Leaving the outskirts of London for the second time in as many days but this time heading north on a busy motorway and having devised a plan to ensure that Ros will not only get recognised as a much-loved daughter but as a valued member of the Security Services, should be filling Harry and Ruth with optimism. Preventing this at least for the moment, is that arranging the funeral despite having offered to do so, is not only highlighting the fact that Ros is no longer here but with the added complication that the Reverend Barry Taylor who Harry had rung the previous evening to make an appointment, needs to be told not only what Ros did for a living, but that amongst the congregation will be the Home Secretary Andrew Lawrence, hopefully without them having to insist that he signs the official secrets act.
Arriving an hour later in what according their website is the quintessentially English Village of Pavenham, on the banks of the river Great Ouse, with a population of eight hundred people, a Parish Church, a Primary School and a Village Shop, all of which are surrounded by reed beds and a wildlife sanctuary, make it not only easy to find the vicarage without having to ask but to picture why a young Ros had turned into a woman with no fear whatsoever, because as Harry pointed out when they had turned onto the slip road it reminded him of his own childhood when children hadn't been glued to their mobile phones or tracked by their parents, but where muddy boots and scratched knees having played outside for hours on end had been the norm.
An image that is still causing Ruth to inwardly smile when after a hearty handshake they are invited into the kitchen for coffee. A room which feels lived in, where drawings by what are obviously the vicar's children cover the best part of one wall and where the cat is persuaded to move so that they can sit down, on a day when his wife has taken an elderly neighbour out for a run in the car, an excuse perhaps to explain why the room is untidy. Enhancing Harry's belief that his decision not to wear a suit which has no bearing whatsoever on the fact that there is a strong possibility that his trousers will be covered in cat fur is the right one, because he can feel himself warming to the man who is so obviously happy with his lot, at a time when he himself is picturing a not dissimilar house where he and Ruth might live, minus the chaos of course.
Even more so when he explains the need for discretion, to which the vicar responds, 'good gracious I can fully understand why you needed to come and see me in person, so apart from Alice my wife who is the soul of discretion, you have my word I won't tell a soul.'
'Thank you,' says Harry, before accepting one of what the vicar obviously thinks are the norm when he offers them one of his wife's homemade biscuits, then says, 'once you've both finished your coffee, not that I'm trying to rush you, I'm sure you'd like to see the church where perhaps in addition to the order of service which I'll have to stick to, we can discuss the choice of hymn and whether one of you might like to speak about Rosalind or read a poem or both.'
Only for there to be a knock on the door which once they have squeezed past what they presume is another of his wife's elderly charges, gives them a moment to reset as Harry reaches for Ruth's hand just as she does his. A feeling which briefly decreases when they walk into the church, not that they let go, because the surroundings despite the heating not being on are comforting in a way that makes them feel closer to Ros. As does the vicars promise once he arrives that his wife will choose and arrange the flowers and that the grass which surrounds the church given it is November is downtrodden will be cut.
But with every positive comes a negative, because it is fast reaching the moment when Harry knows that he will have to tell him that the chosen hymn is I vow to thee my country all earthly things above, entire and whole and perfect the service of my love, the same hymn which Ros herself had chosen for Adam's funeral, when Wes had clung to him and at a time when he had believed that Ruth was lost to him. A combination of heartbreaking recollections that causes the dam which for days now Harry has been manfully holding back to crumble.
Slipping away unnoticed other than by Ruth who acknowledges the vicar's tact with a brief nod, the Harry who only Ruth truly knows, allows her to hold him whilst the long overdue tears that would have seen him paralysed with embarrassment had it not been her roll down his cheeks. Time no longer an issue and with no intension of going back to the grid today, Ruth passes the time until Harry calms by imagining herself in what will be two weeks to the day standing in front of what will be the Home Secretary, their own colleagues, those from Ros's time at Six and if Jo manages to track them down Ros's friends during her time at Bristol University, not to mention Ros's mother and her aunt, speaking about the woman who despite the less than edifying moment when she had set her up, has since she came back from Cyprus made it possible for her and Harry to spend more time away from the grid than Harry himself would have authorised given his work comes first attituded.
Putting that to one side once Harry rallies, not without apologising which Ruth having wiped away his tears knows is best ignored so rather than say no need, kisses him in a way that she hopes would have seen Ros smile, before they take one more look around the church where by Ruth's calculation there could be as many as sixty people on the day, she'll worry about that later, then walk around the grounds which surround the church before going back to the vicarage intending to finalise the arrangements and head home, only for the door to be opened by Alice the vicars wife insisting that they stay to lunch.
A lunch which not only is very good but they eat in the dining room which is a world apart from the chaos of the kitchen as is the sitting room where after they have finished they are invited to have a cup of coffee and in Ruth's tea, where the sincerity of man who has welcomed them as though he had known them for years is further re enforced when his wife says, 'we are rather hoping that after Rosalind's funeral that you and your close colleagues along with her mother and aunt will come back here for a bite to eat and a restorative cuppa before you drive home.'
'Thank you,' says Harry for what feels like the umpteenth time, because amongst his other concerns had been that they would have needed to play host at some ghastly wake in a pub.
.
Sitting behind Harry's desk in his absence and on the pretext of fielding off calls as to where he might be, Jo with one eye on the clock is failing to blank out the picture which from the moment that Ruth had come back is of Harry not being here. A feeling which had increased the moment that the news had come in that Ros had been killed and now is making her doubt her own ability when it comes to a job that she had never imagined would be hers under a new boss, because as hard as she tries, he or she can't possibly match the dizzying heights which Harry over the time she has known him has instilled in his team?
Only for it to be upgraded to imminent when Tariq bounces into the room backing up her and Malcom's suspicions after a second day of looking at CCTV, not only around the hotel in advance of the explosion but having extended the search along the multiples of roads within five kilometres, with an image he has enhanced of Nicholas Blake and Russell Price deep in conversation. Not only confirming what had only been supposition the previous evening when they had been sitting in the George to certainty, but to the point where she hopes there had been enough dog poo for it to have stuck to his shoes and when they do discover where he is, that they will get the authorisation they need to bring him back to face the same torture that Dolby had put Harry through and he himself had backed in the hands of Charles Grady. Stripped of his pension with no hope of ever seeing his family again and spending the rest of his life in the worst ignominy that the service can heap on him.
Thought's which on the one hand are enhancing her concerns as to who will occupy the chair she is now sitting in and on the other with a huge sense of relief, only for Malcolm to pop his head around the door and say, 'I'm hungry I don't know about you, but rather than go home after what I imagine has been a difficult day for my hosts, there's a more than decent bistro we could walk to, my treat of course.'
