Later that day - Sunday:

They walk to a nearby suburban pub for a late lunch. The pub serves an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord, which patrons can eat at tables inside, or in the vine-covered garden through folding doors. Being a fine day, Ruth suggests they eat in the garden, where Harry chooses a small table for two in a shaded corner.

Being together - properly together - in a public place is new for them, and while Harry concentrates on his meal, Ruth finds her eyes wandering around the garden, where pairs and groups of other patrons sit, eating their own meals, many chatting as they eat, regularly sipping from glasses of beer or wine. While Harry had bought a half pint for himself, Ruth has opted for water. With work the next day, she doesn't wish to muddy her mind.

Mostly, Ruth is wondering whether she and Harry appear to others as a normal couple. Since settling at their table, Harry appears preoccupied, which is not unusual for him, while she has been gazing around the area, over-thinking the situation, comparing them to other couples.

"Harry," she says at last, glancing up at him, as he lifts his eyes to hers, "do you think we're normal?"

His initial response is a warm smile. He then sips his lager before responding. "Define normal, Ruth."

"Well ... I've been watching other people, other couples, and .." she looks around her to illustrate her point, "everyone seems to have plenty to say to one another ... except us."

Harry takes his time, firstly swallowing his mouthful of food, before once more sipping from his glass. "Perhaps other ... couples haven't shared the last twenty or so hours like we have, Ruth. Maybe getting out of the house and away from distractions is the only option they have for spending time with one another."

Ruth concedes he has a point, but she's not yet convinced. "It's just that other than when we're at work, we don't ... talk much."

Harry has been watching her, and she has responded by avoiding his eyes. "Perhaps that's because we talk in other ways, Ruth." His voice, as he'd spoken the last sentence, had been quietly silky smooth. Ruth lifts her eyes to his to see him still watching her. She feels the familiar warmth in her chest as a flush travels up her throat, and to her cheeks. "I guarantee that in the past eighteen hours we've said more to one another ... in other ways ... than most people here have shared with their better halves for the past month or more."

"Is being together ... for the long haul ... that difficult?" Ruth asks, sensing the tragedy that some couples face when they admit that they have nothing more to say to one another.

"It's not easy," Harry says soberly, and Ruth detects sadness in his voice. Perhaps he is mentally reliving his own marriage, gone but not forgotten, or perhaps he is thinking of other women he had loved only briefly.

Ruth had noticed a couple sitting at a table for two across the garden, beneath the vines, but in dappled sunshine. They are behind Harry, but the woman has been watching them, and Ruth has tried hard to not be distracted by the older woman's interest. "Harry," she says at last, focusing on his eyes as she drops her voice, "don't look now, but there's a couple sitting behind you, and the woman has been showing an odd interest in us."

That grabs his attention. He watches Ruth closely while he formulates a reply. "Describe the woman," he says.

"She's around your age, I guess, well dressed, average build, attractive, brunette - what?"

Harry has sat back, the tension leaving his body. "I thought it might have been my ex-wife, but given she now lives in North London, there'd be little reason for her to be this far from home. Besides, she's blond."

"We're about to find out," Ruth says quickly, concentrating on Harry, while in her peripheral vision she is aware of the woman crossing the garden towards their table. "She's just about to -"

"Harry?" the woman says, "It is Harry ... isn't it?"

Ruth watches in horror as Harry turns, and then in one fluid movement he stands, reaching out to grasp the woman's elbow in one hand, before kissing her on each cheek.

"Norah," he says smoothly, "it's been ..."

"It's been over a decade, and ..." and the woman turns to Ruth in an unspoken question.

"Norah," Harry says quickly, turning towards Ruth, while dropping his hand from the woman's elbow, "this is Ruth, my -"

His introduction of her is truncated when Ruth rises quickly from her chair, reaching out to shake the hand Norah thrusts in her direction. "I'm Ruth. I'm Harry's ..." What is she exactly to Harry, anyway? "I'll just ..." and she points towards the folding doors which lead inside, before hurrying away from them, leaving both Harry and Norah staring after her.

"Did I ... is something wrong?" Norah asks, turning towards Harry.

"I suspect she just needed the loo in a hurry," he muses, watching Ruth's back as she disappears inside, swallowed by the throng of people gathered around the buffet.

Almost an hour passes before the incident in the pub garden is raised. By the time Ruth had again joined Harry at their table Norah and her companion had left. Ruth had decided it would be best were Harry to broach the subject of how he'd known Norah, but by the time they were ready to leave, he still hadn't said anything, so she concludes that maybe Norah had not been all that important to Harry after all. They had walked back to Ruth's flat in near silence, until Harry had grasped Ruth's hand, threading his fingers through hers. "I think it might rain soon," he'd said, gazing up at the sky.

"It's always about to rain in London," Ruth had replied.

Harry had offered to make them coffee, sending Ruth into the living room. When he joins her, a mug of hot coffee in each hand, rather than sit beside her on the sofa, he chooses a chair across the coffee table from her. "I think we need to talk," he says quietly.

"I'm fine with ... Norah. I have no need to know your history with her."

"What if I have a need to tell you?" he counters, sitting back in his chair, watching her. "I need you to know me, Ruth. I need you to know who I am."

"I already know who you are. Who you were in a previous life is not my concern." As firm as her voice sounds from inside her head, she's not sure she believes what she'd just said. She knows Harry is about to share with her his history with Norah, and Ruth really doesn't want to know. What if he'd once loved her? What had happened between them to destroy that love? On this day, after the sweetness of the night they'd shared, followed by the strange encounter at the pub, Ruth would rather remain forever in the dark about the attractive Norah.

"In this case, Ruth, it does." He sips his coffee before placing the mug on the coffee table. He waits until Ruth lifts her eyes to his. He sees the hurt there, and he is determined for his love for her to mollify that hurt.

"You don't have to tell me about her," Ruth says, wondering what had happened to their earlier intimacy.

"But I do. I learned an important lesson from Norah, and it now appears that you may be the one to benefit most from that lesson." Harry sits back, holding her eyes. "I met Norah at one of those receptions, the ones where a few politicians turn up - often with their mistresses - to rub shoulders with members of the intelligence service. It was around ten years after my marriage had ended ... messily, and acrimoniously. I'd become a serial philanderer, although on that night I attended the reception alone." Harry checks that Ruth is still listening, and detecting her interest, he continues quietly. "That night Norah and I talked. She and her husband had separated over a year earlier, but given they ran a tech development business together, they'd remained on friendly terms. Norah and I began seeing one another. I found that I liked her. She didn't pretend to be something she was not, and she would catch me out if I tried to play games ... a habit I'd developed in my previous dealings with women. We ... dated for almost six months. We were exclusive with one another, which I'd not been with any woman since the early days of my marriage to Jane. I only ever stayed overnight at her place; I never invited her back to mine, and she never asked why. I still needed a place which was just for me. The question of living together was never raised, although I thought about it, but decided against it. Then ... when we'd been seeing one another for almost six months, Norah began cancelling our dinner dates. We'd not seen one another for almost a month when she agreed to meet me for a drink after work. That's when she told me."

"She ended it?"

"She did, but not in the way, or for the reason I'd expected. She told me her husband had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and he only had a few months to live. He'd contemplated moving in with his parents, as he was no longer able to work, or properly care for himself. Norah had moved back into the house to take care of him, and in so doing, had realised that her relationship with me had been little more than an escape from her real life. I was more upset about this than I'd expected." Harry takes a deep breath before sipping his coffee. Again he glances up at Ruth, who is watching him closely.

"So, you loved her," Ruth says quietly, almost reverently.

"It was only as she was informing me of her decision to move back with her husband to care for him that I entertained the idea that I probably did love her. The realisation shocked me. Until then I'd only ever loved my mother and my wife. As Norah and I said goodbye for the last time, it occurred to me that she'd reminded me a lot of Jane. She was confident and elegant, and didn't really need me, or any man, and that made her very attractive to me. I'd wanted her to need me, and she hadn't."

Ruth is watching him closely, surprised by his level of disclosure ... his honesty. "And the man she was with today?"

"After her husband died she ran the business alone until she met John - her current husband. They've been married five years, and she told me they're very happy." Again he sighs. "She also told me today that she was thankful for the time we spent together. After you took off -"

"I needed the loo, and I thought I'd leave you alone with her ... to catch up."

"I do understand that, Ruth."

"Are you thankful for the time you were with her?"

"Of course," he says quickly. "By being exclusive with her, I learned that perhaps I wasn't a bastard after all."

"You believed you were?"

"Even you have called me an illegitimate offspring of unmarried parents, Ruth." When her brow furrows, he explains. "After the EERIE exercise. You gave me both barrels."

"That was different. It was work, and you were playing a role. I was shocked by how .. convincing you'd been, and I was annoyed that I'd not been able to see through your act."

Harry swallows. "I played a role with most women I was attracted to, also. And then, a few short years after Norah, you joined Section D, and to keep up with you, I've had to change."

There is a lull in their conversation, while each drinks their coffee. Something he'd said has stuck in Ruth's head, and she has to pursue it. "Harry ..." she begins carefully, "are you attracted to me because you believe I don't need you?"

"No, Ruth, although it's clear to me that you've never needed me, and mostly you haven't especially wanted me ... until now. It's your uniqueness and your genuine warmth I love. I've never before in my life met anyone quite like you. I'm just relieved to have at last ... found you."

Ruth nods before dropping her eyes. She understands his deeper meaning. This last week, he has found her; they have found each other.

"I have some calls to make," Harry says at last, "and one of those is to Rod Delahunty." Seeing Ruth's frown, he explains. "Rod Delahunty lives in Seattle. He's the former intelligence agent who was shot in the back, and whom I'm hoping can offer Ros work."

"You're going into work?"

"No. I'll make the calls from my office at home." Again he notices Ruth's face fall. "And I need an early night, Ruth, but ..." and here he hesitates, not sure that he has chosen the right moment to be mentioning their future. "I'd rather like it if we could spend each weekend together ... like this." When she doesn't object, he rattles on. "I thought we could spend next weekend at mine - Friday night to Monday morning."

"That's ... quite a suggestion, Harry."

He watches her closely. Her eyes are shining, so she is clearly not against the idea. "Or we can play it by ear ... if you like."

"I rather like the idea of spending each weekend together. It will give me ... give us .. something to look forward to at the end of each working week."

Harry quickly stands, and joins Ruth on the sofa. Her response has left him so relieved that he acts without thinking. It's as though she can read his intent. As he sits she turns towards him, reaching for his face, which she holds between her hands. Their snog is so spontaneous, so enjoyable that they end up stretched out together on the sofa, legs entangled, her hands having pulled his shirt from his trousers, to give her fingers access to the skin of his back, while he caresses her curves through her clothing. They'll not go further, not when Harry has announced his intention to leave for home.

They are standing together just inside Ruth's front doorway. Harry has already put his bag in his car, returning to say goodbye. Ruth notices an odd look on his face, as though he is nervous about something.

"I need to ask you something," Harry says at last, having decided to bite the bullet.

"Ask away."

"Do you love me?"

"That's rather a ... direct question," she says, briefly dropping her eyes.

"Do you?"

She then lifts her chin, and holds his gaze, suddenly bold. "You know I do."

"But I don't, Ruth. You've never said the words to me."

"Haven't I? I was sure I had ... while we were in bed ... I seem to remember ..."

"No, Ruth. That was me telling you I love you."

"Well, I do ... love you."

Harry appears happy with that. He kisses her carefully, pulls away to gauge her reaction, and apparently satisfied, he leaves with a quick squeeze of her hand, and a "See you in the morning."

Ruth stands at the door, watching him as he climbs into his car, waves to her, and then drives away. Of course she loves Harry. She's loved him for years. Even when she was assuring George that she loved him, she still held her love for Harry close to her heart, protecting it with her silence and her natural reserve. She has little doubt she will always love Harry. Talking openly about her love for him, even with him - especially with him - is something she finds difficult.

Ruth closes the door and heads back into the living room, gathering their coffee mugs, taking them into the kitchen. I love Harry, she says aloud, enjoying the sound of it rolling around her mouth, and then into the air. Perhaps, after all, all she needs is to practise saying the words aloud.

A/N: The 7th, and final chapter will be posted on Tuesday next.