I am chuffed to bits with all the reviews for this fic; thank you so much! You are lovely, you are. And now, the final chapter. Hope you enjoy.

As they broke apart they sat for a moment, foreheads touching, hands resting on bare skin, their breathing deepening and slowing as one breath. Certain that anything he said was bound to ruin the moment, Harry remained silent, and keeping his eyes closed he concentrated on the sensation of her hands cradling his head, her thumb idly caressing his stubbled jawline.

Ruth's first coherent thought was to wonder if she should remove Harry's hand from her thigh, it having somehow inveigled its way under her dress. In the same moment that she decided she was quite happy where it was, she realised that all motor skills had deserted her anyway. She felt him stir against her and his lips began to explore her neck, working their way slowly up to her ear. As his teeth gently tugged on her earlobe she was unable to stifle a soft moan, and she sensed his triumphant but all too brief smile as his lips swiftly resumed their ministrations. Seemingly of their own accord her fingers crept round to the nape of his neck, simultaneously caressing him and pulling him against her. Then all of a sudden they stilled.

'Ohhh...Harry...'

He ignored her.

'Harry, whoa...'

She arched away from him, her palms on his chest reinforcing her intent.

He looked at her, his eyes glazed as if punch drunk. 'Wha...?'

'Harry, we can't. Not here...'

'Okay.' He flashed a devilish grin. 'I'll just have to smuggle you past Mrs McCarthy; I can claim I'm doing a bit of hands-on research for my next book.'

'...and not now. If we just jump into bed all it will do is muddy the waters even more than they already are.'

He sighed. 'Ruth, as well you know, declarations of love are not exactly my forte. But a long time ago I fell for you, hook, line, sinker and bloody rod. So much so that all the love songs, all the Byrons and the Brownings and the Shakespeares and the Shelleys now make sense . And despite everything, even though you know me better than anyone else on this planet, you love me too. The waters aren't muddy, Ruth, they're crystal clear, Caribbean blue, calm.' He took her hands in his. 'All you need to do is dive in.'

Her hands fluttered, but she didn't pull away. 'You make it sound so simple.'

'It is. Look, we get on well. We have shared interests. And yes, there's the physical attraction, but that's the cherry on the cake; we're so much more than that.'

Ruth's gaze had fallen to her lap, and he ducked his head, trying to catch her eye.

'I can't undo what's already done,' he repeated, 'but if you give me a chance I will spend the rest of my life doing my level best to make you happy. Please.'

Avoiding his eyes she got to her feet. 'Can-can we just go somewhere else? It's getting way too hot here and I haven't put on any sunscreen.'

Nonplussed at the conversation shift, Harry took a moment to respond. 'Um. Yes, of course,' he replied, quietly. 'How about Lyme Regis?'

Ruth nodded. 'That's fine.'

In silence they walked back to the car.

'Christ on a bike,' grumbled Harry. 'Do they not know we've moved on a bit from horses and carts?'

Ruth eyed him. 'I told you we should've taken my car.'

'Is there anywhere that isn't double yellow bloody lines on both sides? Where the hell are you supposed to park?'

'Charmouth Road,' said Ruth, mechanically. 'There's a long stay car park there.'

'You know this place?'

'I used to; haven't been for a while.' Punctuated by much hand waving she reeled off directions, and muttering under his breath Harry eased the car through the narrow streets and headed north.

'Bit of a trek down the hill,' Harry observed, as he switched off the engine.

'It'll do us both good. Can you bring the packed lunch? For all I ate half the herring fishing stock at breakfast I'm starving now.'

He hesitated. 'Ruth, are you...is everything...'

'I'm fine. I'm just tired.' Her fingertips drifted to her belly. 'And a bit...you know.' She felt she owed him that, at least, yet she hadn't expected him to immediately realise what she meant. Stupid really; he had been married, he had a daughter, and he wasn't quite as unenlightened and insensitive as he sometimes led people to believe.

He was touched, encouraged, by the intimacy of her admission; yet still he blushed.

'Right. Right. Can I get you anything? Painkillers? Cup of tea?'

She smiled. 'Tea would be lovely.'

'Come on, then,' he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. 'Let's go.'

Having found a bench in the shadow of the harbour wall, Harry left Ruth with the picnic bags while he went off in search of takeaway tea. A balmy breeze had sprung up, tempering the harsh heat of the early afternoon sun, and stretching her legs out in front of her she tilted her face skywards, enjoying the feeling of the warmth on her bare skin. Almost immediately, though, she was aware of someone sitting down beside her.

Opening her eyes, she turned to see an elderly lady, gnarled hands clasped around a metal walking stick, happed up in unseasonal layers and a bobbled woollen hat, gazing out to sea. Feeling somewhat guilty she said, 'I-I'm sorry, that seat's taken...um...he's just gone to get some tea.'

The old lady gave her a snaggletoothed smile. 'No worries, lovey, I just need to rest these old bones for a moment or two. I'll be on my way before your young man comes back.'

'Young man? He'd be thrilled to hear you call him that. But, um, he's not. My young man, I mean. Or young. Particularly.'

She'd seen Harry glance back at Ruth as he walked off, and the look in his eyes had been unmistakeable. 'But he'd like to be, I think. Your young man.'

Taken aback, aware of the flush creeping up her cheeks, Ruth looked away.

'Sorry, lovey, if I speak out of turn. But you don't think he's the one for you?'

It was a few moments before Ruth spoke, and then her voice was barely audible.

'I don't deserve him.'

She sensed the old lady shift and then a cold, bony hand closed over hers.

'But it's not for us to say what we deserve, lovey; that's for others to decide. And I find that mostly people are much harder on themselves than they are on others. Don't you think?'

Ruth stared at her.

'When me and my Robbie was courting,' the old lady continued, 'my old mum, god rest her soul, told me there are three questions a woman has to ask herself about the man she wants to marry: are the two of you good friends; will he make a good father; and will you still want to wake up beside him every morning when he's as old and grey and saggy as his underpants.'

'Ha! And did Robbie tick all those boxes?'

'Goodness me, lovey, no. But I fell for our eldest and we had to get married. You did in them days. Forty seven years we were together, and for all the names I called him, for all the troubles we had, we was happy. Yet I sometimes think young people today don't know how to be happy, nor do they appreciate that marriage is bloomin' hard work. You got to keep at it, lovey. Compromise. Make allowances. Nobody's perfect, after all; especially men.'

Ruth smiled.

The old lady patted her hand and levered herself to her feet. 'Anyway, best be off. Nice talking to you, lovey. You take care.'

'Thank you,' said Ruth, watching her go. 'And you too.'

'Well, if that was lunch, we've had it.' Balling up the remaining carrier bag, Harry tied it into a knot and lobbed it into the waste bin a few feet away. 'Bloody good it was, too.' He turned to Ruth. 'How are you feeling? Any better?'

She looked up. 'The tea was lovely, and the picnic. But not really, not yet; unfortunately that's not how it works.'

'Ah.'

'I'm embarrassing you. Sorry.'

His smile was bashful. 'I'm about twenty years too old to be a modern man, Ruth, and I'm so lousy at keeping in touch with my feminine side that she's taken me off her Christmas card list.'

'Says the man whom poetry moves to tears.'

The blue eyes that held his gaze were unreadable.

'Ruth?'

'You know, the best painkillers are natural ones.'

'What?'

'Endorphins.'

'Right.'

'And the best way to release them is by exertion.'

'Yeah...'

'Vigorous exertion. Like running...'

'Ruth, I am not legging it up that bloody hill!'

'...or, or having sex.'

Harry went very still. 'Mm,' he said, eventually.

Now the blue eyes were beseeching.'Harry...?'

He swallowed. 'You mean?'

'Mm.'

'You? And me?'

She rolled her eyes.

'Have sex?'

'Mm.'

He exhaled. 'Seriously?'

'Yes, seriously.'

'Are you sure about this?'

'For god's sake, Harry, a matter of hours ago you were all for ravishing me on a bloody clifftop, now you're pussyfooting around like some teenager who's being seduced, but who despite all his macho posturing hasn't actually done it before.'

'Trust me, Ruth,' he said drily, 'I've done it at least twice.' He sighed. 'Are you sure you won't bolt? See me in the altogether and leg it?'

She reached over and gently cupped his face. 'I promise,' she whispered.

Harry stared at her for a moment, then reaching into his trouser pocket he pulled out his mobile phone and began dialling.

'What are you doing? Who on earth are you calling? Harry...'

'Tariq.'

'What? Why?'

'He's on duty this weekend, isn't he?'

'Yes, I think so, but...'

'I'm getting him to deactivate every bloody speed camera between here and Weymouth.'

Monday

Dimitri did a double take as Ruth walked in.

'Morning, Evershed. You're looking particularly gorgeous today...'

'Dimitri!' protested Beth.

He eyed her, swiftly and with expert eyes discounting the usual suspects of a new hairdo or a new outfit. It was her skin. Her skin was...glowing. 'Have you got the sun?'

Ignoring him, Ruth sat down and booted up her computer.

'It wasn't that sunny over the weekend. Not here, at any rate,' he persisted.

'Harry's got a touch of sunburn,' said Tariq, helpfully. 'On the back of his neck.'

All heads swivelled towards him.

Lucas broke the silence. 'And now you come to mention it, when Harry headed off to meet Dolby first thing he was whistling.'

All heads swivelled towards Ruth, who resolutely kept her eyes on her monitor.

One by one, Lucas caught the eye of his colleagues, and as he executed a chopping motion at his throat, they bent their heads to their work, still smiling.

A few moments later, above the rustle of papers and tapping of keyboards, Lucas's low murmur could be heard.

'About bloody time.'