The meeting room had emptied out. All but Malcolm, who had hung back to say something other than he was sorry for what he'd said, and Ruth to apologise for having lied to him, when she'd told him that there was nothing going on between her and Harry. Well not in the sense that they both want there to be. Or does she think she's got the strength to make the first move, to ensure that next time, assuming that there is a next time, that dinner won't just mean dinner. Mostly if not entirely because of what Harry had said yesterday. Three weeks after she'd told Harry that she couldn't go out with him again.
Malcolm on the other hand, who despite readily admitting he's the last person who should be sticking his nose in where relationships are concerned, knows that someone needs to intercede. Why him? Adam had made quite clear was because he was the only person who wouldn't get his head bitten off. Why at all? Because the way things are heading, the grid on mass will be gossiping in the way that had driven Ruth away in the first place, such is the ongoing tension between the two of them.
As does Ruth, which means she has a fair idea as to why Malcolm has stopped her from leaving and is why before he has a chance to say anything, which will see her lying, something that she doesn't want to do to Malcolm, she decides to take the initiative. Which is all rather pointless, because in her heart of hearts she knows that despite what has happened, sooner rather than later she'll weaken. In the same way that her alarm is still permanently set for a ridiculously early hour, in order that when Harry comes back, they can spend some time alone on the grid together before the others come into work and as she's in charge of his diary, she can time her departure to coincide with his.
'I'm sorry for what I said Malcolm. It's just that you caught me at a bad time. Anyway, it's all over and done with now, so please can we just forget it.'
'And Harry sees it like that does he?'
'I don't understand.'
'Have you ever asked yourself how you'd feel if Harry wasn't here anymore Ruth? And I'm not talking about him getting shot or stabbed.'
Yes, I'd be heartbroken, she thinks. What she actually says is, 'But you didn't hear what he said Malcolm.'
'No, I didn't. But knowing Harry, I'm sure it was all in the heat of the moment. Besides this me and I want to help. Both of you.'
'Go on then tell me.'
'We need to stop Harry deciding that he's had enough. Resigning would be my best guess.'
'Why on earth would Harry want to resign?'
'A new life. Somewhere quiet. Without the constant day upon day battles that we win, only to find ourselves facing another one.'
He didn't need to say that this new life he was envisaging Harry enjoying, would be with someone other than her and that really hurt. Indecisive she might be, but Harry was hers, body and soul if only she'd say yes. He'd made that quite clear on numerous occasions.
He watched as she placed her cup and saucer on the tray alongside his, the cogs turning in her head as she mulled over what he'd said. Ruth who wasn't one for grand gestures and certainly wouldn't expect to leave her cup and saucer for someone else to pick up, looked in this moment to be utterly lost. As though all fight had gone out of her.
'Bye Malcom,' followed by a barely audible, 'thank you,' did at least give him some hope. That perhaps she was going where she needed to go. The only other question being, would Harry find whatever was needed to put this right and when he did, would he or they find a way to move things along? Because if they couldn't make it, then what chance did anyone else have?
.
The previous morning.
The Foreign Secretary marched onto the grid and straight into Harry's office without as much as a glance or a good morning. At which point numerous pairs of eyes turned in Ruth's direction, assuming that she knew why he was here. Which she didn't. Or did she know when he left, after what had been a short and by the look on Harry face unexpected conversation, why Harry was going with him?
Harry told her everything – past tense. This new more distant Harry, only told her on a need-to-know basis.
The rest of the morning passed slowly. As did Ruth's attempt to concentrate on anything other than the overnight intel which unless it flagged up something of concern, which in this instance she'd have passed on to Adam, was limited to wondering why the Foreign Secretary had graced them with his presence. Which meant that as soon as Harry came back, presumably having had lunch, which under normal circumstances consisted of a sandwich and a coffee at his desk, the latter of which, despite what had happened she still made for him, she rolled up her sleeves, picked up a file and after a taking a deep breath, marched into his office.
She already knew that the smile that he reserved for her would be missing. But that was just the start of what by the time she left, felt horribly terminal.
'I'm going to Geneva for a week and then up into the Alps,' he said, without looking up, despite knowing it was her. Who else dared to barge in as though the building was on fire without knocking?
'Why?' she dared to ask.
'It's a direct order from the Foreign Office. I've also been told that I need to take an interpreter with me, but given that we're well you know, despite you knowing how I feel about you Ruth, I'm not sure that you'll want to come with me?'
Then you'd be wrong, was on the tip of her tongue, but saying it was more difficult.
Expecting if not a protest, then some attempt to persuade her, she wondered if she'd heard him correctly when he continued. 'I'm assuming that your failure to respond, means that you think we've reached the point where we can no longer work together. In which case you'll have to excuse me because I have some calls to make.'
And as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd barely got back to her desk having made herself a cup of tea in an effort to get her thoughts into some semblance of order, when she heard the pod doors whoosh open and what could only be described as a strikingly good-looking redhead with a body to match, walked onto the grid and straight into his office.
Her next thought, was that Harry's smile was enough for make her want to bury her head in yet another pile of reports that had landed in her desk, or better still run into the ladies and lock herself in. Only to discover it wasn't.
It was the expression on Adam's face. One which not only suggested that he knew what she was thinking, but that he was envisaging whoever this woman was, stowing her luggage next to Harrys. And not just in the sense of her analytical skills and ability to translate in numerous languages.
.
Harry was at home packing. The prospect of week on the outskirts of Geneva in a luxury hotel, and a second week in an alpine retreat owned by the President of France, should he knows be the stuff of dreams. Even if means that he'll have to listen to politicians from all over the globe, agreeing to do everything possible to save the planet. Only to go back to their respective countries and do little or nothing to make it happen.
What he also knows and what is really bothering him, is that he hadn't given Ruth the opportunity to answer his question. That his voiced assumption had hurt her. Suggesting that perhaps it would be better if she moved to another section. To do what? Effectively dismissing her as though he thought she didn't care after everything that has happened, everything that they've witnessed together. All of which had not only been totally unacceptable, but is as far from the truth as it can possibly be. But she'd said no and despite how he feels, he knows he if they carry on like this, it will be detrimental to the running of the section. Which means that he has to get her out of his system.
Except that he can't. In the same way that he doesn't want to spend his evenings with an analyst called Laura. Despite her having a body that most men would give a week's wages just to look at, never mind get their hands on. Adam's expression had certainly suggested so. Which makes it all the more awful that Ruth was there to witness him smiling at the wretched girl.
The solution he decides will be to sit in the bar, or better still in his room. With a bottle of whisky and a glass for company. For one thing it will cut down on the clothes he needs to pack. A few casual shirts and a couple of jumpers should do it. It's not as though he'll have anyone to impress, is it? Not unless he gets lucky and even then, he knows that he won't act upon it.
Thoughts which only increase to the point where he's acknowledging what a fool he's been, right from the start really. To suggest to someone as gentle and kind and intensely private as Ruth is, that a few rumours wouldn't change things. Knowing full well that the service is a breeding ground for the whisperers who inhabit it.
Stop mooning about he tells himself. Have a shower, get changed into something other than a bloody suit and finish your packing. Only to be stopped from doing so, because his doorbell is ringing.
Assuming that it's his taxi which isn't due for another hour, his mood darkens even further. As does his ability to relieve the tension that he can feel building as he pulls at his tie. Only to discover, when the ringing is replaced by hammering and he opens his front door, that the reason for his misery is standing there with an expression to suggest that she thinks it's already too late for her to have changed her mind.
