Uncharted Waters

Chapter 1 – Autumn Feelings

It was a Sunday afternoon in September, the sun was shining, and although there was more than just a hint of autumn in the crisp, clear air, it still was fairly warm outside. Slightly melancholically, Richard Poole looked out of his kitchen window and tried to make up his mind about what he wanted to do with the remainder of this weekend.

He had spent most of it with his parents – they had just returned from a trip to Italy, and his mother had raved on and on about the wonderful food, the friendly people and the amazing sites they had seen.

A trip to Italy… Richard still couldn't get his head around how his parents' life had changed over the past year…

For as long as he could remember, his parents had not travelled outside the UK… until his mother had come to visit him on Saint Marie about two years ago. She had been confused and sad, and she had been about to separate from his father. Richard had realised with a shock that his parents might split up after nearly 50 years of marriage, and he had learnt that you could take absolutely nothing in life for granted, no matter how long it had already been around – not even your parents' marriage.

His whole world had started to crumble when his mother had described how unhappy she had been feeling. He hadn't had any idea – but then again, he had been away for almost two years… Also, his relationship with his parents had always been somewhat distant. He was almost sure that it had to do with the fact that he had basically grown up in boarding school and only seen his parents on every other weekend only – as well as for school holidays – and sometimes not even that had happened. A couple of times he had had to spend part of his holidays with an elderly relative because his parents had been away. As a result, he had slowly, but surely got estranged from his parents.

He had never felt quite at ease in his father's presence, and although he loved her dearly, his mother always gave him a slightly uncomfortable feeling about himself – as if she just couldn't understand how the sweet little boy that he had been had grown into this awkward, socially inept man... He was well aware of his fastidious personality, but well, it wasn't something he could change with a snap of his fingers, was it? Maybe he would have turned out differently if circumstances had been different – but then again - maybe not… That was all hypothetical, wasn't it…

He remembered how she had sometimes asked him about his activities – and he had told her about his stargazing, about the books he had read, the museums and exhibits he had visited… and more than once she had looked at him with sadness in her eyes and asked 'But Richard, don't you ever do things with your friends?' He had responded that he didn't have any, and when she had asked if he didn't feel lonely, he had replied honestly 'Yes, sure – but what can you do? And it's not like I'm not used to it – mind you, I've never been very sociable…'

Whenever they had reached that point in their conversation, Jennifer Poole had looked at him with tears in her eyes and turned away, changing the subject abruptly. Richard had felt guilty… it was like he had disappointed his mother by being the way he was. But then – what could he do about it?

He had always been an introverted bookworm, and he had always enjoyed solitary activities… As a child, he had been a little naïve, a daydreamer… and the boys at school had picked on him and poked fun at him for being so gullible. He had developed strategies to keep a low profile without betraying his beliefs and principles – it hadn't always been easy, but he had managed somehow. He had been happy when he had left school to go to university – Cambridge had been a whole different world.

Not that he had turned into a party animal there, but at least he had had a group of 'friends' – well, people he had spent time with, to be more precise. They had been five students with different backgrounds who kind of got together on a more or less regular basis, and for the first time in his life, Richard had not been a complete outcast. He hadn't gone home to see his parents more often than once in a month or six weeks, and gradually, he had gone even less frequently. Little by little, he and his parents had drifted apart even more, and when he joined the police and was based in London, he had sometimes only seen them twice a year.

Then he had been transferred to Saint Marie, and for almost two years, he hadn't seen his parents at all – until his mother had showed up on the island and he had realised that his parents were going through a very rough patch, and unless a miracle happened, they'd split up.

He had done everything to make this miracle happen – and it had indeed worked out… It had been a relief to see his parents happy again, and it had been amazing to see how they had turned their life around after they had reconciled. After his return from the Caribbean, he had seen them more regularly – he had realised that he had to do his share to keep the communication going, and so he made more of an effort now to visit them.

Richard was baffled to see how they had changed – and yet remained the same. Interests and hobbies from the past had resurfaced, and they had clearly been bitten by the travel bug.

From Saint Marie, they had travelled to Cuba, then they had gone home to the UK where they relocated to Gloucestershire – they had decided that they wanted to make a fresh start together in a new place, and it had worked out for them.

They had begun to travel within Europe then – and their most recent plan was a cruise to South America over Christmas and New Year. Harbours in Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil were on their list, and Richard's head started spinning when his mother began to talk about all the places they wanted to visit. There had been only little – if any! - remorse in her voice when she had remarked that he'd be on his own over the holidays – "Mind you, darling, you've been on your own over Christmas before, and you know how nice it is to spend the holidays in a warm climate, don't you, so I'm sure you'll understand" had been her words.

And then she had added "You should go back some time, Richard… I'm sure they would all be happy to see you again!"

Richard snorted as he put down his tea mug. If there was one thing in the world he would not do, it was returning to Saint Marie. By now, they had all forgotten him, anyway. And his mother had obviously forgotten how much he had suffered in the Caribbean climate… he had never got used to the stifling heat, the atrocious sand, the muggy humidity… - no, in his book, it was not nice to spend the holidays far from home, all alone, in a warm climate.

But – truth be told – he hadn't been on his own… his team had seen to it that he had spent the holidays with them. He had been invited to several Christmas and New Year's events… there had been get-togethers, casual little parties, festive dinner events… it had almost been too much. But he hadn't had time to miss the UK – and in hindsight he realised that Fidel, Dwayne and Camille had done their best to make him feel comfortable and less lonely. He hadn't stood a chance to turn down their offers to spend time at their houses – and once, when he had tried to fend them off by saying he couldn't possibly accept another invitation because he had already over-strained their hospitality, Camille had suggested they'd all come to his house to have a party so he wouldn't have to feel guilty any more.

It had been more fun than he had thought it would be… oh, those were the days…

He sighed a little. His mother's seemingly innocent remark had brought up unwanted feelings and memories. He didn't really want to think of Saint Marie…

Saint Marie had been quite the experience. It had changed him – he had realised that after his return. It hadn't been as easy as expected to re-adjust to life in the UK... He had been out of the loop for over two years, and nothing had been the same any more when he had returned. Not only had London changed – there were new buildings, new stores, new anything… - work also had changed. And all the technology that he had been cut off from during his time on Saint Marie – there had been new databases, new structures, new procedures. It had been challenging to find his feet under these circumstances.

Not to mention that he had been promised to get a position in the North of London, and HR had initially mentioned Islington, but just before his departure from Saint Marie, he had been informed that he would have to step in for a sick DI in Walthamstow…

After some negotiating, however, he had finally come to an agreement with HR – he'd be in Walthamstow for three months, and after that, he'd get transferred to Islington. So, a week after he had arrived in London, he had started to look for a house – he had resided in a guest house for a while and had quickly got fed up with that. It had been crowded, noisy and dirty… and with some wistfulness, he had thought of his little shack on the beach back on Saint Marie…

He hadn't appreciated that enough, as he had realised then. It had been a weird little place, but at least he had had it all to himself, and after he had tidied it up and chucked out his predecessor's belongings, it had actually been a rather nice house, all things considered.

It had taken him a little while to find a suitable house in the area, but eventually, he had succeeded. He had sold his place in Croydon, and he had savings, so he had been able to get a little terraced house in the North of London. It was in a quiet area – the street was a cul-de-sac, so there hardly was any traffic. It was a 30-45 minutes commute to the Islington police station, so it was convenient – he didn't have to spend hours on end on trains and buses to get to work.

The house wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for him. The little vestibule - where he had put the coat rack, a dresser and a shoe cabinet – opened into an entrance hall. On one side of it was the rather spacious kitchen, a moderately sized guest bathroom and a small utility room where he kept the washer and dryer, a drying rack, a ladder, and his ironing board. On the other side, there was a large living room with a dining area, and a tiny cubbyhole for storage. Upstairs, he had two bedrooms (he used the bigger one of them – that contained a luxurious, comfortable king size bed! - for himself, the other one basically was a multipurpose room – there was a couch that could be turned into a queen size bed, a comfortable armchair and lots of full bookshelves), a fairly big bathroom and a small room where he kept a desk for paperwork, more full bookshelves, his precision optical instrument, and a couple of gadgets, gizmos and 'things' that had no real home. It was a junk room, as he knew very well, but a very tidy one. There was no mess, everything had its place – but it still was basically a junk room.

There was no real front yard, but he had a small paved area in the back of the house, just big enough for a tiny table and two chairs, and there even was something resembling a stretch of 'lawn'. A single buddleia bush that had survived the previous owner's gardening skills completed the 'garden', and Richard had spent quite a few warm evenings sitting outside – trying to pretend that the faint noise in the distance were waves lapping on the beach, not cars on a busy road…

Much to his surprise, he had realised that he had obviously got more accustomed to the warm climate in the Caribbean than he had thought. He had often felt cold after he had moved back to the UK, and eventually, he had figured he'd have to do something about it. He had remembered that he had always enjoyed going for walks, and he had even been a runner during his university years. He had never been extremely athletic, but with the pressure of PE school lessons being gone, he had enjoyed exercising, and so he had considered taking this up again. Another reason for thinking about more exercise had been that he had got a hint from his doctor that he wasn't in great shape and could do with a few pounds less – not that he could be called 'fat' by any means, but the inactivity on Saint Marie had had side effects…

For a while, nothing had happened, but then he had sat at home one afternoon, a few days after his birthday, not quite knowing what to do with himself, and with a pang, he had realised that he was in the second half of his 40s now, he was an old bachelor, and his life would pass by without him really feeling alive unless he did something about it. It was all in his own hands, and if he didn't make the necessary changes, nothing would happen. It had been an insight that had suddenly shaken him up… and he hadn't wanted to end up that way, old and bitter, regretting all the things he had not done.

So, he had pulled himself together, got up and changed into old track pants and running shoes…

At first, it had been a struggle, but soon enough, he had felt better, and slowly, he had become fitter, stronger and faster. His energy level had gone up, and he had started to do other things as well – he had gone swimming a couple of times, he had bought a set of small dumb bells for basic strength training, and he had gone hiking a few times, too.

Little by little, he had built himself a more active life. He had even gone for an overnight trip to Cambridge to explore his old uni town as a tourist – and that had been fun. Reading still was his first love, and he also spent time on stargazing, doing puzzles, and listening to music, but he was generally more physically active.

And it showed – his trousers fit better around the waist again, he felt stronger, and he noticed that he had more stamina. He also slept better. So, he was fitter than ever before in his life – and he enjoyed it. He did all that on his own, so it wasn't about socialising for him. He knew that some people preferred going to a gym, but he felt that this wasn't his scene, so he kept up his private training and did things at his own pace.

He doubted he'd ever taken up all these activities if it hadn't been for the need to distract himself…

Yes, Saint Marie had changed him… he hadn't needed this kind of 'distraction' before his assignment there…

As he looked out of his kitchen window and idly watched the neighbour's fat cat saunter along the pavement, he smiled wistfully. Unlikely as it sounded… he sometimes missed Saint Marie. He had hated it at first, but he had got accustomed to life there, and sometimes he had even liked it. For a while he actually had considered staying. But he hadn't really managed to make up his mind – there had been factors he hadn't been able to figure out, and eventually, the decision had been made for him – he had received notice that his assignment would finish within a week, and he'd get re-transferred to London.

This had thrown him into an inner turmoil. He had been torn between being happy and being desperate. In the end he had just accepted the new situation. He had tried to convince himself that it would be better for him to move back to the UK where he was rooted, where he knew the rules, and where people weren't so godawfully jolly all the time. Where he could wear his suits without breaking into a sweat, where he could get food he'd be able to digest, where he could walk in the rain and feel the fog on his face.

And where he was safe. Safe from all the emotions that had rattled him so deeply on Saint Marie. Feelings that had scared him, that had bewildered him, that had kept him awake at night sometimes.

He hadn't dared admitting to himself what those feelings had been about – only when it had been too late, he had realised that leaving Saint Marie would not make them go away.

He had thought that he could escape Camille's magic spell by returning to London. What a fool he had been…

And although he didn't really want to think of Saint Marie, let alone of Camille… he couldn't help it: For a moment he closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember their last encounter… He thought back to how they had stood in his shack, how she had come closer, how she had asked him if this was what he wanted… and how he had responded that it would be better for her if he left and that he would perhaps have more peace of mind without her.

With a shiver, he recalled how she had suddenly been in his arms, how she had kissed him, and how he had forgotten the world around them for a moment. A slightly crooked smile appeared on his lips… If he had ever believed he could forget her, he had realised there and then that this would never happen…

Nothing had been important… all that had counted had been her, the nearness of her, the desire washing over them, the passion… She had been so soft, almost boneless, in his arms, she had pressed her body against his, and he had felt how he was losing his head… It had been a good thing that the cab had pulled up a few moments later and they had come back to reality. Who knew what would have happened otherwise…

Although he had convinced himself that it was better this way, he had felt miserable when he had climbed into the cab. All the way to the airport, all the way during the flight he had felt like his heart had been ripped out.

After a couple of weeks, the strong feeling of loss and bereavement had faded a little, and he had thought he might have a chance to forget and carry on without her… But then, her e-mail had arrived, and he had sat there, stunned at the effect she still had on him from the distance. For a long time he had just stared at the e-mail, particularly the signature… 'your friend always, Camille', followed by an 'x' and an 'o'…

No, it couldn't be. She couldn't mean this. And if she did – where was the point, anyway? They were oceans apart now. No, he'd have to go his way, and she'd have to go hers, no matter how much he had wanted it to be different.

And he had typed up a neutral, to-the-point reply… and although he had been tempted to ask how things were going, although he had wanted to know if she missed him, he had decided it was pointless, anyway, so he had kept it business-like and signed off with 'Sincerely, Richard Poole'.

Secretly, he had hoped she'd get back to him and send him another message… if she cared, she would do that, wouldn't she? They had shared this amazing, intimate moment, he had felt the longing in her kiss – he hadn't just imagined that. Or had he?

After a while, however, he had realised that his e-mail had successfully driven her away. She hadn't responded, and he had known that it had all been wishful thinking from his side. He had ignored the nagging little voice in his head that had chided him for being such a moron, telling him that it had been the cold tone of his e-mail that had caused her not to reply any more. No, no – she hadn't been serious about the whole matter – she had just played with him. She had made a fool of him by pulling off this cruel joke of trying to make him believe that she cared for him. She had forgotten him – so he had to forget her, too.

Of course, he had known this was silly, but it had helped him to get on with his life, and little by little, he had managed to repress the memories and store them away in a very tiny drawer in the back of his mind.

Usually, he kept this drawer firmly shut, but the weekend with his parents had obviously unlocked the memories, and he had had trouble falling asleep as he had lay in the darkness of the guestroom of his parents' house, listening to the ticking of the clock. Particularly the second night had been bad – he had managed fairly well to will the memories away when he had gone to bed on the first evening, but the second had been more difficult. He had lay there on his back, thinking of all the banter, the smiles and the jokes that he and Camille had shared, the heated arguments, the laughter, the fun… and he had recalled the tone of her voice when she had said 'you have me now' when they had been locked up together in the weather lab during the hurricane one night, he had remembered how beautiful she had been and how she had looked at him on the evening of the Erzulie festival when they had sat together on the patio of 'La Kaz' for a moment, he had thought of how she had hugged him before he had left for the UK to escort Vicky Woodward…

He had also cursed himself for his childish neediness when he had let her go to have a drink with Dwayne and Fidel instead of joining them after they had solved the Polly Carter case – just because she had not called him 'Chief'. Really, how pointless. Another mistake, another missed opportunity, another wasted chance. It would have been so much better if he had spent time with her instead of sitting at home on his own… He had sometimes wondered if things might have developed differently if he had joined his team that evening. But it was too late now.

Too late…

He had stared into the darkness and bitten his lip in deep remorse. For a while he had remained like that, then he had turned over and resolutely closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind and think of nothing, so he could fall asleep. It had taken him a while, but eventually he had succeeded.

Why did his mother have to bring up the topic of Saint Marie? Why couldn't she leave him in peace? It was over, he wouldn't go back, and it was of no use to dwell on things he couldn't have.

He had been grateful when he had finally returned home again an hour ago. He needed to live his own life, and he had to move on somehow.

Well, time to leave those morose thoughts behind… It would get dark in two hours, so if he wanted to go for a walk or a run, he'd have to get going now. So, with another sigh, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and got changed.

A few minutes later, he took up his water bottle, grabbed an energy bar, angled for his keys – and then he stepped outside, locked the door and set off.