I couldn't really work out whether Sally and Humphrey's divorce had gone through. I know he describes her as his 'ex-wife', but in the UK, you can only obtain an amicable divorce if you've lived apart for more than two years. Any earlier than that and it would be on the grounds of either adultery or unreasonable behaviour. So, as I don't think Humphrey has been on the island for at least 2 years before Sally comes back, I've come up with my own solution, which may be a bit unfair on Sally. I'm not sure she's quite that much of a bitch, despite what Camille may think…!
I'm not sure my version will hold up legally, so if there was some comment in one of the episodes that explains what really happened, please let me know, as I may have missed it!
When Sally reappeared so suddenly in his life, Humphrey could say with certainty that it was completely, entirely unexpected.
He'd done his best to be the ideal 'ex-husband-to-be' – was that even a term? – making sure he did everything that was requested of him. Sally had wanted to get things moving and, as she couldn't divorce him on grounds of adultery, she'd submitted an application based on 'desertion'.
The usual placid Humphrey had been somewhat outraged by this – how dare she accuse him of desertion? But, as his London-based solicitor had diplomatically pointed out, this was the solution most likely to achieve the required outcome. Humphrey quitting his secure, well-paid job to move to the Caribbean with very little notice, regardless of the circumstances at the time, and then his refusal to return even though Sally hadn't followed him, looked like unreasonable behaviour when seen in cold text. The alternative, trying to claim that Sally had deserted him because she hadn't left her secure, well-paid UK job to move to the Caribbean where there were no obvious opportunities for her, would never have passed scrutiny. And, did he really want this situation to drag on for two years, with Sally getting more frustrated with him?
At the moment, their relationship was reasonably amicable. Most communication was through their solicitors, but there had been a few slightly nervous, over-friendly phone calls to discuss practicalities such as storage of his possessions and re-direction of his mail. He'd come to rely on those calls, feeling as if he still had some connection with his wife – ex-wife – as long as they continued.
So, he'd obediently completed the paperwork, even getting Camille to double-check that he'd done everything exactly right. And then the letter arrived, announcing the decree absolute…and that was that. No more contact, no more discussion over the rights and wrongs of the situation. No more opportunity to put his foot down and say that no, this was wrong. He no longer had the right to take an interest in Sally's life.
Unfortunately, the letter had arrived at work. Nothing new there – the postal service to his beach house was sporadic, so he preferred to pick up his mail here. But it didn't help that the entire team were there at that very moment and that it was a quiet Friday, with no serious cases to be investigated. Fortunately, Camille had taken one look at his face, noted the postmark on the official-looking envelope, and had bustled Dwayne and Fidel out to take a "proper coffee break for a change".
By the time they'd returned, he'd plastered a smile on his face and was ready to get on with the day job. And if he'd been a little quiet over an after-work drink…well, it had been a particularly hot day and he had a bit of a headache, and then he was getting the house repainted the following day and needed to move some furniture, so it was only reasonable to leave early.
Camille had shown a great deal of delicacy in taking on some responsibility until he'd felt a little better about the situation. That alone showed how well she'd got to know him, since a genuinely off-his-game Humphrey probably didn't seem all that different to his usual persona.
Over the last year, she'd become, without a doubt, the best DS he'd ever had. She might not be as obviously efficient as some of the eager beavers he'd come into contact with at the Met, but there was little that got past her. With some of his past detective sergeants, if he asked for some paperwork to be done, he could guarantee it would be presented ahead of time and in-triplicate if needed. He wouldn't get that kind of response from Camille, but what he would get was common sense. If it was important, she would prioritise it, and he knew he could rely on her good judgement. And, more importantly, she understood his methods. There were still times when his behaviour left her scratching her head in confusion, but her trust was obvious. And he trusted her too – to pick up clues that he might have missed, and to have an understanding of the local situation and local psychologies that might have otherwise eluded him. All in all, he'd be loath to lose her.
Take the latest case – the apparent suicide of Dr Emma Redding at the retirement complex. It was Camille who had been the first to realise that it wasn't suicide after all; without her, Humphrey might not have picked up the significance of the party dress. It was a particularly frustrating case – how did one get past the fact that the door had been locked from the inside? And then there was something about some of the other residents that concerned him.
He was in full case mode, firing on all cylinders and talking to Camille about Jim and Pam Chandler – there was something about them, something almost like jealousy – when his DS jerked her head to the side.
And there stood Sally. A little smile on her face. Murmuring something about how she should have called first.
His initial reaction had been paralysing shock – followed very quickly by fury. How dare she appear here! Here – where she quite certainly didn't belong.
He didn't recognise it as fury at that point. All he knew was that the two halves of his life seemed to have coalesced in the most bizarre way. Weird to think that only a few months' ago, he'd expected – had wanted – Sally to join him here. Back then, he would have been delighted to see her standing there, but now, all he could think was how utterly wrong she looked. She'd attempted to dress for the part – the pale-skinned tourist sensibly protected from the sun in loose-fitting clothes and a hat – and even that was bloody annoying. Trust Sally to manage to look as well turned out and as sensible as ever, even in the extreme heat of Saint-Marie.
Another part of him admitted that she looked as good as she had ever done.
As he stumbled his way through an embarrassed introduction, he found himself comparing her to Camille. No traveller, she. Utterly at home here, in this torrid tropical little corner of the earth. Completely, utterly right for Honore, but quite wrong for the grey skies and bland faces of London.
And that was the point. There was no place for Sally in this crazy, upside-down world he had found himself in. Her practical appearance, her cool-headed logic, her very 'Englishness' had no basis here.
He'd made his arrangements to meet her at the bar later on in a strange daze, and for the rest of the day, she'd dominated his thoughts. Her appearance had unsettled him – reminded him of a past life that had not always been so bad…or was it just that humans were programmed only to remember the good times? His mind had kept returning to their early days in Bournemouth and the pretty, practical young woman he remembered.
Why was she here? And why now? He'd only recently emerged from a less-than-pleasant conversation with his father, during which he'd admitted that his marriage was over and then had endured as much recrimination as he could bear. Had his parents got in touch with Sally, tried to talk her around? It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility – she'd always got on well with them. But against that was the fact that Sally, once convinced she was right about something, was utterly determined to see it through.
So…why? And why hadn't she phoned ahead to warn him? The possible reasons had turned over and over in his head all day, making him dizzy with expectation. By the time he'd turned up at the bar, having given his hair up as a bad job, he'd been ready to throw his life back into her hands.
At first, it was like old times, meeting for a drink at the end of a busy day. Her smile was gentle as she looked at him, and his heart ached as he asked the one 'why' that was probably the most important.
"Why aren't we married anymore?"
As she looked away from him, the words began to tumble out – words he'd never said to her in those stilted phone calls. "I still don't understand, I got your message and I listened to it, over and over, and it doesn't really tell me anything…except of course that you didn't really love me anymore which is…fair enough, but…" I looked at her, intently. "Did I do something wrong."
He didn't know what he expected her reply to be. Was he about to find out that there was someone else, or was it simply that she didn't love him anymore? But he couldn't have predicted what she did say…and it held a ring of truth as she told him how she had got 'lost'.
She carried on, speaking frankly and with a heavy emphasis on certain words: "I was drowning in this never-ending whirlpool of niceness and understanding and routine. Everything was a soggy fat huge predictable blob."
The words were an icy cold slap in the face. He stared at her, muttering, "Sorry" in something of a daze.
She didn't seem to notice the tumult in his mind as she prattled on about how it was all her fault and how she thought she had wanted something new and exciting – and all he could think was… something…or someone?
He must have said something in reply, something slightly humorous, because she smiled at him: "I miss how smart you are."
He looked up at her in astonishment. It wasn't the first time she'd referenced his intelligence – an intelligence that others often failed to notice, but it had always been in company, and he'd often wondered whether she actually believed it rather than simply being defensive.
She reached across the table towards him, and his gaze dropped to her small, almost delicate hand, covering his much-larger one. That was something that Humphrey had always loved about Sally – the physical contrast between them had always made him feel deeply protective of her. Belatedly, he wondered what she made of the fact that he still wore his wedding ring, and then he noticed the matching one on her own finger. He felt his hand curving slightly, wanting more than anything to twist his wrist and entwine his fingers with hers, as so often before.
But still those words hung heavy in the torpid air between them…soggy…fat…huge…predictable…
"And I'm starting to realise that letting you go may well qualify as the biggest mistake I've ever made."
This can't be happening. It simply cannot be… His instinct at that moment was to flee, to put as much distance between them as possible…
Belatedly, she seemed to notice his distress and paled, reaching out towards him. "Humph – I just need -."
But he was already rising, stumbling away, hardly able to see. He was vaguely aware of Catherine, near the bar, looking at him in concern, but she faded from his view and he turned away and fled into the night.
If she called out after him, he didn't hear.
Somehow he'd got himself back to the beach house. He didn't entirely remember how, but he was sitting on his chair, staring at the wall, so it had happened. Interesting that his sensory memory would automatically led him back here – back to home.
Home. Funny that it had never felt quite so strongly his as it did tonight. For a long time, it had been Richard's or just simply the 'DI's house' – a post that he just happened to occupy at that moment in time. At any time, he expected Sir Selwyn to tell him that his tenure was over and that he'd be returning to London.
But tonight… He'd never really got around to considering his long-term future but suddenly he knew that he would fight tooth and nail to keep this job. Not going to sleep to the gentle lapping of the water? Not waking up to the harsh call of the tropical birds that nested in the trees? Unthinkable.
He let out a shuddering sigh. He kept hearing her low, impassioned voice, spitting out those hateful words. Soggy. Fat. Huge. Predictable. Blob. Why did it feel as if those words had been directed at him and not just at their life together? He'd written them down, but he hadn't really needed to – they were burnt into his memory.
Less than a minute later, she'd praised his intelligence. But what was true? Could he believe anything she said anymore?
He stood up and paced the small room, unable to keep still. Why did she have to come here – why right now, when he was moving on with his life? When he'd tried so bloody hard to get over her? It felt cruel, and his fury began to rise in him again.
What had she said? That she'd 'let him go', when it was her who had abandoned him!
And yet… and yet, she was right. She was always right, of course. They had been drifting along in a boring, predictable routine. Just because it broke his heart to have it confirmed, that didn't mean she wasn't fundamentally correct.
He slept badly, his physical exhaustion warring with his turbulent thoughts, both about Sally and the unsolved murder. Humphrey wasn't a great sleeper at the best of times, and particularly during a case. He had a few techniques that he used to help him drop off, but they weren't working tonight. It didn't help that he knew he'd have to face Sally the following day. This situation had to be resolved one way or another; it had been appallingly rude of him to walk away from her the way he had.
At one point, somewhere before sleeping and waking, he had a sensory memory of Sally leaning over him, her small hands pressing between his shoulder blades. It was a technique that she sometimes used when he couldn't sleep – rubbing gently down his spine and whispering soothing nonsense in his ear. His eyes fluttered open and he turned his head, drowsily seeking her mouth… The pressure on his back disappeared, but just before it did, he had an odd impression that the hands pressing there so gently weren't pale like Sally's hands, but dark brown…
His eyes shot open and he turned over properly, but there was no one there of course.
He stared at the ceiling, bemused and troubled, before sleep finally overtook him.
He was woken by the shrill sound of his telephone. He rolled out of bed, falling heavily onto his knees; the pain shaking him fully awake.
"Uh…hello?"
"Humph?" The voice sounded tentative. "Is that you?"
"Sally?" He rubbed his sleepy eyes and rolled his shoulders, grunting as he worked the kinks out of his spine.
"Oh, did I wake you? You sound a bit... I'm sorry, it's a bit early, isn't it." She sounded embarrassed. "Jet lag. I didn't think…"
"No. No, it's fine." His mind began to clear a little. "Er – listen, about last night - ."
"No, please don't worry," she interrupted, quickly. "It was entirely my fault – I didn't mean to shock you…"
Her voice faded away. There was an expectant silence over the line, and after a few seconds, he cleared his throat.
"We need to talk some more."
"Yes, yes, we do." She spoke quickly, sounding relieved. "I was hoping… That is, can we meet again tonight? Only, I have to fly out tomorrow morning for a meeting in our Caribbean office. I can come back here before flying back to the UK, but -. "
"Yes," he said quickly, before he thought better of it. "Let's do that. Tonight, at Catherine's. Same time?"
"Yes." She paused, before adding, very quietly. "I am sorry, Humphrey -."
"Yes, well, we can talk about it later. Right now, I have a job to do." He put the phone down, slightly ashamed of his harsh tone, but then he really didn't want to get into a conversation right now. It was too early, for a start. And then there was the case…
She arrived at her usual time, half an hour before they had to leave for work. Usually, he'd put the kettle on and they'd have a coffee, sitting on the beach and enjoying the early morning peace before hitting the Honore rush hour traffic. After giving her Richard's diary, he'd feared that he'd ruined their friendship and that she'd stop this early morning routine, but his fears had been unfounded. It was true that she'd been a bit quiet and stilted for a couple of weeks, but her natural ebullience soon reasserted herself. Sometimes they'd sit in silence; sometimes they'd discuss the latest case in a lively manner, bouncing ideas off each other. Either way, it refreshed him; made him ready to face the day.
He hadn't made the coffee, but she didn't comment on that. Instead, it was all "Sir?" and professional concern. And yet, there was gentleness in her manner. Before she sat down next to him, she hesitated briefly, as if waiting for permission. He hated that; it felt as if some of the intimacy had gone out of their friendship. Camille didn't normally feel the need to hesitate.
It occurred to him that he wasn't the only one affected by Sally's sudden appearance. He wondered what she made of the situation. She'd been carefully neutral. Friendly towards Sally and encouraging about his 'date' the previous evening. The perfect colleague, in fact.
He looked at her curiously, and noticed how wonderfully fresh she looked in the early morning light, in that pretty green blouse. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were guarded, as if there was some emotion that she was trying to hide.
He felt a moment of compunction. "I'm sorry, Camille, if I've been…preoccupied since Sally arrived. It's very unprofessional of me."
She denied it, but he insisted on it and determinedly turned his mind to the matter at hand: the results of the toxicology report and the additional confusion over the source of the poisoning.
Camille had accepted his wish not to discuss the situation, but after a minute, he found himself confessing. "Sally wants to give it another go."
She hesitated for just a fraction before asking him, tentatively, "Is that what you want?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." As he told her about the arrangement to meet up, something a little complicated seemed to pass across her face before it settled back into neutrality once more.
She seemed encouraging, but he needed more than that – he wanted her to tell him, once and for all, what to do. She so clearly wanted to give an opinion, but he understood why she wouldn't – why she felt that she had no right to influence him. In an odd way, her diffidence warmed his heart.
As the day passed, his mind was a little more focused on the case. He sensed, as so often before, that the case was going to come to a climax today, if not tomorrow. However, as they flitted between the station and the retirement community, checking out the stories of Jim and Pam Chandler and David Witton, he had some time to turn his mind to his conundrum: should he say 'yes' to Sally?
There was no doubt that he still had feelings for her, but he wasn't clear about their nature. There was affection for their shared past, particularly the good times in the early days, and he was still attracted to her.
He looked at Pam, sobbing in Jim's arms, and reflected on how easy it was for communication to break down, even in the happiest of marriages. Had Pam's jealousy led her to murder Emma? He prayed not. But as he witnessed the moment of intimacy between a husband and wife facing illness and death once more, he tried to imagine himself and Sally, retired and in cosy domesticity, with grey hair and ageing bodies. He couldn't quite manage it.
And then he reflected on David's sad story, and his comment about "everyone having someone", even as something in the back of his mind clicked at the sight of Judith Musgrove and Colin Campbell by the pool. Yes, it would be good to have Sally back in his life. He could make it work. Everyone would like her – Camille already seemed quite positive about her - and he wouldn't be lonely anymore.
As he sat at the bar, two rum punches on the table, he had finally made his mind up. He would say "yes", and everything would be sorted out between them at last. He visualised happy evenings, sipping punches in the bar, with the boys and Camille and Catherine dropping by to say hello. Sally, looking tanned and relaxed, as happy as she had been in Bournemouth, before London claimed her from him.
The date started badly though. Sally hated the rum punch, and when he tried to tell her about his difficult day, interrupted him to change her order to the inevitable gin and slim. His heart sank. So far, so typical Sally. It could just as easily have been one of their evenings in London, with Humphrey wanting to offload the stresses of the day and Sally only half-concentrating.
And then, as Dwayne and Fidel interrupted and charmed her again (and she did a good job of charming them back), it seemed possible once more. They relaxed and laughed over his silly story of falling out of the window while dazed by jet-lag.
And yet, even then, she was still trying to manipulate him. Telling him she missed him and prompting him to return the sentiment. Even as he answered, he couldn't help comparing her with Camille's quiet support this morning. Never pushing. Never trying to manipulate or influence. Why had he never noticed that in Sally?
"Of course I miss you…." He paused, and then went on, determinedly. It had to be said, however much it may hurt. "Something you said yesterday…" He felt in his pocket. "I wrote it down, sorry…I thought it was important to remember what you said."
At first, she was amused and a little patronising as he fumbled in his pocket for the scrap of paper; not that he needed it, as he remembered every word. But as he repeated what she had said, her face dropped. "Humphrey…"
He raised his hand to stop her. "No, let me finish. You see, you were right - to feel that way. That's exactly how it was – for me too... I thought if we could start anew – find something different together, find something exciting, get out of our 'soggy blob'… we could be like we used to be."
She puts a hand over his. "That's what I want to do."
"But you didn't, did you, Sal? You didn't come with me. I was here, waiting for our fresh start, and you left me a message on an answerphone!" Suddenly, he saw her exactly for what she was, and struggled with his composure. "I was trying to save us and you were trying to save yourself."
He looked away from her, and found his eyes going towards Dwayne and Fidel. He saw, suddenly that Camille had joined them. He saw her head tilted towards Fidel, the warmth of her smile, the glint in her eye…
And, quite suddenly, he saw plain. And understood, finally, why he had been feeling so reluctant to try again.
His thoughts racing, he struggled to focus his attention back on Sally. "So I found different, and I found new and I found exciting… and I did all that without you. I'm someone else now, Sal."
Even now, there was disbelief in her small, pained laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."
"It's true." How to make her understand – make her see the truth? He cast around desperately, and his gaze fell on their drinks. "I'm – I'm rum punch and you're still gin and slim."
"Oh, God…" There was pain in her face now, along with the lingering disbelief. He could see that she simply couldn't believe that she would not be getting her way as usual. He had never refused her before. "You're dumping me."
"I'm sorry, Sal." And he was, really quite genuinely – his heart broke for her. "It's not what I wanted, it's just…what happened. You made it happen."
And he saw by the anguish in her face that she did – at last – understand. As she gave a stifled gasp and fled from the table, he made an abortive effort to stop her… but what would be the point?
He bent his head, overwhelmed by grief – for him, for his year of bewilderment, and for her, for poor Sally, who had been thwarted for perhaps the first time in her life. For their shared life, which had been good at times. He remembered the optimism, the happiness…and mourned it quietly, even as the relief spread through his body.
He felt quite calm and resolved, as he gave Camille the news. She sank into a chair, appearing to consider the implications. Once more, that oddly complicated expression flitted across her face.
"First time you walked out – and now her?"
He frowned, suddenly. "You weren't here the first time."
He was rewarded by a look of extreme embarrassment on his DS's face as she glanced towards the bar. "I was hiding."
"Oh…" Oddly, this seemed to break the tension. He was amused to discover that even Sally couldn't affect Camille's fundamental curiosity. He wondered what she had really made of Sally, and whether she would now be prepared to tell him… but now was not the time, as he drained his punch and ordered her to "get me extremely drunk and then pour me into a cab".
The relief of knowing that he'd made the right decision seemed to unblock something in his mind. The next day, he was firing on all cylinders once more, unmasking Judith as Emma's murderer and cheerfully joining the rest of the gang for a celebratory drink, although he cautiously stuck to beer this time.
But something had changed. He hadn't had time to analyse it fully, but as Dwayne took the two women off for a dance, he watched Camille, feeling oddly at peace with the situation.
When Fidel commiserated him about Sally, he was shocked to realise that he hadn't given her a single thought since the previous night, not even at the time her plane had left the island this morning, presumably for the last time ever. He ought to feel a little more guilty about that than he actually did, but his mind was focused on the successful resolution of the case and a new understanding of his feelings. How long had he felt this way about Camille?
In an odd way, he felt he wanted to tell someone else, unburden himself, but clearly he couldn't turn to his usual confidante. He glanced at Fidel. The quiet one of the team - diligent, hardworking and trustworthy. Could he unburden himself to this man?
He gave in; took the risk. "The thing is, I was just about to change my mind and tell Sally we should make another go of it, when I looked across the room…and saw something."
"What?"
"Sergeant Camille Borday." He looked up at her, sashaying in that pretty floral dress, very much off duty tonight.
Fidel swallowed, his eyes wide at this revelation. "So, er…you...?"
"Love Camille?" He smiled. "Yes, I think I very probably do. Don't know why it's taken me so long. I mean – look at her…" He gazed at the oblivious Camille in open admiration. "She's wonderful".
He felt absolutely, utterly happy, but in a calm way. He wasn't going to rush anything. There was time enough to analyse how he felt, and in any case he had no idea whether Camille had got over Richard and, even if she had, he had no proof that she'd been interested in him. But it didn't matter. It was enough that he now understood his own heart. Despite Fidel's suggestion that he tell her, he knew, instinctively, that it was the wrong time to rock the boat. Right now, they worked. And he didn't want that to ever change – not even for the chance at a greater happiness.
Camille sat back down, breathless with exertion and laughter. Her sparkling eyes fell on Fidel and Humphrey. "Everything OK?"
"Yes, everything is just as it should be," he stated with confidence, and then smiled and lifted his bottle to her - to everyone. "Cheers!"
As the chorus of 'cheers' and 'saluts' rang out around the table, Humphrey caught Fidel's eye again. The younger man gave him a reassuring nod.