An apology…I did try to have them sort things out and communicate in this chapter…but they do seem to like arguing!
Finally body and mind gave way and he fell into a restless sleep, waking with a start to loud knocking on the door….
"Anyone in there?"
He shook his head firmly, trying to anchor himself to the present.
"Chief?"
He stumbled to the door and opened it with bleary eyes. "What is it Dwayne?"
"Really sorry Chief but Camille's not answering her phone and Fidel is off."
"That doesn't explain why you are waking me." Richard replied, observing Dwayne trying to peer around him into the darkened room behind but not conscious enough to wonder why.
"Of course. Yes. We've had reports of a lot of activity around the harbor through the night and wondered if it was worth checking out."
Richard sighed, his brain now wide-awake. It was dreadful to admit he had been hoping for a murder. That would have been a fine distraction. "Give me five minutes to dress."
By the end of the day Richard was fit to drop. Patrolling the harbour had brought fortuitous results; a decent drug haul from dealers who were obviously not bright enough to plan how and when they were going to smuggle the stuff in without attracting attention. They were mostly young and inexperienced and, unusually in Richards opinion, either more scared, or more trusting of the Police than their handlers since a few names had been mentioned which warranted further investigation.
It might have been considered a fruitful day were it not for the glaring omission of his DS by his side. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand across his brow, unsure how to get out of the hole he appeared to have dug for himself. From past experience he knew it wasn't going to get any better tomorrow, or the next day. Hell, he had even sworn that never again would he get into a position where there was tension between them.
So that had been successful then!
Camille had turned up by the quayside around lunchtime, alerted by the missed calls from Dwayne and the lack of Police presence at the station. To his eyes she had looked stunning. Tired but exquisitely beautiful with sunglasses in place and her hair styled so that it almost completely hid her injury and dressed in a sleeveless cream top, which had delicately clung to her body and wide legged trousers in a soft blue. She had gracefully negotiated her way through the small crowd who had gathered to try and listen in on the arrest, ignoring their admiring gazes to stride straight up to Richard, which caused him to stumble over the rights he had been reading to one of the young criminals.
"You shouldn't be here. You're not needed so go home."
Not his finest sentence, he had to admit.
She had pushed her glasses up onto her forehead to stare at him. "And that's really all you have to say to me?"
Her voice had shaken slightly and Richard was willing to bet that she would not have been this calm in a less public place. He had glanced across at the man stood next to him, who had been earwigging quite unsubtly with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face and then back to Camille.
"At the moment yes."
She growled. It was the only way to describe the noise that had emanated from the back of her throat. Disgusted? Furious? Disappointed? He couldn't tell, only that it wasn't what she wanted to hear from him.
"Camille…' he had called out, but she had already spun on her heels to walk away leaving him struggling to focus on work; an alien feeling.
As dusk had fallen, and work finally wrapped up for the day, Richard had nervously crept up to her door, not really sure what he was going to say, but knowing he had to try. He had knocked gently, and then more firmly upon it before accepting that the lack of an answer, drawn shutters and leaflets half stuffed underneath the front door were a strong indication that no-one was home.
Cradling a beer Richard wandered out onto the verandah, spotting Harry darting along the railing as the waves lapped gently against a deserted beach in the background.
Tiny's phone call just now had probably been the most depressing part of his day. That he needed to be told by a third party that his DS would be at the rink at lunchtime tomorrow was sobering. And that Tiny had rung to complain it was too early to send her back to work as if he had any choice over the matter made it worse. He sighed; at least he would see her tomorrow and maybe they would get chance to talk then. Leaning back against the rail, he took a slow mouthful of the cold beer.
The loud blaring of a taxi's horn the next morning made Richard jump, sending the middle aged lady and two teenage girls behind him in the bus queue into fits of giggles. Catherine flung open the back door and waved him over.
"You'll never make it in time waiting for the bus. Get in with us."
Us? Richard gulped. The claustrophobic environment of a taxi with company was not exactly how he would have wished his next meeting with Camille would go but Catherine was right, the bus was already late and a much slower method of travel. He would most likely miss the public session altogether if he waited there. He nodded at the bar owner and scrambled clumsily into the empty passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt before turning around to thank the two ladies in the back.
"Don't thank me. Maman pointed out that it would be a wasted journey if you didn't turn up." Camille spoke in monotone, large glasses firmly in place hiding her eyes.
"Camille…."he started, to no response.
"Camille?"
Catherine raised an eyebrow at her daughter's lack of response but remained silent. The younger woman huffed, finally replying with a curt "What?"
"I'm sorry."
The remainder of the journey was silent.
Tiny was waiting just inside the doors of the Centre and greeted Camille with a tender but enveloping hug, pulling her glasses down her nose and parting her hair to examine the colourful bruise. He shook his head at her and Richard, who was hovering just behind.
"You're mad coming back today you know, a real glutton for punishment. This could have waited, it's not important enough."
"It is to the victims." Camille smiled, extracting herself from Tiny's hold.
Richard almost retorted that if the victims were stupid enough to take mobile phones onto ice rinks then they almost deserved what they got but thought better of it and quietly followed Camille down towards the changing rooms.
By the time they got on the rink a few people were skating around; two matronly women wobbling their way around the edge, a group of teenagers attempting to dance in tune to the music which pumped out of speakers above them and a dad teaching his young son how to change direction easily. He took a deep breath and then, allowing his voice to carry, began to teach Camille the first principles of skating, as if it were their first lesson.
Gradually the arena filled up; shrieks of laughter, loud teasing banter and softer words of encouragement drifting through the air. If Camille had been nervous about stepping back onto the ice then she was keeping it hidden, and although Richard was well aware of his inability to read her emotions, it seemed to him that the tension between them was easing as they slotted back into their smooth working relationship. So far though, they had had no luck at spotting anything out of the ordinary and there was only so much longer they could linger for, knowing how long lessons generally lasted.
They stood side by side, for all the world having a relaxed break, Richard occasionally picking out examples of good and bad techniques for use as teaching points when someone passed within earshot.
"What are you sorry for?"
The unexpected question was spoken softly as Camille's eyes scanned the skaters with a practiced eye and Richard almost missed it completely. Nor did he have a reply for her.
"I…well I, everything?"
She whipped her head around, eyes glinting with anger for a second before she blinked slowly and very obviously let her shoulders drop.
"And what if I don't want….." he frowned as she broke off, altering her question. "Why didn't you check up on me in the hospital?"
"I did!"
"When?"
"The doctor who assessed you gave me a report."
"Over the phone?" She sounded rightly incredulous at the thought of such lax medical confidentiality.
"No, at the hospital."
"You were there?"
Richard was aware that there was no right answer to this. "Yes. Ask your mother if you don't believe me."
"All the time?"
"Until they said they were discharging you, yes."
"But you didn't come to see me and ask ME how I was?"
"Um.."
"And then you sent me away yesterday?"
"Camille, we were in the middle of an arrest!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Her volume had risen and Richards peripheral vision caught skaters heads turning. Drawing attention to themselves was definitely not what he wanted.
"Nothing is wrong with me. Look I said I was sorry. Is now really the time or place?" he was getting frustrated now.
"No it's not." Camille shook her head. "And it won't ever be. I don't know what I was thinking of."
Was she talking to him? Richard was confused now. He thought she had been spoiling for a fight and she did look angry, but not so angry that she was going to continue berating him in public. Despite her moods being a constant puzzle to him, the feeling in the pit of his stomach was telling him he didn't like this one.
Almost like history repeating itself, and fear of skating nowhere in evidence whilst her focus remained elsewhere, she turned and pushed away from the barrier…and directly into a young man who had been moving carefully but uncertainly around the middle of the rink.
The speed of the collision meant that neither was in danger of injury but Richard did think his heart might not withstand its recent treatment as he watched the pair tumble to the floor. Camille landed on top of the man whose grin and subsequent comment brought the first genuine smile to her face that he had seen that day.