'Has it ever crossed your mind that Ruth might not want to come back to London?' Jo asked Malcolm, when they were waiting for Ros to come back from the Home Office with Ruth's passport. Malcolm had booked a flight to Paris the moment that Ros had said he could go and was getting jumpy because Ros was running late. Not by choice, but because she'd been waylaid by Dolby in the foyer. Advising her was the way he'd put it, that he was going to give Adam's Memorial Service a miss. Ros telling him it was family and close friends only, falling just short of asking him if knew he was the most disliked man at Thames House? That he'd be lucky if anyone came to his funeral and that included his wife.
'To Thames House yes and who could blame her, but to Harry, no never. How was he last night by the way?'
'To be honest, I really don't know. It felt as though I was watching a performance, except he didn't know I was coming, so maybe not. One thing I would say though, is that he's so lovely with Wes that I can sort of understand why Ruth fell in love with him. I want to say cuddly, but don't you dare tell him I said that. Oh, and before I forget, if the lack of food in his fridge is anything to go by, I'd say he's a dab hand when it comes to cooking as well.'
'Ignoring cuddly as one of Harry's attributes if I may, I agree with you that Ruth almost certainly saw a side of Harry that the rest of us didn't. As for being able to cook, we all have to do at some time in our lives. God knows I've had to learn since mother – well you know. By the way, I hope you didn't tell him that I'm going to Paris and why?'
'It was difficult believe you me, but his reaction if you don't find her doesn't bear thinking about. Anyway, what about you, what time's your flight?'
'I'm booked on the three thirty out of Heathrow and I'm due to come back on Sunday evening. Any longer than that and Ros says she won't be able to cover for me.'
'Needle in a haystack?'
'I'm hoping not, thanks to some friends who live there. Paris like every city in the world, well pretty much every one that compares to London, is divided into quarters. Financial, journalism, entertainment good and bad and in Ruth's case, I'm banking on her being in an area where there are plenty of opportunities to indulge herself in her spare time. Theatres, the Opera House might be a stretch on her own, but historical buildings and gardens, bookshops and art galleries, Ruth has a wide range of interests. It's just another of the reasons why she and Harry were so well suited.'
'Please don't say were Malcolm.'
'No, you're right I need to be positive. But until I get there, it's hard to imagine myself actually seeing her again.'
'Then try picturing all the benches scattered around the city. You know what they were like when she was here. It's a wonder that there isn't one in St. James's Park with their names on it.'
'Then perhaps there ought to be, how about we commission one?'
'Why not, I'll get onto it while you're away.'
.
Despite being in Paris for one reason and one reason only, Malcolm couldn't help feeling better when the taxi pulled up outside his friend's house. The prospect of a break from London whatever the reason was rare for him. The thought of a meal that he himself didn't have to cook. A conversation where he wasn't pretty much talking to himself and the the opportunity to sleep in an attic room within spitting distance of Notre Dame, were all taking him back to the day when he first met Jean Louis. Before life had got complicated. When he'd been able choose where he went and when, which on that occasion had been when they'd both on a walking holiday in the Pyrenees.
How they'd talked well into the night about their interests and their ambitions. His to invent something that would ensure he could retire early and Jean Louis to sleep with every woman on the planet. Neither of which had happened, because Jean Louis had met and married Marie a couple of years later and he'd ended up at Five.
Not that he hasn't made his mark and is invaluable member of the team as he's been told on numerous occasions. None more so than now, is what he's hoping for.
'So, tell me more about the woman that we're looking for?' asked Jean Louis, passing their plates to Marie after the first course and with the promise of cheese and a dessert to follow. The bottle of wine which they were sharing, easing them back into conversation in a way to suggest that it hadn't been over twenty years since they'd last seen each other. 'What's she done that means you can't just go to the police and report her missing, or am I right in assuming that there's more to it than you're telling me?'
'You know who I work for, so it's the latter and strictly off the record I'm afraid. Up until two years ago she worked for us as an analyst. The then chairman of the JIC, a real bastard, wanted to destabilise our section by getting rid of Harry.'
'Harry's still there, how is he, still opening the batting for England?'
'Struggling, is the best word to describe how Harry is and the less said about our cricket the better. Ruth, that's her name, refused to let Harry be thrown to the wolves and stepped into the frame to save him. It was all very hurried and for her own safety we faked her death.'
'Some sacrifice, so I'm guessing they were more than just friends?'
'Not in the sense that you and Marie are, but I knew them both well enough at the time, to know that Ruth leaving virtually broke him and because in the early days she and I kept in touch, that she was hanging onto the hope that one day something might happen to allow her to come home.
'So why now, what's happened that it's so urgent?'
'There's a young child involved. A boy, who in the space of three years has lost both his mother and his father. His father only recently.'
'So, it was one of yours driving that car. I guessed it must have been.
'You're right, but in this case it was cold blooded murder of a good man. Stopping what was a plot to kill dozens, possibly hundreds of people. Harry's looking after Wes now and however well he's doing at the moment – well you know what I'm hinting at. More importantly, he doesn't know that I'm here looking for Ruth.'
'All very good reasons why we need to find her I'd say.'
The following morning over breakfast. A breakfast, that had Malcolm not been feeling nervous when he was sitting in a small café alongside the Seine with ten other members of Jean Louis's cycling club, geared up and ready to go, he might have enjoyed. As it was, his stomach was churning. He knew he'd drunk too much wine the previous evening and that he shouldn't have eaten a second croissant, but temptation had been put in his way. That and he'd had a second cup of coffee, which despite adding milk was so much stronger than the instant which he usually drank. One of those when in Rome scenarios which came with a health warning, which in his case he'd ignored.
The saving grace, being that it wasn't raining, in fact it was a bright and crisp morning so the air outside was clear. As was the objective for this gathering of like-minded souls who met every Saturday morning, to cycle through the heart of Paris. Today split into five pairs of two, who knew exactly where they were going. Six if you included Malcolm and Jean Louis who were going to cycle alongside the Seine to an outdoor market that sold amongst things, second hand books. A starting point or a stab in the dark, either way Malcolm was doing his best to stay optimistic. That and hoping that he'd be able to keep up and more importantly didn't fall off the bike.
Jean Louis, who was much more optimistic and didn't have the headache that Malcolm had, was buzzing. 'I've done what you asked me, so they think that Harry's your brother and it's his partner who hasn't been answering her phone. Marie's on standby, just in case we don't find Ruth. In which case she'll go into work tomorrow and search through the various registers that she updates. Any more than that you'll need to explain yourself.'
Hopefully not thought Malcolm, as his stomach lurched again.
.
'I made that when I was little. Dad thought it was great,' said Wes, pointing to the recycling project that Harry was admiring, part way into him giving Harry a crash course on what he did and didn't like to do when they were sorting through the things that Jo had brought over for him. The wall of Harry's spare bedroom devoid of the pictures that had hung there for no reason other than to make the room look lived in, about to be replaced by whatever Wes wanted to hang there. After they too had finished breakfast and were setting out on an adventure of sorts, except that unlike Malcolm and his pals, Harry didn't have any set plans as to what to do for the remainder of the day, never mind the weeks ahead. Despite him having convinced himself that he really did have to take it one day at a time and as this was only day three that he shouldn't be berating himself. Or be considering whether wielding a hammer, which had necessitated a rummage under the stairs, counted as good parenting or whatever his new title was. That guardian sounded like something from a Dickens novel and that Ruth would be able to tell him which one. Something else he could ask her this evening.
That she wouldn't be able to hear him didn't matter, the important thing was that it would allow him to indulge himself as he'd done the previous night when he'd gone to bed. Adding one more to the hundreds of conversations that he'd had with her since she'd left. When he'd told her that Wes was living with him because Adam had been killed. That Ros was running the section while he was away like a well-oiled machine and that Jo and Malcolm were rallying round. But it was her he needed and always had. The only person who would be able to help him to shoulder the burden of inadequacy he was feeling.
.
While Harry was worrying about what he was going to do for the rest of the day and whether or not he was the best person to be looking after Wes, Ruth was having a very similar conversation with him. The difference being, that hers was being conducted on the beach with a flask of tea that she'd brought with her for company, whilst leaning against one of the upturned boats so that the wind didn't blow her back to France, or heaven forbid Belgium. Because today was the day she'd decided when she was going to tell Harry about her new house.
Talking to Harry when she was in bed, had been all very well when she'd been in Paris, but now that she was back and could picture him sitting behind his desk, it felt more appropriate to do it when they were both awake. That and because shouting at the heavens on an empty beach early each morning when there was nobody to hear her, about how bloody unfair life was and what the hell was she going to do now, simply had to stop.
'I know you can't hear me and you have no idea where I am Harry, but you're the only person that I can have this conversation with who won't think I'm completely bonkers. I did wish you a Happy Birthday on the first. In fact, and here's where you're going to be surprised, it was the day I flew home. Home is only just down the road if you drive fast enough and I know you would if you knew I was here. Anyway, I've rented a house in Suffolk. It's on the coast. I'm actually sitting on the beach at the moment and you're right it is cold, but don't worry I'm well wrapped up. The house is only small but I love it and I think you would to. The kitchen is the largest of the rooms. Well, it's a kitchen diner really. The units are green, which as you know is my favourite colour. As is the front door where the paints all peeling. Not that I'd want to change it. The windows at the back are huge and there's lovely view of the garden and guess what, there's a bench just like ours on the lawn. I haven't sat out there yet, but I will once I've sorted myself out indoors. And of course, when it gets warmer. Now to the upstairs which seems smaller although it isn't of course. There are two bedrooms. I'm sleeping in the largest one, not that it's very large. The other one I'm using to store things at the moment, but it would make a lovely office. I haven't met the neighbours yet, despite having been here for nearly three weeks. Maybe this weekend I'll invite them in for a cup of tea, or on second thoughts probably not. I sort of want you to be the first person to see the house if you know what I mean? I wish I could call you, but we both know that can't happen. I'd ring Malcolm if I could remember his number, but that's not possible either. My original phone is buried in the snow, somewhere along with my pride from a time when I fell over. Anyway, I'd better get back now as I'm beginning to seize up. I wish you were here with me Harry I really do and I know I keep repeating myself, but I miss you so much.'
