The Harold Palmer Affair Part VI

[Silktie]

Can’t see the wood for the trees


As soon as they got back to their room Harry once again delved into his shaving bag and produced a tiny device. Ruth looked on with interest.
“Do you have any shaving stuff in there at all?” she asked, amused, and Harry smiled.
“This device projects a beam, and when that beam is broken by someone walking past, it sends a warning to my mobile. I’m going to install it a few steps down the corridor, so we’ll know if anyone tries to sneak up to the door.”
He slipped out of the room and Ruth sat down on the bed, next to his open holdall. Unable to resist, she pulled it open wider and peered inside. A blue shirt was neatly folded on top, obscuring everything else.
She sighed in disappointment, and turned to find him standing in the open door, observing her.
“All done,” he said lightly before closing the door behind him.

They settled into the two easy chairs and Harry poured them each a glass of wine. He watched her, enjoying the way her lips enveloped the glass when she sipped some wine.
“I’m sorry to have disappointed you,” he stated out of the blue.
Ruth looked lost. “What do you mean?”
He nodded meaningfully towards the bed and his holdall. “Apparently my wardrobe is a source of disappointment.”
She could see the merriment in his eyes; clearly he was enjoying putting her on the spot. Before she could recover from her embarrassment, he continued.
“Perhaps your present will remedy that.” His tone was now half-teasing, half-flirting.
“Present?” Ruth seemed unable to manage more than short sentences.
“You said you got me something as well, when you bought all that stuff.”
She was finally on the same page, and smiled secretively. “So I did.”
When she didn’t say or do anything, Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“What did you buy me?”
Ruth was enjoying herself. He seemed very eager to get his present, but it was so wonderful to sit there and banter with him that she didn’t want it to end.
“I’m not telling.”
“Oh.” He thought about that. “Can I see what you bought yourself, then?”

Her eyes flew to his, shocked, and he realised that perhaps she really did buy some naughty underwear. His mouth went dry at the thought.
“Er, perhaps you’d better not,” he mumbled, and couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to the bed, which he would soon be sharing with her. He took a large gulp of wine and changed the topic hastily.
“I managed to drop a few hints during dinner that I would have to do some work this weekend, so Fedorov is aware that Harold’s laptop is here. I think, tomorrow, we should go out for the day, give him a chance to access it.”
She nodded. “All right. I’d love to see some of the countryside. Besides, him getting the information that way is probably the best scenario, right?”
“Yes.” Harry sounded decisive. “If Harold doesn’t know Fedorov got the information through him, we won’t run the risk of the Russians deciding that either Harold or his PA should be silenced.”

It was a sobering thought, and Ruth couldn’t help but hope fervently that Fedorov would take the bait. She stifled a yawn.
“I’m going to take a bath and go to bed. That is if you don’t need the bathroom for a while?”
Harry shook his head. “Go ahead. Just, er, I suspect Fedorov or that abominable woman will want to bring the dirty weekenders breakfast in bed. So can you, er…” He trailed off sheepishly.
“Not sleep in a nun’s habit?” Ruth guessed with a small smile.
“Don’t worry. I bought something nice to sleep in on that shopping trip.”
Harry swallowed hard. “Great,” he said with false enthusiasm, and resigned himself to a night of little rest.

Whilst Ruth bathed, Harry took his glass of wine onto the balcony and stood staring out over the moonlit landscape. He could hear Ruth humming, and smiled to himself. For a few moments he stood there, pretending that it was all real. That they were in Provence, on holiday, enjoying each other’s company. He could have sworn, earlier that evening when she’d taken off his tie, that he could see desire in her eyes, possibly even love.

But.

Was that really the case, or was that what he wished to see? He sighed, suddenly feeling frustrated and weary of the whole thing. It was not like him to lose his grip on reality like this, but then, she had always had that effect on him. Bringing out aspects of his character that he thought he’d lost or possibly never had. Like the fierce protectiveness he felt towards her; the certain knowledge that he had the capacity to kill with his bare hands, and without remorse, anyone who harmed her. He’d thought, after the disaster of his marriage to Jane that he would never want that again, and yet, with Ruth, he couldn’t stop dreaming about it, couldn’t stop hoping that one day she would say yes. He wondered, suddenly, if she thought him pathetic for holding onto her, and those dreams, when she’d made it clear that she didn’t want the same. No, he thought, that wasn’t what she’d said. She’d said that she couldn’t marry him, not that she didn’t want to. Perhaps he was clutching at straws, but surely that was not the same thing?

His musings were interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door.
“All yours,” she called, and he turned around to see her clad in a dressing gown.
“Thanks,” he responded before collecting his holdall and moving past her.
As the bathroom door closed behind him, she wondered at the strained smile he’d given her as he walked past.

By the time he came back out, she was under the covers, dozing lightly. He was clad in boxers and a white t-shirt, which he stripped off before slipping into bed beside her.
“Goodnight Harry,” she said drowsily before drifting off again.
“Goodnight Ruth,” he responded softly before settling down to stare at the darkened ceiling, lost in thought. It took a long time for him to sink into a restless sleep.

Ruth was woken by constant movement next to her. She found herself lying on her side, facing Harry, who was twisting and turning and mumbling inaudibly in his sleep. There was a decent expanse of open bed between them. Harry turned away from her, his bare back exposed as his movements made the covers fall to his waist. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and placed it gently on his back. His skin was damp with sweat under her touch, and she rubbed her hand in soothing circles. He stiffened, then relaxed, before sighing deeply and settling down again. Ruth kept on tracing patterns across his skin until his breathing deepened into a peaceful rhythm. She wondered what he’d been dreaming about. He certainly had seen enough to provide for a lifetime of nightmares, she thought, feeling a surge of compassion. That was something she understood all too well; her own dreams were often dark and disturbing. What a pair they’d make if they ever got together, she pondered – probably taking turns soothing each other’s nightmares. As she too fell asleep again, her hand remained on his back, warm and soothing.

* * *

Harry’s phone beeped, and he was instantly awake. Someone was coming down the corridor. He opened his eyes and looked into Ruth’s face, not far away from his own. It seemed they had both migrated more towards the middle of the bed during the night, and were curled on their sides, facing each other. Close, but not touching. His eyes lingered on her beautiful face until loud knocking on the door roused her and she opened her eyes. When she registered Harry’s face so close to hers, he saw a moment of surprise before her expression softened and relaxed. They were torn from their quiet contemplation of each other by Tasha barging unceremoniously through the door.

“Morning,” she trilled at them in a sing-song voice. Well, more at Harry than at her, Ruth couldn’t help but notice.
“I brought you some breakfast.”
Tasha was dressed in extremely skimpy pyjamas, and as she placed their breakfast on the table she made sure to lean forward to give them a good view of her cleavage. Once again, Ruth surmised that this was for Harry’s benefit and most definitely not for hers. They could see everything. Unfortunately for Tasha, Harry missed the whole show as Ruth had sat up in bed, exposing her upper body. Although her nightwear wasn’t terribly revealing, it was silky and form-fitting enough to captivate him and he couldn’t help staring. Thus when Ruth glanced at him to see his reaction to Tasha’s little exhibition, she instead found his eyes firmly on her chest, and just for a moment an expression of naked desire flitted over his features. She turned her head away, for some reason not wanting him to know that she had seen. Tasha had apparently also noticed Harry’s disinterest and stormed from the room in a huff.

Once they were both safely covered in their dressing gowns, they sat down to a leisurely breakfast, chatting idly. Harry seemed off-kilter; not quite himself. He made every effort to hide it, but Ruth knew him too well. She noticed how he didn’t quite meet her eye, and how he toyed with his food disconsolately. She had barely finished her tea before he got up and disappeared into the bathroom to dress and shave. Ruth went out onto the balcony, and was enchanted by the scenery before her. The purple of blooming lavender were broken only by the occasional vivid green and yellow of vineyards. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and she wished more than anything that they weren’t there on an operation. What she wouldn’t give, in that moment, to stand there with Harry for all the right reasons. Together, as a couple. As two people who loved each other.

The bathroom door opened and Harry emerged, clad in tan slacks and blue shirt. He rolled up the sleeves to just under his elbows as he addressed her.
“I’m going for a walk. Sergei said they have horses. I’d like to see them.”
She nodded wordlessly and watched him walk out the door, her heart screaming at her to run after him, to drag him back, and to tell him what she was feeling. She didn’t move. Only when he’d been gone for long minutes, did she slowly move inside to dress for the day, her heart heavy in her chest. When he hadn’t returned an hour later, she went looking for him.

* * *

She found him leaning on the wooden railing around the horse enclosure, staring pensively at the four magnificent animals grazing inside. He was absentmindedly twisting Harold’s wedding ring around his finger, and she was reminded how similar this setting was to the one at the church, when he had proposed. She swallowed hard before approaching him.
“Hey.”
His eyes met hers briefly before turning back to the horses, and she was concerned at the wariness in them. And behind that, hurt and a little anger.
“Hi,” he returned non-committally.
She stood with him in silence for a few minutes before working up the nerve to ask.
“Harry, what’s wrong? You’ve been aloof all morning.”
He contemplated fobbing her off with the usual ‘I’m fine’, but when he looked at her the earnest expression on her face made him change his mind. He told her the truth.
“I fear I have lost sight of what is real and what is pretence on this operation.”
He scratched at the wooden post with a thumbnail. “You know my feelings for you, so I guess it didn’t take much for me to cross the line, but the problem is that I’ve started to convince myself that you have done the same. And when that turns out not to be true once we’re back in the real world, I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope.”
His words were delivered to the post and she could see how much that bit of honesty had cost him in the tense set of his shoulders, the hands clasped tightly together. She wondered when she had become able to read him so well, and was surprised that the knowledge no longer scared her. In fact it pleased her very much. Turning to him, she responded softly.
“Harry. It is true.”

tbc