Chapter 25 – Straight from the Heart

Richard had just finished changing into something more comfortable than his suit when he heard the doorbell ring – and with a last scrutinising look into the mirror, he rolled up the sleeves of his sage green shirt: Camille was right, this colour really looked good on him. And it went together very well with the dark slacks that he liked to wear at home. It was too warm for jeans – which was his other preferred piece of clothing around the house these days. Gone were the times when he'd hang around at home in his suits and dress shirts – he had a life outside of work, after all. He had realised this after his transfer to the UK – somehow he hadn't really lived before his return from Saint Marie. He had more or less existed and survived… He couldn't change that any more now – regrets wouldn't really make a difference! – but he wasn't doomed to make the same mistake over and over.

He dashed downstairs, nearly doing a somersault over the edge of the rug that was laid out in the hall, and opened the door. There was Camille, beautiful and smart as only she could be… in tight red capri jeans, a red-and-white blouse with ¾ sleeves and matching red-and-white chucks. She was carrying her black overnight bag over one shoulder, her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore the most radiant smile…

In the corner of his eye, he noticed how the curtain next door twitched – ah, Ms Fletcher was on the watch! By now she had surely figured out that Camille wasn't his 'Mrs Mop' – but he had tenaciously refused to discuss his relationship with her, although Ms Fletcher had tried to worm more details out of him whenever she had had the opportunity to do so. Initially, she had been somewhat tactful with her questions, but with time, she had become agog with curiosity, and his frustrating way of answering questions with questions and confusing her with irrelevant, distracting trifles had made her act more and more insolently.

Secretly, Richard enjoyed this game of 'cat and mouse' – he felt it was only fair to leave her hanging, considering how she kept foisting King George on him… Admittedly, feeding King George every once in a while wasn't really any hardship, but he hated being taken for granted…

Well, he wouldn't change his tactics now, although Camille – who certainly knew about this little feud – tried to undermine his determination by giving him a seductive look with fluttering lashes and greeting him with the most suggestive voice she could muster up. What she said was harmless, but not how she said it…

For a moment he clenched his teeth and gave her an indescribable glance, then he worldessly ushered her in. The door was closed with a muffled bang, and Ms Fletcher next door was disappointed once again. With a frustrated sigh, she retreated, wondering if there was even the smallest chance she could ever find out more about this mysterious woman and the connection she had with her neighbour. Maybe, he was learning a new language – or yoga – or singing… and this was his teacher? It had to be a professional connection somehow. Although… she seemed to spend an awful lot of time at his house. However, given the fact that he was so reserved and even slightly pompous, it couldn't be anything but a professional connection between them…

Inside, Richard was a lot less reserved and pompous than Ms Fletcher would have considered possible – he had instantaneously taken Camille into his arms and kissed her ardently. Camille didn't have any objections – and for minutes, they stood locked together, revelling in the feeling of belonging. Richard was almost embarrassed when he felt that his heart was about to burst with happiness as he was holding her like this – there still were times when he couldn't get his head around why she would want to be with him, but he certainly didn't complain. Life was so much better with her…

Eventually, their kiss ended, and Camille hid her face in the crook of Richard's neck, enjoying his typical unique scent. She felt him breathing, his hands were tenderly sliding over her back, and she realised that it was him – not the house – that made her feel at home. It didn't really matter where they were – as long as they were together, she was at home.

Her eyes welled up with emotion, and she blinked back the tears before lifting her head and kissing him once again, just very briefly – then she moved a little, and Richard released her. He sensed that something was different tonight – but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. After a moment, he shrugged it off, though, and put it down to the relief that the exams were over…

Camille didn't quite understand why she was feeling so emotional, but she figured it might have to do with the fact that another chapter of her life was coming to an end. She had never been the kind of person who 'looked back', she had always tried to be proactive and initiate changes when she felt stalled, but that didn't mean she was free of melancholy. And of course, she was wondering what the future would bring – she had enjoyed her course, but now it was finished, and with some luck, she'd get a job offer in the UK, preferably in the London area, but what then?

She didn't really know what would come out of her relationship with Richard. She wanted to be together with him, and she hoped for a clearer commitment – now that she had finished her course, they could – and they would! - be more open about their connection. Yet, she wanted to be independent and not considered his 'appendix'. And then again, she wanted him to know that she wanted to be with him – yet she didn't want to put pressure on him. It was all a bit confusing, and surely that was why she was a bit out of sorts.

She decided to brush over it and said with a smile "So, here I am, Richard! What's the plan for the weekend?"

Actually, Richard hadn't really made any plans – and much to his surprise, instead of pouting or immediately coming up with suggestions, Camille was openly relieved and said "Oh, good. Having a quiet weekend sounds just right – I've had enough excitement over the past few months. I really need to unwind a little – mind you, now that the exams are over, I notice how stressful it all has been… it will do me good to just spent some time pottering around and taking it easy… And we can always go away if we change our mind…"

Saturday evening arrived, and Camille stood in the bathroom, getting ready for the night. The navy blue oversized T-shirt that she wore as a nightie featured a few spatters of toothpaste, but she decided she'd wear it, anyway. She couldn't be bothered to take out anything else… Richard wouldn't mind, and she was tired – they had had an eventful day altogether, not really the quiet time they had originally aimed for.

There had been errands to run, and in the early afternoon, they had taken the train to go to Bishop's Stortford where they had done a little sightseeing. They had had dinner there as well, and it had been well after 9 p.m. when they had returned. It had been a lovely, harmonious day, and she had been happy to explore yet another English town, but now she was somewhat exhausted and looked forward to stretching out and getting some rest. They had agreed on taking it easy on Sunday, so that was good…

She heard Richard coming upstairs and moving towards the bedroom – he had insisted on tidying up the kitchen that they had left in a mess after lunch. She heard him coughing a little and moving around as he was presumably getting undressed and changed into his pyjamas, and with a smile, she reflected on how the weekend had gone so far…

After her arrival on Friday, they had cooked dinner together and sat outside for half an hour with their wine afterwards, then they had gone inside to watch some TV – but nothing really had tickled their fancy, so they had ended up talking about all sorts of things and reading a bit. Remembering the snippets of the programmes that they had caught while zapping around fairly aimlessly, she arched her brows – there had been this really daft sappy old film set in Victorian times – or maybe even a little earlier than that, the costumes had been a bit of a mish-mash, and there hadn't been any clear historical references – that had made her cringe… why on earth they still showed that kind of stuff was beyond her. But there surely was an audience for that, otherwise they wouldn't broadcast it.

It had featured an insipid heroine and a supposedly dashing dark hero. Richard had groaned and rolled his eyes when he had opened the info option with the remote control and seen it was based on a Barbara Cartland novel. While Richard had made feeble objections, Camille had snatched the remote control from him and insisted on watching – she had been morbidly fascinated with the inanity of the dialogue and the depicted gender stereotypes that had appeared prehistoric to her, and so they had watched for about five minutes – they happened to be the last five minutes of the film, anyway. It had been obvious that the heroine was doing a mix of being shy and trying to be coquettish, and finally, the hero had sunk down on one knee, taken the girl's hand and come up with a long-winded proposal – she had accepted, and the man had then jumped up and nearly crushed her in his arms – and then the credits had come up, and the film had been over. Camille had let out a sigh, followed by an embarrassed little laugh when she had realised that she had held her breath at the scene.

It had been then that a squirming Richard had determinedly grabbed the remote control back and switched off the TV and suggested they'd rather do something else. Camille had been amused by his obvious discomfort and teased him a little about it.

Although Richard had tried to end the conversation by changing the subject several times, she had finally figured out that he had felt uncomfortable about the whole thing for different reasons… one had clearly been the rôle that the male hero had had to fill – and he had also been appalled by the part that the girl had had to play.

Camille had noticed a certain despair and annoyance in how Richard had exclaimed "Oh, come on – what a charade! I mean, it seems to be written that male heroes always have to be bursting at the seams with self-confidence, they have to be the master of the scene, otherwise the girl won't even look at them twice – isn't that all ridiculous? And then this pseudo-submissive blah-blah about him having doubts of being good enough for her – he knew very well that he was considered a good catch and all that – oh, please, what kind of drivel is that! They both know it's not true! Stuff like that is just so… I have no words for that! And the worst thing about it all is that it has shaped expectations of generations of men and women – maybe the drivel isn't welcome any more, but even now, some women seem to expect their sweetheart to kneel down when they propose to them and make a fancy little speech… Has anyone ever thought about how questionable this tradition is?"

They had gone off in a discussion about gender stereotypes then, and Camille had realised that Richard had come a long way from his previous preferences for the proverbial damsels in distress that he had seemed to entertain during his time on Saint Marie… Back then, he had seemed to feel competent and capable when he could 'help' women who clearly were in difficult situations and looking for someone to lean on… he had enjoyed playing the card of the 'able' police officer who could help to ease the pain and solve the mystery. He had clearly divided the world into a male and a female sphere, and women had been puzzling to him, out of principle, simply because he hadn'd had much experience with how they 'ticked'. Somehow, this had changed over the past years – he wasn't so easily confused and bamboozled any more by 'female tactics', and he was generally more ready to see everyone as 'human' now – without categorising them as 'male' or 'female' in the first place.

Or maybe he had always been like this, and it had just been buried under his pompous behaviour? Had he pretended to be a living cliché in order to hide his real personality? Camille suddenly realised that maybe she hadn't known him all that well back then… how judgemental she had been, and how little he had reacted to her provocations… which had annoyed her even more… Yes, it had been his passive resistance that had upset, yet intrigued her so much.

As she stood in front of the washbasin, brushing her hair, she recalled how it had felt like she had woken up all of a sudden during their conversation. They had moved on to other subjects, and she had tried to shake off the feeling – but had kept lingering. Maybe her wish to be free and independent wasn't really contradictory to making a commitment? She could have it both, couldn't she – it was a matter of making it work.

How complex relationships could be – she had realised that they both had changed – or maybe other core aspects had been unveiled and come out more clearly over the years since he had left for the UK… In that respect, it had perhaps been a good thing that they had had to lead their separate lives for a while, with all implications… Maybe they wouldn't have understood each other so well if they had been together all the time… She knew that he would feel 'obliged' to come forward with a proposal when he felt the time was right for it, but she also knew that he would be nervous about it.

Anyone would be nervous about it – and truth be told, she'd feel wrecked about it, too, if she had to do it.

Perhaps it was wrong of her to expect him to go ahead and come up with a 'proposal' – for lack of a better word… She recalled how they had briefly talked about Humphrey's compass ring and how she had said a ring had to suit the recipient and had to come from the right person… Why did it have to be the man who made this move? Then again, Richard was perhaps less old-fashioned than she gave him credit for, but wouldn't he feel domineered over if she went ahead and proposed to him?

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and decided she'd think a little more about all this over the next couple of days…

Richard sat on his side of the bed, waiting for Camille to come out of the bathroom so he could go in and get ready for the night. He heard water splashing, then silence, interrupted by the occasional humming… She was surely brushing her hair now, he thought. He knew all her routines so well now… Their domestic life together might not appear very exciting to others, but he loved it. He loved spending time with Camille, he loved the conversations they shared - the deep ones just as much as the silly ones -, he loved the way she looked at him when she teased him just as much as when she was about to tell him that she loved him, he loved her intelligence, her temperament, her playfulness, her ability to put herself into other people's shoes, her confidence… oh, anything and everything about her… and he felt that he knew her so much better now than all those years ago when they had worked together on Saint Marie.

He recalled the conversation they had had yesterday evening, right after they had watched the last ten minutes of that mawkish Barbara Cartland film… He had not been impressed with the ending – for several reasons. Right, it was based on a so-called historical novel (albeit a highly unrealistic and sappy one) but even today, some traditions wouldn't go extinct, despite the different world they lived in now. It irked him how – no matter how independent, emancipated and self-reliant women of today were - it was expected that all men were – if not alpha males – at least bursting with self-confidence and how it still seemed to be understood that they always were the ones who would take the crucial step and propose to their respective female counterparts. That didn't seem fair!

For most of his adult life, he had just assumed that this was how the world worked, but his view had changed over the past few years. He had come to the conclusion that women usually were the ones who chose their partners – not the other way round (it had certainly been that way with Camille and him… if she hadn't let him know that he was the one she wanted, he never would have dared make a move) – and he felt that it was hypocritical how many of them still seemed to expect the men to bend over backwards and come up with a spectacularly original proposal.

It was weird how they were still caught up in these old fashioned patterns, although times were clearly different now from those that Barbara Cartland – that dolled-up old bag! – had described in her novels.

Of course, he knew that if he wanted Camille to make a commitment, he would have to be the one to suggest it – and that scared him. He was prepared and willing to take that step, but it still frightened him. Not because he was all that afraid of rejection – actually, he was quite optimistic that she wouldn't turn him down, but you never knew, and would she be impressed with his way of popping the question? He didn't want to disappoint her. At the same time, he wanted to remain true to himself – he just wasn't sure if it was good enough for her. He didn't often suffer from self-doubts any more these days, but this was such an important issue – he didn't want to make a mess of it.

So, he had argued that it was a stupid film with stupid stereotypes, and maybe he had gone a bit far with his critique… He had stopped when he had realised that he was perhaps giving away something that he didn't really want her to see just yet…

Looking down on his hands, he replayed Camille's reaction to his little rant – she had laughed out loud and told him that he was exaggerating. And when he had pointed out that from what he had heard, many women still expected a romantic setting, perhaps a candlelight dinner with all the trimmings, moonshine, soft music in the background and so on for a proposal, she had smiled at him and come over to sit next to him. She had snuggled up to him, and with a teasing undertone she had remarked that those were all good ingredients for a proposal, but they weren't indespensable. "Candlelight can never hurt. But at the end of the day," she had said softly, "all that matters is that what someone says comes from the heart."

And then they had kissed, and the conversation had moved on to other things…

Her response to his tirade had been reassuring… At this point, his eyes fell on the closed bathroom door, and he suddenly looked thoughtful…

Camille boxed the pillow into shape and grabbed the book she had purchased recently. It was a new French novel that she had ordered online… and with a smile, she recalled Richard's reaction when she had told him that Alain and Isabelle would come to her graduation ceremony. He had been delighted, and they had started making plans for their stay rightaway. It would be fun to have them around…

She scanned the book's blurb once more, looked at the portrait photo of the author and read her bio. She heard the bathroom door closing and looked up, expecting Richard to come in, but instead she heard him entering the spare room that he used as a study. The noises emerging from there indicated that he was rummaging around, apparently in a drawer of some kind.

Then she heard a screeching noise, followed by a hardly muffled curse, and she smiled. Then it was silent for a moment.

"Everything okay, Richard?" she called out, a little alarmed. "Yeah, fine," he responded, sounding slightly annoyed, "just a jammed drawer…"

Finally, she heard him closing the door to the study and padding over the corridor. The door was pushed open. Again, there was silence.

She looked up when he didn't say anything – and there he stood, framed by the doorway, wearing a grey V-neck T-shirt and his striped pyjama trousers. One hand was on the doorhandle, and he held a metal candleholder with a lit candle in the other hand. The flame was flickering, and his eyes seemed very big and dark.

He passed her a nervous glance and a strained little smile. "What is it?" she asked, putting the book to the side, straightening herself and coming to her knees. The soft mattress yielded a little under her, and for a very brief moment, she struggled for balance.

He cleared his throat and then croaked "Would you terribly mind – er – turning off the light?" She had no idea what he was up to, but understood that whatever it was, she'd have to play along now – if she interrupted him, he'd get upset and feel discouraged, and she sensed that he had set his mind on getting something important across. So, she leant over to switch off the light next to the bed and turned around again to face him.

Very carefully, he set down the candleholder on his nightstand, and she heard him heave an almost inaudible sigh. She wasn't quite sure if it was relief, nervousness or something else that made him sigh. But before she could give any more thought to it, he turned towards her, climbed on the bed and kneeled on the mattress, right in front of her, reaching for one of her hands. She looked at him, and before she knew what was coming, he leant in to kiss her – lightly at first, then with more and more passion. Their bodies hardly touched, he just held her hand, squeezing it a little. Camille closed her eyes in pure bliss – whatever she had expected, it hadn't been this.

He took his time… eventually, he let go of her hand and took her in his arms, pressing her body against his. Camille couldn't think – and it didn't seem necessary, anyway – her body reacted to his instinctively, and for long, long moments, they just kissed quietly, yet passionately.

After a while, he released her, and Camille, her head whirling, sat back on her heels and looked at him expectantly. She knew something important was about to happen, and she wanted to get every little detail of it.

Richard looked over to the candle and sighed, remarking contextlessly "This candle is sooty. I should have shortened the wick…"

Then he took a deep breath and said, passing her an insecurity-filled glance "But you… you said that candlelight never hurts, so… I mean…" He paused and she looked at him inquiringly, tilting her head to one side. He pulled a face and said, a hint of despair in his voice "Right… this wasn't what I wanted to say, so… I guess I'll try again…"

However, he didn't quite know how to start, so he shifted a little and sat back on his heels as well, mirroring her position. Then he seemed to have a sudden flash of wit, and exclaiming "Oh, I almost forgot!" he turned around and pulled out the drawer of his nightstand, taking something out of it. Camille's eyebrows went up when she saw the little velvet box in his hand. Now, this was looking very serious. All of a sudden, she felt her heart skipping a beat, and a wave of excitement was flushing through her body.

Richard cleared his throat again and firmly clutched the box – that seemed to give him confidence as the next words came out solemnly, but in his normal voice.

He said "I've been thinking about how to do it, and I've had all sorts of ideas, but none of them really seemed right. Too… too artificial, too unlike me, too unlike you, too generic, too arbitrary. So I figure I best do it as honestly, plainly and simply as I can – which kind of fits because – oh well! And if it's clumsy, then… it is because this is what I am… but it comes straight from my heart, and you said that's all that counts."

He looked into her eyes, searching for encouragement while he was unwittingly fidgeting with the box in his hands, and with a tender smile, she gave a slight nod. He pulled himself together, inhaled deeply – and with a determined movement, he opened the little box and presented it to her, asking nervously "Camille, will you… will you marry me?"

Camille drew a deep breath and looked at him, then at the ring in the box that he offered her, then at his face again – there was nervousness in his eyes, fear of rejection, insecurity… and she moved closer, clasping her hands around his, and tried to speak. However, her voice was gone, and so she just nodded vehemently. His eyes briefly closed in relief, then he leant forward, and they kissed again, both holding on to the little box in his hands.

When they finally came back to their senses, Richard gave a little embarrassed laugh, took the ring out of its mounting and said hoarsely "Let me…" Camille held out her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, and Camille lifted her hand to take a closer look at it; in the flickering candlelight, she saw that it wasn't a solitary diamond ring that was commonly associated with engagement rings, but rather a golden ring with three little frangipani flowers – each of them held a little diamond in its centre. It matched the earrings and the necklace that he had given her for Valentine's Day, and undoubtedly, it came from the same workshop. How thoughtful of him to find something like this for her!

Richard watched her nervously, and when she looked up to him again, he was relieved to see tenderness and pure delight in her eyes. She still hadn't spoken, but it was clear that she was happy – and that she had said yes… wordlessly, but he had no doubts that her reaction meant that she had agreed to become his wife.

For a moment, his head seemed to swim… they'd be husband and wife, good grief!

While that sounded somehow awe-inspiring, he didn't have the time to ponder the thought any longer. Camille had resolutely put the empty box on her nightstand, moved forward and put her arms around him. Her face came closer, and just before she kissed him, she finally said in a very low voice "I'm honoured that you asked me, Richard, and I'll do my best not to drive you batty! And now – let's celebrate this once-in-a-lifetime event…"

Richard was only too willing to oblige, and together they sank back into the cushions.

The candle on the bedside table was the only witness of the passion they shared that night. It kept vigil over them as they fell asleep, and when Richard woke up again with a start in the middle of the night, he let it burn for a little longer so he could watch Camille sleeping.

His fiancée… it sounded almost unreal!

While he was watching her, she stirred a little, and in the flickering light that caressed her skin, he saw the sparkle of the ring that he had given her… and with a happy smile, he leant over to blow out the candle before he got comfortable by Camille's side again.