'What time is?' wasn't really necessary, although in a court of law, Harry was ready to insist that 'bollocks' was, as in an attempt to make himself respectable before Catherine rang the doorbell, he stubbed his toe on the side table and knocked over a glass of water. Having been asleep for several hours but waking to a commotion, no amount of soothing from Ruth could persuade Jacob to go back to sleep.

More than capable of matching her head on, Catherine was surprised by how quiet her dad seemed, as she sat in the kitchen of Ruth's house watching him making her some tea. Short of giving her a huge hug and telling her that it was wonderful to see her and that Ruth would be down in a moment, he'd said little else.

It looked as though he'd combed his hair and she suspected he'd taken the time to shave. Heaven knows why when they'd clearly been in bed when she'd called. When her mother had hinted that he had someone in his life, it had doubled her endeavours to come home for his birthday, but nothing had prepared her for the moment that Ruth walked into the room carrying a child.

'Please take him Harry, you're so much better with him than I am,' she pleaded, handing a whimpering Jacob over, introducing herself to Catherine and apologising for the chaotic welcome, before pouring herself a cup of tea and sitting down.

Torn between watching Ruth who appeared to be totally relaxed in this situation and her father who so obviously wasn't, cradling this small boy was a memory beyond any other that she'd ever had. He'd held Graham like this on a night when the whole house had been woken because he'd had one of his nightmares. How her dad had come to her bedroom afterwards and told her not to worry and that he loved her, but she'd stubbornly refused to turn over and pretended to be asleep. Did he also remember? Was this what was worrying him? Questions that had been buried since she'd been a child flooding into her mind, consuming her with an urge to know the answers, knowing that they'd have to wait until the morning. A realisation of time wasted with no chance of turning the clock back to recapture what might have been, she realised that Ruth had asked her a question.

'My plan was to arrive much earlier, but there was an incident at the airport and we were late taking off, I'm sorry to have disturbed you,' was her best effort at saying something to re-energise the conversation and cope with the fact that she hadn't got a clue what Ruth had said.

Undeterred or just being polite Catherine had no idea, as Ruth carried on chatting as though it was second nature.

'Jacob's usually a good sleeper, but we had a party for your dad this afternoon and you know how it is? I'm sorry that you missed it. If we seem a bit distracted it's because we're tired. Look you're obviously tired as well, I'll go on up and sort out Jacob's room it won't take me a moment. He can come in with us can't he Harry?' Was one of those it goes without saying statements, which couples who are comfortable with each other didn't require and answer.

'Thanks.' Was all Catherine managed.

The following morning.

'Given the chance, your father will sleep like a log for hours yet,' Ruth told Catherine, who having smelt coffee being prepared presumed that it was Harry who was down in the kitchen, but found herself on her own with Ruth. Still curious and guessing that getting any information out of her dad would be as difficult as it always was, she settled herself down on the other side of the table and, with her journalist stroke daughter hat firmly in place plunged in. Not with much subtlety as it turned out. That Ruth had reluctantly volunteered, because Harry had seen Catherine's expression change when he'd walked in with Jacob, she wasn't to know.

'How long have you and my Dad been living together?' was about as direct as it got.

'Nearly five months, not long after I became his solicitor,' and Catherine was rocked. She'd imagined that Ruth was one of his spook buddies that could lie through their teeth. But she wasn't, which hopefully meant that she'd tell her the truth. What she hadn't banked on, was that Ruth was more than capable of dealing with almost anything that was thrown at her when it came to questioning. She did it every day of her working life.

'Didn't that create a conflict of interests?' was a fair enough question, but if Catherine was looking for a sparring contest she was about to meet her match.

'It would have done if your mother had wanted to contest the divorce, but she didn't did she?' proved it.

'You do know what my dad does for a living?' Ruth had also anticipated.

'Catherine,' was emphasised, as was Ruth's need to take a breath. 'I can understand that you're curious, but this isn't a conversation that you should be having with me, it's your dad you should be talking to.'

'But Dad and I don't really talk,' and there it was. She really wanted to tell Catherine to try harder, but knowing how resistant Harry could be if he was pushed, she ploughed on with a showstopper.

'If a person falls in love with someone as quickly as I fell in love with your dad, then what do you do as a living isn't the first question that comes to mind? Besides which it was Malcolm that brought us together.'

'Uncle Malcolm?'

'Yes.'

'And when you found out?'

'To be honest I was more shocked about Malcolm than I was your dad, who wouldn't be? But for reasons that I can't go into, we've found a way to make it work.'

'And this doesn't worry you as a mother?' And Ruth inwardly smiled. This was the real question that Catherine had been building up to.

'Oh no Jacob's not mine, we just look after him at the weekends when his mother's at work.'

'Dad takes weekends off?' Was a valid question.

'He does,' said a voice from the doorway, before Harry walked through the door with Jacob, both of them still dressed in their pyjamas and him with a look on his face that told Catherine that he'd been listening to her inquisition.

'Peter,' said Jacob, tottering over to where Catherine was sitting, handing her his rabbit with impeccable timing.

'Breakfast, what would everybody like?' Ruth asked them, looking towards Catherine and thinking how much like Harry she was and looked, before she handed Harry a coffee and waited for a response that was slow in coming, other than from Jacob.

'Harry, Catherine loves you, she was just being curious, don't read so much into it,' followed breakfast, during which time Catherine had watched her dad and Jacob eat cereal and toast, as opposed to virtually nothing that he'd somehow managed to exist on when he'd been living on his own. Ruth was giving Jacob his bath and Harry had crept into the bathroom to join her while Catherine was in the shower room, intent on finding a way for them to leave the following morning as planned without it upsetting his daughter.

'She's a big girl, I'm sure she can cope for a few weeks, she can stay here if she wants to, and no I'm not going to take my clothes off and climb in,' followed Harry's suggestion that it would save some time, and no the water didn't need topping up before she did so, as Jacob splashed about contentedly.

Packing was what they needed to do, that and take Jacob home, before they got what she hoped would be an early night to recuperate, before their taxi arrived in the morning. Quite how Catherine was going to fit into their day she hadn't thought about, there was only so much that she could cope with, even with her ability to organise.

'Stop thinking,' Harry whispered, stealing a moment by kneeling down behind her and burying his face in her hair, pressing himself against her. Jacob was within inches of them talking to himself, occupied in his own little world. As her body relaxed back against Harry's, she fought against the mounting urge to turn around and kiss him. Somehow finding the strength to stop. Instead she closed her eyes and stilled Harry's hands, promising herself that for the next couple of weeks and beyond, that whatever they asked of each other, neither of them would say no.

Impatient and resistant when it came to change, Harry had relented on one thing and it was Catherine that had driven them to the airport. Jacob was home, Jacob was safe and Adam would be at the helm by now.

That Harry had been planning this trip for weeks but had only told Ruth just some of the things that she could expect, no amount of research or the books that she'd spent her life reading could have given her the view as the plane circled on the approach to the airport. Lake Geneva stretching as far as they eye could see, the famous fountain that was a landmark in this beautiful Swiss city, now still, or the snow - covered streets and the bitter cold, that explained why Harry had told her to pack only the essentials because there wasn't time and they'd shop for what they needed when they got there. But it was the sky, blue and clear above the hills that most took her breath away. That and the look of pure joy on Harry's face as guided her out of the terminal.

'City centre,' he told their taxi driver, 'somewhere for a warm drink,' went unspoken, as he smiled at her with the look of a child that had been hiding a secret. All the worry that had been haunting him for weeks gone.

She lived and died in the boots that she was wearing, but as she slipped and slid, clinging onto Harry's arm as they entered a café in search of something to eat, she knew where they'd be heading first. That and some heavy jumpers and socks, anything else they could buy in Chamonix he told her, rubbing her hands between his to warm them up, as they sat either side of a small table waiting for their marshmallow topped hot chocolate and croissants.

That Harry could continue to play out his long - held dream, was testament not only to his own excitement at finally being on holiday in an area that had grabbed at his heartstrings when he'd been a young man, but that Ruth was here with him. Free from the self - imposed shackles that had held him like a vice, he had no authority whatsoever. No one would know who he was and for the first time in years he had no responsibilities other than to share this most precious time with Ruth. The phone wouldn't ring, there were no bloody meetings to go to and most importantly he was deliriously happy.

Whatever time of year you visited Chamonix it was guaranteed to be filled with like-minded tourists as surely as Mont Blanc was to be covered in snow and, as he drove south east on a journey that he knew would take them less than two hours he felt his body beginning to unwind.

At the bottom of the valley, he pulled into a small parking area to stretch his legs and to take a breath. The huge viaduct that hadn't even been conceived, never mind built when he'd last come here, was less than a kilometre away. Not wanting to cock things up at the death by getting himself lost, he reached into his jacket pocket and found the directions to where they'd be staying. Ruth was looking around at the scenery, flat and barren and to all intents and purposes uninteresting. It was almost as though it had been designed to look like this, so that first time visitors would experience a plunge into disappointment, before the elation that was so tantalisingly close.

What had Malcolm said? Take some time off, take Ruth somewhere exotic, talk about the future. Life's too short Harry. Do whatever it takes for as long as it takes, we'll manage. Exotic it wasn't, it was magical and the rest of what he'd said was for tomorrow and all their tomorrows.

All the names in the world strung together couldn't have produced a better reaction than the one he got from Ruth when they broke through the clouds into the sunshine. That Jesus Christ had very little to do with it he didn't doubt, but that was her reaction to the sheer enormity of the highest mountain in Europe as the road levelled out and they drove the last few kilometres to the outskirts of town.

'Why is it that the rest of Europe are so far ahead of us Brits when it comes to tourist areas?' Was something he wasn't keen to admit, but Ruth was right they were, as they pottered around the small supermarket that was discreetly screened by trees, buying the essentials enough to see them through until the following morning. Maybe a short walk followed by a night in, went without saying.

'Camping des Deux Glaciers' was closed until March other than the dozen or so chalets that were available for hire during the winter months. Privately owned and paying a hefty rental to the site owner, he and his wife were guaranteed to enjoy themselves, the proprietor of chalet seven had told Harry when he'd first enquired and to his shame in perfect English. The beds would be made, the fire would be lit and if they were to encounter any problems then they had to refer to the information folder. That and wishing them a happy holiday should they decide to book.

Into the warm for the first time since they'd been shopping in Geneva, Ruth probably wouldn't have cared where she was by now. All that mattered was that she was with Harry and the world around her had finally stop moving. All she'd had to do to get them here was to say yes on the night that they'd booked. He'd organised the rest, heaven knows how?

Warm was an understatement in contrast to the outside temperature which was plummeting even further as the evening wore on, so they were able to relax and enjoy their cobbled together meal, without Ruth worrying that she might die from hypothermia before the night was out. The owner had kindly provided them with a choice between a bottle of red or white, the first of which was long gone, as with the fire blazing, they turned their attention to the must - read information book and dozens of leaflets that told them all they needed to know about Chamonix and if needs be what to do if there was a power outage. Harry knew what to do, he didn't need telling, although he doubted it would restore the power. After what had been a life changing few months, they were finally on their own with no chance of interruption. Well not until eight the next morning when a very handsome Frenchman was set to arrive in his van delivering bread.

That Harry had some surprises of his own up his sleeve, one of which was a letter that he'd left with Adam, were amongst the other things that he was saving for another day.

Bank it up and the fire will stay in all night, he'd done. It was time for that bath that Ruth had promised him and then bed.