I have absolutely no idea where this is going, or if there's even a plot! Yet we shall plough on, making it up as we go along, buoyed as ever by your enthusiastic reviews.
"Happy, Daniel?" asked Lucas.
"I am sufficiently well versed from Uncle Albert to the rebellious Aunt Hilda. For all the good it will do me!" muttered Harry.
"Helen?" Lucas turned to Ruth.
"I still don't see why you think this will work."
Lucas despaired.
"It will work because Coleman will not be able to resist Daniel's deeply buried anarchic beliefs and the possibility that he will have both an ally and bases in Europe from which to spread his brand of sick chaos."
Neither looked convinced anymore.
"Now, don't you think it would be a good idea to stop hanging around the grid and make a start?"
"Yeah, time to get out there, Evershed, and start doing … married things," Dimitri grinned affably.
It was a cold, icy blast that ripped through the air in his direction.
Harry and Ruth climbed into the Lexus SUV and began the tortuous route to the apartment which had been acquired for Daniel and Helen Harrison.
Their journey was a quiet one.
An uncomfortably quiet one.
"This is it," he said as they finally pulled up before a luxury converted former warehouse, on which no amount of money had been spared.
"Ready?' he asked.
She nodded.
The concierge crossed to them as a valet relieved Harry of the car key and disappeared to the underground car park.
"Welcome back from your trip, Mr Harrison ... Mrs Harrison," said the Concierge, who was clearly one of theirs.
Ruth smiled warmly, "Thank you, John, it's good to be back, isn't it darling?"
Her face was warm and open and loving as she slid her arm around Harry.
"It certainly is," he replied, pulling her closer still.
"I'll have your bags brought up, sir,"
They headed towards the lifts passing through the luxurious lobby and the handful of people who were there.
His arm was still around her waist, hers halfway up his back.
They looked content and relaxed as they stepped into the lift.
"So… did you have an enjoyable trip?" Harry said gently.
Ruth smiled, "You were there weren't you?"
He leant close to her ear, "Oh, yes," he said, in a husky voice just loud enough for the woman who had stepped in after them to hear.
"Then, it will always be enjoyable, Daniel," her eyes were wide and playful and sensual.
For a moment Harry got lost. But merely a moment.
The lift doors opened, the woman got out. Two floors later, at the private entrance to the penthouse suite, Harry unlocked the door and as it closed behind them it left the warmth and the affection with it. The legends fell away as easily as their coats.
It was an incredible space.
Enormous glass windows out to a terrace and views across the city. The interior was exquisitely designed and decorated: modern, chic and yet comfortable. It was breathtaking.
But it wasn't real.
"Harry," she said, as she read the note she had just discovered on the driftwood coffee table.
"You should stick to Daniel, even in private … it will make for less mistakes." He suggested, in a not unkind way.
"Daniel," she repeated, "you need to see this."
She passed him the note.
Apartment swept and clean, no scanning or surveillance devices - but be aware, the windows and terrace can be overviewed.
Coleman expected any time.
Report in through John.
Beth
Harry glanced at the ceiling to floor windows.
"Not ideal … but…"
"But what," she asked.
"We'll have to make sure to not betray ourselves."
"Then we'll be careful."
He nodded.
"What next?" she asked.
"A shower and dinner out."
Her eyes flicked to him.
"Coleman could be here, if he is, he needs to see normality, besides which it will give him the chance to make contact."
"Okay," she said, "I'll go and get ready."
As she went she sensually ran her hand across his arm. He knew he was standing close to the windows: he knew that was why.
She walked into the bedroom, trying to appear as though she knew every room intimately, in truth all she knew was the floorplan.
Her colleagues had worked hard at the façade.
Their clothes were arranged in the wardrobes, their belongings sprinkled around. There was a picture of the two of them on the bedside table. It was a good picture, they looked happy … together ... married.
It was beside a big bed.
A big, big bed.
A book lay beside it on the right hand side: Albert Camus, she smiled.
She wondered into the palatial en suite: double sinks, a bath you could drown in and an enormous walk in shower. There were products laid out, hers and his, laid out as though they belonged here and yet none of it was real.
As she ran the inordinately large bath, wondering if it would ever fill before next Tuesday she paced back towards the bedroom and looked once more at the bed.
Their bed.
In front of ceiling to floor windows.
What was wrong with these design types, she pondered?
Had no one heard of bloody curtains.