A bit longer, this one, and not exactly action packed, sorry. Thank you very much for all the reviews, and hope you enjoy.

As Harry led the way up the steps to the guesthouse, he felt Ruth's hand on his arm.

'Harry, I forgot to tell you, the owner thinks you're a writer.'

He looked at her. 'Right. Of what?'

'I didn't say. Although I implied you were famous and might be registered here under a pseudonym.'

'Hmm.' Holding open the inside door, he beckoned for Ruth to go first. 'So does this make you the daughter who's been trying to get hold of me, by any chance?'

'Yes, I thought she might be more sympathetic to a daughter trying to get in touch than a wife or, or a lover. After all, if everything was hunky dory between you, wouldn't you have brought them with you?'

'Both of them?' He grinned. 'Probably. I thought it was Catherine phoning from some Syrian jail.'

Ruth spun round, aghast. 'Oh god. Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't think...'

'But then I realised that there was no earthly way she could know that I was here. Although,' he growled, 'I could've said the same about you.'

Grinning sheepishly, she was about to respond, when she realised that Harry was looking past her down the hall. Following his gaze, she saw a middle aged woman emerge from the shadows at the far end. Thinning, mousy brown hair framed a pale, lumpy face from which two pale grey eyes regarded them curiously.

'Mrs McCarthy,' breezed Harry. 'This is Ruth Elliot, my editor. Is it okay if she joins me for breakfast?'

Despite the warmth the dawn promised, Mrs McCarthy wore a fitted black jacket over a woollen, A-line dress, which she now smoothed self-consciously over heavy hips. He had paid well over the odds for a double room, and she could hardly object. 'Of course. The dining room's just through there. Have a seat; you've got your pick this early.' She smiled, transforming her face in an instant, then turned and went back the way she'd come.

Harry headed for the stairs. 'Why don't you start without me? I'll just have a quick shower and get changed..'

Ruth pursed her lips. 'Just the shower.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Just the shower. You needn't bother changing.'

'It won't take a minute.'

She shook her head. 'What you're wearing, it's fine.'

Harry glanced down, unconvinced. 'Well, okay. See you shortly, then.'

She was sitting at a table by the window, cradling her teacup in both hands, mind obviously miles away. He hesitated on the threshold for a moment, committing to memory the chestnut hair gently curling onto her shoulders, the dips above her collarbones, the slender arms that were usually buried under shapeless layers, the astonishing blue eyes... She must have sensed him watching her, for she visibly snapped back to the present and turned towards the doorway. Seeing him, she gave a tentative smile and dipped her head once more.

As he sat down opposite her, he noticed that her fingers were still; that she wasn't fizzing with her usual nervous energy as she waited for the chance to tell him whatever arcane fact she knew or tenuous connection she'd just unearthed. Was this a good sign? Not for the first time that morning he wondered what he'd let himself in for. Surely letting her explain why she was so angry with him was only going to deepen wounds that hadn't even begun to heal. Despite himself he sighed.

She placed her teacup very precisely in its saucer and took a deep breath. 'Can I say one thing first of all? About what you said earlier?'

'Could I perhaps have something to eat before you lose me my appetite?'

'Harry, I came here to try to fix things, not upset you even more.'

He picked up the menu and began to read. 'That's a point. Of all the weekends you could've picked since Ros's funeral, why this one? Surely a bus across London is much easier than a three hour drive across country? And why a weekend at all? Why not just ask to speak to me at work?'

Tempted though she was to snatch the menu from his hands and make him look at her, she resisted. 'I suppose it's because I didn't really realise until yesterday how much I'd hurt you.'

'Ha!'

'I know you don't like people just barging into your office, but you never used to mind me doing it, and your reaction was...disproportionate, frankly.'

His jaw jutted out as if smarting from a blow.

'And you've been short with everyone, more so than usual, and it seems as if you have the cares of the world on your shoulders, and...ohhhh...' As she wearily rubbed her eyes Harry looked up.

'But the tin lid was first thing yesterday morning, when I went to your office to have a word with you about a threat report.' She held his gaze, willing him to know what she was talking about so she wouldn't have to say the words. His face remained impassive.

'You were on the phone, laughing at something. And then you hung up and saw me and...your face fell.'

Before Harry could respond, the kitchen door opened and a waiter appeared. A dishevelled mop of blonde hair topped an open, friendly face scattered with freckles. All legs and elbows, his body had seemingly forgotten to fill out as well as lengthen; a recent growth spurt was evidenced by his trousers stopping just short of his ankles.

He gave Ruth a cheery grin. 'Hello again. Ready to order something to eat?'

Her smile was rather more forced. 'I'll have the kippers, please, and some oatmeal toast.'

'More tea?'

'Oh, yes. Thanks.'

He turned to Harry. 'Morning, sir. What can I get you?'

He reeled off a list. 'And make that tea for two.'

'Right you are, sir.' Still scribbling, the boy turned and ambled back to the kitchen.

Harry watched him go, then returned his attention to Ruth. She was leaning back in her chair, her eyes focused on her hands in her lap.

'Ruth, I..' he sighed. 'What I feel for you, I can't just turn that off. So, seeing you every day knowing what you think of me, knowing that there's no hope of ...well, it's not easy. But as for yesterday morning, you looked exhausted and very down, and I was concerned. That's all.'

Her eyes flicked up. 'Really. If you were concerned for me I wouldn't have thought that shortly afterwards you would tear me off a strip purely for walking into your office and forgetting to bloody knock.'

At the other side of the room the door burst open. Both watched as a group of holidaymakers trooped in, loudly recounting their previous day's attempts at learning to sail.

'It was unfortunate timing, that was all,' he said finally. 'A bad day at the office and you bore the brunt of it.'

She smiled faintly. 'Once upon a time you would have told me what that bad day had entailed.'

'Ruth, the point of this weekend was to get away from everyone and everything – even Scarlet, for god's sake – so forgive me if I choose not to relive every demoralising, frustrating, mind numbing aspect of what happened yesterday.'

At that point the waiter re-appeared with a fresh pot of tea and a rack of toast and he lapsed into silence.

'Shall I?' asked Ruth, reaching for the teapot.

He nodded.

'We seem to have got off topic, rather. I was talking about what you said earlier...'

Harry, half-heartedly buttering a slice of toast, groaned.

'What you said about married life with you being tedious. I promise you that's not what I meant. It's a million miles from what I meant.' She took a deep breath. 'In the early days of my...solo grand tour, I had nothing but my memories and my dreams, and as we hadn't exactly made many memories, it was thinking about the what might have been that kept me sane. I thought about you a lot, Harry, about the life we might have had. And believe you me, it wasn't tedious.'

'What was it like, then?'

She turned to look out the window. She was blushing, and trying not to smile.

'Well, there was rather a lot of sex.'

'Hm. Lots of tedious sex?'

'Tedious is not quite the word I'd use.'

'What word would you use then?'

'Oh, quit fishing for compliments.'

He laughed. 'That good?'

Smiling, she picked up her teacup. 'Shut up and eat your toast.'

'Okay? Are we ready to go? Where are we going, anyway?'

'Hang on a sec.' He dinged the reception bell.

A few seconds later, Mrs McCarthy appeared carrying a couple of carrier bags.

'Here you go, Mr Pearce. I'm sorry I don't have a cool bag to lend you...'

Harry shook his head. 'Not a problem. I have a coolbox in the boot. Thank you.' He turned to go.

'I hope you don't mind my asking. I, er, gather that you're a writer but I'm afraid I don't recognise the name. What is it that you write?'

'Erotica,' said Harry, smoothly.

Ruth chewed her lip. 'He's very good,' she said brightly, after a pause. 'Won lots of awards.'

'Not Richard and Judy?'

'No,' confirmed Harry regretfully. 'Not Richard and Judy.' He held up the carrier bags. 'But hence the picnic. I mean, we can't really discuss erections and orgasms in the middle of a cafe, can we?'

Two little pink spots had appeared high on Mrs McCarthy's cheeks. 'No, I suppose not. Well, I, er, hope you have a nice day.'

'Erotica?' said Ruth, as they trotted down the steps. 'What on earth...'

'Hey, you're the one who's been having all these vivid sexual fantasies. Anyway, I thought it would be the one genre that would probably not provoke any further questions.'

'Or requests to name a character after her in your next book.'

He laughed. 'Uh, Ruth, my car's this way.'

'And mine's right here.'

'My car, Ruth.'

'Oh, so you're going to get all macho and insist on driving?'

'My car's more comfortable...'

'And mine's smaller and nippier than your tank. Are we heading west?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, it'll be better on all the windy, twisty roads.'

'On windy, twisty roads it's all the other idiot drivers we need to worry about, not us, and on that basis we'd be better off in my tank, as you put it.'

As Ruth opened her mouth to argue further, he added, triumphantly, 'Plus, you were up driving half the bloody night. I'm at least properly rested.'

She conceded defeat.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the town, Ruth was fast asleep.