The book is surprisingly good, he thinks as he lies back in the hammock reading. In fact, it's bloody brilliant, a wonderful mixture of comedy and drama twisted together into a robbery/murder mystery. "Nursery Rhyme Mysteries: Sing a Song of Sixpence," is the title of the book he's reading, the first, Malcolm said, in this series. He's already written four, he'd explained, and has outlined a fifth, planning to begin writing soon.
There are a few characters that Harry recognises, most notably himself, the detective, Albert Alexander, and his side kick, the charming Anthony Clarke, clearly Adam. Then there is the tall, slender forensics scientist who is quite obviously Colin Wells, and Anthony's wife, Phoebe Clarke, without a doubt Fiona Carter. Other than that, in this story, there's a young woman who reminds him of Jo, and then Johnny Marks, a man he's not likely to forget any time soon and who, in this novel, appears to be cast as the nemesis of the detective.
He's already half way through the book and is intrigued by the plot, an ingenious robbery and murder involving uncut diamonds cleverly concealed inside a pie, and of course, some unexpected twists and turns in the story as well as some interesting revelations about the main characters and their back stories. The detective, for instance, is relentless in his pursuit of criminals, and he's prepared to occasionally bend the law in order to capture them, if he's convinced of their guilt, because of a traumatic event in his past which has yet to be revealed, and Harry can't help thinking that it's going to be the loss of the woman he loves because he failed to act in time to protect her. Knowing that this character is very obviously based on himself, though there are some very important differences, he still can't make up his mind if he's happy that the fictional Harry is as miserable as the real one, or if he would prefer at least one of them to be happily married to the love of his life.
"Hello," says a melodious voice, interrupting his musings and causing him to look up sharply.
"Hi," he replies as his eyes fall on a woman in her late forties with long chestnut hair and the most brilliant, green eyes he's ever seen. Slowly he rises from the hammock as she approaches, feeling the familiar stirring in the pit of his belly at the sight of this beautiful woman. It's been a while since the last time he's felt it, and it takes him a little by surprise. It's gone almost instantaneously, however, as the memory of another woman rises to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly her brilliant, green eyes aren't blue enough and her chestnut hair too long and straight.
"I'm Jean," she smiles and extends her hand.
"Harry," he replies as he shakes it, unconsciously comparing her touch to that of another and finding it wanting.
"Is Malcolm here?" she asks.
"No, he's out," Harry replies, wondering who this woman is and how she knows his friend.
"Oh, well," she answers. "Would you tell him I called round? Tell him I've just arrived and that I'm expecting him."
"Of course," Harry replies. "Would you like to wait for him? I don't think he'll be long now."
"No," she shakes her head. "I need to unpack, and besides, I have guests." She glances down and spies the book he's holding. "Are you enjoying his book?"
"Yes, very much," Harry smiles.
"He's a good writer," she nods. "How do you know him?"
"We worked together for many years," he volunteers, surprising himself with his honesty.
She steps back a little and eyes him critically before smiling and saying, "You're Albert Alexander."
"Is it that obvious?" he chuckles.
"Only to a fellow writer," she laughs. "We tend to base our fictional characters on people we know well."
"Do you also write mysteries?" Harry asks, intrigued.
"No," she replies. "Romance. And if we get to know each other well enough, Harry, I might base my next hero on you."
"Oh, I don't know, Jean," he smiles. "I think I'd be better suited to the role of a villain."
"We'll see," she replies and waves as she walks back round the corner of the house and out of sight.
He stands there for some moments still smiling as he thinks over their exchange. It's been a while since any woman has talked to him, let alone flirted with him, and it feels good. Perhaps all is not lost after all.
"Jean," he calls, pulling the car to the edge of the dirt track and getting out. "How are you? It's lovely to see you."
"Hello, Malcolm," she smiles and embraces him. "I've just been to call on you. I met Harry. You didn't tell me you'd be bringing company."
"It was a last minute arrangement," he explains apologetically. "He needed a little break from work, so I invited him here and I knew that, if I told you, you'd pounce on him and he'd never get the break I promised."
"Is that any way to describe a friend, Malcolm?" she replies in mock offence. "Me? Pounce?"
"You know I mean it in the nicest way possible, Jean," he says with a blush, feeling uncomfortable despite the fact that he knows she's only teasing. "He needed time to himself and would have resented your interference, however well meant."
"Well," she smiles, "I promise to behave myself and leave the man in peace. Besides I have a guest of my own so it shouldn't be too difficult. She's a librarian that I met on one of my book tours a couple of years ago now. She's very knowledgeable and great fun, and we've become good friends. Anyway, I've invited her here to stay with her stepson. You'll like her. Hang on, there he is now."
Malcolm turns and sees a tall, dark haired boy coming towards them on a bicycle. As he moves nearer and he can make out his face more clearly, it strikes Malcolm that he knows this child, but he can't for the life of him remember from where. The boy skids to a halt a couple of yards away and jumps off the bike, saying, "Hello, Ms. Thomas. I'm just riding down to the beach."
"Yes, of course, Nico," Jean smiles and turns to Malcolm to introduce him. As soon as she sees his face, however, she exclaims, "Malcolm, are you all right?"
"What?" he says, recovering with difficulty from the shock of seeing Ruth's step son again. "Fine, I'm fine. It's just that Nico and I are old friends."
"You're the man with the story about the dog!" Nico exclaims, and lowering his bike to the ground, he comes forward. "You saved my life."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Malcolm blushes.
"You did," he insists. "Ruth said so, and I remember the man with the gun. I didn't know what was going on at the time, but Ruth's explained it since. Thank you, Sir."
"Malcolm, please," he smiles. "How is Ruth?" he asks before he suddenly remembers Harry and his face blanches.
"She's well," Nico replies without noticing his discomfort. "We're staying at Ms. Thomas's house for the Easter holidays. She'd be very please to see you if you drop by."
"I will, Nico," he smiles, "but don't let us keep you from your swim."
Nico grins and gets back on his bike, disappearing swiftly down the dirt track towards the beach as he calls out a goodbye. As soon as he's gone, Malcolm turns to Jean quickly and asks urgently, "Is it just the two of them at your house?"
"Yes," she frowns. "Why?"
He hesitates for a moment, but as his thoughts turn towards his friend back at the house, he forces himself to go on. "Is Ruth... with someone?"
"No," Jean replies. "She's just broken up with her boyfriend. It's part of the reason I asked her to visit. Why?"
Malcolm sighs in relief and smiles slightly. Perhaps this is what they both need.
"You and she..." Jean begins but tails off.
Malcolm turns towards her, and seeing the pain in her eyes, he blushes and shakes his head emphatically, saying, "No. It's Ruth and Harry... We used to work together, Ruth, Harry, and I. Ruth and Harry fell in love, and when Ruth left... Harry slowly fell to pieces. He's never recovered from her loss really, and I just wanted to make sure that, if they bump into each other-"
"He won't be hurt further by the appearance of another man," she finishes for him with a smile.
Malcolm nods and a silence descends over them for a few moments until it's broken by Jean, saying, "You know, we could play Cupid, Malcolm."
"Oh, no, Jean," he objects. "Not with those two. Trust me, complicated doesn't even begin to describe it. I'll just tell each of them where the other is and they can sort it out on their own."
"You know them best," Jean agrees. "Come home with me now."
"Thank you," he nods. "I will." He turns towards the car, blushing at the images her words bring to the forefront of his mind. He's well aware of the attraction he feels for Jean and is pretty confident now, after knowing her for three years, that she's also interested in him as more than a friend. However, he has very little confidence in his abilities in this area, so he shies away from making any kind of advances towards her. He opens the car door for her and watches her jump in. She's so energetic and confident; how would he ever keep up?
"Thank you, Malcolm," she smiles as she gets in his car.
He nods and closes the door for her before walking round the vehicle and getting in. Then he turns around and drives back to Jean's place. He parks the car and follows her into the house as she calls out, "Ruth, where are you? I have a surprise for you."
Moments later, Ruth appears from outside saying, "Jean, this place is spectacular. I've never..." She tails off as she spots Malcolm standing by Jean's side with a warm smile on his face. "Malcolm," she whispers in amazement before she smiles broadly and rushes up to embrace him. "Oh, Malcolm. It's so wonderful to see you."
"Hello, Ruth," he murmurs. "I never thought I'd see you again."
"Neither did I," she replies as she pulls back and wipes at her eyes quickly, brushing away the tears that have gathered there. "How are you? What are you doing here?"
"Malcolm's my neighbour," Jean smiles, "and a fellow author."
"Really?" she replies. "What kind of books? What's your latest one called?"
"Jack and Jill," Jean answers quickly.
"Oh, you're Mallory Fortuna!" Ruth exclaims. "I love your books. They're hilarious. And your pen name, Malcolm! Unlucky fortune! You know I've always wanted to meet you. I never guessed that it was you! And you write the characters so intricately. They're really well developed."
Malcolm blushes at her enthusiasm and praise while Jean rolls her eyes in mock irritation and excuses herself to get them all some lemonade.
"I can feel my head swelling as you speak, Ruth," he murmurs eventually in an attempt to put a stop to her praise which is embarrassing him.
"Nonsense, Malcolm," she smiles. "You deserve every bit of praise I'm dishing out. You're a wonderful writer. I bet every woman in the world's in love with the detective. I know I am; he's..." She stops herself and her eyes widen in realization as she adds in a whisper, "It's Harry, isn't it? You've based him on Harry."
Malcolm has to clear his throat before he can reply. "Yes," he murmurs as he looks down at his feet.
Ruth is silent for some moments before she asks, "How is he, Malcolm?"
Her words transport him back to another time and place, and he feels a stab of pain at the recollection. "He's surviving," he says eventually. "He almost burnt out a month ago, Ruth, and he had to take leave of absence. I offered him a place to stay for a couple of months. He's here, at my place, just down the road." He watches her eyes widen in astonishment, and he detects a momentary flicker of pleasure in them before it's replaced by wariness. "He doesn't know you're here yet, but I plan on telling him later. I don't know if it will do him good to see you, Ruth, but I know he'll want to. He... thinks of you often." He isn't normally this forthright and it's costing him a lot to tell her this, but knowing how fragile Harry is right now, he feels a need to protect him as much as possible.
"Has he...?" she asks and stops, unable to finish her question.
"No," he shakes his head. "There's no one else."
"Never?" she murmurs in amazement.
"I believe so," he replies and he can see that it pains her that this is the case. He supposes it must be hard to be loved by a man who has remained so faithful to your memory when you have not been to his. "It's different for him, Ruth. You know that," he adds in an attempt to comfort her. "He works practically twenty-four-seven. How many opportunities did you have to meet someone back in London in our job?"
She nods and smiles gratefully at him as Jean walks back into the room with their drinks. "Let's take these outside, shall we? It's such a lovely day," she says and they both follow her out into the sunshine.