George

"George, this is Harry," she said. I can see the effort it takes for her to keep her composure, but keep it she does.

"Harry, George," she said. "I used to work for Harry when I was in London," she explained. I have no idea what work she used to do in London, nor why she had to leave, but at her words I have a vivid image of this Harry making love to her on a random desk in a London office. The image is shocking with its intensity, even more so with the fact I hadn't been consciously thinking about it. There is something there, and the word that I think of is history. The room is filled with it.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I need to have a private word with Ruth," Harry said, speaking gently. "About what happened which caused you to leave Cyprus."

"Of course," I find myself agreeing. He knows how to deal with people. He knows how to handle people to get exactly what he wants, when he wants it. I can tell he's a master manipulator and he's only said two sentences to me. I've already lost Ruth. But now I'm almost afraid to leave him alone with her. But I can't think of a single word to say that would make her stay with me and not leave with him. Anything I say will seem petulant and like I'm claiming ownership over her. There's a small balcony on this flat and they both make their way there.

The doors are glass and I can still see them as they stand overlooking the city, even though I can no longer hear them. They're oblivious to me now. Neither one of them so much as glances back. Much to my surprise, they don't touch. They stand slightly apart, so not so much as one hair can touch the other, and they're looking outwards, not at each other. I thought they'd embrace. I expected it and was braced to see her hold another man. To kiss another man. But they don't. They are simply talking. The only movement she makes is the occasional glance in his direction and tucking her hair behind her ears.

It comes to me that this is a relationship I can never understand. Because it's got little to do with the physical. They both feel their connection on a much deeper level which I don't. With Ruth, I never have because that part of her was closed to me. Now I see why. That part of her belonged to him, always.

The conversation must go on for ten minutes at least. I cannot look away, so I see the moment he moves half a step towards her, looking at her instead of the city. She turns towards him, looking deeply into his eyes. The jealousy is intense, not just because she's looking at another man like that, but because she's never looked at me with such openness.

He reaches for her face, his palm caressing her, but to my surprise, she shies away. I can see her lips saying "no." Then she shakes her head and the disappointment on Harry's face isn't feigned. It's honest and raw. He turns to come back in, opening the door, but Ruth calls him back. Now I can hear them.

"Harry, what happened to the others?" she asks softly. "Are they okay?" Harry's face blanches and I know that whoever she's talking about, they are not okay.

"Oh. Who?" she asked, reading his face better than I can. "It was bad, wasn't it?"

"Adam and Zaf," he says shortly.

The grief and sadness on her face is instant. "How?"

"Adam… it was quick," he says. "Car bomb. He wouldn't have felt anything." The grief she shows is matched by him. He isn't hiding his emotions, he's letting her see how this hurts him too. I don't think it's feigned. Is anything between these two feigned, false or forced?

"And Zaf?"

"You don't want to know," he tells her.

"I do," she insists. "Tell me." I'm surprised by how much this man listens to her. He's clearly used to being in a position of authority, but her soft voice breaks him. Her voice is one, it seems, that he cannot deny.

"Don't ask me to hurt you like this, Ruth." His voice is filled with pain, even I can hear it.

"Tell me," she repeats. He sighs, then holds her hand. This time, she doesn't pull away, causing a flash of pain to go through me.

"He was captured and sold on. Tortured for information, then sold on again. And again. We found his body six months later and… trust me Ruth. You do not want to see those pictures. I will never show them to you."

She closes her eyes, genuine pain on her face, and I know she's just been told of the loss of friends. "Ruth, I…"

"You should go," she tells him. He says nothing, but staring at her intensely, as if willing her to read his mind. I know what he's thinking. Leave him. Come home with me. I know because I'm thinking exactly the same thing. "Go," she repeats.

He does, coming back into the room. I make no apologies for watching and listening so obviously. "Sorry," he says politely, before leaving the flat, the door clicking shut behind him. That small word is so pointless. He isn't sorry. The look of intense desire on his face shows how much sorry doesn't cover his range of emotions. I ask myself what does he think he's apologising for? Or is it just British politeness? Sorry for ruining your relationship, taking your partner and making you run from your home. Sorry is so inadequate.

Ruth comes back into the room, looking at me. Her face is open, and she's never looked at me like that before. I can tell that this stranger has her heart.

"You need to talk to me," I say.

"Yes," she agreed. "I owe you an explanation, you're right." We sit down at the kitchen table and I wait to hear exactly what has torn the rug out from under me.

I'm actually really enjoying writing this from George's perspective! Thank you for the reviews so far.