For much of the next day Harry is flat out at work, but he makes time to make a booking for a table for two at Constanza's, a warm and casual Italian eatery where Catherine had taken him one evening a few months earlier while she was briefly back in the country to edit her latest documentary. He knows Ruth enjoys Italian food, and he is almost certain she'd be more relaxed were they to eat somewhere casual.
It is mid afternoon when Ruth slides open his office door, bringing him her latest threat assessment report. "I thought I'd drop this off now, seeing that ….. we're ..."
"Having dinner together tonight," Harry finishes for her.
Ruth nods, smiling shyly up at him. "I wasn't sure whether the dinner was still on."
"Of course it's still on. There are no pending terror attacks; the country has not descended into chaos, you and I are fit and healthy. This time I'm picking you up from your place. 7.30? And it's Constanza's, so it's -"
"Oh, lovely. I've heard it's good. Jo has been there. I look forward to it."
They are each grinning at the other. He doesn't want her to leave his office, and it's clear she is happy to just stand there, smiling at him. Only 24 hours previously this outcome had seemed impossible.
"You can leave early today, Ruth."
"Why? I still have heaps to do."
"I thought you might need time to ….. you know …." Harry is suddenly embarrassed by his own suggestion …... that she needs time to go home and make herself beautiful. She'd still be beautiful to him were she dressed in a hessian sack. He sighs heavily, carefully watching her face.
"I'll stay until 5."
Harry nods and allows his smile to fade. They are at work after all.
From across the Grid Ros Myers has been observing the whole interaction. Her mouth twists in a semi-sneer. She just wishes they'd close the the blinds in Harry's office and work off a little of the sexual tension which crackles between them, but preferably after she's left for the day.
Matt Mercurio is serving Table 7, where a couple sit engrossed in one another. He is used to interrupting people who are lost in one another. He has even had to take the order of several couples when they were in the middle of a spat, and one memorable couple who insisted on speaking to one another through him. The couple at Table 7 are unusual. Matt has studied psychology at the University of Western Australia. He even completed his Masters, and that's when the travelling bug bit him. He's been working at Constanza's for three months. He likes people, and he enjoys observing the people who dine at the restaurant, imagining their individual stories. The couple at Table 7 intrigue him. The man is middle aged while the woman is much younger. They are clearly enamoured of one another, and if his instincts serve him correctly they are new at this - the dating side of things.
"Good evening. My name's Matt and I'll be looking after you this evening."
He then continues with his spiel about the specials and the wine. The woman smiles up at him and he is momentarily drawn in by her very blue eyes, while the man just gazes across the table at his companion. He likes the way the man discusses the wine with her before he chooses. He decides then that they will not want him interrupting them throughout the evening. He will visit their table, enquire about their needs, and then make himself scarce.
Once the waiter leaves, Ruth reaches out towards Harry and he takes the hint and grasps her hand in his own. Her hand is quite cold, so he rubs her skin with his fingers, all the time watching her. He could watch her all night, and to hell with food, wine and sparkling conversation.
"He was Australian," Ruth says at last.
"Who was?"
"Matt. The waiter. Good looking, too."
"I really didn't notice. I was sure his accent was South African." Ruth smiles widely, and Harry wonders is this actually happening. "I'm expecting to wake from this dream, to find myself alone in bed with a hangover."
Ruth reaches across with her other hand and takes his hand between both hers. "You have beautiful hands," she says, turning his hand over to examine his palm. It is when she runs her fingertips across the skin of his palm that he shudders with pleasure. Harry had always believed that nothing about him could possibly be called beautiful.
Their chat is light and playful, and they both hope that nothing will happen to break the spell. The Grid and matters of national security do not feature in their conversation. They are each taking their time over their main courses when Ruth brings the conversation back to their previous dinner date.
"Harry …... when you mentioned the cities of Europe – during our first dinner together – and you described your ideal travel companion …... were you ….."
"I was referring to you, Ruth. I was describing you. I thought that to be obvious."
"I was hoping you meant me, but I wasn't sure. I mean …. you could have your pick of a whole host of women."
Harry pushes his plate away. He has eaten more than enough, and he'd like to leave some room for the home made profiteroles which the waiter had recommended. He sits back and wipes his mouth with a napkin, and then places it beside his plate. "For the past …... year at least, it's only been you, Ruth. I've tried hard to not be ….. attracted to you, but …... I've failed badly."
"Is becoming attracted to someone a failure?"
"When I'm your boss, and I'm divorced, and my relationship history is messy, and you're a much younger, beautiful, compassionate and forgiving woman …... yes. I should never have allowed this to happen, but we're here now, and ….. just maybe what we both need the most is each other."
It is a minute or so before Ruth replies. Harry watches her, feeling a little worried that he may have said too much, declared himself to her too soon, before she is ready. He has never been good in his personal relationships; he either says nothing at all, or he declares his feelings too early or at the wrong time. He feels his heart rate increase as she appears to struggle to find the right words. As he sees it, this night is an opportunity for them to regain the ground lost since the last time they had dinner together.
Eventually, Ruth takes a breath, lifting her eyes to him, her expression shy, perhaps even embarrassed. "I have also tried to deny my attraction to you," she begins quietly, "and I believed that I was succeeding, too. A month or so ago Jo made a comment about us – you and me …... like she expected me to know something about you which was not in the public domain. It shocked me that she was able to see that …... there was something there …... between us."
"I'm sure they all know, Ruth, and it's not because anyone has said anything, or told them anything. They have eyes, and instincts, and they see things. They see what it is we've both tried to hide. They're trained to be able to do that in the field, so I'd be shocked were they not able to do that amongst the people they work with."
Ruth sighs, and then takes a hefty swig of her red wine. "The more I think about it …. us …. the more I think we should just …... go with the flow."
"Go with the flow? I'm sure I've never heard you recommending that approach, Ruth, and I must say that I'm ….. a little shocked. I see you as someone with a plan."
"You're right. I prefer to know where I'm going, and when and with whom, but ….. for once I'm enjoying not knowing where this is taking us." Ruth looks down briefly before she again lifts her eyes to his. "And I have to tell you, Harry, that not ….. knowing where ….. this is going is causing me a lot of …... discomfort."
Harry finds himself relaxing, and he feels himself smiling into her eyes, which are still searching his face. "Back before the Havensworth summit I can remember asking you to trust me …."
Ruth nods. "I remember that. I ….. walked away from you. I was …."
"Angry with me?"
"I think I was more angry with myself, Harry ….. and scared, too, I believe. It takes a … lot for me to …. take a risk such as this." Ruth is tracing patterns with her finger on the tablecloth. Harry is learning that when she acts in this way it is to give herself time in which to respond truthfully. At least, he hopes that is what is happening. "Sometimes …... well, most of the time, it seems …. you have the knack for putting your finger right on the nub of the matter. With the other men I've been …... involved with, the common factor was their …. betrayal of my trust. I trusted them, opened myself up to them, and they …. dumped me, or cheated on me, so as you can see ….."
"Trusting a man is difficult for you."
"Yes."
"I'm not like those men, Ruth. I've learned the hard way that to ….. act in that way is a sure way to lose a woman's trust. Ruth …... you have to trust me …... even if you don't want to, or if it's difficult for you."
"I know."
This time it is Harry who reaches across the table, taking one of Ruth's hands in his. He chooses her right hand, the one with which she'd been drawing patterns with her index finger on the tablecloth. He curls his fingers around her fingers, so that for her to pull away would require a surge of strength. He needs to touch her in this way, and he hopes she doesn't mind. If the softness in her eyes is an indication of her mood, then she doesn't mind in the least.
From the serviery, Matt Mercurio can see that the people on Table 7 need their table cleared, but he also doesn't wish to interrupt what is so clearly an important conversation.
"Move your backside, Matt," the head chef throws at him, walking past him on his way to the fridge. "Chop chop."
Matt dislikes the head chef. Chef thinks the restaurant is all about him, but Matt believes it's about the diners, the people who choose to remove themselves from their everyday lives to spend private time together for a few hours in the dining room of Constanza's. He takes his time wending his way through the dining room, while at the same time appearing to hurry.
"Will there be anything else …. sir .. madam?" he asks the couple at Table 7, as he deftly removes their plates from the table. When there is no answer, he looks at each of the two people at the table to find their eyes locked each on the other. He'd surmised they were a couple who may have been meeting again after a long separation, or perhaps a newly together couple, getting to know one another. Something tells him they don't fit into either of these categories. Either way, he envies them their powerful attraction to each other, and their honest and open gazes. He has difficulty remaining interested in a woman beyond the two week mark; there are just too many women in the world for him to become hung up on one. He is about to leave them to it when the man turns to him and speaks.
"A serving of the profiteroles for me, and …... Ruth ….. what would you like?"
Ruth. Matt had imagined her name to be Amelia, or Julia. No, Ruth suits her. She appears to him to be sensible, but if the longing glances she is giving her companion are anything to go by, a passionate heart beats within.
"Nothing more for me, thank you," she says, smiling up at Matt. He nods and leaves them to it. Privately he thinks they won't stay for the man to eat his profiteroles, which won't be a bad thing. As delicious as Chef's profiteroles are, he considers the couple need to go somewhere more private and take a few risks with each other. Life is short, much shorter than we expect. Two summers ago Matt's best mate was taken by a shark while surfing at Mandurah, and his body was never found. Anything can happen at any time.
It is less than ten minutes later when Matt is about to deliver dessert to Table 7, and he sees the man and Ruth heading out the door together.
"Leave the profiteroles," the head waiter says, nodding towards the couple, the door closing behind them. "You can have them once we close."
Once they are seated together in the back seat of the taxi, Harry turns to Ruth. "Your place or mine?"
"I believe I promised you coffee."
"I believe you did too," Harry replies, settling back against the upholstery, smiling across at Ruth. He gives the driver Ruth's address, and then takes her hand and links his fingers through hers. There is so much he wishes to say, but this is neither the time nor the place.