Blinded by grief and the injustice that working for the Security Services had heaped on them yet again, Ruth had declined Tower's offer of a lift back to the Home Office and had chosen instead to walk beside the Thames where she would find anonymity, but most of all some privacy from what would be the 'have you heard what's happened' whispers, had she returned to her desk. She was certain that Towers would understand her decision. His comment when they'd had dinner that he didn't want to be a home wrecker, surely meant that he'd guessed about her relationship with Harry, so would accept what she already knew to be her resignation and her need to move on. With faltering steps that she could no longer control, she took a deep breath before heading into the park where she felt safe and if she tried hard enough, could believe that Harry would be waiting for her. Pulled by the invisible magnet that had always bound them together, she bought herself a coffee and found the familiarity if their bench. She needed time to think. When Harry had kissed her he had slipped her the keys to his house, urging her to use it as a sanctuary during the few precious days before it would be invaded by unwanted visitors. And oh how she wanted to, if only to lose herself in the memories. Memories that were beautiful but too recent, she knew she couldn't do it.

Determining that she had to be honest with Towers, she dragged herself to her feet, wrapped her coat tightly around her and headed towards the park gates. It was then that her phone rang and with it the summons to Thames House. Believing this to be an offer of help and please god she thought salvation for Harry, her spirits had lifted and she'd almost raced through the doors and up to the fourth floor.

The smile that was threatening to break through was wiped away in the first moments, as the threats and humiliating insinuations concerning her and Harry, none of which were true but she had no way of disproving, were compounded by any decision about her future or indeed Harrys, being taken out of her hands.

'I trust we understand each other,' said her accuser as she balled up her fists behind her back and forced herself not to cry, before she backed out of the office and then out of the building without looking back.

When she'd arrived home, she'd tried but failed to avoid a concerned Beth, before she'd shut herself in her bedroom, dragged as many clothes as possible into the only suitcase that she had, and then cried herself to sleep.

Why on earth had Harry been so stubborn and not listened to her was the burning question to which she didn't have an answer. At least if she'd had the chance to talk to him face to face as she had done hundreds of times over the intervening years, he might been with her now rather than thousands of miles away. There was no alternative other than to do what she had been ordered to do and commit herself to another exile. This time though, there would be no coming back.

At 3am, with her small case stowed in the back of the car, the pre- programmed sat nav showing her the destination, bleak and inhospitable she imagined it to be and so very far away, she drove north out of London, leaving Ruth Evershed behind.

It had been a further week without any progress, when Callum had ordered Beth to search Ruth's room. Beth had felt extremely uncomfortable about doing it, Ruth's room was sacrosanct and she suspected that no one other than perhaps Harry, had ever previously had access. Not surprisingly bearing in mind that Ruth had left in a hurry and at night, it looked as though it had been burgled. Drawers had been dragged open an emptied, the bed was unmade and the small bookcase where Ruth kept her most precious of books had been raided and was empty. It had been a painstaking and difficult search but as a consequence several hours later, was the reason that she was sitting outside Catherine Townsend's front door with the letters in her hand. There were three in total, one of which had been addressed to her.

Dear Beth,

Firstly I must apologise for any trouble that may have been heaped on you all as a result of my sudden disappearance. The flat is yours I have no further use for it, so stay there for as long as you wish.

I entrust to you the other two letters enclosed in this envelope. One is for Harry's daughter Catherine and the other I suspect you would have guessed anyway, is for Harry. Whatever else you do or don't do, please ensure that Catherine gets her letter, but more importantly guard Harry's letter with your life. It is the most difficult thing that I have ever had to write and vitally important to both of us that he receives it.

I hold little or more precisely no hope that I will ever see any of you again and that includes Harry. His letter alone explains why, but I want you to know and hope that you will believe, that this is not of my choosing, Harry will know that.

Explain as best you can to Catherine my relationship with her father and ask her to look after him for me when you bring him home.

Last but not least, I assure you that although I may not have done much by way of making you feel comfortable living in my home, you've been a breath of fresh air and I count you as a true friend.

Stay safe and please say goodbye to Tariq for me.

Ruth.

P/S Sorry I left my bedroom in a mess.

Beth was tough, Beth didn't cry or she hadn't until then, as relief engulfed her that Ruth was alive and apparently safe, but with a rage that had her throwing the glass of wine that she was holding against the wall of what had so recently been Ruth's bedroom, with ferocity worthy of Harry.

If Beth felt upset, then it paled into insignificance compared to the tear stained face of Harry's daughter that sat clinging to Callum's hand, when Beth gave her Ruth's letter and then gave it her best shot in describing Ruth's relationship with her dad.

'Malcolm's probably better qualified to have told you this than me, but I guess Ruth didn't want to upset him any more than he already is, but you could always ask him,' she suggested.

Callum had made them all a cup of tea, his mind warring as to the content of Ruth's letters and why she had written them, most significantly the one to Harry which lay unopened on the coffee table. Ruth first and foremost was a spy and a bloody good problem solver, so maybe within the letters she had left them a message or some sort or a clue. She was alive and certainly not incarcerated with Harry which was a huge relief, but that still didn't explain why she'd had to leave so suddenly and more importantly where she was. Catherine's letter was on the same lines as Beth's, but full of regrets that she'd never had the chance to meet her. Which only left Harry's letter and that was for his eyes only, they couldn't open that.

'Bear with me, read Ruth's letter to you again Beth?' he asked her, 'there has to be something in there that will help us'.

Beth didn't want to read it again, she almost knew it by heart she'd read it so many times, but Callum was her boss as well as Harry's prospective father in law and was as desperate as she was to help Harry. Taking a deep breath, she read it twice, the second time out loud, which caused Callum to let go of Catherine's hand.

'Ask Catherine to look after him for me 'when' you bring him home,' Ruth had said, not 'if you bring him home.'

'You were wrong Beth,' Callum told her, 'Ruth's disappearance is totally in character.'

'What do you mean?'

'She's done this for Harry. Whoever dispatched Ruth to wherever she is now, knew about the relationship between her and Harry. They knew that Harry was going to be extradited and must have convinced Ruth that were she to leave, that Harry would be released and be able to come home. That means that it's someone with whom both Ruth and Harry have a joint history and who Ruth spoke to after she and Harry had said goodbye.' He needed to call Malcolm and Tariq.

Tariq was on sick leave, he had flu according to the medical certificate that had been presented to Erin and it was him that answered Malcolm's home phone.

'I'm on to it,' he told Callum, switching his computer back on and pulling up the picture of Ruth and Harry standing beside the Thames.

'Check Ruth's movements again, from the moment that Harry left her standing there,' Callum was telling him, 'right up until the last time that Beth saw her before she'd disappeared.'

One week earlier.

Susan Barnes was making reasonable progress, mainly due to the fact that she was driving at night, when apart from the incessant stream of lorries that she had been forced to overtake, driving on the motorways was far less frenetic. Amongst the instructions that she had been given, were that in order not to draw attention to herself that she should adhere to the speed limits at all times and that she wasn't to deviate from the route that had been set. She had twelve hours in which to reach the first of the two ferries, where a pre-paid ticket would be waiting for her.

She was a frustrated amateur writer who had been sent on an assignment by one of the islands one-time resident's family, to research its heritage with a view to publishing their late father's memoirs. Money was no object and the small cottage, the keys to which were stowed in her case had been made over in her name. After a reasonable amount of time, having become part of the community she was to announce to them that she'd made the decision to stay there. It was to be a one way trip and she must have absolutely no contact with anyone from her life as Ruth Evershed.

Ruth loved the sea she had done since she had been a small child, when holidays had involved camping in an antiquated tent, which she and Peter used to tease her father he'd kept from the time that he had been in the Home Guard. This though was in another time and she had never felt so alone. Cyprus had been lovely in its way but despite the manner in which she had been forced to return, she no longer felt guilty that she had always loved Harry. Their relationship had moved on from the hesitant days and since she'd been working at the Home Office, had reached a point where the inevitable had become just that. On the glorious night after the Russians had been sent packing, Harry had thrown caution to the wind and suggested that they go out for a meal, but in the end they'd shared a takeaway in his kitchen. One thing as they say, had led to another and they'd both been late for work the next day. Beth had known where she'd stayed, she was quite sure about that, but unusually for her she'd said nothing and now this, it was so bloody unfair.

Had Beth found her letters, she hoped so. It was the only chance that she'd get to tell Harry that she loved him but to tell him that he had to let her go, no matter what. It was the only option if they wanted to ensure his safety and that was all that mattered.

'We'll be away soon lovey,' said a friendly voice who introduced himself as Angus, as she climbed out of the car and wrapped her arms tightly around her against the biting cold. 'Take yourself inside out of this wind and have some breakfast, it'll make you feel better,' did nothing to raise her spirits as she followed her fellow passengers in the direction of the small lounge, where a few hardy souls with stomachs much more steady than hers felt, were tucking in to what looked like bacon sandwiches. The last thing she needed was to be sick and she really couldn't face having to speak to people with the real possibility of breaking down, so she stayed on deck despite the cold.

She'd told herself that she'd cope with the moment when the mainland disappeared from sight, but she was wrong, the memories were still there and just as it had been all those years ago beside the Thames, she was sure that she could feel her heart breaking. Clinging hard to the railings with the tears that were tumbling unabated blending with the rain and the wind, her mind was awash with Harry and what could have been.

Two hours and a second ferry journey later, the Island of Harris and Lewis, part of Scotland's Outer Hebrides surrendered itself out of the mist. Had it been Summer, then the ferry would have been teeming with tourists and nature lover's, looking for their annual escape from their everyday lives. The twice a week ferry that operated out of season, carried the post, supplies and the occasional local who for whatever reason had made a trip to the mainland and was returning home. One such young man, dressed far more appropriately against the cold than Ruth was, wasn't concentrating as he headed out from the warmth of the lounge onto the deck and walked straight into Ruth's path, causing her to stumble.

'Christopher Robson,' he said, introducing himself and then going on to apologise for being so clumsy.

'Susan Barnes,' Ruth told him, using her new name for the first time and then seeing the sad look in her new acquaintance's eyes, felt obliged to ask him if he was alright.

'I work in Liverpool,' he told her, 'I'm back home for a funeral, me Granny's died,' was said in the gentlest of Scottish accents, confirming to her how out of place she was going to sound in her new surroundings.

'I'm sorry,' she told him. 'I've just lost someone too,' was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, but she kept silent. If needs be she could add it to her legend at another time. It would explain how wretched she'd probably look.

Realising that if she didn't get into her car soon, the ferry would be heading on its return journey and she with it, she took a chance and offered him a lift.

Without a car, the bus ride to Liurbost which was where Christopher's parents lived was a long one and he accepted gratefully. It was close to where Ruth was heading and as he had grown up on the island and would know the way it seemed a neighbourly thing to do and by now she was grateful for the company. It was a foot in the door without her having to make any effort and it was a chance to test her legend. She'd found a friend, no matter how obliquely. She felt slightly more confident.

Having dropped him off outside what he described to her was the post office and general stores that his parents owned and where she could supposedly buy anything, she travelled the last mile down a narrow road, sign-posted residents only to her destination. Tucked low down and protected from the prevailing wind that was racing over the headland, a smattering of white painted stone cottages one of which was hers, lay claim to a wide bay that overlooked the sea. At any other time the scene would have been idyllic, but to Ruth it was foreboding, alien and nothing like the broad expanse of sand in Suffolk that she had set her heart on. Fumbling for the keys, she dragged her case indoors, surprised how warm it felt despite the fact that the heating wasn't on or the fire lit. She was hungry, she was tired but she was Ruth Evershed and determined not to let herself or more importantly Harry down, so she set about lighting the fire and having unloaded her shopping made herself something to eat.

The cottage was exactly as it had been described to her and in truth not dissimilar to the one of her dreams, which wasn't what she'd expected. There was a large picture widow that overlooked the bay and had she been the author that she was supposed to be, would have been a perfect place to sit and write. The kitchen and the sitting room weren't over large but were well appointed and the furniture was surprisingly good considering that it had never been anything other than a holiday cottage. Having finished her meal, she eventually forced herself to go upstairs, her thoughts of Harry returning and what might have been. The similarity to the upstairs in the little house in Suffolk was so striking that it was here that she finally gave way to her emotions. Fully dressed she climbed onto the bed, pulled the bedcovers around her and let the tears flow.

While Ruth fell into a troubled sleep, an ocean away, the man that she loved and that she had sacrificed herself to save, was dragging himself into consciousness ahead of a new day. For a week now his persecutors had left him alone, he suspected that he knew why and that it wouldn't last, he'd seen and had done to others too many times. Devoid of company the days were endless and almost worse than those with the hours of questioning. Why they hadn't just killed him and be done with it he didn't know, he was grateful for the respite however long it might continue, it gave him time to think.

What were his team doing, had they been able to persuade his captors that he was innocent? Had Towers finally found the courage to speak out on his behalf? He didn't know the answers, he had to wait. More importantly were the questions to which he craved answers more than any others. Had Ruth bought the cottage that she had described to him, was she safe and well and making the life for herself that he had asked of her? They soothed and broke him in equal measure.

.