Thanks again for your lovely reviews. They make this process worth it.
Again, I make no excuses for blatantly mentioning the brand and variety of an Oz wine, and again, it is readily available in UK...and I have no connection at all with any winery, here, there or anywhere else.
oOo
9 days after the bombing (continued):
The Home Secretary had rung back just as Ruth was about to leave the Grid for the day.
"Can we talk, Ruth?"
"Of course, Home Secretary."
"Will you have dinner with me? Tomorrow night. I have an offer which I think may interest you."
"How about I come by your office tomorrow? My evenings are fully booked, I'm afraid."
"That's unfortunate for me, of course. Either Harry is working you far too hard, or he's...well, that's not for me to comment on, I suppose."
"No, it's not, Home Secretary."
"Tomorrow it is, then. I'll have my secretary ring you in the morning. Good night, Ruth."
"Good night, Home Secretary."
Home at last, Ruth stood under the shower, luxuriating in the almost-too-hot water which spilled over her. She had soaped herself all over, imagining Harry's hands touching her in all those places, the places they'd not had time to explore during their first time. Tonight will be like after the bombing, but with a meal, a warm and comfortable bed, total privacy, and all the time they need.
She dressed carefully, ensuring her bra and knickers matched, then added a mid-calf length skirt, a pale blue t-shirt with a scooped neck, and a lilac overshirt tied at the waist – not seductive, but practical and comfortable. After all, she had no need for seducing Harry; he was already hers. Ruth thought back to the weeks following his poorly timed proposal after Ros's funeral. She cringed when she remembered the words she'd later spoken to him: `We couldn't be more together than we are right now.' What patronising twaddle! At the time she'd wanted to believe it, but she was sure Harry hadn't. Even then, she'd been aware of how hurt he'd been by her words. She had sounded the death knell to any intimate relationship they may have had. If she was being honest with herself, a year ago, just after Ros had died, Ruth had been afraid of the prospect of a sexual relationship with Harry. He was so vibrant and alive, and she had felt confronted by his immense need of her, and perhaps, if she was being honest, dead inside. Too many people had died, and were she to allow all her feelings of loss to surface, she was afraid she'd begin to cry, never to stop. The deaths she had experienced also brought her face-to-face with the prospect that Harry could well be the next one to go, and she could not imagine a world, did not wish to live in a world without him in it. What she now knew was that yes, Harry was a sexual being, but so was she. She just hadn't known how much until they'd been thrown together in the kitchen at the Russian embassy after the bomb's devastation. Her body was already vibrating with the memory, along with her expectations of what the night would bring.
Ruth had only just finished setting the table for their meal when her doorbell rang. She checked her appearance in the mirror in her hallway before she opened the door. There on her doorstep stood this beautiful man whose love she had denied herself for far too long. He was dressed in fresh clothes – black pants, white open-necked shirt, and a light grey casual jacket – and his hair was still damp from the shower, so that it sat in curls all over his scalp. In one hand he carried dinner, and a bunch of flowers, while the other carried his fresh clothes for the next day, and under that arm he held a bottle of wine. She wanted to take his hand and drag him upstairs immediately, but she took the carry bag of dinner as well as the flowers he offered, and then his kiss.
"Hi," he said, after taking his lips from hers.
"Hi. Come in, Harry. I'll put these in some water. They're lovely."
"Is it alright with you if I just hang these over the balustrade?" he asked, standing at the foot of the stairs with his clothes. Ruth nodded her reply.
The awkwardness of this fresh new situation in which they found themselves took only a short time to thaw, as it had when they'd gone out to dinner together five years earlier. They'd lived through so much together, and they knew one another so well, but their personal relationship had always been awkward. There had always been so much left unspoken or never finished, never fully resolved. Tonight Ruth was determined for it to be different, because this is what they deserved. They had had at least five years – maybe longer – of appreciating one another from a safe distance. It was time to move from appreciation and circumnavigation to engaging, embracing, and enmeshing. Yes, Ruth was ready at last for her life to become enmeshed with Harry's, in every way there was.
They ate accompanied by sounds of lustful enjoyment of the food.
"Mmm," Ruth commented, "I just love fish and chips. What happened to the Cambodian food you'd promised?"
"The place closed down since I was there last. Pity though, you would have liked it."
"I would never have placed you as enjoying south-east Asian cuisine, Harry."
Harry replied by sitting back in his chair and patting his stomach. "I like all food, Ruth. Isn't it obvious?"
Ruth smiled at him, and Harry was surprised to see appreciation in her eyes as she glanced at his stomach.
"Don't sell yourself short, Harry. Your middle-age spread is more than a little bit sexy. Trust me. We mature women like a man who displays healthy appetites."
Harry's face showed the shock he felt at her words. It was clear she was not talking about food.
"Don't look so surprised, Harry. I also have my appetites, and I'm no longer ashamed of them."
"So I've noticed." He took his eyes from hers in order to take a sip of his wine, and to give himself some thinking time. "So," he began, "other than the bombing rearranging your synapses, what else has changed for you to suddenly be so -"
"Wanton?"
"I was thinking more of being open to having a relationship with me. The old Ruth would never have invited me back to her place for..."
"Sex, Harry. I invited you here tonight so that we can make love, because we both need it, and chances are if we don't, we'll be crawling up the walls and shouting at our co-worker. The meal beforehand is little more than a ruse."
Catching her eye, Harry smiled at her honesty. "Something changed you, Ruth. It wasn't just the bombing. What changed your mind? Obviously something did."
Ruth took her time in answering. He was getting used to these silences of hers. In the past her silences had unsettled him, as he'd assumed that this was her way of communicating her hesitation, and ultimately her rejection of him.
"It was something Lucas said, when he kidnapped me. I told him that you'd asked me to marry you, and that I'd turned you down. I wouldn't have taken Lucas for a romantic, but he said that I should be brave, think of myself for a change, and say yes. He said that if I loved you, I should reward myself by doing something about it."
"But that was – how many months ago?"
"Four, almost five months ago. I took my time, I know, but the bombing expedited the process. As we dived under that bench in the embassy kitchen, my thoughts were: If we get out of this alive, I'm going to shag Harry's brains out."
"Jesus, Ruth. Why didn't you share that with me at the time?"
"But I did. I did something I'd never done before – I acted on impulse. When I ran my hands over your body, I was sharing with you the decision I'd made."
He could feel his body heat spreading from his groin outwards. "And I'm glad you did," was all he managed to say.
They'd finished eating, and Harry had poured the last of the bottle of Hardys Nottage Hill Chardonnay into their glasses, when Ruth changed the subject back to work.
"Harry, I have the feeling you're holding back about what Towers said to you after the bombing. I know he'd be displeased about us being seen together on the news."
"Displeased is right. Mostly, he gave me a bollocking about taking you in there with me. `Completely unnecessary', and `endangering the life of a valuable member of staff' were the words he used. He couldn't understand how I could deliver that report to the inquiry on how valuable you are to the British security services, only to then put your life in danger by taking you into the embassy."
"Did you tell him that it had been my idea to accompany you?"
"No, I didn't. I didn't want to -"
"Make it sound like I had a death wish, or was at the very least unstable of mind?"
"Something like that, yes."
"Harry, you were protecting me!"
"I guess so," he replied, looking mildly uncomfortable.
Ruth smiled at him across the table, and Harry's heart melted.
"But he did mention that us being seen together publicly looking..."
"As though we meant something to one another?"
"Yes. He pointed out that you being seen with me like that can potentially be dangerous for you."
"I already know that, Harry. I've already experienced the consequences of being close to you. Lucas kidnapped me because of it, and I expect that won't be the last time."
"Don't say that," Harry said.
"It's true. It's something we both live with, and will continue to live with."
"I don't think I could bear it if it happened again. I was beside myself when Lucas took you." He stared into his wine glass for a while, remembering one of the bad times, and then he continued. "Towers has a soft spot for you, Ruth, and I can't blame any man for that, can I? He went on about the whole world being able to see that the chief of anti-terrorism in MI5 is – sorry for this, but these were his words – fucking his analyst. He was somewhat …... irrationally annoyed."
"How could he know that from seeing us on the news?"
"He couldn't of course, he was just theorising. I think he's jealous. He can't figure out why you would choose a rough diamond like me over him, with him being as smooth as..."
"A slimy snake's underbelly?" Ruth finished his simile, looking quite pleased with herself. She then looked up at Harry, apology in her eyes. "I probably made that worse today. He rang me to ask me to dinner tomorrow night, as he has an offer put to me. I said all my nights are booked up, but I'll meet him in his office tomorrow."
"He wouldn't have liked having a dinner invitation turned down," Harry observed.
"No man would," Ruth said.
Their eyes met across the table, their thoughts of another dinner invitation – one from five years earlier – which she had also turned down, but for different reasons.
"Harry, I'm sorry I didn't go to dinner with you again …... back then. I can't believe that I was so -"
"It's water under the bridge, Ruth. We're here now. Let's enjoy this without regrets. We can't take back the past. We only have now, so let's ... make the most of it."
She nodded at him, smiling slightly, relieved that he was no longer hurt by her apparent rejection of him five years ago.
"Do you want to work for him, then? He'll pay you well, and your working conditions will be better."
"I don't know if that's why he wants to see me, but if it is, I'll have to give it serious thought."
"Yes, you will," Harry replied. "You'll be safer working for him. He won't take you into buildings which are about to blow up."
"That's true," Ruth mused. "Harry -" she continued, "there's something else I need to tell you. I think you should know that a couple of weeks ago – before the Russian embassy was bombed – I put in an offer on a cottage in the country. It's in Suffolk, and it's quite close to the coast. It's lovely. It has two bedrooms - the smaller of the two is just the right size for an office. I should hear back from the estate agent within a week. When I looked at it I was thinking of it for myself, but now... it could be for both of us ... if …... if that's what you'd like. When you are ready to retire, you have somewhere to go, somewhere to be. I can work for Towers and earn enough to keep us quite well. And you'll have your pension on top of that."
Ruth was aware she'd just taken a giant leap forward, and a leap of faith at that. She'd just thrown into the mix, into their burgeoning, intensely delicate, still newly budding relationship, the equivalent of the Big Bang. He was saying nothing, and she wondered if she'd destroyed their chance of happiness together before they'd properly begun. Had she gone too far? She looked up at him, sitting across the table from her. His eyes were dark and alight with …... something …... which she found difficult to define. He was looking at her like she was someone he either needed to kiss, or to kill. With Harry she could not always be sure.
"Say something, Harry."
When he began speaking, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I think we should apply as soon as possible for our week off together, and head for Suffolk. We can get acquainted with the area. Actually, that's just an excuse. We need to book into a quiet little hotel not too far from your house, and we need to make love as often as we can physically manage. I'll do my best, but you're aware of how old I am... and what that means …... for us. We need to get away for a while, Ruth. You and I – we both need it."
Ruth felt her cheeks burning with the intensity of his words and his gaze. She stood, and took their dishes and piled them into the sink. She was finding it difficult to keep up with the pace at which things with Harry were now moving. She heard him get up from his chair and carry the rest of their dishes and cutlery to the sink, and standing beside her, he helped her to stack them tidily. Without a word, he then stepped behind her, and she felt his arms slip around her waist, and then his lips found a soft spot on her neck. She leaned back and sighed heavily, allowing herself to sink back against his body. In response, he tightened his arms around her and pulled her close against him. The heat of him burned her skin through her clothing, and every cell of her body was on high alert. Suddenly, she found herself almost incapable of words.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear. "Because I can't wait any longer."
Using all the self control she had, she turned out of his embrace, took his hand, and led him to her bedroom. It was time.