Chapter Twelve: Just Like A Woman

'Harry?'

The older man scowled at his pages of figures. He loathed spreadsheets and he had actually requested that these be sent up. No good deed goes unpunished, he thought wearily. At least Kolya would have a decent stipend this year, by the time Harry was finished. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looked up. Zaf crossed from the doorway and eased himself into a chair. He never waited to be asked, Harry had noticed. Somehow, he liked that about the young man.

'You've got a minute?'

'It looks like it,' Harry replied.

Zaf grinned. He felt more human again, more himself again. The first decent night's sleep in weeks, a shower of scalding temperatures and he could smile again. 'I was wondering- Well, now that Kytmyr is done with and it's quiet for once, I was wondering if I could take a few days off extra this weekend.'

Harry's eyebrows raised. 'I see.'

'I have some days owing and I'd like to take them now.'

Harry watched him and Zaf held the gaze. 'Just a long weekend, that's all,' he added after a moment.

'Somewhere hot, I take it?'

Zaf grinned again. 'Yeah. I'm not exactly the skiing type.'

There was a gleam like amusement in Harry's eyes. 'I would never have guessed.' He pushed some of the papers away, placed a pen on top of them. 'Yes, I don't see why not. Just see that you fill in-'

'The form. I already have.'

Another wry smile. 'Glad to see we have you so well trained.' Another pause. 'Anything else?'

'Uh, no.' Zaf unfolded himself from the chair, crossed to the door.

'I hope you and Joanna have a very nice time.'

He stopped, turned back and found Harry scowling at his documents again. He didn't look up.

'Close the door on your way out, Zafar.'

ooOoo

Ruth tapped the keyboard, saved the file and felt the mixed rush of relief and satisfaction. One more job done, one more crisis averted. Now, a little breathing space before the next one. The Americans were already clamouring for the first crack at Sidorov. Even the Minsk government was applying for extradition. Let them fight it out between themselves, she thought: it was no longer their problem. She sat back in her chair, stretched out her shoulders, hands rubbing the tension from her neck. Someone had left a television on and the newsreader's voice washed over her, the words barely filtering through.

'...meeting between the presidents of Russia and Belarus at the Kremlin today...'

Not their problem anymore. At least, not today.

The Grid was almost deserted, most of the personnel having left without her even noticing. A few junior officers, keen to make a good impression, were still hunched over their desks. Their dedication would be unnoticed by anyone in authority - they had already left for the night. Her hands still linked at the back of her neck, Ruth stared blindly into the middle-distance.

So many late-nights, just like always. Plus ça change, coming back had been easy...

She sat forward, dragged her bag up from the floor, dumped it on her desk with a heavy thud. There were two messages on her phone. Both from Mia. The first inviting her for a drink, the second one ordering her. She smiled slightly and checked her watch. Just one more thing to do tonight and then she was definitely leaving.

Harry always complained about the paperwork on his desk but he complained even more if it wasn't waiting when he arrived in the mornings. Perhaps he viewed its late arrival as a sneak attack and resented it. Out of habit she switched on the desk-lamp. The postcard was propped against his computer again. No, not the same one, she realised. Ruth picked it up. The colours and shapes were similar but the composition was different. Something about this one that seemed more desolate. Lonely. She stared at it for a long time until it all blurred before her eyes and everything else around her was lost in white noise.

Her hands were shaking when she put it back.

ooOoo

Jo could hear vague sounds from the other side of the door and waited patiently. She folded her arms across her chest, burying her hands in the warmth of her jacket and wished she hadn't left her gloves in the car. She was sure if she listened hard enough she could hear the car stereo thudding - Zaf always turned the volume up as soon as she got out. Her overnight bag was on the backseat and she smiled remembering how surprised he had been at how little she was taking. She wasn't intending on wearing many clothes for the next few days.

The door opened suddenly and Larisa Petrenko glared at her. 'What do you want?'

Jo sighed. 'I came to give you these.' She pulled the folders out of her bag. Papers, clippings, disks. 'It's all of Nadya's work. I thought that you should have it.'

Lara looked down at the bundle silently, looked back up.

'There's a lot of good stuff in here. You should keep on writing it - finish what she started. But not- Not this story. You can't write this story, what happened to Nadya and everything around that.'

Lara's lips curled – a familiar contempt. 'Covered up, yes?'

'Yes.' Jo felt vague satisfaction at the surprise this admission brought across Lara's face. 'There are lots of people who don't want all of this printed and it would cause more problems than it would solve. I know it's horrible to say that the truth coming out is pointless, but-' Jo shrugged. 'That's the way it goes sometimes. But there's a lot of other stuff to write about; a lot of things to get angry about.'

Lara's arms were folded; she leant against the doorframe. 'Why are you doing this?'

Jo smiled wryly. 'Look, I know what you think of me. Quite frankly, what you think doesn't matter. It's what Nadya would have wanted, I think; and it's the right thing to do.'

A heavy breath. The dark eyes were hard. 'The men who murdered her..?'

Jo moistened her lips. 'The man who had her killed is dead. And most of the other people involved will probably end up wishing that they were as well by the time they're finished with. Justice won't be seen to be done but- Well, it's a kind of justice and it's certainly the rigorous type. Natural justice, maybe. Some people think that's the best kind.' And some days Jo was one of them, and it frightened her that that was so.

'Maybe you're not as stupid as you look.' Lara took the folders.

One corner of Jo's mouth twitched. 'Thanks.' She paused. 'Bye, Lara.'

Jo started down the passage.

'Take care, English girl.'

She stopped, half-turned. Lara had stepped out, just one foot.

'You too.'

Jo carried on and it was only when she turned off for the stairs that she heard Lara's door close.

ooOoo

He had always found red a soothing colour. Some people found that a contrary quirk but it was the way it was. He liked the vibrancy. Or something. Harry shifted on the wooden bench, vaguely wondered why they always made these things so uncomfortable and stood. He made a slow circuit of the room, stopping opposite each painting and taking in the play of colour, the way the shapes seemed to dissolve into their backgrounds only to emerge once more. He had lost track of all time and it was a wonderful feeling. There were few other people in the space. Most stopped in for a minute and then left. He resented their intrusion a little – something about this space had become just his.

It was a ridiculous conceit but he didn't try to smother it.

Another figure in the entrance, Harry moved to avoid her path and then stopped.

'Ruth.'

Her cheeks flushed. 'I, er-'

His eyes wandered over her face. 'How did-'

He stared at her and for a moment it seemed as though he had simply conjured her image through sheer force of will. She clutched the strap of her bag. As always, it bulged awkwardly at her side.

'I-I saw the card on your desk and I just thought- I mean, I wasn't following, or-or...' She sighed. 'I thought you might be here.' His gaze was intent and she glanced over his shoulder. Avoidance. Or perhaps cowardice. 'I can't remember the last time I was in here.'

Harry took a step back, glanced around. 'I never had until- Well, actually it was Mia who introduced me to these.'

'Oh?'

A slight smile. 'We had a meeting here. She seemed to think I'd like them.'

'And it seems she was right.'

The smile widened. His eyes had softened. 'Yes. Unexpectedly.'

Her fingernails were picking at the leather. Against the depth of colour her eyes seemed an unearthly shade. They walked the room together in silence.

It was like a chapel, Ruth thought. The canvases filled the air with their own sort of reverence. Love, death, passion and despair seeping out, filling everything around them. It was overwhelming. Ruth passed a hand across her eyes, took a breath that didn't seem to be enough.

'I'm sorry. Can-can we go somewhere else?'

His hand landed lightly on her elbow. 'Of course.'

ooOoo

It stood brazenly in the middle of her doorstep, a confection of shiny paper and too much ribbon. Ros walked up the steps slowly, glancing around furtively for the sign of anything else out of place. No figures in the shadows, no cars that didn't belong there. She grasped it by the neck, the tell-tale shape already hinting at what it contained.

He wouldn't dare, she thought; he wouldn't have the nerve. There was a label attached and she flipped it over, craning her neck to make out the words written in the glare of the porch-light.

From St Petersburg, as promised, with much admiration.

Her lips tightened. She should send it back to him. Without the benefit of a diplomatic bag. She should leave it standing on the step indefinitely; she should walk into his fine office and smash it over his head.

Ros weighed it in her hand thoughtfully then, placing it in the crook of her arm, retrieved her key and let herself in. She carried her burden carefully, already puling the ribbons from the wrappings and closed the door on the world.

ooOoo

When they regained the open the cold air caught her face like a slap. Ruth felt her eyes watering, her nose immediately turning red. She scrabbled in her pockets for a tissue and discovered a ragged specimen. She wiped her eyes.

They walked slowly, Harry matching his stride to her shorter steps. It was usually the reverse, he thought. And thought of all the things he had got wrong – not just with this but with so many things before this. Too many to count now but they were things he carried with him always. And they were always waiting for him. But for now, he thought, for now he would enjoy the simplicity of this moment, no matter how it ended.

They stopped, leaning against the barrier wall and watched the figures on the other side of the river. Ruth breathed out heavily; it frosted around her.

'It's a beautiful night.'

'Yes. Yes, it is.' Harry leaned forward, fingers lacing together.

'I've always liked the city in winter. I-'

'Ruth.'

She stopped, her eyes lowering. 'What?'

'Why?'

Breath caught in the back of her throat. 'I-I don't understand. Why what?'

She could feel him moving more than see him, feel his body angling towards her, feel his eyes on her.

'Yes you do. Why did you follow me here tonight?'

'I didn't-'

A muffled snort. Exasperation, she thought. 'Semantics. Why did you come looking for me tonight?'

'I...' Her shoulders hunched miserably. 'I wanted to talk to you. Funny thing is, now I can't remember what it was I wanted to say.'

'I see.'

He turned again, eyes following the progress of a girl in a red hat on the opposite bank.

'You're going to take that job with Mia, aren't you?'

'I might. I might not. I haven't decided yet.'

'It would be a good opportunity for you.'

'That's what Mia says.' Ruth smiled slightly. 'She also says that I'd have more fun working with her than I do working for you.'

Harry couldn't stop the bark of laughter. 'That may very well be true.' He watched her. 'Do you think it would suit you?'

Her face turned to his for the first time. 'It would certainly be interesting to find out. You know, when I came back ... back here, I mean...'

'I know what you mean.'

'Yes.' There was a hole in the finger of one of her gloves. She worried the frayed thread. 'When I came back... I don't know if I thought that everything would be the same or everything would be different. I'm not even sure which one I wanted. And now...' She shook her head. 'I'm not the same person anymore, Harry.'

A pause.

'No.' She wasn't harder, exactly, not colder; the differences were more varied, more subtle, but they were there.

'But I do know, now, that things can't ever go back to the way they were before and I don't want them to. Not any of it.'

His hands gripped each other, eyes fixed ahead. 'No.' There were no words. There was nothing left to give.

'Will- Will you tell me what it was?'

His head turned slightly.

'The thing that you wanted- What I wouldn't let you say. Will you tell me now? If-if you still want to.'

There were no words and her eyes were glowing. A moment and then he was able to speak. 'The something wonderful?'

'The something wonderful.'

Harry touched her face with one finger, followed the curve of her cheek. The fabric of her coat was freezing, slippery with the cold. It radiated from her. Even her lips were like ice; but he would soon warm them.

Fin

You sprawled in my gaze,

staring back from anyone's face, from the shape of a cloud,

from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me

as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are

on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

- Carol Ann Duffy