Richard looked confidently around the room. He enjoyed occasions like these. Once he had finally cracked the case it gave him some satisfaction to explain exactly what had happened in front of everyone involved and then eventually to make the arrest. The whole procedure had become something of a ritual. It was not really a matter of personal vanity – although the congratulations he frequently received were naturally not unwelcome; he just liked to see everything tidied neatly away and the little details that so worried him all tied up. In social occasions he felt like a tongue-tied idiot, but give him a room full of suspects and he would speak with fluency, confidence and commitment.
They had all assembled in the warehouse: Laura, Jason, Philippe, Matt, Sarah and Jackson, plus the four members of the police team and the Commissioner.
Richard began. "Thank you for coming. I chose the warehouse as it is central to the murder of Martin Peverel. You see, Martin Peverel discovered somehow that his company was being used to smuggle drugs into the UK and France." Several jaws dropped open.
"Yes, and he was about to reveal all he knew to the Commissioner, which is why he was murdered", added Camille.
"You see, every morning a new consignment of bananas leaves for the airport. Except that one of the crates – and only one – in each lorry has packets of cocaine concealed under the bananas. With so many crates in each lorry, it was obvious that Customs would make only a token check at best and the chances of them finding the one contaminated crate were extremely small, especially as it was invariably well hidden in the pile. We stopped and searched this morning's consignment. We found the crate in question, but Interpol have asked us to let it continue its journey, so they can trace the network at the other end. You know, one of the most puzzling things about this case was the pink highlighter pen which Martin sent to the Commissioner as evidence. But once we had realised that one of the crates contained drugs, its purpose became obvious. Fidel?"
"The crate which contained the drugs was marked with a small pink dot in the corner of the label. You would never have noticed it if you weren't looking for it, but of course someone involved in the unloading of the consignment in Europe would have been looking for it and would have removed the drugs when it was safe to do so."
"Quite so. So several questions remained: who was running the operation in the warehouse, where were the drugs coming from and how exactly was Martin Peverel killed. The last question was particularly perplexing. We were meant to assume that his death was a tragic accident – the gas canister in the cooker had leaked and exploded when Martin got up in the morning to make himself breakfast. But as soon as the pathologist revealed that Martin's lungs were full of carbon monoxide and that he was dead – or at least unconscious – at the time of the explosion, we realised of course that his death could not have been accidental. In fact, both taps on the cooker were turned on and Forensics have confirmed that the gas was ignited by a gunshot striking a spark when it hit the canister. Which led to the second puzzling aspect of this case: how could someone have fired a shot without anyone from the party that was going on a short distance away seeing or hearing anything, and how were the gas taps turned on?
There was no shortage of potential suspects: the wife, humiliated by her husband's affair with a younger woman, and who inherits virtually all his fortune. The son, whose gambling debts his father refused to pay. The driver, who badly needs money in order to set up his own business. The young man with whom he had an argument over money. But it soon became obvious that the key to solving Martin Peverel's murder lay with identifying who exactly was behind the drugs trafficking, who was hiding the packets of drugs in the crates of bananas. Plenty of people could have had access to this warehouse – all the workers, for example, and there was a key hanging up in the house which anyone could have taken. I don't believe Martin himself knew who was responsible – or he wouldn't have told you what he had discovered, would he, Sarah?"
Six pairs of eyes swivelled to the Office Manager. "Me? What has it got to do with me? I didn't kill Martin! Why would I, we were going to be married!" she protested vehemently.
"Quite right, you didn't actually kill Mr Peverel. But you were certainly complicit. And as for marrying him, well, you might have gone through a ceremony but it would have been a sham, wouldn't it, since you are already married and the law does not permit you to be married to two people at the same time!" Richard held up a piece of paper. "We had some difficulty making the connection between the importing of the drugs and the smuggling operation into Europe. Until one of the background checks we carried out on you back in the UK unearthed the surprising fact that on 21 July 2011 you were married at Marylebone Register Office, London, to a French national – one Philippe Delacroix." There was a definite stir in the room.
"At that point all the pieces fell neatly into place. Mr Delacroix operates a fleet of passenger ferries which go from island to island through the Lesser Antilles, starting not far off the coast of Venezuela. What could be easier than a night-time meeting with a discreet fishing vessel, the drugs hidden in secret compartments and kept safely until the boat reaches Saint-Marie?"
Camille took up the narrative, as Philippe Delacroix opened his mouth indignantly. "Don't bother denying it, Mr Delacroix. We spoke to Interpol and they are even now boarding one of your ferries. I am sure the drugs are well hidden but equally sure that the sniffer dogs will find them."
"Once the ferry arrived in Saint-Marie the drugs were passed to Sarah", Richard continued. He turned to Jackson. "When you were knocked off your bike, Jackson, it wasn't Martin Peverel driving the car, it was Sarah – and the reason she didn't stop was that she had the latest consignment of drugs in the car. So Martin was actually right when he denied all knowledge of the accident. And it was clearly Sarah whom Sergeant Bordey disturbed last night here in the warehouse, not the intruder she pretended to have seen."
"But what about Martin's death, Inspector?" asked Laura Peverel.
"Ah yes. Well, I believe Martin confided his discovery to Sarah. She would have been the last person he would have suspected. But as soon as he told her he had made an appointment to see the Commissioner his fate was sealed. I believe the original plan was to go through with the fake wedding, then some time afterwards Martin would have had a convenient accident, leaving Sarah in full charge of the business. But Martin's discovery changed everything and she and her husband knew they had to act quickly. Probably the original idea was to shoot Martin during the night while he was on his yacht. But then fate – in the form of red pepper – took a hand. Mrs Peverel, in a rather petty attempt to punish Martin for humiliating her with Sarah – doctored the soup that he ate that night at dinner. She knew that red pepper gave him chronic indigestion and decided that at the very least he should have an extremely uncomfortable night. My guess is that when Martin arrived at Sarah's house that night he was suffering quite badly and asked her for some indigestion tablets." He turned to face Sarah. "You saw your opportunity, didn't you, and instead of indigestion tablets you gave him Temazepam."
"We've checked" interjected Camille. "Your doctor regularly prescribes them for you."
"Yes, and you told us yourself that you frequently can't sleep, so it was probable that you would have some sleeping pills to hand. You knew that once Martin had taken the pills he would be unlikely to wake up when someone boarded his boat."
Laura Peverel held a horrified hand to her mouth. "It was my fault that he died", she cried.
"No, not at all, please don't distress yourself," said Richard calmly. "Martin would have died anyway. You merely gave them the opportunity of making it look like an accident. So now we come to the actual murder, which was of course carried out by you, Mr Delacroix. I have to admit that it puzzled me greatly how someone could have set off the explosion. Firing from the shore was a very difficult shot, something that perhaps only someone with serious weapons training could have pulled off. That made us think of Mr McAllister. But his gun had not been fired recently. And in any case, someone would have had to board the boat in order to switch on the gas. But it was a moonlight night and there was a hundred people partying close by on the beach, none of whom saw or heard a thing. And then it came to me: last weekend I went for a row in a boat. We rowed right round the point into a little cove on the other side. And that's what you did, isn't it? You're a diver, after all. When Sarah told you she had drugged Martin Peverel, you waited an hour or so, then went to the cove in the next bay, you changed into your diving gear, you put the gun (what drug runner doesn't have a gun?) into a waterproof container and you swam underwater, only surfacing when you reached Martin's yacht. That's why no-one saw you. You checked that Martin was soundly asleep before closing all the windows and opening the door into the little galley. Then you switched on the gas, got back into the water and waited for the gas to fill the compartment. After a while, and making sure you were at a safe distance, you fired the shot, using a silencer. It would have been quite an easy shot from there. I expect if we trawled the seabed we would find the gun, where you undoubtedly dropped it. Then you returned the way you came."
"You have no proof of any of this" blustered Philippe.
"Dwayne?"
"You left your tyre tracks on the sand. They are quite distinctive tracks and we have already matched them to your car."
"You made Laura a very good offer for the business of course. Well, you could afford to – the drugs were worth far more than the banana business, weren't they? Once you had bought the plantation you and your wife would have been able to continue your dirty little trade with complete freedom. Read them their rights and lock them both up."
Fidel and Dwayne moved swiftly to handcuff the two culprits and led them out to the Defender.
"My congratulations," said the Commissioner, arriving some time later at La Kaz, where Richard, Camille, Fidel and Catherine had gathered to celebrate the arrests. "Another successful case. You're making quite a reputation for yourself on this island, Inspector."
"Thank you, Sir", replied Richard "but it was very much a team effort. And speaking of teams, where is Dwayne? I thought he was meeting us here."
"He's coming, Sir. He has something to say to everyone. He …" Fidel trailed off uncertainly. "I think he had better tell you himself. Look, here he is."
And Dwayne strolled up to the little group, closely followed by Jackson Freeman. Richard looked at Dwayne enquiringly. The older officer looked unaccountably nervous, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other before eventually sitting down. This was not the usual laid-back and relaxed Dwayne they knew and loved.
"There's something I have to tell you all." He gulped at his beer, took a deep breath and started.
"Jackson came to see me the other day. He told me he was looking for some old family friends, on his mother's side. She came from Saint-Marie, you see."
"Ah yes, the Dibble family."
"Yes" interrupted Catherine, "and I told him that the family had long left the island, apart from the son, who had changed his name. That was Dwayne."
"Your name is really Dibble?" asked Richard in amazement.
"Yes, Chief, I changed it when I joined the police. Well, you know, here in the Caribbean we grew up on Top Cat. I could hardly be Officer Dibble, could I? I'd be a laughing stock."
Richard rocked with mirth. "We had Top Cat in the UK too", he explained, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Officer Dibble!"
"Well anyway, that was why Jackson had trouble finding me. And when we did finally meet, I realised that I did know his family." He looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Jackson, you'd better tell this part of the story yourself. Sit down and pull up a chair."
"I was born in London", began Jackson, "like my dad, but my mum and her family came from here. I have a younger brother and a sister, but both my parents are dead now. My dad was a solicitor. He was a good man and he and my mum were very happy. He died in the London bombings a few years ago. That was a bad time for us, but we stuck together until last year, when my mum became ill. When she knew she was dying she sat me down one day and told me that the man I had always called dad wasn't actually my natural father, it was a guy she had known when she was a young girl on Saint-Marie. She wanted me to have the option of tracking him down, if I chose to."
"You're his dad, Dwayne?" This from Camille.
"No, I'm not his dad," said Dwayne seriously. "I'm his biological father. His dad is the man who brought him up, who taught him right from wrong and how to climb trees. I missed out on all of that."
"But you must have known he existed?"
"I promise you, I had no idea until he came knocking on my door. As you can imagine, it was a bit of a shock. It still is. You know how it is, we were both very young. His mother, Desirée, she was a bit of a rebel in her youth, that's why she took up with me in the first place. Her father was a pastor and she had a very strict upbringing. Her family didn't approve of me, of course – her father said I was good for nothing and would never achieve anything in life. We wanted to get married but he wouldn't hear of it. Packed the whole family up and emigrated to the UK."
"She didn't know she was pregnant until after she got to London" continued Jackson. "Then my grandfather found someone who was willing to marry her – my dad – and fortunately it all turned out for the best. As I said, he was a good man, he treated me exactly as if I was his own son and they had a good life together. I don't think she had any regrets."
"Did you never hear from her again, then, Dwayne?"
"She wrote to me some weeks after she got to London to say she was getting married. She didn't say anything about a baby. I guess she thought Mr Freeman would make a better father than me. She was probably right, though I wish she had told me. It was then that I decided to join the police – you know, to prove to her father that he was wrong about me, that I could be a useful member of society."
"Well you can't have been too broken-hearted since you've hardly been lacking in female company since then!" said Richard cynically. Camille flashed him a warning glance.
"That's true, Chief, but I never found another one I wanted to marry" replied Dwayne quietly.
"Yes, all right, sorry, point taken" mumbled Richard.
"So what are you going to do now, Jackson?" asked Camille.
"I thought I might stick around for a while, get to know Dwayne a bit. We've barely met and I'm still getting used to the idea that we are related. Once my arm is mended I'll see if I can get my old job back at Pierre's."
"Don't go back to Pierre" begged Catherine, "come and work for me! I'm not getting any younger and I could do with some help in the bar. Give it some thought! In the meantime, let's have a little party to celebrate Jackson's arrival in Dwayne's life!"
Several hours and a number of beers later Richard was feeling a little the worse for wear. All this socialising was exhausting. He got up from the table slightly unsteadily and announced that he was going home.
"Leaving so soon, Richard?" cried Catherine, "but the party is only just starting! Stay and have another drink – I'm making cocktails!"
Richard knew that he would be finished if he drank one of Catherine's lethal cocktails on top of the beers he had already had but weakly accepted the glass that was pushed into his hand. It was full of swizzle sticks and a mini umbrella. He looked at it distastefully. Camille sauntered over and perched saucily on the arm of his chair.
"Will your mother notice if I pour this into one of her flower tubs?"
"Probably not but it will undoubtedly kill the plants! Just drink it!"
"Well I hold you responsible if I fall flat on my face" he said, downing the drink. "You'll have to come home with me, I won't be fit to drive."
"It will be my pleasure", she giggled.
His face turned beetroot. "You know that's not what I meant! Oh God, why did I drink that thing?"
"Are you drunk, Richard?"
"No, of course not. Absolutely not. But I've certainly had more than enough, and I need to go home. I haven't fed the lizard."
"Come on, then, I'll take you." She glanced over to where Dwayne, Fidel and Catherine were laughing uproariously at some story Jackson was telling them. "They won't even notice we've gone."
Driving back to the shack, Camille wondered if this was the right time for her to make her move. That she was going to make it at some point was beyond doubt but she knew that if she got the timing wrong she would frighten him off and probably drive him away for good. She looked across at him. He was certainly mellow this evening, but mellow enough? Hmm.
They arrived. He jumped down and she followed. "Go and feed Harry" she called, "I'll sit on the beach."
She chose a spot and sat down on the sand, admiring the effects of the moonlight on the water and thinking hard. Her mind was finally made up - this was her do-or-die moment. She waited patiently for him to reappear and when he didn't went in search of him, taking care to first undo a couple of the buttons on her blouse and fluff up her hair.
"Richard?" she called softly in as alluring a voice as she could manage, approaching the veranda. "What are you doing? Come here, I want to talk to you." There was no answer, so she stepped inside the shack. There he sat in his favourite chair, clutching a mango, fast asleep and snoring gently. Camille smiled at the sight, sighed ruefully, and climbed back into the Defender. Tonight was clearly not the night after all.
At about ten o'clock the next morning her phone rang.
"I had rather too much to drink last night and I have no recollection of getting home but I imagine you must have driven me. Thank you. I hope I didn't say or do anything, um, you know, out of order?"
The temptation was too great. She said slowly "Well I wouldn't say it was out of order. I enjoyed it enormously, it's just a shame you can't remember."
"What? You don't mean …? Did I …? Did we …?"
She could hear the panic in his voice and relented. "Relax, Richard, I'm only teasing. Nothing happened. Of course you behaved like the perfect gentleman, as you always – well usually – do (unfortunately she added mentally). In fact you fell asleep."
She could sense the relief in his voice. "Oh, um, good. Well, it's Saturday again and I thought you were going to show me more of the island."
"I thought you were bored with seeing the island. You never seem very enthusiastic. And anyway, we've done most of the sights."
"You never showed me the volcano", he complained peevishly.
"Excuse me", she nearly exploded, "I wanted to take you to the volcano. It was you who said 'seen one volcano, you've seen them all', I seem to remember!"
"Oh really?" She could almost see the shrug.
"So how many volcanoes do you have in England?" she enquired sarcastically.
"We may not have volcanoes but we do have glacial valleys. We had our own Ice Age, you know! Something that this island could well do with!" Sensing that the conversation was heading in the direction of one of their infamous arguments, he added quickly "So are you going to take me to see this volcano or not?"
"OK" she replied casually, secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending the day in his company. "I'll pick you up in 30 minutes."
"You can climb right to the top, if you want to. There's a path but it's fairly steep – it might be a bit much for you," she said doubtfully as they drove into the National Park and the volcano loomed up before them.
"I may be older than you but I'm not yet decrepit" replied Richard tartly. "I'm sure I'll manage fine."
"OK come on then" and she led the way. For the first hour the path wound up through the tropical rainforest, through lush vegetation which now and then yielded glimpses of exotic birds. As they climbed they left the rainforest behind and the landscape slowly became more lunar. The path became steeper and harder. Camille stretched out her hand to Richard, who was in front. She didn't really require assistance (she was fitter than him any day) but she certainly wasn't going to miss such an obvious opportunity for a little physical contact. They finished the rest of the climb hand in hand.
"There" she said, as they emerged panting on the summit "you see the vapours coming out of the crevasse."
"Sulphur", he nodded, sniffing the air. "Don't get too close to the edge."
"And see, this is the best view on the island." As the acidic clouds cleared they could see the whole island spread beneath them, fringed with golden sands and lapped by the deep blue of the ocean.
"Very impressive" said Richard.
"Excuse me?"
"I said it's very impressive. It is. What's wrong with that?" he asked mystified.
"Nothing at all. It's just that it's the first time you've said anything nice about the island in all the excursions we've made."
"Oh, well, I must be going senile in my old age."
She laughed and pointed down the track. Let's go back to the jeep and I'll take you to one of my favourite places – it's not far."
"Where are we going?" he asked as they bumped uncomfortably along a rutted track.
"When I was young my friends and I used to come to swim in one of the waterfalls. It's not easy to find so there are no tourists. We used to think of it as our secret place. Here we are, follow me!"
She led the way through dense undergrowth. Richard gritted his teeth and firmly banished all thoughts of snakes and man-eating insects. He could hear the sound of rushing water. Suddenly they emerged into a sunlit clearing. A torrent of sparking, frothing water tumbled down an overhanging rock and into a large pool beneath, forming a watery curtain.
"It's an old volcanic crater so it's pretty deep" explained Camille. "There are two mountain streams that join and fall over the rock together, so they call it 'Le baiser des amants'." Richard raised an enquiring eyebrow. "The lovers' kiss. There's a legend, of course, but I'm sure you won't like it!"
"Oh please don't tell me it has anything to do with pirates or voodoo curses! No, let me guess. Women who bathe in the waterfall will be fertile and have at least a dozen children?"
She giggled uncontrollably. "Something like that. Well, all that climbing has made me very hot and sticky so I'm going to have a swim. I'll have to risk the dozen children! Are you coming in?"
"What? No, I haven't brought any swimming things" he protested.
"You don't need them. Swim in your underpants, or take them off and swim naked!" She laughed at the appalled expression on Richard's face. "Haven't you ever gone, how do you call it, skinny-dipping?"
"Certainly not! Have you any idea of the average sea temperature around the UK? Anyway, it's positively indecent and probably unhealthy."
"Oh come on, Richard, it will do you good. The water is lovely and cool."
"No no, I'll only tread on a jelly fish or a sea urchin or something."
"Richard, this is fresh water. Don't be such a baby!" And she started to strip off her clothes.
"No, wait, Camille!" he called, his face blanching.
"Don't worry, I've got my bikini on underneath!"
As if that made much difference, thought Richard, desperately trying to avert his eyes from the sight of her satin skin and taut muscles. His insides were behaving in a most peculiar way. He was afraid to look at her, afraid she might read in his face what he had tried so hard to deny, what had haunted his dreams for so many months now.
"See, you can look, I'm perfectly decent!" she called.
"Well I don't want to be accused of ogling" he offered.
"Ogle away", she laughed merrily and jumped into the pool. "It's really lovely. If you won't come in, why don't you go and sit on that rock that's sticking out and just dip your feet in the water?"
Richard considered the suggestion carefully. The water did indeed look inviting and, although it had been quite cool at the top of the volcano, the climb had made him extremely hot. There seemed little harm in just putting his feet in the water, so he took off his jacket and edged cautiously along to the end the rock which formed a little promontory into the lake. Sitting down carefully he removed his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers and lowered his feet gently into the water. It was blissfully cool. He sighed in contentment and turned his head to watch Camille swimming, her arms glistening in the sunlight as they arced through the water. He could easily have watched her all day. In her tiny white bikini she looked even more stunning than usual and her happy laughter rang out across the water. His heart began thumping so loudly he was sure she must hear it and he felt seriously light-headed. Surely, surely, this glorious creature couldn't seriously be interested in him? Could she possibly? Lost in his thoughts, Richard hardly heard his phone ring. He stood up to retrieve it from his jacket which he had left on the shore.
Camille swam happily, enjoying the sensation of the cool water on her burning body. Out of the corner of her eye she was watching Richard perched on his rock. Well, at least he had taken his shoes and socks off – that was a victory of a kind. She dived underneath the waterfall. Surfacing, she heard a strangled cry and then a splash. Richard's rock was empty.
"Richard!" she shrieked and made as fast as she could for the spot where he had fallen in. Before she could get there, however, he surfaced, spluttering.
"I got up to answer my phone and my foot slipped on the bloody rock" he gasped. "I went right under. You're right, the water is deep here. Oh well, since I'm in now I suppose I might as well have a swim."
"Are you all right? I didn't know if you could actually swim, since you never go near the water. And you're fully dressed!"
"I never said I couldn't swim. Of course I can swim. Everyone had to learn to swim at that damn school of mine. And not just swim, mind, we all had to do the lifesaving thing – you know, jumping in fully clothed."
"Really? OK, well come and save me then!" she called playfully and allowed herself to sink to the bottom of the pool. There was nothing for it. He just hoped he could remember how to do it. He took a deep breath, dived, caught her underneath the arms and hauled her to the surface. She was squealing with laughter.
"Can we stop playing games now, please?"
"Certainly." She drew him behind the curtain of water, put her arms round his neck and kissed him. It was only a brief kiss, as they were both treading water at the same time, but definitely a promise of things to come. The pounding of Richard's heart grew even louder. His senses were reeling dangerously. He stared at her wide-eyed as a slow smile spread across her face.
"Come on" she urged him "we need to dry off before we head home. It won't take any time in this heat." They climbed out onto the bank. Richard was dripping everywhere.
"You'd better take your clothes off and hang them out to dry. Don't worry" she added, seeing his face flush with embarrassment, "I've got a towel you can put round yourself for decency and I promise I won't look." She got the towel out of her bag, handed it to him and sat with her hands over her face.
"I don't trust you! Turn around", he ordered as he began to strip off his sodden clothing. She could hear mysterious rustlings, zips and buttons being undone. She edged round, desperate for a quick peek.
"No cheating!" he called reprovingly, then after a while "There, you can turn round now."
It was like washing day in one of the old villages. All his clothes were neatly spread over rocks and bushes to dry in the afternoon sun. He sat on a rock with the towel firmly tied round his waist busily slapping sun cream onto his never normally exposed arms and chest. She marvelled at how pale his skin still was, after all these months in the Caribbean. He stretched to reach his back and shoulders.
"Here, let me do that for you." As her fingers gently massaged the cream into his skin, sliding further and further down his back, he almost groaned with pleasure. He knew he would have to stop her, or he wouldn't be answerable for his actions.
"Thanks, that's fine, really fine."
They sat companionably, talking about anything except what was at the forefront of both their minds. They chatted about Dwayne's recent astonishing revelations and speculated about Jackson's likely future. Camille hoped that he would stay on the island – she thought it would do Dwayne good to have to think about someone other than himself and his love life. Richard, who rarely took a view on people's personal lives, tended to agree. He glanced at his watch.
"We should be getting back, my clothes are dry now." Camille obediently turned her back again while he quickly got dressed. She would deal with the undressing issue tonight, she promised herself. There was no way she was allowing him to go to sleep on her a second time! She felt light-headed, as if she was walking on air: the day had way exceeded her expectations. Richard had been the most relaxed she had ever seen him and she was confident now that she could make the final breakthrough.
As they drove slowly back towards Honoré, Richard reviewed the day's events in his mind. There seemed no doubt that – incredible though it might seem (and it did) – Camille did appear to want him. He didn't know how serious her feelings were, whether this was just a whim, a bit of a fling or something deeper. He suspected the former. After all, compared to other men, he really had very little to offer. He was quite a bit older than her, to start with, with very much less experience. She was stunning to look at, whereas he was … not. She was vibrant and fun-loving, his lifestyle more closely mirrored that of a trappist monk. Looked at in the cold light of day it did seem extraordinarily unlikely that she was after anything more than a quick thrill. He was a novelty, that was all, something different from her usual type of man. Yes, that was undoubtedly it. He was sure her interest would fade once her curiosity had been satisfied. In any case he seriously doubted his own ability to make her happy in the long run. The question remained: how far did he want the relationship to go? He could not deny that he was hugely attracted to her but he knew that a brief fling – although it was probably all that was on offer – was not what he was looking for. How would he feel if she quickly lost interest in him? Could he continue to work with her in those circumstances? He very much doubted that he could. But at least it would be something to remember once he got back to the UK.
They were approaching Honoré again, and he knew he needed to make a decision. Should he ask her to stay with him tonight? He suspected that she would if he asked, but should he take that next step? In the midst of his indecision his phone rang.
Camille could tell that the call came from the UK.
"Hello. Yes, yes it is. I'm sorry, I'm in the Caribbean, you see." A pause. "Oh my god, are they badly hurt?"
She glanced quickly at Richard. He looked shocked but was listening intently.
"Yes, I see. Well thank you for letting me know. Yes, I'll catch the next plane."
She looked at him enquiringly, concern etched in her face.
"It's my parents. They've been in a bad accident on the way back from Royal Ascot. A lorry smashed into their car. They're in hospital. Dad has lost part of his leg and has some internal injuries, Mum is in a coma, they don't know how serious it is at the moment. Camille, I'm sorry but I have to go back, they have no-one else. What time is the next flight to London?"
"I think there's one in a couple of hours. You've just about got time. I'll take you straight home so you can pick up your passport. Ring the airport."
They made a brief stop at the shack, where Richard quickly packed an overnight bag – no time for any proper luggage, which would probably get lost in any case, he thought grimly. On the way to the airport Richard called the Commissioner. He turned to Camille.
"He has given me two weeks' compassionate leave, at the end of which I have to let him know whether I'm coming back. He'll be ringing you shortly to ask you to take charge while I'm away."
Camille felt as if she were sleepwalking in a dream, or rather a nightmare. None of it seemed real. Only an hour or so ago they were on the brink of starting a relationship and now here was Richard flying out of her life, perhaps for good. It just couldn't be happening. She felt totally numb. She wanted to scream and shout, to beg him not to go but she just couldn't. She sat there blankly, devoid of all emotion. In her heart of hearts she knew he had no choice, and in any case Richard was now focused only on his parents and seemed hardly to realise that she was there.
They reached the airport just as the flight was about to close. There was no time for proper goodbyes. She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly, then pushed him away, wordlessly. He picked up his case and ran through the barrier without looking back. Which was when the storm broke and the tears began to stream down her face.