Unlikely as it might be, Ruth knows how easy it would be for her to write a guidebook to most of the capital cities in Europe, such has been the lack of intensity to which she's tried to forget Harry on the one hand and hold on to the memory of what could have been on the other. Which means that two years later, she finds herself not only travel weary, but no further forward to making a new life for herself away from London. Still without a companion, a word which she herself had thrown into the conversation when they'd both been too tongue tied to pursue the conversation to its obvious conclusion, which would have seen her inviting Harry into her house, for what would have been more than just a cup of coffee.

A feeling that had intensified during the drive back to her house in the confines of a taxi, to the point where she'd made up her mind that whatever Harry suggested, she'd say yes. How they'd stood on the pavement and watched the taxi drive away. On the brink, with no doubt as to where this was going when their fingers had briefly touched. Only for it to peter out on her doorstep when they'd both lost their courage.

The gossip that had followed. Her indecision, until it had been taken out of both their hands by Oliver Mace. The prolonged goodbye on the quayside when he'd clearly wanted to tell her that he loved her, which had resulted in their one and only kiss. A kiss that she herself had instigated, before she'd told him to let her go. The agony of seeing him standing on the quayside on his own before she looked away.

All of which is as clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday, but in terms of putting pen to paper and turning it into the love story it was destined to be, is another matter entirely.

The only decision that she doesn't regret, is that by sacrificing her own freedom she's been able to save the man that she'd loved and still does and was why before she'd left, she'd pleaded with Malcolm to keep in touch. To let her know how Harry was, which despite him protesting that it was highly irregular, he'd done. Which had been lovely in the beginning, but as time had gone on, had only served to compound the loss of the something wonderful, that to this day, she still swears brought tears to Harry's eyes. Until it reached the point where on one very cold and windy night in the Alps when she hadn't been able to sleep, she'd actually felt her heart break.

Pull yourself together, she'd told herself. You can find happiness again with someone else. Only to wake up the next morning knowing that she didn't want to. Because Harry was part of her and always would be.

.

Now when she's about to enter her third year of exile, against her better judgement and after a very long argument with the two Ruth's that she's become, she's been searching on the internet for somewhere she can rent in the UK, whilst still remaining dead as far as the records are concerned. Somewhere that is close enough but not too close to London, so that she won't be tempted to ring Harry and invite him in such a way, that he gets caught on speed cameras.

With November approaching, a month without any purpose in most people's opinion, she is just about to give herself a break by making herself a second pot of tea, when a two-bedroom cottage on the Suffolk coast takes her eye. The location which is described as being in a quiet back street of a small village with the beach on the doorstep, means that she won't have to immediately buy a car. An expense that in the short term, makes it sound even more appealing. And as if that isn't enough for her to want sign on the dotted line, this what looks to be a perfect little cottage, comes with the option to buy after the first year.

Add to that, fresh air which isn't tainted with the fumes that pervade every city, no matter what the politicians tell you and is so different to the small apartment that she's renting in Paris and has been for the last six months, while she's working in a small art gallery cataloguing their new exhibits, sees her abandoning any thought of making another pot of tea.

Her landlady, she tells what in part is the truth, or at least in her dreams, that her partner Harry's regiment, are flying home from Germany in time to be in attendance at the Cenotaph on the eleventh. The latest in a long line of stories she's had to create to explain why she hasn't been interested in developing a relationship with anyone else, she does the following morning. Also telling her to keep the advance that she'd had to pay before she'd moved in, which will give her another month in which to find another tenant. After which she walks to the short distance to where she works and hands in her notice.

That she'll miss the lifestyle that Paris has allowed her to lead, doesn't mean that she won't be able to come back at some time in the future. Even so, she allows herself a week in which to change her mind, which of course she doesn't, crams as much as she can into two cases and books herself a flight to London under one of her aliases. That it's November the first which is Harry's Birthday isn't a coincidence, but she isn't going to think about Harry is she?

.

Despite being a seasoned traveller, she still experiences a rush of nerves when she's navigating her way out of Heathrow. She'd left under a cloud and walking out of the airport now she needs that cloud to lift. Which it doesn't until she opens the front door. Her front door, the first thing that has been truly hers since she'd left.

Now a week later, a week when she's kept herself busy by pottering around, moving things to somewhere else and then moving them back again to where they'd been, because there is nothing about this house or what it contains that resembles her house in London, she's almost content. This is where she's meant to be, she reminds herself when his dear face smiles at her from the corner of the kitchen. A completely new start, where at least she can feel close to him, even if she isn't able to see him in person.

Routines have seen you surviving in the past she'd told herself, so she'd got into the habit of going for a walk on the beach every morning, before coming home and having breakfast and then making inroads into packing the stuff that she didn't want to live with on a daily basis. Replacing them with the few books and the odd treasured photo that she'd brought with her. The rest would come in time, there was no rush.

Only to watch her idyllic existence, replaced by the realisation that wherever she was, the worst of what she'd been would always be there to bring her back down to earth, when at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the camera angle changed to show the debris that was scattered over a large area of Whitehall. The Spook in her, not believing for a moment, what was reported on the news the following day, that the car which had blown up had been driven by a terrorist. Especially when it was followed by a press embargo and with her in no position to ring Thames House. When the names of those who had worked there when she'd left, became as real now as they had been then. Adam, Zaf, Jo and Ros. Any one of which could have been driving that car. Another loss that Harry would be struggling to cope with.

.

'I'm not having much luck, perhaps we ought to get Connie involved,' Malcolm suggested to Ros.

Malcom who still has a mental image of his early exchanges with Ruth when she'd been in Madrid, although he'd accepted rather than believed her when she'd told him that she was feeling better. Barely coping was how her voice had sounded when he'd asked her if she was still listening to music. Her phone going dead, before he'd had time to apologise.

'I know it's taking time but I still want to keep this contained. Lucas and Connie are new and both of them have a history with Harry. Neither of which I've had a chance to look into yet.'

'That's as maybe, but you do know how many countries there are in Western Europe?' He said rubbing his tired eyes.

'You think that's where Ruth is?'

I'm absolutely certain Ros. Can you honestly imagine Ruth going anywhere further afield, because I can't?'

'Then narrow down your search. Start again in Paris and take it from there. I seem to remember Adam telling me it was one of Harry's favourite cities. Something about him wanting to take Ruth there. Book yourself a flight if you think it will make it easier. Only a few days though. Oh, and by the way, if anyone asks where Jo is, just say you don't know. I've asked her to go over to Adam's to pick up some of Wes's things. After that, she's going over to Harry's to see how he and Wes are managing.'

.

Managing rather well was what Jo thought she saw when Harry opened the front door. Despite him having a child to look after, which having spent so much time living on his own couldn't be easy. That and the loss of Adam which had hit him hard, as it had all of them. The difference being that he blamed himself for each and every loss, including Ruth who was still alive. Where being the question?

His offer of 'ham egg and chips if you'd care to join us' when he'd got over the shock of seeing his most junior officer standing on his doorstep with a huge bag that had seen Wes in what amounted to raptures when he'd opened it, saw Jo following Harry into the kitchen. Surprised to hear that he'd so far managed to make a beef casserole and roasted a chicken. The remains of which, were going to be for his and Wes's lunch tomorrow and that most of the vegetables that she and Malcolm had bought were gone. Which begged the question as to why she'd imagined that Harry would be anything other than domesticated or why Malcolm who had known him for far longer than she had, imagined he wasn't capable of cooking a healthy meal?

All of which was happening in what felt like an alternative universe, when she was drinking a cup of coffee which he'd asked her to make for herself, while she looked at Harry and saw the man laid bare from the responsibilities that haunted his working days. Made even more so, because never in her life had she imagined her boss to be dressed in anything other than a suit and tie. And yet here she was sitting in his kitchen, watching him potter about with his sleeves rolled up and in sock clad feet. Had Ruth seen him behaving in a way that was so normal and was the reason that she'd fallen in love with him, she had no idea? What it was doing, was strengthening her resolve to throw herself behind Ros's and Malcolm's determination to fine Ruth and get the two of them under one roof.

Two hours later.

Well, I think we managed to negotiate that quite well, don't you Wes, thought Harry, who was sitting on a chair in the boy's bedroom, watching Wes who had finally fallen asleep, turn over. The light on the landing which he'd promised Wes he wouldn't turn off, because if he did, the nightmares that had prevented Wes from sleeping the previous night would return.

Nightmares that matched his own, except that his were when he was awake. The few days that they so far spent on their own, had worked because they'd made it up as they'd gone along. Including what and when to eat, which had played a large part. But sooner rather than later, he knows he'll have to make a decision about where and which school Wes should go to. One that will allow him to be there for Wes at the end of each day and not have to employ a child minder, a priority. What looking after a child, something that he'd spectacularly failed to do with his own children, will mean to him long term and as he always does when he climbs into bed himself and closes his eyes, he thinks about Ruth. Where she is, what she's made of her life and most importantly, is she safe and happy?