'Where's Ruth?' were the only two words that Harry had spoken in the two days since he'd been virtually carried into the house, and they'd hung in the air like a sword that was about to be brought down on some unsuspecting soul. That they didn't have an answer other than 'we don't know' which sounded as empty and as shallow as it was, had resulted in his legs that were barely holding him up buckling beneath him. If it hadn't been for the fact that Callum had rung ahead and asked Dimitri to be there to help him get Harry in, he'd quite probably have been bundled back to the hospital. As it was, Callum had persuaded the medics that he'd be fine and there was nothing that a good night's sleep in his own bed wouldn't put right. Two days later he was far from fine, he was closing down and fearful of further repercussions, they still hadn't given him Ruth's letter.
'I'll try and be home early, we'll do it then,' Callum had suggested to Catherine when he'd left for the grid that morning, so when he rang to say that he was five minutes away, Catherine took the gamble. Maybe there was something in the letter that would offer her Dad some comfort or give him a clue as to where Ruth was or at least offer him a reason to keep him going? It was breaking her heart to see him like this and knowing there was nothing she could do or say to help him.
'Leave me alone,' had succeeded in getting Malcolm to flee from the room but not so Catherine. Her Dad clearly got results by shouting at his staff from time to time, but she was his daughter and in this case made of sterner stuff. She loved him and Ruth had asked her to look after him. For the first time in his life he needed her more than she needed him and she was damn well going to do it. Calling after Malcolm and asking him if he'd mind making them both some toast and a drink, she was now sitting on the floor in front of Harry's large armchair with her hand in his as he clutched Ruth's letter to his chest. His whole body was heaving, he was clearly trying to control himself and had she not been there, Catherine was sure that he would have been crying. At least he was showing some emotion and surely that had to be a good thing? She'd only once seen him cry. It was at the end of an evening when she'd orchestrated a meeting between him and Graham in the belief that their fractured relationship was fixable, until Graham had stormed out telling him that he'd never see him again. This though was so different. He was still stubbornly refusing to see a doctor, he'd barely eaten since he'd been home, he looked haunted as though all life had been sucked out of him and it had reached the stage where she was terrified that if it were it possible, he might actually die of a broken heart.
Dearest Harry, Ruth had written.
Please excuse the smudges but I'm not myself at the moment, or maybe I am. Maybe I was always destined to feel this sad.
What I am about to do and what I am about to write are not of my choosing, I promise you that and I beg you to forgive me. What lies ahead for me I have no idea, other than knowing that I have to face it alone and without you.
That I failed to tell you that I love you too will always be my biggest regret, believing that we still had a lifetime together in which I would be able to do so. Promise me that it won't diminish your memories of that beautiful night, because I do love you Harry and I always will.
Unlike the last time when I went into exile, the decision has been made for me and I've been left with no choice. There can be no kiss goodbye this time or something wonderful and knowing you as I do, there's little point in me telling you not to get shot, although please don't let that happen. I've been led to believe that even that would be a preferable option to what lies in store for you, should I stay.
If you're reading this letter then you'll be safely home with Catherine and for that I'll be thankful. Please let her be the daughter that she longs to be Harry and become part of your life. I'll feel better knowing that Catherine's looking after you.
As for me I'll be settling into who knows what, free from the past except for my memories of the years we were together and of our colleagues lost and still with us.
One day perhaps we'll both be able to make sense of all this and believe that it was worth it.
All my love,
Ruth x
PS. Please tell Malcolm how much I enjoyed our chats about The Shipping Forecast and that I'll miss him.
As he had done the first time that he'd read it, Harry closed his eyes and leant his head back against a pillow trying desperately to control the overriding emotion of helplessness that had been his constant companion since Callum had said we don't know. Ruth, his Ruth who he loved to the depths of his very soul had sacrificed herself again to save him. Wherever she was she was alone and at the mercy of whoever crossed her path and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it.
Going back to bed and wallowing wasn't the answer, but that was where he was heading until Malcolm arrived back in the room with the tray of toast and tea as requested, that coincided with Callum arriving home and telling them that he had Tariq in the car and could he come in?
Harry's office made for a much more comfortable working environment than the safe house that they had been using, or Malcolm's dining room where they had been constantly interrupted by the demands of his Mum. In view of what they now suspected was a direct threat to Harry's life, there was also a twenty four hour guard posted outside the house which the now co - operating Erin had organised. Having cleared Harry's desk and set up Tariq's computer, Tariq explained his theory to Malcolm. He had no idea if Tariq was right but without any other leads to work with, they needed to run with it and try and make that connection. Malcolm had every confidence in Tariq's ability and as he elaborated further, Malcolm's interest peaked further.
'We need to go back to the beginning, but this time we assume that Ruth is the crucial link, otherwise what was the point in getting her exiled?' Tariq suggested. 'Maybe she knows something that she isn't aware of, something maybe that she had been working on when she was on the grid, that had she realised at the time would have brought this person down. Whoever this is, must have realised that once Ruth was relocated to the Home Office that she'd have access to information that she previously hadn't had, which if the penny had dropped she'd have told Harry. Having Jim Coaver shot and Harry extradited took that chance away.'
Two birds with one stone had been a master stroke. Getting rid of Harry for one of the many reasons that Tariq had suggested made sense, but finding where Ruth had been sent and getting her back was virtually impossible until they found their culprit and that was also vitally important, for Harry more than any of them, they both knew that.
'Harry and Ruth,' said Malcolm, raising his mug of tea.
'Harry and Ruth,' Tariq echoed.
In order that they could involve Malcolm, meetings like this had always been held at the end of a long working day, whereas what Callum now needed was for Malcolm to be officially reinstated. He also needed access to all the files that Ruth had worked on both at Thames House and at the Home Office and in order to do that see those, he needed to speak to Erin and ask her to clear it with the Home Secretary.
'I'll wait to hear from you then,' Malcolm told them, 'I'll just go and say goodnight to Harry and Catherine and then I'll be off.'
As much as Harry might have wanted to, he knew that he was still far too weak to go back onto the grid or get involved in whatever was happening upstairs in his office. Besides which he was fully aware that he would have been more of a hindrance than a help in his current state of mind, consumed with questions about Ruth, to which he had no answers. He'd never confided in anyone about his feelings and what until the other night had been their unfulfilled relationship. She'd written to Catherine as well, a letter which he'd also read, so maybe this was the time to be more open with his daughter as Ruth had suggested. She was out there somewhere lost and alone, she loved him and he was buggered if he was going to do as she'd told him and make an alternative life for himself, he needed to pull himself together and help them find her. Not only that, when he discovered who was behind all this, he'd ensure that the CIA and his friend Bob would take over where they'd off left with him.
His train of thought was interrupted when Malcolm's head popped round the door.
'I'll be off now if you don't need me for anything else?' he asked, pleased to see that two plates had been used which meant that finally Harry had eaten something.
'We'll be fine, see you sometime tomorrow,' from Catherine, had Malcolm explaining that if Callum got his way then both he and Tariq would be working in Harry's office full time and that Callum would be down in a moment to explain why.
'Before you go, you'd better read this,' Harry told him, handing over the letter and indicating the PS, so that Malcolm could read Ruth's message.
'I will,' said Malcolm smiling and bidding them goodnight. It was close to eleven and he needed to get home. It was when the last broadcast of the shipping forecast was aired and the one that he always listened to. When he and Ruth had worked together over the years, they'd found a way to relax by quizzing each other. Her about her love of classical music and him about his obsession with the shipping forecast and his quest for knowledge about the coastline around the British Isles, most of which he'd never seen but planned to rectify in his retirement. Well that wasn't going to happen, at least not in the short term.
Ruth had slept fitfully, struggling to eradicate jingle bell rock that had been going round and round in her head. As a result, she felt and assumed that she looked awful and nothing like the newly recruited music teacher that was expected to arrive for work at 8.30 that morning. She could hardly turn up wearing the clothes that she'd been wearing on a daily basis so what should she wear? She should have gone shopping. It was a bitterly cold morning so looking remarkably like the Ruth Evershed of old, dressed in one of her long dark skirts, her red top and long boots, all of which would have had Harry's heart rate soaring had he seen her, she climbed into her small car, drove up the hill and parked outside the school.
'Come on Ruth you can do this,' she told herself, remembering her resolution not to have any preconceived ideas, even about the excitable Robert. It felt like stepping back in time to her first day on the grid when she'd spilled her files across the meeting room table and Harry had made some ridiculous joke about her being the analyst. This felt no less daunting, as with a deep breath she pushed open the door and walked down the short corridor in the direction of the noise. She found herself in a bright and colourful classroom filled with what she calculated were perhaps twenty children of varying ages, some of which looked very young.
'Welcome Susan,' said Michael, appearing from behind some bookshelves and rushing over to greet her, telling the children to gather round while he introduced them to their new teacher.
A sea of bright and mischievous faces responded with a 'good morning miss,' which had Ruth finally conceding that this wasn't some dreadful dream it was actually real, as one by one they reeled off their names, none of which she imagined she'd ever remember.
'I must rush, I'll leave the children to tell you what they've been practicing with Mrs Macdonald,' saw Michael departing and Ruth wanting to follow him as small eager hands flew into the air. Her next decision proved to be a good one as she grabbed herself a chair and suggested to the children that they sat in a semi - circle in front of her so that she could get to know them better and then they could tell her what they'd been practicing for the concert.
'The little ones always sing first miss because they get tired,' an older boy who Ruth estimated to be about ten and declared himself to be James told her, at which point several hands shot up again indicating that they were the little ones, not that Ruth had any reason to doubt it.
'I'm the littlest, I'm five,' said the proud owner of a voice announcing himself to be Rory. 'I have to stand in the front so my Mummy and Daddy can see me,' had Ruth wanting to tell him that she thought he was lovely, but instead saying that she understood and that she'd make sure that he did.
The obviously confident James was in full flow, explaining to Ruth that 'Away in a Manger' was always the half way point in the concert which was when the older children joined in, only to be interrupted by two other children emerging from a cupboard proudly brandishing a manger and a doll whose head had come off.
'I'm Sally,' the newcomer with the headless doll told Ruth, going on to explain that the cupboard was where the scenery and the dressing - up clothes were kept.
Trying not to laugh as the baby Jesus's head was passed like a parcel, Ruth decided it was time she gained some sort of control before what remained of the doll was pulled limb from limb, and that the best way to do that was to put them through their paces and to hear what they were capable of.
'Right what I want now is to hear you sing,' she told them in what she hoped was an 'I'm in charge voice', heading towards the piano that stood in the corner of the room and praying that unlike the one that lived in the church that it was tuned. It was years since she'd played, she knew that she'd be rusty, but music came as easy to her as breathing and she could play with or without music. The first thing that came to hand in a book that had seen better days was 'Once in Royal David's City, as for the next few minutes as the children sang, Ruth was transported back to her childhood days at Primary School, when she'd so often had to sing the opening solo. She'd always loved Christmas and especially the carols, so when twenty little voices all eager to make an impression rose to fill the tiny classroom with a sound that evoked so many memories, for the first time in weeks she found herself at peace.
'That was very good,' she told their expectant faces as they finished the last verse of 'While Shepherd's Watched' and James piped up again, telling her that when they'd sung that last year that the little ones had been dressed as sheep.
'Yes Robert?' Ruth asked the supposedly excitable child who had so far been quiet.
'When the Christmas tree arrives, you will you help us decorate it won't you miss?' stopped Ruth mid thought and caused her to take a deep breath. Christmas Trees screamed Harry in Ruth's mind and his only indulgence to normality during the festive season. In recent years he'd softened and had finally allowed them to bring one onto the grid. It had meant that they'd all stayed late after work encouraged by the fact that he'd also brought in a few bottles of wine and some mince pies, and until twelve months ago they'd ridiculously pretended to avoid each other when it was obvious to everyone how they felt. Last year had been different and whilst Tariq had been telling one of his ridiculous jokes she'd escaped to the roof terrace and Harry had followed her. Neither of them had planned for it to happen or maybe on reflection Harry had, but it was Christmas and it was inevitable. Without her realising that he was going to do it, he'd kissed her and with that one kiss her life had changed for ever. Was he there now, was he thinking about her? She had to believe that he was otherwise none of this was worth it.
'I think perhaps you should show me what's in the clothes basket,' she told them as she tried to dispel her thoughts of Harry and refocus on the job in hand. Michael's talk of this being a one day a week job was a ruse to get her there and with under three weeks to go before the concert, then there had to be a good deal more practises. If she was going to stand in front of an audience which would consist of the entire village most of whom she had never met, then she was going to make dam sure that this was the best concert ever and not the repetitive one that they'd apparently endured year after year. She had a purpose and by lunchtime when she was sitting at the head of the table with the babies in her class eating what she decided was a far better school dinner than those to which she had been subjected, she also had a plan. This year when they performed the nativity it would be with a difference. She'd have to talk to Rose and probably Michael as well to seek his approval, but rather than hold it at the school, it would be so much more realistic if they could hold it in what would probably be a packed church.
When the school bell rang at three, the stampede to find their coats and hats before heading out in the playground to be collected by their waiting parents, had the usually quiet Ruth shouting at them to walk. She had survived her first day and as she drove back down the hill to her cottage, she admitted to herself that she'd enjoyed it.
The heating was on low so her first job was to light the fire, after which she headed upstairs to change into her more comfortable clothes. It was 4pm, when had she even got home from work that early, the answer was never. She had another busy day ahead of her tomorrow but before that she an evening of planning ahead of her and she was looking forward to it.