Chapter Text
Richard and Camille peeked outside the door of the Honore Police Station and watched the trees beginning to sway wildly in the wind. The hurricane season was upon them again and, remembering how they had got marooned together at the University weather station the previous year, it seemed that a pre-emptive strike was in order this time.
"Here we go again, Richard, our first storm of the year. I really do think it would be a good idea to make sure you stay indoors this year, preferably inside a more robust building than the beach house," Camille told her boss, partly in all seriousness, partly with a gleam in her eye.
She could well recall the night they had spent together during Hurricane 'Irma' (although it had mainly missed Saint Marie after all) and, although she had enjoyed their closeness, it remained unfulfilled even a whole year later, and she wondered if there was a way that it could be recreated or rekindled without the risk of actual bodily harm from low flying objects.
Richard shook his head. For goodness' sake, she's incorrigible.
"Camille, I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is really no need to get all panic stricken about the prospect of a bit of wind and rain. We get that in England all the time," he said rather arrogantly.
"Not like we get in the Caribbean, Richard."
"As I recall, last year everyone made a great big fuss about, what was it - Hurricane 'Irma'? - and it was fine in the end. Just some wind and rain!" he stubbornly insisted.
"Last year, Hurricane 'Irma' didn't hit Saint Marie. It veered off 40 miles to the north west of the island, just like that poor murdered young meteorologist, Leo Downs, had predicted. Why are you being so stubborn?!" Camille was getting very frustrated with this foolish Englishman.
"Well, whatever. Who says that Hurricane 'Ivor' won't do the same? Honestly, we British are made of much sterner stuff than you lot."
"Ooh, you're impossible!! You are the most stubborn, pig-headed, annoying, bloody-minded.... argh!" she fumed. "Go ahead, end up in your tree - if you're lucky. You might actually end up under the house! Or in the sea, or - "
"Merciful heaven, Detective! When are you going to stop all this haranguing?! Fine, if it makes you feel better, I'll spend the night with you at your place!"
The words were out of his mouth before Richard could stop himself, and then it was rather difficult to take them back. So, he simply turned varying degrees of fuchsia and stuttered a lot, and consequently missed Camille's triumphant little smile. Well, it was actually what she had offered last year when 'Irma' was showing signs of arriving, and it had been an innocent enough offer. Back then.
It's about time - better get those scented candles out, she thought to herself.
Rather belatedly attempting some damage limitation control, Richard said, "I beg your pardon... I... uh... didn't mean that to sound the way it... uh... came out..."
"It's alright, Richard, your virtue is safe with me. You can sleep on the sofa. But joking apart, it is a good idea to stay somewhere else other than the beach shack. It really is too flimsy to withstand a Force 4 hurricane," Camille replied.
He sighed, "Okay, you may be right. I suppose the beach house wasn't exactly built with strong foundations," he conceded at last. Although why they would build a glorified hut on a beach in a hurricane zone and expect it to be someone's actual home (if it really was that dangerous during hurricane season), he couldn't fathom.
"Chief, we'd better batten down the hatches and then head home as quickly as possible, if you don't mind. I reckon there's only about half an hour or so before it becomes too dangerous to go out, and we'll get stuck here," said Dwayne, who had been keeping a close eye on the sky for most of the afternoon.
(Mercifully for Richard, the lads had been out when he and Camille had had that - er - exchange of views).
"Yes, Sir, and I'll stay here again and man the phones in case anyone rings in an emergency," volunteered Fidel.
"That's very good of you to offer, Fidel, but if it's going to be anything like as bad as Dwayne and everyone else here has been saying, I don't imagine anyone will even be able to get through. Won't the phone lines go down again like last year? They'll just have to ride out the storm," said Richard.
"Actually, since it's supposedly going to be so perilously awful, maybe I should stay here. Fidel, won't Juliet and Rosie need you at home with them?" The thought just occurred to him.
Camille had to stifle a protest at the prospect of her best laid plans about to blow away with Hurricane 'Ivor'. Fortunately for her, 'Sir Galahad' Myers rode in to the rescue and offered to do Fidel's shift instead.
"No, it's alright, you go on home, Fidel, I'll stay here. There's someone I'm trying to give a wide berth to anyway, so I'll probably be safer here, actually."
"Who's that?" asked a curious Fidel.
"Yvonne - you remember, from one of the stalls in the market - "
"Yes, fascinating though Dwayne's complicated love life is, could we please just get back to the point, officers? I thought that time was supposed to be of the essence here," grumbled Richard.
Camille took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.
Oh lovely, what a barrel of fun he's going to be tonight. He might as well be staying here after all.
Finally, after much propping up of the heaviest items of furniture against windows and doors, and collecting of bottled water, the team braved the elements and left Dwayne in charge of the station. They posted a couple of emergency (mobile) contact numbers on the inside of the window for anyone who might have been unfortunate - or daft - enough to be out and about and find themselves in need of urgent assistance.
Dashing through the increasingly heavy rain and the swirling winds, Camille and Richard reached her apartment and dashed up the stairs with more relief than Richard cared to admit.
"I'll put the kettle on while there's still some power," said Camille. "Tea? Or would you rather have a beer?"
"Oh, um... tea will be fine, thanks," Richard replied rather haltingly. While Camille disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on and fetch the candles, he peered around her living/dining room with interest. Surprisingly, he had never got past her front door before; not because she hadn't wanted him to, but because he never felt it quite proper to enter an attractive lady's premises alone, unless she were either a relative or already a girlfriend.
He liked her décor more than he would have expected to, and he was a little intrigued by some of the photos and cards on a small table in one corner of the room. He suddenly became aware of a sense of intimacy and warmth in the cosy little room; he was surprised at the gentleness of it, given Camille's feisty nature.
Bringing the drinks and the candles in, she proceeded to light one of them in readiness for the blackout she was sure would follow.
"That way, there's at least some light by which to carry on lighting the others when the time comes, but we're not wasting too much by lighting them all beforehand," she explained.
"You seem very sure there will be a blackout, Camille."
"Well, there usually is, Richard. Even last year when Saint Marie managed to escape the brunt of Hurricane 'Irma', we still had that power cut, remember?"
Remember?? Of course I bloody remember! How could I forget? You practically tortured me half the night. No, that's not fair, it wasn't your fault - it was me. As usual.
"Yes, of course," he said out loud. "Well... uh... better to be prepared, as you say... eh, Camille, ha." He was beginning to get nervous and flustered as it dawned on him what an even more intimate experience this night could turn out to be.
All of a sudden, there was a mighty clap of thunder and the lights flickered and went out. Luckily, Camille had already just lit the first candle, and Richard gave her a hand with the others for the sake of speed.
"I can smell something," he said, sniffing the air.
"It's the candles, Richard," answered Camille. "They're lightly scented." Seeing the expression on his face, she said somewhat defensively, "Well, that's all I could find in the shops by the time I got there. Sir."
Richard detected the edge in her voice and said, "Okay, Camille, that wasn't meant to be a criticism. I just wondered, that's all."
She sighed heavily, annoyed with herself for her little outburst. "Sorry."
He looked her in the eye as he replied, "Forget it. So, what shall we do now?" The corners of his mouth began to turn up ever so slightly. "I see you don't have a giant whiteboard in here."
"No, I usually prefer to leave work behind when I get home," she retorted, a touch sardonically. "And besides," she added with a grin, "do you see anywhere to fit one in here?"
"Does that mean we don't get to talk about our cases, then?" he asked, in an unexpectedly playful tone of voice.
"That's right. Tonight I get to pry some more into your personal life. And you never finished telling me what it would be like to spend an entire weekend confined in a caravan together."
Oh great...
Her voice was beginning to take on that alluring - and frankly, downright sexy - tone that he found so unnerving, and he wondered if this was going to be a long night.
Something deep within him secretly hoped so.