"If you don't put your phone away right now I swear I'm going to hurt you," Camille threatened.

"I just need to check Dwayne got my message about the new filing system," Richard replied.

"Dwayne doesn't do the filing, Fidel does. And he made the system! Richard, they want to take off but they can't because of your phone." She wrestled the mobile from his grip and turned it off.

"You could've said please."

"You're impossible!"

XOXOXOX

"That stewardess keeps asking me if I'm airsick," Camille muttered. "I'm not airsick, I have morning sickness and some genius decided that now was a brilliant time to take a holiday!"

"It's your fault!" Richard retorted. "You were the one that answered my phone when my mother called. And if we didn't go see her and tell her in person that you're pregnant, she'd have a fit!"

"So you weren't going to tell her?" Camille challenged.

"I was... working myself up to it."

"You are such a liar."

"I am not."

Flicking her magazine sharply, so it gave a satisfying crack, Camille ignored him for the rest of the flight to Miami, not that it appeared to bother Richard, who was absorbed with a murder mystery novel. She could practically hear the wheels in his head going round as he tried to work out who the murderer was before it was revealed. He'd sulked for days once when she told him who'd did it.

Almost as soon as the flight from Miami to London took off, she fell asleep on his shoulder. Noticing the goosebumps on her arms, Richard carefully pulled the blanket over her. He hadn't liked to say that her outfit wasn't really going to be suitable for London in September, but knew she would argue or make fun of him if he attempted to advise her on fashion. Mind you, she'd probably still shout at him for not warning her about the weather when they arrived, so either way was a lose lose situation. Camille turned in her seat, snuggling into his shoulder. Impulsively Richard dropped a kiss onto her forehead. How on earth he'd gotten so lucky to end up with someone like Camille he would never know. He just hoped his parents would see it.

Sure enough, when they arrived at Heathrow Camille shouted at him for not warning her about the rain and the cold. However nothing could dampen Richard's joy at seeing drizzle. He stood outside the terminal, head thrown back in reverie while Camille shouted at him to get in the bloody taxi and didn't he know he was letting the cold in? After a good few minutes, he joined a grumbling Camille in the taxi.

Despite all her complaints, Camille was fascinated to see London. She'd only visited once before for a course a few years ago. However she doubted that a converted warehouse on the edge of Luton airport counted as one of the highlights of the London tourism board. She was interested to see the city through Richard's eyes; it was clear he loved it and as her child would be part English, she wanted to try and understand how he felt. Although so far, she had to admit, she couldn't see the attraction. Everything was just so grey. The buildings were grey, the sky was grey, even the clothes were grey. The difference from Saint-Marie couldn't be more striking. Stifling a yawn, she leaned against Richard. The long flights and jet lag were catching up with her, and the time difference was already playing havoc with her morning sickness.

"Here we are," Richard said, nudging her. Camille lifted her head from his shoulder to survey the house while he paid the taxi driver. At least there was a tree planted in the pavement outside Richard's house, breaking up some of the grey with autumnal golden brown leaves. The house itself lacked the uniqueness and eclecticism of Richard's home in the Caribbean, but then perhaps that was the point. After all, Richard was not the kind of person to choose a house with a tree growing through it, although she liked to think he'd loosened up a little.

XOXOXOX

"Why is it so cold?" Camille grumbled. She tucked the duvet tightly under her chin, snuggling deeper into the mattress. Richard glanced up from his book at her.

"The heating's been off for two years," he reminded her. "Oi!" He jumped as she stuck her cold feet against his.

"How can you be so warm?"

"I think this lovely."

"Crazy English," she muttered, yanking the duvet even further up. Richard rolled his eyes. He reached into one of the drawers of his bedside cabinet. From there he pulled out a balled up pair of socks and tossed them at her. They bounced off her head. Camille emerged from the duvet, hair tousled and face surly. "What did you do that for?"

He rescued the socks and held them out for her.

"For your feet."

"Thank you," she replied grudgingly. Richard's mouth quirked up into small smile as she burrowed back beneath the covers. He placed his book carefully on the bedside cabinet, flicked off the nightlight then pulled her into a hug. Being back in London was clearly having a good effect on him. Camille gladly wrapped herself around him, desperate for the heat.

"We'll take you shopping tomorrow," he promised. "Maybe get some more suitable pyjammas."

XOXOXOX

"Better?"

"Better," Camille confirmed, snuggling into the ski jacket he'd just bought her. She couldn't believe that the Richard Poole standing in front of her was the same Richard Poole she'd left Saint-Marie with. He looked positively relaxed. And even more unbelievably, he wasn't wearing a suit. Yes, he was still wearing a blazer and a shirt, but with jeans. Seriously. Jeans. When she'd discovered them in his wardrobe that morning, Camille had demanded to know why he never wore them in the Caribbean. He had replied, "Because I'm at work there. I don't wear these clothes for work" with distain, as though she should've realised that.

After fitting out Camille with some more British weather appropriate clothing, Richard agreed to take her to see some of the sights. Usually he avoided the centre of London like the plague; too many tourists stopping every couple of seconds to take a picture making it impossible to get anywhere. However he was willing to make an exception today for the simple reason that Camille was with him. He noticed the perplexed looks she was giving him when she thought he wasn't looking, and he understood. However, he was not relaxed merely because he was back in London, although he didn't deny that it helped. Quite simply, he was happy. He was in London with the woman he loved and best of all, it wasn't hot!