Chapter Text
"You know, you dance rather well, in spite of saying you don't do it," Camille told Richard with a broad smile and a tone of mildly teasing reproof. As far as she was concerned, anyone who could make a woman feel like that when he held her in time to music certainly knew at least some of the right 'moves'.
"What?" he virtually shouted in her ear. The music at Solly's wake had just got louder and faster and he was struggling to hear what anyone might be saying.
"I said, 'you dance rather well'," repeated Camille. She wasn't fully convinced that he hadn't heard her; she suspected he had most likely gone all shy and reserved again and was trying to cover it up.
In truth, Richard was trying to cover something up, but it wasn't his reaction to the compliment that Camille had just paid him. It was the rising feeling of intense pleasure - both physical and emotional - that sustained proximity to the inexhaustible charms of his beautiful, clever, maddening, impulsive, irrepressible half-French Sergeant was having on him.
In the months that he had worked alongside Camille Bordey, he had found her to be both infuriating and bewitching, an almost irresistible combination, as he began to realise with increasing excitement and trepidation that not only had she been getting under his skin but, indeed, her effect on his very psyche was growing by the day - no, make that by the minute.
And here she was, pressing ever so gently against him and apparently whispering - well, not exactly whispering, it was much too loud for that - sweet nothings in his ear. Despite the change in tempo, Richard continued to keep his arm around Camille, one hand resting nearly on the side of her perfect derriere, both of which facts amused her.
"I think we're meant to dance a bit faster now," she explained, but was nevertheless in no hurry to break the physical contact between them.
"Oh dear, I can't do all that fast gyrating stuff," Richard replied with a bit of a worried frown. "That's just not me at all."
Camille understood; it was true, he may have got a good ear for music (even the loud modern 'heavy' kind), but that didn't mean he was into bopping or boogying. Salsa and Zouk were obviously out (!), but she couldn't even imagine him waltzing or doing the Polka for that matter.
Suddenly she had an idea.
"Why don't we go back to your little house and we can sit on the beach and watch the pretty lights in the distance?" she suggested.
And make wild, passionate love in the surf....
"What?? Now?" asked a slightly shocked Richard.
Camille was not about to give up. "Yes, I mean you're obviously finding it too noisy here. I'll supply the beer, how about that? Or the tea?" she added as an afterthought, just in case he was in one of his English moods.
Richard screwed up his face, his eyebrows knitting together as he considered her suggestion.
Was she merely making a suggestion? he wondered. Or was she actually being suggestive? Typical Inspector Poole, the fancy simultaneously attracted and repelled him.
Camille had a pretty good idea what he was thinking and put on her best innocent-yet-enticing doe-eyed look, enhancing it with a smile sweet enough to soften concrete.
Richard knew when he was beaten. Well, after all, hadn't they just caught another murderer? Surely that was a good reason for celebrating? And Camille had been really getting under his skin lately.......
"Come on then," he said with a sardonic smile, "but you had better make good tea. And I am not sitting on the sand."
Camille rewarded him with one of her dazzling smiles and then quickly looked around for Dwayne and Fidel. Dwayne had been watching the pair of them and she knew she was going to have to come up with a pretty good excuse for leaving with their boss if she didn't want Dwayne to suspect anything.
Making her way over to him, Camille said as earnestly as she could, "I'm just going to take the Chief home. He's not very happy here, I don't think he's feeling too well."
Dwayne nodded knowingly, but inwardly thought that for someone who wasn't feeling too well, the Inspector had been exchanging some rather interesting smiles with his glamorous Sergeant.
The journey back to the beach house was fairly quiet, certainly by Camille's standards. Not wanting to spoil the moment - or what she hoped would become the moment - she drove uncharacteristically sedately, careful to miss the potholes in the road. The last thing she wanted to do was to put Richard in a bad mood before they even reached his house and ruin any chances of loosening him up.
Richard was contemplating the invitation to which he had just acceded. It was undoubtedly a bit thrilling to be alone with Camille in these circumstances but, as far as Richard was concerned, slightly dangerous too. He had no illusions about her considerable charms, nor about her ability at times to get away with far more with him than was quite proper; and certainly more than practically anyone else ever had.
What he was not sure of was the state or strength of his own resolve.
Being emotionally insecure, Richard also wondered whether Camille had any tender feelings towards him. She clearly liked him, he didn't doubt that, but might she perhaps try and seduce him for the fun of seeing an uptight Englishman crumble and lose his self-control? Or did she genuinely care for him?
Such musings were dangerous territory as well, because they brought into focus his feelings for Camille. After a heart-breaking and humiliating experience with a girl he had loved many years before, Richard had constructed - and then buried his emotions very deeply within - a well nigh impenetrable shell. Contrary to what some people may have thought, he was not a cold or unfeeling person; he was a wounded person and he had no desire to re-live the pain of those university days.
As the Defender pulled up outside his shack, Camille opened her door, pulled out the bottles of beer she had wangled from her Maman at La Kaz, and skipped round to the passenger side to open the door for Richard.
"Thank you," he said with surprising diffidence.
Camille could see that she would have to tread very carefully. I promise I'll be gentle, she thought to herself.
"Are you really going to make the tea?" Richard asked, a little incredulously, as they walked through the front door into his beach house.
"Yes, of course, that's what I promised. Why?" answered Camille, somewhat baffled. "Are you afraid I won't do it properly? You like Maman's tea alright, don't you?"
Richard had to admit that he did; considering Camille's mother was French, it had come as a pleasant surprise to him that she actually made the best tea on the island. Not quite what he'd had in England, of course, but not bad, all things considered.
"Well, I do it the same way she does." Camille was getting a trice defensive.
"I just thought that as you are the guest here, I should probably be the one to get the drinks ready, that's all," explained Richard. He really had no wish to get into a silly and pointless argument with his quick-tempered sidekick.
Camille realised her mistake in the nick of time. If all she managed to do was wind him up in the wrong sort of way now, she'd have no chance of getting him wound up in the right sort of way later. She backed down immediately.
"Yes, sorry, of course. Um...if you prefer, there's still the beer I brought," she apologised.
Richard smiled. "That's sounds like a good idea. If you want to sit on the beach that's okay, but I'm going to get a chair."
"Well...I don't mind sitting on the veranda if you'd rather. We can still see the lights from the wake from here. Aren't they lovely the way they light up in the night sky?"
Camille's smile was doing something funny to Richard's insides. He thought the view from where he was standing was pretty special too. He gratefully received the bottles of beer proffered by Camille and was relieved at the distraction of having to turn away to get the bottle opener from his kitchen drawer.
Opening a couple of bottles for each of them, he led her out onto the veranda and they sat looking out onto the beach.
"Thank you for being a good sport about the dancing," said Camille, opening the conversation.
Richard guffawed a little and replied, "Well, I did tell you I'm not much of a dancer, so if I wasn't any good...."
"No, you were great," insisted Camille. "And the way you held me was just right, you know."
Richard blushed and Camille winced, silently cursing herself for being so forward.
"Actually...I...rather...enjoyed it...." Richard confessed, much to Camille's amazement and delight.
Their eyes made contact and they both looked away somewhat shyly. Richard spoke again first.
"I...um...wanted to thank you for making me feel so welcome on Sainte Marie." Camille raised her eyebrows as Richard continued.
"I know we didn't hit it off at first and you had to put me in my place a bit..." He looked at Camille with a playful smile as he reminded her how she had threatened to beat him up if he didn't treat her with more respect.
"But you were right to point out that as we would be working together, it was important to make the best of it and not be resentful about it. Sorry I wasn't very gracious to begin with."
"I'm sorry I was so insubordinate," countered Camille. "But you know, since we got over that first hurdle, it's been fine really. You are an inspiring detective, a good and fair boss, and we all feel we've learned a lot from you. I hope you're a little happier here on Sainte Marie now?"
"Yes, I am, thanks to you mainly. You know, that evening when your mother cooked me that delicious roast beef dinner, and all those other people were there too - well, that was the most accepted I've felt anywhere since my days at Cambridge. It's true that I came out here kicking and screaming and asking to be sent back to London, but I think maybe now I've found a place where I will actually belong at last...."
Richard was beginning to wax lyrical; perhaps the beer was loosening his tongue a bit.
Camille's eyes were shining as she studied her boss' face. Something about him was different; his features had softened a little and it occurred to her that he scowled less these days.
She couldn't see the unconscious gleam in her own eyes but he hadn't missed it. He reached out and tenderly brushed his hand against her cheek and said, "Won't you come and sit a bit closer?"
They moved their respective chairs nearer to each other and sat holding hands as they watched the waves crash on the beach in the moonlight.
The stars were out in force in the clear Caribbean sky and it augured well for the rest of that night - and for the future.