I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long, I've been busy and under quite a lot of strain but I'm still very much continuing with this story. Hope you still like it.
1999
"Phyllis, have you got that report for me?" Elsie voice came from the next section of desks.
Phyllis glanced up hurriedly as she heard her superior approaching across the office. Turning momentarily back to her screen, she hastily placed the final full stop.
"I do now," she replied, "Just let me get a print out for you."
"That's alright," Elsie told her, leaning forwards on the edge of Phyllis' desk for a second, "Just send it through and I'll pick it up. What are you up to now?"
"Why?" Phyllis asked giving her a wily look, "Do you need someone to talk to that grouchy git Thomas in Section R again- because I can't I haven't got time."
"But you handle him so well," Elsie protested a little weakly.
"That's because I have a special affinity with grouchy gits," Phyllis replied, "Evidently."
Elsie snorted quietly.
"What are you up to now?" she enquired.
"I'm meeting Joe," Phyllis replied, "Speaking of which-…"
"It's not home time yet-…" Elsie reminded her, raising her eyebrow, "This is MI5, not MacDonalds."
"I know," Phyllis replied, "But while he's on secondment to GCHQ I'm his liaison officer. Perks of working with your husband. Or not actually working with him, as the case may be at the minute."
"Christ, I forgot he'd gone there," Elise replied, furrowing her brow, "How long is he there for?"
"As short a time as possible," Phyllis told her, "Cheltenham is driving him mad, he says it reminds him of living with his parents. And it turns out our flat is dull as paint without him there-…"
"I can have a word with Charles," Elsie told her, "Try to get him back a bit quicker for you."
"It would be great if you could," Phyllis told her, "I asked too, but Charles actually listens to you."
"I don't know about that," Elsie gave her a half rueful look, and Phyllis raised her eyebrow a little.
She decided to let it drop.
"I think Charles' concession was letting me be Joe's liaison," she replied, standing up, taking her coat off the back of her chair, "Speaking of which I should really go and liaise."
"You're right," Elsie told her, "Say hello to him from me. Tell him I hope he's well. Where are you meeting him?"
"Trafalgar Square," she replied.
"Good idea," Elsie replied, walking with her in the direction of the door and her desk, "Not far, plenty of other people, pop into the National Gallery if you need to."
"Joe prefers the Portrait Gallery," Phyllis told her softly, smiling to herself just a little, "I won't let myself be too long. See you went I get back."
"Alright, Phyllis. See you later. And don't forget," she called, making Phyllis stop as she headed towards the door and turn back towards her, "I know you haven't seen each other in a while, but remember, you never know who's going to see you."
"I know," Phyllis replied, trying to sound curt rather than rueful.
"Right," Elsie replied, "See you later."
She left Elsie back at her desk, keyed the code into the lock by the door at the end of the office and made her way down the stairs. Over the course of that distance she seemed to slowly let out a long, long sigh. But by the time she was out onto the the street she felt better. The outside world was cold, but clear and very bright. It was only two tube stops to Trafalgar Square, and she decided it was probably quicker to walk. The streets were only moderately busy, even this close to the centre of town and she made her way there without any trouble. A few times she slowed a little to catch a glimpse of herself in the window of a building or in a bus window as she waited to cross the road, checking to see how her hair looked.
When she got there, she knew where to look for him- up the steps and in the middle of the square, so that he could see the view down to Parliament Square. He was already there. They were both early. He was standing the direction he knew she would be coming from.
"Not very subtle," she told him as she drew closer to him, though pointedly keeping her distance, remembering what Elsie had said., "Waiting for me like that."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, a smile on his lips, "You could have taken the Underground. In which case, you have come from that direction," he pointed over his shoulder.
"You knew I wouldn't," she replied, smiling back.
They stood an awkward distance apart, both wanting to be closer, both remembering that there was a chance, however small, that they might be being watched.
"Even acquaintances kiss each other on the cheek," he pointed out after a moment, "Sometimes."
"You're right," she replied quickly, "They do."
She took a step closer towards him, pausing for a second before pressing her lips to his cheek. She lingered longer than a passing acquaintance would have, and he reached out hurriedly, squeezing her hand quickly as they broke apart.
"This is really appalling," she murmured softly, looking at the ground, "I hate not seeing you. I hate not being able to talk to you properly."
"I know, I hate it too," he replied, "But while I'm at GCHQ I'm technically a security risk."
"I wish Charles could have sent someone I'm not married to, though," she replied softly.
He smiled grimly.
"Well, I can't say I don't agree with you," he replied, "But what has to be done-… well, Charles said it wouldn't be for too long."
"It better not be," she murmured, turning her back to the view, leaning on the balustrade, looking ruefully up at the National Gallery, "Or it'll be me who is the risk to security- to Charles' personal security too, I might add."
He was laughing softly. She turned to look at his face. It was a luxury she had hardly appreciated before, being able to watch him look happy. He turned as she had and leant back too.
"So how is Cheltenham?" she asked him.
"Much as you'd expect," he replied, "Bloody dull."
"I meant the work," she told him gently.
"I meant the work too," he told her, "In fact, I'd hoped Charles had sent you to say I was coming back to London, but obviously-…"
She shook her head regretfully.
"I'm sorry," she told him, meaning it.
"I know you are," he replied, "But it's not your fault."
"Have you made any headway?" she asked him.
"I have actually," he replied, "And I have something for Charles. Do you have you bag?"
She nodded, dropping it off the opposite shoulder and holding it open for him. He slipped a copy of The Times out from under his arm, and extracted what looked like a greeting card envelope from between its pages and dropped it swiftly into the bag. The noise it made sounded like floppy disk- she left the bag open just long enough to identify it before closing it and tucking it onto her shoulder.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Love letter, was it?" she asked, referring to the very flimsy looking envelope.
"Brown envelopes are so indiscreet," he replied, "And believe me, Charles is the last person I feel like sending a love letter too at the minute."
A smile curled onto her lips, and she turned back towards him, only to find he was watching her intently.
"God, I miss you."
"We could go to a hotel."
She snorted more out of surprise than anything else.
"Fuck-…what?"
He smiled at her incredulity.
"That's the general idea, blunt summarised," he replied."
She laughed out loud.
"Joseph, for Christ's sake-…"
"Well, we can't go home-…" he began.
"Because you're a security risk," she reminded him.
"Because I'm a security risk," he agreed, "But we could go somewhere else-…"
She looked at him and bit her lip, hard.
"God, it's tempting," she told him, "Elsie would murder me, I said I wouldn't be long."
He sighed.
"It was probably a silly idea," he said sadly.
"I hate this," she told him again, "We're married, for the love of god, and we live in a free country, we shouldn't have to sneak around like-…"
"Yeah, but we're-…"
She looked at him abruptly and he stopped. She knew what he was about to say, and it was true. But you can't just announce that you're a spy in the middle of Trafalgar Square, however quietly.
"I know," she replied, swiftly but quietly.
Her hand reached out for a second and covered his. She could feel his wedding ring and had to draw her hand away.
"Elsie says she'll have a word with Charles," she told him, looking at the pavement again, "Try to get you back quicker. She says hello."
"That's nice of her," he replied, "Tell her I hope she's well."
"I will," she replied.
They were quiet for a few moments. Both knew that there was a need to keep this brief for all kinds of practical reasons, notwithstanding the fact that every moment she stayed it would only get harder to leave, and then they would be in Trafalgar Square all day and well into the night.
"I'll see that Charles gets this," she tapped her handbag, "I'll take it straight to him."
He nodded.
"Thanks," he told her.
His face was resigned.
"And the minute Charles says you can come back I'll let you know," she promised him, "Pigeon post or-… fucking smoke signals, I'll find away."
He grinned.
"There's always the telephone," he replied, "For the slower option."
"I love you," she murmured, very quietly, trying not to look took overtly emotional.
"You know I love you," he replied softly.
She smiled, nodded.
"I should get back."
He nodded in reply.
"Me too. There's a train I can catch if I'm quick."
"Alright," she replied, "Don't miss it for me."
He was still standing there, his arms open a little, as if to approach her, a little hesitant, a little unsure. She stepped forward, swiftly into his arms, giving him a hug and another kiss on the cheek.
"Goodbye my love," she murmured, and then turned to go.
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