S1 E6 – Catherine hears very well
Poor man. So sick. What he needs is a good feeding and some old-fashioned mothering. It has been a long time since she nursed anyone through an illness. It feels good to be the care-giver. She cleavers the feathery carcass happily.
A bit later, she isn't so sure it is mothering he needs. He calls out Camille's name, entwines his hands frantically in hers, grips her tight as a life-line. Something about his intense regard sets off her mother-radar, the one that blares 'potential son-in-law'! Non! Impossible! Not him! Surely it is the fever talking?
But his next shout amps up her suspicions, 'What if someone sees us together?!'
Sees them? Where? When? What has been going on behind my back? With my own daughter?! Oh, this tea-imbiber has some explaining to do… but he is fading. She can't get any more sense out of him. Questions, she has questions. And only he has the answers!
As she tends him, she wonders. Has he let slip a secret? She must wait until his next lucid period. Right now he is lost. All she can do is cool him down with damp cloths... and she can't help noticing how finely put together he is. None of this shows through the suits, which is, of course, why he wears the suits. Mmm, if he were a bit older or I were a bit younger… what a challenge he would be! But non! If he has his heart set on Camille… although, it is an intriguing question… if we both went after him, who would win? She laughs, it is too ridiculous. Still… an intriguing question.
Later still, she finds him lively, almost manic. He laughs, makes the joke, practically bounces on the bed. She realizes this is the time to pose her questions. But not forthrightly, non, let's be very French and do it sideways. She tells him Camille is cutting her trip short due to his illness, that she will be home very soon, tells him this and then watches very carefully.
She needn't have bothered. His every look, his every move, the curve of his nervous pleased smile, the blatant need in his fever-bright eyes says it all… out loud and in both languages. She smiles with satisfaction. Yes! He is totally smitten! Grandchildren are on the horizon! Half-English grandchildren, true, but with careful rearing they will be mostly French… and it serves him right! How dare he stall like this? Time and babies wait for no man!
"Why can't you Brits ever just say how you feel?"
"We can!"
"Go on, then."
He looks like a little boy trying to get out of trouble, wide guileless eyes, shrugging innocence, 'don't be mad at me, I'm just a babe in the woods' smile. She tries to focus him, get to the truth, babies are at stake here!
"Don't think about it first. You let it out." There! Surely that is enough prompting? Open your mouth, Englishman, and let the truth out. Say it!
He opens his mouth. He says something… but not the something she expects! Her soup? What has soup got to do with it? She realizes his fever is not over. She sees sweat gathering on his skin, sees him spiralling down into the next storm… he is lost once more. The moment is over and he did not tell her what she needed to hear! Merde! She huffs in disappointment and leaves. Let him suffer in solitude then! If he cannot find the courage to admit the truth, let him suffer alone!
She is highly vexed! The nerve of some people's children! His mother must be so proud! And also grandchild-less! Poor woman! She sincerely hopes Richard Poole has siblings because the Poole name is going to die out if he is the best example of progenerative material they have to offer!
How can there be so many English if they haven't a clue about love and grand-babies!? It is a mystery.
As she walks back to town, she thinks he is NOT so fine after all, just a clueless man, bumbling around in the dark, doomed to die alone and unloved. Camille will be home soon and it is all for naught. Where, oh where, will the grand-babies arise? Certainly not from those loins, pleasant though they be!
Time for plan B, as in 'Blind Dates'. It is the only option left.
Sorry, Camille, cheri, but there just isn't any hope on the Poole front.
It would take a miracle… or… the intervention of higher powers…
She slows to a halt, listens to the wind, watches the clouds, sniffs the air.
Hmmm.
END