Thank you for the lovely reviews and plot heckling, and sorry you had to wait. A ton of work landed.
Dempsey knows what it looks like. If he was Richard, he'd be very suspicious of his girlfriend at a table with a good looking guy; both looking rough with damp hair and sharing breakfast.
Harry is either oblivious or completely confident in her ability to charm as she greats her uncharismatic boyfriend with a cheery smile. "Hello, Richard, what brings you here?"
"I was out with my family, we're feeding the ducks," Richard waves to an outside location beyond the window. "And you two?"
Dempsey feels a hint of hungover panic. This isn't going to be good for Harry. He can't care less about himself.
"Dempsey and I are getting breakfast," Harry flicks a look at him and Dempsey digests it with a mouthful of toast. "No such thing as a weekend for us."
"Duty calls," he agrees, keeping it obtuse, should fate intervene and Spikings appear. "The criminals of London need us to keep 'em in check."
Harry nods and butters her toast, "You can join us if you like?"
As Dempsey suspects and thinks Harry may have hoped, the guy shakes his head,
"I'd best be getting back," Richard studies Harry for a moment and in saying goodbye, he aims for her mouth; she turns and he kisses her cheek.
"That was good thinking," Dempsey comments as she spears a mushroom.
"I said good morning, what else would I say?" Harry asks evenly.
Oh. "I said nothing," he looks at his plate.
"No, go on Dempsey, you clearly had a point and you never let me forget them usually." She puts down her fork and balances her chin on praying fingers. "I had a pleasant evening with a friend, we had a bit too much wine. He slept on my sofa and now we're having breakfast."
"Yup." Dempsey nods, "But in guy speak, things can look a bit different, that's all I'm saying. The evidence could look like something else."
She considers him for a moment; "This is like the keys when I told you I didn't have them. Just because we look worse for wear, it doesn't mean that anything... happened."
He stuffs the last of the sausage in his mouth; it stops him reminding her about Stringfellows.
DMDMDM
His headache makes itself known a little longer. He sits on the couch for a while and finally switches on the television to watch a documentary. David Attenborough vaguely catches his attention.
He's half asleep when the phone rings; it's just after 9.
"Yo, Dempsey," It could be his mom or Harry.
"Jim, Jim Dempsey? This is Richard," the voice is reedy down the line. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
Dempsey sits up straight, "I'm not… How did you get this number?"
"Harriet," Richard explains, "I'd like to talk to you about something."
Dempsey is absolutely certain that Harry didn't divulge his personal number.
"I'd appreciate it if this was in confidence," Richard carries on and Dempsey clenches his fist. He can't land a punch down the line which is probably why this asshat is ringing.
"This line has been tapped, you're ringing an armed officer of the Met," Dempsey replies flatly.
"I'm not worried about that, just Harriet," Richard chuckles.
This guy should be worried; she's got a gun. Dempsey is immediately cautious. "Her birthday was three months ago."
"It's not that. I could ask her father. It was about Harriet's social life."
"What about it?" Dempsey forces himself to keep his tone even and not growl at the man.
"Well, you've been friends for a while. You should know she's not an easy person to talk to."
Dempsey mutters something that could be heard as reassuring.
"Our relationship is a fledgling so there are sensitive topics I can't ask her."
Don't ask them, you numbskull. "Is there a point to this conversation, Richard?"
"Yes, oh yes. What I mean to ask is… well, has she been with anyone recently. She says she hasn't dated since her ex-husband but I don't know if that's true or indeed if she's slept around?"
Dempsey knows he's heard right, it's his job to pick this stuff up. He lets the silence hang for a moment as he contains his outrage. Was he ever this stupid?
"Jeez," He says at last with a low whistle. "I wasn't expecting that sorta question."
He takes a swig of coffee.
"I have a young daughter who I would like Harriet to meet but if she's not a good example then I need to know," Richard explains. "Her character reference is important."
Fuck. Dempsey tucks the cordless phone in his shoulder and paces the floor, much like an interrogation room. He's not sure who is being held here. "If you want a character reference, ask her. Or Freddy. You must know the vicar at her local church."
"Oh I see," Richard says quietly. "I had thought this morning but I wanted to let Harriet explain."
"We're not having this conversation," Dempsey cuts in.
"You've fucked her, haven't you?" Richard is icy at the other end of the line and the change of tone would freak anyone else out. Still, Dempsey's blood runs cold.
Two can obfuscate.
"Dr…Richard, it's late and I'm feeling rough. I suggest you ask Harry or leave this conversation until we met in hell," He hangs up before the guy can answer.
He has to tell her. He should; but he doesn't want to get involved. Though he's had a problem with his partner dating the lowlife from the start. This call is a gift on a gold platter and either way, whatever he thinks or does will throw them.
It's going to be shit, whatever.
Dempsey sits on the couch, watching a dolphin family, wishing he had a different life.