Chapter 4 – Observations, Judgements, and Changes

Camille was on the phone, talking to her mother. "Oui, Maman, the box was here – thank you so much! I haven't quite decided yet which clothes I'll take home and which ones I'll leave here… but we're working on it…"

She shot a loving glance in Richard's direction who had spent most of the morning looking at her different attires with her. He had been so patient with her… She really appreciated that.

She had tried on some of the clothes and realised that she didn't like them on herself any more, so those would go to charity. Others had ended up on the "maybe" pile, and there was a rather small "absolutely" pile that she'd take with her under all circumstances. The coral red dress she had worn last night was part of that pile, along with a few other fancy dresses (not the red one… she had already taken that with her when she had left for Europe half a year ago – and worn it once during a weekend away with Richard in the summer – it had been a huge success with him!), tops, long trousers, capris, skirts, short jumpsuits, jackets and blouses.

She was considering leaving the "maybe" pile with her mother. Those clothes were okay, but not ultimate favourites – she wouldn't mind wearing them here, but they wouldn't really fit into her life over in Europe.

As she continued speaking to her mother, talking about appointments with the priests from both churches (they wanted something oecumenical), Richard went through some of the clothes again. He recognised quite a few of the garments… There was the floral patterned jumpsuit she had worn when she had invited him for the roast dinner after Angelique Morel's suicide… oh, and the long sundress she had worn when she had come to the shack with the team for his birthday (and he had been asleep when they had shown up… but it had been a fun evening once he had been awake!), and there were the mustard coloured trousers she had worn when they had sat on the beach after Aimée's death. He felt she should keep all these clothes.

Also, the skirts she was a little unsure about were absolutely fine, in his opinion, and personally, he didn't mind the trousers she had put aside because of the colour being a little 'outdated', as she had called it, either, but he grimaced when he looked at all the shorts that were sitting on the "maybe" pile.

He wasn't surprised that Humphrey had found it hard to resist Camille – if she had worn all these shorts that barely covered her very attractive backside, Humphrey would have had to be a saint for not having felt "indecently inspired".

A little sourly he thought that when she had worked with him, she had worn more respectable clothes – most of the time, at least. He remembered some very short shorts every once in a while (particularly those denim shorts – my, those had been disturbingly short!), but mostly, she had worn capris, long trousers, or skirts that were at least kneelength. But then again, that had perhaps been because he had always dressed very formally…

Granted, she had sometimes just worn a camisole and shorts, but that had been the exception, and yes, he had always found it rather provocative. And distracting! However, there was no dress code for senior officers, and as she always had done her work properly, he had never said anything. It had sometimes been a struggle for him not to ogle her, but back then, he had been so scared of her sarcastic wit and sharp tongue that he had made a huge effort to control himself. Not to mention that it wouldn't have been appropriate – he had been her boss back then, after all.

No matter how attractive he had found her, no matter how much his blood pressure had gone up when she had showed up in flimsy fabrics… no matter how far his imagination had run away with him when he had seen her long bare legs and her toned arms – and the rest of her body! – he had tried hard not to let it show.

And of course, it hadn't only been her appearance. He had also been fascinated by her charismatic personality – as he still was now. She was beautiful, yes, but if her personality hadn't been so spellbinding, the fascination wouldn't have lasted.

It had been so hard sometimes, but he had always managed – he would have been dead embarrassed if she had figured out how much it had cost him to fight off the desire to hold her during the night of the hurricane, and he clearly remembered how he had been awfully close to taking her in his arms after Aimée's death. If only he hadn't been so scared…

In hindsight, that all seemed rather silly, but they had been at different points in their lives then, and it was useless to speculate about what could have happened. He hadn't made a move back then, and it had seemed right that way.

He could just imagine how confused Humphrey must have been when he had encountered Camille… after all, he knew how buttoned up female English police officers could be – not all of them, mind you, but the climate just wasn't ideal for shorts and sleeveless tops in the UK, so you hardly ever saw any of them in light clothes.

And since Humphrey had been rather casual about his own clothing – from what Camille as well as his mother (she had met him briefly when he had informed her about the ongoing investigations, plus he had helped her packing Richard's belongings) had told him – Richard assumed that the rest of the team had kind of adapted to that.

Just as they had adapted to his formal attire and manners – to a certain extent… Of couse, Fidel and Dwayne had worn their uniforms. And Dwayne would never let go of his beaded necklace, and he had still worn his atrocious shirts sometimes, but that had been in his free time, and it hadn't been too bad. But according to Camille, his love for eccentric clothing had become worse again once Humphrey had been there for a while.

Richard was far from holding Camille responsible for Humphrey's advances to her. He didn't believe in the concept of women being accountable for men being after them just because they wore short skirts or hotpants – he knew that blaming women for men's misbehaviour was totally wrong. After all, women didn't pounce on shirtless men on the beach, either – no matter how attractive they might find said men.

But he could understand very well why Humphrey had fallen for Camille… not only because he, too, had fallen for her, but also because he could just imagine what it must have been like for the Inspector to be confronted with the Caribbean lifestyle, the happy-go-lucky people, the warm and sunny weather…

While he – Richard - had been rather bewildered by all these things and hadn't really wanted to be on Saint Marie, according to Camille, Goodman had embraced all that. Saint Marie had symbolised a new beginning for him, something he had wanted, and so he had soaked it all up and reveled in the zest of life around him. It hadn't been a sacrifice for him to stay on the island - unlike Richard, he hadn't missed the UK.

Camille had never said much about Humphrey's wife, and Richard wasn't really interested, either, but from the few tidbits that he knew, he concluded that Sally Goodman hadn't been too pleased with her husband's assignment here in the Caribbean, and the couple's marriage had gone straight downhill – most likely, it would have dragged on for a little longer if they had stayed in the UK, but Richard had seen many doomed relationships – people staying together just out of habit or because of social status, people fighting for the ultimate state of control, people having no respect for one another and just trying to hurt their partner – and he knew that it often started with people not communicating.

It was normal that individuals developed in different directions and at a different pace sometimes… the key always was communication and trust… or lack thereof. He had learnt that much during his many years of working for the police.

He still was embarrassed for his lack of communication with Camille during the first half year after his stabbing – but he had been given another chance, and he had grabbed it. Thankfully, she had understood his silence and not given up on him.

But he had sworn to himself that he'd never let this happen between them again, no matter how hard he might find it to talk about some things – all too soon, it could turn into numbness, disinterest, distance… or all of those. That didn't mean it was wise to blurt out literally everything that was on one's mind, but it meant that there had to be an interest in keeping the communication alive. Real communication – not only everyday chit-chat or talking about organisational matters. So many people forgot to do that. And he suspected that this had happened to Humphrey and Sally Goodman. Maybe mutual misunderstandings, resentment or nagging had added to the issue.

And in that situation, Camille with her joie de vivre, her pragmatism, her liveliness and laughter must have been a stark contrast, and of course she was a natural beauty, physically very 'present', and that certainly would attract anyone… particularly if you were in a receptive mood… for lack of a better word.

Richard wasn't sure if Humphrey had really fallen for Camille – or for what she symbolised for him. And in fact, he didn't care. He just didn't want Humphrey's shadow to hover over their heads while they were here… he knew that Camille felt a little guilty about her behaviour towards him, and he also knew that she wanted to sort it out with him. She had mentioned once to him that she was sure that Humphrey had wanted to confess his affection to her on the evening when she had told him about the job offer from the French, and she had cut him off… in order to spare them both the embarrassment of an unwelcome declaration of love. Clearly, whatever it was that she wanted to sort out with Humphrey, it had to happen soon, and it had to be final. He had an idea of what it could be, but it was between Camille and Humphrey – and none of his business.

His musings came to an abrupt ending when Camille finally put down her phone and said "So… what do you think, Richard? Are you okay with the piles? I saw you going through the stuff I want to leave here – anything you consider worth taking home?"

He smiled at her using the word "home". Saint Marie was no longer what she considered "home", obviously… "Home" was their life together now.

He cleared his throat and said "I don't think those shorts would be of much use in the UK… you could wear them if we ever were to go for a holiday in the South of France or Italy or some place like that, but other than that, I can't see why you would want to keep them. You can leave them here, and if you still like them next time we come to visit, then… fine. If not, you can always give them to charity."

He had carefully avoided saying anything like "if the clothes don't fit any more when we come next time" – he knew that the sheer insinuation that she might gain weight or lose shape would drive her up the walls… and he'd be in a fix.

"Hmm. I think you're right… I don't really think I'd wear any of these clothes back in Europe. Here, they are fine, but can you imagine me coming into class wearing shorts like that?" She held up a particularly short specimen and shook her head in disbelief. "You know what, I never thought you'd hear me saying that, but I have to say it now: It wouldn't seem appropriate," she declared.

She pulled out another pair of shorts and said contritely, "You know, Richard, now that I look at this pile, it seems to me that I never took my work seriously any more after you left. That is, after we had solved the case of you being stabbed, I just kind of switched off. And it showed in my attire. I mean, I went to work and did what I had to do – and some of the cases were interesting, others not so much, and all that. But I didn't care so much about what I did any more. And once I had been to the UK and visited you, I cared even less. All I wanted was go back and be with you. I got more indifferent about work and generally restless. I can see that clearly now."

She put down the shorts again and turned towards him. "I hate to admit it. I've always been so proud of my work ethics. No matter how easygoing and devil-may-care I am about many things… I know, it was me who kept saying you should loosen up and relax a little… but I've always been thorough and careful about my work. Not as painstakingly meticulous as you are, but well – I don't think anybody could compare to you in that respect, anyway. But I was a good DS as long as you were there. After that, I lost direction and just thought I was a good DS." She smiled faintly.

He touched her arm and said sympathetically "I'm sure you still were a good DS, Camille. You're over-interpreting things. From what you told me, I think it's safe to say that you still did your job with outstanding commitment. I know that the Commissioner valued your work and praised you highly in his letter of recommendation. It was just that your heart wasn't involved any more, but I don't think that influenced the quality of your work. I'm confident that Goodman appreciated it, and Dwayne and Fidel – and later Florence – felt the same way. Now, come on, let's pack this pile away – we'll take it to your mother's tonight – and this other pile goes into the plastic bags over here… we can take them to charity on the way to Maman. Someone will be happy to wear your clothes – they are all in top condition, after all."

They opened the cardboard box and put the "maybe pile" inside, then they tackled the "charity pile". While they were doing so, she smiled at how he had just called her mother "Maman"… She knew he had done it for her – he'd never call her anything but "Catherine"… although she – Camille – sometimes called his mother "Mum" now. It had happened almost automatically after a while, and Margaret didn't seem to mind… But then, of course, the age difference between him and her mother wasn't all that big, so it would have seemed silly if he had suddenly switched to "Maman" as a form of address.

After they had finished, he got a bottle of water for Camille out of the little fridge and put the kettle on and made himself a cup of tea. They sat outside on their little veranda, and he asked "Now, what did your mother have to say about the appointments with the – er – church representatives?"

She explained what Catherine had arranged – they'd meet the priests from both churches on the next day. Catherine had been able to convince them to sit in the bar, but they had insisted on meeting in the back room that usally served as a storage unit. Camille thought that was ridiculous, but there was nothing they could do about it…

The plan for tonight was that they'd all get together at the bar – the current team, Fidel and his wife Juliet, Camille and Richard, Margaret and Robert… and from what Catherine had said, the Commissioner would also pop in for a drink – she wasn't sure if he'd stay for food, though. Tomorrow, they'd meet with the priests to discuss the blessing – after that, they'd be free to do whatever they found pleasure in, and then there'd be the blessing. It should all be fairly stress-free once the meeting tomorrow was over…

At least that was the rough concept. Camille couldn't help but feel slightly edgy about the forthcoming get-together. It would be fun to meet everyone – but she had no idea what to expect from Humphrey at this point. And how on earth would she get rid of the compass ring? She desperately wanted to return it to him, but how could she do that without offending him or making him sad? As much as he had annoyed her sometimes… he also had been very good to her, and she thought of him as a friend. Well… time would tell – she'd go with the flow, and something would turn up…

A few hours later, Camille and Richard as well as his parents arrived at La Kaz. They had popped in at the charity shop on the way, and the other batch of Camille's clothes was sitting in the boot of the car. Margaret and Robert were curious to meet Richard's former colleagues – Margaret had only got to know them very briefly, and her memory was blurred because everything had been so traumatic for her, and after the initial encounter, it had only been Camille she had seen on a regular basis. Humphrey had helped her to box up Richard's things, but she had only gathered a very general impression of him – he had been helpful and compassionate, but other than that, she couldn't really say much about him.

They were early – just as Camille had planned. She wanted to have a few moments with Catherine, without anybody else, except her husband and her parents-in-law – who would stay outside until she'd call them in. Excitedly, she jumped out of the car – Richard had done the driving this time – and rushed to the bar counter where she saw her mother polishing glasses. Catherine had turned her back on her – she didn't expect them so early, obviously.

As she got closer, Camille suddenly got a little nervous, but before she could give in to the feeling, her mother turned around and saw her. "Camille," she exclaimed, and a happy smile appeared on her face. She put down the glass and the dishtowel and hastened to come around the counter. After some excited hugging, kissing, and babbling (in French, of course), Catherine released Camille – still, she kept holding her hands, as if she was afraid she'd disappear if she'd let her go completely.

"Camille…" Catherine took a closer look at her daughter and said appreciatevely "Your hair looks great – much better than on the computer screen!" Camille laughed.

"And you are happy." Catherine stated matter-of-factly. Camille nodded and beamed.

Maman squeezed her hands and finally let them go. Camille threw her arms around her mother's neck again and whispered in her ear "I missed you, Maman… it's good to be back!"

Catherine smiled into her daughter's curls. Then she said softly "Chérie, I'm happy to have you here…" Her voice sounded a little hoarse, and her eyes were misty. She pulled herself together and said merrily "Now, show me the rings, and then let's call Richard and his parents…"

Camille was only too happy to fulfil her mother's request. She had sent pictures of the rings on her hands already, but of course, it was different to see the "real thing". Her mother loved the engagement ring and the matching necklace and approved of the simple wedding band. "Very chic and classy," she remarked. "And it suits you so well…"

Catherine had already noticed in her conversations with Camille via telephone and skype that her daughter had undergone yet another change. It was hard to pinpoint, but she was clearly not the island girl any more that she had been during the almost 4 years she had lived with her after her return from France.

The transformation from city girl to island girl had gone very smoothly back then, and Catherine assumed that she could slip back into that role again quickly if she wanted – Camille was a natural chameleon, after all – but this time, there was a different air about her, compared to the first time she had returned from France… something more sophisticated, something more refined, something more mature - and Catherine knew that Camille didn't want to change into the island girl any more at this point…

She had known that instinctively from their conversations on the phone and via skype, and now that she had seen her in person, the feeling got even stronger, and she realised with a sad smile that there was no turning back… Camille had left the nest for good.