It's been months since the last chapter... sorry. You'll probably need to run your eye over the last couple of paragraphs of 'Man On The Left' to remind yourself of what's going on - or maybe the last couple of chapters!

At least now I've got this chapter posted, I can get down to the tonne of reviews that I've still to do. With so many D&M writers doing their stuff these days, it's easy to fall behind.

Hope you enjoy this one. Nothing really happens, just a bit of a cutesy #them scene I wanted to do.

Chapter 17

"… an' I'll take the chicken liver pate to start, followed up with the veal in a creamy mustard sauce with mashed potatoes," Dempsey reeled off from the menu. "We havin' wine?" he asked Harry. "How 'bout a bottle of the red Bordeaux? That'd work, right?"

"We'll just have a bottle of Perrier, please," said Harry to the waiter as she handed back her menu.

Dempsey opened his mouth to object but then twigged onto her train of thought. "Ah. Okay."

"It's for your own good," she told him pertly. "In fact, abstinence might do us both good."

"Hope we're still talkin' booze," he checked, giving a cheeky grin.

Harry appeared slightly shocked. "God, yes!" she exclaimed, making him laugh.

They were inside The Market Building, Covent Garden, sitting outside Soleil Bleu on the lower ground floor.

"Is that a compliment?" Dempsey asked.

"Not yet," she told him with a sly half smile full of promise.

Dempsey's hand slid across the table top to capture her fingers, loving how it sometimes seemed as though they'd almost built up their own language over the handful of years they'd been partnered together.

Still gazing out at their fellow diners, she said in a deliberately casual way, "Possibly later."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, deciding to test her mettle. "I mightn't be available later."

Her fingers tightened about his. "You'd better be!" she warned and turned her head so that they were only inches apart.

Although the high, circular table was quite small, it was still large enough to dine at and made for an intimate feel. They sat almost shoulder to shoulder to face out onto the quadrangle which was enclosed by several other restaurants. The area was starting to fill up already with workers eager to cast off the stresses of their day and indulge in a few drinks whilst avoiding the task of cooking later on.

They both broke into a grin and came together in a brief kiss before Harry turned away somewhat shyly when the waiter reappeared with the Perrier water. The young man beamed as he poured the sparkling water into wine glasses, expressing an emotional response which was clearly meant for them although out of respect for their privacy, he kept his eyes averted until the very last moment when he informed them that their starters were on the way and so politeness dictated that eye contact be made.

Their hands had automatically parted and now Harry's right hand was free, she reached for her glass instead.

"It's really quite an eye-opener, isn't it?" she began, sipping the water. "I mean, it's different when it isn't just work… when it's somebody you know."

"Makes all the difference in the world," he agreed. "But you know we're gonna find him; it's what we do, I mean, we'd be pretty shitty detectives if we didn't, right?"

"I know we will, It's just that I feel as though I've let him down…"

Dempsey shifted his glass so that it stood between his hands, his forearms resting on the table as he hunkered forwards.

"Come on," he placated, "he turns up out of the blue, you ain't seen him in years… not your guilt trip, babe."

Back to this again.

Unconsciously, Harry had mimicked Dempsey's posture and now she too was leant forward on her forearms.

"I know, I know but I'm the one he came to for help."

"And you did. You helped. You gave him one helluva meal, a hot shower, a bed for the night an' clean clothes. I'm not getting how you think you let the guy down. You did great!"

Did she catch the edge in his voice?

Harry sighed. "Sorry. I know I'm just repeating myself. So not another word about Jonathan for the rest of the evening," she said with bright resolve. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay."

Dempsey moved his hand across the few inches of table that separated them and linked their fingers.

"Maybe we could revisit what it was that went down at the office this morning?" he asked carefully.

It wasn't so much her body language, more the lack of it. She didn't move a muscle, freezing up as though to mask her feelings on the subject.

"It was nothing. I just don't' want them all knowing. And yes, I'm a terrible coward, you don't have to tell me."

She felt his laugh rather than heard it, reverberating up the length of her arm. Gratefully, she turned her hand in his to play with his fingers.

"It wouldn't be so bad, ya know, just like pullin' off a Band-Aid; you ain't lookin' forward to it but once it's over an' done, it's like it was never there."

Harry gave him a sidelong look. "I really can't see any of the boys letting this one go to be honest – ever!"

"So we roll with it, take the higher ground, they'll get bored eventually, I guarantee."

"Do you think so?" she asked doubtfully.

Dempsey squeezed her hand, offering solid reassurance. "I know so. Trust me."

"And what about our dear Chief Superintendent Spikings?" She drew his name out to the fullest to get her concern across.

"The man ain't stupid. He knows when somethin' like this happens, it's outa his control. Even if he saw it comin', how was he gonna stop it short of movin' one of us out?"

She turned to him. "And what if it comes to that?"

Her question was almost a challenge, her eyes keen and searching.

"C'mmon, Harry. He knows he's got a good thing goin' with us on his team. We get him the results that make him look good. You know the same as me it's all about the figures with the honchos upstairs. Gordon shows us a target and we hit the bullseye. He ain't gonna jeopardise that."

"He isn't going to just ignore the situation."

Slowly, Dempsey raised up their joined hands, bringing them to his mouth so that he could kiss her knuckles. "Glad to hear it. Congrats are on the cards then, huh?"

Harry just shook her head and smiled, refraining from a reply as the waiter had reappeared, this time bearing their first course. "More like a half hour lecture," Harry suggested the moment they were alone once more. "I don't believe in miracles."

Dempsey picked up a knife and reached for a piece of bread. "I do… and fairy tales too." He grinned, his eyes radiating his happiness at the very thought of his next words. "I got a princess for a girlfriend."

She laughed quietly and leaned in to him. "You're really a big softy at heart, aren't you?"

"My cover gets blown, I'll know whose castle keep to come knockin' at."

"I promise not to blow your cover," she said, her lips so close to his cheek that he could feel her breath. "But your cover is all I'm promising."

Dempsey drew back to regard her silently for a second. "If that means what I think it means, how 'bout we skip the food? I thought I was hungry until my appetite suddenly kicked in, if you know what I'm sayin'."

"I certainly know what I want for dessert, anyway, she teased.

Dempsey dropped his fork back down. "Okay, you need to stop this right now."

He'd never dreamed he'd be having a conversation like this with his partner – well, yeah, maybe in his dreams he had. It reminded him of the time, a few weeks earlier when he'd had dinner with Inga - or Iris Smellie as they now knew her real name to be. Her brand of flirting had been predatory though, dark and heavy to the point where it wasn't even fun. But with Harry it was different; the tone more humorous, the conversation lighter. There was no pressure, just the buzz of playful innuendo. It was love, wasn't it? Love changed everything. Jeez, it was a great feeling and if he had any sense, he'd hang onto it tight with both hands. But the trouble was, lately, sense had this way of slipping though his fingers.

He snuck a look her way as he took a bite out of the crusty bread. She was so beautiful, so natural even with[ the make-up. There was something almost innocent about her which was completely nuts, given that she was a cop and a damned good one at that. Maybe it was just that the things she'd seen, all the bad that had touched her life, the detritus that flowed through it, it hadn't tainted her and somehow, she had remained unsullied. How did she do that when he was so blackened from the inside out? Yeah, he was one of the good guys but sometimes it felt like the job had cost him a part of himself.

He wasn't the man he could have been.

"How's the soup?" he asked. "Good?"

"Excellent. Yours?"

"Great, only pretty heavy on the garlic."

Harry made a face. "That's a shame."

He caught her meaning and stopped eating. "Isn't it though?" Studying the pate topped bread, he frowned. "Wouldn't want a tub of mashed up chicken livers to screw up anyone's night."

"Mmm," Harry agreed, "me neither. Although we got round it alright the other night with the Greek takeaway, didn't we?" She took up the hand holding the offending foodstuff and guided it to her own mouth so she was able to take a bite.

Dempsey grinned and Harry grinned back as she chewed.

"You like?" he asked.

She nodded. "You're right though, very garlicky."

Still holding his hand, she helped herself to another mouthful.

He finished off what remained and spread another chunk of the crusty bread with pate from the mini terrine on his plate whilst Harry continued with her asparagus soup.

But when he felt her eyes looking his way again, an itchy excitement grew in his chest. He was a kid at the arcade, visiting cousins at the coast, running wild in a toy store. There was magic pumping through his heart like a drug… Harry did that to him.

"You ain't getting' no more," he told her, humorous objection ringing loud in his voice.

"Don't be mean, James."

"Uh-uh."

Leaning against his upper arm coyly, she manoeuvred his forearm towards her. "Just a little bite. You wouldn't refuse me would you?"

No, he wouldn't… couldn't.

With their heads bent close together, Harry took a small nibble on the morsel he held up between them. She giggled when he jerked it away and grabbed his hand to hold it fast.

Looking up, she met his warm eyes and almost instinctively they sought each other's lips, indulging in soft, smiling kisses which lasted only moments yet encapsulated the perfect tenderness of the situation.

Although fully aware that they were very much in view to those around them, miraculously, Harry felt unconcerned. Public displays of affection were generally limited to the shaking of hands and chaste kisses on the cheek when greeting someone in her world. Until she had fallen in love with Dempsey, all this silly feeding business and giggly kisses would have seemed preposterous. Even as a teenager, a sense of decorum had burned bright within Harry and suitors had had such tactile advances rebuffed unless their privacy was assured.

When now more than ever, a sub-rosa mantle would be desirable, Harry had apparently developed a devil-may-care attitude towards their relationship.

"Is this really a good idea?" she asked, stroking a teasing finger along his jawline.

"You worried they're gonna throw us outa the joint for heavy petting?" Dempsey laughed.

"No," she told him, lowering both her hand and her eyes at the suggestion.

"Eatin' garlic on a school night then? I personally think it could work wonders on the perps… don't move or I'll breathe."

Harry smiled and held onto the fingers that had curled around her own on Dempsey's knee. "No, I mean being…" she thought about what words might be applicable, "lovey-dovey. In public. Just imagine what the likes of Big Boris would have to say about it or Willie the Weed. Or my nark Gloria who for some unfathomable reason seems to have become your nark!"

"Gloria," said Dempsey, fondly as though reminiscing. "The tart with the heart. You're right, she'd be devastated if she found out about me an' you." Harry smacked his knee, tutting at the idea. "It's true! She wants to marry me, I'm tellin' ya!"

"Well, she can't. You're spoken for."

He grinned at what he perceived to be the olde worlde turn of phrase. "Is that right? Thing is, Glo don't know that. I don't want a cat fight breakin' out when she's humpin' on my leg next time we're over there lookin' for a little info."

Harry let out a short, sharp laugh. "Ha! Don't flatter yourself, Dempsey. I've never fought over a man in my life and I certainly don't intend to start with the likes of Gloria."

He shrugged. "Okay. Just that I think you'll find the man has never been me before."

About to launch into a tirade on bragging rights, Harry stopped herself with a broad smile that turned her into the beautiful angel who so overwhelmed him. "Idiot," she said.

"Anyways," Dempsey picked up his Aviators from the table and pushed them on, "anyone asks, we're doin' an undercover, okay?" He looked furtively from left to right, head ducked low before suddenly pouncing on her to deliver a particularly wonderful kiss.

Directly above them and leaning over the handrail so that he could both see and hear the pair in conversation, Kitch smiled to himself.

The moment he'd seen Harriet Makepeace turn up at the Marion Stoney Centre, he had made himself scarce. He wasn't about to make his face known to her, not when there was money to be had from finding out what she was up to.

Although he wasn't quite sure what was going on between Robert Makepeace and his brother, whilst he was prepared to pay him to keep tabs on him, why should he care? And he'd had another twenty sobs off him for the introduction to Gerry and Don. Wanted the frighteners put on Mister Makepeace apparently with the suggestion that he needed a change of scenery dropped in his shell-like.

Now why one brother should want to run the other brother out of London was an interesting little mystery to Kitch, as was this third Makepeace to appear on the scene. His guess was that she was their sister. If he caught up with Gerry and Don again, it was doubtful he'd find out anything though, wouldn't do for Robert Makepeace to find out they'd been discussing his business. Even if the bloke was a tosser, his money was as good as the next man's.

But the discovery that this sister or whoever she was was a copper, now that was very interesting. And the fact she was having it off on the sly with this American she worked with – definitely some mileage in that although he had no idea how it might be put to use as yet. Still, a phone call to Tosser Makepeace as he now liked to think of him (there had to be some way to differentiate between all these bloody Makepeaces) would show he was keeping his ear to the ground. And if he could find out a bit more about this family saga, he might come up with a way of making a few quid off Sister Makepeace and her Yankie lover too.

They didn't have the slightest clue he was watching them – practically on top of them just a few feet above their head he was. Only had eyes for each other though.

He slid his hand along the balcony rail, the metal smooth and cool and leaned even further forward, quite confident now that they weren't going to be interested in what was going on above them at ground level.

He watched the man pull away reluctantly when the waiter approached to clear their plates, saw the fleeting, flirtatious glance she gave her lover.

But their conversation from that point on was lost to Kitch when music began to play. It wasn't loud but the soft, rhythmic beat was just enough to obscure their voices completely.

He'd hang around though, see where they went afterwards. After all, he had nothing better to do and Tosser Makepeace might just be grateful for his observational skills.

I wrote this a few weeks ago now but on Wednesday, I was in London and found myself in Covent Garden so couldn't resist hanging over the railing where I'd pictured Kitch standing to see exactly how intimate the view of the diners was. You actually do feel almost invisible to them despite being so close. I have to admit though, unless things were an awful lot quieter in the 80's you'd struggle to hear a private conversation from up there so we'll just have to call it artistic licence ;-)