Five:
Confusing Clarity

Harry was keenly aware of his daughters' recriminating stares. Portia was glaring at him, her face getting redder and redder, tears welling in her eyes. Catherine was just staring at him in utter, complete disbelief, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. His grandchildren… well, Charlie was trying to comfort Portia, and Gracie was just smiling a little smile. (He should have known that of all four of them, Gracie would be the one that would be happy for him for no reason at all.)

His heart was soaring in his chest, though, because despite everything… the ill-timing, the jumping before looking, the announcing… Ruth had said yes. He had proposed marriage, and she had said yes. They were finally on their way to something bloody amazing, and he wasn't about to let a little good old-fashioned familial disapproval to get in their way of being happy together. Not now, not after everything.

They were still holding hands, her fingers repeating Y-E-S over and over again, but now it was a nervous tick, not an affirmative to his question.

Finally, Portia spoke, her voice thick with tears that she was trying not to shed. "How could you?" she choked out in a tone Harry had only ever heard once before; an echo of Ruth in a hallway so many years ago, after she'd talked Angela Wells out of the room, after she'd saved them all by selling her soul. It was a tone of absolute betrayal and unspeakable pain; he immediately felt so guilty that he'd caused it. "You are a liar," she accused furiously, pointing at her mother. "A LIAR. I hate you. I HATE YOU."

"Portia –"

"You love my dad so much, but you're going to marry HIM?" the tiny fireball shrieked, finally unleashing all of her anger and pain on the world. "HOW COULD YOU?"

He could see Ruth warring with herself for the longest moment about telling the truth, and then the scales tipped and she closed herself off from him, not saying a word. Harry took a deep breath and he knew that this was the moment where they were either forged in fire or broken completely. "Portia, I am your dad," Harry said quietly. "I am. I know I'm not what you expected your father to be –"

Ruth's grip tightened and she looked over at him in panic. He ignored it and waited for a reaction.

"What?" It was clear that Portia wasn't expecting that; neither was Catherine – she looked honestly like she'd been slapped in the face.

"I… I'm your father, Portia," Harry repeated. "And I love you and your mum very much. I know your mum never meant to hurt you by not telling you this; she was only trying to protect you."

"Don't defend her," Portia spat.

"I'm not," Harry said. "Believe me, if there was any way I could change how we've handled things, I would. But I can't; I'm only human, after all. And so is your mother. None of this changes how we feel about each other, nor does it change how we feel about you, Portia."

"How do you feel about me?" the little girl asked, some of the pinkness starting to die in her cheeks.

Harry paused; honestly… he didn't know for sure how he felt, aside from feeling a deep, abiding admiration and love for her because she was his. Well, strictly speaking, it was because she was Ruth's, but the idea of making such a strong, adaptable and sweet child with the woman he loved instilled him with a sense of pride. "I love you," he said, hoping it was enough. "And I'm sorry I haven't been here with you."

It was enough; Portia dissolved into tears and rushed into Ruth's arms, sobbing. "I don't hate you – I was so mad because what if my dad came and you were married to him and –"

Ruth just held her, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear.

Catherine took the few steps to reach him and she punched him hard in the shoulder. "You bastard," she hissed. "Why didn't you bloody tell me?"

"It's complicated," Harry sighed, wincing; of course, she'd chosen to hit him on the bad shoulder. "I'm sorry, Catherine –"

"No, you tell me the truth, don't just fob me off," Catherine hissed. "Now."

He watched Ruth comfort their daughter, and felt an overwhelming sense of love overcome him; it was stronger than anything else he'd ever felt, except when Catherine and Graham had been first placed in his arms. "Her name isn't Janet," he whispered. "It's Ruth."

Catherine gaped at him. "The woman that did your head in is my… my best bloody friend?"

"She didn't do my head in," Harry sighed. "She did something so brave and admirable, going into exile. It's been hard for her; so difficult. But we're together now, and we're going to make it work. I love her, Catherine, and she loves me."

"Love – love isn't everything," Catherine said very softly. "What happens when –"

"We'll work through it."

"Does this mean Cate is my sister?" Portia broke in, directing the question to Harry.

"Yes," Harry replied softly. "Cate is your sister; you have a brother, too, named Graham."

"Do I have to call her Aunt Portia?" Charlie whined, pouting. "It's not fair; I'm older than she is!"

"No, you can just call her Portia," Ruth finally spoke. "Just like you always have done." She looked up at Catherine and sighed. "We'll… we'll talk later tonight. I'll explain everything, Cate. I'm so sorry I –"

"Mommy," Gracie piped up, "can we go see the animals now?"

Catherine decided to put a pause on the conversation; she got their Zoo passes all together and handed them over to each girl with a smile. "Yes, let's go see the animals," she said with enthusiasm that might have been just a bit false.

Harry hated that all of their hurts centered on him; he'd spent his life fucking things up, and now he was having to deal with the fallout.

Once Ruth knew the girls were all in Portia's room, watching movies, eating pizza and playing games, she joined Harry and Catherine in the kitchen. She set out the second pizza and invited them to take as they would; then she went to get the wineglasses and the bottle of 1997 vintage Shiraz she'd been saving for a rainy day. What the hell, right? She was an engaged woman – she might as well celebrate a bit with her fiancé before the light of day hit them again and made everything so black and white.

"Pizza and wine?" Harry asked.

"Better that than tequila," Catherine replied. "Though I'm sure we could bring that, too."

Ruth sighed and said, "I thought we could act like civilized adults and talk."

"Oh, yeah, you first," Catherine replied, taking a glass of wine. "Because I want to hear all about how you and my father –"

"Catherine!" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

Ruth sighed and sipped her wine, settling in at the table. "How much did he tell you?" she asked softly.

"Just that he met a woman named Ruth at work and fell in love with her… but she died. He mourned you," Catherine said, sharply. "He did – it was so hard for him –"

"I am sitting here, you know," Harry muttered.

"I didn't die," Ruth murmured, "but Harry had to be seen mourning me and breaking down or no one would believe that it was my body that was fished out of the Thames." She frowned and licked her lips a bit before she said, "But nevermind that. I wandered Europe, hiding and running, till I found out I was pregnant with Portia. Then I changed passports and identities for the last time and came to the States. I was in Milan when I found out… and I sent Harry a postcard through political backchannels, making sure they took their bloody time passing it on, so when he got it, I was long gone."

"Why would you do that?" Catherine asked.

"I wanted him to know I was all right," Ruth said. "And that I still loved him. But I had to protect him, and Portia. I had no thoughts of protecting myself at the time; just them." She looked down into her wineglass. "Besides, I thought I was atoning for some sin or another I committed. I didn't realize I was punishing myself for nothing."

"But you just kept running?"

"Eventually, I landed in LA, broke as a joke. My car caught fire on the freeway and we were basically homeless," Ruth sighed. "I got a job, ground-floor, researching for the Hewitt-Ross PR firm, and got called up for a meeting when one of my little notes paid off." She smiled just a little. "Now I'm about to make partner in the firm, and I don't feel like such a failure."

"You aren't a failure," Harry said sharply. "You never have been."

"Oh, come on," Ruth said with a sad smile. "Homeless with a small child? That's pretty much rock bottom." She swirled her wine in her glass. "So I have no delusions of grandeur, really. I just know I'm bloody good at my job and some days, I think I might be a good mother."

Catherine was frowning. "So you're just going to marry him, then? After you've known each other again for… what… twenty-four hours?"

Ruth hesitated a moment, then looked over at Harry and smiled. "I'd've agreed to marry him after five minutes," she admitted very quietly. "The only reason I shut you out last night was because I was scared. And Portia really needed to be at her clarinet practice."

Catherine seemed to accept that, and began eating a piece of pizza with a thoughtful expression on her face. "So, what do I call you now?" she finally asked.

Harry huffed and set his pizza crust aside. "Catherine!"

"Well, no, I've always known you as Janet, and so do the girls… it might be confusing to switch things up now."

"Then don't," Ruth said. "I may never be Ruth Evershed again; it's all right. I'm okay with being Janet Williams." She abandoned her wine for a moment to hold Harry's hand. "Eventually, Janet Pearce."

Harry blushed a little and looked into the bottom of his wineglass, away from his daughter. "So, ah – my sleeping arrangements might need to be changed a bit," he said sheepishly. "I'd really like to stay here."

Both Catherine and Ruth stared at him. Finally, Ruth said, "Yes, but you're here to see your family –"

"My family is right next door," Harry pointed out. "It's not like I'm offing to a hotel and demanding you hold court there, Ruth." He reached over and took her hand in his. "I'd like to spend what time I can with you before I have to go back to London."

"Yeah," she said quietly. She didn't want to upset the apple cart anymore than she already had. Catherine was having issues with this; it was plain to see. Ruth was having issues with all of it. Harry seemed to be the only one who was not having issues; he was just pushing merrily along and desperately grasping at straws.

Catherine finally said, "Well… she'll need a ring, at any rate, or Iain Lewis will keep sniffing around and trying to pee on her leg like a dog. Not that I'm not a little… upset… about what's happening, but… You two deserve a bit of happiness. It's been a long time since either of you have been."

Harry looked a little flustered. "Ah, yes, a ring – I hadn't even thought of that yet."

Ruth smiled a little and said, "I don't need a ring; other people will expect it, though."

"You deserve a ring," Harry said. "A big, grandiose gesture of romantic love and –"

Her lip wrinkled and she made a face of distaste. "Please don't," she sighed. "Something simple will be fine. I don't care. It's other people who will."

"Yes, and your 'other people' will Google me and see that I'm a Knight of the Realm and expect better than a tiny diamond," Harry huffed, blustering a bit.

"Could you watch the girls in the morning?" Catherine asked. "Only I've got a showing at Harry Winston's for my Emmy loaner jewelry tomorrow and I can take Dad to look at rings, is all."

Ruth blanched. "Shit, the Emmys are Sunday, aren't they? Bloody hell. My dress is being picked up on Friday – I'm Joe Gregory's plus one."

"Joe Gregory?" Harry asked.

"President of INBC," Catherine said cheerfully. "International Broadcasting Corporation, dad – "

"I got him out of a scrape a couple of weeks ago involving one of their major reporters," Ruth said. "He invited me to the Emmys as his plus one. It's all very proper, Harry, I promise."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "As opposed to Iain Lewis – which, by the way, what the hell are you going to do about that festering turd, Janet?"

"I already kicked him to the curb," Ruth said dismissively. She glanced over at Harry, and sighed. "I might have been slightly overoptimistic about our chances of being together, Harry."

His smile grew and he squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you were. I don't like thinking about someone thinking they have a claim over you. Not that I do – you are definitely your own woman."

Ruth was about to say something, but the doorbell rang. She sighed and picked up her wineglass, taking it with her. There were only a few people it could be; all of them required more wine on her day off. She opened the door and blinked. "Iain. Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked. "I told you it's over. That means no more calls, no more texts, no more showing up on my doorstep because you want a quick shag."

He looked at the wine and leered at her. "Getting started for the night, then? I know how you get after a few glasses –"

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Iain, it's over. We weren't meant to be anything but a bit of a fling, okay? I'm done playing around with you, and yes, I'm feeling more than slightly guilty that your wife knows and is bloody okay with it. So it's done. I'm calling us – out of innings."

Iain Lewis was handsome; dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a bit rugged… a man's man with a pretty face and enough testosterone to sink a ship. He'd appealed to her, but now… the only person she wanted was sat in the kitchen, debating whether or not to have a second piece of pizza or follow his diet.

"What gives you the right to end it?" Iain asked, his brows drawing together. "We're just fine together, Jan – we fit well, we have fun and –"

"I'm getting married," she interjected. "And he's the only one I want, Iain. I'm sorry, but I'll repeat myself again: we – this thing we had between us is over. We are done, through, over, no more."

There was a moment where she thought he might be okay with it, but then he asked, "Is he here? Is that why you're doing this?"

"No, Iain, I'm doing this because we aren't going to be shagging or seeing one another again!" Ruth exploded. "The fact that my fiancé is sat in the kitchen eating dinner is neither here nor there!"

He pushed past her, upsetting her wineglass; it splattered all over the rug in the entry and she cursed her inability to prevent this, any of it. "Well, you know what? I think I should meet this man – so I can tell him what kind of a woman he's going to marry," Iain said.

She grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. "Iain, no – stop it," Ruth insisted. "Just stop it – I never thought you'd stoop to petty jealousy when I'm not even yours! Go home to your bloody wife and leave me in peace, please – just… stop it."

He shrugged her off and headed for the kitchen. She followed him, pissed off that he would not take no for an answer, and scared at what Harry might do.

Catherine's eyebrows rose. "Iain, I didn't know you were invited to our little celebration," she said sarcastically.

"Piss off, Cate," Iain shot back. He stared at Harry for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "You're what she's marrying? Is this a joke?"

"No," Ruth said firmly, "Iain, I've told you we're through – I've not answered any of your calls or texts, and you think you can just come round my place and insult my fiancé? Get out. Get out of my house. Get out of my life."

"Oh, please, Janet – even if I leave right now, you'll still have to deal with me at work. I'm your client, remember?" Iain snapped.

"I'll get them to transfer you to one of the partners' books," Ruth said firmly. "I mean it, Iain. We are finished."

Harry said, "This is the infamous Iain Lewis, then?" He snorted a bit.

"You're a downgrade, old man –"

"ENOUGH!" Ruth exploded. "Iain, get out of my house. Now. Before I call the police."

Iain paused, considering his options. "Fine," he said, his lip curling. "But I'm pulling my account from your firm as soon as I clear it with my agent. If the rest of them are as unprofessional as you are, Janet, I don't want them… touching… my image."

Ruth inclined her chin stubbornly and sneered back at him. "You do what you feel you must," she growled. "But if I ever catch you near my house or my family, you will be slapped with a restraining order and I'll sell the bloody story myself."

Iain pointed at Harry and said, "Just so you know, I practically had to pry her legs apart the first time. She's a bit on the icy side – takes a lot of persuasion and a hell of a lot of wine to get her to give it up, and she's not very good…"

Harry barked a laugh. "Ah, well, too bad you'll never know her real charms, then."

"Fuck you – you can have her," Iain spat, storming out.

Ruth just stood there till she heard the front door slam – hard enough to shake all the windows in the house. "So, ah, that's my ex," she joked lamely, fighting the urge to cry. It was just too much, though, and she croaked, "Excuse me," as she ran from the room.

She went to her bedroom and closed the door with a firm click. The bed was too big, too lonely, but she crawled up into it anyway, burrowing under the covers and curling into a tight ball. Only then did she allow the tears to escape.

Iain had humiliated her personally and now he was threatening her professionally – of course, she'd made a mistake in taking up with him in the first place, but it had been encouraged that she do what was necessary to secure his contractual agreement. Now, it was over and done and… and now she had to worry about losing Harry because her ex-lover was a prat.

She didn't expect the door to open, nor for strong, powerful arms to embrace her. Somehow, Harry's acceptance and love made it all that much worse.

"I love you," he whispered, holding her closer. "Catherine's gone home; she didn't want to upset you more."

"I'm not upset," Ruth lied, her breath hitching on a sob.

"Oh, hush and budge up," he murmured, curling around her and the blankets. "You don't have to lie to me. I understand. I wanted to punch the blighter in the face, but I respect you too much to hurt myself in a show of pride. What's important is that when he's gone, I'm here to pick up the pieces and help you move on."

"God, you're too good for me, Harry…" she whimpered. "And one of these days, you'll realize it."

He shook his head and sighed. "No," he said very softly. "I'm not, Ruth. I'm not a good man, despite what you think. I've done things… said things…"

"I don't care," she whispered.

"Good," he sighed. "Then we're equally matched. I don't care that you were shagging that fool. I just care that you'll be all right now you're not shagging that bloody fool."

Ruth sniffled and closed her eyes. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine."

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Harry murmured.

She sighed and burrowed even further under the covers.

END PART FIVE