Thanks once more to all my readers and to those who took the time to review. This is something of a bridging chapter as the story is nearing its end.

Sunday: a week later

Harry knew that Jane was a good driver but like most men he took a proprietorial view of his car, which he rarely, if ever, let anyone else drive. Not for the first time since Jane had remerged into his life from the bombed remnants of Catherine's front door, an event which, despite her undoubted physical attractions was so much less poetic than Venus arising from the waves, she'd left him with little choice in the matter.

"Harry you let down our own children often enough – you are not doing a repeat performance with Wes, and before you say it, I got Malcolm to put me on your insurance as a named driver."

And that had been that. Harry could only reflect that at least he'd get a welcome prolonged exposure to fresh air after a week of quasi house arrest - his visit to the hospital didn't count - and with it an opportunity to assess how well his body coped with an activity more strenuous than that of lazing in an armchair, before he returned to part time work on the morrow. His private moan to Tom over Jane's high handed attitude, when the latter had popped around with the updated report on Robin's movements had received a tactful reply, allied with a fleeting expression best summed up as 'Look who's talking."

Still suffering some lingering irritation as Jane steered her way along the long and winding road Harry distracted himself by reviewing the events of the previous week which had, in the main, been productive of satisfactory outcomes from his point of view, his various opponents no doubt holding the opposite opinion.

The one danger he'd really feared from operation 'Snuggle Bunny' had proved to be still born. Overall Jane had been positively inundated with messages of support – welcome - and expressions of sympathy – less so – on the revelations of Robin's private behaviour along with his privates – some of the comments on the latter, proportions and use of, from her teaching colleagues having been phrased in terms that they would unhesitatingly have red pencilled if presented on a student's work. The scandal of Robin's duplicity had also, apparently, set various social networks and the Twittersphere alight, although Harry had to take Calum's report in that instance on trust, for himself he was inclined to agree with the scurrilous comment that too many twits made a twat.

The less welcome side effect of this public - or should that be pubic display - which had left Robin stinking like a stick stirred pond, was that Harry had finally been forced to disgorge to Jane the details of the operation he'd authorised in rather more depth than he thought wise. He thought it even less advisable to let her see Malcolm's tasteful venture into production media, Jane's tastes veered towards the arty in film, not the arse end. Finally, against his better judgement he'd been forced to acquiesce. He didn't like it but had to admit the justice of her argument,

"I appreciate your reticence but I have to respond to these comments, how can I do that if I don't know what my friends have actually seen?"

She'd watched in silence. Her face schooled to be expressionless but betrayed by her body whose language told a different tale. She was almost shrivelling with embarrassment, although Harry, attempting to gauge her reaction wasn't sure if that was due to Robin's various antics, or the elegant savagery of the production. That issue was clarified when upon the presentation reaching its conclusion she sighed almost tearfully in a very small voice, so unlike her usual definite tones,

"God to think how deceived I was, I'm so ashamed to have made such a mistake. How am I going to face..." Her words petered out as she considered the public enormity to which Robin's, and by association, her private life had been exposed. It was the reaction he'd expected, and the one he'd sought to spare her from. Grasping her hand so tightly she winced he relaxed his hold a little stating firmly,

"This is to Robin's discredit, not yours and from what Malcolm has recorded on the various bugs he left in place to monitor reaction you have the sympathy vote." Before she could argue he added, "Yes I know but sympathy is preferable to pity."

She remained very quiet for a few minutes, before making a comment couched in typically Jane terms, "It reminds me a little of 'Twelfth Night', you know Malvolio richly deserves his punishment but by the end it ceases to be funny and becomes cruel." She must have caught sight of Harry's thundercloud face preparing to expostulate as she added hastily, "But don't think for a moment I'm not grateful. It's just...well it suddenly feels strange to know I'm on my own. When we split up I had the children with me. At least...how do I face him when I have to go home?"

"You don't." Jane just stared as Harry expanded the theme. "When Robin returned to his hotel he found his clothes packed and a note saying that the locks on your house had been changed, and if he approaches you, our children or your sister, an injunction will be taken out." As she gasped with shock at his calm assumption of control of her life – should she be offended or grateful - he explained further, "I sent Jason to pack for him along with one of Tom's employees, you'll find the security is greatly improved. I've also made an appointment with Robert for you on Monday morning to discuss the divorce. All you need to decide is the settlement you require."

"Supposing Robin doesn't agree to what I ask for?"

"Then Cock Robin can have starring role on Utube. We know he enjoys being hit and poked."

"Thanks Harry." She leant over and kissed him gently on the cheek, before suddenly almost bursting into laughter.

"What's amusing you?"

"Black comedy really, but the idea of Malcolm having to trawl all that footage ..."

Harry chuckling in response advised her, "He's seen worse – trust me on that – and he quite enjoyed playing around with the voice changing software, and trying out a few other strictly none sex toys."

As a discussion it had been tricky but ultimately much more amicable than the one concerning Jane's continuing role as nursemaid. Harry conscious that now she was unshackled from Robin she could now arrange a life for herself away from London, and way from him if she so wished, had felt obliged to add,

"And Jane I can manage now and half term is over so shouldn't you be returning to work." He met of course with a definite refusal,

"Not until you've been checked out – I think they'll understand when I tell them that it's family."

Harry, gratified that he'd finally advanced to the status of family, never really discovered whether they understood or not. The frightfully helpful Oliver, anxious to reduce ribald gossip that could damage Jane's reputation had taken it upon himself to contact Jane's head. The subsequent battery of phone calls, emails and jaw breaking jargon from both the teaching and IT worlds was enough to confound anyone but ultimately found their joint resolution via the invasion of Harry's much underused study, which was turned out and skilfully revamped by Malcolm into a small video conferencing suite allowing Jane to remotely connect with her students. Harry, more used to cursing than admiring the networking technologies that made his working life so problem ridden found himself feeling mildly envious of today's pupils; he'd have loved an opportunity to turn off his teachers. 'Now Pearce in your analysis of Keat's use of language in 'Ode on Grecian Urn' can you please explain your comment that 'anyone who writes a very long poem about a vase has serious mental problems' this is a frivolous...Goodbye and thanks Sir...click'

The introduction of this new technology did however mean that when Jane wasn't occupying the office he could commander the facility and discuss daily issues with Erin face to face, thus relieving some of his frustration created by his medically dictated confinement to barracks. Malcolm when visiting on day two to check the installation opted not to pass on the comments from the Grid. Harry's discovery that he could now sit at home and make his presence felt via a computer conference had resulted in Erin feeling about Harry pretty much the way Harry felt about his ex teachers. On the previous day as the appointed time for Harry to discuss, harangue, and generally remind Erin who was boss drew near she had regretfully rejected Calum's suggestions for easing the tension, "Send him a get well slowly card, or order me to trip over a wire," on the grounds that at least Harry wasn't omnipresent, and screen contact was removing his temptation to break cover thereby revealing to the CIA that he wasn't at death's door but sitting comfortably behind his own front door orchestrating the dismantling of their various illegal operations.

Jefferies, confident that the legendary US cavalry would come over the hill just in time, had taken longer to crack than might have been anticipated judging from his attempts to sprint from the Reception. He'd finally given in when presented with the evidence solicited from the confessions of those arrested and implicated in the Brixton gang black ops -which had incidentally proved to have been a nice little undeclared earner for various corrupt agents – combined with the evidence from Lanyon Mercado and those arrested at the Clink. With the collapse of their case for unfair detention the noise of protest from the CIA had magically transformed into the sound of silence, superseded by that of an outright denial of authorisation of the actions that saw the culprits transferred in the first instance to the custody of Special Branch, anticipating a glorious crime clear up rate when they finally laid charges, to be followed in due course by prosecution in the courts. This had left the fate of Chris Coaver as the sole hanging question for Harry.

Naturally suspicious of the wittering of anyone employing Tring speak he'd nonetheless been obliged to accede to the combined wisdom of the independent but agreeing assessments from three separate experts, all of whom had turned in reports confirming that Christopher Coaver was in the throes of a total nervous breakdown and not really responsible for his actions. His finally tracked down mother, disporting herself in some American sunshine state with her third husband had submitted a plea for leniency, although she was hardly running to the support her son, the acquisition of an all over tan being a more pressing concern. Harry almost felt sorry for the boy when considering what Jane's reaction would have been in similar circumstances, or indeed his own when the news of Catherine's injury in the Lebanon had been broken to him.

Consideration of the whole issue had been responsible for inflicting upon him yet another dark night of the soul...Jim had been his friend and it was inarguable that Harry had made it easier for the Russian rogue group to kill him...and crucially in not unrelated circumstances the equally warped Sasha Gavrik seeking to avenge a parent's death had actually killed Ruth, and Harry had made no objection to his being allowed to depart from England's shores. "Yes" his inner voice stated as he tossed and turned, hoping that Jane, in an inconveniently solicitous mood wasn't hovering outside his bedroom door, "but the cases were different, Sasha wasn't cold bloodedly plotting a death, and he was going for you, tragically Ruth got in the way. And you owed Ilya something for his willing help in covering up what really happened. Whereas Coaver was deliberately stalking Catherine, cold bloodedly drugged her, and was prepared to kill her." Thoughts that only added to his accumulated sense of self blame, guilt, and utter confusion. Finally forced to retread every mistake he'd made, recognising that it was his own unforgiveable stupidity that had allowed the disastrous events to spin out of control thereby resulting in that quartet of deaths, Tariq, Jim, Elena and Ruth, he'd returned to that basic question, if the roles had been reversed, if it had been Graham who was so utterly screwed up what would he have hoped Jim would have done – and then he'd contacted Erin to agree to young Coaver's being shipped home for treatment. And then having swallowed this bitter pill felt even guiltier for doing so.

Looking for an upside to assuage his feeling that he'd been conned and his good nature exploited, the final capitulation of the Americans meant that at least his survival could be announced, and more importantly he could attend his physiotherapy appointment at the hospital without the necessity of pretending to be a corpse. By the time the physiotherapist had finished with him he was rather wishing he was one. Muscles throbbing with the agony of having movement coaxed out of them, he was forced to acknowledge a private, silent, gratitude to Jane for ignoring his earlier insistence that she returned to her own life. Exhausted he was able to flop into bed leaving any extraneous domestic details in her capable hands. He could also trust her, when seeing him grey faced with pain not to ask stupid questions of the "Does it hurt?" variety, although before thankfully succumbing to the embrace of his mattress he'd remained sufficiently compos mentis to extract a promise from her not to hide his trousers again. Pain not withstanding the medical staff had reluctantly agreed that he could return to work for a few hours a day on the following Monday, subject to his agreeing not to even attempt to drive himself. That meant that Jane would definitely be able to go home, which might be as well, he'd miss her, but ever since his conversation with Oliver Carstairs he'd begun to realise that perhaps he was becoming a little too accustomed to her presence.

During a week in which the bulk of conversations had revolved around Jane, work and Harry's convalescence he'd felt obliged to contact Oliver. After all his support for Jane, not to mention his part in maintaining Malcolm and Tom's cover, personal thanks were the least he was owed. Somehow this had resulted in Harry, usually so jealous of his personal privacy, extending an invitation for Oliver, accompanied by his wife, to renew their brief acquaintanceship over drinks. Cursing himself for doing so the instant he'd set the phone down it had in fact turned into quite a convivial evening, and not just because he was reunited with his beloved whisky in an alcoholic one night stand due to Jane, who in recognition of the presence of company, had relaxed her puritanical insistence that Harry remain teetotal. For the most part, after Oliver's initial hand wringing in fulfilment of his earlier words to Jane, the overarching topic of conversation had revolved around the various trials and tribulations of the teaching profession, in which, much to Jane's surprise, Harry, having a wealth of experience in recruitment and training had found himself able to participate. Oliver and Caroline were good company and Harry found himself unexpectedly sad as the evening drew to its natural close. The visiting couple seemed to feel the same way and as they took their leave Caroline, having politely thanked him for a lovely time added, "And when you've recovered sufficiently do come to dinner with Jane."

What had shocked Harry wasn't the implied relationship with Jane that underpinned the invitation, the misinterpretation was understandable to anyone not conversant with their entire history, and Harry wasn't about to educate the world and his wife, or specifically Oliver and his wife about that. What really troubled him was the fleeting thought that it would be nice to accept. Result: he'd gone to bed burdened by an additional layer of newly created guilt. Ruth had died less than six months ago, the earth of her grave not yet settled sufficiently to support a headstone, and here he was almost sinking into coupledom by default. It just proved what Jane, and that long list of subsequently forgettable women, had shouted at the acrimonious end of their relationships; that he was fickle, unfaithful, that he would never really change. He still yearned for Ruth, he thought about her constantly, for those first few days and weeks he'd kept going by an effort of will, admittedly the initial raw pain had finally begun to recede but only to be converted into a dull permanent ache. Now unlooked for, unsought circumstances seemed to be compelling him towards a new relationship. Yet was Jane really such a new element in his life, she'd always been there lurking in his subconscious as a thorn, a regret, a repentance that had made him tread carefully once he'd realised Ruth was different to the women he'd briefly consoled himself with after his divorce. Nor did he think Jane was expecting anything much along romantic lines, they were both mentally crawling out of mutual disasters and he was adamant that he wanted them to remain friends, so provided both knew the score did it really matter what others thought?

He could of course tell Jane the truth, but even as he considered that option he shied away from the prospect. A cowardice based on his not wanting to hurt her further, and Jane would be hurt, how could she not be? He'd been, correction he still was, in love with a woman nearly twenty years his junior, and he'd been on the point of leaving the service to live with her, committing to the very action Jane had begged him to do all those years ago in the hope of preserving their marriage – and that was before he threw Elena and Sasha into the mix. The religious claimed that confession was good for the soul. Possibly, but he'd prefer to stick to secrets. It was coming clean about the role Elena had played in his life that had screwed up his relationship with Ruth, just when he'd managed to repair the damage done by the Albany affair. That disaster had only just been averted when the aftermath of Elena's final total confession triggered the events that had seen Ruth dying in his arms. Not surprisingly this recurring nightmare whirling around in his brain had severely truncated his slumber.

It was in the midst of his morning grumpiness, exacerbated by the lack of sleep that Jane had sprung her bombshell about Wes. Normally seeing Wes was a pleasure, even if it did remind Harry of what he'd missed with his own son but today, not being distracted from his thoughts by the need to drive, consideration of Adam, and all the other officers killed before their time merely contributed to his downbeat mood.

Jane while concentrating on navigating her way along the unfamiliar roads had noted that Harry was being unusually taciturn and with her culled knowledge had no difficulty in tracing the mood back to its source, Caroline's kindly meant invitation. Harry was brooding and that she was suspected due to the emotional tentacles of unknown Ruth Evershed. The irony, she'd suffered from his earlier fickleness and now even the more limited chance of a friendship with him was stymied by his late development of constancy. Perhaps though she was being a little unfair – as she'd reminded him in that dreadful cafe he had always returned him to her – unfaithful yes, but inconstant, not entirely and not perhaps, now she understood more about his working life, as greatly as she'd thought at the time.

The mutual silence was becoming oppressive, finally broken by Jane, who as she turned up the road slowing the car on the approach towards the imposing wrought iron gates that marked the school entrance asked, "What is the drill on arrival Harry?"

"The gate attendant has a list of expected visitors, then we turn left and head towards the car park. From there we're directed to the playing fields."

"Very well – I should tell you that Mr Carter rang the other day, when you were conferencing with Erin. Obviously I had to explain who I was..."

Harry didn't want to ask but had to, "Obviously. And you said?"

"That I was your ex, our daughter had been in hospital hence my staying with you and then you were injured so I'd extended my visit to make sure you didn't do anything stupid."

Harry wasn't sure quite what Mr Carter and his wife would have made of that. But since his staff all knew that gossiping about Harry's private life headed the list of actions punishable by transfer into somewhere unspeakable, (the career graveyard that was domestic liaison with the European Parliament, all talk, no action and infested with self serving bureaucrats) the chances were that their knowledge was limited to the fact that he was divorced, hardly an uncommon scenario. Anyway they would be far too polite to ask searching questions. Wes was of much more importance than Harry. As the car was waved through the gate and the sports pavilion loomed into sight Harry was suffering from his familiar sense of flash back. It had been on these rugby fields that he'd had to break the news to Wes of Adam's death. Not that he'd needed words, the appearance of Uncle Harry looking shaken on a weekday without Adam beside him had told Wes all he need to know in an instant. Harry sometimes wondered if he could go anywhere without dragging the shadow of death in his wake. Possibly that was what had made the recent rerun of domestic life with Jane a more cheerful affair than he could have predicted, she was still alive, with the tongue to prove it, a surviving shard from a time when he had hope and happiness- until it all went belly up, like everything else in his personal life.

Climbing gingerly out of the car, smooth as the drive had been his shoulder had suffered some mild jarring, Harry took her arm and guided her towards the playing fields, pointing out the salient features of the ancient ivy clad red brick of main school building set at some distance away. As they scrunched their way along the weedy gravel path bordering the field, wind whipping across their faces they could see out on the pitch, green with ominously brown semi liquid patches, the elderly groundsman checking that everything was in order, watched by a small knot of spectators, obviously parents and supporters, muffled against the seasonable elements, the veterans prepared with flasks and shooting sticks. Surveying the ground, still a trifle marshy from the considerable amount of rain that had fallen recently, Jane was deeply thankful that at least the washing that would result from the inevitable mud bath wouldn't fall to her lot. She was already preparing to spend a deeply boring afternoon watching a game whose rules escaped her, but Harry was here to support Wes and that was what mattered, not her views on the waste of time otherwise known as sport.

As they approached those who had already arrived Harry was greeted by a couple whom she judged to be just a few years older than themselves. "Hello Harry – I know better than to ask what happened." Harry grasping the male of the pair with his good hand and leaning over to kiss the cheek of the woman replied in kind, "Just the usual local difficulties, good to see you Mark, I trust you're keeping him in order Judith." Jane standing back, unusually shy and unsure of herself, was once again surprised by the warmth he was exhibiting, so unlike his usual locked up style of communication. A reminder of the man he might have been full time if MI5 hadn't got their hands on him. Harry misreading the mild wrinkling of her brow as a rebuke for his lack of manners hastily made good his error, "Mark, Judith, allow me to introduce Jane...my errr my driver for today." Considering their past Jane thought this was quite an acceptable description of her current status, how did you introduce your ex when their actual relationship was uncertain? Clive stepping into the awkward conversational gap shook her hand, "Thanks for bringing him Jane. I know it means a lot to Wes."

Any further attempts at what bade to be a very stilted conversation were mercifully halted by the piercing shout from another parent, "Here they come – ohh doesn't my little one look all grown up." A gush that forced Jane to contemplate the notion that Harry's unseen, unknown, very hands off parenting, wasn't the worse fate Graham could have experienced. If the woman's unfortunate offspring had overheard her as he ran out onto the pitch he gave no sigh of acknowledgment, thereby exhibiting considerably more commonsense than his parent, unlike a tall fair haired boy following directly behind who gave a merry wave in their direction. Even without Judith nudging her and saying, 'That's Wes' with a pride that wasn't publicly embarrassing she'd have guessed his identity from the look of sheer pleasure in the boy's face when, having anxiously scanned their party, his eyes rested on Harry with a beam that could have been produced from a lighthouse. If only Graham could show the same emotion at the sight of his father...someday perhaps. She didn't have long to lose herself in private regrets as the match was about to commence.

Settling down to watch the first forty minutes with no expectation whatsoever of enjoyment Jane, somewhat reprehensibly, discovered that while the actual game in progress left her cold, in the current temperature almost literally, she was deriving considerable amusement from the much more fascinating sport of spectator watching. Whatever unmentionable actions were taking place in the scrum were comparatively civilised compared to parenting at its most primeval on the sidelines. If it wasn't fathers and brothers urging their younger males on with cries of 'Get him." "Move" and "Who picked that tosser for the team." Followed by an amateur boxing match between two sets of parents requiring the refereeing skills of the assistant games teacher, it was mothers worrying about the chances of their delicate little darlings surviving the experience. The woman Jane had noted earlier continually wailing, "Barty are you hurt." whenever any opposing player came with three yards of him and after one particularly brutal tackle a scream at the opposing team captain, "Don't do that, he bruises easily" a request that was greeted by a very rude gesture from the accused captain, followed by a pause and reprimand for ungentlemanly conduct. While sympathetically thinking that the wrong person was being castigated Jane fought down the temptation to advise the idiotic woman that she was probably worrying unnecessarily, Barty the focus of her maternal concern, being in possession of a physical build that suggested that if it came to argument between him and a barn door the door would be the loser. The real revelation for her however was the transformed Harry. Removed from of his normal sphere of activity into an alternative comfort zone, sans the requirement to make endless agonising decisions, the fearsome head of counter terrorism was currently jumping up and down with excitement as Wes scored a try, and while not daring to watch the given kick, the roar from his throat when the ball soared over the poles could have been heard on the Grid. He was relaxed, absorbed; happy in his role of quasi parent. If only he could have been there for Graham but...

Her thoughts were interrupted by Judith, standing beside her murmuring, "Do they ever grow up?" As Jane turned to face her companion Judith smiled, "This is quite normal, and Harry really has been very good with Wes." Seeing a slight element of doubt creep into Jane's face she confirmed, "When Adam died I wanted Wes removed entirely from the orbit of MI5, after all it had killed both Adam and Fiona, but...well we knew that Harry had spent quite sometime with Adam and Wes after Fiona died and we finally decided Wes had lost enough." Jane would have liked to have pressed further but at that point the whistle blew for half time and Harry and Mark, hoarse with shouting rejoined them. This was not exactly a blessing since the pair of them were still fully occupied discussing the finer points of a game that neither woman understood but they were soon distracted anyway with the arrival of the Headmaster.

The latter, making an obvious round in the interests of PR as he glad handed all and sundry, halted for sometime Jane noticed by the mother of Barty, from whose tolls he eventually escaped with the hunted expression of an animal being stalked as prey. Arriving at their little knot he very properly greeted the Carters followed up with, "And Sir Harry, glad you could make it despite that injury and.." turning to acknowledge Jane with a genuinely puzzled frown, "I'm so sorry your face seems familiar but..." Harry rescuing him from his dilemma performed the necessary, "Jane can I introduce you to Matthew Urwin, headmaster of this establishment and Matthew, Jane Townsend."

Jane's name struck a chord that her face hadn't quite managed as Urwin's face cleared, "Of course, I attended one of the training sessions you took a couple of years ago. Tell me are you writing a follow up to your commentaries on the tragedies." From there the others might not have existed as the two plunged into an animated conversation which concluded with Urwin inviting Jane to visit the school library and Jane rather shamefacedly turning to Harry with a questioning expression. Harry, sincerely hoping that this suggestion was not the equivalent of an invitation to see Urwin's etchings, smiled, "That's fine Jane – I'm getting used to you being kidnapped by the educational establishment."

Watching her vanish with Urwin and noting that Harry's eyes followed her across the pathways until she vanished from view Mark was drawing his own conclusions. Adam had said very little about Harry's private life, other than Harry had a rocky relationship with his children and a non-existent one with his ex, a response to Judith's once commenting on the fact that it seemed strange that such an attractive man had no one discernible in his life. If Jane had stayed her departure to check that Harry was recovered from his latest brush with death then matters seemed to have thawed remarkably. Jane's outline of the circumstances under which she'd remained at Harry's injury ridden side were reasonable enough, but that she'd been willing to ensure his presence here for no reason other than it was important to a boy she'd never met, playing in a minor match of interest only to doting family members, was a call beyond duty. He approved, the woman clearly had charm, intelligence and – the real touchstone here – was someone who, on this showing, he'd be very happy to introduce to Wes as Harry's partner.

The couple were missing for the rest of the match that ended in a resounding victory for the home team. As the two sides trooped off for a shower and change of clothes before being allowed to greet their supporters over tea and biscuits in the school hall Jane and Urwin finally emerged still chattering enthusiastically. Shaking Jane's hand warmly Urwin said, "Thanks for that Jane and do let me know what you think about my proposition, if your current teaching post can accommodate it." Seeing that several parents, including Barty's mother were twitching for attention he added, "I really have to go but it was an unlooked for pleasure." Barty's mother wasn't the only one with a furious face, Mark seeing Harry's threatening expression felt confirmed in his earlier suspicions, Jane making a similar interpretation hurriedly enlightened them, "He's asked me if I'd be willing to come and take some master classes, a couple of times a term on the relevance of Shakespeare to the current generation."

Whatever Harry was about to say to that was lost in an 'Oof' as the excited and victorious Wes came charging into him. "Thanks for coming Uncle Harry. Did you see my try and Barty –he's a great prop forward and..." Barty currently being fussed over by his mother, "Have you had that bruise seen to' and very pointedly not answering, made his escape from the maternal smothering at the earliest opportunity to join Wes. As the two boys began an excited discussion Mark drawing away slightly informed Jane quietly, "It's usually like this – the boys adore Harry, he really does understand what interests them."

"Judith said you weren't sure whether to let him stay in contact as an honorary uncle."

"I'm glad we did. I must say though he seems much happier today that the last twice we've seen him."

He'd caught Jane's interest. Capitalising on that fact he continued, "He came to the speech day at the end of last term, and took Wes, Barty and a couple of others out for the day in the summer. He was fine with the boys but when they weren't around seemed really down – remote, almost on an autopilot if you know what I mean." Satisfied that he'd said as much as he could to encourage a renewed relationship Mark moved to reclaim a few precious minutes with his grandson, leaving Jane's brain ticking over. It fitted, whatever was bothering Harry had taken place in the summer she was sure and...

Her reverie was interrupted by Harry saying, "Wes you have to thank Jane for bringing me down today. Jane – Wes my honorary nephew." Wes meanwhile was taking stock of Jane with all the unbridled curiosity of a fourteen year old confronted with a stranger who might be having relationship or even 'yurgghh' sex with a mentor old enough to be past it. Jane thoroughly well versed in the teenage psyche having read this one, managed to shake hands as Wes, remembering his manners, asked eagerly said, "Thanks, did you enjoy the match." Rescuing her Harry informed his young protégé, "She didn't see all of it. Your headmaster grabbed her - I believe Jane might be teaching you next term."

"Cool – what do you teach?"

"The offer is for Shakespeare." A revelation that instantly made the street cred of being with Harry fly further than the rugby ball, although it was actually Barty who groaned, "We get enough of that - it's so well, girly." Harry wondering how Jane, scuppered before she began, would respond to that, grinned as she informed Barty and Wes, "Well you try reading Titus Andronicus and then tell me if it's girly." Barty's mother listening in, having taken Jane in dislike for hogging both the Headmaster and the only other eligible man present expostulated, "But that is so violent, I really think we ought to train boys to think of high and pleasant things in life." Simpering with a flick of the eyelashes, "Don't you Sir Harry?" Harry, whose entire adult life, and chief source of income, since university days had revolved around active contemplation of the low and deeply unpleasant things in life, was spared answering by young Barty, who forthrightly informed his mother, "Mum it's got to be better than the last one we had to read which was all about fairies, as for Romeo, what a tool he was!" Before the discussion could become more heated the boys were summoned back to the school and Harry, Jane and the Carters prepared to leave, Jane quietly confident that Barty's seething mum had just ensured that by the end of the week an entire group of boys would be conversant with Shakespeare's blood thirstiest work.

It was in fact near to nine o'clock at night before well fed and exhausted they staggered through the front door of Harry's house, Harry having insisted on a detour to a small restaurant that he knew. It had been a pleasant meal with conversation mainly revolving around Wes and, given that the place was virtually deserted, Harry explaining at Jane's request the background and fate of Wes's parents.

"Wes finally had to be told what they did, although as far as his friends are concerned I work for the civil service in the Ministry of Agriculture."

"Well I suppose you do spend most of your time up to your armpits in metaphorical shit so not an entire lie then."

Once through the front door Jane, having commented that she needed to finish her packing, was stayed by Harry's asking, "Wait a moment." As he disappeared into the sitting room to remerge with a set of two keys. "You'll need these, they are your new front door keys, plus this note is the security alarm code."

Taking them she noticed that he had a second set of keys and a note which he proffered with the words, "I'd like you to take these as well Jane. I know you can stay with Catherine but if you want to visit or if it is inconvenient, well let's just say that after a rocky start I've enjoyed having you around, - no strings I promise."

Jane looking at the keys held hopefully towards her, longing to grasp them, gulped as she came to a reluctant decision,

"Harry I would like to take them but I don't know that I can."

Harry's eyebrows drew together questioningly, "Why ever not?"

Taking a deep breath Jane haltingly enlightened him. "Because I can't make that decision until you tell me about Ruth Evershed."

Thanks for reading. If you have a few moments please review. No prizes for guessing the content of the next chapter.