S1 E6 - Our good friend Harry
He appeared when Richard Poole arrived. No one saw him but Richard Poole. Then Camille Bordey.
They mention the lizard during a casual team conversation at the station. Fidel and Dwayne look at each other, "A lizard? In YOUR house? I can't believe you'd allow it."
"Well, I tried my best to shoo him out but he's like a bad penny, keeps turning up. Yesterday he ran up my leg in the shower. Horrible feeling, those cool little paws running over… well, never mind. Gave me quite a turn, I can tell you."
Choking quietly on her coffee, Camille thinks, And now it's giving ME quite a turn! Thanks a lot!
"Well, why haven't WE seen Harry?" Fidel asks. Dwayne nods.
"Dunno. He usually turns up when things are quiet. You are NEVER quiet, Dwayne."
Dwayne grins, "No, I'm not known for it, that's for sure. But if he likes the quiet, why has Camille seen him? Things are usually pretty noisy when you two get together."
Camille desperately studies the bottom of her coffee mug.
Poole smooths his tie.
Dwayne studies them as they ignore each other, "Um hum." He thinks a moment, remembers something, "You know, my granny used to tell us a story. It's not up your alley, Chief, but we loved it. It was about a bird the Loa sent to watch over a special little boy who got into all kinds of trouble but was saved by the bird every time. Oh, how we'd laugh at the hi-jinks that kid got himself into."
Poole looks a bit shocked, "What, like a witches' familiar?"
"Oh, I don't think witches came into it. We have different stories here."
Poole sounds a bit indignant, "Because if you ARE implying Harry is a familiar, that makes me the witch, or, more properly, a warlock."
There is much shifting of feet and furtive looks between Fidel and Dwayne. Camille is still mesmerized by her mug but listening avidly.
Poole narrows his eyes, "Yesss?" he hisses.
Fidel leaps into the tense silence, "Well, sir, there IS talk of your exceptional… "
Dwayne interjects, "… spooky… "
Fidel carries on, "… detection skills: solving the voodoo case, appearing unexpectedly in places you weren't at a moment ago, eyes in the back of your head… "
Dwayne jumps in again, "People say you can smell guilt. No one can lie to you and get away with it."
Fidel nods, "Right. A smile from you means good luck all day long."
Poole falls back into his chair, a slightly shocked look on his face, "Good Lord. And people are saying this right here in town?"
Both officers nod. Dwayne looks grim, "And a FROWN from you means 'Watch Your Step, You!' Bad things are gonna happen if you don't straighten up right smart! Like that guy you ran down in the market. He ended up in the hospital!"
Poole looks at Camille, "Did you know about this?" She still won't look at him. Nods slightly.
Poole slaps his desktop, making everyone jump, "Well, why didn't someone tell me? I can't be swanning about town with this sort of nonsense following in my wake! How can anyone take me seriously with such claptrap in the air?"
Dwayne clears his throat, "Well, Chief, it's made your life a bit easier so don't be too mad."
Poole is calming down, taking long slow breaths, "Oh? How?"
Dwayne looks at Fidel who puts up his hands in a warding-off gesture and shakes his head. Not me. No way. Dwayne sighs and turns back, "OK, you're not goin' to like this much either."
Poole braces himself. What in god's name can be worse than being thought a supernatural being?
"It's the ladies," Dwayne mutters. More furtive looks between Dwayne and Fidel that now include Camille's downcast eyes. Poole sees it and looks from them to Camille then back again.
"The ladies what?" Poole manages. He notices Camille is colouring. Oh, lord, this is going to be bad.
"I've heard talk that the ladies… SOME ladies… would like to get to… you know… get to know you a bit better." He rushes on, seeing the grey pall on his Chief's face, "Sort of bask in your protective circle, so to speak, maybe even… " He has to stop. The Chief is ashen.
Dwayne then notices that Camille is boring twin lasers into the back of his skull. If looks could kill, Dwayne Myers would be painted all over the walls. He gulps. Time to shut up now. But the Chief has heard the interruption. Of course he has. He's the Chief.
Lips stiff, Poole manages, "… maybe even…?"
Dwayne blushes, a rare sight, "Oh, you know. Lady stuff."
Fidel finally swallows the lump in his throat and hastens to reassure his mentor, "I'm sure it's all meant with the utmost respect, sir! The people are proud of you… proud of US for working with you. No one has an unkind word to say."
While the two officers try to calm their boss, the conversation becomes a drone to Camille's ears. She is incensed! She's noticed the looks in the streets, in the establishments, out in public. Women watching him, talking to him, trying to get his attention. He, being his oblivious English self, didn't see it for what it was. But she sees it. She just hadn't realized things had progressed this far. She is fuming but feels impotent to interject herself into this ridiculously dangerous discussion. She notices that a silence has fallen. Good. Talk over. Back to work.
But no… Dwayne hems, "Um, Chief?"
Poole groans, "Oh, NOW what?"
Fidel urges Dwayne to continue. They conduct a furious hand signal war. Dwayne crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. He's said enough and gotten into enough trouble as it is. Your turn.
Fidel straightens his shoulders, "You haven't been bothered so far because of Camille, sir."
Poole freezes then leans forward, elbows on desk, sinks his head into his hands, "Explain, please."
Fidel fidgets, "People thought you and Camille were… developing a… a rapport. Most of the women are afraid of her. They don't dare get on her wrong side."
Dwayne steps up to Fidel's side, "That's right, Chief. Camille's rep is known all over the island."
Poole mutters into his hands, "And rightly so. Any man with a single working neuron, beware. Go on."
Fidel rushes on, "But since there clearly ISN'T a rapport, some people may feel the coast is clear…"
"… and you're now fair game. Sorry, Chief." Dwayne finishes, sees the Chief's shoulders slump.
Camille can't take anymore. She jumps to her feet, startling them all. Desperate to change the topic, she makes a fatal mistake, "Oh, please! He's not even my type!" She sees the flash of hurt on Richard's face and the flinch of commiseration in the others. Oh, merde. That was rude. Not to mention a lie!
Dwayne smarts on his Chief's behalf… he knows it's a lie... he has eyes, after all… and manly pride is at stake here, right? He takes up the challenge. He looks at her sternly, hands on hips, "Oh, yes? Then what IS your type, hmmm? All those blinds dates. All those men. Do you even HAVE a type?"
Camille backs down, flustered, ashamed that she's hurt Richard and guarding her secret to the last, "Well, no, not really... not yet... not for certain... but I could! Anyway, it's none of your business!" She whirls away, tense, hiding her face.
Dwayne has had enough. He is a patient man but the time for games is over. He smirks, says low and menacing, "Wait too long and he'll be gone. Off the island or snapped up by one of those 'English Roses' that seem to find him so irresistible. A man can't wait forever. Not even a patient one."
Camille blanches. Her back is to them but even Richard sees her stiffen. He looks to his other officers. Fidel is motionless, some huge emotion shining in his eyes. Dwayne looks pissed, at the end of his rope, impatient. Dwayne sees his Chief's puzzled gaze. Oh, man, he truly doesn't know who I'm talkin' about. OK, Myers, do it. Just do it. Time to end the pain for everyone.
Very slowly, so as not to spook his boss any more than he already is, Dwayne points to Camille's taut back then to the Chief himself. The Chief's eyebrows fly up. He shakes his head slowly. No. No way. Fidel and Dwayne both nod back, very slowly. Yes. Yes way. The Chief puts both hands on his chest, eyes widening in question. Me? They nod again. The Chief tips his head towards Camille. Her? They both cross their hearts. A complicated sign language begins to fly back and forth in total silence.
While this game of charades is going on, Camille's mind is a maelstrom. How will she dig herself out of this awful hole? Some stupid story about some vacationer that she'd just met and maybe he was THE ONE and he was leaving soon and… Oh! Why can't I just tell him? Maybe things have gone on for too long. Maybe it's time. Maybe soon. But definitely not now! Not with these two useless men underfoot. Useless and no help at all! She takes a deep calming breath and turns back to the room.
All three men sweep their hands behind their backs like guilty school children. She gives them a guarded look. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that you aren't right. Her suspicions are interrupted when Richard groans and slowly collapses into his chair, holding his forehead.
Richard looks to his compatriots... so much information in so little time. What is he supposed to do with it? He whispers, "My brain hurts." The men look sympathetic but they are stumped too.
Camille does not hesitate. He's collapsed! Heat stroke! Again! The foolish foolish man, him and his wool suits and stupid ties! He's going to kill himself! She rushes to his side, unmindful that she is the only one moving. The other men watch, slightly puzzled, gauging the scene before them.
"Sir! Richard! Are you all right? Don't move. I'll get you some water." As she bolts to the fridge, Richard looks after her in stunned silence. He glances at the men. Fidel looks worried but Dwayne gives a cautious thumbs-up. Richard takes a deep breath and settles a bit.
Camille is back, offering him cold water. He drinks. It does feel wonderful. His whole body is shaking but his hand is steady. She kneels, one hand on his knee, the other patting his arm. She looks scared, worried sick. No sneer. No smirk. No sharp quip about his thin English blood. Thinking back, he can't actually recall the last time she's insulted him meanly. His mind clicks into overdrive and he reviews the case. In moments, he has a new theory based on today's leads.
"Camille, can you help me out of this jacket?" She does so. As she turns away to hang it up, he looks to his wingmen once more. Fidel smiles and nods. Dwayne gives two thumbs-up.
Camille is back. Richard waves a weak hand at his throat. His tie is off and his top button undone. Over her shoulder, he sees Fidel put both hands over his heart. Dwayne is making a 'reeling in the fish' motion and grinning like a loon. Richard closes his eyes for a moment then nods back. He's sure now. The emotions roaring through him are irrefutable and undeniable. All he had needed was confirmation.
Camille looks over her shoulder, Why aren't those two helping? They whirl and walk briskly to their desks. Men! No good in a crisis. Lucky I was here. I'll always be here... if only he realizes it soon. A woman can only live so long on dreams and desire.
He takes her hand, "I'd like to go home. I'm sure Dwayne and Fidel can close up the office. Will you take me home?" She nods, starts to pick up his briefcase. He stops her, "Leave it. I won't need that tonight." She looks to her co-workers. They look as surprised as she feels.
As they leave the station, Dwayne makes an 'OK' gesture that heartens Richard up quite a bit.
Pausing at the door, Richard sees the market down below. Things are winding down with the late afternoon sun but, watching now, he sees it. It is very subtle but now he knows what to look for. How had he missed it? They are being watched.
At the Defender, he pauses. He takes her hand and kisses her cheek, mutters, "Thank you for all your help," to cover up the real reason for the kiss. He sees the ripple effect pass through the stalls and is satisfied that, by morning, their 'rapport' will be known far and wide. He feels safer already.
Camille is in shock, He's hallucinating! He's being NICE! She gets him into the vehicle then peels out as smoothly as possible and heads for the hospital. A minute later he asks her to pull over into a secluded area where he hopes they can get a few moments of privacy.
It takes less time than he thought it would. He has only to say 3 little words and she is in his arms, laughing and calling him all sorts of names that wouldn't ordinarily be deemed love talk.
Breaking off from a most thrilling kiss, he hesitantly asks, "Am I even REMOTELY your type?"
Her eyes grow sharp, a feral grin glints. She very slowly crawls onto him, pushes him back into his corner, and shows him exactly what her type is. He is stunned at first then responds with ardor until he remembers where they are. He has to exert quite a bit of effort to peel her off. He is panting, "Not here, please. I don't want our first time to be a floor show for all and sundry."
"Our first time? Do you foresee repeat performances?"
"Oh, yes. But not here. Never on the job. Can you live with that?"
"Does it mean I have free rein when we're NOT on the job?"
"Ah. Not in public. Not on the beach. Never in the sea. In total seclusion with absolute privacy… "
"… like YOUR place!" She catapults back behind the wheel and peels out not at all smoothly.
Upon arrival, he clambers down shakily, leans on the fender, laughs, "That was quite a ride."
She takes his arm, wraps it around her waist, looks up at him, "Oh, sir. You have NO idea!"
He groans, "PLEASE don't call me 'sir'! Not even in jest, OK?"
She grins evilly, "I have some other suggestions. Tell me if you like any of THESE names," and she whispers all the way to his door. He is flustered and quite pleased but manages to get the door open.
Laying down his keys, he looks around his home and is stunned. It's not a home at all. It's just a way station where his life has stalled. He sees Camille, so beautiful, so alive, his future, and he knows what he has to do before anything else.
He takes her hand and leads her up the steps into the living area. She veers towards the bed but he shakes his head and gently pulls her out onto the veranda. He sits her down then sits to face her across his little table. She looks scared.
He takes both her hands in his, "I need to tell you something first."
She swallows, "Oh, god. You're going to tell me something awful, aren't you? Can't you make love? Don't you want to? Is there someone else?"
He shakes his head to stem her flow of words, "Yes. Yes. No. Listen… will you listen?"
She nods, soothed by his gentle voice, "Tell me."
"I know this is sudden but you have to know my thoughts. This place is all wrong. I want a decent home. I want to share that home with you as my wife. I want children." He pauses. Is she breathing? Uh oh, I've overloaded her circuits. Too much, too soon, Poole, you dumb ass. She's going to scarper.
"Richard?"
"Yes? Please don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere. Would this weekend be too soon to start house hunting?"
"Er, no, I don't think so."
"And can we get married as soon as we have a house?" A huge wave of relief washes over him.
"Of course. I've waited years for you. I don't want to lose another moment."
"And Richard… ?" She looks at him from under her brows. His heart rate spikes.
"Um... yes?" A light sweat is breaking out now. Is he having a fever attack?
"About the children… can we start that right now?" She pulls him up out of his chair, backing up with a dancing movement that draws his eyes to her hips like iron fillings to a magnet.
"Honestly, Camille, I'm trying to keep a civil tongue in my head. I'm trying to plan our future."
She kisses him once he is over the threshold, "Our future is here… waiting... and as for your tongue… "
She leads him to his bed.
END – S1 E5 - Our Good Friend Harry