Twelve:
Bumps in the Road

Portia mumbled in her sleep and snuggled up closer to Harry. They had been in the air for a damn sight too long. First had been the almost seven hour flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta, then an overnight layover, and now, they were about an hour from Heathrow. The poor girl was absolutely exhausted, and she didn't want to eat anything on the plane – so he was glad he'd made her eat a big breakfast before they'd boarded.

He'd sent Ruth several emails, talking about how well Portia was behaving – purposefully not telling her about the almost tantrum-like refusal of food. There was no need to make her worry when, as soon as they were on the ground, she would likely be begging for dinner. He'd already emailed Malcolm and told him that they would likely need to stop off somewhere along the way for a bite.

He would never tell Ruth, but behind the bravado of accepting Portia as his and acting accordingly, he was absolutely terrified that he was going to do something wrong and screw the little girl up like he had Catherine and Graham. Which was why, when she'd refused the food, he'd gone into full-on worried father mode. Eventually, he'd realized that she was just nervous of eating things on planes because she got motion sickness sometimes, and had relaxed.

"Attention, passengers, we're beginning our final descent into Heathrow – please check your seatbelts and ensure that all seatbacks and tray tables are in their upright and locked positions," the pilot announced. "At this time, all electronic devices must be turned off for landing."

Harry immediately powered down his tablet, wishing that they would stop lying to the people about electronic interference. He was one of the few people who knew exactly why devices were powered down – and it had nothing to do with that. He gently nudged Portia. "Portia, love, wake up," he murmured. "We're almost there."

Portia stirred sleepily, then jerked awake. "Are we there?" she mumbled.

"Almost – do you want to watch out the window?"

"Yes, please," she said sleepily.

By the time they'd landed, she was asleep again. "Sweetheart, you'd better wake up," Harry warned, "because I'm not strong enough to carry you to the car."

"I'm 'wake," she said, getting her bag from her father's grasp. They were very nearly the last ones on the plane, since it had taken so much time to wake her up. As they deplaned, she hugged one of the flight attendants – the one that had snuck her some chocolate buttons – and said thank you.

"You and your grandpa have fun," the stewardess said cheerfully.

Harry glowered at her. "I'm her father," he said in a firm but droll tone. "Come, now, Portia, we must go get our bags and go through Passport Control, then we can meet Malcolm and get you some dinner."

"Can I get a hamburger?" Portia asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of fish and chips –"

"Why would anybody eat chips with fish?" Portia asked, clearly horrified.

"Chips are what you call fries, love," Harry said gently. "So it's fried fish and French fries – and usually mushy peas."

"Peas aren't supposed to be mushy unless they're baby food," Portia said. "Dad, I don't think I'm going to like it here."

Harry sighed. "Portia, can you do me one favor?" She nodded. "Will you try the food before you ask me to swing round McDonald's, please? I think you'll enjoy it, and if you don't, we'll stop for a burger."

"Okay," she said very quietly.

"Your mum enjoys a good fish and chip," he said. "We went once, together, to a little chippy near her house. We weren't seeing one another at the time, just… just work. But it was lovely."

"I miss mom," Portia whispered. "How soon till she comes?"

"I'm afraid she won't be here until next Friday, love."

"Oh. Can I call her?"

"When we get to the car," Harry promised.

Portia sighed and leaned into him, smothering a yawn.

Malcolm was waiting for them when they got through Passport Control. "Harry, good to see you so well-rested!" he exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand.

Harry glanced around, noticing that his shadow wasn't with him. "Portia?" he cried. "Po-"

"Sorry, daddy, I couldn't keep up with you," Portia exhaled, catching up and peering shyly around him at Malcolm.

Malcolm looked at the little girl, then at Harry, with some confusion. "Who's this, then?" he asked.

"Malcolm, this is my daughter, Portia," Harry said gently. "Portia, this is Malcolm – he's a good friend of mine… and of your mum's, as well."

Upon being told that, Portia looked up at him skeptically. "Mom doesn't have friends except for Joe and Cate," she said.

"Uh, Harry, who is her mum?" Malcolm inquired.

"Our mutual friend who went traveling," Harry said. "She was carrying a very sensitive package with her," he added.

Melcolm's eyes widened with delight. "You found her? How? Did you – is she – is she all right?"

"Yes, Janet is quite all right," Harry said pointedly. "I'll tell you more after we get home. Portia, love, Malcolm worked with your mum and me. He's a good man –"

Portia looked Malcolm up and down, then said, "Can I call my mom in the car, Mr. Malcolm?"

"Of course, Portia," Malcolm said with a smile. "I'm sure your mum would love to hear from you after your long day traveling."

"Come on, love," Harry said gently. "Let's go." Portia nodded and looked up at him questioningly. "What, sweetheart?"

"Does mom know Mr. Malcolm is picking us up?" she asked.

"No, that's a surprise you can tell her," Harry said with a smile. "It will surprise her even more if you call him Uncle Malcolm."

"That would surprise me, as well," Malcolm commented wryly.

"Were you surprised when you met me the first time, dad?" Portia asked.

"No, I wasn't," Harry said, "because I didn't know who you were. I just thought that you seemed to be a very sad little girl."

"I was sad because I didn't have a dad, but I've got one now, so I'm happy," she said, squeezing his hand.

Malcolm took this in with interest. "You didn't know, then?"

Harry shook his head and said, "Not in front of Portia, Malcolm. Little ears, big mouths."

"Daddy, Uncle Malcolm, I'm hungry," Portia whined.

"Then you'd better walk faster," Harry said gently, "because neither of us can carry you, love. We're hurrying as fast as we can." He didn't add that he was carrying half their luggage and Malcolm was encumbered with the other half; Portia didn't really understand that getting older meant you got weaker and slower.

Nearly half an hour later, they were all tucked away in Malcolm's car and headed to a chip shop to get some food. Portia nodded off in the car again, lulled by the traffic and the motion of the car. Malcolm took this as his chance. "Did you know she was pregnant when she left, Harry?" he asked, glancing at Harry in the back seat. (They'd both agreed to putting Portia in the front because of her motion sickness.)

"No," Harry sighed. "I never would have allowed her to go had I known."

"How did you find her?"

"I didn't, really – I went to visit Catherine and the girls, and it turned out that she lives next door," Harry said with a sigh. "Of all the stupid, coincidental things… she's Catherine's bloody best friend. She held Catherine and the girls through all the bullshit when Stephen died. I had no idea, Malcolm. No clue." He exhaled and said, "I wanted to be angry with her, but I can't be. I love her too much. And it's pointless, now, anyway – we're wedded and bedded and we've got Portia to look after."

"You weren't even gone for two full weeks," Malcolm said.

"Not wasting any more time," Harry replied quietly, looking out the window. "She had ovarian cancer, last year, same time Stephen was dying from bone cancer. She's clear; he died. How is that fair, Malcolm? Any of it."

"Life isn't fair," Malcolm said. "You and I know that better than most, I think." He pulled into a car park and said, "Okay, fish and chips, as requested."

Portia jerked awake. "Dad!"

"Careful, love," Harry soothed gently. "I'm right here."

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around.

"We're at a chip shop just down the road from home," Harry said. "Are you still hungry?"

She nodded and yawned. "I didn't call mom –"

"I think your mom will forgive you not calling till after supper," he said with a smile. "I'm meant to be looking after you, remember? That means eating, too."

As it turned out, his fears about her not eating were demolished as quickly as her portion of fish and chips was. She even liked the peas! Harry was incredibly relieved, and Malcolm just watched them both interacting with interest.

"She's very like you," Malcolm commented at one point.

Harry shrugged. "Then I must be like my mum, because Portia reminds me of her."

Portia finished her supper and said, "Dad, can I call mom now?"

Harry pulled out his phone and held it up. "Will you be careful with my phone?" he asked.

She nodded and said, "I just want to call mom and tell her I love her and I miss her so much."

He placed the call, then waited patiently.

"Janet Pearce," came the firm answer.

"Hello, my love," Harry said. "Are you free?"

"No, but – you're all right? You and Portia?" Ruth asked softly.

"Yes, we've landed and our daughter's had her first taste of haute British cuisine –"

"Oh, god, I miss fish and chips so badly," Ruth sighed. "But not as much as I miss the two of you – can I talk to her? Please?"

Harry smiled and passed the phone to Portia. "Your mum wants to talk to you, too," he said.

"Mom, oh my gosh, we flew over the ocean!" Portia began. What ensued was lively, excited chattering back and forth.

Malcolm leaned over and said, "Harry, when will she be coming?"

"Soon," Harry said quietly. "She's traveling between offices as part of her new job. She'll be in London soon, and then will go to Paris and Berlin afterward. She's going to Sydney from New York in the morning."

"What kind of work is she doing?"

"Nothing to do with our old jobs," Harry said cautiously. "She works for a television network."

"That doesn't much sound like the R-Janet… the Janet we know."

Harry shook his head. "She's had more than her share of difficulty, Malcolm. Both in outrunning Mace and in raising Portia alone. I can't fault her for taking what was offered." He paused. "At least she's working for a decent person – remember Joe Gregory?"

"Bloody hell, she works for him? Good on her!" Malcolm cried.

"Mom, guess who picked us up at the airport? You'll never guess," Portia said. "It's your friend Malcolm!" Portia paused, then handed the phone back to Harry. "She wants to talk to you, dad. I think you're in trouble."

Harry sighed and took the phone. "Hello," he said in a cautious tone.

"What have you told him?" Ruth demanded. "How much does he know?"

"He won't betray the confidence," Harry said firmly. "You let me handle things here and you handle yourself. All right?"

"No – no, it's not all right and you will not stonewall my concerns, Harry," she snapped. "How dare you just out me to him? Is he still at… you know?"

"Retired," Harry said.

"It's not all right," she repeated. "If something happens to Portia because someone opens their bloody big mouth, I will never forgive you – not ever. Do you understand me, Harry Pearce? Do you bloody understand me?"

"Nothing is going to happen," Harry said, his voice low and, despite himself, full of anger. "So calm your bloody tits already."

"Don't speak to me like that," she hissed.

He grunted and said, "Fine. I'm going to take our daughter home and feed her chocolate buttons until she throws up. Does that make you happy?" He hung up and scowled at the phone. "Bloody woman."

Portia was looking at him with tears in her eyes. "Are you in big trouble, dad? Is mom going to come and take me away?"

"No," Harry said, taking a deep breath and trying to reassure himself that Ruth was only reacting badly because she'd been blindsided. Once she'd had a chance to think about it, everything would right itself again, but until then, she was likely to be hostile. "No, she's not going to come and take you away," he promised. "She's just cross I didn't tell her that Malcolm would be picking us up."

Portia sniffled and said, "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, daddy –"

"No, don't blame yourself," Harry sighed. "Come on – let's get you home and into a hot bath and off to bed, okay? It's been a really long day, hasn't it?"

"I don't want mom to be mad at you because of me," Portia said, frowning.

"You don't even worry about it," Harry said. "Come on. Ready, Malcolm?"

Another five minutes and they were lugging luggage into the townhouse. It was lovely, in a good neighborhood – expensive, posh – and Portia's eyes lit up. "You live here?" she asked.

"I do," Harry said with a smile, glad that someone was impressed at least. "It was my grandparents' house here in London, when my grandmum served at Court and my grandfather was working in the House of Lords."

"I don't know what that means," Portia said. "Is it important?"

Harry smiled and gave her a kiss before he set the bags down. "Yes, it rather is," he said softly. "My father is an Earl; when he dies, I'll be saddled with all of that baggage. And when I die, your bloody brother will get it all – nosy bugger that he is, listening in from the doorway there." He glanced at Graham. "I see you didn't burn it down in my absence."

"I had to call in a plumber to deal with the leak in the kitchen," Graham said. "Other than that, everything's just as you left it. The dog missed you. She's out in the garden – want me to let her in?"

"You have a dog?" Portia said. "I love dogs! Mom said we couldn't have one – or a cat. Will you bring your dog to California next time, daddy?"

Graham looked at Harry, a sneer on his lips. "So… what's all this, then? Another one of your mistakes, dad?"

"Let Duchess in," Harry said firmly, "and we will discuss this later. Where is Sarah?"

"She's not home from work yet," Graham said.

"Okay, well, I'll save the story for when she gets here, so I don't have to bloody repeat myself."

Graham went to the back door and let a little smooth-haired terrier mix inside. The little dog bounded right up to Portia and began licking her eagerly. "Oh, hi," Portia giggled. "You like to give kisses – you're such a pretty puppy, aren't you?"

"Duchess, get down," Harry instructed gruffly. The dog immediately dropped to the floor and slinked over to him, looking guilty. "Good girl," he praised, crouching down and giving her some attention. "No more jumping on Portia, okay?"

Portia smiled at Graham and said, "You must be my brother – right? Graham?"

"Yes," he said. "And you are?"

"My name is Portia Williams."

"Portia, let me take you upstairs and get you settled," Harry said gently. "You can talk to Graham tomorrow, after I've spoken to him."

Portia sighed and got her backpack. "Okay," she agreed quietly. "Good night, Uncle Malcolm."

Harry took her upstairs to the guest room – it was sparing, just a single bed and a bit of a dresser – and got her tucked in and ready for bed. "You can keep the light on and read a while, if you'd like," he invited. "I love you, Portia."

"I love you, too, daddy," she said. "I'm sorry I made mommy yell at you. I am. I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't," he said. "It will be all right soon, I promise." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and retreated downstairs to face his doom.

END PART TWELVE