The drive south, then south-east from London was peaceful and uneventful. They were in no hurry, with the whole day to spend as they wished. Harry enjoyed the luxury of having so much time to do as he wished, and with the woman he loved by his side, but he was not so naïve as to imagine he would always feel this way. In a way, Ruth was right. There were things he missed about being away from MI5. He didn't miss being stabbed or shot at, and he didn't miss the betrayals, nor did he miss losing Ruth, as he had twice already. If he was being honest, he missed being at the centre of a large organisation where he felt he could make a significant contribution, and where his word was respected and mostly valued. He confessed such feelings to Ruth. Gazing out the passenger side window, she took her time to answer him.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't feel this way, Harry," she said after some time. "To head up the counter-terrorism unit was your goal for so much of your adult life, so it will take some time for you to let go of that, but that's not the only way open to you should you still wish to make an impact. Not every significant personal contribution is surrounded by glory."

Harry listened to her without interruption, valuing her opinion and her input.

"There are other ways of making a difference," Ruth continued. "You've admitted you were a flawed husband and father. I'm sorry I can't provide you with the opportunity to improve your track record as a father, but I can vouch so far for your ability as a partner to me. We may not be married, but I feel valued, loved and cherished by you. That's a gift not many men possess. Don't underestimate the importance of your personal relationships and how it is you conduct them."

"Thank you, Ruth. I feel better already." He negotiated the merging of the M25 with the M20 before he looked across at her, his heartbeat increasing slightly as he took in her full lips, her soft cheeks, and her rich brown hair, now below her shoulders. "Do you want to get married, Ruth?"

She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Sir Harry," she said, "was that a proposal of marriage?"

"Not exactly," he replied, his eyes and his concentration now fully on the road ahead. "I suppose I was testing the waters."

"And how did the waters seem to you?"

"Warm. I think the waters seemed warm, whereas last time I asked you, the water was cold, almost icy."

"I can't complain about your persistence, Harry. Most men don't come back to ask a second time after they've been turned down."

"I'm not most men, Ruth."

"I know that, Harry. That's one of the reasons I love you. I will marry you, but not right now, and not even in the near future. If I'm being honest, I don't think we need to be formally married. I already feel married to you. I'm committed to being with you, as you are to me, and isn't that what marriage is all about?"

"I agree with everything you say, Ruth. I just thought women liked the wedding part, with the dress and the flowers and the rings and such. I didn't want to deny you that."

"That might be nice, but I won't miss it if I don't have it. It's just that I don't think you and I need it. Anyway, isn't it usually the woman begging for the ceremony, and the man making excuses to avoid it at all costs?"

"As I said, I'm not most men. I want the world to know that we are committed to one another. I'm proud of you, and I want everyone to know that."

When she didn't answer, he looked across to her to see that she'd fallen asleep, her head resting against the window beside her. I must be losing my touch, he thought.

.

As he turned off the road to follow the sign which said: Lower Beecham 5½, Harry spoke gently to Ruth.

"We're almost there, sweetheart. Wake up," he added, putting his hand on her knee and giving it a shake. Ruth stirred slowly, pulling her elbows back to stretch her torso.

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" she said, yawning.

"You needed to sleep, so I let you be. We're nearly there. Lower Beecham is only a few miles away."

Harry had slowed down, and was negotiating a quite narrow road which led off the `beaten track' to the hamlet of Lower Beecham.

"I can see now why it is the service had purchased this place. It's a bit out-of-the-way. Perfect for a safe house."

"Mmm," replied Ruth, "I hope it's perfect as our safe house."

.

Following the instructions given by his Sat Nav, Harry eventually pulled the Range Rover into a driveway which followed the line of trees from the road to the cottage itself. It was set back about 100 yards from the lane, low shrubs and a few trees blocking the view of the house from the lane. As Harry turned to drive in front of the cottage, it came fully into view.

"It's beautiful, Harry," Ruth exclaimed, grasping Harry's elbow. He turned off the ignition so that they could absorb the details – a steeply pitched grey slate roof, with a gable at the far end, brickwork walls to just above the windows, and above that, off-white woodwork to meet the roof, the Tudor influence evident. It was quite small, but gave the impression of being a good-sized Kent cottage.

"The roof still needs work, Towers said, but the outside is mostly in quite good condition. It's inside where most of the money is being spent. Squatters had taken up residence, so it needed a lot of work inside."

"Won't there be tradesmen inside?" Ruth asked.

"They've been called out on an emergency on a cottage in Faversham, so when that's done, they'll come back here and finish the job." He looked across at her. "Are you ready to look inside?"

She nodded, smiling at him.

.

The open front door led on to a slate floor in the entry hall, across which was revealed a large, open-plan area, with the living room in the foreground giving way to a meals area, then a kitchen at the back.

"Plenty of room for a house-warming," Ruth murmured to herself.

Carpenters' easels, ground sheets, and a fine layer of sawdust over everything bore testament to a job still not finished. A large window in the kitchen let in the light, as well as giving an uninterrupted view of the back garden, green, but overgrown.

"If you want to work off your frustrations, Harry, the garden would be a good place to start."

"I can think of much better ways of working off my frustration," he said, his mouth close to her ear. Ruth smiled to herself, then turned towards him to catch his lips with her own. "Mrs Pearce," he said into her mouth, "you tempt me."

"Presumptuous, as usual, Harry", she said, pulling away from him, and moving slowly across the living area, imagining them living there.

He watched her walk away from him, her slim body enveloped in a long skirt, a body-hugging jumper, and a jacket, equally as fitting. Even though he could see little of her skin, he felt the familiar physical stirrings, and wondered at the appropriateness – or otherwise - of making love in a house which was still owned by his former employers. He looked around the living area space, and could see nothing suitable for lying on. He couldn't remember experiencing this degree of sexual focus – obsession, even – since the first of his affairs after he and Jane had married. Being with Ruth had opened a door inside him which had been closed for a long time. During the years he and Ruth had worked together for MI5, this drive to possess her totally had been knocking on his inner doors, waiting for her to meet him at least half way. There were times when he believed they would never get together, and that a close and exclusive friendship would be the best he could hope for. He still found it difficult to keep up with the changes in his life during the past few weeks. Having gone from grieving almost-lover to lover over a matter of weeks, he considered himself to be the luckiest man on earth.

Having already inspected the kitchen, Ruth then opened the door to a small room which opened off the living room.

"This can be my office, Harry. It's perfect. It even has a view towards the sea." Interpreting Harry's silence, she added an explanation. "William rang this morning while you were in the shower. He suggested I do some interpreting work from home. It will be nowhere near full-time, so I'll still have plenty of time for you."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier, Ruth?"

"I had to see the cottage first. I had to determine if I could see myself living here."

"And?"

"I can, Harry. What about you? Can you see us living here?"

He looked across at her and nodded. She had never looked more beautiful, her enthusiasm and happiness making her skin glow.

.

They climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The largest room was under the gable, and had a view of the front yard and the lane. Next to it was a much smaller room.

"This must be the nursery," Ruth said quietly. Harry took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

At the back of the house, with windows overlooking the back garden and the sea, was another large room. Another door opened from this room to a small alcove.

"I made an executive decision, Ruth," he said, "and decided this should be our room. Look at the view to the sea. The small room is to be our en suite bathroom."

Ruth looked into the space which was to be their en suite. "You knew all along we'd live here, didn't you?"

"I took an educated guess. The day I resigned, Towers showed me photographs of this place, and I knew you'd love it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I'd surprise you. What do you think?"

"You know how much I don't like surprises, Harry, but this one is the exception to the rule. It's been waiting here all this time for us to find it."

Harry, still holding Ruth's hand, led her to the window with a view of the sea. He unlocked and then opened French windows which led on to a small balcony. "Look down there," he said, pointing to the garden immediately beneath the balcony.

"I can't see anything but overgrown lawn," she replied.

"That's where I'm planning to build a deck. We can sit out there on summer mornings and have breakfast."

"Or a glass of wine after dinner."

"That too," he replied.

"Harry -"

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever built a deck?"

"How hard can it be? You must be able to buy them in kit form, surely, and then it's just like building something out of Lego."

"What if doing it is much more complicated than that?" Ruth suggested.

"If I don't do it, or if I mess it up, promise me you'll convince me to get a man in."

"A man?"

"Or a woman, so long as they know how to build a deck."

They stepped back into the room which was to be their bedroom, and they assessed the space.

"There's room enough for a very big bed, Harry."

"Do you want us to buy a bed like the one we have in London?"

"Yes, please." Ruth looked across at him, and recognised the look in his eyes as he gazed at her. There was love in his eyes, and along with it there was also lust, and longing. Harry had been looking at her with longing for around six years. She suddenly wanted to make it up to him, and she wanted to begin right then, in the cottage they were planning to buy.

"Harry," she said, but it was as though he had read her thoughts. He closed the gap between them, taking her hand in his. His other hand brushed her cheek, then settled on her neck, his thumb circling her skin. She stepped close to him, so that their bodies touched in all the usual places – her breasts against his chest, his groin nestled against her stomach, their thighs touching. "Harry," she said again, but her words were swallowed by his mouth on hers, his tongue searching for entrance – which she allowed – the hand which massaged her neck searching for a way under her jumper. "Harry," she began, pulling her mouth free from his, "what are we going to do?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," he growled, his voice gravelly and deep.

Gradually, almost without her noticing, he pushed her back against the wall, the very same wall against which their future bed head would rest. She felt the wall hard and cold against her back. She felt Harry's hot mouth devouring her neck. She felt his warm hands under her jumper, running over her skin, setting little fires wherever they went. She felt him free her breasts from her bra, so that his fingers could tease her nipples. She felt desire fill her abdomen, warming her between her legs. She felt his growing arousal against her. She felt him thrust against her body with his arousal, not once, or even twice, but several times.

She unbuckled his belt, tore open his trousers, opened the zip, and pushed them and his underpants off his hips and down his legs. He then lifted her skirt so that it bunched around her waist. He lifted her slightly so that his penis, free from the constraints of his trousers, slipped between her legs and against the fabric of her pants. She moaned as she felt him rub against her. She lifted one of her legs to his waist, and so he hoisted her against him, each of her legs wrapped around him. In one deft movement, he pushed the fabric of her pants aside to give his fingers easy access. She felt him massage her warmth until she was almost there. She felt him stop his massaging, because he could read the signs of her approaching orgasm. Then she felt him remove his fingers from her to allow his penis to move across her entrance, but not inside her. Hot bursts of desire filled her. "Harry, please," she pleaded. She knew what he was doing. He was waiting for her to beg him.

"I want you inside me. Now," she pleaded.

Which was what he'd been waiting for. She felt him enter her, gradually, slowly at first, and then faster, deeper, and right to her very core. She briefly wondered how he could take the weight of both of them on his legs, when her own legs were like jelly, and incapable of carrying anything, even her own body.

She lost track of time, her mind having closed down while her body became lost in the sensations of their lovemaking. All she knew was that he was inside her, and his driving and thrusting was leading her to the edge of who-knows-where. When she came, she believed she was on the verge of death, so complete was her loss of conscious will. He came loudly, pumping his juices into her. His head dropped on to her shoulder as he whispered the words, "I love you, Ruth," against her ear.

"I love you too," she breathed back.

Unable to hold her weight any longer, they both slipped to the floor, where, still half-clothed, they rested against one another, each with tired arms embracing the other.

"What if the workers come back today?" Ruth said once she'd regained the power of speech.

"They get an eyeful," he growled. "I'm sure they've seen much worse."

"Like what?"

"I've no idea, Ruth. My brain has turned to mush, and I barely know my own name."

They must have slept like that, bundled awkwardly together on a ground sheet on the floor, half-clothed, in the room which was to become their bedroom. When they stirred, the light in the room had changed. They tidied themselves, stealing looks at the other, their mouths hiding smiles.

"We've christened our bedroom, Ruth," Harry commented, as he zipped his pants. "How awesome is that?"

"That's the first time I've heard you use that word," she commented.

"What – christened?"

"No, you said `awesome'. I've never heard you say it before."

"Promise me you'll chastise me severely were I ever to use it again," he said gruffly, leaning across the kiss her chastely. "I noticed a quaint little pub just before the turnoff to Lower Beecham. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she replied.

oOo

Thanks for reading. The last chapter will be posted some time on the weekend.