The landing had gone smoothly, and Camille had picked up her luggage. Her suitcase had been one of the last to arrive on the carousel, and she had become slightly nervous – with a rueful smile, her thoughts had wandered back to the occasions when she had witnessed her former boss getting all worked up about his luggage having been lost – she understood him better now that she had experienced the nervousness about the possibility that her suitcase might not arrive… It had been funny to see him hit the roof back then, but well… obviously, it depended on your personal standpoint.
Luckily, the connecting flight departed from Orly, so at least she didn't have to take the shuttle to Charles de Gaulle airport. That would have been very cumbersome. It seemed that whoever had booked her tickets was a thinking person. She hadn't given any more thought to what this connecting flight was all about… it was part of the adventure. The ticket was booked and paid for, and she'd just go with the flow. She had made a conscious decision that she'd do whatever she was asked to do (as long as it seemed reasonable!) and not ask too many questions. She had a diffuse idea about what might perhaps be happening, but decided not to speculate, but rather wait and see.
The airport was busy. It was good to be here! She had reached the end of the first part of her trip… and now the adventure would really begin! She had changed into city clothes right after customs, and that already had given her a different feeling about herself. She had mostly packed clothing that she had bought during one of her last stays here – 3 years ago she had been here on an IT course, so the things weren't completely outdated… and they still were in top condition as she hadn't worn them on Saint Marie, with the odd exception in between, as they just were a different style from what she usually wore on the island – and made for a different climate. There were also a few of her favourite casual clothes. It would give her comfort to wear those – she knew she had a phase of adjustment ahead of her, and it would be good to have her favourite pair of jeans, a particular blouse, or the light sweatshirt she liked to wear after exercising.
When she had looked in the mirror in the dimly lit airport restroom, she had felt that she needed more than a different outfit – she needed a haircut. Over the past few months she had become a little negligent about her hair – she had just let it grow, but it was getting too long now and looked a bit too scruffy and messy. She knew that she had enough time, so she went straight to the one salon she knew here on the airport and had her hair washed and trimmed to chinlength. It made her feel better about herself immediately – this was a new stage in her life, and a new haircut was a good symbol for this, wasn't it?
After that, Camille bought a magazine at one of the newsstands and found a bistro to sit down and get a sandwich and a large café au lait. As she was idly leafing through her magazine and sipping her coffee, her mind wandered back to what life on Saint Marie after Richard – as she called it – had been like…
The Commissioner had been the one who had talked to Richard's parents about what had happened, of course – he owed that to them, being the supervisor. It had been Camille, however, that Mrs Poole – Margaret, as she called her now – had turned to when she had come to Saint Marie to tie up loose ends and gather Richard's belongings.
Camille had been torn about meeting Richard's mother… on one hand, she had wanted to get to know her, on the other hand, she had been afraid she might not connect with her.
She hadn't had a clear idea of what to expect – her brief phone conversations with Richard's mother had given her a basic impression of a friendly, slightly reserved, not overly fussy older woman who certainly was in a state of shock, but tried to handle the situation with some decency and grace – as difficult as it was. Camille had remembered how Richard had mentioned that his parents had sent him to boarding school at the age of 7 or 8, and she just hadn't been sure what to think of that… in her world, these things didn't happen, mostly because the people she knew weren't wealthy enough to afford boarding school for their kids, but some of her co-workers in France had had parents working in the military or abroad due to other reasons, and they had sent their offspring to boarding schools as well – in order to give them a stable environment and spare them the trouble that usually came along with moving, switching schools and finding new friends every other year or so. From them, she had learnt that their boarding schools had been their home, and that the friendships they had made there had lasted throughout the years – but that some of them had also made some really nasty experiences with classmates… experiences that had left scars, visible and invisible ones.
Camille had wondered if maybe she was too sentimental – she wasn't sure if she was going to have children at all, but she figured that if she ever had any, she would rather take care of them herself than send them off to boarding school. However, she had understood that in some situations, a boarding school could be the most practical option… Still, she had seen the issues that Richard had had to deal with – and many of his fears and his general social awkwardness had been based on the experiences he had made during his school years. She couldn't help it – it had seemed cruel to her that his parents had not taken him away from the school when it had been so clear that he had hated it there…
When she finally had met Margaret, her doubts had disappeared within the first five minutes of their conversation. Richard had mentioned once that his mother was a 'pragmatic' person, and that had been a brief, but good description. He had also said that his father was very reserved and aloof, and Margaret had confirmed that when she and Camille had talked about Richard and how hard it could be to tear down the fences he had built up around him.
"You know," Margaret had said, "I think he inherited that from his father. Robert also is very reserved. Once you've come close to him it's fine, but it takes a while until he warms up to people. It never was an issue in his job as this kind of behaviour was expected from him, but you can imagine that it can be hard to live with someone whose first reaction to trouble is shutting you out. This is why I'm here by myself – he didn't want to come with me. It's not that he doesn't love Richard, he just always had a hard time showing it, and he was afraid that if he came here and got a clearer idea of what our son's life here has been about, he'd break down. And breaking down and giving in to feelings publicly – that's a no-no for him. I understand that, I've been living with him for about 45 years now, and although I sometimes wish it was different, it has never been a real issue for me as I know him, and I know that it doesn't mean he's cold – it's just his way of handling things. And once you've won his trust, he'll be unfailingly loyal."
This description had reminded Camille of Richard and his extreme sense of propriety, and despite the circumstances, she had to smile. She and Margaret had exchanged e-mail addresses and telephone numbers, and they had kept in contact– more or less regularly. It had given Camille comfort to be in touch with Richard's mother, and Margaret had been happy to get a better idea of what her son's life on Saint Marie had been like. Richard had been very private, so she hadn't had much of an idea of the world he had moved to. She had confessed to Camille that she had sometimes felt helpless around him, and self-reproaches about having sent him to boarding school at such a young age had tormented her over and over… but it had seemed to be the best possible option all those years ago.
The Pooles had made their decision back then because of Robert's job – that had required him to travel a lot, and also they had to move regularly. Another aspect had been that they had figured a boarding school would give their son a proper and solid education which would make it easier for him later on – so it hadn't been lack of love, but sense of pragmatism that their decision had been based on. They hadn't realised for a long time that Richard had felt insecure and overwhelmed with all the masses of boys in school, and in hindsight, they had felt guilty that they hadn't understood that he had been more delicate and sensitive than they had assumed.
But there was no way they could change the past.
Camille turned back to her magazine and had a look at some of the articles. She'd hopefully get a good selection of magazines on board of her connecting flight, so she could read through all the interesting parts of this one and then leave it here for someone else, she figured. So for the next two hours, she stayed in the bistro and drank another café au lait and some water – and then she left the magazine on the table, returned her mug and plate, and moved on to the gate of her connecting flight.
Her flight took over another hour, and she was fairly tired when she arrived in London-Heathrow. Her body was somewhere at around 2 a.m. (island time), but it was around 7 a.m. in London now, and although she had been able to sleep during her flights, she felt somewhat shattered. She came through customs and skimmed the people waiting at the gate – no familiar faces showed up, much to her disappointment. She had half hoped to see Margaret. But then again… her flights were paid by the French police force, and they wouldn't send her to London for a private visit. So, her hope had been based on wishful thinking, and she knew it. Well, if nobody came to pick her up, she'd find her own way – it wasn't the first time she was here, after all – and call the Commissioner or her contact person in Paris for further advice.
But then she saw someone holding up a sign saying "Camille Bordey", and she approached the man, greeting him and showing him her passport – and he seemed relieved that she had found him so quickly. He was in his late 20s or early 30s, not overly tall, lean to the extent of being skinny, and his sandy hair was thinning already, but he had a very friendly and open smile, and she noticed that he had a cheerful twinkle in his eyes.
He shook her hand, introduced himself as Sergeant Michael Shaw, flashed a police badge and took her suitcase. He said "Good to meet you, Sergeant Bordey – I was worried I wouldn't find you. Heathrow is rather busy, as you can see, and it can be a little tricky when you're looking for someone you have never met. I understand you've had a long flight, so I guess you don't want me to make a song and a dance but give you all relevant info rightaway. The thing is… it's pretty early, and – er – well… what I'm trying to say is… er…" His awkwardness amused her a little. He reminded her a lot of Richard in his helpless attempts to convey something. Humphrey also had often been at a loss with what to say – and now Micheal Shaw behaved in the same way… so, maybe, it was something English then.
She smiled at him and said "Well, Sergeant Shaw… if you mean to suggest we'd have breakfast before going wherever you want to take me, then I'll be happy to oblige. I had food in Paris, and I got a small snack on the flight here, but I must admit I'm starving for something sweet now." She knew that she'd have to put up with a less than stellar donut and mediocre coffee – at best – but she felt sorry for the younger man who clearly was nervous and didn't quite know what to do with her at this ungodly time in the morning. Most likely he hadn't had any breakfast so far and was hungry himself.
He seemed relieved – and said enthusiastically "Yes, Sergeant Bordey – that's exactly what I wanted to say… there's a bistro at the far end of the hall where we could sit down and have a bite to eat. It's not – er – a posh place, but at least the coffee is tolerable… that is, unless you want to try tea?"
They exchanged some general chit-chat on the way… about the weather, the flight, the city, the differences between London and Paris… He was a friendly young man, and Camille felt that his nervousness dissipated little by little. Finally, they sat down, their breakfast in front of them (a less than stellar donut and mediocre coffee, as Camille had anticipated – but at least she hadn't spent money on it, her companion had done so and put the receipt into his wallet, saying the expenses were paid for…).
Michael Shaw took a sip of his coffee and then said "I suppose you're curious what you're doing here, so I should brief you now on what's next…"