Chapter 2

Harry sat in his office, the red walls glowing in the contrast between the light thrown from his small desk lamp and the shadows. He looked around the empty Grid; everyone had gone home or perhaps to the George for a drink. They still invited him, but he'd never accepted. Harry had considered it once or twice in the past, when he'd ascertained that Ruth was going too and just wanted to stand close to her, listen to her talk and laugh about things other than work. But he'd never trusted himself not to betray those feelings that he had to keep hidden. All that was in the past now. She was gone. The words still wrapped around his heart and squeezed, causing physical pain. He'd never thought that an emotion could do that. Even through his divorce and the ensuing problems with Catherine, he'd never felt quite so sick at the pain of caring about someone.

His gaze returned to his office. Malcolm had done his monthly security sweep of the Grid, checking for external and internal bugs and cameras. This was the only time Harry felt safe – when he could be certain that no-one was watching as he hadn't left his office since Malcolm finished. Once a month he allowed himself the luxury of this hidden 15 minutes, very late at night, alone. Reaching into the back of his mouth, Harry unclicked the false tooth. Angela wasn't the only one to have seen the Harley Street dentist after 1992 but Harry hadn't felt the need to tell anyone about it. Extracting the microdot film of the documents Adam had copied for him before destroying them, he unlocked his bottom desk draw and pulled out the reader he'd recovered from Ruth's house.

Putting his eye to the viewer, he paused over the first sheet – the main page from the passport of Helene Peters. He lingered over the photograph, a hint of a smile was on Ruth's lips as she posed for what must have been the hundredth shot on one of the Grid's photo days. The shots were taken en-mass, different changes of clothes, hair and makeup and then stored for future use with legends so that they avoided the same look twice for ops. Malcolm had picked one of Ruth's loveliest pictures. She looked so alive and full of vitality. He gripped the microdot reader, wishing the photograph was printed so that he could trace the outline of her face with his fingertips. Her hair was down, tucked behind her ears and her eyes sparkled. He noticed she was wearing her favourite necklace – the one with those dangly bits, Harry thought, and he liked the fact that it was Ruth in this photograph rather than a character she was pretending to be.

He rolled the film on to the second page, which contained a summary of the bank details, and the follow-up that showed the account being completely emptied four days after Ruth had left. She always was a good spook, covering her trail. There had to be a trail though; Harry couldn't stand the thought of not knowing where she was. This way it was still his choice. For her safety he wouldn't contact her. He knew that he couldn't put her life at risk again, not for the selfish reason that he simply needed her.

He didn't look at the last page of the film, knowing its contents by heart. Ruth had boarded the barge, changed to a Belgium mussel boat near Canvey Island then landed at Oostende. A small rusty and unobtrusive car had been left there for her. Between Belgium and Switzerland, Harry had no idea what had happened and it was in Zurich that the trail ran cold. Sighing heavily, he drew back from the microdot reader and held his head in his hands for a long while. He then tidied up, replacing the microdot in its hiding place and the reader that Ruth had stolen in his drawer before locking it once again. Harry rubbed his eyes and drew the back of his hand over his mouth, staring at Ruth's desk through the glass. He was wearing the expensive cologne he'd bought the day he took Ruth to dinner; in fact, it was the only brand he used now. It reminded him of how perfect that evening had been two years ago. The night he finally let go and admitted to himself that he was completely in love with Ruth Evershed.