Ruth hadn't expected what she found when she'd knocked on Harry's door. She'd expected him to be distant, perhaps disinterested, even angry. She'd even prepared herself for the possibility of him being married, or at the very least, partnered. She hadn't prepared herself for the quiet, wary and lonely man who'd answered the door. But then again, Harry had always been a loner, but being surrounded by people all day in his work, he'd not given the appearance of being lonely. Perhaps he always had been.

She dresses for their dinner, keeping in mind that he had said he'd take her to his favourite eatery, and that he only ever wears jeans when he eats there. "The food is chiefly Mediterranean," he'd said, clearly pleased that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. "I think you'll like it. I try to eat there at least once a week."

Ruth stands in front of the oak framed cheval mirror in her bedroom at the B&B. Her gaze is critical, but she is pleased with her choices – black trousers, grape-coloured jumper with a scooped, round neck, topped by a black jacket. It is casual, but smart, and she hopes Harry likes it.

There it is. That's what this is about. She is going to dinner with Harry – their second dinner in just over eight years – and she cares a lot about the outcome of this dinner. She still cares a lot about what Harry thinks. It is clear to them both that they have changed, and it is equally clear that they each still care for the other. Is that enough? Can the love be resurrected?

Ruth decides, just as she hears the doorbell downstairs, that she is prepared to open herself to the possibility of resurrected love. This time, she cannot afford to be running from Harry whenever she experiences discomfort. This time, she must be brave. Grabbing her coat, she heads downstairs to meet him.

Harry stands – rather awkwardly, Ruth thinks - in the small downstairs reception room, wearing a plain, black woollen coat over black jeans, a pale blue open-necked shirt, and a cream V-necked jumper. She notices his eyes roaming over her in appreciation. This could be an interesting evening. She allows him to help her put on her coat, and she also allows herself to enjoy the brief touch of his fingers on her neck, as he straightens the collar of her jacket, and then her coat.

"It was when the Olympics were in the later planning stages that it was made clear to me that MI-5 were to take a back seat in the security for the event. The writing had been on the wall for some time, but when private firms were hired in our stead, I was not impressed. Towers made a show of protesting, but I suspect he was doing that for my benefit. Sorry …... I'm rambling."

They were sitting over dessert and coffee, and Ruth had been listening while Harry dissected the final three years of his career. In a way, she feels relieved that she wasn't around to witness it.

"I haven't asked you," Harry continues, his eyes on his coffee cup, his discomfort evident, "did you leave …... someone back in the US?"

"You're not asking me whether I left my cat with a neighbour, are you?"

Harry had been in a serious mood all evening, and for the first time, she sees a wide smile on his face.

"No, Ruth. I'm asking you if you have someone back there …... someone who will draw you back there once again."

"No. There's no-one, and there hasn't been. I had a few dates in the first year or so, but no-one was a patch on …..."

Harry's eyes are on hers, pupils dilated, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

"Do I have to spell it out, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you do."

Ruth hesitates, knowing that what she is about to divulge will open her to him in a way for which she is not yet ready. She takes a breath before she speaks, and as she does, she holds his eyes with her own. "You, Harry …... you spoiled me for all the other men there are in the world. Whenever I met someone who seemed ….. nice, there was always something that bothered me. He'd not be as well read as you, or he'd have a high voice, and I prefer men to have deep voices. I had three dates with a rather nice man from West Virginia, who was doing a doctorate at Boston University. I began to think that he might be …... suitable, but then, after three dates, I realised that I knew everything about him, and his doctorate thesis, and he knew nothing about me. He talked about himself, and I listened."

"You always were a good listener," he says, his voice low.

"And so were you, Harry. You still are."

"I've been prattling away to you, and I haven't heard about your past four years."

"There's not a lot to tell you. I went straight to Boston, and stayed there. I'd always wanted to go there. For almost three years I worked in a book shop which was walking distance from my flat. One day, a woman entered the book shop, and asked about some ancient Greek texts. Of course, what she asked for was only available in Europe, so I told her all about it. By the time she left, she'd offered me a job teaching at a college nearby. My contract ran out three weeks ago, and I was asked to renew. It was then I knew I'd been away from home for long enough, and that I needed to see you …... again …... even if it was only to apologise to you for leaving without saying goodbye. I needed to come home."

By the time she is finished speaking, Ruth notices Harry's fingers moving nervously around the rim of his coffee cup, and he appears to be breathing in gasps. When she looks up at his face, she sees his eyes are red, and that he is desperately holding back tears.

"Shall we go?" she asks quietly.

Harry very quickly wipes his fingers across his eyes, and stands, still looking down. He has already paid for the meal, and so all they need to do is gather their coats, and leave. Ruth takes charge of getting their coats, and thanking the staff for the meal. They leave quickly, much to the consternation of Sergio and Danielle, the proprietors. Ruth smiles at them, nods and waves, as she leads Harry out of the restaurant, her hand on his back, from where she can feel the tension in his body. When they reach his car, she takes his key from his fingers, and unlocks the car, then she opens the passenger side door, and closes the door after he is seated.

Very carefully, Ruth drives the car back to Harry's house, and parks it in the driveway. She then gets him inside his house, and leads him to the living room, where he sits in his favourite chair.

"I'll ring for a taxi," he says quietly, "or else you can take my car."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ruth replies, crossing the room to add some small logs to the fire, the embers of which are still glowing. "I can't leave you like this."

"I've had worse nights." Harry is smiling, even though his eyes are still red. As she'd been driving the car back to his house, Ruth had been aware of Harry sitting in the seat beside her, staring out his window, taking deep breaths in order to stave off the tears which threatened to fall. She knows not to ask him what is wrong. If he wants her to know, he will tell her. "I've still been afraid," he continues quietly, "that after I dropped you back at your B&B, you would somehow mysteriously disappear from my life all over again."

He has answered her unspoken question. This is another detail Ruth had forgotten about she and Harry. They are connected in ways she has not been connected with another person since her father. She knows Harry, and he knows her. How could she have forgotten that? They have a deep and rare connection.

Suddenly, Ruth remembers something. She grabs her bag, and fossicks around inside it, eventually drawing out a bulky, rectangular object, gift-wrapped in shiny black paper tied with gold ribbon.

"This is for you," she says, crossing the room, and sitting on the floor at Harry's feet. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

He takes it from her, but looks embarrassed. "I have nothing for you, Ruth."

"That's where you're wrong. You're here …... with me now. That is gift enough. Open it."

He smiles as he tears open the ribbon, before pulling the paper away. Inside is a thick, black leather-bound book, and a silver pen. He opens the book to find it is lined, but empty of words. He looks down at her and lifts his eyebrows in an enquiry.

"It's a diary, Harry. I know you kept a diary while you were section head of Section D, and I presumed you wouldn't have kept a diary since you'd retired …..."

"You've presumed correctly, Ruth."

"So …... this is for you to write about your life now. I think your grandchildren would like to read it when they are grown up."

"You mean, after I'm gone?"

"Perhaps."

Harry puts the diary and pen on the small table beside his chair, and he reaches down with his hand, and lifts Ruth to her feet. "Thank you for that thoughtful gift, Ruth. I love it, and I promise to use it in the way it is intended." He lifts his other hand, and places it on her cheek, drawing her face down level with his own. All the time, he'd been wondering whether it would be too forward of him to kiss her. He need not have worried. Ruth leans towards him, and very gently places her lips on his. The kiss lasts for several seconds, neither wanting it to end, nor wanting to push the other too far too soon.

Ruth draws away first, her eyes bright, as though seeing him for the first time.

"I'll call a taxi," she says, standing up and away from him a little.

"Do you have to?"

"Yes. I do. If I don't go now, I won't want to. I have to go to Cheltenham tomorrow. I've decided to sell my mother's house."