Thanks to all those who read and even greater thanks to those who reviewed. This is the last update before New Year

Harry's House approx 10.00pm

It was with a surprising sense of homecoming that Jane, now minus the despised earrings, had entered the hallway of Harry's house. The journey from the Grid had been uneventful, interrupted only by a halt to collect a carryout meal. Jane wasn't a great devotee of convenience food but had been obliged to agree with Harry's observation that they both needed to eat and at this time of night neither of them possessed the energy to cook from scratch. She hadn't argued, instead contenting herself with the stipulation that they bought a Chinese meal, 'I don't want to be breathing curry fumes over everyone during tomorrow's meeting.' Apart from that quick discussion they'd travelled in silence, Harry locked in thought, while she indulged in a preliminary skim of the papers Dimitri had passed to her.

Although it would be inaccurate to say that she felt completely comfortable in such close proximity to Harry; the circumstances could after all be construed as intimate, she had more pressing concerns than the ill informed speculations of outsiders. At present her immediate priority was to locate the dishes and implements required for the consumption of the much needed victuals. She didn't know when Harry had last eaten but she'd had nothing, bar coffee, since chomping on the sandwiches provided by Laura. Consequently her back wasn't so much touching her front as threatening to seriously assault it. Everything else, the awkwardness of being immured alone with Harry, her worries about Catherine, the mess that was her second marriage, paled against this simple physical need.

Jane, due to the acerbic exchanges that had distinguished their breakfast, hadn't taken in many details concerning Harry's kitchen. Pottering around now she noted that while the available utensils extended beyond those of a tin opener, microwave and corkscrew, suggesting that he survived on rather more nutritious food than precooked meals, the cupboards although well organised weren't exactly overstocked with ingredients. Combined with pristine cooker the entire arrangement shrieked bachelor who rarely cooked. That clarified one minor query; if Harry was entertaining a mystery woman he almost certainly wasn't wining and dining her in his home.

Harry, having disappeared upstairs with Jane's bags had quietly returned. Propped up in the kitchen doorway he was watching her as he savoured the first moments of stillness he'd been able to enjoy since his driver had drawn up outside the house. Firstly, of course, he'd had to help Jane up the steps, her wobbly ankle making singlehanded negotiation unwise. Then he'd had to retrieve their meal resulting in another up and down passage, followed by a final repeat journey to collect her two holdalls. Staggering slightly with the last, while thankful that Jane had refrained from including the kitchen sink in her packing, he had wondered if she'd considered that her stay could be protracted. Until he could ascertain the exact state of her marriage he was disinclined to allow her to return anywhere near the orbit of the loathsome Robin. Having pushed the bags into the bedroom given over to Jane's occupancy he'd changed into more casual clothing, the thought rippling through his mind that seeing him in non-work mode might encourage her to relax in his company. Then remembering Nat Reynolds' advice he'd excavated various neglected corners playing hunt the walking stick, which he finally located lurking inside a forgotten cupboard in his so called and rarely used study. This had been followed his creeping quietly downstairs, to avoid Jane's detection, as he surreptitiously opened his front door to check that his watching officer was in place. Harry had previously cursed this surveillance but with the recent turn of events he wasn't about to prolong his objections. Watching Jane take ownership of his kitchen his primary feeling was one of relief that she seemed to be making herself at home. His second thought was astonishment at how quickly they had adopted their historic marital roles, with him doing the heavy work and Jane the domestics. Perhaps this reversion was an unconscious effort on both their parts to slip into the once familiar groove, an attempt to find comfort in a trying present via the accustomed past. Finally sensing his presence Jane called over her shoulder, "What are we drinking Harry, tea or coffee?"

Harry didn't reply as he moved into the kitchen bearing the gift of his unearthed walking stick. "Here Jane, if you won't sit down at least take this." Remembering his initial reaction at Nat Reynolds' suggestion he continued somewhat belatedly, "Just to try to avoid using it on me."

"Thanks. All I need now is the ear trumpet and crimplene dress."

"After yesterday's minor incident be thankful that you have the option of growing old.'"

Remembering that the visible dangers of Harry's job were etched into his scar ridden flesh Jane was chastened. Perhaps it wasn't tactful to groan about ageing to someone whose profession made that possibility a luxury. Embarrassed by her insensitivity she turned to an alternative topic, inspired by her cursory examination of his cupboards.

"Harry I hate to say it but we'll have to go shopping for food if I stay much longer." Swinging open the doors fronting two of the wall units she waved her hand towards the small packets of pasta and limited variety of tins that lined the shelves. "Your cupboards make Old Mother Hubbard's look well stocked."

He had to admit the truth of her strictures. Over the past few months he'd been surviving on ready meals, carryouts, the odd pub lunch when dragged there by Malcolm, and inadvisably large schooners of whisky. "Sorry Jane. I wasn't expecting visitors. I will admit I don't cook much these days."

If ever there was a statement straight from the school of the bleeding obvious that, as far as Jane was concerned, was it. Opening her mouth she continued to make her point. "Much as I appreciate tonight's carryout, in sheer dietary self defence I'd like to try to produce something home cooked." Attempting to fathom the slightly strained expression on Harry's face she suddenly remembered that she was a guest and therefore admonishment might not be well received, adding as a polite afterthought, "If you don't mind of course."

Harry had been searching his memory in an effort to recall when he'd last used his cooker for anything at all: it was quicker to heat things through in the microwave. He appreciated the concern underlying Jane's volunteering, even if it was couched in condemnatory terms, but he didn't want her to feel obligated. Equally remembrance of Jane's culinary skills made him reluctant to reject a well meant offer. At the time of their marriage, given the combination of Jane's looks, intelligence, cooking, plus her skill in offering more physical creature comforts, he knew he'd hit the matrimonial jackpot. What more could a reasonable man have wanted in a wife?

And he'd been careless. And neglectful. Had put the job first. And hadn't valued what he'd had until he'd lost it forever. And wasn't that the story of his life?

Not wanting to seem ungracious he hurriedly answered, "Yes and no. No I don't mind, but you're a guest not a servant and I have the papers to prove that you're no longer my wife."

The response was wry. "It's not much of an offer Harry as you'll have to pay. Until I can contact the bank for replacement cards I'm going to have to ask you for a loan. Call it my effort to avoid feeling too beholden." The accompanying grimace with which she contemplated the prospect of being dependent upon Harry made him recall his original plan.

"Just give the financial details to Calum. He'll sort it out for you."

"But Harry.." Jane's response rested somewhere between plaintive and worried. Either way she wasn't exactly making it easy for him to help her, so it was with some degree of impatience that Harry snapped.

"Which would you prefer – a two week wait while the bank customer service gets it wrong or instant access?"

The alternative of having to ask Harry to finance her, or even more humbling Robin, silenced Jane. The rumbling of her stomach reminding her of more immediate issues made her ask, "Where do we eat, in here or in your sitting room?"

Harry considered for a moment, "I suggest the main room. I know it's late and only a carryout but I'd prefer a room we can both relax in. Preferably nowhere that reminds me of that dreadful cafe we were in this morning."

"Agreed. Although I'm in no error of mistaking your very untouched kitchen for that sordid establishment. Can you help me find your serving dishes in that case?"

Harry moved over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a selection which he handed to her. "I'll go and lay the table." Adding as an afterthought, "and find a bottle of wine."

A voice of approval reached his ears. "And stuff the painkillers. Good plan."

With that benediction he vanished to carry out his self appointed task while Jane finished tipping the contents of several foil trays into appropriate dishes. Just as she'd dumped the last of the containers into the rubbish bin she heard the telephone ring. Her immediate assumption was that Calum had called to announce a successful breakthrough on the contents of Mr Snuggles. Limping as quickly as she could to the sitting room she saw Harry talking into the phone. She knew at once from his expression that it was not the techie on the other end of the line. That warm smile and inflection were reserved for the privileged few who'd managed to breech Harry's private defences, a small exclusive club from which she'd resigned years ago.

The phone had rung just as Harry finished drawing the cork on a bottle of white wine. With thoughts exactly corresponding to those of Jane he'd answered it, his heart beating at a rate that was not advisable for a man of his years.

"Uncle Harry!"

Harry checked his watch, it was nearly ten o'clock. "Wes! What are you doing ringing at this time? I thought you weren't allowed to use your phones at night." 'God I've really entered old fogeydom.'

"It's okay Uncle Harry. I sneaked out to the bathroom. This is a spare phone I've hidden." Harry closed his eyes briefly at the thought of the nemesis that would descend in the shape of Wes's housemaster if, or more likely when, that little ploy was uncovered. There again he was talking to Adam Carter's son. Were cunning and sheer brio hereditary? Keen to avoid Wes being discovered Harry repeated, "So why are you ringing me?"

"I've made the Junior First Fifteen at rugby and we've got a home match in about a fortnight's time. Gran and Granddad are coming but it I wondered if you could make it. Please." Listening to an excited Wes it occurred to Harry that the boy had also inherited the wheedling and charm skills of both parents. "I promise I'll try Wes."

"Thanks Uncle Harry. Then I hope the terrorists take the weekend off."

"Wes. What have we told you..." The only response was a chuckle as the phone went dead.

Turning around Harry saw Jane standing with a dish of Chinese food in her hands and a bemused expression decorating her face. Too late he realised the phone had been on speaker and she must have heard every word. He'd have to explain and he wasn't sure how she would take it in view of the number of occasions he'd let his own children down. Perhaps he should have postponed giving her that stick.

Moving across the room he took the food from her and signalled to her to sit down. Her glance back at the kitchen making him insist, "I'll get the rest of the dishes"

"Harry I don't need you to act as a servant. I know I'm a guest but..."

"Actually Jane I was thinking that with the combination of your ankle and shoulder I'd prefer to avoid scraping sweet and sour off the floor."

Serving bowls, glasses and plates all safely conveyed the pair sat down to start their meal. Something didn't feel quite right. Jane's stiffly seated posture was reminiscent of someone about to be subjected to a court martial rather than an individual attempting to relax into a much needed companionable meal. Her nervousness in turn making him tense. Almost unbelievably Harry Pearce, the scourge of cabinet ministers, terrorists and other assorted scum, was approaching his ex-wife with all the panache of a rookie lion tamer facing down a half starved big cat as he mooted his next tentative his next proposal.

"Jane – it's a little bright in here for late at night. If I dim the lights and put on some background music will you please accept that I'm not trying to seduce you?"

Jane's smile might have been a touch wistful as she thought of evenings past but her response was clear. "If music be food of love and all that jazz. I know you wouldn't, so go ahead."

Although he had raised the subject Harry wasn't overly flattered by her reply. Being voluntarily celibate for personal reasons was one thing, the vague implication that he was past performing was quite another. Stupid and unnecessary pride he knew, rather on a par with the implication he didn't do fieldwork due to his age. The mild harrumph he made in response caught Jane's attention. Knowing the nature of men in general, and Harry in particular, she attempted, not entirely felicitously to soothe his affronted masculinity.

"Harry, I'm quite sure that your seduction techniques are as effective as ever, but I also know you're unlikely to fancy chancing them with a woman whose ankle, ribs and shoulder mean that any attendant moans and groans would probably be a product of pain not ecstasy. I'll say one thing for you – you were always just as concerned with your partner's enjoyment as your own."

Harry shook his head, "I'm never sure if you intend to be complimentary or insulting."

"Work that one out for yourself. Meanwhile, dim the lights, put on the music and let's eat."

It was a command, one that Harry was happy to obey. While Jane dished out generous dollops of various gloop smothered Chinese dishes: origin that well known hostelry "The Orient Star" whose closest acquaintanceship with the mystical East probably ended somewhere short of Wapping, Harry busied himself with subduing the glare and pushing a disc of semi romantic compositions for strings into the sound system.

As the soothing music swelled quietly in the background he joined Jane at the table. Although Jane had tried to foreswear obvious curiosity in relation to Harry's personal life it finally overcame her as she began to serve the food.

"So who's Wes? Sorry Uncle Harry but I couldn't avoid overhearing."

"Do you remember me mentioning earlier today the couple who died and left a nine year old child? Wes is their son."

Jane was still puzzled. "Harry I know I'm being a bit dense here. But I thought once someone left the Service all contact was broken, so how come you are still in touch with Wes and Mal..." Blast, she couldn't remember the name of the retired returnee that had so riled Erin.

Harry finished for her. "Malcolm Wynn Jones. Yes normally that is what happens. But Malcolm was such an experienced officer I insisted that we kept him on the books as a contact when he retired. As for Wes..." Harry was wondering how to account for this one without incurring Jane's not unreasonable wrath, given what he'd perpetuated when they were married. Slowly and carefully he struggled to an acceptable explanation. "After Wes's mother died Adam found it difficult to cope so I made sure that every so often we had an evening out with Wes, usually to the dogs," Jane was beginning to grin broadly, "What..."

"It's just the thought of spooks going to the dogs. I love it."

Harry thought it wise not to ask her to elucidate as to why she was so taken the idea. "After Adam died his grandparents felt that it would add to Wes's sense of loss if all contact with those who knew his father was cut, so I visit him at school when I can, take him and his friends out for burgers or to some ear splitting film..." He looked at Jane to see her reaction. "I know Jane after I let our two down so many times you've every right..."

"To shout and scream. Take it as read, I'm too tired tonight. I might prefer to take the view that you've finally started learning from your mistakes. " 'Which is rather more than I've done" "And at least you survived to make our children feel aggrieved, which is preferable to being deprived."

"I still feel guilty though, possibly more so about Graham. I love him, but I've never managed to connect with him the way I did with Catherine. I know he's always accused me of favouring her."

"Have you ever considered that maybe Graham is part of that problem?" Jane saw his eyes startle at the suggestion. Choosing her words carefully she continued. "A friend of mine has three daughters. She finds it difficult to relate to the youngest because the girl is just difficult. Whatever her mother does is wrong." Before Harry could feel too absolved she continued, "I'm not saying that some of your actions didn't contribute to the problems, frankly they didn't help, but..." She swallowed and then said, "We agreed a truce so I don't want to start picking over past bones yet again; it's not conducive to eating."

"Or drinking." Harry pushed a fairly full wine glass in her direction. Grasping it Jane tacked the conversation towards a slightly different subject.

"At present I doubt that Graham is the most immediate of your relationship problems."

Harry felt a sudden moment of apprehension, was this the moment for the questions that if answered honestly would result in the demolition of the very tentative bridge building he was attempting with the woman opposite? Jane had noticed the abrupt stiffening, the preparation to be defensive or evasive, followed by the equally marked relaxation as she continued to speak.

"I don't think you're Erin's favourite person at the moment. She obviously isn't overly fond of Laura and just as clearly didn't want Malcolm back on the Grid." 'And I was right, it is something to do with a work relationship that's behind your frozen drifting.'

"I don't suppose I am, but Laura was never going to be bounced out. Everyone has to be on probation because after the first disastrous attempt to replace our analyst..."

"The one who went to the Home Office?"

Harry halted slightly, time for the truth, whole truth and nothing but...pause...deep breath...pass..."Yes." Jane's eyes had darted with acute awareness at the shortness of his tone, 'people move on all the time so ...hmmm.' Harry, realising that he'd been on the verge of giving himself away, hastened onwards with a diversionary tactic. 'Thank God for military training.'

"After the experience with the suggested replacement I couldn't risk of my team's sanity, let alone the security of the country without a trial period..."

"That bad!"

Having successfully deflected Jane's curiosity away from his personal concerns Harry plunged into the tale of the three analysts. For once in his life Deborah Langham's uselessness had proved a godsend. By the end of his recital Jane was shaking with merriment. Watching her he was reminded of the carefree happy Jane in the days before life had turned so sour for both of them. Shoulders heaving, eyes glittering with amusement, she managed to stutter out,

"Harry...you...you...rotten..."

Harry was astonished at these words. She was laughing so what had he done wrong now? He was doing his best but face it, the woman was impossible.

Jane finally managed to force out the sentence between guffaws, "You rotten so and so. Fancy giving me a tale like that! Not only can I not share it, every time I see one of the Beckham's on the TV, in print or whatever I'll start smirking. I'll end up being certified...but oh..." With that she was off again.

Harry waited patiently, eating as he did so. When she'd finally finished laughing sufficiently to attack her own plate, he completed his original explanation, "So while I had every intention of keeping Laura, I had to have a reason. Today she gave me one. However she'll not be out on any risky field operations for a while."

"Yes she did mention that you rarely trusted her. I assume you have a reason."

It was a statement not a question. Harry felt inordinately cheered at this indication that Jane was beginning to trust his judgement.

"My reason was called Helen, Laura reminds me of her a little. Helen was keen and I was forced to send her on an operation before she was really ready."

"Was called? What happened?" Had she pushed too far? The look of pain she'd registered earlier had appeared again, but this time unaccompanied by any sense that he was trapped in a faraway landscape.

Harry debated briefly whether he should give her the unexpurgated details, which were not a dinner table topic, but he was trying to be truthful as far as possible, plus Jane was an expert in detecting when he was holding something back.

"Shot through the head ... after they pushed her face into a sizzling deep fat fryer."

Jane suddenly felt her stomach heave as she pushed away the portion of crispy duck she'd been about to consume. "God Harry, are you the only person in the Section to have stayed and lived to tell the tale?" 'Was I wrong after all – not a woman but a huge sense of survivor guilt?'

Now he really thought about it Harry realised that in effect he was, certainly as far as past members of the Senior team were concerned. Tom Quinn and Zoe Reynolds had survived, both exiled from the Grid and one living in secrecy in Brazil, and Malcolm of course. Everyone else was...dead. Each and every time he'd mourned the loss; the last most dreadful of which had been Ruth. Each and every time, especially that last occasion he'd wondered how much more emotional agony he could bear. If saying 'that which does not kill you makes you stronger.' was correct by now he'd be composed of the solid granite of reputation, instead he felt increasingly as if the seams of his sanity were slowly and inexorably fraying. He'd survived thus far only by burying his deepest feelings. Supposing one day they were exhumed?

Jane's comment had not been entirely serious but watching various memories playing across his face, for once utterly readable, she began to wonder afresh as the horrors he'd known while listening to his measured reply.

"Just about, apart from Malcolm, who I'm hoping will return permanently. But don't tell Erin?"

"What do you take me for – No don't answer that. But if you're shorthanded why is she so hostile?"

"As I told you earlier Erin wasn't my original choice and she knows I was forced to keep her." 'And please don't enquire further Jane, this is getting dangerously close to the events I daren't discuss with anyone, least of all you.' He continued before she could intervene. "That isn't a problem for me, she's the best around but it's made her slightly insecure and as she brought Calum with her she's ..."

"Worried that your choice displaces hers." Thinking back to the Briefing Room discussion she commented, "But Calum didn't seem bothered. Surely he's the one to make the protest if necessary."

"Calum knows more about that field and I think he's looking forward to working with someone who understands geek speak." Aware that this was a trifle denigrating to the well read Malcolm he added, "Although Malcolm is also a Times crossword and literature man."

"And therefore I assume about our age. I can see why you want him back, an ally in the kindergarten." Before he could protest she smiled, "I know the feeling. I'm something of a relic myself these days. It's politically incorrect to refer to a blackboard, let alone admit that you ever taught effectively using one."

They had both finished eating, the remnants of the meal lying on the table. As Jane leant back relaxing in her chair Harry decided that he had to tackle the elephant in the room, Jane's Jumbo of course, his own, bearing him on its back, was hopelessly lumbering towards the proverbial graveyard.

"Jane I should have asked. If you came to visit Catherine early was it because you needed to visit a publisher, or do research, or something?"

At once she began to look uncomfortable again. "Something is about right. I simply needed to get away." The hurt in her eyes was evident as she finished. "Harry. I'll cry on your shoulder about our daughter, but the rest. Let's just say I made my choices and you've no responsibility for that. You have your own troubles."

She'd rarely spoken a truer word, but Harry was still furious with Robin for having the audacity to firstly steal away his family, and then follow up that offence by treating Jane with such bullying contempt.

"If my behaviour in any way influenced those choices then I am responsible."

Jane felt his concern but was still fighting shy of trusting him. "None of your business Harry, really it isn't."

"Jane – I heard what Graham yelled and I also heard this." In sheer frustration Harry produced his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and played back the recorded message. When Robin's dulcet tones had finally faded out he looked at Jane. The expression on her face was difficult to interpret.

"Jane I really want to help. I can't help feeling responsible for you."

The initial response was rage, fury that after all her attempts to keep her secrets, they'd been revealed. "You really do have the most excessive guilt complex I've ever come across. You're Harry bloody Pearce, to part quote my husband, not Atlas carrying the world on his shoulder or Jesus Christ dying for the sins of one and all."

Even as she shouted it Jane knew that in reality she only wished she could bring herself to confide in him. She was no longer worried that he'd simply laugh and walk away. During the course of the last few hours she'd mentally reviewed every argument they'd had since the divorce and concluded that the root cause wasn't his lack of care, as she had so frequently insisted, but her stubborn refusal to recognise its existence. And that was the problem, for years she'd treated him like a pesky fly, or a stone in her shoe, an irritating nuisance that she wanted to be rid of. How after all the grief she'd given him could she be hypocrite enough to accept what he was offering?

Harry, desperate for her trust was wondering how he could persuade her. What price did she think he would extract from her? His offer came more or less string free, although he'd admit to wanting to remain on civilised terms. "Jane that is not the point. You know I'm bad at discussing emotions but do you really think that I'd ever have tried to keep you with me through blackmail?"

His implied assumption that because her second marriage had fallen disastrously short of being the idyll she'd expected he was therefore shriven of his matrimonial crimes caught her on the raw.

"No, you just expected me to put up with your absences, your moods, plus your endless screwing of other women. I could have coped with the honeytraps as disgusting part of the job, I might even have managed to deal with the one night stands, your affair with Juliet tried me to the limit, but when it came to Susan...one of my best friends and you were..."

"Doing absolutely nothing with her."

"Liar."

They both stared at the other, aghast with flaring anger. How, Harry wondered, had they arrived at this point from their previous amicable discussion, and what was she talking about. The sight of Jane lashing herself into a temper finally stirred a long forgotten memory. Shortly before she'd called time on their marriage one of her very fanciable friends, knowing his university reputation, had made unmistakably intimate overtures. Harry's various adulteries had stopped short of humiliating Jane by shagging any of her so called friends. He'd had rather more respect for her than that, quite aside from the fact that women gossiped. He'd never told her about the incident because by that stage their marriage was so fragile he didn't expect Jane to believe that any of her so called chums would have shoved their hand down his trousers without an open invitation to do so. The irony; that the infidelity that had hurt her the most had only existed in the feverish, revenge driven imagination of her rejected friend.

"Jane I swear. I... we didn't. I'll confess to a trouser fumble but only because she touched me. I turned her down."

The look she gave him was appraising, arch deceiver as Harry had been in the past, and probably still was when occasion demanded, her words had plainly caught him unawares. His shock and reply lacked the smoothness of his usual lies. If he was acting then he was giving an Oscar winning performance and after all these years did it really matter now, their marriage had been past salvaging for several reasons. Crucially would she have believed him? No, she knew she wouldn't have, then. "Very well I accept your word. But it still doesn't make you responsible for me and my choices."

She'd believed him; progress. Limited but progress. "You can argue all you like about that one Jane, it won't change how I feel. More importantly I'm not just thinking about you, I'm thinking about Graham and Catherine." The puzzled expression deepened, when he ended with a gulp, "as I may not be around for much longer."

Jane wasn't enlightened, "But surely Harry as a desk officer you're safe enough, unless." An alarmed thought flew into her mind, "You're not..."

Harry realising the track her mind strayed onto hurriedly reassured her, "No I'm not dying. Well no more than any of us are although desk officers do get killed." 'Colin, Tariq, Ruth...don't Harry, stay focussed on Jane, what do I say...?' "But..." Dimitri's hesitant advice floated into his mind, 'perhaps you need to trust her first.' "Jane, not even my team know this, so please this is top secret. Do you remember us discussing the move to extradite me? We talked about it in the Briefing Room."

"Yes of course I do, but wasn't it cancelled?"

"Correct. But an agreement is on the table that would reactivate it. I won't be able to fight it and so..."

Jane was truly shocked. Any idea that Harry was once again lying to manipulate her died the second she looked into his eyes. The weariness with which he spoke worried her even more than the ingrained sorrow that seemed to haunt him. Harry just didn't do giving in, he'd fought every obstacle he'd ever met but now he seemed resigned to his fate. Jane decided that she wasn't overly keen on the remodelled careworn version. On balance she'd prefer to see the resurrection of Harry the cunning charmer, with devilment in his eyes and mischief in his voice, perhaps with just a seasoning of maturity and a sprinkling of emotional articulation.

"Harry, you don't have to worry about Robin's threat. He was angry but he won't carry it out. I can cause trouble for him and he won't risk that."

Harry's expression didn't imply that this mollified him in the slightest. Fighting for a way to obtain her trust the best he could come up with was, "Maybe but you're obviously carrying an excess in the emotional baggage department. Consider me a porter and let me help you carry it."

"You've enough troubles of your own Harry." The slight flicker of alarm in his eyes confirmed her suspicions, as she continued smoothly, "Catherine, Section D, politicians. And I've never been totally convinced by the Maria Theresa attitude to pain, physical or emotional."

Harry was reduced to a bemused gawp. "Errr, what do you mean?"

"Empress of Austria, had umpteen kids and was a busy lady. If she needed to have tooth pulled she waited until she went into labour on the theory that one pain cancelled out the other."

"Which role are you casting me in, the midwife with dirty hands who killed countless people they were supposed to be helping, or the tooth puller who caused pain and was avoided whenever possible?" It was a lowering thought but at a pinch he'd fit either description.

Jane just stared at him. Considering. Would it do any real damage to confide in him? What exactly was she worried about, Robin's safety? Hardly. How long could she cope with the current situation anyway? What was stopping her , misplaced pride? But Harry already knew some details through no revelation of hers. She supposed the bottom line was that she felt humiliated in weeping on the shoulder of her ex-husband after so many years of decrying him. Looking at Harry, waiting silently for her answer she was once again reminded of the basic dichotomy in his character, the contrast between Harry the warm hearted, charming, cultured man who was currently staring at her and the flinty, work alcoholic, devious servant of the state. She'd been wrong, he wasn't Atlas; he was Janus, facing two ways, torn down the middle and probably just as confused by the situation they found themselves in as she was.

Tired of awaiting a response Harry had begun to speak quietly. "I've told you why I need you to tell me what is going on. Last night you accused me of always having an agenda. You're right and this is it. Something is wrong in your life and I'd like to try to fix it, if I can. This isn't just about you, me and our past. It's about our obligation to our children. They may be adults but they need a parent they can turn to. As that parent will have to be you I need to know that you aren't being distracted by the antics of that shit filled twerp. I've messed up all your lives and.."

"Harry, stop flogging yourself with nettles. You're an MI5 officer not a flagellant. It wasn't all your fault. You've been a better parent than Robin was step-parent. Once... long story. Sorry I'm getting old. I keep repeating myself."

"Tonight I've got the time to listen, the CIA haven't come calling yet." Standing up Harry poured two generous refills of wine, "Shall we sit in the more comfortable chairs. You stretch on the sofa, I'll take the armchair."

Realising that the resistance she didn't want to make was useless, Jane sank into the more relaxed seating, her back and ankle propped up by the sofa cushions. Taking a deep breath she cradled her glass of wine and prepared to tell her story.

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