Many thanks to those who read and reviewed. This is I promise the penultimate chapter.

Paddington Station

Mid morning

It wasn't rush hour but the concourse of Paddington station was still crowded as Harry and Jane tacked their way through the throng, heading towards the platform from which her train was due to depart in approximately ten minutes time. Arriving at their destination left them with a further problem, how to occupy the next five minutes or so, given that their efforts at communication today would have made a pair of nervous strangers plunged into a blind date with either a potential bunny boiler or axe murderer sound loquacious.

Breakfast had been a virtually silent affair, conversation confined to mundane requests relating to the desire for an extra slice of toast, or a more generous lashing of milk upon some cereal bearing more than a passing resemblance to hay. It had been a companionship nearly as uncomfortable as that endured on the occasion of their first shared breakfast in this kitchen those three short weeks ago, although today had been rendered awkward for entirely different reasons. On that historic morning they had been shoehorned by traumatic circumstance into an uneasy alliance carrying with it an enforced obligation to maintain a certain surface civility, continually threatening to crack under the pressure of a mutually festering disaffection, the remnant of their bitter parting a quarter of a century ago. Today had been different, circumstances unforeseen and unanticipated then had gradually lead to a greater, albeit hard won, understanding of each other and an eventual appreciative sympathy of the separate travails they had both experienced during their recent separate past. Neither was anticipating a future in which they walked off hand in hand into a golden sunset, a rarity anyway in the usually overcast climes of England, but somewhere they'd definitely managed to bury a couple of hatchets, in Robin's reputation for certain, and just possibly in the myth of Ruth Evershed's alleged sainthood. Neither of which considerations prevented words floundering during their joint struggle to communicate, although for slightly different reasons.

For Harry the soul baring of the previous evening had left him relieved in as far as Jane had remained under his roof and even been sympathic to his plight, although he'd thought her a little harsh on Ruth. Relief though did not negate his sense of embarrassment in breaking down so thoroughly over his tortured relationship with another woman, and in front of Jane of all people. Jane for her part was feeling equally awkward, she had after all been more than a little critical of Ruth, and whatever her opinion of the woman, for which she had no intention of apologising, she'd recognised, with an absurdly jealous pang that Ruth had clearly been the love of Harry's life. Consequently he might, in retrospect, be angry with her criticism. Knowing his temper, and the possibility that consideration in repose might have sparked it, she was thankful to note that he'd adopted his usual tactic when emotionally uncertain, ie behaving as if the events that were bothering him didn't exist.

Harry, despite his hard as granite work persona had nearly cracked first, he'd just opened his mouth to attempt some clarification regarding their future relationship status, as in were they to be a) ships that merely passed, b) acquaintances who might just met up occasionally or, his preference c) friends who could enjoy regular trips to the theatre or a meal together, evenings that were emphatically not dates but conducted in much the same style as the odd occasions that had seen them patronising a restaurant during recent days. Question set to fly from his lips, question stillborn when the telephone rang. The voice that trilled down the wires was revealed as Erin's. Initially cursing that once again work was interfering with his personal life he was even further irked when Erin asked, his polite description for demanded, to speak to Jane. Instead of an interesting conversation with Jane about their own future, if any, he was forced to gloomily crunch his muesli against the background of an ongoing discussion about schooling, with particular reference to the excellent primary recommended by Jane and how Erin could best capitalise upon Jane's string pulling to ensure Rosie's trouble free entree into this wondrous establishment.

Jane, on terminating the call, must have sensed his irritation as she apologised, "Sorry Harry but if Erin is settled about Rosie's education she'll be more focussed at work."

Almost involuntarily Harry's lips twitched, "I think she's quite focussed enough – mainly on how to occupy my office on a permanent basis."

Jane wasn't going to deny what she suspected was the truth, although she felt some obligation to defend Erin from an accusation of underhand scheming, the type that was second nature to the job.

"To be fair Harry I think she's looking for succession via your retirement rather than your demise. And we were all ambitious once."

The operative word, as far as he was concerned, was once. Or was it? He was also struck by the almost weariness of Jane's voice. She'd never been particularly ambitions status wise but he sincerely hoped her vital spark was burning low, not snuffed out completely. Having sat through a plethora of advice and opinions from her the previous evening he felt emboldened to return the helpful compliment.

"Perhaps it isn't that ambition dies as you age, it just changes direction."

Seeing her sceptical look he expanded on the theme, "Jane you were always passionate about your pupils fulfilling their potential, even in their circumstances were grim."

"And now I teach in a private school, so that doesn't hold true."

"Don't I recall you saying that you took the post because they had a good scholarship programme, that it suited your diluted ideals?" Not allowing her to reply he added thoughtfully, "And who exactly ruled that ambition is confined to work only!"

Jane's protest died on her lips as she seemed to consider his words, her head cocked slightly to the side. After a longish pause during which she shot him a speculative glance she commented, "Fair point, so Harry what is your ambition for the rest of your life?" A risky question when she recalled, just as the words flew from her mouth, that during yesterday's angst ridden evening that he'd announced he went to bed hoping to die in his sleep.

Harry seemed to have forgotten that particular statement as he opened his mouth, once again with the intention of trying to establish their potential relationship status, when yet again he was interrupted by the shrill ring of his landline. As he went to pick up for a second time he reflected that you really couldn't make this up, his intention of lambasting the unfortunate on the other end fading the instant he heard his daughter's eager voice.

"Hi Dad, I thought I'd try to catch Mum before she left but how are you? And don't say okay because I won't believe you."

Hoping the smile in his voice could be conveyed down the phone, "Very well the shoulder still hurts but otherwise I'm able to cope." Adding curiously, "Is Graham still with you?"

"Good grief Dad he pushed off two days ago. Just as well he was driving me mad telling me what to do."

Harry wondered if he should tick her off for ingratitude but then remembered that he'd had several equally uncharitable thoughts about Jane, the ministering angel with the barbed wire tongue and a disturbing obsession for underwear stealing. Opting not to comment to Catherine about her sibling, he informed her, "Your Mum is still here although I'll be taking her to the station shortly. Would you like to talk to her?"

Having received the inevitable affirmative he passed the phone to Jane and then decided that he needed to vanish, leaving them to a decent privacy for their girl talk while hoping that its main content did not consist of pulling him to pieces. Lingering upstairs, ostensibly to choose the correct silk tie for his return to work - an issue of major sartorial and professional importance - he finally heard Jane moving around in the kitchen. He didn't need to delve into his spying skills to divine that the Catherine's call had been terminated.

Arriving back downstairs, entering the kitchen with the mild trepidation he always felt when he suspected that his family had probably been discussing him, he noted that Jane was moving the crockery around with just a hint of mild violence and a look on her face that was a nice blend of exasperation and apprehension. What on earth had Catherine said? Only one way to find out but before he could open his mouth, Jane having become aware of his presence opened hers,

"Honestly I despair of our daughter at times."

"I thought it was her brother that usually brought on that particular reaction, so what has she done?"

"Nothing yet, she's just informed me that she's been offered and accepted a new project."

Jane had often accused Harry of lacking empathy but only a blind and deaf individual could have failed to have realised that she was upset. Before Harry could enquire further Jane informed him,

"The offer is to create a follow up documentary to her one on forced marriage. Only this time it's on FGM. Which probably means that she's about to offend yet another group of dangerous individuals."

In the absence of any other immediate comment Harry sighed, "Go on say it –she takes after me."

"Not exactly."

Harry was surprised, a fact his face must have made manifest causing Jane to explain, "You don't go looking for trouble in your job, it finds you, you react to it. Catherine hunts out projects guaranteed to bring her trouble, that documentary, the Lebanon, Chris Coaver..."

Harry understood her drift and if he was honest he was with her in wishing that their daughter would settle down to a quieter life. Not about to say anything that Jane might in future quote back to Catherine, thus fracturing a fragile and valued relationship he asked apprehensibly, "Er what did you say to her?" Please God no more family estrangement.

Jane must have realised the direction in which his worries were heading as she made haste to reassure him.

"I told her it was her choice but after the latest episode could she please be a little more careful as we couldn't help but worry about her." While Harry was exhaling in relief she finished off with, "I added that her latest effort meant that if she'd survived it would have been as an orphan, with only Graham and my sister as her family."

That Harry thought was some threat, but from Jane's tone he gathered that Catherine hadn't quailed in the slightest. Not sure that he was uttering the wisest of statements he commented, "As our daughter she's presumably inherited the 'driven' gene in double strength."

Jane was looking puzzled as he enlightened her, "As you've often reminded me it was my determination to serve Queen and Country that rendered us asunder but you are just as driven." Hurrying on to stifle an incipient protest he informed her, "I've never forgotten a night in a pub in Oxford when I overheard a certain Jane Townsend fighting down the hoots of derision when she announced that she wanted to teach the under privileged, not unlike the ones I'd received when I announced I was going to apply to the military."

Jane was rendered, most unusually for her, speechless. It had been in this very kitchen on their first efforts at breakfasting together after two decades apart, when they still hadn't progressed much beyond tearing chunks out of each other, that she'd wondered why he'd been so attracted to her. Now some thirty five years plus in a casual conversation she had her answer. Did anything ever exemplify their long term failure to communicate so clearly?

Harry hadn't finished as he expanded the theme. "You educate which is what Catherine tries to do through a different medium. As for me – despite a popular impression to the contrary I'm not exactly seeking to maintain a status quo in favour of the establishment. I'm trying to give the citizens of this country a choice, and the freedom to make it without being bombed to buggery by fanatics of any description, and that applies to the state trying it on to save the skins of a few politicians, our various ethnic cousins or Christians, so called, trying to impose their moral views on the populace at large. If you look at much of what Catherine works on it's a near perfect synthesis of the two."

Jane having recovered from her earlier shock just groaned, "I know. I just wish she didn't..."

Further debate was truncated by a glance at the clock, time was ticking ever onward and they had about ten minutes before Harry's driver arrived, the basic plan being to collect them, take Jane to Paddington and then return Harry to the Grid for his first part time day. Time limited by strict doctor's orders. Orders which Jane and every denizen of the Grid knew would be spiked the instant he was disgorged by the pods and restored into the lonely majesty of his crimsoned office.

The need to drag Jane's case downstairs from its current abode in Harry's spare bedroom and then organise themselves to get into the car ordered by Harry prevented much further discussion. The journey through London was equally inhibiting to conversation. Harry's driver was present, and despite the security of his being entombed in front of a soundproofed panel combined with the knowledge that he'd signed the act, neither the party of the first part or the party of the second part felt inclined to indulge serious personal debate, while banal comment was beyond both of them. Jane remembering her first journey with Harry in one of these cars felt a renewed sense of amazement at the difference in her feelings between then and now. Then she'd felt a reluctant captive, manipulated into doing as he wished and resentful. Today she was seeing him as a dependable, staunch friend, but remained uncertain as to how far she should venture into his regular orbit. He still had the same job and with that came the commitment to the state, a major factor in responsible for driving them apart. She wasn't sure that she was up for a repeat performance on the basis that those who did not understand history were doomed to repeat it, and parts of her history with Harry she did understand, all too clearly. Nor could she avoid the knowledge that inevitably some piece of his heart would forever stay hermetically sealed behind a door, padlocked with a key bearing the tag 'Ruth Evershed'. And there Ruth would remain squatting in perpetuity, forever enshrined and untainted by inconvenient memories. Jane, while confident that if necessary she could see off most living competition, didn't equal to battling with the perfect dead. Returning to the problem that was knawing at her as they sped through the streets with time ticking on before she and Harry parted, possibly forever, she wasn't sure that she should even consider trying.

Harry was troubled by similar thoughts. Along the way on their admittedly rocky journey to some form of understanding he and Jane had rediscovered much that had attracted each of them to the other in the first place, the banter, the not dissimilar tastes and recently, on his part at least, the blessed relief of relaxation that came from sharing his life with an individual who could reference a shared past. While that was all to the good he was forced to admit that Jane was in her own way every bit as emotionally vulnerable as Ruth had been. While he didn't entirely buy into the theories Jane had postulated during their discussion the previous evening he couldn't deny that the crushing guilt he'd carried with him for months had diminished somewhat, if only because, as Jane had unsparingly pointed out, some of the decisions that had prevented his relationship with Ruth flowering beyond that one memorable date and two kisses were ultimately, whatever her reasons, down to Ruth. Jane's forthright words had given him a fresh perspective while her reappearance in his life had provided him a renewed sense of hope, allied with the realisation that his children still needed their father alive and sane. With this in mind he really was tongue tied in respect of their prospective future acquaintanceship and equally stymied for small talk. Jane was no stranger to London. She was well versed with the popular history of most of the landmarks they were currently observing through the car windows as they were propelled to Paddington. He could, he supposed, treat her to a specialist spooks commentary.

'On that corner we are now approaching to the right is the small newsagent's shop that we used as a covert listening post to monitor some Intel about the IRA.. Now as we travel down the road on the left is the manhole cover beneath which Al-Qaeda secreted a bomb that we just succeeded in defusing before it blew the entire area apart. And there, in the distance you can observe the tower block penthouse in which two of my rookie agents were gunned to death when CO19 arrived too late due to someone incorrectly programming the Sat nav.

He'd contemplated and then rejected the notion almost instantaneously. Such rhapsodies over his alternative London would almost certainly guarantee Jane's instant veto on allowing him any renewed entry into her life. From an objective point of view he wouldn't blame her. Harry might be out of practice with anything vaguely resembling traditional courtship rituals but even he recalled a few basics, chief of which was that you didn't woo any normal woman with tales of death and destruction, and Jane, when compared to most of the people he encountered on a daily basis, was reassuringly normal.

On arriving at their destination Harry's driver had pulled Jane's suitcase out of the boot and set it up on its wheels before discreetly vanishing to park the car in some secretive corner and wait for Sir Harry to contact him. Having accompanied Jane into the station, feeling utterly unchivalrous since his shoulder injury precluded his offering to tow Jane's case for her - the not dissimilar damage to her shoulder being further advanced along the road to recovery - Harry was now standing near the entrance to her platform, the louring clouds just discernible through the arched glass ceiling exactly matching his mood. He had only a few minutes left during which to pose the question he'd been attempting to ask all morning. Asking would be easy, or would be if he wasn't so afraid of the answer. He'd almost decided to pass on this one when remembering that it was his constant hesitation with Ruth that had caused so much tragedy he finally decided to take positive action.

Mustering a casual relaxed voice, that he fervently hoped was cloaking his sense of desperation, he asked, "Do I get to see you again Jane, other than when one of the children finally decides to marry."

Jane just managed to refrain from her signature snort. "That could be the twelfth of never Harry. If our example hasn't put them off I would doubt that any choice of Graham's would get through vetting, and as for Catherine would anyone ever be good enough for Daddy's little girl."

Harry gave a wistful smile, "Probably not, but if he isn't put off by me then he's probably going to be acceptable."

She'd cleverly evaded answering his direct question but Harry had come prepared. Reaching inside his coat he pulled out the keys he'd offered her the night before as he moved his tongue to articulate.

"Jane, now that I've told you the truth will you please accept these."

Jane gulped as she stared first at the keys and then searchingly into Harry's face. What she saw was not certainty, although for someone who radiated presence and easily dominated any room he happened in he was looking extraordinarily nervous. Plainly it was Harry the man standing in front of her, not Harry the boss, or even Harry the risk taking spy. Accepting the keys would perhaps send out the wrong message to him. How could she refuse his request after all the help he'd given her, after what they'd shared recently, including his trust, which heaven knew she'd done little enough to earn considering some of her post divorce actions. Saying 'no' outright would be like kicking a puppy. Finally she made her decision.

"Yes Harry I'll take them, but no promises. I want to be friends but I really do need some time alone to readjust and consider."

Wondering as she said it if this was tarred her with Ruth Evershed's brush, blowing first hot and then cold, and he most certainly didn't deserve that. If Harry saw any resemblance in the situation he didn't mention it as he handed over the small package over with the words, "Thank you Jane and I ..."

Whatever he was about to say was, for the third time that day, terminated by the sound of his phone. With a quick apology he pulled it out, saw the text message and groaned,

"Sorry Jane red flash so.."

Jane resignedly finished the sentence for him, "You have to go asap if not earlier." Seeing the regret pooling in his eyes she attempted to soothe him, "Not to worry my train leaves in five minutes so I have to make a move anyway."

Leaning towards him she gave him a quick but affectionate kiss on the cheek, "Thanks for everything." Adding bracingly, "Now, Harry go off and do what you do best. Save the country."

With that she was gone, swiftly walking down the platform towards a far carriage, back turned before he could see the tears that strain was threatening to produce. Watching her evaporate into the crowds Harry wondered if she would turn for a final farewell wave, but as she disappeared from sight he realised that their time was up and past. Their final few minutes together smashed, as so often before, by his blasted job.

There was he knew no point in complaining, this was what he'd signed up for and wishing otherwise at his age was useless. This was what he'd chosen and while Harry Pearce might suffer from the odd bout of self pity no one had ever yet heard him whine. Gritting his jaw and with phone still in hand he dialled up his driver and prepared to return to the Grid, accepting with reluctance the fate granted unto him.

The loneliness of the long distance spook.

Thanks for reading. if you have a moment please feel free to review. The next chapter will be the last in this story so we are nearly there.