Sorry it's been a while but sadly, the mother-in-law died very recently so there's been other stuff on my mind.

Thanks to all those who are reviewing, you lovely lot. Every time I get a review notification pop up, it truly makes my day!

Chapter 10

When The Night Meets The Morning Sun

Harry didn't have a headache exactly, it was more a potential for one.

She lay with her eyes closed, still somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Pieces of the previous night wandered through her mind like friendly ghosts, looming up close to then drift away.

She could taste brandy on her tongue and recalled the three of them had finished the night sharing a bottle of Frapin Cognac she had been given as a gift, ironically, last Christmas.

Jonathan had been left on the sofa, hadn't he? For some reason, that stirred up an uneasy feeling yet she had no idea why. Maybe just for the fact that he had been in the house when she and Dempsey had... God, how loud had she been? She had a feeling the answer was 'shamelessly'.

She focussed on her body, aware of the way her limbs felt, satiated and spent, the duvet sensitising her skin where it touched. But what she couldn't feel was another body beside her. There was no radiating warmth, no pressure of another's body pressed against hers or wrapped around her.

She opened her eyes finally, at the same time turning herself over onto the area of mattress where the 'another' should be. Finding only emptiness, she tentatively hitched her knee up in search of body heat but the place where he had laid was stone cold.

Disappointment twisted around her heart, squeezing hard to wring out the drops of panic that forced her to sit bolt upright, clutching the quilt against her chest as she automatically looked to her side. He'd gone! He'd actually gone! Her heart was now hammering hard in her throat and holding her breath, she strained to listen for sounds of life outside of the bedroom. He wouldn't do that to her, he just wouldn't scuttle away like a thief in the night, no matter what the reason. Their relationship was built on solid foundations and last night had simply cemented that relationship; brought them closer, made them stronger, made them one. She knew he wouldn't walk out on that.

Harry drew her knees up and fluffed her hair through her fingers. She was being silly. Dempsey was downstairs, probably making coffee or even breakfast in bed for them. How could she even think he'd left?

But still that tiny speck of doubt continued to nibble at her insecurities and the quiet of the house hung darkly about her.

Harry checked the alarm clock beside her. Just gone 11:30am! Still, it was Sunday and as by her estimation, it must've been well after four in the morning when they eventually slept, 11:30am wasn't too awful. Now she had to get out of bed and discover exactly where Dempsey had got to.

Finding a calf-length 'sensible' dressing gown, Harry paid a visit to the bathroom before venturing downstairs. She could see Jonathan stretched out on the sofa as she went past to the kitchen and found Dempsey at the small, round breakfast table, studying the cylindrical container he was turning around and around in his hands.

"Morning," she said softly, relief lifting a weight from her shoulders and suddenly acutely aware that this was the morning after the night before.

Rarely had Harry seen him startled but this was one such occasion.

"Hi," he said, sitting up straight in his chair, the white tub of pills going down on the table top to be half covered by a cupped hand. But then, as though thinking better of it, he picked it up again and nonchalantly transferred it to the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Getcha a coffee?" he asked, the scraping of the chair legs on the floor as he stood up jarring horribly.

"Thanks but I think I'll make a pot of tea." She nodded towards his pocket. "You don't really still need those tablets do you?"

"You wanna tell me why I'd still be taking them if I didn't?" Dempsey asked. There was a smile on his face but irritation in his voice.

He laughed then and took her in his arms. "I got a killer head on my shoulders, couple o' these'll wipe it up. How 'bout you? You feel okay? We sank a few last night, huh?"

"Relatively unscathed, I think."

She regarded him critically. He looked dog-tired; his skin quite ashen and shadows pooling under his eyes. "You look like you could do with a few more hours sleep. How long have you been up?"

Harry rasped her fingernails lightly along the stubble on his cheek, feeling quite sorry for him. If he felt as awful as he appeared, he must be in a bad way.

"An hour, hour an' a half, maybe."

"Couldn't you sleep?"

"Woke up nauseous."

His hands weighed heavy on her hips.

"Were you actually sick?" Harry asked.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and Harry felt some of his weight bearing down.

"A little."

She was surprised, he rarely let booze get the better of him.

She'd have been even more surprised had she seen him lying sprawled against the tiled wall of the bathroom for nearly an hour after he'd wretched up his guts repeatedly.

"Must've been a dodgy brussel sprout then," she teased warmly.

"Yeah, could be."

She got the impression it was a job for him to inject buoyancy into his reply and as he held onto her, his right cheek against hers, she softly joked, "I thought I was one of your hit and run victims."

"That ain't even funny," he said grimly and after a heartbeat's pause, stood up straight to grip her upper arms. "I mean it, Harry. Why'd you even say somethin' like that?"

His eyes bored into hers.

She could see she had genuinely upset him. "James, I was only joking," she demurred. "I just... I just expected you to be there when I woke up. I missed you," she smiled up at him.

His eyes looked darker than they should, his expression almost dazed. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't think. It was our first night together, our first real night. I shoulda been there. I screwed up, didn't I?"

She regarded him worriedly. "It really doesn't matter. You look shattered. Why don't you go back up to bed for a bit?"

"I'm okay. Gonna take a shower – might wake me up."

"If you're sure."

No talk of her joining him either in bed or in the shower, she noticed. This must be one hell of a hangover!

"Sure I'm sure." He slid his hands down to cup her bottom, pulling her against him. "I love you, princess."

Funny how those words made everything better; smoothed over the rough edges and put a sheen on the issues that had marred what should have been such a special time for them.

"I love you too." She couldn't help but smile, like a cat that had got the cream. To think that she would ever be saying those words to Lieutenant Jim Dempsey. She studied his face quizzically for a moment. "You know, you're still quite handsome, even when you're hung over."

"Gee, thanks."

"How much did you actually drink last night?" she marvelled. "You really don't look well, you know."

"I think the answer to that is 'too much'."

His eyes half closed as she stroked his hair back at the temples. "How 'bout you kiss it all better for me?" he murmured sleepily.

What she really, really wanted to do was make them both brunch after they'd showered and dressed and after that, snuggle up on the sofa watching rosewater black and white films all afternoon. Bliss! And when twilight swept the late afternoon sunshine away, to make love into the deep embrace of the night.

But the sofa was currently occupied and there was the possibility that she now had a house guest for the next few days or even longer.

She slid her arms around the back of his neck, for now, content to be enjoying this closeness.

But even that little luxury was short lived when Jonathan walked in on them.

"Good morning, love-birds," he said sheepishly as they turned as one to see him enter the kitchen. "Not only did I bugger up your Saturday night, I appear to be making quite a good job of Sunday morning too."

"Don't sweat it, pal," said Dempsey, releasing Harry somewhat reluctantly, "we just made the p.m. anyways.

Casually, he loped past Jonathan and clapping him on the shoulder, looked back at Harry. "Gonna hit that shower before I take off."

And he was gone, leaving Harry with a wobbly feeling in her chest and unspoken questions coagulating in her mouth.

Jonathan looked to Harry uneasily. "I do hope his going has nothing to do with my being here."

Harry turned away and began busying herself with filling the kettle. "Don't be silly. He's got stuff to do at his place, that's all," she told him confidently.

Like what, washing his hair? Feeding the cat?

She felt both angry and wretched at the same time. Dempsey was annoyed and she could understand that but walking away surely wasn't the answer. And he must know she couldn't possibly have turned Jonathan away because he would have done exactly the same in her position. Still, if he was feeling rough, sitting around making small talk wasn't ideal.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked brightly. "Dempsey's already made a pot of coffee but I'm having tea so your choice."

"Tea would be marvellous."

She dropped teabags into the pot and went to the fridge.

"How did you sleep?"

"I have no idea," Jonathan laughed, "I was dead to the world until ten minutes ago. How about you?"

"Fine. And surprisingly, I don't feel too bad now, considering how much we had to drink last night."

The water boiled and Harry made the tea.

"I can only guess what we drank, I honestly don't remember anything beyond finishing the mulled wine and you cracking open that bottle of brandy."

"Sorry about leaving you on the sofa but you wouldn't budge."

"Oh, it was heaven, I can assure you."

Harry put the teapot on the table. "Come and sit down."

He did as she asked and she poured their tea out, the little curls of steam rising up from the cups, a brackish reminder that Dempsey was upstairs showering, preparing to go back to his flat.

"The spare room's ready anyway so you'll have a bed of sorts tonight."

"You're an angel but I'm not going to impose another night."

"And where exactly will you go then?" She watched him stir sugar into his tea. "Back to Covent Garden tube station?" Her sententious words reflected the morose feeling which bubbled up threateningly inside her.

"You've already done more than enough for me. There's..."

"You're staying and that's all there is to it."

Jonathan smiled, dipping his head as he pushed back his over-long hair. "I'd almost forgotten how feisty you can be when you're riled," he said, taking a sip from his cup.

"Oh, she's feisty alright."

Dempsey walked in looking brighter if a little pale and the dark smudges beneath his eyes told of his lack of sleep.

"Borderline rabid on a full moon!"

He came and slumped down in a chair, close enough for Harry to gently cuff the back of his head.

"You're so rude, Dempsey! I don't know why I put up with you."

He sneaked her a self-satisfied grin which said, "We both know why you put up with me" and her mild annoyance with him melted away in the warmth of his loving eyes. But the trouble was, it made his imminent departure even less welcome.

"Did the shower work its magic?" Jonathan asked. "Always tricky isn't it – the morning after the night before."

Dempsey picked up his coffee cup, about to absently bring it to his lips before he realised that the inch or so that remained was obviously going to be stone cold.

"Yep. Feel like a new man."

He got to his feet and went to pour himself another from the glass cafetière

Those positive words didn't quite ring true to Harry's mind. He'd definitely overdone it last night.

"Alright if I use the bathroom next?" asked Jonathan.

"Course," said Harry. "There's no rush. Oh and I remembered to take your clothes out of the dryer whilst I still had the wherewithal last night."

She went to the small utility room just off the kitchen and came back with a neatly folded stack of clean clothing. "You may as well take them up with you. Second door on the right at the top of the stairs – just next to the bathroom," she told him pointedly.

He was about to decline again but caught himself.

"Thank you," he told her with sincerity, giving her a defeated but warm smile which encompassed Dempsey also. With his tea in one hand and the clothes hanging over his left arm, he went to collect his rucksack from the lounge before heading off upstairs.

There was a short silence between Harry and Dempsey, a silence which felt mildly awkward.

"What time were you thinking of going?" Harry asked, trying to sound unconcerned. It actually came out sounding rather curt.

"Whenever. I'll drink my coffee and be on my way... catch up on some zees."

She watched his thumb as it gently stroked over the top of the cup handle. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Was he blaming her for the way it had turned out, for insisting that Jonathan stay? He'd refused the invitation but for Dempsey's sake, should she have left it at that rather than insisting? She should have put him first, shouldn't she?

"Okay," she said quietly, reaching out to trail a finger along the back of his hand.

"Don't gimme those eyes," he warned, seeing how her blue eyes had turned melancholy. "You know same as me that three ain't a cosy mix. If one of us is gonna be the spare wheel, I'd rather it wasn't me, ya now."

"You'd hardly be that." She continued to tease her finger over his hand, both of them watching the action.

"Yeah, well, I ain't too friendly around strangers when I feel like shit so believe me, it's better I should go."

"I'm not a stranger," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure you could be nice to me if you tried," she added with a suggestive lilt.

He smiled, his hand relinquishing the mug to close his fingers around hers and bring them to his lips.

"I could be nice to you all day long, princess." He grazed her knuckles against his bottom lip. "Only you got yourself a house guest an' even if you didn't, I think I'd be a wash-out in the sack, the way I feel right now."

Harry thrilled at the hot, tingly feeling that pulsed through her as his warm breath stole over her skin.

"Really, Dempsey," she smirked, "I want you here for more than just your body, you know."

You do?" he joked tiredly.

Harry nodded. "Unbelievable, isn't it?"

And then he slid her hand up to rub against his cheek, his eyes shutting momentarily and she felt choked by the intense rush of love that rose up.

Please don't go! she wanted to cry out. Stay here with me. But he had his reasons for leaving and she wasn't about to try to force him into staying.

Wearing his newly washed clothes and with his rucksack on his back, Jonathan made his way stealthily down the stairs. He could hear the quiet burr of an intimate conversation taking place in the kitchen and knew he was making the right decision. He felt so much better this morning and despite the excesses of the previous night, his head felt clearer. Harriet had been appalled that he hadn't sought help from friends but at the time he hadn't been in a position mentally to fight for himself. Just being 'normal again, if only for a few hours, had been the boost he needed and he would never be able to thank her enough for that. But it was clear he had picked the wrong time to descend upon her.

This afternoon, he was clean and presentable and still with a modestly full belly from last night, he felt capable of taking control of his life again.

Mike Campbell – they'd worked together a few years ago at Oyster Marketing before Jonathan had started the consultancy business. They had been good friends, a great team, bouncing ideas off each other and getting themselves noticed. When it had come down to it though, Mike hadn't been happy about giving up the security of the agency so Jonathan had made the decision to go it alone instead of going into partnership. And it had worked well, the business had been a success up until six months ago when it seemed to all go so horribly wrong.

But he and Mike had stayed in touch, met up for a drink every few weeks and the occasional 'big night out'. He could go to his place; he felt confident enough now to confess his troubles, talk it over and maybe even ask for help.

"Bless you, Harriet," he whispered under his breath as he let himself out of the front door and strode across the drive.

"Wake up, sunshine!"

Don wasn't actually asleep but he might as well have been for all the attention he was paying. His head was buried in a copy of The Sun as he shovelled steak and kidney pie, chips and gravy into his mouth from a paper tray balanced on his palm. Gerry had been just about to take his turn visiting the local amenities when Jonathan Makepeace had stepped outside into the weak sunshine and walked right past the car. Their long vigil was over at last and Gerry turned the engine over in anticipation of the pursuit.