Thanks to those who reviewed after the length of time since I last published anything I'm very grateful.


Harry trudged up the steps to his front door. Friday evening.

The end of yet another week attempting to convince the spin doctors, aka the human equivalents of the death watch beetle squatting in their plush Whitehall offices, that in this era of open government that word 'Secret' in Secret Services still meant precisely that.

Yet another weary week of explaining to the spreadsheet wielding accountants that a five star service could not operate effectively on a bargain basement budget.

Yet another week without her, Ruth, the woman he'd lost eighteen months ago through his own stupidity. Maybe he should have retired then as had been suggested from a number of quarters. He'd seriously considered doing so but finally, after much agonising, had remained, clinging like a barnacle to the world he knew.

The prospect of filling empty days without her presence to give him purpose was even more unbearable than his current daily round and common task. The date when he'd be forced into retirement was fast approaching but for now, when cocooned on the Grid, he could still maintain a sense of her, and his senior team of Erin, Callum and Dimitri did understand, even if Erin, when defending the new analyst from the Pearce wrath, had bluntly reminded him, 'since Ruth had moved to the Home Office her post was vacant anyway'. A fair point that he'd been forced to concede through gritted teeth.

Unlocking the front door after the regulation glance over his shoulder he entered, leaving the chain unfastened as he dialled up the number for his now habitual Friday night curry. After stripping off his coat and exchanging his outdoor shoes for slippers he made his way into the rarely used for cooking kitchen. After setting out a plate and cutlery he hunted out a bottle of wine, pouring himself a generous glass to drink while waiting.

It was with some surprise that he heard the doorbell ring. A quick check on his watch confirmed that the delivery was about ten minutes earlier than usual. Making his way down the passage to the door he concluded that the restaurant's business must be quieter than usual, probably due to a post new year slump. A further insistent buzz forcing him to call out irritably, "I'm coming", impatience and expectation making him forego the customary check through the spy hole.

Opening the door, fully prepared to upbraid the impertinent delivery person, his jaw dropped.

There.

Alive.

On his doorstep.

Stood.

RUTH EVERSHED!


Thanks for reading and if you have a moment a review would be appreciated. I should also advise you that as I'm due to take a short holiday the next chapter may be delayed.