Part 8 of 10
Meanwhile, Richard is stalking along the main street, heading nowhere in particular, his mind awhirl. HAD he? Had he led Lily on somehow? On his first day he'd been so shell-shocked, so exhausted, so desperately unhappy with his lot in life that he… he… he MIGHT have. Oh god, he might have! Just to have a friendly face, just to hear a kind word, just to be with someone who didn't hate him on sight?
He turns a corner, both figuratively and literally, and thinks… But she DID waylay me on the beach that first night… or I THINK she did. That cutting remark about being alone, that had stung, and it had felt deliberate. He frowns, decades of mockery and derision has taught him the feeling of stung pride.
Then… he smiles a small smile, not knowing he is smiling, as his mind drifts unbidden into uncharted waters. And for the first time, in a long time, he doesn't feel completely lost. He feels….hopeful. Camille, now, when I compare Lily's behaviour to Camille's… well, there's really no comparison, is there? Camille is guileless and honest and sincere and sweet and…
He shakes his head. It's best not to wander too far down that mental dead-end. Nothing good ever comes of getting my hopes up. No, he can honestly say that whereas Camille's behaviour rings true, Lily's does not. Lily is up to something, probably a jest of some kind as he doubts VERY much that she finds him the least bit attractive. Decades of mockery and derision has taught him THAT lesson as well. No, all he's good for is police work. He's had to accept this grisly truth since his last disastrous foray into romance. Sad but true.
He scuffs a heel miserably and is almost ready to throw himself in front of whatever ramshackle street vehicle comes along… when he hears a cheery voice calling his name. His head shoots up. Who knows him here in town? His sees movement and Camille steps out from the front door of a shadowy venue.
She waves like she's actually glad to see him, "There you are! What took you so long? I thought you were right behind me. Come here, I've got a surprise for you!" She beckons him over to a table in the shade and pulls out a chair.
He hesitates. If he's to avoid all distraction then shouldn't he avoid Camille too? But his feet are moving before his brain has a chance to reply. He sinks into the seat, "Oh, you have a surprise too, do you? Well, it's a day for surprises. Lily just threatened to complain to the Commissioner about me for being… too… um… too forward." He feels his cheeks colour slightly. He hates that!
He isn't best pleased by Camille's sky-rocketing eyebrows but is then mollified by her reaction, "That's preposterous! I've been witness to just about everything she's tried with you and you've been a complete gentleman! Fortunately, I've been keeping notes so she better not..."
His own eyebrows edge upwards, "Notes? What do you mean, notes?"
She halts mid-sentence, bites her lip and seems to deflate, "Um… in my diary? About you? How you gave me a job and what a nice man you are, a perfect gentleman in every respect? I've written about her showing up at your place too! Oooo, I've got the dates and times and locations of all her tricks. She won't get away with accusing you of anything and I'm sure the other officers will back me up."
He chuckles then, relaxing a fraction, "Hmm, if you ever tire of housework, you could start training to be a police officer. You seem to have good instincts."
She slips into the chair beside him, "Um, yeah, sure, maybe." She signals through an open window to someone inside then smiles, "But, now, your surprise."
He sighs tiredly, "My surprise? What…" but that's as far as he gets because at that moment a fragrant pot of black tea is plunked down in front of him and he is transported instantly to heaven. He hears the fragile clink of fine china but just keeps breathing deep the lilting steam of the tannic infusion that is proper tea. He only opens his eyes when he hears the faint gurgle of pouring liquid. His hand shoots out to forestall Camille as he whispers, "How long has it been steeping?"
Camille looks from his whirling eyes up to their server, "Um, I don't know. Maman, how long?"
Richard's eyes jerk up to the woman standing over them and he shoots to his feet, "Oh, pardon me, Madam Bordey, please forgive my manners. It's been a very trying day and now you bring tea. REAL tea! How can I ever thank you?" He sinks back down, gratitude in his every mien.
Catherine Bordey regards the man for quite a long time before saying, "Two minutes at the most, certainly no longer." Then she turns to her daughter, "Thank you for finally bringing him. I see now what you see." She smiles and goes back into the building where she is evidently the most welcome and revered brewer of teas.
Richard drops his hand off Camille's wrist as she puts the teapot back down. "Black tea needs 3 minutes minimum to steep," he hushes, leaning forward once more to inhale the curl of steam issuing from the tea spout, eyes closed in deepest devoted British bliss.
She sits back, amused, and watches him imbibe the very air. At pre-CISE-ly one minute (she is sure of it) he reaches out, takes the pot most carefully, and pours. He glances about the table top then says, "Um, aren't you having any?"
She props her sharp little chin into a palm, "I don't drink tea. I've never seen the attraction." She watches his lip caress the cup-rim, sees his eager face, hears his tiny sip, notices his gentle clasp upon the cup handle… and suddenly sees the attraction after all. She snap-clicks in through the window and a second china set is brought out at speed.
She purses her lips as he pours for her, "But maybe it's time I tried something new. At least, that's what Maman's been telling me lately and I think…" she takes a synchronized sip with him and it is very good, "… I think this time maybe she and I finally agree on something."
END – part 8