The Man On The Wall Part II

[Silktie]

PART II

One cannot always tell what it is that keeps us shut in, confines us, seems to bury us, but still one feels certain barriers, certain gates, certain walls. Is all this imagination, fantasy? I do not think so. And then one asks: My God! Is it for long, is it for ever, is it for eternity? Do you know what frees one from this captivity? It is very deep serious affection. Being friends, being brothers, love; that is what opens the prison by supreme power, by some magic force.
- Vincent van Gogh, Letter to his brother July 1880

11 November
Harry’s house, late evening

Harry is about to refill his glass when the doorbell rings. Scarlet rushes to the front door, sniffing curiously at the crack along the bottom. He is not expecting any company. And he certainly does not want any after the day he’s endured. When he opens the door, Ruth is standing there. For a fleeting moment, his heart lifts, until he notices her set jaw, the slight frown between her eyes, and he realises that she is not here for the reason he so desperately wishes. Wordlessly, he opens the door wider and stands aside, allowing her to brush past him.

After fussing over Scarlet briefly, she follows him into the living room. He’s not inebriated, but she can tell he’s had a couple of drinks already.
“I take it you found a way to witness today’s proceedings,” he asks, not quite looking at her.
She nods. “Yes.”
He moves towards the drinks tray and lifts a glass in question at her. She watches him for a moment, before suggesting carefully: “Maybe we could have some tea?”
It wasn’t meant as a reproach, but Harry hears it as such. He puts the glass down with a little more force than intended, and swings towards her.
“I have just spent the day listening to my failings as a man and an intelligence officer, and how I’ve destroyed everyone that’s ever come close to me. I think I’ve earned the right to dull my senses should I so wish.”

Ruth is taken aback at the vehemence of his response, but when she looks into his eyes, all she sees is hurt. She dips her head and concedes his point with a slight nod. He hands her a glass, careful not to brush her fingers with his own, and slumps into a chair wearily. Ruth perches on the chair opposite, and studies the amber liquid in her glass intently before speaking.
“You’re giving up.”
This time she can’t keep the accusatory note out of her voice.
“What would you have me do?” He stares at her, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop the softening of his eyes when he looks at her.
“Make a stand. Fight for your career. We have enough on everyone on that panel to shut them up.”
“No, Ruth. I won’t do that. And neither should anyone else. If my record until now is not enough to convince them to give me another chance, then so be it. I won’t blackmail my way out of this.”
She shakes her head.
“They’re not fighting fair on this, why should you? You know they’re using what Lucas did to get rid of you.”

When he doesn’t respond, she leans forward beseechingly.
“Harry, you deserve better than this. The Service, the country, owes you m…”
He interrupts her sharply.
“No!”
She stares at him, astonished.
“I’m sorry?”
“Thinking we are owed something is the first step on the slippery slope towards treachery, don’t you think? ‘I should be paid more for the sacrifices I make’ or ‘I should get more recognition for my successes’. Those are thoughts that only lead to disgruntlement, and disgruntlement leads to resentment, and ultimately to a desire for revenge.”
He pauses, looks at her intently.
“You said Lucas told you that he’d done enough, and so have you, and that you’d earned the right to act selfishly for once. What is enough? Being tortured and spending eight years in a Russian prison? The death of a loved one? The dedication of a life-time to the detriment of any sort of personal life or happiness? Making awful life and death decisions until you can barely look at yourself in the mirror some days? Having to sacrifice life as you know it – twice? There is no ‘enough’. We all chose this job and everything that comes with it of our own free will. We cannot turn around later and complain about the cost of it, and use it as an excuse to do all manner of things.”
He looks into his glass, then continues more softly.
“When we can’t take it any more, we should have the grace to just leave quietly without taking everyone else down with us… The country owes me nothing. I owe it, instead, my loyalty. A task in which I failed.”

Ruth doesn’t know what to say. After what happened at the Inquiry, she would have understood a certain amount of self-pity and resentment towards the system. Instead, he’s given her a quintessentially Harry answer, and, she knows, the essence of how he sees his job. She’s not sure whether she’s ever admired him more than she does in this particular moment. Also, she finally begins to understand the amount of guilt Harry feels for his role in Albany ending up in the hands of the Chinese.

“You didn’t give it away with malicious forethought, though. There are significant extenuating circumstances here, Harry. It was never your intention to betray your country.”
“That may be so. But a man takes responsibility for his actions, and the consequences of those actions, whether he intended those consequences or not. If Lucas had taken responsibility for his actions at any stage, whether back in Dakar or during more recent events, we would not be in this situation.”
She knows he’s right, but still tries to assuage his guilt.
“You were trying to save a life. That’s a rather noble goal, I think.”
“Oh you think so? You said it was unfair of me to save you at the expense of Albany.”
“I didn’t know it doesn’t work. I thought you had endangered thousands of people to save me.”
He looks at her then, and the expression on his face makes her heart hurt even before he speaks.
“Or perhaps you were rather objecting to the fact that my actions were motivated by love.”

Ruth stares at him mutely, shocked by his forthrightness. So many thoughts and feelings run through her in that moment, that she can’t make sense of it.
“Harry…”
When she falters, he holds up a hand wearily.
“That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
He sighs and looks away, and Ruth realises she has never seen him look more defeated. Before she can speak, he continues.
“You’re wrong, you know. About us not being deserving of a life together, of happiness.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?”
She remains quiet. He doesn’t know why he keeps on pushing; perhaps it’s the alcohol in his system, or the realisation that if the Inquiry finds against him this may be the last time he sees her, but suddenly he wants to get a number of things off his chest.

“While you may be right that I’ve forfeited any right to happiness, you certainly deserve to be happy, Ruth. Despite what you may think, you’re a good person. Compassionate, gentle, and quite wonderful. You’re just beginning to learn the lesson that sometimes it’s necessary to divorce the human being from the spook. Being able to do that does not equate to being dead inside. I hope that some day soon you will realise that and start to live again.”
Her posture is rigid, and he realises somewhere in the recesses of his mind that his words are unwelcome, but still he presses on.
“There are many things I should apologise to you for, but I refuse to apologise for loving you.”
He smiles slightly. “Especially as it seems at the moment to be my only redeeming feature.”
Very quickly, he turns serious again. “And I will never, ever apologise for taking every conceivable risk to save your life.”

Ruth stares hard at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. She is lost; she doesn’t know what to say or do. When she finally looks up, she finds Harry’s eyes still on her, soft and loving. But when he sees her turmoil, he carefully shutters his emotions away.
“I think you’d better go. You’re not supposed to be here in the first place.”
“No, we have to talk about this,” she pleads.
But Harry shakes his head.
“I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position. You don’t have to say anything. I understand you don’t want…” He falters, unable to say it. Instead he changes the topic.
“I’m going away for a while. Until the Inquiry is done. I suppose I’d better see if I can adjust to a normal life…” He doesn’t elaborate, but they both know that soon he may not have a choice in the matter.

Without being aware how she got there, Ruth finds herself at the front door. Harry suddenly leans over and kisses her gently on the cheek.
“Goodbye, Ruth.”
He closes the door softly behind her, and she is left standing there, with the awful premonition that she will never see him again.

* * *

13 November
Yorkshire

He reaches the cottage he’s rented in the late afternoon. It is nestled in the coastal woods just south of Runswick Bay, within walking distance of the beach and the restless North Sea. There are no other houses in sight. The quiet, remote setting appeals to him as he noses the Land Rover to a stop next to the cottage. Scarlet sets off to explore her new surroundings the moment he opens the car door, and he lets her be. He knows she won’t wander off on her own. For a moment, he stands motionless next to the car, surveying his new abode, listening to the silence, the distant sighing of the ocean. He is acutely aware that this is about as far removed from his usual life as it is possible to get, and self-aware enough to know that he chose this place because it would provide the sternest test of his abilities to adapt to a different life.

After unpacking the few belongings he brought with him, he decides to go into the village to buy some groceries and have dinner at the local pub. It is a charming village, but small, and he attracts quite a few curious glances from the locals. They don’t get many visitors out of season, so his arrival is noted with interest. Harry takes care to remain as nondescript as possible. The habits of a lifetime die hard, and he is loath to remain the centre of attention for too long.

The moment he enters the pub, he dislikes it. Apart from the rather bland interior, there is a group of loud-mouthed louts hanging around the bar. They turn to stare at him as he seats himself at a table against the wall, and he is careful not to make eye contact with any of them. His natural inclination is to give them a cold, challenging look, but he doesn’t want to attract undue attention or cause trouble on his first day here. So he opens the paper and reads it, resolutely ignoring their snide comments about his scruffy little dog, his boring clothes and his lack of hair. It takes all his self-control not to get up and tell them off, but he perseveres, and eventually they lose interest in him. He finishes his uninspiring meal as quickly as possible, and returns to the cottage with relief.

In the days that follow, he settles into this new life with difficulty. He feels numb, as though he is living in a dream. Every morning he devours the papers, trying to read between the lines and deduce which stories are true, and which are the ones being fed to the public by the Security Services. Most of his day is spent walking, or reading, and trying not to think about all that he is about to lose. After his unpleasant experience in the pub he doesn’t go back, and is forced to cook for himself. He discovers some cookbooks in one of the cupboards and attempts some of the simpler recipes. Anything to keep his mind occupied. The first few times he has to call Catherine for advice on an embarrassing amount of occasions, but gradually he gets better at it. He sees it as a major victory that he doesn’t poison himself during the first week, and discovers to his surprise that he derives pleasure from succeeding at these recipes.

Even though he avoids the pub, he regularly strolls through the village, nosing around in the little shops. He becomes a familiar figure that no longer attracts undue attention. To his delight he discovers a cosy little second-hand book store where the books are stacked haphazardly on every available surface. He spends many blissful hours browsing, looking for unusual and interesting books to expand his reading repertoire. Sometimes, he stumbles on an old classic, something that Ruth talked about with passion, and his heart aches. He buys them all, and reads them, and knows that of all the things he misses of his old life, she is the one that he will have most difficulty letting go of.

* * *

25 November
Runswick Bay

Today he is actually in the village for a purpose. After heavy storms battered the cottage the previous two nights, Harry discovered this morning that the roof has sprung a leak, and that the back door is making an ominous creaking sound when opened. He is in need of a handyman, so he asks around at the hardware store. To his surprise he is directed to the derelict church standing on the edge of the village. As he leaves the store, he notices two of the pub-louts leaning into the window of a Rolls Royce parked across the street. Without seeming to look, he sees one of them take receipt of an envelope which he shoves into his pocket. Harry casually glances at the occupant as the Rolls Royce glides past him. Although he only gets a fleeting glimpse, there is something familiar about the distinguished looking man in the back seat.

He ponders what he has seen as he walks to the church. Something about the man in the car niggles at the back of his mind, but he can’t pin it down. He puts these thoughts aside as he reaches the door of the church. It is old, probably medieval, and Harry wonders absently why it isn’t a tourist attraction. There are deep gouges scratched into the door. He pushes it open and steps inside, but his call of greeting stalls on his lips. He stands rooted to the spot, appalled at the sight before him. Lewd graffiti covers the walls, whilst the pews have been kicked over and attempts have been made to burn it all in the middle of the floor.

A voice with a thick Yorkshire accent comes from behind: “Can I help you?”
Harry turns around, and does a double-take. The man before him looks so remarkably like Adam, that for a surreal moment Harry believes it is his dead friend.
“You all right, mate?” Concerned green eyes stare at him, making Harry realise that it isn’t Adam after all. He clears his throat.
“Sorry, yes. Matthew?”
The man nods. Harry puts out his hand.
“Harry. I have a leaky roof and a back door that is about to fall off its hinges. I was told you could help.”
“That I can. Whereabouts are you?”
Harry provides directions, and Matthew nods.
“I’ll come round first thing tomorrow.”

Nodding his thanks, Harry looks back over the damage.
“What happened here?”
Matthew rubs his hands on a cloth. “Bunch of local yobs decided to have a fun night out couple of months ago.”
“I think I’ve met them,” Harry says, thinking back to the crowd in the pub.
“Best stay away from the caravan park – they moved in there like a swarm of locusts about three months ago, and have been making trouble round here ever since,” Matthew explains.
“Right, thanks. So the Church is paying you to restore the damage?”
Matthew laughs. “No, mate. No-one’s paying me. This place no longer belongs to the Church. It was deconsecrated about ten years ago due to a lack of interest from the locals.” Matthew looks around him.
“It’s a hobby.”
Harry stares at him.
“A hobby?”
Matthew gets the distinct impression that the man before him barely knows the meaning of the word. He shrugs and smiles.
“I hate to see beauty go to waste. You should see the frescoes underneath the graffiti. So when I have some free time I come here and clean it up.”

They stand silently for a few moments; Harry thinking about doing something for no other reason than to restore something old to its former grandeur. Perhaps he can also do with a hobby.
“Would you like a hand?” The question is out before he has a chance to think about it too much.
Matthew raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“No offence, mate, but you just hired me to fix your roof and your back door. That doesn’t inspire me with confidence in your abilities at this type of work.”
Harry smiles broadly at the younger man’s candour.
“Touché. I can work a sander, though.” He gestures at the damaged wooden pews and the front door.
Matthew studies the man in front of him, then asks: “Am I to assume you’re similarly moved by the beauty of the place? Or is it religion?”
“Erm, no…” Harry looks around again. “History is more my thing. I just happen to have some time on my hands at the moment.”
Realising that that is probably the only explanation he will ever get from this mysterious man, Matthew nods.
“Fine. But on one condition: there is to be no inane prattling while we work.”
Harry huffs. “I do not talk about inane things, and I certainly do not prattle,” he says indignantly. When he looks up, he finds the younger man smirking at him. He smiles; he has a feeling they will get along well.

* * *

26 November
The Grid, early evening

Ruth doggedly works away at a mound of paperwork. It has been two weeks since anyone has seen or heard from Harry. She knows where he is – he’s not made any attempt to hide his whereabouts and she found him after about five minutes of checking. But somehow this knowledge is not enough to stem the growing feeling of loss inside her. She has relived that last conversation in his house so many times, and every time she is more convinced that he was saying goodbye for good, and that he has no intention of coming back, even if he could. Realising that she has spent the last ten minutes thinking about him again, she throws down her pen in annoyance. She had hoped that his absence, the physical distance between them, would allow her to sort through her jumbled feelings, find some peace and perhaps even move on. Instead, he is increasingly occupying her thoughts.

The phone on her desk rings, jerking her out of her reverie.
“Miss Evershed, this is William Towers. Can you come to my office?”
Ruth is momentarily lost for words; she has never before been summoned directly by the Home Secretary.
“Er, of course. Right now?”
“Yes, if you would.”

When she arrives at his office, he closes the door behind her and gets straight to the point.
“Are you willing to help me save Harry from the Inquiry?”
She doesn’t need to think about her answer.
“Of course.” She looks at him curiously. “But I thought you didn’t like him very much. Why do you want to help him?”
Towers sighs.
“Yes, well, he’s one of the most infuriating people I’ve ever known.” He pauses for a moment.
“But he is also that most rare of phenomena: a man without a personal or political agenda, who just wants to get the job done. The country needs that in these difficult times.”
“Yes.” Ruth smiles slightly. “What do you need me to do?”
He looks at her intently.
“I’m sure that the personnel file we’ve been given has been… shall we say sanitised. Many of the good things he’s done have been removed, I suspect, because it makes his superiors look bad. If I had the real file, I’m certain I can persuade enough people on that panel to let him keep his job.”

Ruth stares at him as the full implications of what he’s asking sinks in.
“You want me to steal a classified file and give it to you?”
Towers doesn’t say anything, merely looks at her. Ruth looks around the room, as if looking for an escape hatch somewhere.
“You do realise that I will lose my job, or even go to jail if I get caught?”
He doesn’t waver.
“Yes. It has a rather familiar ring to it, doesn’t it? I suppose the question is, Ruth, whether you are willing to do the same for Harry?”

tbc

[Tea Lady]

Yes, this is good and going in a direction I didn't think of, with Harry in Yorkshire and the church. Does Harry want to be saved though? I must make a note not to visit that pub, if I end up visiting Yorkshire this year.

[Aria]

Another brilliant chapter, Silktie. Wonderful quote at the beginning, very appropriate. Nice to see that Ruth may have to take some risks to save Harry's career. I think you get Tower's motivations for attempting to save Harry spot on. Update soon please.

[lwhite53]

Really nice chapter, Silktie. Lots of understated (and some overt) setting up for things to happen in future chaps. Love Towers pulling Ruth into the mix for her hacker skills!!

[watchstrap]

Good chapter Silktie. I am liking the way this is going, lots of possibilities. Like the scene at Harry's house (in a angsty way of course!).

[Byatil]

I'm really enjoying reading this! Can't wait for the next section.

[Fidget]

Great story so far, congratulations , I can't wait for more

[Obsession]

O Silktie... You write so well!

[jackbristow]

You have written the characters really well, enjoying this and looking forward to the next chapter.

[A Cousin]

You are very good at capturing speech patterns. You have Towers' speech pattern down perfectly. I can hear SRB in my head when I read what you wrote for him.

Just an observation and a couple of things to throw at the wall re: Towers' last line to Ruth. She has done the same for Harry already. She gave up everything 5 years ago to save him from going to prison. What is different about this situation? Does saving Harry mean putting him back in a job he doesn't seem to want anymore? Or does saving him mean leaving him be in his new life? How unselfish will she be?