A/N:Thank you for the reviews, and of course, for reading. This chapter follows on straight from the last.
I'm planning to post rather quickly, as the whole 8 chapters takes place over only 5 days, and I don't wish to drag the story out... and, to be honest, the story is rather light.
"They …... Towers, mainly …... told me you had decided to bow out in order to make it easier for me to go back to the job." His eyes, when he looks at her, convey hurt, but also a deeply-buried anger.
Ruth has been prepared for his anger.
"That isn't …... quite the way it happened, Harry. My decision was made for me. At the time, I saw no other alternative than to go."
"They wouldn't even tell me where you'd gone. I waited for you to contact me, so that I knew you were alright. We'd parted on terms which were so strained …... it was very difficult, returning to work without you being there. I was …..." Harry presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Ruth knows that to be a sign that he is stressed. She has caused him this.
"Towers visited me one night. It would have been three or four days after Lucas had died. It was clear to me that he was under orders from higher up. He had difficulty maintaining eye contact with me, but essentially what he said was …... that if I cared for you at all, I should leave the country, and …... and stay away until after you retire. It's just that no-one thought to let me know when it was you'd retired."
Harry leans forward, considering moving to sit next to her …... to offer her some comfort, but he remains seated.
Ruth is surprised to feel her composure beginning to crack. She has never cried, never raged about losing her job, her life, her home, her friends, and the possibility of something with Harry. This is despite having turned down his proposal of marriage. She takes a deep breath before she continues, but she can't look at Harry. Seeing the pain – or the anger – in his face will break open what is left of her self control.
"He …... he said that I was a liability. He said that I was your one great weakness, and that while I stayed on – in London, working beside you – that would always be the case. He said my continuing presence would only compromise you."
Ruth sees Harry about to speak, and she holds up her hand to silence him. She is here to speak – to confess – and so speak she must.
"He pointed out to me how fragile was your hold on your position, and that there were ….. those who were wanting you out. He suggested that your job would be less tenuous were I not around. I asked him should I move to Oxford, or maybe Scotland, but he …... said I should leave the country."
"But I wrote a report on you ... on your importance to the service."
"Towers warned me that such a document would be viewed as the exaggerations of a man who is on the verge of losing his mind to love." Ruth takes another deep breath before she continues. "Towers said that you would not be safe from your detractors unless I was totally gone from your life. He also told me any phone calls between us would be monitored, and for your safety – and mine – I should not attempt any contact with you …... not even a postcard."
They each remember for a moment the first time Ruth was exiled, and how, after a year, she had sent Harry a postcard, letting him know she was well, and implying that she loved him still. That postcard had given him hope, keeping him going for months. During this last period of exile, no such luxuries were allowed, and Ruth had stuck to the rules, despite her deep desire to make contact with him.
Ruth doesn't know when it is the tears begin to fall, but by the time she has finished speaking, they are streaming down her face. She looks up at Harry at last, and on his face she reads shock …... shock and surprise, and a slowly dawning realisation.
"Jesus, Ruth," he breathes. "We were both played …... like the proverbial violin."
Suddenly, the emotions she has been holding in for almost four years spill over, and Ruth leans forward, and rests her face in her hands, while she gives her pain a voice. Without hesitation, Harry gets up, and sits beside her, gradually easing close enough to her so that he can slip his arm around her shoulders. Feeling his warmth so close to her, Ruth crumples against him, and allows him to brush away her tears with his thumb.
There is a long period of time during which neither speak. Both lean against the back of the sofa, with Harry's arm still loosely around her shoulders, holding her in a comforting half-embrace. Ruth's tears have exhausted her, and she rests her head against his shoulder, waiting for him to move away. When, after fifteen minutes or so he doesn't move from her side, Ruth turns her face to gaze at his profile. How could she have left him …... again? How could she have not checked with Harry first, to see how he felt about her leaving the country? Perhaps he could have come up with an alternate solution.
"Would you have advised me to go, Harry?"
"Christ, no," he says, with barely disguised anger. "It was my decision to let Albany go, and I was aware of the likely consequences. My decision, Ruth. I can't figure out what Towers and Co were thinking, although it appears that your …... our …... relationship presented a threat to national security."
"What absolute tosh."
"I agree, but you have to admit, Ruth, that you were present each time the security service was under the microscope."
"Whatever does that mean?"
"Governments like to maintain control over their brightest, especially when the brightest are women. You were always several steps ahead of them. Janet Todd is now the Home Secretary. She had a brilliant career ahead of her in the MoD. As Home Secretary she maintains the appearance of having a career trajectory, while in truth, she is being carefully monitored. Being in the public eye means she can't act with any kind of …... individuality."
Ruth sits up straight, and reluctantly, Harry removes his arm from around her shoulders, liberating her from his embrace. It was lovely while it lasted …... lovely and warm and close and comfortable.
"Where is he now?"
"Who ….. Towers?"
Ruth nods, turning towards him to face him.
"He retired just after I did. I think he lives on the Isle Of Man."
"Strange choice."
"He and his wife have had a house there for years. It seems he was pushed out of office, to make way for Janet Todd. It was at about that time that the new broom swept through Whitehall."
Suddenly, Ruth gets up from the sofa, leaving Harry sitting there, watching her as she side-steps the coffee table, and wanders across the width of the room to the mantelpiece above the fireplace.
"Is this …...?" Ruth asks, turning to check with Harry the identity of the people in the photograph.
"That's Catherine and Mark, and Ellie."
"She's …. she's lovely, Harry."
"She is. She looks a lot like Catherine at the same age."
"And this one of you and Ellie." Ruth picks up the photo in its frame, and studies it more closely. "She has your mouth."
"Yes, poor kid."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Ruth places the photograph back on the mantelpiece, and then turns towards Harry. "I used to think that your mouth was one of your best features."
Her eyes seek out his, and her expression is teasing. Harry, still perched on the sofa, meets her eyes with his own. This is a different Ruth, a more confident Ruth. She had always ducked and dodged any suggestion that there might be something between them. Now …... now, she is showing him the way. He is not used to this. He prefers to lead the way, but this is Ruth, and with her, nothing is ever as it should be, as he'd like it to be.
"It's your eyes are your best feature," Ruth continues, turning back to the mantelpiece, and looking at some of the other photographs there.
"That one is my parents," Harry says from just behind her, proving that all spies should creep around wearing only socks on their feet. "And that one is Catherine and Graham when they were at school."
"And this?" Ruth points at an old black and white picture of two boys in school uniform. Both boys have unruly, curly fair hair.
"Me and my brother, Ben."
Ruth is very aware of Harry at her back. She is sure she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. "Which one is you?" she asks, her voice quiet, to match his own.
"I'm the older one."
Of course, Ruth can see which one is Harry. His eyes stare at the camera, and while his brother seems distracted, bored, like the whole thing is a joke, Harry appears to be confronting the camera lens, like he is about to take issue with the person holding the camera.
Suddenly, Ruth steps away from the mantelpiece, and stands facing Harry. The fire still burns quietly in the grate, warming their legs.
"I really ought to go, Harry. I've said what I came here to say."
Harry experiences a moment of panic. "Please don't go," he says, reaching out to grasp one of Ruth's hands. "I ….. you've barely been here an hour."
"But ….. I dumped my things at the B&B, and I'm still wearing what I wore on the plane. I have to shower, change, unpack my bags. I have to eat something …..."
"Then let me take you to dinner, Ruth."
"You don't have to do that."
"I'm asking you because I want you to have dinner with me, Ruth. Will you allow me to take you to dinner?"