Thanks to those who read and once again thanks to those you reviewed.

The Grid 5.30pm approx

As the waves of shock crashed around her Jane was momentarily numbed. Slowly the ripples receded and feeling returned, in the shape of an internal scream. She became aware that Harry's eyes were boring into her. Ah those eyes! When Harry really wanted to make his feelings known speech was an optional extra. Mesmerising, hypnotic, she'd seen them sparkle with mischief, turn stone cold with fury, glare with sarcasm, glaze over with lust. At this precise moment they were questioning, with a hint of wariness as he waited uncertainly for her response. What should it be? Screaming and shouting would be all too easy, loading the blame for the entire grim situation onto him, but would it be fair? She'd glimpsed his helplessness in his despairing posture of a few moments ago, the body language didn't imply dominance, rather it radiated the helplessness of a man caught up in events beyond his control. Previously Harry had exuded an impression of power, his energy resembling that of a renegade rocket. Suddenly she'd become aware of his work place limitations. His job required his effective and immediate reaction to whatever the various evil bastards who plagued the realm threw at him but however successfully he faced down the terrorists and other assorted scum, ultimately he was not proactive. He might influence the outcome of events, presumably on the ethically dubious basis of producing the greatest good for the greatest number, but in any summative analysis he was trapped by circumstances he did not create.

Finding her voice she asked a question remarkable only in its obviousness, "So what did you tell him?"

"That we had something that might prove my case, but my technical staff needed to run checks. As I'm persona non grata at Langley it has to be watertight."

"How long until you have to decide?"

"Nothing will be signed until after the Reception, that's three days away, then we have the weekend, after that..."

On elementary maths three plus two made, "Five days then. Can you find her in that time?"

"I hope so but if we don't..." He couldn't say it, wouldn't say it – the only person he had left to care about – he'd killed Ruth, how could he possibly even consider ... and yet he had to...

Jane's voice cut into his thoughts, her tone worried. "Harry, do you have to be the one to make that call?"

"I'm the boss Jane. It comes with the territory."

"I know that, but in such a personal matter should you be in charge?"

He was grateful for her concern but clearly she hadn't grasped the chain of command.

"I'd have to hand it over to Erin. She'd be forced to make the same decision and then work with me afterwards. I've always preferred to do my own dirty work." He saw the protest forming on her lips as he added for good measure, "I was baptised Henry James Pearce, not Pontius Pilate."

Jane while wanting to applaud his integrity, a quality she'd chosen to ignore for years, was about to argue that the cases weren't exactly similar, for starters Catherine was not a first century renegade Jew preaching a form of passive sedition against the ruling establishments, until she remembered that her daughter's activities bade fair to upset the plans of two governments.

Harry was just thankful that thus far her reaction had been so temperate, on previous form he'd have expected her to lambast him without mercy. As he lifted his eyes she caught his astonishment. Had she really been so awful? But even as she flushed with guilt over her previous crashing misjudgements she found herself unable to comfort him with a lie.

"Harry I couldn't make that decision and I truly don't know how I'll feel about you if you are forced to. I do know though that if it was simply your future safety against Catherine's you'd not hesitate to save her, but it isn't is it, it's the lives of your team and the safety of the country versus hers."

He could see what it was costing her to say this, the voice was calm but the eyes were fearful. Before he could react further Erin burst in, her omission to perform the mandatory knock signalling her distressed state.

Well the latter would never be indicated by her coiffure. Surveying Erin Jane reflected, with a hint of malice, that however agitated she became the Section Chief would be unable to imitate Harry by attempting to tear her hair out. No fingers could easily comb through that lacquered perfection. Dragging her attention away from Erin's superglued crowning glory Jane then experienced a twinge of remorse as she tuned into the cause of Erin's agitation.

"It's Rosie, or rather her headmistress. Rosie goes to an afterschool club twice a week. It gives my mother a chance to have time without working around the school timetable." Normally Erin kept all reference to her domestic arrangements off the Grid but tribulation was making her babble in staccato manner. "The bullying I told you about. The culprits also go to the school club. I don't know what happened. Rosie's hit one of them – and really she's not a violent child." The anguish was plain to both observers as she prepared to continue.

She was spared further explanation. For the first time in the day Harry knew exactly where a conversation was going, "So you have to remove her."

"Yes, and see the Head to discuss Rosie's social maladjustment. So I've got..."

Harry cut her off, "Of course Erin, delegate and go."

Jane, forced into the role of eavesdropper, had been following these passages with an ever deepening frown. Taking a deep breath she interrupted, "Sorry but did I hear correctly? You have to remove Rosie from that club forthwith. Then you have to see the Head to discuss the child, giving you the option of either leaving your daughter outside the women's office alone and upset, or have Rosie listen to a potentially acrimonious conversation about her behaviour!

Wrapped in worry and not appreciating the condemnatory tone Erin was short, "I don't have much choice."

Jane forgave her the snappishness, in the same circumstances with a virtual outsider chipping in she'd have done likewise. Her sympathy though was genuine, even when married she'd been condemned to virtual single parentdom, it was lonely life. "Fortunately you do, I'll come with you and sit with Rosie. You can drop me off at Harry's after...err...that is if..." Involvement in the various dramas now being played out within the theatre of Harry's office had pushed Jane's original intention of discovering whether Harry was still willing to give her houseroom down the queue of issues requiring resolution. Perceiving her dilemma Harry put her out of her misery with an order.

"Jane, just settle for the fact that you're staying with me until I'm satisfied that it's safe for you to be on your own."

This statement of intent referred not solely to the machinations of the CIA, it also encompassed the blackmailing activities of the ghastly Robin. Once out of Harry's protective reach Jane might just succumb once again to the line of least resistance. Harry, now presented with an opportunity to rid his family of that pretentious wart, was not going to risk her capitulation. Robin, when presenting as quite the swain, had poisoned their lives for long enough. Now he'd proved himself to be quite the swine Harry saw his way clear to disinfect clan Pearce Townsend, with the added delectable bonus of knowing that the weapons for revenge had been voluntarily presented to him by Jane. The answering glint in Jane's eyes told him that his full meaning had registered.

Erin, preoccupied with her own traumas, missed this minuet of double meaning as she debated with herself as to whether she should accept Jane's offer. The suggestion was undoubtedly practical and she was confident that Jane would deal sympathically with Rosie but she was a stranger and...the decision was made for her by Harry, one of whose pet loathings was dithering. "I'd accept Erin, then if you find yourself patronised by the Demon Headmistress you can set Jane loose on her."

Both women muttered, "Thanks" although the intonation was very different. While Erin gratefully swept out to reallocate her work, Jane was glaring at Harry, "You made me sound like a pitbull."

"Perhaps, but I'd rather be savaged by you any day of the week, you're so much more decorative."

That suggestion opened up vistas Jane preferred not to consider as she switched to a more relevant query. "Have you ever met Erin's daughter? I mean is she a brat or..."

"From what I saw on the one occasion I dropped Erin home, I'd say or. I advised Erin to change schools after Rosie's kidnapping." Looking out across the Grid he saw Erin waiting for Jane, her eyes stabbing meaningfully towards the pods, an indication that her agitation had not dissipated. "You need to go. Erin can explain on the way. I'll see you later."

The dismissal was clear cut. Picking up her handbag currently residing on his sofa Jane moved towards the door with, "'Until later then." And was gone.

Harry's House. 8.30pm

By the time Jane was finally returned to his lair Harry had become seriously worried. Stupid he knew, she was with Erin and what harm could possibly befall her on a visit to a primary school. Engrained habit he supposed, after a life governed by disasters feeling uneasy was his personal default, even if Jane would choke at the suggestion that he was responsible for her. His attempt to fool himself that he was fully occupied in preparing a meal was abandoned the instant he heard the sound of car engine drawing up outside. Jane had no need to ring the bell; he'd sprinted to the front door, opening it wide to allow her access, within seconds of her arrival. He was mildly amused, when having hobbled up his steps – unaided, so her ankle was obviously much improved – she cast a not very subtle stare up and down the road, trying to spot the watcher she knew must be there. Her effort was fruitless; Harry, who knew exactly where in the shadows his officer would lurk, refrained from indicating his whereabouts.

Once indoors he raked Jane with a searching glance. She may be in better shape physically but seemed utterly exhausted, her wordlessness adding to the suggestion of weariness. Risking a comment, since in his wide experience no woman thrilled to remarks that suggested she wasn't looking her best, he said, "Slight improvement in the ankle I see. How's the shoulder?"

"Aching, and I think the dressing needs to be changed." Her words were accompanied by her massaging the shoulder, an action that brought forth a grimace of pain.

Knowing that now he had to fulfil his role as first aider in chief Harry tried disguise his inward embarrassment through sounding matter of fact, "So I would expect. Take a shower Jane, get dressed and then call me, I'll change it for you."

So it was that some twenty minutes Jane found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, her shirt and bra strap anchored halfway down her upper arm, struggling not relive too many sensory memories as Harry's fingers ran lightly across her shoulder while he removed the dressing. Her envy of the clinical detachment he obviously felt from yesteryear was in fact misplaced. The gentleness was to avoid hurting her, but what Harry could disguise from Jane he couldn't disguise from himself. Not only was memory running rampant, the scent of her hair, the lingering smoothness from the shower gel on her skin weren't making the present too comfortable either. Mistaking her quick shudder for pain he apologised,

"Sorry I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't. I know you'd never hurt me intentionally."

"Intentions are one thing, what happens is another."

"Misunderstandings happen."

Comments that both knew transcended their immediate business. Finishing as quickly as he could Harry eased down the final strip of tape. Stepping away but not looking at her, in her semi dressed state she was in a vulnerable position and he didn't want her to think he was gawking he muttered, "That should hold, I'll see you downstairs." Having made his excuses he left, leaving Jane wondering why he'd acted as though he'd been stung. Surely he didn't think she'd suspect him of ulterior motives, not when she'd been at considerable pains to make it plain she trusted him not to make intimate advances.

When she finally appeared downstairs, blouse and bra safely secured, she discovered Harry in the sitting room, table set, bottle of red wine open, and a serving dish holding richly fragrant spaghetti bolognaise. Breathing in the hunger inducing aroma her promise of the previous evening returned to her. "Harry, supper I said I'd cook."

Waving a hand to indicate that she should seat herself he dismissed her apology with, "That was before you had to help Erin out, for which aid I'm in your debt. I need her focussed. I assume the situation was resolved." He needed to know this anyway but it was a good ploy – Jane on education would occupy most of the mealtime.

The thin line across her mouth was promising; a diatribe was about to spill forth. He recognised the symptoms; he'd been on the receiving end of many a Jane tsunami.

"How that woman ever became a Headteacher." 'Funny I thought the same about Robin'. We collected Rosie but as she was happy to sit in a classroom and read Erin asked me to join her in the discussion. After we'd sat through a lecture peppered with such gems as 'the issues had been dealt with in circle time' also that 'they like children to deal with issues on their own terms' followed by 'Rosie was failing to understand that the bullies had confidence problems relating to being cerebrally challenged and were seeking positive affirmation' I intervened, it was either that or risk Erin producing her gun. Not that blowing a hole in the woman was a bad idea, but it would also have blown Erin's cover which probably is."

Knowing Jane's temper Harry thought the gun might have been the more humane alternative, so pausing from helping himself to a further mouthful of pasta he asked, "Is the woman still alive?"

"Just about. After quoting various documents at her and suggesting that the 'Every Child Matters' guidelines are presumed to encompass the intelligent middle class pupils not just the ones heading for ASBO land, I ended by saying I'd ask my husband the OFSTED inspector if current guidance included positive affirmation at the expense of allowing a child to be abused." She caught sight of his face, "It was a hollow threat. She doesn't know my marriage is on the rocks and I thought Robin might as well be of some use to Erin. As you may recall from last night's confessional he's been no bloody use to me in any capacity recently."

Having just fought down the unbidden memories of his intimate life with Jane, his quick exit downstairs attributable to a growing tension in the underpants department, Harry most definitely didn't want to relive the thoughts of her and Robin. Thankfully Jane was still in full flow.

"I've seconded your advice about changing schools, that's why I was so late – Erin invited me in. Her mother was there. When we described what had taken place she agreed with me... well us. She's been concerned because Rosie likes books, while the school management thinks Google is the only research source she needs to use. I've offered to make some enquires for Erin, see if we can find somewhere that will positively affirm a bright pupil whose social maladjustment seems limited to sticking up for herself."

Having finished her say Jane caught up with her meal. "This is lovely Harry. I'd forgotten what a good cook you are when you put your mind to it."

"Probably because I don't do it very often. It hardly seems worth it for one and when we were married you were...probably still are so much better at it than me."

That figured. In their pre-marital days Harry's chief impetus in honing his cooking skills had been the calculation that a meal cooked in his flat meant closer proximity to the bedroom. With some men she'd have added cheaper as well, but meanness had never been a characteristic of Harry, she'd give him that. Knowing that that was not his current motive she smiled, "Well thanks for thinking it was worth it tonight." Rooting herself firmly back in the present she asked a question very much set in today. "Anything happen after I left the Grid?"

"Not really, other than Malcolm and Calum decided to work through the night. Before you say it I only agreed on the understanding that they take turns to sleep."

"If you hadn't I assume they'd just hack from home. As you've mentioned Malcolm - I don't want to drop a tactless brick so two questions about him. Firstly what did his mother die from, and secondly is he gay?"

Harry in the act of drinking his wine spluttered, where had that come from?"Regarding the first, old age. As for the second, not to my knowledge." What on earth made you ask?"

"Because judging by the cut of his suit he's obviously comfortably off, plus he's polite and well read. Knowing my sex I'd agree with Jane Austen's famously caustic opening, "It is a truth universally acknowledged' etc."

Harry couldn't help it, that phrase had triggered the visions that always lurked just below his conscious mind. Ruth reading 'Persuasion' on the bus the evening their fingers touched, her gentle kiss on that cold dockside as they parted, those whispered words when she made it plain which single man she wanted, and the destruction a few minutes later of his figurative good fortune. Not for him, not for them, the happy ending of lovers walking hand in hand into the sunset, their ending had been one of blood, mess, mourning. The irony, Ruth, who had loved Austen, had died in circumstances more akin to the faux Greek tragedies of Thomas Hardy, an author for whom no coincidence was ever happy. Jane in the act of helping herself to some extra spaghetti bolognaise as she finished speaking caught, with shock, the fading expression on Harry's face. Sorrow merging into rigid blankness, smacking of the despair she'd glimpsed earlier when he'd explained his impossible decision. The cause could only be her innocent remark but why? What had she inadvertently said?

Unaware that he'd given himself away Harry recovered sufficiently to reply, "He did have a fairly close relationship with someone called Sarah, but it was before I became Section Head. We only become good friends around the time I was promoted."

If Malcolm was straight Jane's theory re his bachelordom was no less so. "Then I'll bet his mother saw her off."

"I wouldn't know. But that reminds me Jane, I need to ring Graham, get the location of where he first saw Robin doing the dirty on you."

Jane's other questions were becoming more pressing by the day, but she knew better than to try extracting anything relating to the personal from Harry via direct assault. If the shutters came down with Harry, they came down. Nor did she want him reduced to a quivering impotent wreck by ruthlessly hauling whatever he was suppressing out into the light of day – not with Catherine's life on the line anyway. Catherine – that she did need to know.

"Harry, I hate to ruin a good meal but truthfully now you've had time to consider further can you pull off the double of finding Catherine alive and stuffing the CIA?"

"As Shakespeare put it, that is the question."

"And as I'm putting it, that is not an answer."

"We've been successful against worse odds. My team are top class, and before you distracted me with the topic of Malcolm's sex life I meant to tell you that they think they've identified soldier boy. If we can bring him in we may get extra clues, plus tonight's raid might yield something."

Jane wasn't prepared to ask what happened if they didn't progress, she understood the decision Harry would have to make but didn't want to contemplate it. What she was contemplating at this precise moment was a set of sauce smeared dishes. Standing up and balancing the combination of her own plate and a half empty wine glass she said, "Very well we wait upon events. The dishes won't, you cooked so I'll clear and clean, while you attempt a conversation with Graham."

Pots deposited in the kitchen with a rubber gloved Jane preparing to work out any frustrations on his crockery, Harry picked up the telephone, wondering what sort of reception, if any, he'd get from his son.

"Hello Graham. It's Dad – please don't hang up." The phone remained connected – progress of a sort. Perhaps the plea had intrigued his estranged offspring.

If that was so no one would have guessed from the eventual snarl, "I'm wearing your bloody tracker."

"Actually I rang because I need your help."

It was a toss up which intonation dominated, the disbelief or the sarcasm. "The great all might Harry Pearce needs the help of his druggie son. How the mighty are fallen. I told you everything I knew about Catherine's bloke. "

"I know and we're working on it. To accurate Graham I now need your help to help your mother."

"Why? What've you done to her?"

"Promised to help her divorce your stepfather - you know the one you idolised." This last sentence probably wasn't Harry's most sensible remark of the decade, but he could only take so much, even to help Jane.

During a very long pause – he could almost hear the cogs of what passed for Graham's mind grinding through the process of trying to detect some fell motive to his enquiry – he waited impatiently and silently, prudence advising him not to push. Finally, "So what did you want?"

"The location of the hotel, and the approximated date when you saw him and his er..."

"Slapper is the word you're searching for Dad. And don't lecture me about respecting women."

Harry suppressed a snort of laughter. Judging from Jane's description of the hacked video that descriptive noun was literally accurate. As Graham revealed the hotel location, situated in one of the seedier parts of London, Harry couldn't resist a further comment, "Spoiling her wasn't he!"

The miracle happened, Graham dropped the attitude, his own amusement evident down the line, "I'll say. Do I gather that you want to hack the hotel computer for details, because if so you have a problem."

"Which is?"

"Wasn't computerised at the time." The vague air of triumph wafted its way to Harry's ears. Why was that a cause for rejoicing? Damn, never mind they probably had enough anyway. "Sorry to have troubled you then."

His finger on the button was stayed by Graham's next words, "Hang on Dad, don't you want the info?"

"Yes but.."

Then followed a question that was decidedly off piste. Graham, for whom the word downright might have been coined, sounded unusually apprehensive. "Is Mum listening in?"

Puzzled, and surprised they were still communicating, Harry hastened to reassure him, "No she's in the kitchen, Why?"

"Get her to slave for you. Typical." Before Harry could defend himself Graham continued, "I wanted hard evidence to show Mum, and I thought Robin might use the place again so I chatted up the Receptionist and..."

The euphemism alert was clanging into Harry's ear. "By chatted up you mean..."

"Yea, gave her a few glasses of wine and a good fuck. Worked wonders ...I got the necessary through some drunken pillow talk. When she was asleep I crept into Reception and photographed the register. I also discovered that Robin had made an advance booking so I managed to sneak back and got a shot of the pair of them feeling each other up in the doorway."

Not much rendered Harry speechless but Graham had just managed it, effortlessly. To receive way too much information was also a rarity in Harry's life but now he knew why Graham had been so anxious that Jane didn't overhear their conversation, she'd go ballistic, and after treating them both to a feminist rant would have offensively concluded, 'like father, like son'. Harry himself was havering between the twin pillars of proud and appalled. Pride that Graham definitely was his son, going to endless lengths to protect those he loved, even when they eschewed his aid. Appalled because said son was following in precisely those footsteps Harry would have sincerely advised him to avoid. How should he react to the proof that their resemblance was more than skin deep, say 'don't do it' when Graham patently had? This whole exchange typified their warped family life, other fathers and sons bonded over football and beer, he and Graham were swapping experiences of shagging and spying, topics that even fairly impolite society would consider off limits. His life resembled the fairground Hall of Mirrors, in which the semblance of normality was reflected back to public view in recognisable but increasingly distorted shapes.

Vocal cords restored to life he croaked, "So can you..."

Graham finished for him. "Get the evidence to you. I'll send it to Thames House. Just get rid of that second waste of space Mum married. I care about Mum and Catherine - although you can go to Hell."

"Probably my ultimate destination. Thanks Graham. I won't tell you mother how you came by this. Father and son secret."

The sole reply was the sound of silence. Graham had summarily ended the call. Fortuitous timing as Jane emerged from the now tidied kitchen asking, "Everything alright?"

"Yes more or less. He seemed quite pleased to tell me he'd got some evidence about Robin. He's sending it to Thames House.

From the wrinkling of her forehead he predicted that she was going to ask for information he'd no intention of divulging. He'd promised Graham, besides which if he wanted to redecorate the ceiling he'd invest in a chandelier. Hurriedly he gave her the basic digest of the final seconds, "Hates me, cares about you and Catherine, it's progress on just caring for himself."

"He'd never admit to it but I'm sure he was pleased you needed him." At his look of disbelief she sighed, Harry might be a caring father but he'd never understood parenting. "Harry, all he and Catherine have ever wanted from you is approval."

Thank God she hadn't asked for the exact details of what Graham had done to earn the paternal endorsement of 'didn't he do well?' "So why did they both do things, joins causes, take attitudes guaranteed to annoy me?"

"For someone so bright you really are obtuse at times. It's what children, especially teenagers, do. You disapproved whenever you saw them, so they rebelled even more."

As Jane said it she wondered about the veracity of her remarks. The problems with Graham were deep seated. Harry adored both his children but some indefinable barrier had always seemed to form a road block between himself and Graham. The difficulties with Catherine had never been so acute, although she had been just as irritating teenwise.

Meanwhile Harry was struggling with the bewildering notion that despite his openly expressed contempt Graham might, deep down, want to acknowledge his father. "You think there's hope?"

"So the story of Pandora's box tells us. Heaven knows you've fought the evils of the world long enough to deserve some remission." He seemed to wince a little, her attempt at comfort misplaced. "Sorry I keep upsetting you. It's not deliberate."

"I know and don't mind my sensibilities; they probably resemble coconut matting these days."

"If they did you'd not be so worried about Catherine's fate. And I know something else is eating at you. Can't I help?"

This oblique question was the nearest Jane was ever going to come to directly inviting him to unburden himself.

For the time it took his heart to beat twice he paused, considered the merits of her suggestion, and then passed on the option. Harry Pearce confided in no one. "If you could I'd ask." It wasn't a lie. No one could help.

Jane accepted the dismissal although she was wounded – she'd confided in him, agreed to let him help her so why was he stubbornly refusing to reciprocate? It made the balance between them uneven, worse it left her feeling beholden, taking support, giving none in return. He'd trusted her thus far and even with her sketchy knowledge of his work activities there wasn't much that could shock her, what was preventing him from making that final effort to uncouple himself from a crippling secrecy. If they were ever to repair their relationship to the point of feeling fully comfortable with one another she needed to know, she needed him to trust her as a friend - she needed thinking time. Glancing at her watch she read the hour as being just short of ten pm. Harry wasn't the only one who could make excuses.

"Well you know best. I'm off to bed in that case, it's been a long day and who knows what tomorrow may bring."

"Hopefully our daughter, safe and sound."

"If it does I'll be torn between whether to hug her or shake her."

A comment that elicited no response other than a wry smile followed by a low voiced "Goodnight then."

Jane had retired to bed making the excuse of tiredness; her real intention to try and cobble together a working theory around the mystery that was Harry. Once snuggled under the luxuriously warm down filled duvet - Harry knew how to keep his guests in comfort - that excuse had turned into a reality as sheer physical exhaustion superseded intellectual pondering. Now she was staring at the clock on the bedside table wondering why she'd woken up at two o'clock in the morning yet again. Remembering the previous evening's adventures she automatically strained her ears, expecting to detect the sound of screams. None were forthcoming, but in the comparative silence she picked out the steady muffled tread of feet pacing backwards and forwards. As the last visages of sleep fled she acquired some sense of place. Downstairs she thought. Dragging herself out of bed, thankful that the ankle had repaired sufficiently to allow her to abandon the support of Harry's stick, she pulled on the silky kimono that did service as her dressing gown and crept as quietly down the staircase as her still wobbly gait allowed. On reaching the bottom tread she noted that the sitting room light was on, although dimmed. Cautiously she entered, her arrival betrayed by the slight squeak of the door. In the centre of the room a barefooted Harry, also clad in dressing gown plus pyjama bottoms, was pacing. Her efforts to be silent having been to no avail he fixed her with a gimlet stare before saying in a mild voice, "Can't get away from you can I."

"I did offer to find a hotel." When no reply was forthcoming she added, "So what's the problem, can't sleep."

"Just about. I keep thinking about Catherine." 'And Ruth, Tarig, Jim, Adam, Ros...Bill, even Lucas, everyone I ever let down'

"Well wearing yourself to death won't help. Sit down while I do some hot milk." Without waiting to see whether he did as she suggested she headed for the kitchen. It took her about ten minutes to negotiate the workings of his microwave, but when she returned carrying two mugs of milk Harry had taken her advice sufficiently to have plumped down onto the sofa. Thrusting his drink towards him she took the chair.

"Don't say anything Harry, just sit, even if you can't sleep at least you can conserve energy."

And so they sat in a companionable silence, as the warmth of the liquid, and the quiet, and the stillness of the early hours enveloped them... and at five o'clock in the morning Jane awoke with a stiff neck, her foot nudging the mug that had slipped from her fingers when she'd dozed off. Looking across the room she saw that Harry had also finally flaked out. Not only was he sleeping like a baby, with his receding hair line and chubby body he resembled an overgrown one. Her maternal instincts aroused she briefly considered attempting to lift his legs onto the sofa but uncertain that she could cope with his weight, and worried that she would jerk him awake she opted to leave him undisturbed. However despite warmth from the central heating still permeating the air she was feeling slightly chilled. Touching Harry's arm gently she realised the same applied to him. Forcing herself up the staircase, her ankle hadn't improved to the point where motion was pain free, she swiftly stripped the duvet off his bed. With her impaired movement her second downward trip of the night was clumsy but she finally made it back to the sofa where Harry dreamed on, blissfully oblivious to her struggles. Trying very hard not to jolt him she wrapped him up, closed the door and headed back to her own bed. With luck she'd manage another couple of hours sleep.

Limping past Harry's room on her return journey, she realised that she'd forgotten to kill the light. Entering for the express purpose of switching it off she gazed around, taking in the details she'd been too busy to notice a few minutes earlier, quietly savouring her first chance to survey his very private domain, yesterday evening's foray having taken place under the cover of darkness. At a cursory glance the room was much as she'd have anticipated. The furnishings while of good quality were typical of Harry's decor, neutral, uncluttered, minimal. It was therefore with surprise that she spotted, tucked away in the window corner, a small, fully laden, pinewood bookcase. This intrigued her, books in the bedroom, other than the volume currently being read, had been one of their many grounds for argument when married. Knowing she shouldn't snoop, that it was an abuse of his hospitality, like most people when presented with temptation she succumbed. Her scanning of titles held in the small library bewildered her even more. Harry read widely, but the Brontes, Austen!... his preference had been for nonfiction, Shakespeare and assorted poets, rarely, if ever, did he peruse a romance, however classic. And knowing his reading habits she was confronted with a further puzzle; these books looked somewhat battered through use, the creased spines a clue to their having been continually read and reread. They weren't especially significant editions so why...

Pulling out a title at random, her hand had lighted on the copy of 'Persuasion', she scanned the inside of the cover, gasping as her eyes locked onto the book plate bearing the name:

RUTH EVERSHED.

Thanks for reading. If you have an odd moment please review