The train rattled onwards to the North leaving London behind. A uniformed waiter arrived with cake and tea in proper cups and they chose their lunch.
"Have you travelled first class before?" Dempsey asked, looking delighted by the goodies on the table.
"No! My family wasn't the rich sort." Harry explained with a smile and told him about the leaky roofs of Winfield Hall and how her father was opening a tea room to help fund the repairs. They agreed that this was a novelty for them both.
When the sun shone through the window of the compartment, Dempsey leaned over to draw the blind. She flinched as he got within her space and hoped he hadn't noticed. Of course he had.
"How tactile are you?" He held out his palm with long pianist fingers and neat nails. She swallowed, placing her fingers on his; they looked tiny against his own.
"Not much, my family aren't terribly so. But, I need to get past it if we're to survive this week and be convincing." Harry couldn't recall the last time she'd held hands with anyone, and nobody who was so disarming as this man.
"I'll follow your lead," Dempsey squeezed her hand, lifted up her palm and placed a kiss to it. Her stomach dipped.
"I suppose you can hold my hand, and put your arms around me as we need to," she tailed off, her thoughts spinning.
"Why don't you tell me something about yourself and I'll do the same?" Dempsey suggested as if he could read her mind. In some ways she wished he could, it might save the sorry tale of her short marriage.
"Okay," she leaned back into her set and told him about her three sisters, skipped as quickly as she could past her mother's death. He didn't interrupt with platitudes about his sorrow for which she was grateful but offered a kind look. Harry finished with explaining how she liked working at the museum.
"That's it, I suppose. I wanted to be in the police force but ended up in the museum. I work long hours and wish I didn't."
"And you've recently become engaged to a devoted fiancee," he added with a grin that lit up his face.
"How did we meet?" Harry looked at their entwined fingers suddenly enjoying the subterfuge.
"I'm gonna digress a little…" He paused to rummage around in the inside of his jacket, and pulled out a box. "Did you have a ring?"
She shook her head, "I confess I sold the ones from my marriage, I couldn't bear to keep them so I thought we could tell Arlington we'd not found one that we liked?"
He carefully opened the box and handed her a ring. "I.. well I never gave it to anyone officially but if we stick to the truth it'll help. It belonged to my grandmother."
The ring was gold with an emerald flanked by diamonds. Delicate and aged, it was breathtaking. "Dempsey, I can't possibly…"
He took it from her and gently tried it on her finger, it slipped on just perfectly. "Stick as close as we can to the truth," he repeated.
"What do we say about your occupation?" Harry felt doubtful.
"The truth." He shrugged when she raised her eyebrows, "I was born in Brooklyn and I got into trouble with gangs, doing drug runs. One day I got into a fight and my mom found out and I promised I'd stop. I ended up at Harvard and got into NYPD. I wound up over here and work as a detective. I met you at the museum when I was sight seeing and you distracted me from all the exhibits and we had a coffee."
"Your family must be very proud of you," Harry commented and for the first time, Dempsey seemed to close up.
"They are; I guess. We get by."
She didn't pry, he'd say if he wanted to. "What was your degree?"
"Law."
"I wasn't expecting…" Harry looked properly at him, he was full of surprises. The ring sat neatly on her finger. She bit her lip, worried she might insult him.
"We're a full service agency," Dempsey said, his gaze meeting hers and she blushed. "If Arlington tried anything immoral, I'll know about it."
Just then the guard arrived to take their tickets and the moment was lost.
They were first off the train at Inverness, both grateful for the solidity of the platform beneath their feet after the long journey. Outside as rain softly fell, Harry spotted a black car and a uniformed driver holding a sign bearing her name.
Beside her, Dempsey squeeze her hand to get her attention, and bent his head close to hers in a low, intimate move; "Looks like we're on."
As they crossed the forecourt, Harry became very aware that her fake fiancee was turning out to be a lot more compelling and attentive than the real one she had long since left behind. It was rather something to be the focus of Dempsey's spotlight and briefly, despite all her concerns about the days to come, she was dreading saying goodbye to him.