Part 7 of 7

His hand curls ever so slightly, his fingertips brushing over the back of her hand in a much too tiny move to elicit such huge shivers in her. Nevertheless, her whole body shudders and she gasps, "Just say it, Richard, whatever it is, just say it."

He nods, studying her in a vague fatherly way that does nothing to tamp down her pulse. "Alright, I will. I have no idea if I've got the right take on this… this… whatever it is we're doing right now but there is ONE thing I want to make perfectly clear."

She frowns. He sounds very confident. "What is it?"

He says with verve, "Samuel King is NOT the right man for you."

She blinks then is forced to ask the ensuing silence, "No? And… do you know who is?"

His surety leaves him. His hand drops to his lap as his eyes look away, "Oh, um, well, I have an inkling. Just an inkling, mind. I've heard so many conflicting opinions that I don't know what to believe. My head is telling me one thing and my heart is telling me another. I'm torn between the two. I've survived this long by always listening to my head, my training, cold hard logic, but… but… my heart is telling me something else, something I really want to believe, and I… I…"

She leans forward, her entire being focused on his face, willing him to put her out of her misery.

He sees this and almost loses courage but then deep desperate loneliness wells up from the bottom of his heart and he stutters, "… I… I really hope it's me."

She blinks, mouth slightly open, "What? What did you say?"

He makes fists, stares at them, "I know, it's ridiculous, someone like you settling for someone like me?" Now he dares to look at her, "But… could it be me? Would you give me a chance? Samuel King is younger and certainly more outgoing, probably able to satisfy you more than I ever could but…"

Her hand slashes the air between them, brows like knives over intent eyes, "For-GET King! I want to talk about you and me - just you and me! What do you think?"

He gulps, taken aback by her vehemence, "You? And… and… me? How do you mean?"

She clutches at her temples, shouts, "You're doing it again! Oh, you maddening Englishman, you! First you ignore me and drive me crazy then you seem to say you have feelings for me but won't admit it and drive me crazy and now you say you don't know that we're talking about US? We're talking about US, don't you get it? US! You and me! Are we in love or not? Is there a chance for us or not?"

Somehow, in her frenzy of French inquiry, she has leaned over and grabbed a double handful of fine woolen lapel and is almost shaking him in frustration. His hands fly up to catch at hers but then he stills as he watches her eyes fill up with tears again and his walls crumble. His hands run up her arms to clasp her shoulders and, before she knows it, he is pulling her in slowly, gently, tenderly. For a kiss; a slow, gentle, tender kiss just like in all her dreams.

Her gasp of delight sucks all the air out of his lungs. He tightens his grip on her and shifts his mouth to a slightly better angle and renews the kiss with rising gusto. Her hands spasm on his lapels then slide up his chest to lace in his nape as she shifts her mouth to better accept him. The kiss amps up another notch. He cups her to him, pulling her half-way out of her chair and almost into his lap. She pushes up and out of her chair, coming to him, coming to him in whatever way he allows. She oils and eels her way onto his lap and curls up there like she is home at last and kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

Neither of them sees the shadows that flip momentarily at the door then disappear again but the good news is trotted right down to La Kaz tout suite where the messengers and Catherine begin toasting the happy couple before the happy couple even realize they are a happy couple.

In fact, the celebrating trio are well into their second glasses of champagne before the happy couple's kissing is done. Then they are working on coffees to clear their heads as that discarded red rose is brushed off and used to stroke tingling skin while fervent promises are exchanged then heated denials about sponges are given.

A bit later, when the trio steps outside to look up at the station, they see it dark and shuttered. Whether it is actually empty or not is none of their business. Catherine gives a small sigh, "Ah, it seems things have taken a turn for the better since we don't hear any shouting and Camille hasn't stormed in demanding I start setting cocktails on fire. Time to go home, gentlemen, your task is done."

The men nod and start away but Dwayne turns back to ask, "Um, why do I feel like I wuz speakin' lines someone else wrote fer me today?" Fidel hears this and nods, the same question in his eyes.

Catherine shrugs, "Lah, we all had parts to play. Life is sometimes a game of chess, n'est-ce pas?"

Fidel nods, "Yes, feint and counter-feint, advance and retreat, check-mate and…"

Now Catherine nods sharply, "… and MATE! Yes! Chess is love and war in miniature. The Queen captures her King using speed and strength and cunning. He can't evade her forever."

Fidel hesitates, "Um, the Queen is supposed to attack the opposing King, not her own."

Catherine gives him a patronizing smile, "You men play it your way and leave the REAL game to the women. We know what's at stake." She pats her hair and murmurs, "Yes, we really do." And, with that, she leaves the men standing on the sidewalk as she goes back into La Kaz.

Dwayne shakes his head, "Well, Fidel, I think we jest got told somethin' important… but I don' know whut. Let's you an' me call it a night, hey? I'm sure the Chief will explain it all t' us in the mornin'."

Fidel bobs his head, "Maybe, but if he's made a major Life decision tonight then I'm not sure he'll be telling us anything. Not until they've set a wedding date."

Dwayne's eyes flare, "What? A weddin'? Oh, man! How am I supposed t' keep THAT a secret?"

Fidel gives him a solemn look, "Oh, you'll keep it a secret, all right. I don't think you want BOTH of them mad at you at the same time, do you?"

Dwayne gulps, "No, I don', I surely don'. OK, a secret it is then. G'night, Fidel."

Next day

Camille takes a small detour from Richard's side as they walk companionably through town on the way to the station, having taken a small detour to her place so she could change clothes. "I'll be just a moment, mon amour," she murmurs and he watches her walk off with a look of loss in his eyes then sighs and continues walking. Whispery memories of cool dampness running over his skin last night distract him until he's half a block further along when he has an idea.

Flowers! It was flowers that started this whole debacle but now he has a REAL reason to want flowers on her desk… his own flowers! He's deep in thought as he turns the corner and completely misses seeing Camille slip out of Romeo LaFleur's shop. When he steps up to that same shop door a few moments later, he meets the puzzled eyes of Romeo who says, "Inspector? The bill has been settled. Miss Bordey was just in to take care of it. No need for you to attend."

Richard's eyebrows jink upwards a trifle, "Settled? What's been settled?"

Romeo holds his hands out, "The bill… for the flowers… the bouquets… over the past few days…" He sees the frown in Richard's eyes and clarifies, "For the improvement of officer morale… like you ordered… like she picked up first thing in the morning on her way by?"

Richard snaps his mouth closed and nods, "Oh, yes, yes, of course. Well, um, if it's all settled then I'll say good day to you." He about-faces and walks back out onto the street where he stands for long minutes, thinking and looking up to the station upon the hill.

He turns back to Romeo who is still standing in his shop doorway watching him, "Tell me, Mr. LaFleur, how many bouquets did I order?"

Romeo says with conviction, "Seven, why?"

Richard nods and turns to look up the hill again. Eight… eight bouquets appeared... I apparently ordered seven so one of those bouquets came from someone else and I'd bet my favourite tie that Samuel King sent the first one as a thank you… just as I was told… but the other seven? Those were ordered by someone else… someone with an ulterior motive… someone sneaky… someone sly… someone who doesn't play fair… in short, someone FRENCH! Maybe TWO someones French!

Anyone seeing him standing so still might think he's daydreaming. Anyone who knew him well would know he's puzzling something out. Finally, his face clears, he nods once, and he marches full speed ahead, his mind furiously working. Right! I'm not unhappy with the final result but I'm bloody well chuffed at how it was achieved! All those sleepless nights, all the agony of believing she was lost to me! Oooo, missy, you have some chastisement coming your way and I'm just the man to deliver it!

Honoré's Chief of Police, DI Richard Poole, formerly of the London Met, is radiating stern professionalism as he strides boldly into battle, thinking about tangled webs and deceits. Ideas for retaliation begin to coalesce in his mind. Yes, a spat, a lecture, a lover's quarrel. Perhaps I'm having second thoughts? That would be just the thing to throw a spanner into the works! I hope I can keep a straight face when I tell her I've changed my mind. He smiles with anticipation.

A King may not be able to avoid the head-long conquering rush of a determined Queen… or even two Queens… but, by god, he can make them work for it!

END