Chapter 4
A/N: Chapter ended up getting rather long, so I am going to combine part of it with the next chapter.
Richard hadn't thrown himself into a music project with this sort of intensity since he was a teenager, practising for the competition he had eventually won. He had drifted out of playing the piano whilst studying at Cambridge. In his desperate attempts to fit in he had concluded that the instrument was simply not cool – not in the way playing the guitar was. All the boys who could play the guitar seemed to instantly win women over. He briefly attempted to learn himself, but it hurt his fingers and he lacked the patience to allow the calluses to form that would eventually prevent that. He gave the guitar back to the charity shop where he had bought it and resigned himself to having to use his winning personality to attract women.
Well, it had worked occasionally. Very, very occasionally…
Richard still felt bad about keeping Camille at arm's length, even though he knew his actions were designed to protect her. These past few days since Guadeloupe he felt he could constantly detect an air of melancholy about her, despite the smiles and teasing and light flirting they had returned to. Dwayne and Fidel seemed to have relaxed a little, perhaps thinking that the two of them had sorted out whatever had been causing the tension. Camille was a consummate actress but he could tell she was not as happy as she outwardly appeared.
Richard felt that if he wasn't giving her everything she wanted, he could damn well at least give her what she requested for her birthday. Hence why he was working so hard – though she had been impressed by his performance at the wedding he was actually pretty rusty and needed some serious practise. Saint Marie wasn't exactly overrun with pianos. He was forced to ask a favour of Father Charles at the school to use the one in their music room, though the Priest had dismissed Richard's attempts to find a way to pay for using the room. Richard was grateful the school had now broken up for the summer, he hardly wanted an audience. He had spent a lot of time trying to decide how exactly he was going to get her up there without drawing too much attention to the two of them and therefore attracting questions. In the end Richard had decided to just pick her up for work tomorrow (she hadn't wanted the day off to his surprise) and take her straight there to get the whole thing out of the way.
Catherine had commanded him to ensure that Camille arrived in time for her surprise birthday lunch. Apparently 35 warranted a larger than normal celebration, though he couldn't quite figure out why. He made a mental note to continue to hide his age from as many people as possible for fear they would make similar arrangements for his birthday next year. Richard wasn't sure how surprised Camille would actually be, he doubted a detective of her calibre would fail to notice the preparations Catherine had been making. Perhaps having him be the one who took her to the party had been part of Catherine's plan – outwardly Richard would seem an unlikely candidate to perform such a task. Catherine had implied that she would withdraw his tea privileges if he didn't, so he really had no choice in the matter.
Sitting on the porch at home, he stared at the sheets of paper in front of him and knew he wouldn't really need them – he had it pretty much memorised off by heart. He felt very nervous all of the sudden, worried that she wasn't actually going to like it. Well, perhaps it would be better if she didn't – might put her off him. He still hadn't figured out what had, well, put her on him in the first place.
When the alarm went off, Camille slapped at the device and cursed herself for not taking up the offer of a day off. There were a few good reasons why she hadn't. Though she didn't think 35 was anything that special, her mother had other ideas. If she had taken the day off she would have been forced to celebrate all day, and currently she was not in the mood for that. This way, she only had to put up with the 'surprise' dinner party her mother had arranged for her at lunch, and then the normal drinks with friends and family after work. The other reason was that this way she was guaranteed to see Richard. She was sort of hoping he might be in the mood to relent a little, since it was her birthday.
She heard her front door open and her Mother call out a cheery greeting. Despite being now well into her thirties, he mother did insist on still making her the birthday crepes she had loved so much as a child. No doubt she would have brought a massive tub of Nutella with her, though last year's jar was still in her cupboard. Since she left her teens behind the only time Camille ate the stuff was her birthday, and that was largely to keep her Mother happy. She gave a small sigh and resigned herself to her fate, dragging herself out of bed to shower before breakfast.
Hair still damp, Camille sat down at the table to find a pile of crepes larger than she ever imagined, and she was suddenly suspicious. "Are we having guests for breakfast?"
"No!" Catherine said breezily as she arranged various toppings in front of her. "These are all for you! Eat up!"
"I can't eat all of these, there have got to be 10 crepes here Maman!" Camille protested.
Her Mother sat across from her, and looked suddenly serious, "Well you have been looking thin recently – not eating as much as you used to. I think it's time you turned that around."
It was true that her appetite had been a bit more subdued recently, but she had lost at most half a kilo, the food in front of her would guarantee she put on twice that – something she did not hesitate to inform her Mother of. She shrugged in response, and told Camille to just eat as many as she could then.
About halfway through her third (and very likely final) crepe a car horn sounded outside – she had forgotten Richard had said he would pick her up this morning. She hadn't quite figured out why he was, it wasn't there usual routine, and secretly she hoped he was up to something. It was much more likely that he just thought she shouldn't be driving him around on her birthday though.
Catherine huffed loudly, "He is far too early to pick you up! It's your birthday for goodness sake!"
"Maman, he didn't know you were going to be here," she said in Richard's defence. "For all we know he could be here early because he planned to take me out for breakfast!"
Catherine's response was a single raised eyebrow to indicate her incredulity. Camille was willing to admit her proposed scenario was a little unlikely. The horn sounded again. "Oh honestly, can't the man just come in!" Camille tried not to grin, knowing Richard he was probably scared to come in in case she used it as an opportunity to jump him again. Little did he know that was highly unlikely to happen considering her mother's presence. "Alright then, since you can't eat all of these perhaps Richard can help, I'll go invite him in!" Catherine announced this and was out the door before Camille could protest.
Richard sat in the car, debating if he should sound the horn for a third time. That seemed rude – sounding it a second time was a bit rude but he wasn't sure being alone in Camille's house with her was the best plan. The door opened, and he sighed in relief that he wouldn't have to fetch her after all. Then he realised that it was not Camille approaching the vehicle, but Catherine. That, he had not expected, and he suddenly felt a little nervous. He hadn't seen that much of Catherine since he and Camille had returned from the UK and he was suddenly convinced the woman would take one look at him and know he had slept with her daughter.
He rolled down the window and cleared his throat, "Um, good morning Catherine. I was just here to, er, pick up Camille for work. Is she ok?"
He could see Catherine was bemused by his nervousness, but she didn't comment on it. "Oh she's fine, still eating her birthday breakfast, a little tradition of ours. Why don't you come in? I have made plenty of food and Camille is complaining she can't eat it all."
"Oh well, I, um, well, you know," Richard desperately scrambled about for an excuse. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your, um, traditions. I can wait here there's no hurry." Which was a lie, Father Charles had said he would be coming into the school at 11 that day but Richard was welcome to use the music room before that and he was desperate to do so. He nervously fingered the key in his pocket.
"Don't be silly, come in!" Catherine had a way of making friendly suggestions sound just like orders. He reluctantly followed her from the car.
Camille was sitting at the table with damp hair, which immediately led to flashbacks of them accidently trashing the hotel bathroom in Cambridge. They had stuck to beds after that, though Camille had made a few suggestions that had made him blush. He promptly turned his attention to the kitchen table and began babbling, afraid either woman would now read his thoughts.
"Oh you're having pancakes! We only really have pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, and then it's for tea and not for breakfast. Why are you putting Nutella on them?"
"They're crepes, not pancakes," Catherine pointed out.
He examined them again, "They look like pancakes to me…"
Catherine opened her mouth, probably to argue, but much to his surprise Camille jumped in, "Crepes are a kind of pancake Maman." There was an air of finality to the statement.
"I suppose," Catherine said with a small shrug, apparently willing to accept her daughter's point. Richard suspected that if it wasn't Camille's birthday, he and Catherine would be bickering right now. "Are you going to have one?" She asked.
"I really don't think I could eat chocolate this early in the morning…don't suppose you have any lemon?" Catherine hadn't, though began to make several other topping suggestions. Richard was rapidly getting the impression he would not be leaving until he had eaten at least 4.
"I should go now Maman, besides I couldn't eat another bite!" Camille stood suddenly, kissing her mother airily and gathering her things. He tried not to look too relieved.
It didn't take Camille long to realise they were not on the way to the station. "Oh, there hasn't been a murder has there?"
"Nope, it would be a brave person who committed a murder on Saint Marie today. When we caught them not only would they have to answer to the courts, but to your Mother for ruining all her plans," He joked, then realised what he had just revealed. "Not that I am saying your Mother has any particular plans today, I mean maybe she does – why would I know?"
Camille decided to save him from himself, "It's alright Richard, I did already know about my birthday lunch. Though I will be acting appropriately surprised anyway."
"Yes, I sort of thought you'd figure it out." She also didn't fail to notice he hadn't explained where they were going yet.
"So are we off to investigate some lesser crime, then?" She prompted. Now she looked at him properly, she realised he was looking more than a little nervous, which only served to pique her curiosity further.
"No, no crimes. I told Dwayne and Fidel we would be a little late." Camille smirked, she didn't even think he was being deliberately vague – he was just so nervous he forgot to tell her the salient facts.
"Because...?"
"Oh, right, yes. Um, we're going to the school."
"This isn't another science experiment?" She asked wearily, though it was largely feigned. She actually quite enjoyed it when he explained things to her, but she was not particularly in the mood for a lecture today.
"Would I do that to you on your birthday?"
She was pretty certain that was meant to be a joke, but she still replied a little moodily, "Yes."
Camille thought she saw him roll his eyes, a habit he had most likely picked up from her, "Well, no that isn't why."
When he once again failed to elaborate, she half shouted, "Then why?!"
Richard jumped slightly, but maintained control of the car. "To give you your birthday present," he told her quickly. Camille had no clue what sort of present could possibly be at the school. Her instinct was to immediately start pestering him for details – and she would have but then they were pulling up so she figured that perhaps she could wait after all.
At the gate, he dropped the keys to the padlock, and Camille was forced to suppress a smile. She had a sudden feeling that things might be about to go her way…
Camille followed him closely up to the music room, which wasn't really helping with the bout of nerves he was currently suffering. When she got into the room she seemed to realise what was happening. "Oh, I forgot I asked you to play!"
This caused him to suffer a jolt of disappointment. "Um, do you not want me to..?"
"I didn't say that!" She said quickly.
"Right, good," he lifted the lid of the piano and sat down. He was rather expecting Camille to take one of the other chairs in the room but instead she somehow squeezed on to the piano stool with him. The warmth of her body pressed next to his sent his heart rate up another 20 beats a minute and he seriously considered the risk of it just failing altogether. Part of him thought he should ask her to move, that he could claim it would be difficult to play with her there, but another apparently louder part of him argued that it was her birthday and she could sit where she liked. Especially when it felt this nice.
She was looking at him expectantly and he realised he was supposed to start playing. He hadn't brought the music with him in the end, convinced he did know it off by heart, but in that moment his mind went blank. Then he caught the scent of her perfume and suddenly all came back to him – even though he was sure it must be some sort of cliché he figured she must be his muse or something.
Richard got into the piece pretty quickly, stumbled on one note near the start but didn't actually think she'd noticed. It was about 5 minutes long, he didn't want her getting bored by anything more extravagant. When he finished, there was no round of applause. Instead he looked up and found her just smiling softly at him – well, it couldn't be a bad sign, could it?
"That was beautiful Richard, really, thank you," she said, and he thought sincerely as well.
"You liked it, then?" He still felt the need to ask for clarification.
"Very much," Camille confirmed, briefly reaching out to squeeze his hand. "What's it called?"
"Oh," he said, a little surprised by the question. "I didn't think to give it a name."
"You didn't think to give it a name? You mean you wrote it?"
He nodded his confirmation, slightly confused by her almost shocked reaction. "Wow! I didn't realise you could compose and play the piano. Did you write it at school then?"
"Uh, no," he replied, even more confused. "Over the past couple of weeks."
She frowned briefly, and then a look of something akin to awe appeared on her face, "You wrote it for me?" She asked disbelievingly.
Richard nodded again. "You did ask me to play you something for your birthday," he added for clarity.
"I meant happy birthday or something!"
"Oh right, well, I feel pretty stupid now." And he wasn't really joking when he said that either – he did feel like a fool. He had thrown himself into the task to write her a piece of music and all she had really been after was for him to pluck out a tune he had been able to play since he was 4. She probably thought he had reached a whole new level of idiocy this time.
"I can't believe…" She began, hesitantly. "I mean, you really wrote that for me?"
He nodded, avoiding her gaze, as there wasn't much point in denying what he had already admitted now. It wasn't going to save him any face. She was probably struggling to think of something polite to say now.
"It's the most romantic thing anybody has ever done for me." Oh, right, that wasn't what he was expecting. "Richard." There was a firmness to her tone that meant he had to look up at her. "Richard, please don't…I…I'm going to kiss you and I swear to God if you push me off this time you'll break my heart."
The words escaped his mouth before he had time to think them through, "Even if I wanted to I don't think I could." And it was true, he realised, when she looked at him like that he was simply incapable of rejecting her no matter what the cost may turn out to be.
Almost as soon as he had finished the sentence, she leaned forward and kissed him and he responded – hands moving to tangle themselves in her hair. In their attempts to get closer to each other they ended up half tumbling off the stool and onto the floor. A thought briefly occurred to him that if they got caught like this they would probably end up on some kind of register, but the desire he felt was never going to allow that thought to influence his actions.
Camille had pushed his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it aside. He paused for a moment and breaking away from her he grabbed his jacket and began to fold it carefully.
"Argh!" Camille cried, hitting him on the chest with her fists in frustration. "Richard, now is not the time to worry about creases!"
He smirked, then gently tucked the jacket under her head so it no longer rested directly against the floor. "I didn't want you to hurt your head," he explained softly, stroking her hair as he looked down at her.
"Ok," she replied, voice equally quiet and perhaps a little embarrassed by her outburst. She reached up and brought pulled him down to kiss her again.
He didn't bother folding any of his other clothes.
