Page 143 of The Unlikely Pair

“And I think the fact I’ve proven I can work with anyone, even those with opposing views, underscores my leadershipstrength and my ability to put the nation’s interests above partisan politics,” I add the carefully scripted words my PR team generated.

When the interview ends and we emerge from the studio, Paul is ready with one of his trademark jokes.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Boo.”

“Boo, who?”

“You don’t need to cry. It’s only a joke.”

“Are you all right, Harry?” Prunella asks me in the car.

I look at her, startled. “Yes, I’m fine. I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

She gives me an inscrutable look.

I stare out the window at the darkening sky. It’s been a week since we were rescued. A week, and Toby has not contacted me. It appears he can easily leave everything that happened in Finland behind him.

But I’m not as strong. I can’t leave things between us completely unaddressed. I want him to know I’m thinking about him, and a selfish part of me wants to ensure he’s thinking about me.

So, when I get home, I sit at my laptop and arrange for a present to be delivered to him.

I manage to find the exact same brand and model of survival kit we had. Only I arrange for a couple extra items to be added in: marshmallows and lube.

I wish I could see his face when he gets it. But just imagining his smile is enough.

Two days later, I receive a package addressed to me delivered by courier. Prunella watches curiously as I unwrap it.

Inside is a framed print of one of the scenes fromWe’re Going on a Bear Hunt, showing the characters traipsing through a snowstorm.

My heart beats an erratic rhythm. I can’t stop the smile overtaking my face.

“Who is it from?” Prunella asks.

“There’s no note with it,” I answer.

Prunella fixes me with a stare. “Who is it from, Harry?”

“It’s from Toby,” I say quietly.

“I thought so.” She studies the print for a minute. “Does it have a special meaning?”

I have to clear my throat before I answer her. “Yes.”

“You should hang it in your bedroom,” she suggests as she walks away.

And so I do.

That night, I lie in bed, looking at the picture hanging on the wall.

Tomorrow is the State Opening of Parliament. My strategy team has agreed the pageantry of the occasion will make it the best setting for me to re-enter the political fray.

But I’m not thinking about optics or strategy or soundbites.

I’m not thinking about anything except the fact that after over a week of separation, after all the longing and confusion and desperate attempts to put Toby out of my mind…