Chapter 17 – Valentine's Day Dinner at Richard's

Camille was almost dancing when she entered her flat – she had found out about her results and was over the moon. After she had panicked so much, she had expected low grades, but actually she had received very good marks, and she was happy with herself. She had no idea how she had done it, but in the exam that had scared her most she had reached 98%. She had been so sure that she had blown it… So much for gut feeling!

And she had found out where her next assignment would be. She'd be going to the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, to the Hammersmith Police Station. This time, there'd be one more intern beside herself – Claire, the woman who had told her about her colleague having worked in Barnet for a while. In hindsight, it didn't surprise Camille any more that he had got a transfer after DI Henderson had come to the station – considering her own experiences, she figured that Henderson had driven Claire's colleague up the walls…

Claire was a nice person – quite unassuming, but fairly tough. She was short and stout, and she had a great sense of humour. Camille was looking forward to spending more time with her – she wasn't really on the lookout for a best friend, but it would be fun to have someone to spend time with during lunch breaks and all that.

First and foremost, she was pleased not to be assigned to the same place like Stephen. He was going to Southwark. When Camille and Claire had realised that they were both going to Hammersmith, they had got into talking and making plans about showing up at the station together on their first day, and Claire had told her about her previous assignment: "I've been to Barkingside, in the Redbridge Borough, that's over in Essex, and boy, the DI there was weird! But after a while I got used to him. Actually, he's pretty good from a professional point of view, but he has some odd habits. Have you ever met anybody who snuffed tobacco? He does, and I tell you, it's disgusting!" She rolled her eyes at the memory.

They had both laughed, and then Claire had said "It will be fun not to be the only intern in the station. Weren't you in Islington in the end, I think – with Stephen and David? I did hear that Barnet didn't work out for you…"

"Yes, that's right," Camille had confirmed, "both David and Stephen were in Islington with me - although I didn't see much of David as he was in a different department. Stephen and I were actually in the same team…"

"So, how did you like it?" Claire had asked, adding with raised eyebrows "Stephen said the DI was rather besotted with you!"

Camille had said dismissively "Fryer? Oh, I don't know… he's a fun person, very much the jokester. Always ready to make you laugh, but rather thorough, too. I don't think he saw anything special in me – I think I saw him flirting with at least four women on the same day, including the cleaner who is close to retirement, happily married to her husband of at least twenty-five years and has four children. It's just the way he is, and nobody thinks anything of it. He's not slimy, though. Very competent altogether. The situation at Islington was a little tricky to begin with, for that matter… The thing was that the whole team got rearranged because the other DI, Harrison, broke a leg just a few days before I came, so it was a bit of a challenge for everyone, with tasks getting redistributed and all that. But it worked out well, and I think I learnt a lot…"

She had hoped Claire wouldn't go deeper into the subject of the staff there – she didn't want to lie about Richard, but she didn't want to say too much, either.

Fortunately, Claire's thoughts had gone off on a different tangent… She had said "You know that Stephen's going to Southwark this time?" Camille had nodded, and Claire had continued "He was trying to make me swap with him so he could go to Hammersmith with you, did you know that, too?"

Camille hadn't been too happy to hear that. Good that Claire hadn't given in… and she'd said that much to her. Claire had chuckled and replied "I'm afraid he doesn't get the message that you're not interested. He's a bit like a puppy, isn't he…" Then she got serious and said "It might be flattering for a while, but I find men like that quite creepy, to be honest. Have some self-respect, really! It's not like it's the end of the world when you're single for a while, I think. And that goes for everyone, regardless of gender and orientation."

With that, she had got up and said "Right, Camille – I'll see you on Monday then. Have a great weekend – any plans?"

Camille had replied vaguely, saying she wasn't sure yet and asked what Claire would be up to over the weekend. "Oh, I'll go home to see my nan," Claire had responded. Noticing Camille's inquiring look she had explained, "My parents both died in an accident when I was a baby - my mother was a teenager when she had me, so her mother still was fairly young when she died. Nan took me in. She is basically my mother, if you will – I have no memories of my real mother. Sounds kind of sad, I know, but before you say so… it's the only life I know, and I'm not unhappy or feeling deprived of anything. When I was a kid, I sometimes thought it would be nice to have a huge family and lots of siblings, but well, it is as it is…"

She had smiled, and then she added, "Mind you, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I haven't spoken about it in years! Anyway – take care, and have a good weekend, whatever you'll end up doing!"

Whatever she'd end up doing… Camille actually had no idea. Richard had been so vague with his 'plan' – and he hadn't disclosed any more details after his initial 'invitation', so she just had to follow his instructions. She packed a little bag with clothes for two days – one pair of black trousers that she could wear with everything, an emerald green turtleneck pullover, her cobalt blue polo neck pullover and matching black sensible shoes, along with nightwear, underwear and some toiletries. She'd wear her jeans, along with a fancy red jumper – she could wear that with the black trousers, too, and the jeans – albeit rather casual - would go together well with the other clothes, too. So, she was all set…

Would they travel somewhere? Would he take her to some fancy place? She could hardly restrain her curiosity. And yet, there was no way she'd find out – she just had to play along…

Richard had asked her to be at his place at around 7.30 on Friday evening, and she did her best to be punctual – but the bus was late, and in the end it was 7.45 when she arrived at his house. A slightly dishevelled Richard opened when she rang the bell – he was still holding the apron (that he had hastily got rid of before answering the door – but then had forgotten to put away) in one hand, with the other hand he was trying to smooth his hair. The two top buttons of his shirt were open, his sleeves were rolled up, his reading glasses were resting on his head, and overall, he looked so endearingly domestic that Camille just had to smile.

He kissed her on the cheek, ushered her in and took her coat – all in one smooth movement, as it seemed. When he had hung up the coat and thrown the apron to the side, he took her in his arms and kissed her a little more thoroughly.

When she could speak again, she said "Now, that's quite the welcome…" – and then, sniffing, "Hmmm… this smells wonderful – what is it?"

"Dinner," he said, matter-of-factly. And then he added "You're late – but I counted on it, so I'm not complaining!"

She was about to object and turned to go straight into the living room, but he shook his head and said "We'll have the starters in the kitchen – I need to keep an eye on the main course…"

Her bag was securely placed next to the staircase, and they went into the kitchen together. Camille didn't believe her eyes when she saw what he had prepared – on a tray placed on the kitchen table, there were four tiny sandwiches with different toppings for each of them – tuna, corned beef, sliced egg with caviar (!), and brie cheese – neatly arranged on plates, two champagne flutes were waiting for them to take their aperitif, and all that was arranged in front of a small lemon tree – a flower-shaped helium balloon was fixed to it, and there was a handwritten sign saying 'Here's to you, Camille', sticking out of the pot.

She looked at him inquiringly, and he explained a little awkwardly as he was opening the bottle and pouring champagne into the glasses "Well, your exams, you know… you got the results today, didn't you? How did it go?"

While she told him about her results and they nibbled on their food, he kept throwing glances in direction of the oven, and considering that it smelled quite appetising, she got more and more curious and finally asked again "What is it, Richard? It smells like all sorts of things – fish, rosemary, lemon… Have you made all this?"

He rushed to the oven and said "Yes, I have, and you are right – all the things you listed are in there. It needs another few minutes to be done, though… - Why are you so surprised?" He had turned around and seen the astonished look in her eyes. "You did know that I can cook, didn't you?"

"Well, yes…" she said, still slightly taken aback. Then she laughed and confessed "I just didn't think you'd be such a gourmet cook…"

He wasn't quite sure if he deserved this label, but he was flattered, anyway. The fish did look good, and it smelled good – it would hopefully taste good as well.

He opened the oven, took out the dish and put it down on the stove. "Ta-da…" he said "Here you go: Grilled filet of plaice with roast potatoes and julienne vegetables on the side!"

Camille came with the plates, and when he had arranged the food neatly and to his entire satisfaction, she looked at the 'composition', gently tilted her head to one side and said praisingly "This looks better than everything I've eaten in months, I'd say!"

In all fairness, he was rather proud of himself – he had been a bit worried about the fish maybe falling apart and becoming a huge mess, but it had all worked out fine. "The wine is in the fridge," he mentioned then, taking the plates and moving to the door, asking over his shoulder "Would you mind opening it and bringing it in then? Glasses are inside already…"

She felt that was a bit rude, but well… it was okay, nobody was perfect.

When she opened the door to the living room, though, where the dinner table was, her eyes almost popped out of her head, and she stood there for a moment, open-mouthed – and in an instant she took back every thought about him maybe not being perfect… He had decorated the living room with streamers, garlands and colourful buntings, there were crepe paper flowers everywhere, along with little balloons, yellow candles and napkins were on the table, and everything looked festive and cheerful.

He was standing beside the table, looking at her in hopeful anticipation, fidgeting with a streamer hanging down from a chair back. When she didn't say anything, he got a little anxious, but then she put down the bottle and turned to him, her eyes shining with surprise and happiness.

"What… what's that?" she finally asked. "Is that all for me?"

"Er… I'm not expecting anybody else for dinner, so... yes, I guess so…" was his reply.

She smiled radiantly and tilted her her head to one side, saying "This is amazing, Richard – I feel… I don't know what to say, to be honest…"

"So… you like it?" he asked, worry in his voice.

Her answer was wordless, but clear enough. When he released her, he whispered "Let's have the fish now before it's getting cold…"

What a typical thing for him to say, she mused when she sat down. His biggest fear was appearing mushy or sentimental…

The fish was fabulous, and so were the potatoes and the vegetables. She kept looking around in the room, absolutely stunned by all the efforts he had made. It must have taken him a while to get it all decorated… and it was only for tonight, that much was clear. Considering that he'd never been a party animal, this was very special.

They talked about all sorts of things – she told him she'd be in Hammersmith from Monday on and asked if he knew anybody there, but he couldn't think of anyone. "However, that doesn't mean anything. It might well be that I do know someone there without being aware of it. I know a few names, but have no personal contact to anyone there, I think. Well, hopefully, it will be a better experience than Barnet was!" he said.

She laughed and replied "Pretty much anything would be a better experience than Barnet – but then again, that's unfair. The team was actually quite nice – it was DI Henderson who was the problem. And if Barnet hadn't been such rubbish, I would never have got transferred to Islington – so in the end, it turned out pretty well, I think!"

Richard told her a bit about the cases they were on, and she listened and then made a few comments that would perhaps be helpful. One aspect actually piqued Richard's interest, and he made "Hmmm… that's a very valid point. I'll have to see Fryer or Harrison about that on Monday… maybe it's a point where we'd have to dig deeper…"

With a pang of melancholy, he realised how much he missed discussing cases with Camille. They had complemented each other nicely. Her approach to cases still was very intuitive, and although she sometimes jumped to conclusions because she didn't pay attention to the less blatant details, she was a valuable discussion partner... He had never had a better one.

Obviously, this was a sentiment that she shared - she sighed and said "I miss that… our discussions, I mean. You always challenged me – and I really had to try hard to convince you of my point sometimes. It was sometimes really annoying, but overall I so enjoyed that."

"So, it was different with Goodman?" he asked curiously. "Yes, it was," she said, "and honestly, overall, our cooperation was easier in that respect – he didn't really call anything in question, whatever I said. But I wasn't always right, of course, and we sometimes ended up in a dead end because of how he never had a serious doubt. It also got a bit boring in the long run. You know, you gave my brain a good workout and taught me to look at things from a different side! I like a lively discussion where sparks fly – pretty much impossible with Humphrey… He always was amiable and polite – and really bland. It got a bit dull after a while. He's a brilliant detective, but not very methodical, and – oh well. I may have complained about your occasional thoughtlessness and sometimes rude behaviour, but being with you definitely never was a snooze fest."

He gave her a crooked smile and said "My, that's quite the praise, I suppose!"

Then, as an afterthought, he asked "Do you ever hear from the team?"

She shook her head and said "No, not really. I hear more from my friends in France than from people on Saint Marie. Fidel e-mails sometimes, but of course he's on St. Lucia now, so… Well, Dwayne never was one to keep in touch – you know how he is the 'out of sight, out of mind' type – his life is on Saint Marie, and if you don't happen to be there – tough luck. I exchanged one or two e-mails with Florence, my successor, but that's it. I don't know the new constable that they have – he lives in my room now, did I tell you? Maman let him have my room in the house because he had nowhere to stay. Anyway, I have to say it might be better not hearing from them – it would perhaps make me feel more homesick. Usually, I have no time for that. Maman keeps me up to date regarding the chit-chat and the gossip on the island, and that's it. Of course, I sometimes e-mail the Commissioner – to tell him about my progress in the course and all that, but it's all fairly loose."

"So, you're not homesick?" he wanted to know. She gave him a very small smile and shrugged. "Sometimes I am," she admitted, "and when it hits me, it can get quite painful. But what can you do?"

He knew what she meant – he had been there, too, when he had stayed on Saint Marie.

He didn't say anything, though – he saw that her eyes went a little dewy, and she obviously didn't want to talk about it, so he got up and took away the plates. In the kitchen, he piled up everything in the sink, then took out two dessert bowls and began preparing the final course.

He had decided on something fairly easy for dessert and brought in vanilla ice cream with hot cherry sauce – he apologised for the 'lack of finesse', as he called it, but as it was, preparing the other dishes had been quite time-consuming already, and so dessert had to be something uncomplicated…

She interrupted him mid-sentence and said "Stop it, Richard – this is lovely, and I don't want you to think you have to apologise! I'm absolutely amazed with what you've done tonight – what makes you think it's not good enough?"

He smiled a little self-consciously and responded "Well, it's the first time I've ever cooked dinner for someone, so forgive me for being a little nervy!"

She couldn't help but laugh, recalling how nervous she had been when he had come to her place for dinner.

"What's so funny?" he asked, sounding a little hurt.

She replied "Nothing. I just remembered how nervous I was when you came for the housewarming dinner… I wasn't sure you'd like the aperitif I had prepared – after all it contained things you might not fancy, so it was perhaps a bit risky to serve it, anyway, and it didn't make any difference that I quite liked it… I had the jitters you wouldn't like my goulash – although I knew it should be fine… I was worried that you'd think the blancmange is too simple – although I figured you'd like the bananas in it…

"You were nervous?" He asked it with incredulity.

"Well, why not?" she retorted. "I'm human, you know. I was afraid it would all end in disaster and you'd think you had wasted your time! I was very relieved when that didn't happen…"

She took the final spoonful of ice cream and then dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin.

Looking around in the living room again, she noticed all sorts of little things – like the fact that the balloons were all in the same yellow like the napkins, the crepe paper flowers were in a bright orange, the streamers reflected the orange and yellow, the garlands were mostly green… It was like he had bought these things with a certain 'systematics'. It looked a little like some of the gardens she knew from the Caribbean – those where people tried to follow a particular colour scheme instead of letting bushes and flowers grow the way they were. He really was obsessed with details – but then again, what did it matter… She could certainly acknowledge all the effort he had put into this, and she felt he was trying to say something with this all.

As if he had read her thoughts, he explained "I'm glad that you… that you like it. I wasn't quite sure if the decoration might be over the top, but I wanted you to feel celebrated. After all, you got through another host of exams with good results – despite your doubts. And… and then…" - his voice was getting a little more insecure again now, – "it's also Valentine's Day, so… I thought… I mean, not that it's of any importance, but I felt… I felt we should acknowledge that somehow…"

"Isn't Valentine's Day usually associated rather with hearts than with flowers? Or am I missing something there?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

He blushed and said vehemently "Well, anyone can come up with hearts for Valentine's Day. What does it mean any more if everyone does the same thing? Doesn't that imply that something is arbitrary and exchangeable? I wanted something I can relate to, and when I think of you, I think of exotic, fragrant flowers, of tasty fruits, of bright sunshine, of – oh, of all sorts of things! So, I chose flowers because they are different, and they… they kind of seemed to fit. And I wanted you to feel transported back to Saint Marie where it's sunny, where people eat seafood – yes, I know, plaice aren't seafood as you know it, but you get the idea - and where… and where we first got to know each other and where – oh well…"

His voice broke off, and he got up abruptly, collecting the dessert bowls and taking them back to the kitchen. When he put them in the sink where the other dishes were already sitting, he closed his eyes, leant his forehead against the wall unit where the glasses were stored and wondered if he was ever going to muster up the courage to say what he wanted to say. Ending his sentence with "… and where I first fell in love with you" had suddenly seemed impossible – although that had been what had almost fallen from his lips. Of course, he had fallen even deeper in love with her after they had reconnected here, but that was a different story. The origins of their relationship lay on Saint Marie.

Camille had followed him and watched him standing there - obviously he was at a loss with something… She had a feeling that she knew what it was – and maybe she could help him to say what he wanted to say… she just had to find the right way to prompt him… It was amazing that a man with his intelligence and knowledge of all sorts of things was so broken when it came to talking about (positive) emotions.

He hadn't noticed her and heaved a big sigh. Suddenly, he felt her hand on his shoulder and she said very softly "You know what, Richard – that was the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me… and this entire evening has been… wonderful… and I'm totally stunned."

He turned around, feeling strangely comforted by her words and grateful for her presence, and took her in his arms. It seemed that she understood his dilemma – although she didn't say so, he realised that she wanted to reassure him that she wasn't demanding anything from him at this point. He hadn't ruined it with his tongue-tied awkwardness, and she wasn't angry with him for being so clumsy… and maybe, just maybe, he'd come out with what he wanted to say some time later…

Actually, she made it entirely clear that they had lots of time, and the evening wasn't over yet. She pressed herself against him and whispered "Mind you, I just had dessert, but I'm still somewhat hungry… not for food, though… Let's go upstairs and move on to the final course… dessert after dessert…"

He leant in to kiss her, and his worries were forgotten when she pulled him closer and her lips opened under his. By now, he was familiar with the desire that washed over him and her reaction to it, but it still was exciting and amazing that she would want to be with him…

He might not be able to say it yet, but he sincerely hoped she understood that he loved her when he let his hands slip under her top to caress her tenderly…