8. Chapter 8 (1/2)

eakfast is a slow and lazy affair, with them sitting across the table from one another, stealing glances, before quickly looking away ….. anywhere but into those eyes, where they can so easily drown.

"i'm not really all that hungry," harry confesses, picking at his buttered toast.

"i'm starving," ruth counters. "you can pass on to me what you don't eat."

harry's smile is slow as he reaches across with his thumb to wipe a fragment of egg white from ruth's bottom lip. "there was a little bit of egg …." he says.

"likely story. you just want to touch me."

"true, i do. now i've tasted you, ruth, food just doesn't do it for me."

for the first time since before they had made love, ruth blushes. "that sounds like a line, harry. i'll bet you say that to all your conquests."

"and here was i believing it was you who'd conquered me."

"whomever it was did whatever to whom …... that was still a corny line."

"true," he adds, "but this time, i mean it."

"so …... you've said it before?"

"i might have."

"and on those occasions when you `might have', you didn't always mean it?"

"maybe. ruth, those occasions were all so long ago."

ruth drops the subject, but harry is aware that by being honest with her, he also risks offending her. there is still a lot she doesn't know about him, and it's best she learn that slowly, one thing at a time.

it is almost 10.30 by the time they drive through bude. ruth comments on the architecture as they weave through the street, but it is when flexbury park methodist church looms into view that she asks harry to stop. the spire on top of the clock tower reaches to the heavens in a gesture of hope.

"it's beautiful, harry. who'd have thought the methodists would go for gothic?"

"i've always liked the stone work," harry replies, smiling at her as she gazes through the windscreen at the impressive structure in front of them. "i believe it's now a listed building. my mother also loved it," he adds quietly.

"your mother? you've holidayed here, haven't you?"

"my family spent a number of summer holidays here. when i was small, we'd spend a week each summer in newquay, but then my father discovered bude. he enjoyed fishing in the canal, and so after that, we'd come here." harry smiles across the cabin into ruth's eyes, as he turns the car northwards out of town. "when i hit my teens, i dreaded summer holidays here, but other people holidayed here, and some of them had teenage daughters. that's when holidays in bude again became attractive."

ruth reaches across to touch harry's forearm,

ushing her fingers along his sleeve. "harry of the wandering eye," she says, smiling at his profile, enjoying seeing him so relaxed.

"not any more, ruth."

"i should hope so, too."

he turns left down ocean view road, and then right, traveling slowly along a narrow road which runs parallel with the coast. they drive past two new housing developments, and then turn towards the coast, away from the

ight, white new houses, and holiday cottages for rent. eventually, harry slows the car, and stops outside a cottage, perched on a headland, overlooking the coastline, with a view back towards bude.

"next you'll be telling me you own this house, harry."

harry's silence draws ruth's eyes to him, and he is looking at her, a small smile on his lips.

"you do, don't you?"

harry nods, and then he unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans across the gap between their seats, and kisses her gently, and for a long time. "i thought this could be our safe place, ruth."

"when did you buy it, because it was only two days ago that we talked about getting out of london."

"i didn't …... buy it, that is. my father left it to me when he died. i hadn't ….. seen much point in having it until now. i always planned to do it up, and perhaps spend time here when i was older. i wanted to leave it to my children, but neither of them have ever shown any interest in it, so i've put off having it renovated."

ruth opens her door, and gets out of the car, and harry follows. the house is patently in need of repair, but it's potential is clear to anyone who sees it. it is built from stone, the walls topped with a steep slate roof. watching her face as she gazes up at the cottage, he can see she is entranced. harry follows her gaze to the turret windows in the sloping slate roof.

"there's a large room under the roof space. i think you'll like it," he says.

an overgrown path leads from the surrounding fence – also in need of repair – to the front door.

"i love that shade of blue," ruth says, pointing to the door.