7 February 2013 – 3 – London – Malcolm
Monday morning was back to work for both of them. He dropped Hope at her first appointment (the start of two days working with their own national security advisors at Whitehall to put together the framework for a joint task-force relating to their overlapping areas of interest in central and south Asia) before heading back to the Grid, arriving after everyone else for almost the first time in the living memory of his underlings. They all piled into the meeting room after him; only Erin noticed that his tie, this morning, was a subtle, sunny gold. It was soon evident to everyone that the old, almost legendary, Harry was back, from the quick, witty comebacks to the instant comprehension of issues and scalpel-like decisions; by the end of the meeting, those who had been around long enough to remember were washed in relief while anyone newer, including Waleed, were slightly shell-shocked at the re-emergence. Erin and Dimitri both correctly identified the cause of the change, having realised that Hope had been at the congress, but even they were surprised by the scale of it. Unless, of course, the pair had actually progressed beyond friendship...
Harry's phone, which had been surprisingly quiet all day, went off while he was up on the roof terrace after lunch, getting some fresh air and trying to make sense of some insubstantial thoughts that were hovering in the back of his mind like a malevolent cloud, attempting to cast unwelcome shadows. Having not looked at the caller ID before answering, he was surprised to hear Malcolm on the other end. They hadn't spoken since Christmas, although there had been the usual emails; this phone call wasn't long, either – Malcolm wanted to catch up with him some time over the next couple of days. Nothing work related but reasonably urgent anyway. They agreed to meet up at the pub the following afternoon and rang off, leaving Harry to return to his ruminations.
After another quiet night at home with Hope, who was weary after a long day of talking, he had a busy day but managed to slip off mid-afternoon to catch up with his old friend. Malcolm was already at the pub when he arrived and waved at Harry from his table up the back. Picking up a couple of drinks in passing, the latter made his way through the few other people in the bar and joined him, spending the first few minutes in general conversation.
Malcolm had realised immediately that something had changed for his former boss – the man was almost glowing – and was content to sit on his own request for a while as he waited to find out what that change was. When a natural pause fell in the conversation he took a sip of his beer and said quietly,
"You're looking well, Harry. Things have improved for you since we last saw each other?"
That had been six months ago, at Malcolm's mother's funeral. Just before Hope had first arrived, Harry thought, his face softening at the memory. A quick smile flitted over his face.
"Yes, they have."
Putting two and two together to come up with a perfect four, Malcolm continued on, shrewdly,
"You have met someone, perhaps?"
The older man glanced up from contemplating his whiskey and, for the first time in almost two years, Malcolm saw a sparkle, well remembered but long unseen, in those dark depths.
"Yes, I have."
"Is it serious?"
Harry took to contemplating his drink again as he considered his response.
"I believe so. Although it's early days yet."
Another brief silence fell until Malcolm patiently nudged the conversation forward again with a question that was deliberately pertinent.
"Are you going to tell me any more? Such as does she know what you do?"
A wry quirk of the eyebrow showed that his former boss got his point.
"Yes, she knows. She's one of us, Malcolm."
That surprised the younger man slightly. Casting his memory over those he knew that were likely contenders he found he couldn't come up with any. Leaning back and flicking a speck of dust from his immaculately tailored shirt he asked,
"Do I know her?"
Harry shook his head and decided he might as well come out with it so his friend could stop the interrogation and get on with whatever it was that he really wanted to discuss.
"No, I don't think so, although you would have been around when she first visited London 20-odd years ago... She's Australian. Ex-ASIS and ASIO, recruited after completing a doctorate in Chinese language and politics at the ridiculous age of 23—" he suddenly gave an encouraging smile, "you can practice your Mandarin with her! – and is now a national security advisor for the Australian government. We met very briefly many years ago, in Berlin in 1988, London a couple of years later and then were working our own ends of the same operation in Bangkok, were in touch occasionally while she was my opposite over there and then she turned up again last year on a three-month secondment, researching how we do things ahead of being part of this international task force that's being set up." An expression that was somewhere between wonder and disbelief swept across his face, making him look years younger for a fleeting moment. "She exudes such peace, Malcolm. Being around her is like being enveloped by serenity and coolness." Their eyes locked and the disbelief faded a little although something of the wonder remained. "And she knew exactly what I was going through because she's been there as well. It makes for no questioning, no judgement, no compulsive need to know absolutely everything. Then she was at the congress last week and..."
"And now she has made you happy." It was a statement, not a question. Harry inclined his head but said no more although a certain almost unreadable expression – was it apprehension?, Malcolm thought – crossed his face, wiping away the remnants of the wonder. Having known the man for over twenty years, the Welshman was adept at interpreting that which most others could not: Harry's real feelings underneath his normally bland expression. After another long silence Malcom added, "What's the matter, my friend? You are clearly happier than I've seen you for years and yet there's something on your mind."
For all that he was actually five years younger than Harry, Malcolm had always seemed older – almost ageless – and part of that was because he was extremely good at seeing straight through subterfuge. Scrubbing at his face Harry, suddenly tired but determined to stick to his policy of being more open, forced himself to finally put into words something of his haunting fog.
"There's nothing specific, Malcolm. We are ridiculously happy together but I don't feel like I deserve it. Her."
Malcolm had thought it might have been something like that. An imagined ghost of Ruth. That woman had done more lasting damage than anyone had known. Much though he had liked her, the quiet, insidious harm she had wreaked on his old friend after her tumultuous return had dismayed him and he had only been observing it from a distance. Yes, Harry had played his part and was the first to admit it but from where Malcolm had been standing he was inclined to lay the blame she owned directly at Ruth's door and not deflect it onto the man opposite him, no matter that Harry was inclined to take it all on himself anyway. Shouldn't have been surprised, he mused while fixing the older man with his steady blue-grey eyes, after her over-reaction to my words, meant as a tease, all those years ago... Returning to the present he asked in a voice as firm as his gaze, directly challenging what he knew Harry was thinking,
"And why wouldn't you deserve her? Or happiness?"
Taking another swig of whiskey Harry decided, in deference to Ruth's memory, to talk, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.
"With my past, Malcolm? How on earth can I expect anything good to arrive, or last?"
He wasn't about to let his former boss get away with that patently ridiculous remark. He knew Harry had been suffering depression – they all knew that – but unlike most of his other workmates Malcolm knew that the condition well and truly pre-dated Ruth. Malcolm had first become aware of it in 1996, after the death of Archie Hollingshead and his young family had left Harry in the slavering jaws of the black dog for over six months – indeed, he had been fairly certain that the dog had almost claimed Harry – before he had started to see daylight again and since then had noted its return, desguised as bouts of self-destructive, spiralling alcoholism, on numerous occasions, particularly whenever they had lost another member of their small 'family'. And here he was again but this time he seemed to be fighting the opportunity given to him to make the final effort to escape his well of despair. It was doing him nothing but harm to continue with those thoughts. It was about time someone gently confronted the man about it. Only feeling slightly guilty about the harsh tone he was about to adopt, Malcolm asked, uncharacteristically almost mocking,
"Because of what you've done, because of your job? Or because of who you are?" He made a show of shaking his head incredulously. "I thought you didn't believe in God, Harry, of any sort, let alone a punitive one set on punishing you for self-perceived infractions of some imaginary codex." Harry winced as the accusation hit home; seeing it, the Welshman decided to ease up a little: he had made his point. "But if you did, I think you would find that the good you have done over the years far outweighs the bad. And you're not a bad man, if that's what you're thinking. You might have had to do some bad things at times but always with the greater good in mind, which doesn't make you personally evil. Anyway, if you're in the mood for metaphorical discussions of crime and punishment, don't you think you have suffered enough?"
The object of the grilling sighed, well aware of the accuracy of his friend's words and the idiocy of his own. He could apply the same withering logic to himself but it didn't stop him feeling the way he did .
"I know. It's stupid. Maybe I'm just scared of repeating past mistakes." Finally straightening up from his slightly hunched position he murmured wearily, "I've actually loved exactly two other women in my entire life, Malcolm: the first one I drove away by being a complete arsehole, and the second... I'm not sure I deserve a third time lucky and, to be honest, I'm terrified of stuffing up again."
That was honest at least, even if he was still skirting the truth. As was usual with pubs these days, music was blaring from a television mounted on the wall opposite where they were seated. Both men had mostly tuned it out but the current song, featuring a very young Elton John seated at a white piano without his usual oversized glasses and wearing an understated fur coat, was one that Malcolm, generally quite happy to be ignorant of anything that could be classed as 'popular', actually knew quite well, and until very recently had vehemently loathed because of what it represented. Hearing it again he realised that, although the verses reflected what had happened with his one true love, back when they were very young adults, the chorus might just as well fit Harry's current predicament. The mournful music certainly did.
It's sad, so sad
It's a sad, sad situation
And it's getting more and more absurd.
It's sad, so sad.
Why can't we talk it over?
Always seems to me that 'sorry' seems to be the hardest word..
Well, maybe not 'sorry' but self-forgiveness seemed to be the hardest concept for Harry. The words resonating with what he was thinking, without allowing himself to think twice, Malcolm fixed Harry with a steady look over the rim of his glass and stated calmly, voice betraying not the slightest hint of the nerves at what he was saying.
"You're not scared because you don't repeat mistakes, not that I've ever seen." He swallowed more of his beer. "Are you sure it's not just that you feel guilty? That you are in some way betraying Ruth?"
Another shaft that found its mark, all the more painfully because he had been flitting around the edges of the thought for the past week, reluctant to examine it more closely. He said nothing, just stared at the table top, until Malcolm's soft voice continued remorselessly but with complete empathy,
"She's not here any more, Harry. Whatever faith you may or may not hold, she's gone and is not coming back. And do you really think that Ruth, of all people, would want you to spend the rest of your life grieving for her while turning your back on another chance? If positions were reversed, would you have wanted that for her? Did you want it for her when she was in Cyprus? No, you did not and you would not." He shook his head again, slightly exasperated this time. "Do you remember the poem I read at her funeral?"
As if he would ever forget.
"Yes. Every word of it."
"So what are the last four lines?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before quoting, equally as quietly,
"'You can cry and lose yourself,
become distraught and turn your back on the world
or you can do what I want -
smile, wipe away the tears, learn to love again and go on.'"
"It's what she would want for you, Harry. There's no need for guilt. You've been given another chance at genuine love and that's something we're not likely to get too often at our age. So you should grab it with both hands and run, as Ruth would want you to do. I know I have."
His words made perfect sense and seemed to release the last of the darkness that had been hovering at the edge of the older man's consciousness for the past week. He exhaled in relief and reached for his glass before the import of the rest of the words registered; looking up, eyes wide with a suspicion tempered by incipient delight, he asked,
"What was it you wanted to see me about again?"
Malcolm gave a shy but happy smile, answering with a question of his own.
"What are you doing two weeks on Friday?"
A couple of days before Hope was due to leave... Curious, he responded slowly, eyes never leaving the other man's face,
"Nothing that I'm aware of. Why?"
"I'm getting married that afternoon and I need a best man. I would like you to be he."
After a moment of stunned silence a huge grin split Harry's face. Of anything Malcolm could have said, that was the last thing he would have expected. An invitation to meet a new lady friend, yes – there had been few of those over the years, Harry was well aware of that – but a wedding invite exceeded everything. Giving a delighted laugh he replied,
"My God! I would be honoured. Congratulations! Who is she?"
"Her name is Angharad and we were an item when we were teenagers—" Elton John was still playing and he smiled internally now that the tune had lost its power to sting with the memory of the way it had ended back then "—and then again in our early twenties, when I joined the Home Office 30-odd years ago. That all ended for reasons we can't even remember now and I never thought I would see her again but then she turned up at Mam's funeral. You met her, briefly." Harry nodded, slowly, the image of a tall, willowy, platinum-haired woman coming into his mind. "She's been in London for the past 20 years but neither of us realised the other was here... Anyway, we reconnected and now we've decided to get married. Because these chances aren't likely to come around again..." They sat, grinning at each other. Harry lifted his glass and clinked it against Malcolm's in a silent toast; the latter finally said, "I will send you the details this afternoon. And bring your lady, I would like to meet her. What is her name, by the way?"
His friend's face softened again.
"Something very appropriate. Her name is Hope."
Harry pondered Malcolm's words as he drove back into town to pick her up and could find no fault with them. He had loved Ruth, heart and soul, but he was starting to wonder if her final words had been right – they had never been meant to be. Looking back, all he could see were the obstacles that had been thrown in their way every single time they had been anywhere near getting close, up to and including the final, unarguable obstacle of her death. Now, almost two years later, here was Hope with her magical ability to heal his heart and not an obstacle in sight and, suddenly, life on this poor, benighted planet didn't seem so bloody pointless after all. At a stand-still for a moment in the peak hour traffic, he became aware that another Runrig song was playing on the radio. He hadn't listened to them for years and now they were turning up everywhere with their damnably beautiful, insightful words.
"...and I wondered and I trembled as you held me so close in your arms
with a love that held more learning than I could ever understand."
That was so true. If he believed in that sort of thing he would say that Hope, like Malcolm, was an ancient soul. Even if you didn't believe it she was still far more aware of that side of life than most and that well and truly included himself. Words in the chorus drew his attention back to the song.
"...but after all is said and done,
that the only thing that ever matters is to love and to be loved."
The traffic started moving again and he sighed as the refrain was repeated. Exactly what Malcolm had been saying. The message was being hammered home every way he turned so maybe he had better start listening. And act on it.
He was still bubbling with the news when he finally got through the traffic and picked up Hope. She accepted it warmly, despite not knowing the people involved, but it had clearly delighted her chauffeur and anything that made him happy also made her happy. She muttered something about the thought of having to go shopping for a new outfit did not inspire her in the least as she hated clothes shopping with a passion; he suggested the dress she had been wearing at the congress dinner but she just said it was full formal, a bit much for a semi-formal afternoon wedding; he then offered to come along but that was a request she flatly denied, the thought of having a thoroughly bored man traipsing around the shops after her making the prospect even less appealing so, although she appreciated the thought, it was a definite no in response. The ill-disguised look of relief on his face when she said so just proved she was right!
Later that evening they made love with incredible tenderness. He had been very attentive since he had picked her up that afternoon but this ratcheted things up even more. It was as though, for the first time, he was giving all of himself to her, that faint edge that she had never been able to identify (desperation? uncertainty? guilt? all or none of the above?) having disappeared at last. She wondered what else he had talked about with his old friend this afternoon... Whatever the cause, she was happy to reciprocate with the result that their union achieved heights that eclipsed all that had gone before.
The following day Hope was due to spend it on the Grid but her arrival was put back by a couple of hours due to an over-run on the previous two day's work. She finally made it at morning tea time, laden with cake as a bribe for the interrogations she was about to inflict on some of them, and was given an extra warm welcome by the Section D staff as a result. Harry still wasn't back from Whitehall himself but that didn't stop any of his personnel from heading for the kitchen for tea or coffee and then for the treats with unseemly alacrity. Dimitri was out and about but Erin, Waleed and Calum were there so they spent a few minutes together catching up on gossip before Calum was called away, carting a tasty souvenir with him. The cakes were disappearing at a rate of knots; snaffling a couple of petits-four for herself, Hope also grabbed the remains of a particularly nice dark chocolate and chilli ganache, murmuring to Erin,
"I'd better keep some of this for the resident chocaholic, otherwise he'll kill me."
The younger woman laughed at her conspiratorial tone.
"He would, too: chocolate's second only to whiskey for our boss!"
They grinned at each other as they enjoyed a shared rememberance of disbelief at the discovery of Harry's well-disguised sweet tooth.
"Yes, I found that out last week at the congress dinner. He actually swapped our deserts when I wasn't looking for a split second because mine was chocolate and his wasn't. By the time I realised what had happened it was too late. He'd make a bloody good sneak thief, that man." Waleed, standing opposite them, had glanced up over the women's shoulders while Hope was speaking and suddenly beamed widely as a voice behind them said,
"Who would make a good sneak thief?"
"You!" both women chorused, unrepentent at being found out, as Harry joined them.
"Are you still traumatised by the dessert swap?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Hope's waist from behind.
"Yes!" she snarled at him companionably.
"You shouldn't be so distractable," was his reasonably-couched response, along with a tender kiss on the lips. Erin found herself blushing slightly at this unprecedented show of affection from her senior officer but allowed herself a tiny smile, happy that her intuition was right; Waleed, startled, didn't know where to look; the others who were around and noticed had responses ranging from stunned to disbelieving. When the pair broke apart, Hope just narrowed her eyes and said,
"Speaking of distraction, you just nicked my last petits-four, didn't you." The only response she got was to see said morsel disappearing. Rolling her eyes at Erin she went on, "Bastard. See what I mean? I saved the ganache for him and that's the thanks I get!"
Before the younger woman could respond Harry fixed her with a somewhat steely gaze.
"You may stop looking at us like that, Ms Watts, as I recall you being the one to set the bar for public displays of affection in the workplace." Flushing scarlet at being reminded of the late evening when, assuming they were alone, she and Dimitri had been sprung in a clinch by not only Harry but the Home Secretary as well, she cast a furtive glance at Waleed only to see that young man's expression change from wide-eyed astonishment to biting his lip to repress his mirth at the revelation. "Before you ask, I had the appropriate paperwork submitted and approved before I returned to work on Monday. I believe in setting a good example for everyone else."
Another dig at that night. As he and Towers had continued on their way to Harry's office he had requested that her paperwork be on his desk in the morning; to be fair, he hadn't even looked at it before scrawling his signature on the bottom and had been supportive ever since. She rolled her eyes at him and prodded Waleed in the ribs; Hope, not knowing but working out the general gist of the story, wriggled out of Harry's grasp and said bluntly,
"Enough of that, buster. We've got work to do and you're not getting any ganache until we're finished!" Satisfied with Erin's reaction, Harry was content to abscond to his office leaving his chastened Section Chief to deal with a Senior Analyst who appeared to be about to go into a meltdown if he couldn't laugh soon. After quelling him with her most severe look Erin finally breathed out and said to him, very quietly,
"Just wait until I see Dee tonight. He'll never believe it!" The man attempted a reply but was clearly still trying to not laugh; exasperated, she said, "Oh, get it over with, man. Then you can clean up." As she disappeared to her work station, heels clicking in annoyance, Waleed finally gave vent to an almost soundless guffaw before turning to tidy up, still chuckling quietly.
Half an hour later the pair re-emerged fifteen minutes later, with Harry heading off to yet another meeting while Hope went to work on her other targers, extracting details from some people and running ideas past others. She caught up with Erin before lunch and, once the work component was dealt with, the two women went off to eat, the conversation turning casual. Hope managed to divert Erin's attention elsewhere for most of lunch, mostly by encouraging the younger woman to talk about her daughter interspersed with her own occasional moans about having to shop for an outfit for the wedding, but eventually she could avoid the question no longer. It was surprisingly gentle when it came. A short silence had fallen; Erin reached out to touch the other woman on the hand.
"I'm so happy for you two. He's a changed man." Hope looked at her and responded carefully but with perfect truth,
"I'm a changed woman. We've been good therapy for each other."
The younger woman frowned slightly at Hope's choice of words.
"'Therapy'?"
"He hasn't told you?"
"He hasn't told us anything. All we know is that he loves you and has done for months and that you've saved him from the living hell that he was in. But anything else, no."
Hope quirked a slightly sceptical eyebrow at the response.
"I don't know that I would go that far yet."
The clear grey eyes fixed on her intently.
"I would, although I don't think he's recognised it himself, or perhaps just doesn't want to recognise it yet. I've had the impression for some time that he thinks he doesn't deserve anything good to happen for him but I also know how he's been looking at you since you came back from that week at GCHQ last year. He's got no idea but he gazes at you in exactly the same way that he used to gaze at Ruth only he's been truly happy along with it. A sight none of us here have often seen before; he may have loved Ruth but they were rarely happy together, from all reports."
Hope sighed, determined to not allow anyone to read any more into the situation than there actually was.
"Well, I can make no judgement about the situation with Ruth but maybe there is something to what you say. We share a very particular bond, Harry and I, one that I hope none of the rest of you have to experience. Where he has been for the past couple of years I was in 1999." As she explained, succinctly and in about three sentences, Erin's eyes widened and her face went ashen.
"Oh Jesus, Hope..." She was stuck for words for a moment, staring at her counterpart in disbelief and horror. Shaking her head she said, "I wondered how you had picked up on what was going on so quickly." Resting her chin on her hand she went on, still stunned, "That is either the freakiest coincidence on the planet or it's enough to make me reconsider the existence of God."
"I don't know about God, although at times I wouldn't put it past it being a result of the shades of Wynne and Ruth kicking back together somewhere drinking champagne and trying to help us. The real truth is the freakish coincidence, of course. It's a shit of a thing to bond over, though."
The younger woman was still examining her closely but finally sat back and toyed with her tea cup. "True. But I have to admit that we're all glad you have. We were at our wit's end, with no idea of what to do to help him get through it."
A wry smile greeted her comment.
"Glad to be of service! Although always remember, he's helping me as well, reminding me that there might be more to life than protecting myself from being hurt again. That letting someone in again might be worth the risk."
Erin suddenly grinned and replied cheekily,
"Maybe we should be shopping for a wedding dress for you, then!"
Hope choked on her coffee and gave the younger woman an old-fashioned look.
"Jesus, give us a chance, Erin, we've only been together for a week." Why on earth did people insist on jumping to conclusions? She wasn't going to guarantee anything past the end of her holiday and yet here were others apparently mapping out her entire life!
The grin remained unabated although the tone was more serious.
"Well, I wasn't sure – he went down hill so fast after you left last year that others around here surmised you were together then but I wasn't convinced anything had actually happened apart from the development of a friendship and the bond that we could all see was there but no-one knew why."
There was a short silence.
"You surmised correctly. Getting together hadn't occurred to either of us until it actually happened last week and then I'm not sure who was more shocked when it did. Anyway, it has indeed been a good thing, for both of us, albeit occurring so quickly."
"Hardly quickly, really - you've known each other for six months now. That's long enough."
The corner of Hope's mouth twitched as she remembered Harry's comments from earlier.
"Is it? Is that how long it took you and Dimitri?"
Laughing, Erin shook her head.
"No, rather less than that!" She suddenly got more serious. "Anyway, those of us who work closely with Harry are so glad you arrived in his life. He didn't deserve what's happened to him over the past few years. He's such a softie under the hard shell."
The younger woman noted the softening of Hope's face.
"Yes, you're right about that. He's far more fragile that most people would think and far more caring."
A companionable silence fell while they both considered that until Erin went on, "If you do ever get married, let me know: I want to be either your maid of honour or his best man!"
"I shall, but don't hold your breath."
Harry and Hope left reasonably early that afternoon, before the others, and Dimitri arrived back about ten minutes later. Peering into the darkened office, he asked Erin, who had appeared with a glitter of excitement in her eyes,
"Where's the boss?"
"Gone home. With Hope. Hand in hand, I might add." They had walked to the pods hand in hand; once through the other side Harry had draped his arm around Hope's shoulders while she had wrapped hers around his waist as they disappeared down the corridor. Erin had watched and found herself misty-eyed... She shut her computer down and grabbed her bag and coat as Calum and Waleed joined them. "We were right in our supposition! Come on, let's go for a drink and I'll fill you in. You won't believe what happened here this morning..."
She said no more until they were settled with their drinks at The George. Dimitri was mildly sceptical at first.
"Are you sure it wasn't just a 'hello' peck?"
Erin snorted and Waleed shook his head over his orange juice.
"Positive. Why don't you show the Admiral, Erin?"
"Alright." She put her drink down. "You're Hope. Stay sitting down so we're a similar height. I'm Harry." She took a few steps back. "Turn your back to me." Her partner obediently turned away from her and she replicated the actions of the morning, if not the words. "He walked up to her, wrapped his arms around her like this—" her arms wrapped tightly around his waist "—and, after a word or two, kissed her like this." She reproduced the long, tender embrace, leaving Dimitri's pulse rate somewhat elevated. He coughed to clear his throat.
"Okay. Not just a 'hello' peck." Taking a pull of his beer he shrugged and continued, "Oh well, good on them. It's not like he hasn't earned it. Ruth gave him a hard enough time for long enough." Erin and Calum looked at him, questioning, then glanced at each other before Calum said,
"That's not the impression we got."
Dimitri quirked an eye-brow.
"Believe me, up until he was forced out on gardening leave he was not a happy chappy. When I first joined this Section I actually thought they were already married and rapidly heading for the divorce court, it was that bad. Constantly at each other's throats and, to be blunt, most of it was her – she wasn't exactly nice to him most of the time, mostly in some bitter and twisted mood that she took out on him, whether he'd earned it or not. He didn't seem to have any idea of what to do about it because every time he tried something she'd slap him down or bite his head off yet if he left her alone it was no different. He never seemed to be able to do anything right as far as she was concerned. Lucas – John – tried to explain it once, after a particularly unpleasant episode, but even he didn't really have any idea of what was going on between them, he just said they had some sort of history and it had been a nightmare ever since she had returned. He had his own shit happening at the time, anyway, so he didn't really care..."
Waleed asked the question they were all thinking.
"What, they used to have screaming matches in the office or something?"
"No. More hissing at each other behind closed doors but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife most of the time, which wasn't fun for any of the rest of us. It all came to a head with the Albany fiasco – Harry had saved her life and appeared to have committed treason to do so and the next day, according to Tariq, she said something to him that put him in a foul mood. Later on, just before he went out to meet Lucas, there was something else going on – he made some oblique comment about it being 'his turn' while looking daggers at her and then walked off the Grid in a questionable state of mind to deal with the meeting and Ruth wouldn't let us shadow him, just in case. Tariq reckoned he didn't actually expect Harry to survive because of whatever it was she'd said earlier..."
At the thought of the young techie and his ultimate fate a hard grief transformed his face for a moment before he shook it off and went on,
"He said Ruth went into a melt-down after Harry had left and then she just disappeared for a day or so after we'd had word that he was still alive and Lucas wasn't. We all assumed her vanishing act due to a guilty conscience, although Harry was conspicuous by his absence over most of that time as well but at least we knew where he was. Then he was gone, she was back and suddenly everything was rosy – well, calmer, anyway - when he returned. Which is all you two saw. Presumably they had taken the opportunity to talk and start to sort a few things out. Then the Gavriks turned up and we all know how that went."
There was silence around the table while the others considered what he had said. Those who had known here had been aware of the flashes of the woman's dark side on the Grid but then they all had those and it now seemed Ruth's had been relatively muted, if Dimitri's account was to be believed. Then the way it all ended... Dimitri eventually lifted his glass and said,
"Anyway, here's to Harry and Hope and a happy future for them both!" They all drank then he went on, looking pointedly at his partner, "You'd better be right about all this, Erin, or we're going to end up looking like a right bunch of idiots!"
Erin looked smug.
"I'm right. I had a chat to her at lunch time!"
The week finally drew to a close, much to the relief of the older couple. They were finding themselves increasingly reluctant to spend time apart, even if for work, so the prospect of two solid weeks (Harry had given HR no option but to approve his annual leave at short notice) of doing what they wanted, with no interruptions, was very appealing. Just being able to stay in bed in the morning was considered a promising start by both of them. Not that they always just slept but the opportunity to take as long as they wanted to cuddle or otherwise indulge was fully exploited.
Sunday afternoon saw them escaping to Greenwich, as Hope wanted to see the new facility housing the Cutty Sark; afterwards, as it was a surprisingly balmy, pleasant day, they wandered up to the Observatory. It was getting late so there were few people around and they found a corner to themselves where they could stand, uninterrupted, and take in the view while they talked. The conversation petered out fairly rapidly; Harry moved to stand behind her, wrapping both arms around her waist and resting his cheek against hers, saying conversationally,
"You know, I'm starting to have some very odd ideas."
Her lips twitched.
"Are you? Do I want to know what sort of 'odd' or not?"
"You tell me! Odd in the form of retiring and emigrating. To Canberra."
It was out now, he thought, with an unusual equanimity. For some strange reason he wasn't scared of what her response might be. For her part, Hope just thought Oh! and let a warm glow suffuse through her. Outwardly, she allowed herself to smile a little and replied, somewhat drily and deliberately obtuse,
"That would be nice. You can visit me when you get bored. Which will take about half an hour in that place..."
That sounded like a "yes"! He kissed her ear.
"It can't be that bad."
"Yeah, it can, believe me!"
"Hmmm. I would only visit you once anyway..." Her eyes slid sideways to meet his. "Because once you let me in your front door you wouldn't get me out again."
"That's alright. I could live with that. Especially if you're good with hammers and lawn mowers!" She turned in his arms and cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs along his cheekbones. "Are you serious?" His eyes definitely were as he answered,
"Yes. I've been looking for an unarguable reason to get out for years and now, impossibly, unaccountably and after having given up on the search, I've found one. If you'll have me, over there on the other side of the planet."
She kissed him.
"Oh, I'll have you. However, maybe you'd better make it a holiday first – take another month or two of those gazillion weeks of leave you're owed – before you make a final decision."
His heart sank a little bit at that. Maybe he had misjudged things. Again. He couldn't help his next words, or their slightly bitter edge.
"Why? In case you change your mind?"
She let out a peal of laughter.
"No, you goose! That's not going to happen – if and when you do set foot inside my door you won't get out again because I won't let you. That job I gave you is a permanent position, if you're interested, you know."
Relief flooded his face but there was still a question in his eyes so she realised she had better jump on the doubt before it went any further.
"I'd better 'fess up, I suppose." She kissed him again and let her arms slide around his neck, one hand tickling the short, golden curls on the back of his head as she explained, slowly and clearly. "You might not have to move yet because I've got another motive for staying here for the next couple of weeks. Apart from a holiday and you."
He quirked an eyebrow when she stopped; a crafty expression crept into her eyes as she continued,
"I've got a couple of institutions trying to poach me from the government so I have interviews this week. One is with an enormous private security services firm who operate internationally and want someone to head up their south-east-Asian operations; the other is to cover the same area of the globe for an independent international research group on terrorism that's being set up in conjunction with some of the top international universities. Both positions would be mostly based here so, my sweet, that's why you probably shouldn't retire and emigrate yet. Because, if I get one of these jobs, I will end up back here in a few months anyway and you'd only have to pack up and move again!"
He let out a huge sigh and squeezed her even more tightly.
"Thank god for that, you had me going there for a moment..."
She met his eyes and said, all humour gone from her face, silently cursing whomever or whatever had trained him to expect nothing but rejection in his personal life,
"I would never do that to you, Harry. We've agreed to be honest and up-front and that's how it's going to stay. It's so much easier that way and I've never believed in playing games where the heart is involved. If I get offered one of these jobs I'm going to take it, because I'm fed up with being a tool of the government, and if you want me to stay around then so much the better, it makes the prospect of moving over here for a few years so much more appealing. If I don't, then we'll work out what happens next but either way I'll be approaching us simply, day to day, no plans, no expectations, no promises and certainly no games."
He nodded in agreement.
"I want you to stay around, regardless," was all he said before kissing her, hard and deep, making her forget everything for a few long, wonderful moments. Starry-eyed again when they broke apart she said,
"Did I say appealing? I meant irresistible if you're going to continue to do that!"
He continued to 'do that' until they had to come up for air again. Clinging to each other, breathless, he finally asked, voice somewhat ragged, while they recovered their equilibrium,
"So which job would you prefer?"
"The private company pays more. But the other one is probably more up my alley. Depends on which one I get offered! If either."
"Both of them would be mad to pass on you..." A sudden, somewhat devious, expression suddenly crossed his face and she asked suspiciously,
"What devilry have you just thought of?"
"Oh, nothing much. Do these organisations have names? And the people you're going to see? I could do a quick, umm, background search, shall we say."
She gave him a level look.
"Of course you can get into your work network remotely, can't you? Won't you get into strife if you get sprung?"
"No. One of the benefits of being the boss."
She sighed and then grinned.
"Well, I've already done the same, as far as I could, but then I don't have access to the MI5 databases..."
Once he was in, it didn't take him long. He already knew some of the names and the searches didn't throw up anything particularly untoward so she would be able to head off to her interviews in the early part of the week with some equanimity.
Late that evening, Harry, uncharacteristically, was still awake after Hope had drifted off, sprawled half over his chest, one arm flung across him and her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, obscuring the rather messy scar from the bullet that had almost taken out the top of his lung on that side. He loved it when she slept like that, safe in the circle of his arms (now that was a conceit, he conceded silently; she was an ex-field agent with almost as much experience as him and frighteningly qualified in several forms of martial arts so he doubted if she needed his protection, but he chose to think it might be different on a personal level), although he knew it wouldn't last long before one of them got too uncomfortable and had to move.
Gazing up at the shadowy recesses of the ceiling he allowed his mind to wander, for the first time since they were said, to those few words they had exchanged on the hillside that afternoon. Not exactly a marriage proposal but not far off, it was another case of his subconscious overriding his conscious thoughts. Probably driven by his conversation with Malcolm, he realised it had only been the truth coming out anyway. Like Hope, he wanted a life for himself instead of everything always being subjugated to the needs of the State, and had been wanting it for years. For whatever reasons it was obviously not meant to have been with Ruth, no matter how much they both desired it, but with Hope it was approaching at something like the speed of light. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing: neither of them were getting any younger and, as Malcolm had said, the likelihood of a chance like this – the pair of them so perfectly suited it was uncanny, her coin analogy popping into his head again – ever cropping up again was probably zero so he would just go with it and see where it led. Clearly, his subconscious had it's own ideas on that front anyway... And she had agreed, in her own inimitable way.
Glancing down lovingly at the woman asleep in his arms he kissed her hair, tenderly, and closed his eyes, content to drift off to sleep himself and let the future take care of itself.
1. Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word. Written and performed by Elton John
2. Remember Me. Written by David Harkins.
3. Dreamfields. Written by Calum and Rory MacDonald, performed by Runrig