Chapter 8: Reception

A/N: Oh my will I ever finish. Once again thought I'd pick entirely different characters than what I have written for Richard's parents before.


Camille popped into the ladies', and when she came out she realised that the wedding party seemed to have taken over the hotel's dining room. Considering how short notice this wedding was, it occurred to her there were really quite a lot of people here. Glancing over the other attendees, she did realise Ella hadn't been lying about the lack of women – or at least the lack of women under the age of fifty. It looked like her new husband had invited most of his colleagues, the room was awash with young men in uniform and Camille had to wonder if anyone was actually left on base.

Camille had walked towards the bar, intending to get herself and Richard a drink as everybody else seemed to be. She spotted her boss talking a little more intently than was probably necessary to his mother near the door, and smiled to herself.

"Oh he's probably giving his mother a lecture about not asking too many questions," an unfamiliar voice declared behind her. Camille turned to see an older man who was oddly familiar, it wasn't hard to surmise it was Richard's father. "Of course she's simply desperate to know why he turned down the transfer back to London, I'll warn you now that she may very well corner you later to see if it might be you. Though just looking at you I can tell there is nothing going on between you and my son. Unless his skills with women have dramatically improved…"

There were a lot of thing in that little speech for Camille to process, which is why instead of replying she stared dumbly at Richard Poole Senior for a few awkward moments. Eventually he frowned and asked loudly and slowly, "You do speak English, right?"

"Yes!" Camille cried, a little indignantly.

"Well you didn't respond, and Richard said you were French once," He told her, clearly confused by her behaviour. Camille couldn't actually blame him.

"I was just a little surprised. Richard never mentioned he was offered a transfer back to the UK," She explained, and then added in an almost defensive tone, "And actually I am here with him." She realised the latter implied more than was technically true, but she didn't like a father who was disparaging of his son.

These two declarations earned her raised eyebrows, "Richard? Well, I guess things are more relaxed in the Caribbean." He paused, then asked thoughtfully, "Is there some sort of shortage of men on your island?"

"NO!" This time her response was more than just a little indignant. A little voice in the back of her head said she might regret what she was about to say, but Camille often didn't listen to that little voice even when it was being reasonable. "Richard is funny and a brilliant detective and smart and …" she fumbled for a synonym of brilliant, but her brain failed her. "And just…brilliant. And those are very attractive qualities in a man."

Richard's father actually looked quite impressed. He gave a small nod and said almost jovially, "I see. Well I hope my little revelation about the transfer offer won't get him in too much trouble with you!"

Now he mentioned it in that context, Camille was pretty annoyed. Why did he moan about home so much when he'd had the offer to return and turned it down? She, Dwayne and Fidel had all talked about the possibility of his post becoming long-term, especially more recently when he seemed to really start settling in. One time they had drawn straws to see who would mention the fact he could request that his transfer be made permanent. She had lost, and was almost certain the boys had set her up. However that very evening he went off on one of his 'I-hate-this-island-and-everything-in-London-is-pe rfect' rants that he was still prone to have on occasion, and she was kindly released from the obligation by her fellow officers.

"We'll see," was all she managed to say in reply.

At that moment Richard appeared besides her, declaring rather nervously, "Dad! Hello! I see you've met my, uh, colleague Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey." He clearly hoped the formal introduction would make it clear that they were here as just that, colleagues.

"It's alright son, she already told me she was here with you. But I can understand why you'd want to avoid your mother's awkward questions, so I'll keep that little bit of information to myself." Good Lord, the man actually winked and tapped the side of his nose before leaving.

Richard watched his father leave with a frown on his face, before turning to Camille and simply asking, "What?"

She winced and then admitted, "I may have given him the impression we were here together…well together."

"What? Why on earth would you do that? I told you I was going to tell my mother there was nothing going on and then you tell my father that there is! And…and…there isn't."

"I know! But he just took one look at me and said obviously we weren't here together and I didn't like the assumption!" Their tiff was starting to attract the attention of some of the other guests, who were whispering to each other. Richard noticed as well, and pulled her further to the side of the room.

"You didn't like the assumption? Well that's just fine! Never mind the fact my life is going to be miserable. My Dad won't keep that quiet forever, he'll tell my Mum and then I'll have a hell of a lot of explaining to."

He was clearly angry, but Camille had a card up her sleeve, "Why didn't you tell me you'd been offered a transfer back to London that you turned down?"

For a moment he looked horrified. He let out a quick breath and then said, "Well sometimes these misunderstandings happen and I suppose sometimes, um, you know, the best thing is to, you know, let them go..?"

"Well I could certainly see the advantage of doing that on this particular occasion." Her agreement was clearly a relief to him.


They ended up sitting at a table with his parent's, which meant putting up with his Dad shooting the pair of them significant looks and his mother clearly getting increasingly curious. Richard utilised the small talk skills he had learnt from Camille to keep other people at the table talking, in the hopes no more embarrassing stories would be told by his parents. Camille knew far too many things about him from this trip, and it was making him a little nervous.

During desert, Ella practically flopped into the seat next to him that had just been vacated by an RAF accountant called Henry. Turned out accounting in the military wasn't much more interesting than normal accountancy, but Richard had still managed to get the man to talk about it for 20 minutes. Richard took one look at the smile his cousin was giving him and knew he would not like what he was about to hear.

"We should totally play pop song piano after dinner. Every table can form a team and shout out when they know the answer! It'll be great!" Ella said with an enthusiasm he would never, ever, share.

"No. Just no, for so many reasons, no," he replied firmly. "When I agreed to play that is not what I meant."

Ella gave him a sulky look, and then the question he was dreading was asked by Camille, "What is…pop song piano?"

He shot Ella a dirty look, which probably wasn't very nice considering it was her wedding day, but he truly felt she deserved it for the torment he had suffered at her hands recently. It was honestly like they were back to being teenagers again.

"It's a game Richard and I used to play," Ella began to explain. "Richard would transcribe whatever was in the charts for piano, and I would have to guess what it was. The fewer notes I did it in the better. I'll admit it isn't the best titled game on the planet but I gave it that moniker and I'm afraid I'm not as imaginative as Richard."

"I didn't even know you could play," Camille sounded like she was actually complaining.

"He was Young Musician of the Year 1984," his mother supplied, probably thinking she was being helpful. "We bought him a telescope as a reward that Christmas." Richard tried not to frown at her use of the word 'telescope'.

"So not only can you play you're good! Well that game sounds like fun, why can't we do that?" Camille berated him.

"Because I think the last time I paid any attention to popular music was 1991, and I didn't much like it then. I barely remember any of those and I know nothing more recent," he explained, frustrated.

Camille seemed willing to acquiesce. "He's right about that," she addressed Ella. "He didn't know who Beyoncé was."

"You don't know who Beyoncé is?" To the surprise of pretty much everyone at the table, the question was actually asked by his father.

"You like Beyoncé Uncle Richard?" Ella asked. "I wouldn't have thought her music was your…style."

"I didn't say I liked her music," his father scoffed. "I do however know who she is. Officially credited by the Oxford English Dictionary as being the first user of the word 'bootylicious'. It was on Countdown."

"Oh was it that Susie Dent woman? Honestly I swear you memorise every word that comes out of that woman's mouth," Richard's mother complained mildly. "You're far too old to have a crush."

Susie Dent was a subject his father and he could actually, for want of a better word, bond over. However sadly Richard was denied the joys of Countdown on Saint Marie. He imagined if there was a Caribbean version that time limit would be a lot more than 30 seconds and liming would indeed be a word.

"Well, given your lamentable knowledge of popular music we'll just stick to the original plan. I shall then educate you when I plug my iPod into the sound system later," Ella was looking a little smug.

"You aren't that much younger than me, Ella," Richard grumbled. "Don't act like your so in touch with popular culture."

"Oh but I am, I have to train all our recently graduated nurses after all. Though I will admit I am not capable of going out clubbing and coming in fresh faced the next day anymore. Anyway when will you play?"

"If you can plug your iPod in what do you need me to play for?" He knew that he had agreed, and that he was no longer being subjected to the humiliating prospect of 'pop song piano', but if he could wriggle out of it he would.

"Because I want to hear you play," Ella said simply.

"And so do I, Richard darling. It's been far too long," his mother complained.

"Yes, this is something I have to hear for myself as well," Camille added, piling on the pressure.

Ella then played the trump card, "Plus you know how much my mother loves to hear you play."

Richard resigned himself to his fate.


It seemed there was an almost immediate clamour at the table when Richard accepted the 'invitation' to play. Everyone seemed to have a request. Matronly Great Aunts appeared suddenly out of the woodwork requesting pieces Camille had never even heard of. Eventually Richard threw his hands up and said, "I'm not playing all night. Only two people get to put in requests, Ella and Aunt Miriam and then you plug your bloody iPod in and leave me alone for the rest of the evening."

Camille, if asked, would have to admit that she knew only a little more about classical music than Richard knew about Beyoncé. Which meant that though the piece Richard sat down to play (and play well, she could tell that uneducated as she was) was definitely familiar, she couldn't name it. Richard's father was either psychic in these matters, or possibly just assumed she didn't know. Either way, he leaned across the table and said in a low voice, "Pachelbel's Canon, transcribed for piano. Nice of them not to give Richard anything too challenging, I think he might be a bit rusty."

"That isn't challenging?" Camille found that hard to believe, considering she would probably struggle to find the right notes to play Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.

"Not for a player of Richard's standards, probably could have been professional. He is far too sensible to have considered that of course." Camille thought Mr Poole sounded rather proud of both of those facts about his son.

Then Richard was moving on to the next piece, and within a few bars of the music starting Richard's father again leaned across to speak to her quietly, "Oh, this will be Miriam's choice – a more contemporary piece. Bella notte by Ludovico Einaudi, Miriam loves him."

For a moment, Camille had though he meant the song from Lady and the Tramp, but it obviously just shared the same name. She decided quite quickly that she really liked what she was hearing. It was amazing really what she had learnt in such a short amount of time in the UK with him. Camille had to wonder what else he was keeping to himself.

Richard sort of acknowledged the applause he got with a half wave of his hand, before hurrying back to his seat and looking like he'd rather the attention came off him now. Camille gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"You play so well! I really liked that last one."

"Oh right, yes, Einaudi. Sort of reminds me of you, actually." Camille thought she might actually blush, had he just complimented her? "You know, beautiful but bloody difficult."

The smile that had lit up her face at the word 'beautiful' was rapidly replaced by a much less impressed look. She punched him in the shoulder this time, and tried to look annoyed, failing utterly within ten seconds when he shot her a half smile – clearly amused at his own joke. And she supposed he had called her beautiful.


Camille seemed genuinely surprised when within about a minute of the 'popular' music starting, she was asked to dance by a young officer. It did not surprise Richard, he'd noticed that most of the men in the room had glanced her way more than once during dinner. Even if Camille hadn't been one of the few women in the room under the age of fifty, he imagined she'd still be attracting a lot of attention just because, well, she was beautiful. When she had been asked she actually looked to him as if she was seeking his permission.

"Oh Camille, I wouldn't look to my son and expect him to dance. He started refusing to do so from about the age of seven, never figured out why," his mother told her. "Young people should dance at the wedding, and these young men need somebody to dance with, so I'm sure my son will let you go so you can oblige them with your company."

Richard gave a brief nod to show his agreement, and then didn't know if he should be thanking his mother or annoyed at her for her presumption. Obviously he didn't want to dance, but if Camille had insisted he would have agreed. As long as it was a slow song. And not too many people were watching. For the next couple of hours Camille would barely return from one trip to the dance floor before somebody else was asking her to dance. Camille, being polite, didn't turn many down. Meanwhile Richard sat with his father (his mother was off gossiping with other relatives) as he got increasingly drunk. Richard was doing his very best to keep his eyes off Camille when she was dancing, because he was pretty sure the look on his face was not a neutral as it should be in this situation.


Ella's husband (she found it very strange she could call him that now) found her at the bar and briefly buried his nose in her neck, an affectionate greeting they had used for nearly as long as they had been together. He leaned in and spoke quietly in her ear. She was sort of hoping for sweet nothings, and was a little surprised when the topic of conversation was Richard.

"Hey, should I tell the boys to lay off your cousin's girlfriend? I think it's winding him up a little."

"He's not her girlfriend!" she told him, "Though he clearly wants to be."

"Fine, I'll tell them to leave off so he has half a chance with the woman!"

He moved off to do just that but Ella called him back, "Anthony you'll do no such thing! A little jealousy won't do any harm, he needs the encouragement. I order you to say nothing, Major."

He smirked, "You realise I actually out rank you?"

"In the air force, maybe, in this marriage – not so much."

"Yes, Ma'am!" He snapped off a salute, then took her by the hand and dragged her onto the dance floor.


Camille threw herself into the seat next to Richard, and then practically glared at the officer who had headed her way – probably hoping to secure the next dance. She kicked her shoes off under the table, leaned back and smiled at him in the sort of way that made him all flustered.

"They might be good dancers, and the uniforms are cute, but most of them are a bit dull," she confided in him.

"Surely war stories are better than lectures about the drainage of the fenlands," he tried not to sound bitter, but wasn't sure he got away with it.

"Maybe if I believed half of it. And I liked learning that, it was interesting." Richard assumed she was just being nice, which annoyed him – he didn't want her pity. "I'd never be interested in a military man, anyway, what with them always disappearing. I like my man where I can see him." She leaned in and poked him playfully in the chest, smiling affectionately. At of the corner of his eye, he could see his Dad smirking again.

"You should drink some water or you'll get dehydrated," he told her sensibly.

She rolled her eyes, "I am a grown woman, and I do know these things. Though I am also really thirsty."

"I'll get you some."

At the bar, his father sidled up next to him, "Richard, I know I don't tell you these things, but I'm proud of you." Richard couldn't help but notice that as he said this, he was actually looking towards where Camille was waiting for him.

"Dad, are you proud of me because I'm a Detective Inspector in the Metropolitan Police with an incredible case closure rate, or because I brought a beautiful woman to my cousin's wedding?"

His father frowned, clearly unhappy at having been caught out, and then said, "Can't a father be proud of all of his son's achievements?"

Richard let out a sigh.

A/N: Very busy at work at the moment, so my writing rate will temporarily decrease! Two more chapters should see this finally complete.