"You look beautiful," said Daniel of Helen.
Though in truth it was Harry saying it of Ruth.
She smiled warmly back at him, or at least Helen did.
They were alighting from the taxi, it was pouring down. He held aloft a brolly for her as she got out and then pulled her close beneath it to keep them both dry as they scurried across to the restaurant door.
"Mr and Mrs Harrison," exclaimed the maitre de, seamlessly divesting them of coats and umbrella, "How wonderful to see you back. Please, let me show you through." And so they were escorted to 'their' table, an intimate one in a quiet corner of the restaurant, where they could see the four piece band who were playing but not be disturbed by them.
The maitre de, promised them their usual aperitifs before suggesting that Jonathon, their waiter, to whom they were also seemingly well known would be with them imminently.
"Alright?" he asked of her, as they were finally left alone.
She nodded and slid her hand across the table and over his.
He didn't really want to say anything more, in fact he had nothing to say and so he just gazed at her, a thousand thoughts running through his mind and for once she did not look away.
Jonathon, the fresh faced young waiter, not to mention Five operative seconded from Section C, walked towards the table with their two glasses of sparkling bellinis.
He had not met Sir Harry Pearce, nor Ruth Evershed before but merely knew them by reputation. He certainly admired them. He hoped that as he progressed through the service that one day he would be as good as them and if the need arose and his country depended on it, that he too, could appear to be as convincingly in love as these two veterans before him now.
"Mr and Mrs Harrison, you are most welcome back. Your aperitifs.
He put down the bellinis
Harry Pearce didn't move, he was maintaining the façade, his eyes still fixed on her.
"Thank you, Jonathon," Ruth turned to look at him and he was startled by the sheer blue of her eyes, "How are you?"
"Very well, thank you, madam. May I get you anything else, before I bring the menus?"
And now the legendary Harry Pearce fixed him with a look.
"We'll have what ever Francois recommends, thank you, Jonathon and a bottle of Krug to be going on with."
"Of course, sir," he said, turning away.
"We may have been married for fifteen years but you're still something of an enigma to me," she said, smiling as she held the sparkling peach glass in her hand.
His eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"You insist on Bellinis, and then order a bottle of the best."
He smiled.
"Because it reminds me of Venice and Venice reminds me of you."
"You don't need reminding of me Daniel, I'm right here."
"The café? That hot night, when they opened the concert doors and the music spilled out?" he prompted, knowing she would go with him on his grand tour.
"Puccini," she nodded.
"Puccini."
And in their minds they were both there, in the square beside the canal, drinking bellinis with the gentle music washing over them as the strings soared and the angelic voices drifted from the church.
"It was perfect," she whispered.
"Every single moment of it."
Salute," she said, raising her drink.
"Salute, il mio amore," he said quietly, as their glasses touched.
And something inside her felt the thrill of it.
"Compliments of Francois," Jonathon was back, with the hors d'oeuvres.
There was something in his expression that stopped Harry mid glare at being interrupted. Instead he nodded his thanks and pushed the plate towards Ruth, at the same time retrieving the note hidden beneath.
Coleman is here. Table in the opposite corner.
Suddenly Venice seemed very far away.