The following three days passed slowly. It was safe to say that the mood on the grid was still as sombre: sombre, that was, only when Harry was present.
On day one, before he arrived, Ruth had come in to the office to find Zaf and Adam both wearing a bus conductor's hat. In the afternoon, when Harry had disappeared to yet another meeting that seemed to last longer than was necessary, the office was filled with the resounding of a bell which having 'dinged' twice was followed by a shout of 'all aboard' from a surprisingly game Ros.
Needless to say, Malcolm and Jo rose above such frivolities and looked sympathetically upon the ever put upon Ruth, who smiled benignly, humouring the boys, whilst detesting every moment, knowing that sooner or later they would get bored and move on.
On day two she found herself in the same room as Harry for the first time. Fortunately it was the meeting room and three of the team were present. He had tried to catch her eye on a couple of occasions but she failed to respond. She simply delivered her findings, responded professionally to any questions and filed out of the room as quickly as possible.
On day three he called her into the office. She stood by the door refusing to close it and told him she was inundated with work and asked was this going to take long. He was about to try and apologise but decided against it, instead he suggested that perhaps he ought to let her get on. He tried to smile, to show her in that singularly genuine, repentant look how much he regretted all that had been said, but she was already on the way out.
On day four she was happy to have escaped unscathed. Comments about buses had slipped from the agenda; the red hammock they had hung in the forgery suite with the number 52 attached to it had been removed; Harry had been conspicuous only by his absence; and all was finally settling back into some kind of normality.
Ruth walked down the street in the rain, happily oblivious.
Perhaps 'happily' was a slight overstatement.
Perhaps merely 'oblivious'.
A car pulled up beside her. The door opened.
"Get in," called Harry.
"I'm fine," the curt, predictable response.
"Ruth. Get in."
"I like the rain."
"The Home Secretary wants to see us."
"Us?" she asked, scornfully.
"Yes, us. I know you don't want to, but for god's sake, get in."
She paused in her walk and stared at him. He was her boss. And the HS was their boss. Yet still she hesitated.
"Please, Ruth," said Harry plaintively.
She got in.
The two sat side by side in the back of the car. A second felt like a minute, a minute like an hour. The silence was all consuming, all enveloping and the longer the silence, the harder it was to break it.
The traffic didn't help, delaying them as the streets ground to a halt in the pouring rain.
"Shouldn't be too long now sir," said the driver positively, painfully aware of the atmosphere in the back of his car.
Harry merely thanked god for the sound of another human voice breaking the inescapable silence that had infected them.
"Why?" asked Ruth suddenly and unexpectedly.
"Why what?"
"Why does he want to see us both?"
"The Chinese have a delegation in town. Vital national trade and security links. He wants us to stick close and he wants someone who they can trust and communicate freely with.
"Me?" she asked.
"You," he said and his eyes lingered on her.
She looked away.
"You sure you believe me capable?" she asked.
"Of course."
"You certain I won't try and shag the lead delicate, or anyone else I can lay my hands on?"
He bit his tongue and instead sort the right words, but she didn't want to hear them.
Besides which they had arrived.