Understanding The Questions
Everyone knew that Christine Dale was the coldest operative in England. Some people called her the Ice Maiden, referring to her sharp features and her blond, every-strand-perfect hair. She wasn't, they said, the kind of woman to bend for anyone.
Tom said she was resigning, that she was tired of all the politics, all the games. She was going to head back to the United States, to a safe job, with its mandatory huge salary. She was never going to return to England.
Ruth couldn't bring herself to believe Tom. Not really. Tom was wavering, balancing somewhere between stable and insane. His word just wasn't the iron clad reassurance it once was. Ruth didn't believe Christine would ever be able to leave the spying game.
"Ruth?" She didn't know what made Christine come to her. They barely knew each other; it was Zoe who usually dealt with the CIA. But there she was, standing outside Thames House, waiting for Ruth to emerge. "It is Ruth, isn't it? I met you during the President's visit."
"Sure." Ruth twisted her fingers through the fringed end of her scarf, remembering Christine's harsh words and demanding manner. "I mean, yes. Yes, I'm Ruth."
"I thought so." Christine smiled. "Do you want to go get a drink?"
There were other questions there, questions drifting somewhere beneath the surface. There were questions about Tom and sorrow and madness and loss, and Ruth couldn't quite work out how they all worked together. And because she couldn't read the questions let alone answer them she agreed to a drink.
"I heard that Tom was forced to leave." Christine drank slowly, her glass dangling between the tips of her fingers.
"You know I can't say anything." Ruth swallowed too fast, emptying half of her drink.
Christine leaned forward. "You don't need to say anything, Ruth. I hear rumours that you're falling apart; that Harry had to get in someone new. Guess I'll meet him sooner or later."
Ruth finished her drink and stared at the bottom of the glass. "Did you ask me here just to talk about Tom?"
Christine finished her own drink and signaled for two more. "Of course not. I thought we should get to know each other some more. We could foster better relationships and strengthen the friendship between our countries."
Ruth smiled. "Did Tom fall for that line?"
"No." Christine slid another drink towards Ruth and watched as she sipped it. "Well, not at first anyway."
"And you think I will?"
Christine picked up Ruth's drink and finished it. "Come home with me, Ruth."
Christine's kisses were sharp and direct, with her tongue probing and her teeth pressing down on a soft edge of Ruth's lips. She held Ruth against the wall, her hands on Ruth's shoulder and her knee pushing between her legs. She dropped her hands to Ruth's waist and then under her shirt, and her fingers were a little warmer than Ruth expected.
"Why did you come here?"
Ruth gasped as Christine's hand drifted across her breasts. "You asked me to come."
Christine bent her head and kissed Ruth's neck. "That doesn't answer my question," she whispered.
She sat on the couch drinking Christine's scotch. She could see Christine through the half open bedroom door. She wanted to join her, to kiss her and hold her and feel a warm body pressed against hers. But that wasn't what this was about.
This was about Tom and betrayal and lies and regrets. This was about looking for something where nothing existed. This was about warm skin and cool hands and who could shock who. This was about jobs they loved and jobs that were destroying them.
And, although neither of them would admit it, in the end this was about loneliness and coldness and the barriers they put up to protect themselves.
This was how they answered the questions they didn't understand.
And this, this moment, with Christine sleeping and Ruth slipping out the front door, this is where the warmth would end.