A/N: Thanks to those who are continuing to read this, and of course to those who take time out to review.

Birchington-on-Sea – Sunday 18th August 2013:

It is a little after 8.30 pm when Harry parks his car outside Ruth's flat. The sun has set, but the summer twilight casts a rosy glow over everything, the recent heavy rain having washed the leaves and grass clean. Harry watches Ruth's flat for some sign that she has seen him, but there is no face at the living room window, or the twitch of a curtain. She could be in the shower, or even lying down. He grabs his phone and calls her mobile, but it rings through to voice mail. He recogises a curl of concern in his stomach as he continues to watch the flat. In the flat next door to hers, where Mrs Pritchard lives with her two cats, a light already burns in the living room. Grabbing his holdall from the back seat of his car, Harry quickly gets out and strides to Ruth's front door. He knocks, and rings the doorbell, and he waits. There is no response, and no noise from inside. He knocks again, this time as loudly as he can, but still nothing.

Seeing Mrs Pritchard's face at the window of her front room, Harry drops his holdall under the porch and hurries to her front door and calls out. "Mrs Pritchard," he calls, "have you seen Anne? She's not answering."

The older woman – probably in her late 70's – opens the front door and leans out. "She's not there, dear. She's gone, and she gave me a letter to give you when you arrived."

"She's gone? Gone where? I only spoke to her last night." What is going on?

"She left late morning."

"She didn't go to work?"

"She did, but she came home again. I think she had to leave in a hurry. Wait there, dear, while I get the letter."

Mrs Pritchard heads back into her flat, while a large white cat sits in the doorway, looking up at Harry with a look which clearly says: Come any closer and I'll chew your leg off. Harry quite likes cats – he'd liked Ruth's cats – but cats don't seem too keen on him. Mrs Pritchard hurries back, and hands him a large envelope with his name on the front – just the one word, Harry. Harry takes it, and thanks her.

"She took all her things, dear. She didn't tell me why. I'm going to miss her. She'd sing sometimes, you know. Lovely voice. She was singing rather a lot yesterday morning – after you left."

Harry thanks her and then says goodbye, before he heads back to Ruth's front door to get his holdall. He throws it into the back seat of his car, and then drives around the corner and parks. He sits for a moment, both hands still on the steering wheel as he takes several deep breaths. He doesn't know whether he is shocked or angry, although he suspects he is experiencing a little of both. He feels like he has been unexpectedly punched in the stomach. He only hopes Ruth is not in any danger.

Whatever is in Ruth's letter, he can't wait to read it, but he hadn't wanted Mrs Pritchard to be watching him through the window of her front room. He settles back in his seat, opens the envelope, and takes out several sheets of paper, on which Ruth's has written in her familiar scrawl.

Dear Harry,

I know you will think me a coward. I had been thinking of leaving this quiet place almost since I arrived. When you turned up on Thursday afternoon, I suddenly saw my life open up in ways I had not expected. I need you to know that my leaving this place is not because of you. It is because of me.

While things between us have been wonderful – perhaps too wonderful – I have a sense that we have moved too far and too fast. For this reason I am taking time out from `us'. I know you will be angry with me – again – and that you will accuse me of running from you – also again - but you have to understand that for close to two years I have lived to work, and that I have had no personal life to speak of. The few hours we have spent together over the past few days have been the happiest of my life. I need you to know that and to believe that. I also need you to know that there is not, and will never be anyone else for me. You are my one and only love.

So, I can hear your mind working. You are asking me that if I care for you so much, why am I not in my flat waiting for you? We'd planned to spend Sunday night and Monday together, and I have been looking forward to it, as I imagine have you. So why am I not there to meet you? That is a question I am having difficulty in answering. Perhaps it is my default reaction to run away when things are progressing well with us. I am not doing this because I need to run from you, Harry. I am doing it in order to check that I am deserving of you. Somewhere inside me I believe that one day you will wake up and realise that I am just an ordinary woman with an extraordinary skill, and you have been dazzled by my skills at work, and this has blinded you to the ordinariness of the woman I am.

I cannot tell you where I am going because I don't know yet. For now, I am leaving Birchington-on-Sea, and I am leaving you. When I am clear in my head I will contact you. In the meantime, I ask that you don't try to find me. Know that we will see one another again. I just don't know when.

I am sorry, Harry. Please don't hate me. Know that this is not the end, but maybe a chance for a new beginning.

Your Ruth.

Harry sits in his seat, the pages of the letter in his hand. He sighs deeply, and staring through the windscreen towards the houses along Alpha Street, he wonders whether he is being set up. He also wonders whether Ruth has written the letter in some kind of code. He is too stunned to be upset. He then smooths out the sheets of paper and reads it again. It is still bewildering to him, and if he is being honest, it makes little sense to him. When they were together on Thursday, and especially Friday night and Saturday morning, there had been no sign at all that this was about to happen. Ruth had been happy, and open, and warm and welcoming. He doesn't believe what she has written to him, and yet equally he has no explanation for it should she be lying.

There is nothing more for him to do. He turns the car around, and heads back to London.

London – Monday 19th August 2013:

After a very restless night, during which he is sure he may have slept no more than two or three hours, Harry gets out of bed and heads straight to the shower. He stands for some time under water a little too hot for comfort in an effort to wake himself. After a breakfast of coffee and buttered toast, he picks up his mobile phone and rings Malcolm.

"Harry? I thought you were spending a day or two with Ruth."

"Apparently not."

"Trouble in Paradise?"

"You could say that. Look, I still have today off. Could I come to see you?"

"When?"

"Now."

"Harry, it's only -"

"I know what time it is. I've eaten breakfast, and I know you've been up since 5.30."

"4.45 actually."

"I'll be there in a little over an hour."

As Harry reaches Malcolm's front door, the time is 7.55 am.

"This is the original letter, Malcolm. I've scanned it into my laptop, so I have my own copy."

"I'm not terribly comfortable with this, Harry. This is a personal letter from Ruth to you. It is not meant for my eyes."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't be doing this were it not necessary. The letter is personal, yes, but there are no intimacies of a …... sexual nature. In it she is giving me a message, and I'm not altogether certain that the message is the one she's written. I suspect ….. code, or …... some other message entirely. I suspect she's hiding some truth from me."

Harry sits across the dining table from Malcolm, impatiently waiting for Malcolm's opinion. Malcolm reads the letter again, and then a third time, and then very reverently places it on the table in front of him. He grimaces as he glances out the window at the drizzle. "My bedding flowers will enjoy the drink," he says absently.

Sod the bedding flowers!

"But what about the letter? What do you think?"

"What I think and what I'm meant to believe are two different things, Harry. What I'm being led to believe is that Ruth just needs time out to get herself together. I believe she moved to that area of the country to readjust before …... she made a move to return to London permanently."

"So she's telling the truth."

"What I think is that she is running from something, and that `something' is not you. There are certain ... inconsistencies in her letter to you."

"So why did she say ... what she said?"

"I know both you and Ruth well enough to know that were Ruth in any danger, you would drop everything to save her ….. to deliver her from danger."

Harry feels his jaw jut a little in defence of his default reactions.

"I believe that Ruth may have seen someone in Birchington-on-Sea …... someone who had her leaving her flat and an assignation with you, to run to somewhere else."

"I have no idea who that could be, Malcolm."

"No doubt she made a lot of enemies amongst the Russian contingent in the US, and perhaps even some members of the CIA were not enamoured of her. Many of the Russians have already been rounded up and sent to Guantanamo. I heard that there were ... a few who ... avoided detection at the time Ruth had submitted her final report."

"Do you think they are in the UK?"

"If they wish to silence Ruth, then yes, they are here, and perhaps have been for several months."

"Can you check the CCTV in Birchington-on-Sea? Ruth's normal route to and from work would be a good place to begin."

"Yes, Harry, I will, but I need you to make a couple of phone calls."

"Anything. Anything at all."

"You need to ring her neighbour – the woman next door who gave you Ruth's letter. You need to find out if she knows anything further. Secondly, I suggest you ring her employer – the one who owns the coffee shop. Andy something."

"Gilchrist. His name is Andy Gilchrist."

"He might know something. After all, she was due to work all day on Sunday. Did she turn up for work and leave early, or did she cry off for the whole day? Did he see anyone suspicious hanging around the shop? If so, did they ask questions?"

So Harry stays in the dining room, while Malcolm takes with him Ruth's letter to Harry and retires to his den. Harry makes his phone calls and pours himself another cup of coffee while he waits for Malcolm. Despite his desire to share what Andy Gilchrist has told him, he knows better that to disturb Malcolm while he works. He keeps checking his watch, and is checking it again when Malcolm enters the dining room. "I think you need to see this," Malcolm says.