinge of this is going to be a very difficult time for Wes and I in a voice?

Which saw Harry mouthing, 'it's up to you.' A question that only had one answer, which was for Ruth to say, 'of course you can sweetheart,' before asking Wes, 'to put his dad back on.'

Where during a three-way discussion, they decided on the twenty third as an arrival date.

Scuppered, cut off at the knees by a child who had so recently lost his mum, Harry accepted for the simple reason that he would never forget the anguish on Adam's face when Fiona had been killed. How he would feel now if he were in Adam's position. His plan to tell Ruth that he'd decided to retire on hold. Wrapped in blue paper to match her eyes and with a very large ribbon, or just blurt it out, he'd intended to do on Christmas morning. Now put back until New Year's Eve. Down one knee at the same time as he said Happy New Year my darling, oh and by the way I've just handed in my notice, he now had time to decide if it was too much too soon.

'Two down one to go,' said Ruth, interrupting his thoughts as she retrieved his phone from the bedside table, from where he'd abandoned it in favour of kissing her as a means to avoid the one conversation that he wasn't quite sure how to start. Ruth who for once, wasn't reading his mind, so had no idea why he was indulging in a charm offensive. His eyes burning into hers, with the suggestion that his daughter could wait until they'd made love. Catherine who was back in the UK and for one reason or another and had been to his house to see him, rather than just call. The one person above all other, who he wanted to accept Ruth for the person she was and if necessary, would plead with her to hear him out before she came to a conclusion that was anything other than the truth.

Only to hear when he did dial her number, 'you're through to Catherine. I'm not available at the moment. I'll call you back.'

His daughter, whose voice even as a young child, had mirrored his. Now recalling the last time that he'd seen her. The day when she'd said Dad don't, when she'd seen the tears that he hadn't been able to control. The same day that she'd accused him of spying on her and he'd said, he'd just wanted to hear her voice.

Catherine who had kept her promise to keep in touch.

That was as far as his recollections got, because no sooner had he turned his phone off, than it rang again. This time there was no avoiding what he thought was going to be a tricky conversation.

Straight and to the point, which was the only way that they differed when a conversation that didn't involve work brought them together. He who was inclined to waffle, as opposed to withstanding torture without appearing to flinch and yet being quizzed by his daughter saw him surrendering before it even started. In this instance made easier, as he rolled onto his side and gazed into the only pair of eyes that would see him through this.

Or that's what he thought, until Catherine asked him in a voice filled with concern, 'please tell me that you're not ill Dad, or dying?'

A question that took him back to a night when she'd been about five. When she'd walked into the bathroom at the family home and found him changing a dressing on a knife wound. How she padded across the room and just slipped her hand in his, in an attempt to make it better. How she'd climbed on to his knee and eventually fallen asleep, by which time he'd been frozen to the bone. How he'd had to battle through the pain in order to carry her back to her bedroom. Waking up in the morning still with her, her tiny hand on his face.

'I'm not,' he assured her and could hear the sigh of relief at the other end, before telling her what she already knew because Mrs. Harris had told her, 'I'm on holiday Catherine.'

'Where?' Was easy to answer. The why? was another question entirely. Which he knew if he tried to delay or if he didn't answer honestly what she'd eventually find out, he'd be as good as saying goodbye to hearing from her in the future.

'I'm in Devon,' he told her.

'And?' asked Catherine, picking up on his hesitation.

'I've bought a house or more precisely we've bought a house. She's called Ruth and I'd really like you to meet her love.' Was after a short pause, during which time Harry had been imagining all sorts of responses, followed up by a conversation that had him wondering if he needed to get his ears tested.

Catherine concluding it by saying, 'I'm so pleased you're not on your own anymore Dad.'

By which time, Harry who had been gripping Ruth's hand like a vice, couldn't find the words to reply.

His inability to do so, resulting in Catherine asking him the question that had prompted her to ring him in the first place.

'The thing is, I'm back for a couple of weeks and if I won't be intruding, I was wondering if I could come and see you for a few days?' Both of you now being implied.

'Over Christmas?' Harry suggested, more in hope than anything else, because Ruth who had put two and two together based on what he'd said, was mouthing the more the merrier.

'Are you sure Dad?'

'Yes, we're sure.' He told his daughter.

'There's just one more thing. I don't fancy driving all that way at this time of the year, so where's the nearest train station?' He couldn't answer, which forced him to hand over the phone to Ruth.

'London Paddington to Exeter Central. Bring lots of warm clothes with you because there might be an element of camping involved. Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting you too Catherine and your dad's fine, he really is. Adam a friend and his son Wes whose seven will be here.' Was only one side of the conversation.

Harry was still trying to imagine what was being said by his daughter, when Ruth handed the phone back.

He was about to say this feels like musical chairs, when Catherine got in first by saying, 'I need to go now. You know how it is. I love you Dad.'

.

'Why is it that I women can find the words and men can't?' Harry asked Ruth once he'd when got his breath back.

A question that saw Ruth avoiding telling him that it was one of the great mysteries of life, or that it was a man thing. Instead, saying, 'I couldn't either at one time and look how far we've come.'

At the same time as she edging closer and gliding her thumb across his lips until they parted. Inviting him to take things further, by running her other hand along the inside of his thigh. To stop him stressing about what would or wouldn't happen when Catherine arrived. When in all honesty she was as nervous as he was. His eyes which had always been the giveaway, smouldering under her touch as she continued to distract them both. The room was warm, the bed was comfortable and their clothes – well who needed them?

.

'Harry, we need to make a list.' She told him several hours later, ignoring the menu that he'd handed her in favour of talking about all the additional things that they needed to do, now that they had what felt like a house full of people coming for Christmas. That and to stop him from looking at her in a way that suggested they should have ordered dinner in their room, rather than come downstairs to the restaurant.

'Do we?' he teased her, his eyes twinkling. Knowing full well the effect he was having on her. That she was mentally going through what they needed to do over the next few days as a means to distract herself from thinking about the afternoon. When any talk about the house, about Catherine, had been swept away in what had been an extraordinary outpouring of love in every way shape and form. Not only physically but by the realisation that for the first time since they'd met, their future lay entirely in their hands. Hands which in both cases, had played a large part in making it an afternoon that Harry fully intended to resurrect once their guests had gone home.

Now sitting in the restaurant, where he'd just ordered a bottle of White Burgundy. One that neither of them needed to help them relax, but might he hoped ,help them to sleep.

.

The advantage of living in a rural community became evident as soon as they walked into the village store the next morning. That they'd been described as 'a lovely young couple' by the previous owner, when they clearly weren't, didn't show on the faces of the other occupants.

'There's always The Bennet's End, if you really get stuck for something to eat,' sounded like an invitation rather than a suggestion from a man introduced himself as Rob. In response to Harry having said that they needed to stock up.

'It's the local pub which is within walking distance via a small wooden bridge that crosses the brook in your garden. Although you might have to fight your way through the stinging nettles first.' Was a job for Adam thought Harry, as he watched Ruth reach for a packet of teabags. Ruth who always got her priorities in the right order, he noted with a rush of affection.

Everything else was on a list of where to go, for what they had no idea until they'd had a good look around, provided by the lady behind the counter who introduced herself as May.

A list that when they left, but not before they'd agreed to ring if they needed anything, was tucked in Harry's pocket.