A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far, and I am glad that this story is being enjoyed and appreciated by readers. I always enjoy reading speculation about certain outcomes which reviewers add in their reviews. Most of this fic is already written, so outcomes have already been determined.
London – Wednesday 14th August 2013:
Once Harry has disappeared upstairs Catherine and Malcolm remain sitting at the kitchen table.
"I guess he needs to be alone," Catherine observes, once they hear a door close above them.
Malcolm nods. "I suppose I should pour him a whisky for when he comes downstairs. I brought a fresh bottle, but I left it in the car."
Relieved to be able to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere in the room, Malcolm gets up and leaves the kitchen, and when Catherine hears the front door open, she wonders what her role is to be. Her father is in crisis – even if it's only temporary – and she is his daughter, and has been estranged from him for much of her life. Especially since Ruth's `death', she has formed a close bond with this intensely private and remote man, and she has found him to be warm and loving and loyal, even though there are parts of him which he has not, and possibly will never, share with her. His job has meant that there is far more to him than she can possibly imagine, and that is the way it must be, and will always be. It is clear to Catherine that Ruth was able to get beneath the veneer Harry puts around him to keep people at a distance. She wonders did Ruth claw and scratch her way in, or did she gradually and slowly draw Harry closer to her, gaining his trust and confidence, as though taming a frightened horse. Catherine suspects the latter. In some ways she may have Ruth to thank for Harry's preparedness to forge an adult relationship with her and her brother. She stands and takes the coffee mugs from the table, tipping the dregs of the coffee down the sink, and rinsing them under the tap. By the time she has the mugs upended on the dish drainer, Malcolm has returned to the kitchen, and has placed the unopened bottle of whisky in the middle of the table.
"I don't suppose you know where Harry keeps the glasses," he says, looking around the kitchen and seeing no sign of a whisky glass.
"On the sideboard in the living room, Malcolm. He always leaves a couple of glasses out. I think he and … I think they have a glass of something when she … visits." Catherine notices that Malcolm is struggling, and she reaches out and touches his arm.
"This is going to be a lot harder than I thought," Malcolm says quietly. "What say I pour us each a drink, and you can take one up to your father."
Once the drinks are poured, Catherine leaves her own glass on the table, and instructs Malcolm to sit and enjoy his drink. "I'll take Dad's up to him. I don't think he should be left on his own for too long."
At least fifteen minutes have passed since Harry had left the kitchen, and Catherine is worried about him. When she reaches the upper storey, she sees that Harry's office is empty, as is the spare room, the bathroom, and his bedroom, where she pokes her head around the door to see an unnaturally tidy and spartan room, the bed made, and no clothes left lying around. That leaves the en suite bathroom.
Catherine gently knocks on the door, and calls out. After knocking a second time the door is opened and Harry stands there. She has never before seen her father in the state he is now in. It is clear he's been crying, as his eyes are reddened, and she can still see a watery sheen in them. His expression is so sad that she has to force herself to not fling her arms around him. He will likely not welcome such open displays of emotion.
"I …. we were worried about you," she says, standing just the other side of the doorway from him. He has not invited her in. "Malcolm has brought a new bottle of something-or-other, and I thought you could do with one." Catherine lifts the glass of whisky, and hands it to Harry, who takes it, and smiles weakly.
"I've been a terrible host," he says, lifting his arm to indicate Catherine should step back into his bedroom. "Is Malcolm still downstairs?" he asks, as he indicates Catherine can sit on his bed, while he wearily lowers his body into the armchair near the bed.
For one horrible moment, Catherine is reminded that it is in this bed that he sometimes has sex with Roxy, and for a moment, she has difficulty even sitting on the bed. "Malcolm's fine, Dad. He has a bottle of whisky and a glass, and so he's happy for the moment. You gave us both a fright."
"I'm sorry," Harry takes a sip of his whisky before he continues. "I'm shattered by the news about Ruth."
"I know you are."
"In some ways, it's as bad as when she died. All I can think is if she survived the stabbing, why hasn't she contacted me? I couldn't have done ….. this …... to her." Harry gently places his glass on the bedside table, and rubs his forehead with the fingertips of one hand. It is a gesture which is familiar to Catherine – part worry, part frustration, part bone-numbing weariness. Her father needs a rest, a holiday. In her view, he needs to retire …... before his service to his country eats him alive.
Catherine looks down at her feet, while Harry removes his tie, and opens the top two buttons of his shirt. He'd taken off his jacket while downstairs, hanging it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. It is when she hears a noise coming from him that she looks up to see him leaning back in the armchair, one hand over his eyes. Harry is sobbing. It is a quiet, but harrowing sound, and Catherine can't bear to simply sit and watch. She gets up, and walks the few steps to his chair, where she drops to the floor at his feet, and rubs her hand along his free arm. Her other hand rests on his knee. She knows he has to cry, and has probably not cried nearly enough since Ruth's `death'. She sits and rubs the skin of his forearm until he quietens. Then once his tears have stopped, she stands, reaches towards him, and wraps her arms around his shoulders.
"I'll do whatever you want me to do, Dad. I can be here in under half an hour if you need me. You shouldn't have had to go through this alone." When she feels Harry nod, she pulls back, and sits at his feet, one hand still on his knee. "Tell me about her, Dad. Tell me what it is you love about her."
Before he speaks, Harry takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his eyes and blows his nose. "Right now I'm rather angry with her," he says, his voice husky. "She's in England and yet she hasn't tried to contact me. She's been alive for the past …... twenty-two months, and yet she couldn't pick up the phone …... drop me a quick email?"
"None of us know the circumstances of her living through the stabbing. She no doubt has her reasons." Catherine notices a smile beginning to form around Harry's mouth. "What? What's so funny?"
"Always the mediator, Catherine. You always see the good in others."
"Except you. I found it really hard to see the good in you, and I still need to know what it is you love about Ruth."
Harry sighs, and smiles weakly at his daughter. "Everything, Catherine. I love everything about her. She's warm and compassionate, and she's funny, and just when I thought I had her figured out, she could surprise me all over again. She's decent and kind, and a better person than I could ever hope to be. She's also incredibly stubborn … which I find annoying. She always sees the good in others. She's a lot like you."
Catherine smiles at her father's kind words. "Are you worried she'll be changed? Perhaps you've changed. I'm assuming you'll want to see her, and that Roxy will have to …. take a back seat."
This time Harry's sigh is heavier. "I've barely given Roxy a thought. This will affect her almost as much as it does me." Harry looks down, and flicks an imaginary piece of fluff from the leg of his trousers. "I care deeply for Roxy, but …... I don't care for her like I did Ruth. There may be some awkward times ahead."
"You should be used to awkward times, Dad. You've had enough of them."
Harry and Catherine take another half hour before they return downstairs to find Malcolm still sitting at the kitchen table, already on his second whisky. He had wondered should he just go home, leaving Harry and his daughter alone in the house. He has decided to stay because Harry will no doubt have questions, and he'll be the one who just may have the answers. Harry's questions begin almost the moment he sits down.
"I need to know a few things, Malcolm …... like where it is Ruth is staying, where she works, her hours of work, and her legend."
"You're planning to visit?"
"Of course. I thought I might take an early minute after work tomorrow."
"Then you'll need to know that she appears to be using the legend Anne Redden. She lives at this address." Malcolm pushes a sheet of A4 paper across the table towards Harry, who picks it up to see a copy of her passport as Anne Redden, and her address in Birchington-on-Sea, as well as the two addresses of her places of work – both in Birchington.
"I'm going to have to ring Roxy," Harry says quietly. "She needs to know what is happening. I owe her that. I have her to thank for keeping me from going completely off the rails."
"I'm sure there's a ….. good reason that Ruth left the country, Harry." The sentiment must be expressed, if only to bring Harry back from his earlier reaction of anger.
"Which is why I have to see her, Malcolm, and soon. I'm almost certain that the name William Towers will feature somewhere in her telling of this story."
Catherine and Malcolm leave soon after, and Harry takes his mobile phone from the pocket of his suit jacket and presses Roxy's number.
"This is a pleasant surprise." Her mellow tones reach his ears, and he is immediately soothed by them.
"I don't know how to say this, so I'll just come out and say it. Ruth is alive. The woman I thought I'd allowed to die is alive and well and living in Kent."
Harry is not surprised by the silence from the other end of the phone.
"How long have you known?" she asks at last, her voice surprisingly steady.
"Only a couple of hours." Harry fills Roxy in on the events of the evening. When he has finished she is silent. "Roxy? Say something."
"I don't know what to say, Harry, until I know what this means for me ….. for us."
"I can't answer that until I've seen Ruth. She may not even want to see me. After all, she's not even tried to contact me since I believed her to have died. I have no idea why she's back in the UK, but -"
"You're planning to see her, aren't you?"
"I'm going there after work tomorrow. I have to see her and talk to her. You must understand that."
"I do. In your shoes I'd be doing the same thing. Let me know how it goes, won't you, Harry, and ….. don't worry about me."
Harry has no idea how to answer her, so he says goodbye and ends the call. What should be a joyous and exciting occasion is fast turning sour for him. Still, he has no other option. He must seek out Ruth, There are too many questions to which he simply must have answers.