Harry
She's crying and I feel terrible for shouting at her. Admittedly my proposal was not my finest hour and when my pride isn't getting in the way, I don't blame her for saying no. It was the wrong time and place and I did make a mess of it. But the memory of it still hurts me. She moves her hand to wipe her eyes, clearly embarrassed by crying in front of me.
"Sorry," she says, not looking at me and I feel the honesty between us tonight begin to waver as she closes herself to me. "I don't mean to cry in front of you, I just…"
"Ruth, it's fine," I say. I miss the loss of connection that holding her hand gave me and I sit down opposite her, taking a deep drink from my wine glass. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for how I proposed," I say honestly. "I should never have done that, and certainly not in those circumstances. I am sorry."
She shakes her head, but looking at the table and not at me. "Please look at me, Ruth," I say. "I need to know how you're feeling and I can't do that when you're staring at the table." She lifts her head and her eyes are still damp. I feel guilty. I knew Elena would be hurting her as a ghost from my past, but I assumed that she knew exactly how I felt. That no one could possibly replace her, and that when she had to leave I didn't manage a single day over those three years without thinking about her. Without hoping and praying that she was somewhere safe.
"Did you ever love her?" Ruth asks.
"No," I tell her. "That's what makes me feel so guilty. All those years ago, I was just using her. To get information, to have her spying for five, and I never really felt anything for her. I shouldn't have done that."
"Why did you cheat on your wife?" she asks, probing more painful memories that I didn't realise still hurt me. "I know it's not any of my business, but I want to know."
I wonder if she'd be asking this, had she had no alcohol tonight. "I didn't love my wife. She was back home and I was young enough and stupid enough to believe that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her." I pause before continuing, looking at her beautiful blue eyes, eyes I want to see sparkle with joy one day, not the sadness that seems to be permanently on her face these days. I didn't know how much value I would one day place on her smile. "I'm not that man any more. I haven't been for a long time."
"Okay," she says.
"While we're here, being open and honest, I want to ask you something." She nods and I continue, my heart beating rather hard in my chest as I mention a subject which I've avoided as much as I can for two years. "Do you still blame me for George?"
"No," she says without even pausing to think of it. "I blamed you when I first came back to London because it was a lot easier than placing the blame with myself. I should never have allowed myself to become involved with someone else. I knew that one day my old life could come to claim me, and it was so unfair to involve him in that. Or anyone."
"Did you love him?" I know I'm treading on dangerous ground but I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to talk about him like this, without her changing the subject. Or if I'll be brave enough to contemplate hearing an answer I don't want to accept.
"Not the way I…" her eyes flick to my face, intense and open before she looks away and I hope she was going to say "not the way I love you." But maybe that's too optimistic. "No. It was… different. I liked having a family and a home. That's what I enjoyed with George. Having a place I belonged, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as you and me."
I decide I'm going to push her, though I'm well aware it's dangerous. "And what is you and me?"
"My heart aches for you," she says, her face going red and her eyes darting around the room, anywhere but on me. I'm so grateful she's said that, because it gives me some idea of where we stand, that there's hope for us. Or maybe more than hope.
"I'm in love with you," I say before I've made the decision to speak. It's too late and I can't take the words back, but when she smiles at me I realise I don't want to. I love that smile on her face, and I hope once this mess with the Russians is over I'll see that smile more often. Suddenly she's moving and before I'm fully aware, she's kissed me, just a light press of lips to mine. I can't let her go after just that, so I stand up and my arms wrap around her waist as I kiss her again, this time properly. The kiss is wonderful, her lips are so soft but I can taste the wine on her, and I wonder how much she's had.
"Are you drunk?" I ask, slightly breathlessly, keeping my hands around her waist, unwilling to let her go.
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I had a couple of glasses before I left home, but I am not drunk." At the moment I'm not inclined to argue, and I pull her to me again. God, I could kiss her forever.
I think just one more chapter of this to go. Thank you for reading and especially reviewing.