*OK, before we start, please, all my dozen or so German readers, don't go all Sturm und Drang on me, that few seconds on the beach in S1E2 is so funny and I've always wondered what the German couple themselves thought about it. Everything else just sort of fell out onto the page with no offense meant.

*LolaBee53/Guest(s) – you DID ask, a long time ago, and here's my answer.

S1E2 – Do Germans Smile?

Part 1 of 2

Camille strides along the beach in the twilight, relishing the silky brush of fine sand beneath her bare soles. It's her evening off but Richard is 'on' and so he is happily ensconced at the station behind an absolute fortress of paper, gleefully filling out forms with his elegant script, she is sure.

She smiles, looking up to the luxury 'roundels' dotted above the tide-line here. Such lovely accommodations. Maybe, one day, if we manage a day off together, if we aren't recovering from a strenuous case, if we aren't called away to chase after yet another murderer, and if we can save up the money… maybe WE could take one of those elegant round beach bungalows for a night… maybe TWO nights... and just make love to each other non-stop while ordering terribly expensive room service!

She shuts her eyes and shivers at the thought of having him all to herself. Two nights is probably pushing it… for him... but I could do it… nnnoooo problem! Just him and me and that monstrous round bed with platters of exotic fruits and boxes of chocolates and bottles of rum… mmmm!

She chuffs a soft laugh. Yes, it's a nice dream but… she shakes her head… but no, there's no spare cash for such a wasteful daydream. We're saving for a house; a big cool airy house with air-conditioning in the home office and main bedroom, a fully-outfitted kitchen, a wrap-around veranda on the ground floor with a private balcony on the second floor, sheltering trees, remote beach, and an unobstructed view of the ocean. Just like his current home… only bigger… ready to fill up… just right for…

Raucous laughter intrudes on her dreamy thoughts. She comes back to herself and sees a large gathering of visitors collected under the White Resort's trees. She can tell they are visitors because they are all a tell-tale deep tannish-red, the colour of people who have taken a lot of sun recently but who do not come from sunny climes. She bends an ear, hears guttural German, and remembers…

…remembers her first walk on this beach with him. He's been a dark little storm-cloud on the endless golden sands, fretting and fuming and fussing, walking like he had glass in his shoes instead of harmless sand, sweating and groaning in the heat. They were on their way to question a witness/suspect and she'd been totally out of patience with this stroppy English man!

She laughs, remembering how he'd suddenly stiffened at her side and hissed, "Down! Keep your eyes down!" She's jumped and looked frantically about. Was there something dangerous on the beach? But, no, for he hid behind his hand and stage-whispered, "German! I bet they're Germans!" And he'd fake-smiled and waved to the elderly couple that watched them walk past.

She remembers the woman saying something and the man laughing as Richard had stilted awkwardly away as fast as he could. She'd dashed after him, trying to keep up, looking back over her shoulder to a seemingly harmless couple standing on the beach. She remembers thinking… For a man who hates sand as much as he professes, he sure can churn it up when he wants to! But then they'd reached Stefan and Richard was back to his usual self; brusque, rude, and impatient.

Germans, she muses as she comes abreast of the party beneath the trees, what is it about Germans that puts the fright into Richard so? Could it be a hold-over from the war, The Blitz, the rationing and hardships of an older generation? His parents would have memories, his grandparents too. Somehow those people had instilled into Richard an unreasonable dislike for an entire country of people that mean no one any harm at all! They are just…

Her thoughts crash to a halt when she hears a rough male voice clearly state, "… and that idiotic Engländer just hid behind his hand and pretended not to see us!" Laughter rings out and Camille Bordey-Poole whirls to face it as the voice continues, "Oh, I could tell he vas ein Engländer. That stiff upper lip matched the poker up his…" This bon mot is interrupted by the sudden intrusion by one very indignant stranger sprinting in out of the gloaming and standing four-square in the midst of such hilarity.

"Ex-CUSE me," Camille grits through clenched teeth, "but are you perhaps alluding to a man and a woman who passed you on this beach about a year ago?"

An older burly man nods, pointing a finger, "Yes, yes, right there! Do you know this man? Not so tall, hot wool suit, sweaty face, big shoes, pale little squinty eyes…"

Camille makes fists, "Green, his eyes are green," she mutters but no one hears because the group is laughing and joking in German again.

The tall man continues, "Bad enough this beach has to be polluted by ein Engländer who doesn't know he isn't in England anymore but there was a skinny little islander trotting after him like a lapdog. He obviously had no eyes for her but SHE… well, you know what they say about the locals down here." He laughs uproariously but the older woman standing beside him suddenly doesn't seem so amused anymore and eyes Camille warily.

"Karl," she barks, "you've had too much to drink. Time maybe you should stop."

"Nonsense, Gerta, I am happy. This island is so beautiful and the people are so friendly!" He slops a bit of his beer pointing up to the hotel building behind them.

"Mmm," his wife mutters, "especially the pretty young waitresses, nein?"

Camille speaks up, reminding everyone that there is a 'local' right here in front of them, "Our people work very hard to make your holiday an enjoyable one. They deserve respect."

Most of the group have the grace to look slightly chagrined… but not Karl. He laughs and nods, "Hey, do you know this man? Is he still in his silly suit?"

"I'll have you know," Camille growls low, "that man is our Chief of Police. He caught a double-murderer right here in this hotel. You should be thankful we have such a man protecting you while you party and drink beer on our safe island!"

The wife perks up, "Oh! I remember reading about it in the papers after we got home. Two women, wasn't it? Shot? Strangled? Oh, I forget the details. There's SO much bad news these days."

Camille nods fiercely, "Shot AND strangled. The killer was psychotic. If you ask me, it was only a matter of time before he turned onto the tourists." She enjoys the frisson of fear that passes over these sun-burnt faces. There! That ought to shut them up!

The wife puts a cold hand onto Camille's arm, "And… and your man caught this killer? You're sure?"

Camille sighs with satisfaction, "Yes, he did! And he's kept this island safe ever since." She darts a dark look at Karl, "And he deserves a little respect for that, too, don't you think?"

Karl's eyebrows go up and he takes a belligerent step towards her, "I only respect men bigger than me! Your puny little Engländer probably has big men to back him up. I'd like to see him take ME in a fist fight. I'd show him a thing or two!"

The big man is getting agitated. His wife steps in to calm him down and gets an errant elbow that knocks her into a vacant chair. A younger man leaps to his feet and shouts something in German that Karl replies to with gusto. Within moments fists are flying and people are scurrying away and the Officer of the Peace aka Camille Bordey-Poole steps in with verve…

… and just as vervily gets punched in the eye.

Things amp WAY up after that, both in Newtons and in decibels.

END – part 1

*I looked into booking one of these luxury roundels. Mmm-mm, luscious. And expensive!*