Sorry abeed but they wouldn't even make the podium for this chapter... the next chapter might just see your prediction come true though ;-)

Chapter 21

It had been Don's landlady who answered the 'phone to Robert.

He had wrongly assumed her to be his wife, a faux pas that won him an ear-bashing. But without him even having to ask, he was informed that her tenant would be where he usually was at this time of the evening – down The Green Man on Shacklewell Street. In a disgruntled tone, she had told him that should he come across Don, he was to tell him that if he pissed away all his rent money again this week, then he needn't bother coming back.

Robert at first considered 'phoning up the pub and asking for Don; actually finding the place seemed such a waste of time. But then he imagined the noise and distraction as Don struggled to hear at his end and besides, he needed to read his face, try to work out how truthful he was being and how much honesty was in those eyes.

So at 7:18pm, Robert was outside The Green Man public house, an old mansion house building whose run down, shabby exterior of peeling timber windows and flaking masonry paint was typical of many East End pubs. With a determination born of rising panic, he barged his way through the doors to be engulfed in a fug of unpleasant heat and cigarette smoke and the low, background music coming from the juke box. This place was even more of a dive than the last pub they had met in but at least The Night Watchman had been carpeted and refurbished within the last decade. Right now, however, Robert didn't really care about the décor, he just wanted to know if his brother was really as black as he had been painted.

It wasn't busy, being mid-week, just the regulars, The Green Man stalwarts who preferred the company of their cronies or simply their own company to that of their wives or girlfriends. It wasn't the sort of pub that women chose to frequent anyway or truth be told, were welcomed at with the exception of Saturday nights.

He spotted Don standing at the bar, a pint in his hand and a dumb grin on his face. The grin disappeared the moment he caught sight of Robert walking towards him and he nodded him over into an unoccupied corner.

"What can I do for yer?" he asked. "Didn't expect to see you… how'd yer find me?" He was somewhat anxious, unhappy at being unearthed in his own lair.

"Your landlady told me where you were."

"Silly cow. Proper loose lips on 'er, that one."

Robert didn't bother to comment, unconcerned with extraneous dialogue.

"The night you followed my brother to Camberwell Grove, what exactly did you see when they were standing in front of the window?"

That hadn't been what Don was expecting. He'd assumed he'd got a bit more work for him, that he wanted him and Gerry to lean on his brother again, something heavier though because it seemed he wasn't getting the message.

"Told you what we saw; 'im with 'is 'ands all over that bird."

"Tell me exactly how they were standing. How were they positioned?"

Don frowned, not sure where this was going or why it seemed to be so important.

"'e was stood behind 'er and 'is arms were like crossed over 'er." He took a swig of beer. "Feelin' 'er up. Got 'is 'ands up 'er jumper it looked like. Like we told yer before." And then he started to wonder. "Not your missus, is she?"

"Forget her!" Robert snapped, "and concentrate on him. What was he wearing?" he asked, trying a different approach.

"Wearing?" Don repeated with a ponderous laugh. "Can't say as I noticed. Didn't exactly seem important."

"Did you see them kiss?" Robert persisted. "Did he kiss her at any point whilst they were in front of the window?"

Don was starting to think Robert Makepeace was either intent on torturing himself with a graphic account of infidelity or he was getting his rocks off.

"Don't think so. No. I'm pretty sure 'e didn't."

Must've been the wrong answer because he was getting irritated now.

"Did you see them talking?"

"An' 'ow the 'ell would I know if they was talkin' or not? Wasn't there in the bleedin' room with 'em."

"You're not listening to the question! I said, did you see them talking? Did you see them facing each other, mouths moving, in con-ver-say-shun?" he said slowly and deliberately as though Don were dim witted.

"He was standin' behind 'er; I couldn't see 'im but I'm willin' to bet 'e wasn't usin' 'is mouth for talkin'," Don shot back, annoyed by the way he was being spoken to.

"You couldn't see him," said Robert, flatly and then raised his eyebrows when Don didn't reply. "Then how do you know it was the man I'd been asking you to follow?"

Don looked at him uneasily. "Well, who else was it gonna be?"

"I'm asking you, would you stand up in a court of law and swear that the man you saw was my brother?"

Don took a step back, his free hand raised defensively. "Now 'old on a minute! You ain't getting' me in no courtroom…"

"It was a metaphorical question," Robert grated. "Can you state beyond all reasonable doubt that that man was the same one you followed to the house? That it wasn't someone who was already present when you arrived?"

The question was totally unexpected and it stopped him in his tracks. "Dunno," said Don cagily, "it was just a bloke."

The way Robert Makepeace was looking at him was unnerving. He had put more than a few men in a hospital bed in his time and he wasn't afraid to take on anyone in a fight but there was something in his eyes that rang alarm bells, something that told him to be careful because this one was dangerous.

"Want me to get 'old o' Gerald, see what 'e thinks?"

"Get your stories straight do you mean?"

The heavy atmosphere of warmth, smoke and music was closing in around Robert and the pounding in his chest was making him feel sick. Could he really let Rhodes carry on now? The original plan had been to just frighten him away, tip him over the edge maybe, get him out of London. The permanent solution had been a knee-jerk reaction to thinking he and Harriet had made a fool out of him. But how could he stop Rhodes now, even if he wanted to when he had no way of contacting him? The only way he could think of was by going to the address in Wimbledon that Don and Gerald had tracked him to and getting him out of the area before Rhodes got to him. But saving his brother's skin wasn't part of the plan and by doing so, by making contact, it would all fall apart and Robert would lose everything he had worked towards.

….

"You know how hard it is to buy fresh pasta in this town?" asked Dempsey, draining the water from the pan of spaghetti.

"Surely not. It's the sort of thing you'd get easily enough from a delicatessen isn't it?"

Harry held the glass of Sangiovese Chianti to her nose and inhaled the aroma.

"Not after 6:00pm it ain't. Every damn market closes down around here."

"So don't tell me, you hopped on a plane to New York to buy some, the city that never sleeps."

"Hey, it might've come to that." He tipped the spaghetti into a large earthenware dish and began ladling over the tomato sauce and meatballs. "But as luck would have it, Mikey, the guy who runs the Little Italy deli on the high street lives over the store so I got him to open up as a favour to a friend."

Harry took the tiniest sip of the red wine and let the flavour wash over her taste buds. Rich yet surprisingly crisp, the subtleness of juicy cherries combined with a more earthy, nutty flavour impressed her greatly.

"A friend in need is a friend indeed."

Forking the sauce through the steaming pasta like a pro, Dempsey grinned. "Well, he wasn't a friend until last night – never met the guy before but he sure is on my Christmas card list now."

Harry shook her head, smiling. "Does anybody ever say no to you?"

"You'd know the answer to that one better than anyone, baby," he said, depositing the dish of spaghetti and meatballs on the breakfast bar and leaning over to plant a kiss on her lips.

He tasted the residue of the Chianti on his own lips and reached for the glass she'd poured him.

"Help yourself," he offered.

"It smells delicious," she praised, "and it looks almost good enough to eat."

"Authentic Italian."

"Are you sure about that? After all, it wasn't cooked by an authentic Italian," Harry teased.

Dempsey took a crusty bread roll and tore into it before picking up the stainless steel tongs and digging into the bowl of salad. "Then you oughta know you lucked out 'cause us half-breeds gotta try that much harder."

"Is that right," she said flatly, smirking at his double meaning.

There was a brief silence whilst they dished the food onto their plates and then Dempsey pretended not to watch when Harry took her first mouthful.

"Very good," she endorsed as she chewed but then her eyes lifted as she swallowed, slight surprise illuminating the blue of her irises. "That's really very good, James. My God, you can cook!"

"I can follow a recipe that let's face it, is pretty basic," he returned.

"No, honestly, this tastes incredible!" Her fork hand came up in an attempt to cover her mouth as she talked, already on her third mouthful.

He shrugged, almost embarrassed by the glorification. "I'll tell Mom she should have you over for dinner sometime," he joked.

"What would she make of me, do you think?" Harry asked after a pause.

Dempsey chuckled but didn't answer straight away. Instead he got up, went to the fridge and took out a white plastic tub, collecting a teaspoon before returning to the breakfast bar.

"You?" he stalled, seeking clarification whilst he thought about his answer.

He sprinkled Parmesan over their food, liberally. "Knew I'd forgotten somethin'."

Harry liked the fact that he hadn't asked if she wanted it, it was just a given for him, the Italian in him coming to the fore.

"Well, lemme see." He put down his fork and spoon and picked up his wine. "First, she would be in awe of you for sure." He grinned. "I can picture her now, wringin' her hands, lookin' to me for her introduction. And before we arrived she woulda been plumpin' the throw pillows, takin' off her apron, puttin' on a little lipstick, ya know."

"What do you mean?! Why on earth would she be nervous?"

"You kiddin' me? To Ma, you'd be royalty."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry scoffed. Then she reached for her glass and took her first proper drink. "I like this. It goes really well, doesn't it?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I trod the grapes myself?"

"I might after another couple of glasses."

Dempsey resumed eating, happy to see Harry tucking into hers again so whole-heartedly.

"She'd love you, Princess. She appreciates class; good manners, respect, ya know. And what with the brains an' the beauty… 'Jimmy, this one – she's too good for you. You better treat her right!'" he mimicked his mother, making Harry laugh.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" she said with surprised curiosity.

"I've spent time with your dad; guess you could even say I've got to know him with him takin' me in over the Christmas period last year. I'd like to think you'll get the chance to know my mom that way one day," he said carefully.

"Rather hard to do that though unfortunately, with her being thousands of miles away," Harry kept her eyes on her plate as she asked, "unless you're inviting me to go back to America with you when you decide to visit."

"Why not? Could be fun. I mean, maybe not right now but a few months down the line."

She'd sometimes wondered when he'd feel the need to go back. It had been a long time since he'd seen any of his family and she knew that he missed his mother and brother in particular. But she'd also considered the possibility that a visit might make him realise what he was missing. What if he didn't want to return once he was back in The States? And how much worse would it be if she was over there with him when that realisation hit?

"Why haven't you been back, James, in all this time? I mean, it isn't like you couldn't get the time off. You must be owed at least five weeks' leave."

"Well if you remember, it wasn't safe for me to go back."

Harry took a large, fortifying gulp of wine. "Hasn't Coltrane been out of the picture for at least a year now?"

"Guess the time just never seemed right."

"Why not?"

Perhaps she shouldn't be pushing him on the subject but she needed to know, especially now.

"Who knows? Too hard, maybe?"

"How do you mean?"

She carried on eating, if only to appear nonchalant.

"Because there's gonna be that conversation; breakin' it to Ma that her boy ain't ever comin' back home – not for good anyhow." He gave Harry a rueful look. "I talk to her on the 'phone an' I can just tell she's thinkin' this job is still a temporary thing. I mean, sure she hassles me to go visit but when she talks about stuff in the future, she includes me in it, like at some point, everything's gonna go back to the way it was before."

"You might feel differently when you do visit though," Harry prodded.

"I miss my folks, Harry, I don't miss my country…may Uncle Sam strike me down where I stand. I live in England now an' I'm happy here. I love my job an'…" he grinned broadly, "I love my partner."

Was this why he'd never really talked about going back, because he hadn't had any intensions of doing so for so long?

"I have to say, it's a bit of a relief to hear you say it."

"You only had to ask, babe."

Their hands had found each other's.

"I didn't dare in case I didn't like the answer I got."

"You got me for good, you an' Spikings," he chuckled and brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss the knuckles. "Aaaaand, there's kind of an ulterior motive in getting' you to visit with me."

"What might that be?" Harry asked with only mild trepidation.

She didn't really care what this ulterior motive might be now she knew there was no question of him returning to The States.

"Once everyone gets a load of you, they'll know exactly why I'm makin' England my home. They'll have living proof right in front of their faces. And it'll keep Ma off my case when she sees I got me that 'nice girl'."

"Oh, I'm not a 'nice girl', Dempsey," she warned, her blue eyes glinting with amusement.

His fingers were gently massaging hers now. "Wouldn't' want you to be nice all the time, Tiger."

Funny how it made her feel so much more in control to know he was staying put and not only that, he wanted to introduce her to his mother. He was serious about her, she wasn't a part of that 'parade' and that brought her an inner strength. It also brought something else – something quite unexpected.

With a little smile, she looked down at her food, toying with a meatball and then stabbing it with her fork. Slowly, she raised it to Dempsey's mouth and through lowered lashes, watched him bite into it.

"Do you think this will taste as good when it's cold?" she wanted to know.

"Why d'you ask?"

Her eyes locked with his. Soft. Playful.

With the edge of her thumb, Harry leaned over and wiped away a fleck of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth. "Because I'm not feeling like a very nice girl at the moment."

He glanced away, chuckling throatily. "Oh, boy. That sounds almost like a come-on… only I'm pretty sure that can't be right, I ain't that lucky."

Harry stood up from the table. "Shall we find out?"

She could feel her pulses throbbing, her heart racing. She'd known that at some point tonight they would end up in his bedroom so why not be the instigator, take that decision out of his hands and make him follow her lead?

Take control.

"Come on then," she clipped and Dempsey rose obediently, his fork falling from his fingers and onto the plate with a clatter.

Conquer your fears.

Harry was afraid of bricks and mortar – a room. That was what it boiled down to, wasn't it? After all, if she was perfectly willing to believe he was in love with her and that being the case, what did it matter what had gone on in that room?

He caught up with her at the door, grabbing her hand and pulling her into him.

"What's brought this on?" he asked as she draped herself around him, her mouth seeking his.

"You're all mine and I feel like making the most of it."

"Not gonna argue with ya on either point."

God, he excited her; his voice, his touch, the way he kissed, the way he smelt and the feel of his hair in her fingers. Just thinking of those things could get her all worked up but actually being in his arms like this, it drove her wild with an insane need for him.

They stood in the doorway for a few minutes more until the desire that had built up between them finally overthrew Harry and she pulled him backwards so that they spilled out into the hall.

She stumbled but Dempsey held her firmly, swinging her around and pushing her up against the wall by one arm, his free hand tugging at the button of her high-waisted trousers.

Their kisses were now fierce, almost aggressive.

As the button slipped its hole and the zip was worked loose, Harry thrust forwards with a moan.

"And what the hell is with the suspenders?" griped Dempsey. "Just one more thing keepin' you from me." He yanked one of the braces she wore from her right shoulder and left it dangling as he tugged her crisp white shirt free. Having already sussed that she was bare breasted beneath it, he was more than eager to rid her of it now.

Harry's right hand immediately dropped to his distended crotch, the unexpected pressure galvanising him into peeling her off the wall and directing her a few steps nearer to the bedroom.

She moaned under the weight of passion that had taken them over and hung her arms about his neck as both his hands roamed beneath her shirt and his mouth brushed against her throat.

"Oh God, Dempsey." Her voice cracked as

their bodies writhed into the bedroom doorway, Dempsey's back thudding softly against the wood.

Arriving at their destination proved a wake-up call for Harry who pulled away to brace her hands on either side of the doorframe, panting, eyes fixed on the area of painted door just above his shoulder.

He'd fumbled behind him to turn the door handle before he'd had a chance to note Harry's reaction but now her frozen stance was all too obvious.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Her eyes flickered into focus as she looked to him, her nervousness all too apparent.

"Are you cool with this?"

She nodded and laughed with unconvincing confidence. "Of course!"

Bricks and mortar, she told herself. It was about the here and now and them, not the past and those other women.

His hands left her body and rose to hold her cheeks tenderly.

"I get it, babe, jus' that I don't know what I can say to make it okay. I only got the one bedroom, the one bed an' I kinda thought we'd got over the whole couch thing at your place."

His hands transferred to her shoulders and he moved backwards with her so that the door swung inward.

"It ain't just sex with you, it's makin' love and in case you hadn't realised by now, I ain't never done that in this apartment before.

But Harry barely took in what he was saying as she stared, eyes wide and lips apart into the room around her.

"Oh!"

Dempsey turned his head back to follow her line of vision, his hold on her tightening as he waited for the fall-out.