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Detective Inspector Richard Poole placed his cup of tea next to his chair and settled down for a nice relaxing read. It had been a tedious day during which absolutely nothing of interest had happened, something he found harder to cope with than if they had been inundated by petty crime. A missing cat was the highlight of the calls they had received. He had heard that Port Royal was suffering an outbreak of shoplifting and had contemplated offering to help, but that would be rather desperate and could be regarded as interference in another team’s affairs.
Which left him with the preparation for his team's annual appraisals, something he dreaded. Dwayne would sit nodding as he outlined a number of improvements he could make, but absolutely nothing would change; Fidel would take every minor suggestion to heart and knock himself out for the next month trying to get it right. And then there was Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey. Any suggestion made to her was liable to result in an argument that could be heard at the other end of town. He hadn’t thought it unreasonable to ask her to use a little less force when arresting suspects, but she pointed out, forcibly, that they were usually bigger than she was, and she had to do something to compensate. That one still surfaced from time to time.
So, he was wearing his pyjamas, with his cup of tea and his book and sitting, looking out at the waves. It was remarkable how relaxing they made him feel – as long as he kept all thoughts of the intervening sand carefully at bay.
Halfway through his second page he heard a thumping coming from the steps to his veranda and a not-so-subdued muttering heralding the arrival of his Detective Sergeant. It did not sound like police business. With a sigh he put his book to one side and prepared himself.
“That is it! This time she has gone too far!”
“Good evening, Camille, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“It’s maman.” she growled “First she started out by telling me that one of my school friends had just had her fourth baby. Then she starts giving me a school report for the children of everyone I know and how cute they are, all the time looking at me as though I’m getting visibly older while she watched. Well, I had enough and needed to get out of there. So, can I stay the night?”
Richard had been nodding along to this, imagining the volume to which their ‘discussion’ had climbed, so he was unprepared for that final request and wasn’t
sure he had heard right.
“I’m sorry, you want to... what?”
“I want to stay here. Tonight. Otherwise there will be another murder to investigate.”
“Oh. Right. Um... there isn’t really that much room, Camille.”
“I don’t care. I’ll sleep in that chair – you do often enough... Or on the floor! Anywhere, as long as I don’t have to be in the same building as my mother!”
This worried Richard. He had been an observer of the Bordey women’s arguments, but this seemed to eclipse everything to date.
Camille was now pacing up and down in front of the doors.
“It’s as though she cannot see what I have achieved with my work. It’s as if I am just a potential baby factory, only there to provide her with grandchildren she can play with and then hand back when she gets bored. She has never asked me what I want! Not once!” a short pause for breath “And do you know what else she said?”
Richard didn’t but was afraid he was going to find out regardless.
“She told me she’d set up a couple of blind dates and I’d better choose one of them because it was getting harder to find men that were interested. Everybody had heard how difficult I am and if I wasn’t careful, I’d still be single when I was sixty!”
She glared at him as if challenging him to say something.
“Err, Camille, I think it’s probably best if you take a while to calm down before...”
“Calm down! This is me being calm.” She snapped at him, “I was angry earlier, but now I am calm.”
“Err, right, well, um, how about... a beer?” and he got up to get her a beer from the fridge. He got one for himself while he was at it - he had a feeling he would need it and his tea was probably cold by now.
He handed her the beer and they moved out onto the veranda to look out at the sea.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes.
“Do you think I’m difficult?” she asked in a small voice.
“What? Oh, well, err, no, not really. You just know what you want and... err...”
“So you do think I am.“ Her tone was one he had never heard her use before, and it worried him.
“No. Look I’m sure there are lots of men out there who would be only too glad to be your, um... boyfriend or... whatever. You’ll find him eventually.”
“So who?” she challenged him.
“What?” he was stumped. Vague assurances he was able to supply, but contact details were a bit beyond him.
“Who would want to go out with me?”
He clamped down on a sudden desire to say ‘Me’ but that was ludicrous, inappropriate and would probably end up with him in hospital.
“Well, I don’t know Camille. I don’t keep track of eligible young men. That’s your mother’s...” he stopped himself, but not quite soon enough.
The glare he got for that left him feeling like a traitor.
He needed a strategy. Something to distract her. He vaguely recalled a course from his police training about relationships and counselling. He had scored highly on the course work but had not bothered to keep it up, partly because it made little sense to him but mostly because he was rubbish at it and far better at catching criminals. Bits and pieces came back to him, and he put this together with what he observed of Camille in action and came up with something. It was flimsy and he had little faith in his ability to carry it out, but Camille needed something, and he really wanted to help her.
He turned his head to look at her and attempted a smile. Here goes...
“So, err, what does Camille want?”
She shrugged and said “I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea. Career, family, something else...?”
Her eyes flicked down and she turned to look out at the sea.
“Can’t I have both?” she asked.
He paused.
“With the right man I don’t see why not.”
“Ah, yes, that.” she said wistfully.
He tried a joke to lighten the mood, ”Or there’s always a sperm bank...” Ouch No! What had possessed him? Foot, meet mouth.
He was rewarded with the glare he so rightly deserved.
“Ah, no. Err, quite. But like I said earlier there must be...”
She gave him a contemptuous look.
“Ah, not so many as that then.” He thought some more. “You read women’s magazines, don’t you?”
She nodded confused as to where he was going.
“So, when you fill in those relationship quiz things...” he was sure he’d heard mention of that sort of thing from someone... somewhere... “What type of person does it say you’re compatible with?”
She looked at him in mock horror. “Richard Poole, are you advocating trashy magazine articles as the basis for deciding a long-term relationship?”
Well, when you put it like that...
“No, certainly not. I just... “
He straightened up and turned away, scrubbing at his face.
“Oh God Camille, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Me advising you on relationships is like Dwayne advising people on commitment.”
“Don’t put yourself down like that Richard. At least you’re trying to help. Can you keep a secret?”
He looked at her suspiciously and nodded tentatively.
“I think I’ve already met him, but the time isn’t right to say anything.”
And with those few words, the tiny flame of hope he had been nurturing inside him for two years was snuffed out.
“Oh! That’s... good. Yes, but don’t leave it too long to sort things out otherwise someone else might... well, you know how these things go.”
It was like holding out a burning coal as an offering of warmth and comfort, but, with a supreme effort of will, he kept his face as blank as he could.
They talked some more until Richard eventually judged her calm enough to attempt a reconciliation with her mother. His own hopes were ashes, but he could still do things for her. She agreed.
“Right, good. Well, let’s go then.” He gave a firm nod and prepared to set off.
“Err, Richard...”
What now? Another delaying tactic?
“Are you really going to see my mother dressed like that?”
He looked down at the pyjamas he had changed into earlier. He felt himself reddening.
“Ah, yes. Quite. Give me a couple of minutes.” And he strode purposefully into the shack.
When he arrived at La Kaz, he was quickly spotted by Catherine.
“Richard! We don’t usually see you here at this time of night.” She then spotted Camille following behind and her voice took on an icy tone. “And with my unattached daughter, what a surprise.”
The glare she got from Camille made Richard wince. He sighed.
“Err, is there any chance of a cup of tea? My last one went a bit cold.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” she said and flounced off towards the bar. Rather belatedly Richard called out,
“And something for Camille as well...?”
He wasn’t sure if she had heard.
“This is a waste of time Richard. You saw how she behaved. She’s still annoyed at me.”
“Well, we’ve come all this way, we might as well try.”
They waited until Catherine returned with Richard’s tea and a cocktail for Camille.
“Um, could you join us for a moment please...?” he asked, adding “if you have time.”
With a huff which reminded him of Camille, Catherine sat opposite them. The two women looked at each other with the air of boxers working themselves up for the second round.
Richard drew in a breath and, with the feeling of hurling himself into the Saint Marie volcano, putting his fate into the lap of the gods, he started.
“I understand that you and Camille had a difference of opinion earlier.”
“If you mean the argument we had about my daughter’s pig headedness, then yes we did.”
“I am not pig headed. I just refuse to be trotted out like a prize goat to anybody you think may be in the market for goats!”
“Well if I left it to you...”
“Ladies, please. Can we try to keep this discussion civilised.” His policeman’s voice seemed to do the trick, much to his great surprise.
“Catherine, over the years I have observed many people being trained to do jobs, sometimes extremely difficult jobs and with every person there comes a time when you have to trust your ability to teach and their ability to put what they have learnt to use and leave them to make their own way in the world.” He held up his hand when Catherine looked as though she was about to say something. Camille was looking at him as if he had just grown a second head. Ah well, press on.
“I know, Catherine, that you must have had a difficult time raising Camille, she must have been an extremely... trying child.” He ignored the thump on his arm “But you did a good job and have produced a beautiful, confident young woman...” had he just said beautiful? Bother! Too late now though, onwards. “...who is capable of tackling anything this world can throw at her. You have to trust what you have done and believe that Camille is capable of making the right decisions for herself.”
He stopped and waited for the reaction.
“That’s a very nice little speech Richard. Do you know how old Camille is?”
“Maman!”
“I, err, have access to her personnel file. Why?”
“And do you know how long a woman remains fertile?”
“Well, fertility can depend on any number of factors...”
“Richard!”
“Well, on average, yes.”
“Then you realise that she is running out of time and if she ever wants a family, she needs to start now.”
“Well, I think you may be projecting your own desires on to Camille. It may be that she doesn’t want children.”
“Of course I want children!” said Camille indignantly surprising all three of them.
Catherine turned to look at her “In that case you need to get a move on, or you’ll be too old for anyone to want you and no man, no babies.”
Richard decided not to mention sperm banks again.
“I do not have wonky eyes!” declared an outraged Camille. Catherine looked a bit nonplussed at the statement.
After that, things went into a bit of a decline with the two women bickering away. At the point where Richard spotted the same arguments being chewed over for the third time he abruptly stood up. The two women stopped to look at him.
“I’m sorry, I appear to have misjudged things. I apologise for wasting everybody’s time. Camille, the answer to your earlier question is yes. Catherine, thank you for the tea and goodnight.”
And he turned and walked off towards his shack, spoiling it slightly when he misjudged the step down.
With a look of triumph directed at her mother, Camille stood and followed him. Catherine watched them leave and, slowly, as they walked out of sight, a smile crept across her face.
When they reached the shack Richard looked at his chair with mild distaste. It was true he fell asleep on it quite often, but he always woke up feeling tired and with a crick in his neck. Ah well, one more night...
“Did you really call me beautiful?” Camille asked abruptly having watched him silently for a while.
Bother. She hadn’t said anything on the way home so he had hoped he had got away with it. But this was Camille, and nothing escaped her. It’s what made her such a good detective.
“Oh, ah, that... Merely a rhetorical flourish designed to make the point.”
“Yes, but do you think that?”
And, like a good detective, she had tenacity.
“Well, beauty is a purely subjective phenomenon relying on an object’s adherence to a form...”
“Richard, I do not want a lecture, I want to know what you think.”
And as a French woman she could be rather annoying. He was getting irritated with her line of enquiry which is why he blurted out
“I have a pair of fully working eyes, Camille, of course I think you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t, for goodness sake?”
Camille’s smile was like the sun coming up.
Damn! He really must learn to control himself. Especially around Sergeant Bordey.
“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the chair.” He snapped and moved off towards the bathroom.
“Do you have anything I can wear? Just for tonight. A t-shirt or something.”
A t-shirt? Did he look the sort of person that wore t-shirts? He sent a look of distaste in her direction. Then he moved over towards the chest of drawers, opened one of the drawers and handed her the pair of pyjamas he pulled out.
“You can use these.” He said “and there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. Towels are on the shelf just inside the door.”
Camille was stroking the fabric of the pyjamas, looking at him with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
“Oh my God. Am I going to be allowed to wear a pair of your pyjamas? Are you sure? I mean, I don’t usually wear anything...”
He looked at her a red stain creeping on to his cheeks.
“Camille, the alternatives don’t bear thinking about. Wear the pyjamas. If you want to use the bathroom first...”
Camille bounced off to the bathroom leaving Richard to wonder how on earth he was going to get through the night without totally embarrassing himself.
When Camille returned, she was wearing the pyjama top but carrying the bottoms with the rest of her clothes.
“The trousers kept slipping down but the top is perfect, don’t you think?” and she held her arms out and twirled around.
The hem of the pyjama top lifted, but, fortunately, still covered her modesty - just.
“Yes, well, right... I’ll just...” he said waving his arm in the direction of the bathroom and scurried off.
When he emerged, suitably attired in his pyjamas, he spotted that Camille had dumped her clothes on the chair he was planning to sleep on.
“Camille...“ he said plaintively, waving his arm in the direction of the chair.
“Don’t be silly Richard. You can’t sleep there, you’ll do yourself a permanent injury. There’s plenty of room in here and I promise not to touch you.”
She could tell he was undecided.
“No one need ever know.”
He clenched his teeth, but that seemed to decide him, and he quickly slid in beside her.
“OK.” He said “No touching. In fact, we should keep a gap between ourselves that nobody should cross.” And he gestured to a strip between them as though declaring a demilitarised zone.
Camille rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She said and rolled over. Richard stilled and tried to ignore the warm presence two feet away.
Strangely Richard was the first to drop off. Camille twisted until she ended up looking at Richard. Then she fell asleep.
First thing the next morning, Dwayne bounced up the steps to Richard’s veranda.
“Mornin’ Chief. We couldn’t find Camille so I thought you might need a lift i...”
At that point his eyes adjusted to the internal illumination and his brain decoded the scene in front of him.
“Ah, I see you already know where Camille is.” he said with a smirk.
His two superiors were suddenly struggling to get themselves disentangled from the bed sheets and each other.
“Perhaps I should come back later Chief. When you’ve had a chance to get ready.”
“Err, no, I think we’ll make our own way in.” Richard said distractedly, trying to remove a sheet that thought it was an anaconda.
“Right-o Chief see ya later. No need to rush.“ He left wearing a smile and shaking his head. Who'd have thought it.
Camille, who up to then had been worrying about how far up her pyjama top had ridden during the night and whether the warm spot on her right buttock really was from Richard’s hand, suddenly looked up.
“Is that wise?”
“What?” Richard finally won his battle with the anaconda sheet and threw it, irritatedly, onto the bed.
“Well, we didn’t get the chance to explain, and Dwayne...”
The meaningful look she threw hit him squarely between the eyes and, panicked, he rushed to the veranda only to see the back of the Land Rover disappearing up the track.
He returned rapidly. “We'd better get there as soon as we can.” She understood. Dwayne and discretion might start with the same letter, but where gossip was concerned, they rapidly parted company.
A slightly out of breath Detective inspector entered the police station followed closely by his Detective Sergeant. He looked quickly around.
“Where's Dwayne?” he asked of the only other person in the room. Fidel, Sergeant Best, straightened. “He’s gone out to patrol the Harbour, sir. It’s a bit early but he seemed keen.” He said brightly “Oh, I believe congratulations are in order, sir.”
“No they bloody well are not!” snapped Richard out of sheer frustration. Fidel’s face fell and Richard, suppressing a pang of guilt for his curtness, turned to look at Camille. Dwayne was loose – they were doomed. Camille looked back and shrugged, apparently not concerned about their reputations being shredded with every person Dwayne met. With a sigh of resignation he made his way to his desk and prepared for the day’s work.
When Dwayne returned, he was cornered by his superiors who tried to point out that whilst they may have shared a bed, it was purely platonic, and nothing had happened. Dwayne maintained that he knew what he had seen and if Richard was having a problem, Effie on the market might have some pills to help him out.
They gave up.
When he went to get a sandwich at lunch time, he was stopped by just about everyone in the market offering congratulations or telling him he was a lucky man. Nobody seemed interested in his increasingly frantic denials.
Part way into the afternoon he felt the need for some air and went outside. A minute later Camille joined him and stood next to him looking over the town towards the sea.
“We’re not going to win you know.“ she said. He knew what she meant. The rumour was out there and trying to squash it was like trying to nail jelly to the wall.
“Yes.” was all he said.
“We can carry on denying it, but I don’t think we will be believed.”
“No.” He sighed.
“Or we could pretend to break up.” He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “But” she continued “it would have to be a fairly spectacular breakup for it to be believed and people would expect one of us to leave afterwards.”
He sighed again and resumed his examination of the sea. “No.” he said emphatically.
“Or...” and something in her tone made him look at her. “we could turn it into reality...”
He carried on looking at her trying to determine her true feelings. It was a joke. It must be a joke – she couldn’t really mean it. People always did this sort of thing to hurt him. He looked at her some more. But not Camille, she didn’t do that sort of thing. She teased him outrageously but wasn’t cruel or spiteful. Certainly, she had been angry with him in the early days, and once or twice, well, several times since, but she would never say this unless she meant it. Did she really mean it? She was looking back at him and seemed to be nervous about something - and when had he started noticing those little things about her?
Suddenly her comment from the previous day about already having found someone popped into his head, but the way she was looking at him did not seem to go with the idea she had a potential boyfriend in her sights. Unless... and the thought arose phoenix-like from the ashes of his hopes, unless she had been referring to him. He attempted to dismiss this piece of fanciful nonsense but the way she was continuing to look at him made him pause. If this outlandish idea was correct, and all the signs seemed to point that way, then she must mean she wanted to... possibly. There was only one way to find out and if he was wrong, he would be headed straight back to London.
He’d hesitated for far too long and she was beginning to look worried and a bit awkward. He had to do or say something soon. Decision time... London here I come!
He leant forward and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips.
She didn’t pull back...
She was still there several seconds later. Indeed, her arms seemed to be making their way up around his neck. For some reason he absolutely had to have her closer, so he put his hands on her hips and pulled her in tight. The world shrank down to himself and the girl in his arms. All thoughts of where they were and who might see them submerged in a crescendo of desire that, much later, would surprise him.
Quite a few people in the town of Honoré spotted the two detectives and nodded. Yes, they had known, they told each other, known for months. It wouldn’t be long before Catherine got those grandchildren she wanted.