It had been simple to put together, Catherine had supplied them with a small feast taken from the menu at La Kaz, designed to be eaten quickly and with no fuss. And so it was that he came to be sitting in her small garden in the only patch of shade he could find, thinking that actually as far as things went he really didn't have much to complain about. Every now and then the hands supporting his body weight slid off the rug and roamed on to the spiky grass that looked inviting in every way other than when he actually touched it. But he had become adept at not mentioning every little niggle that he experienced in the Caribbean.

He was grateful on this occasion that she had let him eat in peace. At so many meal times she seemed incapable of leaving him alone, either a hand over his or a foot rubbing delicately against his calf. And he loved it. Or at least he had at the beginning. But eating one handed was becoming a chore. And knowing Camille, it wasn't something he could just ask her to stop doing without a row.

They were watching each other from across the blanket that she had thoughtfully laid out, a mischievous curl on Camille's lips as her foot crept ever more dangerously close to his. If it connected he'd never find out what had happened that morning. He tried a diversion tactic.

"So. Humphrey?"

"I told you, it was fine." He nodded his head once in appreciation, not really sure what that meant.

"He let you go?"

"You make it sound like I'm a piece of property Richard…" The foot slowed its progress and he rolled his eyes behind his eyelids, wincing slightly at the edge in her voice and silently cursing his indelicacy despite the hint of a smile in her voice. "But yes he let me go. Three months."

"Three?" He was having a hard time keeping the disappointment out of his voice.

She was phlegmatic. "Did you really expect him to just let me go without finding a replacement?" Richard hitched his top lip and thought, no, he hadn't really, but three months! Another three months! She sensed his frustration and leant forward, reaching out a placating hand which stroked his thigh, "it's only three." And then we're together. It hung unspoken between them and a little thrill ran through him at the idea of them living together. No travel. No long distance calls. No time difference. Strangely it did nothing to lighten his mood that had taken a sudden dip. She sighed and the caress stopped, her hand lying hotly on his trouser leg. "Why don't you trust me, Richard?" She asked.

He was momentarily stunned. "I do!"

Her matter of fact tone continued unabated. "Fine, then you don't trust him."

"I do trust him," he was scrabbling around, trying to reassure her.

She threw him a look. "Don't…like him then…" And don't tell me you do because I've seen the way you look at him when he's not looking at you."

"I don't…not like him. I just don't know him. I'm sure he's fine…he's…nice."

"But…"

"I just…don't…like the way he dresses." He knew even before he opened his mouth that it would sound stupid.

Camille snorted and repeated him to make sure she had heard him correctly, this only served to make him clam up completely.

"Ok, I'm sorry." She was more sincere with her final apology, "I'm sorry..." she managed to get her eyebrows back under control and indicated for him to elaborate. She definitely didn't understand but she also didn't want to start an argument.

"He just always looks so…dishevelled. And…and messy." He risked a look at her. She still didn't get it and he sighed again but this time was determined to make her see. "Ok…just imagine something happened to me. Something bad. And Humphrey turned up at your door wearing a stained shirt and a suit that looked like he slept in it. First impressions. Would you trust him to find out what had happened to me?"

She suppressed a shudder and pushed the scenario to the back of her mind. It wasn't something she wanted to think about. "Things are different out here. People don't mind how you look as long as you're good at your job."

Richard raised an eyebrow. If there was one thing he knew about it was first impressions. He'd suffered enough of them over his career. "They're not that different and people do mind. You're defending him because you know him." He cast around for another line of reason, something to try and make her understand. It wasn't a particularly good example, but it was something none the less. "Say….say something happened to our child." He backtracked a little to save himself from her raised eyebrow. "If we had one. Would you trust him then?"

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to be loyal. But she knew she couldn't. She knew she would regard his easy manners as affected foppery and his clumsiness with cold distain. She knew she would prefer the cold professionalism that Richard presented, regardless of Humphrey's open nature and eagerness to help. She would need something to trust in and cling to, and a man who didn't care enough about his appearance to take care of his clothes gave the impression that he wouldn't care about the case he was working on.

She seemed at a loss to say anything and shrugged her shoulders as if to say well, what can I do? Richard shook his head by way of response.

"I'm sorry. Its…petty. I'm sure he's a nice guy. I just… "

"I get it." She smiled a self deprecating smile. "I thought you were jealous." He smirked and her smile turned in to a glimmer of understanding. "You don't have anything to worry about."

"I know. But it doesn't make it easier. Knowing you're here with him."

She shifted, moving to sit next to him, "it's only for three months." He nodded, looping his arm around her, feeling her lean in to him as much as their position on the grass would allow. They sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine and the background noise of suburban life as it continued out on the street. He inhaled deeply, the heat stinging his nostrils as the salt in the air clung to the light sheen on his skin as the faint smell of her light perfume enveloped him. It was the same residual scent that had been left on his pillow the morning she had left London. The same that had seemed to hang around in the house, taunting his every move as he progressed from room to room. It had welcomed and alienated him in his own home and taunted him as he tried to sleep. That night and every other he had spent alone had been hell. A constant war between needing her and wanting to be rid of the memories that surrounded him.

"What are you thinking about?" His thoughts scattered at her interruption yet again.

Caught unawares he found himself answering where his mind had been on the cusp of wandering to before he could stop himself. "Christmas." Realising that out of context it probably sounded a little odd he risked a glance at her, mouth open, ready to explain, only to find that she had understood. "Do you think you could get time off?"

Not wanting to answer him just yet she gave a lop sided shrug and hit the same question back at him. "Do you?"

In times gone by he would have complained about her dodging the question and putting the onus back on him. But in truth, rather like the hand holding and the little touches she bestowed on him, he liked that she looked to him so much for the lead on things. On a superficial level someone who didn't know him that well might have said that it played to his idea of self importance, but Camille knew better. Deeply insecure, it buoyed his confidence and gave him a purpose in their relationship.

He thought about it. It would be difficult but another week was no less than he was owed. And he could offset the time away with the promise of yet more completed paperwork. He nodded, "probably."

"You wouldn't mind?"

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "Why don't you talk to Humphrey first." She rolled her eyes and sank back in to silence, the idea of asking him for anything at the moment did not appeal. Pouting, she found that Richard was eyeing her with amusement. Her pout deepened in annoyance.

He lent in and kissed her hair murmuring, "you're very pretty when you sulk." The pout was broken by a small smile at the irony of both his words and their situation and she began to relax.

In time he felt her countenance change, her body stiffened and he knew another line of questioning was about to be directed at him. He braced himself for another dissemination of Humphrey's character. But it wasn't what he expected. Her voice instead of hard and accusatory was soft and coaxing. She was nervous.

"Tell me about school." He sighed and she tried again. "Please. You said we could talk about it."

He swallowed an ironic laugh at his clumsy attempt on Saturday night to get her to leave the party and return home with him. All it had seemed to do was give her leeway to bring up the ruddy subject again, when all he wanted to do was forget about it.

He tried the bare minimum. "There isn't much to tell. I went at 8, I came back at 18. There isn't much more to it than that."

"You spent ten years away from your parents?" He nodded, non plussed and ignorant of her incredulity. "Would you want our children to do that?"

"No…" he had been about to go on, but managed to restrain himself in time, collecting himself. "If they want to go, that's something we can talk about. But I don't want to send them away."

"If they want to go?"

He laughed derisively. "Believe it or not, some children actually like it. They see it as an adventure. I'm think my father thought I was a bit of a coward for not being one of them."

"Richard, there's nothing wrong with an eight year old wanting to stay at home. You were a child." He shrugged indicating that it didn't matter what she thought. It was too long ago. "Did you ask to come home?"

He stiffened, and she sensed he was damming something up inside him before finally convincing himself to talk to her. "Every exeat, half term and holiday for the first year and a half. I think Dad thought it was amusing to start with. I started getting a clip around the ear every time I mentioned it after a while. There's only so many times you can be told that you're lucky to be there before you start to feel ungrateful."

"And your mother?"

"She cried so much after the first time I asked her, I didn't do it again." He sounded vaguely amused by the whole thing, much to her bewilderment.

"Even when they hit you?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't the only one, and it could have been worse. I could have been caned. I got bog flushed a couple of times but after that they got bored and moved on to someone else."

"Caned?"

"You know, when they hit you with a cane?" He tried to simplify it, "the masters? It's a long hard stick. Like bamboo."

She looked disgusted. "And bog flushed?"

"Its um," realising that this particular explanation was in all likelihood going to lead to a fresh outpouring of emotion on her part he decided not to explain. "It doesn't matter, it's stupid anyway." She seemed about to disagree with him so he cut her off with, "and it was a long time ago."

"You really don't want to talk about it?"

He exhaled sharply, aware that he was coming to the end of his patience. "I don't see the point. It's not going to do anything."

"But it would help you!"

He gave a wan smile at her naivety. "Camille, I don't know whether you've noticed but I'm English." She raised an annoyed eyebrow. "And the English don't like to talk about their feelings."

"You're not that much of a cliché." It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. She tried a different tact, "I just want to help."

"You're already helping. Camille, you are…" He sat for a moment trying to find a way to tell her how much she had already done for him, how different he felt by being with her, but anything he framed in his mind sounded trite and insignificant. At a loss of what to say he finished with "I love you." He wasn't sure if that would be the end of it but given that she had pressed herself back in to him it had seemed to have done the trick for the moment.