Having waited two years for news of Ruth's whereabouts, Harry certainly hadn't anticipated how rapidly things would accelerate now that he did. 'Believe in your team.' Ros had told him and that's what he was trying to do, whilst gazing at a map of the UK, with the same longing that had kept him awake for the best part of the night when he'd believed her to be in Paris. During which time, he'd barely cared about the consequences if he himself had hopped on a plane and flown over there. Now though, when Malcolm had called to say that Ruth wasn't in France but in the UK and that he'd be with him in under an hour, he'd changed his mind about suggesting to Wes that they watch TV and instead, was midway through a discussion about toast as opposed to cereal and how many varieties of the latter there were. Which as he was strictly a toast and coffee man wasn't going to last much longer. Despite him having vague memories of Graham, eating something which came in packaging with monkeys swinging through the treetops.
'Do you remember Ruth?' he asked Wes, changing the subject to that of the person he could remember as if it was only yesterday that he'd seen her. Or perhaps in a chance to redeem himself, after what he still believed had been his abject failure to engage with his own son. Now handed to him on a plate and as Ros had pointed out, if Ruth was willing to help him, would amount to Wes having a family again.
Doors opened immediately, when Wes said, 'yes Ruth's your friend, she's lovely. Dad said she was kind to him after mum died. A response which made Harry think that Ros was right. But more than that, through the eyes of a child, came confirmation that it wasn't only now that his colleagues were throwing everything that they had behind bringing his relationship with Ruth to a happy conclusion. That Adam all those years ago had been able to talk to Wes quite openly about Ruth, whereas he hadn't to anyone, other than perhaps in the way he'd behaved towards her. That things were different now and if Wes in particular, or anyone else for that matter asked him about his feelings for Ruth, he was going to tell them the truth.
Deciding to give it a try, not only to test himself, but to pass the time, 'you're right, Ruth is lovely,' he told Wes. Before telling him that 'he hadn't seen her for a couple of years and Malcolm was coming over to help him look for her.'
'Like a treasure hunt?'
'Yes,' he told him, trying and failing to blank out their imagined romantic reunion of the previous night. With the curtains open and where beneath Ruth's bedroom window in Paris, the Flash Mob had been playing Beethoven's Ode to Joy.
Any further thoughts of bedrooms and or possible romantic reunions, were halted when the front doorbell rang and before Harry could stop him, Wes raced out into the hall and opened the front door.
.
'Brace yourself,' said Malcolm, pulling up a chair next to Harry and switching on his computer. Before logging on to the CCTV, which had, after several attempts to find the right moment before he'd left home, based on the date and the time of Ruth's flight, answered most of his questions. Because amongst the crowds of people who were pouring out of terminal three at Heathrow on the first of the month, there she was. John Louis hadn't let him down, but until he'd seen her alive and breathing with his own eyes, he hadn't wanted to risk showing this to Harry.
Now that he was, 'how about you and I go and make us some coffee?' he suggested to Wes. 'Press that it you want to rewind it, we'll be about ten minutes,' he told the man whose expression of sustainable control, was threatening to break down.
Until with coffee in hand, 'does November the first ring any bells, apart from it being your birthday?' He asked Harry, because he'd been wondering if there was a significance that only he would know about, as they watched Ruth join the long queue for a taxi.
'None that comes to mind,' said Harry, whose heartrate had reached the point where he really shouldn't have been drinking coffee, but felt that he had to contribute, even if it was just to answer Malcolm's questions.
'No matter. I've been in touch with the taxi company and they've confirmed that they took Ruth to London Victoria. But not to the mainline station or the entrance to the underground.'
'Where then?'
'To the coach station. Ros is on her way there now, armed with the usual paperwork to find out find out where Ruth went from there?'
'But I don't understand, why would Ruth want to go anywhere on a coach?'
'Apart from her being what I would describe as small in stature, did you see the size of those suitcases? Imagine her trying to lift them onto a train or dragging them onto an escalator and then the tube? No, I think Ruth planned this well in advance and knew exactly where she was going and how she was going to get there.'
'Either that or she was being cautious. We can't overlook the possibility that she thought she was being followed.'
'Far be it for me to argue, but I don't think so. Look at her body language Harry. OK so she looks harassed and who wouldn't be after a flight these days, but not once does she look over her shoulder.'
.
If Malcom hadn't called Ros with the news that Ruth was in the UK, she'd have been in for morning that was purely routine and an afternoon that was anything but. As things now stood, she'd cancelled both her meeting with the Home Secretary on the pretext of having raging toothache and going to see a dentist, and with Lucas to discuss what had become an increasing desire on her part, to dispose of Arcardy Katchimov. Having been sitting in what she now saw as the hot seat for several weeks, she understood how Harry had felt for heaven knows how many years, when those who thought they knew better, prevented him from doing the job he was paid to do. A job which nine times out of ten, required him to sift out the lies from the truth and in this case, was about the man who had had tried and failed to get her killed when she'd been in Moscow, which she could accept. That he'd been responsible for Adam's death, she couldn't.
Now though she had something that was far easier to do. Something that wouldn't require her to tell Dolby what was an outright lie, as she pushed open the door to the National Express Information Office and bypassed what she supposed were passengers.
'There's a queue love,' wasn't the way to address Ros under any circumstances, but then Bob Roberts as his lapel badge indicated, didn't know that she ate bigger men than him for her breakfast.
'I'm nobody's love and I'm already running late, so take a look at this,' she told him, producing an identity card which confirmed she was from their Head Office. 'Passenger records check. Pick a day, any day you like. Can't think of one. OK then, how does November the first sound?'
'Fine,' said Bob, unlocking the door to the side office where the records were stored. 'Do let me know if you can't find what you want,' she ignored. Only for him to turn round and to come face to face with a couple who were in the middle of a domestic, because one or the other of them had lost their tickets. Not my bloody day he thought and it isn't even lunchtime yet.
.
'Any luck?' Malcolm asked Ros, in a voice which suggested that trying to find out where Ruth was after two years, was little more than a daily occurrence. A call which had seen both him and Harry reaching for the phone and Malcolm beating him to it.
'Ros says she's in Southwold, which at best will mean a three hour drive in heavy traffic. You know what the M25 can be like and then you're going to have to find somewhere to stay. So, my suggestion for what it's worth, is that you wait until tomorrow morning, but we both know that's not going to happen don't we?'
Malcolm knew full well that if Harry had been going on his own, he'd have picked up his car keys and been through the door before he'd said Jack Robinson. But he wasn't going on his own and he had Wes to consider.
'Right,' he said when Harry didn't answer. 'How about you go upstairs and pack what you need, while I rustle up some lunch and then we find somewhere for you to stay?'
After which the house felt strangely empty and for how long Malcolm had no idea. Harry was free to come and go as he wished and for the first time, Malcolm realised how much he relied on him as a friend and was going to miss him. For all Harry's perceived faults, which were touted around Whitehall by people who barely knew him, he was as the saying went, the rock on which they built their church. A man who unlike Adam, still had a life to live and away from Thames House if he chose to take it. That and love wasn't a word which was bandied about in their line of work. It was treated in a way to suggest it was impossible to find, but Harry and Ruth had proved otherwise. Time to go back to work he told himself, locking the front door behind him and pocketing the keys.
.
The hotel that Malcolm had booked them into was in the centre of town. A town with less than a thousand residents out of season and it was obviously that, because Harry found a parking space adjacent to the front door. Where despite it being a dull November day, the hotel still looked warm and welcoming. As was their room, which was at the back and overlooked the garden. Sharing a room with a ten-year-old and sleeping in a single bed, something that he hadn't done since his army years, was for later. By which time he hoped that Wes would be tired, but for now he was still buzzing and just as hungry as he always was.
Once in the dining room, 'let's sit by the window,' Harry suggested, for no reason other than there was a good view of the sea at the end of the high street. The one in a million chance that Ruth might walk past the window, didn't come into it he told himself as he handed Wes the menu.
'Have anything you like,' he told his young companion, who had cheered up to the point where Harry could see a future which wouldn't involve him having to explain his every thought or move. One where Wes would be able to smile again and have the life his parents had wanted to give him.
Which in this instance saw Wes choosing what was described as the burger special and chips, while he chose the locally caught fish.
But it wasn't until later, when they'd walked down to the sea and Wes was attempting to skim stones across the water, that Harry found himself breathing normally. Yes, it was cold, but they were well wrapped up and he was daring to believe himself capable of coping with anything, including a reunion with Ruth. Having seen her on the screen where she'd certainly looked just as he'd remembered her, he hoped went way beyond those startling blue eyes and a sense of humour that had flashed out from time to time. That living in Paris hadn't changed her outlook on life. The why she'd chosen to come home, he hoped he knew the answer to. But to Southwold, still remained something of a mystery.
'This is fun, I wish we lived here,' said Wes as if he knew what he'd been thinking. Was it just as simple as that? He hoped it was.
Contrary to his belief that he wouldn't sleep well, he did. As did Wes who was still asleep when he showered, shaved and dressed. Only waking up when he was making himself a cup of coffee with the same, I need to be fed expression that he'd maintained since he'd moved in with him. Malcolm was right, Wes although he didn't know it, was proving to be a steadying influence. Ensuring that he made the right decisions. Whereas left on his own he'd have skipped breakfast and what good would that have done him?
None at all, which was why when Wes asked him, 'if he could have the cooked breakfast,' when his own stomach couldn't face anything more than his usual two slices of toast and a quick call to Malcolm to thank him again, he said, 'of course.'
.
As the sun was shining and sticking to what had become something of a routine, Ruth had enjoyed her morning walk on the beach. She was now debating whether to go shopping or make a start on the garden. Not that there was a huge amount to do, but every time she looked out of the kitchen window, she felt guilty. Winter wasn't far away and if she didn't tackle it now, it would be far more difficult in the spring, her neighbours had suggested when she'd finally made the effort and invited them round for tea. They'd also been very forthright and had told her virtually everything there was to know about themselves. Including that they'd both been married before and had moved here three years ago to make a new start. Which had prompted her to tell them about Harry. Her version of their relationship, had it ever reached the bedroom, whilst still sticking to the story that he was in the army in Germany.
Would she have worn something different, or changed her mind about what she'd decided to do, if she'd known when she opened the shed door with some difficulty, that less than a couple of miles away along the coast road and about to embark on a tour of all the estate agents, was that the man who she hadn't spoken to for two years, and that less than an hour later, he'd be knocking on her front door? Almost certainly she would. That not knowing, was going to make their reunion so much easier, because a muddied and harassed Ruth was so not what Harry had expected. To the extent that any nerves he might have been feeling, were swept away along with the cobwebs in her hair.
