Chapter 14 – Tell it like it is

The next two days were idyllic – and almost too perfect... at least in some ways.

Camille felt that Richard was really making an effort, and she was touched to see all the little things he did for her. He made coffee for her, he got her a hot water bottle when her feet got cold, he didn't object when she looked out for French TV channels… and they spent quite a bit of time in bed, cuddling, feeling and exploring each other… It was wonderful to feel his hands and his lips caressing her, to hear him saying all those tender words she had longed to hear from him, to taste his lips and touch him… and to fall asleep next to him, knowing he'd still be there when she'd wake up.

There was just one thing that bugged her and made her a little restless…

Somehow, she had thought everything would be perfect once they'd reach this stage of their relationship. However, that hadn't happened. He was sweet, he was tender, he was passionate, and he was everything she could have wished for.

He just didn't seem to be ready to talk.

She realised that they would have to discuss where they would go from here, though – she knew that Richard had a hard time talking about his feelings, no matter how eloquent he was in other departments of life, but it was a fact that she would finish this course in less than a year, and then they would have to think about the future – at least if they wanted to stay together, and as far as she was concerned, that wasn't a question. She wanted this to be sorted… and soon.

But he just seemed to accept and acknowledge her presence – he did say that he had missed her, he did say that he was happy she had come to spend the holidays with him, and he did say that it was good to have her around, but whenever she tried to talk about the future, it was like a curtain fell and he lost himself in vague remarks about what could happen… he never seemed to make a plan. That puzzled her, and she didn't understand why he was so 'distant' – despite their physical closeness.

She figured it would be pointless to make a direct foray – he was like one of those spiky lizards in the Caribbean that you had to approach from the side.

So, on the evening of Boxing Day, after dinner, she decided to tackle the subject by saying casually "I wonder what the next module of my course will bring. And I wonder what station I will be assigned to afterwards."

Richard looked up from his magazine and said matter-of-factly "Well, it will not be Islington. They assign trainees to a different station each time, so we might get someone new – we usually have at least one trainee, sometimes more – as you have seen yourself. It can be a bit cumbersome for everyone as they just learn how things work in a particular station when their internship comes to a close again, but it's a good idea, nevertheless, as they aren't stuck in a place they might not like and get to know different ways of doing things. I noticed with Stephen that he was a bit stuck with how things were done at his home station – for lack of a better word – but adapted to Islington after a little while, and the more he sees, the more he will be able to think outside the box – which is useful for someone who wants to apply for being promoted to DI. It's not all about talent and personality – it's about gaining experiences and seeing things from different angles, too. That's why I actually think this course is a pretty good idea, but of course, not everybody sees it this way."

"Hm," made Camille. Then she said "So this is what you think about Stephen. What did you think about me? And do you think I will fit into the system over here, or am I stuck with the French-Caribbean way of looking at things?"

Richard took off his reading glasses (that Camille found unbelievably sexy on him, to tell the truth) and replied "Well, considering that I moved heaven and earth to get us out of the supervisor / trainee relationship and hence officially don't really have anything to say when it comes to your performance, I'm giving you my entirely private opinion now… You are quick to adapt, and you get a feeling for the atmosphere at a place quickly – and then act accordingly. You have always been – and still are - a resourceful, intuitive officer, and your talents definitely lie in the interpersonal department. You're great when it comes to interrogating people. Very skilled. Visceral sometimes, but you know what you're doing. Procedure is not your strongest side, although you have made great progress. I'm not saying you were sloppy or unprecise – you just weren't always as exact and to the point as you should have."

He noticed Camille's frown and explained "I put that down to lack of practice – when you worked undercover, you had to focus on other things, and on top of that, you were educated in a different system with different priorities and different ways of looking at things. As you said yourself some time ago, our legal systems are based on different foundations, and that comes through in all sorts of little details. You have become much more aware of that, and it shows in how you sum up things, how you write reports and all that. It's obvious that you have learnt a lot during the years on Saint Marie, and even though Inspector Goodman might not always have been ultra-correct with everything, you have learnt from him, too – which doesn't surprise me as he has the reputation of being an excellent detective – albeit somewhat eccentric on a personal level. The latter doesn't say much about him, and it's not important as it's results that count, and he has solved a number of fairly difficult cases, so he can't be a complete idiot."

He saw that Camille was getting a little impatient with his long winded monologue, so he decided not to dwell on that topic any longer. He cleared his throat and continued "But I'm digressing, and who am I to judge, anyway... To get back to your question… personally, I think you would make a fantastic DI anywhere, but you might not fit into a small station in, say, Cornwall or the Midlands or someplace like that because you're not familiar with the mentality and the traditions behind people's behaviour. The UK is very specific in a number of ways, and you have a different background because you didn't grow up here. It's different in London because we're more multi-cultural here, and the stations are bigger than out there in the countryside. So, if you want to stay in the UK, I think you'd be well-advised to stick to London – at least during the first couple of years. If you consider – er - returning to the Caribbean, I'm sure you'll be fine as this is where you grew up, and you can perhaps relate to people's background easier than you could over here."

Camille tried to take that in, then she moved over to the couch where Richard was sitting and asked "Would you want me to go back to the Caribbean, Richard?"

Her voice sounded a little prickly, and for a moment he just looked at her, surprised and not quite sure why she was asking him such a question, then he replied, shaking his head "No. No, Camille... not if you… if we… I mean, I'm certainly not in a position to… dictate what you do with your life, but I mean… You could surely get adapted to life here, and if you miss the sunshine, the sand and the beaches, then there's always a way to go and get your fix, if you know what I mean – that's what annual leave is for. But if it's the way of working, the more relaxed approach to things, and all that – and you feel that you wouldn't be happy here, then maybe you'd want to move back…"

His voice trailed off, and silently, he added in his mind "… and leave me behind, heartbroken" – but he didn't say it. He had tried to avoid saying anything that could be perceived as taking her for granted, patronising or condescending, and he certainly didn't want her to feel tied down – good grief, they had only just started to go beyond the 'just friends' stage, who was he to make demands on how he thought she should live her life? Of course, he wanted to be a part of her life – but that went without saying, he figured. She had said they could belong together, and he had confirmed that he wanted the same thing… what else was there to say?

Camille didn't seem satisfied. She moved closer to him and said in a slightly testy way "Well, that doesn't answer my question. Let me rephrase it so you understand better… would you let me leave or would you make me stay?"

He just stared at her, helplessly… wasn't it enough that he had let her into his life despite his fears, that he had made it possible at all that they could have a relationship by restructuring the department, that he had told her over and over that he had missed her, that he did everything he could to make her happy (and boy, had he learnt a couple of interesting details about the physical side of that over the past days and nights! His ears started burning as he thought of some of the things she had encouraged him to try… and the ones she had done to pleasure him… admittedly, it had been fun, so he wasn't complaining… and obviously she had enjoyed them, so he must have done something right!)… did he have to say it? Didn't she know that he didn't want her to leave? Couldn't she feel it?

She realised she wasn't getting anywhere with him and sighed. "Right," she said then and got up abruptly, "if you can't make up your mind, I'll give you time and space to do so. I'll go back to my flat as soon as possible – I've got to take care of things there, the orchid and my little cactus will be happy to have me back. And since you presumably don't care whether I'm here or there - we won't have to see each other any more, if this is what you want."

She marched off, out of the room and upstairs where she pulled out her suitcase from under the bed and started to pack the clothes that were scattered in the bedroom.

She was seething on one hand – why couldn't he just say something? Why did he have to wriggle like an eel every time they came to the topic of the future? When they had still been 'in limbo', he had said things like 'I could take you there in the spring' or 'we could go to that place some time' – but now that they had made some sort of commitment – at least from her point of view they had done so! – he was vague and unclear in what he said… Why? This was driving her bonkers.

On the other hand, she knew that he found it hard to talk about emotions – he had said so to her before, and she had experienced it many times over the years she had known him. But really, it wasn't that he didn't know how she felt about him… she could have understood if she had been vague about her own feelings and left him in the dark, but she hadn't… so why on earth was it so hard for him to say that he cared about her and wanted her to stay? It wasn't asked too much, was it?

She felt tears stinging in her eyes and resolutely wiped them away. Why cry over someone who couldn't openly admit you were an important part of their life?

Down in the living room, Richard played nervously with the temple stems of his reading glasses, folding them and opening them up again repeatedly. Finally, he put the glasses on the table and sat back to stare on the wall, frustrated and confused.

Of course, he didn't want her to go. Not like this. Not now. Actually – never. It had been bad enough when he had left Saint Marie and she had haunted him for almost two years… but now that he knew what it was like to have her in his arms, to see her eyes getting dark and shiny with desire, to listen to her breathing next to him in the darkness, to hear her saying that being with him was the best thing ever, to see her smiling at him with this particular twinkle in her eyes… now it would be much, much worse.

He didn't want to lose her.

But he had no idea what he had done wrong. She had completely taken him by surprise with her question. With an angry frown, he sat up, and the heel of his hand struck the sofa's armrest with an irritated thud.

What on earth did she expect him to do or say?

Couldn't she understand that he didn't want to put pressure on her? Didn't she realise how happy he was that she was staying with him, that she had come to see him instead of sailing off to France? Wasn't it obvious that he was totally smitten with her? Hadn't he made it clear that he wanted her in his life?

He stopped to think again for a moment, and then it dawned on him that maybe he hadn't. He had never said anything like that. After their first time together, he had said in bed that if she kept doing what she was doing, he wouldn't chuck her out, but that had been said in the heat of the moment, and of course, he had meant that he wanted her to stay with him – but maybe she hadn't taken it that way? And admittedly, it had almost sounded as if he wanted her to be his sex slave – which wasn't the point, really… What an abhorrent and embarrassing thought! She had always been his partner, his equal, his sidekick, his mate, his friend… and of course, he wanted it to stay that way, plus he wanted her to be his… oh, whatever! He might as well admit it to himself – he wanted her to be his life companion.

But he couldn't possibly tell her what to do and how to live her life – she was her own person, and she had to make her own plans. Preferably with him – but who was he to make any demands?

But then again… they had a history of misunderstanding each other… Hadn't he been upset with her for not e-mailing him again after he had sent her that infamous very brief and concise message in response to her question? Hadn't he felt she hadn't tried enough – when in fact it had been him who hadn't shown her that he'd wanted to hear from her again?

Whenever they had broached that subject in conversations recently, she had admitted that his short, business-like and sober message had discouraged her… maybe it was the same here, and she was discouraged by his attempt to let her make her own decisions and only wanted to hear him saying that he wanted and needed her in his life…

He knew that if he didn't stop her by saying something, she'd go – she was stubborn, and she was determined to bring her point across. He didn't quite know what it was, but she clearly expected him to make a move. And the fact that she didn't leave right away – although she could, it wasn't that late yet, and she could always get a taxi if she wanted to get away at all cost - gave him hope that she wanted him to reconsider and talk to her tonight.

Yes… she was actually giving him a chance – despite her anger and frustration.

Suddenly, he was reminded of his parents and how his mother had got up and left his father – who hadn't had any idea what he had done wrong, and who had had to be 'tricked' into following her. Graham Poole had admitted to Richard that initially he had just wanted to sit things out – he had been unhappy and lonely when his wife had left for Saint Marie, but he hadn't wanted to go after her. He had been too proud and stubborn – and at the same time, he had been infinitely grateful when Richard and the Commissioner had paved the road for him to come over without losing his face.

Well, there was nobody paving the way for him here, Richard realised. But he was one step further already – he understood how serious the situation was. He'd have to make a move, otherwise they might head into a place where neither of them really wanted to be, but that they'd slip into it because neither of them could swallow their pride.

He sighed and got up. He had no clue if he was on the right track with what he thought she might want to hear, but he'd have to give it a try. He couldn't stick his head in the sand and ignore the situation – he had too much to lose.

When he reached the upper floor, he saw that she had hauled her little suitcase into the other bedroom and was just about to take out a fresh pillow case and a duvet cover from the cupboard. So, she obviously was planning to stay for the night, but not in his bed – and he realised that she was indeed giving him a chance. She was willing to wait for him to come round… so she thought it was worth the effort, no matter how annoyed she was with him. That was a good sign.

The pillow and the duvet were already sitting on the couch in an untidy pile – she had pulled them out in a rage. She didn't turn around when he appeared in the doorway. She didn't even acknowledge his presence. She just went on with what she was doing, and he stood there, watching her. His arms were hanging down his sides, and his face was drawn. He knew that she knew he was there – she had squared her shoulders and jerked up her head when she had started to box the pillow into shape and then thrown it on the couch. She wouldn't have done that if she had been unaware of him standing in the doorway. Her movements were agitated and unfocused, and he could feel the tension in the air.

The duvet cover was quite large and less manageable than the pillow case, and Camille struggled a bit with it. However, she tried not to let it show - but she got more and more exasperated with the duvet as well as with the cover and how they refused to do what she wanted. When she tried for the third time to get the duvet all straight into the cover and it still didn't fit, she let out an impatient groan.

"Camille…"

His voice was low, but he knew from the way she stopped in her tracks for a moment that she had heard him. She didn't react, though, but continued abusing the duvet…

Suddenly, she felt his hands on her shoulders, and she stopped moving.

"What?" She snapped at him, and he realised just how hurt she was.

Good grief – what had he done – by doing nothing?

He asked softly "Will you listen to me?"

She stared at the opposite wall for a moment and then nodded hesitantly.

"Will you also look at me?" he continued, a little more forward now. She let go of the duvet and turned around very slowly. He saw that she had tears in her eyes. Whether it was sadness or anger – he didn't know, and actually, he didn't care. He didn't want her to cry for whatever reason.

She stood there, her arms were now folded, her jaw was firmly set and her eyes full of hurt. Very attentively, he came closer and let his hands rest on her shoulders again for a moment, then he let them gently slide down her upper arms, down to her elbows. She didn't shake off his hands or make any movement to withdraw, so he felt somewhat encouraged to try and make her see his point. He knew he had to be careful – they both could be temperamental, and if he got it wrong, one word would lead to another, and they'd end up in an argument…

Nervously, he cleared his throat and said "Listen, Camille… I'm not entirely sure what we're fighting about… or if we're fighting at all, or what we're doing here… and maybe – hopefully - this is really just a stupid misunderstanding, but… let me tell you that I don't want you to go. I had… I thought you'd know that I don't want to be without you any more. But the point is… It's just that… Questions like that are – they are seductive."

He paused for a moment.

Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he explained "They seduce your counterpart to try and… and make demands and manipulate you, and you're not free any more. If I said 'I want you to stay with me', I'd force my wishes upon you, and that… that would be wrong. I cannot tell you what to do. I don't own you, and I don't want to put pressure on you. You said you need space, and so do I. I want you to be free in your decisions. I don't want you to say some time 'It's your fault that I stayed here' or 'I wish I hadn't done that, but you made me do it by saying – whatever'. If you want to stay here, with me, then I'd be… I'd be over the moon. You said – you said you want us to belong together…."

She nodded, and he continued, more confident now "And I want the same thing. I've been alone all my life, and while I didn't mind most of the time, I've had enough of it now. I want you to be by my side. I thought you had forgotten me when I never heard from you – and it was so painful to think that I'd never see you again. I didn't know how to live with that, but of course… I had to, somehow, so I did. And then… you suddenly appeared, miraculously, and the truth is that I've been happier than ever before since you've come back into my life. And particularly since you… since you gave me to understand that… that you want us to be together. But I'm afraid that if I say so and make plans for the future, you will perhaps feel pressurised to stay in a place where you don't want to be… and I know that you miss Saint Marie, you miss your mother, and you miss your life there. I don't want you to be unhappy. I also know that… it can be hard to be together with me, and you might get fed up rather sooner than later. I'm… set in my ways… and weird… and… and a coward… and I always make things difficult… and for the life of me, I have no clue why you would want to be with me… but well, if that's what you really, really want, then I'm happy and grateful… but I cannot make demands and tell you how to live your life…"

Somehow, he had managed to make her unfold her arms and take her hands into his. He lifted them to his lips now and kissed the backs of her hands, then he turned them around to kiss her palms and bring them to his cheeks. He felt that she was not adverse any more, and slowly, her arms came around his neck. He saw a tear falling from her eye, and he brushed it off with his thumb, whispering "I don't want you to go, Camille, and I hope you'll want to stay with me, but if you really wanted to leave, how could I hold you back?"

She sniffled and looked at him, tears in her eyes. This hadn't been what she had expected him to say. She had half expected him to blow up on her, to pick a fight and say something evasive. Instead, he had tried to explain – something he never would have done when she had known him on Saint Marie. Back then, he had always tried to hide behind 'face-savers', made evasive statements and avoid telling her what was going on. He had been afraid of talking about anything that was remotely personal. Even when Aimee had been killed, he had hidden behind more or less general remarks, and it had taken her a while to understand that he just couldn't say more because he didn't know how to do it. She still was ashamed of how she had blurted out at him that he obviously never had had any friends so he didn't know what it was like to lose someone. That had been very tactless, insensitive and selfish of her, and she had regretted her impetuosity many times, even when it had been clear that he had not resented her for her outburst.

So, it was a big step for him to be so clear about the reasons behind something he had said or done – and now that he had explained, she actually understood. And she also understood that he was making a real, honest effort to be open and let her in.

With a deep sigh, she put her head on his shoulder.

He was right. Her question had been stupid. She hadn't looked at it that way – and she had made the same mistake she had made so often before already – she had been impatient and jumped to conclusions without thinking the whole thing through. Instead of formulating her question in a way that would have instigated a sincere dialogue, she had asked in a way that had come across as absolute, as if she was giving him an ultimatum – when all she had wanted was him to say that he wanted her to stay and make plans with her.

Come to think of it, it had been like he had wanted her to call him 'Chief' on Saint Marie – he had thought she was being disrespectful when she had thought he was being needy and weird… All he had wanted had been a particular sign of recognition back then… and all she had wanted just now had been a particular sign of his affection. But it had been silly of her to insist on this one specific way of phrasing it…

She felt his hand on her cheek, brushing away another tear, and he said tenderly "I'm sorry that I made you cry. I… I didn't want to hurt you. I meant well. I was just… I was just trying to avoid a mistake – and made another one instead…"

He heard her draw in a shuddering breath, and then he felt her lips on his neck for a moment before she said with a shaky voice "No, it's not only your fault… I shouldn't have… I mean, I know it's foolish, but I thought you didn't want to talk about the future and make plans because you weren't sure about what you wanted. I thought you… I thought you still weren't ready to admit that you care, and… I felt insecure. You seemed so… so evasive. And all the bad feelings from when you left me in Saint Marie came back – I thought you might not want me to 'invade' your life and had… had regrets about… about what happened. I can't spend time with you and let my feelings get deeper and deeper until there is no return… without knowing what you feel for me… and about us. I mean, I may draw my conclusions, but if you never say something… It made me feel like you didn't… I mean… I wanted you to just tell it like it is, you know?"

He nodded and responded "I understand now. And… and I promise to try. But… it's the first time ever that I'm in a situation like that – nobody has ever wanted me this way, so… so I just didn't know what you… what you had in mind… and I don't want you to think I take you for granted and expect you to do as I say… This is all so new, and I need time to get adjusted… It's like walking on thin ice… I'm simply afraid of… of making a wrong move."

She looked at him and smiled a little "I know. And for the records, you're not a coward, Richard. It takes courage to admit all this."

He wanted to say something, but Camille pulled him closer, and an instant later, he felt her lips on his. And although her kiss was sweet and tender, he also tasted the last salty tears, and he realised that they both had a lot more to learn.