Harriet's Arrangement

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"What were you THINKING?" Tom breathed, wide-eyed, as she finished her story, having let him into the flat, and having finally managed to stop crying enough to tell him what had happened.

"I don't know, Tom, I'm so sorry, I just, I just..." she tailed off, tears spilling down her cheeks again. She'd asked Malcolm to drop her at the end of the road, which he'd done rather reluctantly, and she had walked the last few hundred yards. She hadn't known why, except that some strange, stubborn part of her didn't want him to sit and watch her actually go inside her block – despite the undeniable fact that he almost certainly knew where she lived given that she hadn't given him any directions.

"Harriet, honestly, if you hadn't been through what you've just been through, you'd be straight over my knee," he said, clearly trying to control himself, "God, why?!"

She sobbed and buried her face in her hands. "I didn't feel like me, Tom, I felt, I don't know, I just felt like if maybe I could hear your voice, or see words that you'd written that maybe I could handle it better, I just... I've never –"

Through her sobs, her muddled explanation that was all spoken into her hands was barely audible, and she was still stuttering when he quietly slipped a hand under her knees and round her shoulders and lifted her from the sofa onto his lap, rocking her gently. "Shh," he soothed, "Shh, I know."

He sat with her until she'd stopped crying, and then shuffled her off his lap onto the sofa and asked where the bathroom was. She gestured and she heard him starting to run a bath, which caused tears to prickle behind her closed eyelids all over again.

And then he was back, and lifting her and carrying her to the bathroom. He set her down on her feet and moved to the door but she called his name. He turned.

"Stay," she whispered, "Stay with me."

He looked at her carefully, taking in her wide, red-rimmed eyes, the tear-stained cheeks. "Ok," he said softly. And he closed the door behind him as he made his way back towards her. She looked up at him with big, grateful eyes, and nodded her consent as his hands moved to her blouse buttons.

He undressed her slowly, carefully, aware of everything that hurt or ached, and helped her climb into the warm bath. He knelt beside her, still fully clothed himself, and reached for a sponge, gently washing warm water over her shoulders and arms as she hugged her knees to her chest, still feeling unsteady.

"Harriet," he said softly after a little while, "I'm so sorry he did that to you."

She was silent for a minute, mortification still gnawing at her insides. Then she whispered, "Thank you for saying that." And after another pause, "I'm sorry I was so stupid."

He shook his head, a little disbelievingly. "It was a bit stupid. But I've put you in a funny position now, and I'm sorry for that. I'm just afraid of what would happen if I were to whisk you away and save you. I think this needs to be done carefully."

She nodded. "Unless I just... left completely," she said, into the silence after a minute or two, "All of it, I mean. The job. Then he'd have nothing to hold over me."

He tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. "Do you want to do that?" he asked, knowing what she meant, "Is this so bad that you'd leave the job you were so excited to be doing?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, "But sometimes it's bad enough for me to consider it."

He stroked a hand through her hair and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I know, baby girl," he whispered, "But it will end, and you can keep the job you love. I think you need some people in the office on your side before you do anything."