Thursday, 24th December 2009
The drive down is easy and relaxing, once they leave the outskirts of London, the car warm, music gentle, the atmosphere full of a hopeful kind of expectation. They don't say much, but she knows that she's not the only one experiencing the excitement, the budding joy of being together, their usual reticence and caution falling away as the miles stretch behind them.
With each passing day since Harry turned up at her choir, it's become easier to live in the present, to let go of the past, to forgive herself for surviving, to accept that making the most of the time she has left is the only way forward and a good way to pay her respects. After all, if she'd been the one to go first, she would have wanted exactly that for Jo, for Zaf, for George and Nico. They were good people and good people want the best for those they love and care for. And the further she gets from Thames House today, the easier it is to think only of Harry, of her hopes and dreams, of them finally coming together.
The B&B is delightfully warm and rustic, and their rooms right next to each other, under the eves of the house, the skylight in each room infusing them with natural light and giving them a spacious, yet cosy feel. Her room is smaller than Harry's, but thought he tries to insist she take the bigger of the two, she doesn't let him.
"I'm not giving up my room, Harry. It's just like the one I had when I was little, after my parents had the loft converted, and besides, you'll only keep bumping your head against the ceiling. You're much taller than I."
And it's true. He's been eyeing the sloping ceiling warily ever since they stepped into what is to be her bedroom for the night.
Or so Harry thinks.
Little does he know that, if her plans work out tonight, they'll both be sleeping in the double bed in his room anyway, so there's little point in arguing now.
"Well," he eventually concedes, "if you're sure?"
"I'm sure. Now, come on. Let's explore Lewes."
He smiles and nods, turning to leave the room and making his way down the narrow stairs to the second floor with her close behind him. Here the building isn't as narrow and they can make their way downstairs side by side, hands brushing against each other a couple of times before she grasps his with her own, making them both smile like fools until they reach the bottom for the staircase and the front desk.
"Off to explore?" Mary, the owner, asks them.
"Yes," she replies. "We were hoping to find lunch. We're famished."
"That shouldn't be too hard. Just walk down to the centre. There are several places open today."
She smiles and thanks her, turning to Harry who's busy pulling on his leather gloves by the front door. "Shall we?" he asks, voice low, gaze warm and inviting.
"Yes," she replies, following his example and pulling on her own gloves and her hat.
Lewes is a picturesque little town and they enjoy their short walk down to the river and over the bridge, taking in the sights around them. It's a bright day, but bitterly cold, the wind gusts strong and icy.
"Look good to you?" Harry asks, nodding at cosy looking place that seems to be open.
"Looks lovely and warm," she replies with a shiver, smiling when he takes her hand to cross the deserted road, his face a picture of concern for her. "I'm fine, Harry," she says quickly as she steps through the door he pulls open for her, her heart melting at his solicitousness, her mind unsure of what to do with it. It's never been easy for her to accept a man's open admiration and attention, but she's determined to do her best to be gracious about it today. She wants Harry's attention and love, and she doesn't want to risk hurting him by doing or saying the wrong thing and making him pull back. She knows how that feels.
The conversation flows easily and naturally as they eat a hearty, winter soup, followed by coffee and a slice of cake they share. It's rather amazing and magical, being here, like this, with Harry.
Once satisfied and re-energised, Harry settles the bill and they make their way back out into the chill of Christmas Eve afternoon and take the turn under the archway on their left that their server had kindly pointed out to them when they'd asked directions to a path by the river. They pass the brewery and make it round to the walkway running along the banks of the Ouse, ambling along in silence, her hand resting in the crook of Harry's elbow, face protected from the cold by her hat and scarf and the bulk of his broad chest beside her.
Harry's not wearing a hat, but then she's never seen him sporting one. How he doesn't freeze with such short, thinning hair, when she would turn into an icicle despite her much longer, thicker hair where she to venture out in this cold hatless, she'll never know.
They pass a large Tesco and some playing fields on their right before taking the footbridge across the river, pausing to gaze down at the slow moving water. "A different river," she says, remembering the moment he'd made the suggestion to go away for Christmas. Dear Harry. Always true to his word.
"As promised," he replies, smiling down at her.
There's magic here, in this moment, with the river flowing below their feet, cleansing them. This is their time; she can feel it. Time to let go of their pasts, time to embrace the future. She thinks of the present she bought for him yesterday on a whim, hoping he'll understand and embrace it and that it'll bring them closer still to each other and what they both want so desperately.
"Shall we?" he asks, perhaps feeling cold, exposed like this, with the winter wind whipping along the water. Or maybe, he's just concerned that she's cold. You can never be quite sure with Harry.
She smiles and nods, allowing him to turn them and follow the path down the other side of the bridge. It's steep and she'd suddenly extra grateful for his support and that it's not cold enough to be icy. She imagines this path can be quite treacherous in frosty weather.
From here, they can no longer see the river as they make their way back towards the centre, passing houses and the public, open air pool that's teeming with life in the summer. Briefly she entertains the notion of coming back here then, but quickly realises that Harry wouldn't be caught dead in a public, open pool whatever the season. She smiles fondly at the realisation, looking up at his beloved face, her smile broadening at his frown and pursed lips as he gazes at the notice about the pool with clear disapproval.
She rubs her hand affectionately up and down his bicep and presses a quick kiss against his coat.
"What?" he asks, frowning down at her.
"Nothing," she replies with a smile.
They continue straight onto St John's Hill, then Abinger Place, her heart full and at peace, trusting that Harry will not lead them astray. He seems to know exactly where he is, has probably spent some time pouring over the map until he's memorised this place, or else, he was already familiar with it.
"Alright to see the castle?" he asks, proving her entirely right in her assumption. She nods and they follow the road round until they reach the castle gate, walking below it.
"This is lovely," she says, gazing up at it. "Let's take a picture."
They do, then move on, the cold necessitating a stop for a drink at the Brewers' Arms, which she thinks might be what Harry was aiming for all along. It's good to sit down again, the warmth of the room doing wonders to thaw her cold nose and cheeks, and the tips of his ears that are much redder than usual.
"Why don't you wear a hat?" she asks him when he returns with a glass of whiskey for each of them.
He gives her a look, but ignores the question.
"Your ears must be freezing." She leans over, lifting her left hand to gently touch his right ear, which is, indeed, extremely cold. She hesitates for just a moment before she begins to softly rub it between her fingertips, then cups her hand around it, feeling his skin begin to warm, her heart pounding with a mixture of emotions.
His gaze has softened as he watches her, tilting his head slightly towards her touch, then reaching for her hand and bringing it round to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her palm. "Because I have you to warm them up again," he murmurs, voice a low rumble.
He lowers their hands to the table, linking their fingers together as they gaze into each other's eyes, utterly lost to the world around them. She's never done this before. She's never loved another man enough to get lost in his eyes like this, and Harry... He's a spook, a powerful man back in London, and she suspects, he's always been aware of how dangerous his affection might be for her were it to be noticed.
"This is perfect," she murmurs, desperate to convey how much she's enjoying being like this with him.
"You're perfect," he replies, lifting her fingers to his lips again.
They must paint quite a picture, sitting together like this in the corner, eyes only for each other. He's come up with the perfect plan for them, leaving London behind for Christmas, feeling they can relax and draw closer here, away from the memories of the Grid and MI5, away from the prying eyes of spies and politicians, away from the loss and grief of their everyday existence. There are just locals in the pub here, enjoying the holiday and the chance to catch up with friends, barely sparing a glance for them – two utter strangers. It's just the two of them, cocooned from the world and finally ready to be together.
Or so she hopes.
Most fervently.
"It's nice here," she says. "I like this town."
He hums, his eyes never leaving hers. "I like the company."
She drops her gaze self-consciously at his continued compliments, clearing her throat before lifting her eyes to his once more. Be brave. "The company is excellent," she agrees.
By the time they finish their drinks and head back outside, it's almost dark and Harry holds her that much closer. His eyes scan the road ahead, expression intent, gaze alert, looking for danger. She hurries along beside him as he leads them down High Street to the centre of town and their B&B.
He'd told her he's made reservations for dinner at seven, at which point she'd requested that they make a stop at their rooms for a bit first, wanting to relax a little, have a warm shower, and get changed before venturing out again.
It's when she's in her room, unpacking her overnight bag and gathering what she needs for the shower, that she notices the door in the wall behind which Harry's room is located. Curious, she walks over to it and unlocks it, opening it cautiously to find a second door, presumably one in Harry's wall with a similar lock on his side. She smiles, thinking how handy this will come in later, before closing and locking the door once more and going to have her shower.
She's a bit nervous, truth be told about the way she looks tonight, given her intentions for this evening. The dress is a warm, soft, wool one, in shades of brown and tan, with a cowl neck, long sleeves, hugging her every curve as it tapers down to her knees. It looks good, if she's honest, with her new chocolate brown boots and, despite her nerves, she can't wait to see his reaction to it.
She's smiling to herself as she eyes her bum with approval in the full length mirror when she hears the knock on her door. Quickly, she grabs her coat and slips it on, winding her scarf around her neck as she calls, "Come in," and buttons her coat, grabbing her hat, gloves, and purse from the bed before turning to face the door.
Harry's standing in the doorway, his eyes quickly darting over her, clearly noticing that she's changed out of her trousers, his gaze lingering on her calves for a moment before it moves back up to meet hers. "Ready?" he asks, his gaze unfathomable.
"Yes," she replies, crossing the room towards him.
He holds the door open for her as she slips past, her nose detecting the fresh scent of his cologne, her eyes taking in his freshly shaved jaw and the sight of his fresh, blue shirt and the soft skin of his neck through his open collar. She wants to kiss that spot, right there, wants to see if it's as soft as it looks to be, but that'll have to wait until later.
Once more, they descend the stairs and make their way outside where she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow again and follows his sure steps as he leads them to their destination.
It's quite a busy place, but it's warm and they're shown to a nice table for two, tucked away in the corner, that affords them more privacy than most, as she's sure Harry requested. Their server – who's introduced himself as Phil – holds her chair out for her while Harry helps her remove her coat and she stuffs her hat, gloves and scarf into one sleeve with a quiet thank you, the heat of Harry's gaze as he takes in her dress making the colour rise to her cheeks. She takes the seat and reaches for her napkin, her eyes lowered until their waiter's left and Harry's taken the seat across the table from her.
"You look stunning, Ruth," he murmurs, leaning towards her.
She smiles self-consciously, lifting her gaze to him, taking in his broad shoulders, open collar, his large, strong hands resting on the table. He looks quite delectable himself and she feels desire pool in her belly as attraction arches between them.
"Thank you," she says. "You look very handsome yourself, Harry."
He smiles softly, then hesitates as if debating with himself if he should say something more.
"What?" she asks, a little worried by his hesitation.
He smiles and shakes his head, but she just gives him her best Ruth-stare, waiting for him to succumb and tell her. Not that he always does, of course. He's a seasoned spy, but even seasoned spies are prone to weakness when confronted by the woman they love, and she doesn't have long to wait before he gives a small chuckle and starts speaking.
"I was just thinking that I promised myself I'd be more careful this time," he explains in a voice infused with humour, "that I wouldn't talk about the Grand Tour, I wouldn't... share too much and send you running for the hills again." He looks adorably bashful, but she can also see the concern in the depths of his eyes, behind the twinkle, that tells her that, however much he's trying to hide behind humour, it really does worry him that she could pull away again at any moment.
"You couldn't scare me away if you tried, Harry," she replies gently, reaching to cover his hand as it rests on the table. "I don't make the same mistakes twice and I happen to like the idea of the Grand Tour with you to keep me company."
He smiles and nods, turning his hand under hers to grasp it and give it a grateful squeeze, his eyes swimming with emotion.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Phil asks, causing them both to start and lift their eyes, but Harry doesn't relinquish his grip on her hand when she tries to pull back in surprise.
"Wine?" he asks her, his hazel eyes warm and tender.
She nods. "Do you have White Burgundy?" she asks, turning to look at Phil.
"We do."
"Excellent. We'll share a bottle."
"Very good," he says, smiling. "Our specials today include the roast duck with orange and ginger, and the garlic brown sugar glazed salmon. I'll leave you to look at the menu." And with that, he moves away, leaving them to their own devices once more.
"I rather like the sound of the salmon," she says, withdrawing her hand from his, her eyes on her menu as she reaches for it and opens it, perusing its contents.
"I rather like your choice of wine," he counters. His voice is velvety and low, his eyes smouldering when she looks up at him.
Her cheeks flush again, her heart-rate rising. "It wasn't my choice, as I recall," she replies, her voice barely a whisper.
"It is this time."
"Yes." She smiles. "It's time to fix the mistakes of the past, don't you think?"
He never gets to answer her question as Phil reappears with the wine, ready to take their order.