Chapter 8

Returning to the Caribbean

'Long distance flights in economy class are a modern version of torture', thought Richard Poole as he tried to find a comfortable position in his seat for the umpteenth time. It was just impossible to feel at ease in these cramped circumstances. Well, it wouldn't last much longer, the main part of the flight was over. Fortunately. Although… who knew what was waiting for him on Saint Marie? Depending on what that might be, he would perhaps wish the flight never had ended.

Slightly unnerved, he fiddled around with the entertainment screen in front of him – the movies that were available didn't appeal to him, so he had a look at the music channels and finally settled for the Beatles – the classical channel played the same pieces as last week when he had gone to the UK, and he wasn't interested in replaying it.

Admittedly, he didn't think every single song by the Beatles was a masterpiece, but many of them were pretty good, though their lyrics seldom were intellectually challenging (not to mention grammatically correct), particularly in the early years. Considering that they had only been around for about 10 years before they split up, their musical influence had been huge, in any case, and it was fun to listen to them, provided you were in the mood for it.

He followed the channel for a while, even tapped his foot along to "She loves you" and "I feel fine", but when the Fab Four started to sing "I'm a loser", he decided that enough was enough. He liked the catchy tune, but couldn't stand the lyrics at the moment. He got rid of the headphones halfway through the song and tried to think of something else to do. He had a book with him, of course, but had tried to get into it several times already – without any success. So, why bother again?

Closing his eyes, his mind roamed back to the past week. It had been a long week – strangely enough… he figured he perceived it that way because so much had happened. And then again – once he had spoken to the people in the HR department, it all seemed to go so fast – it was basically just running back to his hotel, packing everything up, going to bed, having weird dreams and running to the airport… and in less than an hour he'd be back on Saint Marie.

London had been – well, of course, it had been good to be back, feel the rain and the cold, melt into the grey and anonymous masses again… Wearing his jumper and putting on the heating in his hotel room had given him a strange feeling of pleasure. It was nice not to sit in an oven all day long as he did in the Caribbean. He had also enjoyed visiting a few museums and exhibits. There wasn't anything like that on Saint Marie. But it had been an emotionally challenging couple of days, and he felt drained. By the same token, he had to admit that he had gained some surprising insights – he hoped he could put them to good use. And his appointment with HR had gone better than expected. He was relieved that he had come to an agreement with them, that should make things easier in many respects. In many, however, maybe not in all…

That "maybe" worried him a little, to put it mildly. Right – it scared him out of his wits, if he was honest. But what had Alison's words been? "Remember, Richard – there is truth in what Einstein said about insanity: it means doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. If you want things to change, you will have to stop following the same pattern!"

Rationally, he could see the point, but translating it into action was a whole different story. He also knew that his personality was formed – all he could do was try and look at things from different angles, move out of his comfort zone every once in a while and establish new habits. But his character was something that couldn't be changed – there was no question of that, anyway – it was more a matter of "loosening up" and leaving more doors open than keeping them all closed and shutting people out… He understood that now.

How would these attempts to alter some of his behaviour patterns turn out? Then again, if Camille didn't like him the way he was now, she wouldn't like another version of him, either – he'd always be more reserved and less gregarious than the island people. Ah, it wasn't easy. The thing was, he was beginning to get fed up with being the predictable person he'd been for so long - someone who'd do the same thing over and over, sitting on the fence and watching others having fun. For a long time, this had been what he had wanted – but not so anymore. So, if he didn't like it, he'd have to make changes. He was holding on to some habits out of insecurity, as he had realised during the conversation with Alison – and as he wasn't happy with all that, anyway, he might as well make a few changes and see where that would lead him… but how and where should he begin?

He remembered how dead embarrassed he had been when his cousin had accidentally seen all the different photos of Camille. He had never intended to show her all of them – had she not taken the phone out of his hand and flipped innocently through the shots, that never would have happened. But of course, it wasn't her fault. It was nobody's fault but his own – he never should have stored all these pictures in the first place. He never should have taken them at all… He had blushed and tried to cover up his embarrassment with a quip, but his wisecracking hadn't worked this time. She knew him too well.

Alison had leant back and said with a light smile "And this is Camille, I reckon?" He had nodded and looked down onto the dish of tiramisu in front of him. Her voice had been genuinely sympathetic as she had continued "She's very pretty. And apparently temperamental."

His lips had twitched as he responded "Mercurial, in fact. She's 'half French' – need I say more?" "You've got it quite bad, hm?" He had looked up again and asked back "Is it so obvious?" His cousin had raised her eyebrows and remarked "Well, I'm sure that not everybody knows you have heaps of pictures of her on your phone. And given the fact that you have perfected the art of playing your emotional cards close to your chest, I doubt that people could guess how far your feelings really go." He had felt relieved. The last thing in the world that he wanted was making an idiot of himself by appearing moonstruck like a lovesick teenager.

She had continued "But whatever… I don't think here's the right place to talk about that – provided you want to talk about it at all. I mean, it's your life, and you're a big boy, so you might not want to discuss it." Apparently, she had half expected him to either laugh it off or blow up at her and tell her to mind her own business, but that hadn't happened. He had just sighed. Oh dear. Yes, he really had it bad. No point in pretending it was otherwise. Right. So, this solved the problem of whether or not - and if yes - how to bring up the subject…

They had finished their dessert in silence. The tiramisu was excellent, but somehow, Richard had found it hard to do it justice at this point. Without any further discussion, he had agreed to accompany her back to the library afterwards. They entered the building through the staff entrance. As they had arrived at Alison's office, she had parked him in one of the armchairs in a corner of the room where she usually sat down with bookshop representatives or other official visitors. She had made some tea, called Dorothy to say she was back but didn't wish to be disturbed until further notice and put a note on her office door, indicating that she was in an important meeting.

He had felt like the proverbial duck in a thunderstorm – somewhat apprehensive and slightly frightened of what might come next – as he was watching her move around quietly. Well, at least his cousin would not shoot him down and make him feel like the complete idiot that he probably was.

Finally, Alison had poured him a cup of tea (quite drinkable, though not perfect) and taken the seat opposite to him, leaning back and demanding softly "Now come on, Richard – spit it out!" This simple invitation had opened the floodgates – well, as far as Richard's buttoned-up personality had allowed it (which admittedly wasn't very far, compared to other people).

After some intitial stammering and stuttering, it hadn't taken him long to describe the way Camille and he had met and how their rocky relationship had developed over the past two years. Alison had just let him talk and had not interrupted him. Occasionally, she had asked a question to draw him out further, and every once in a while, she had chuckled quietly or made an understanding noise. The story of the Erzulie festival and the preceding arguments had made her smile gently, and when Richard had described with few words (and a harrowed expression) how helpless he had felt when Aimee had been killed, her eyes had become misty, but she hadn't moved or said anything. She had understood already how he had wanted to slap himself for his ineptitude – there was no need to elaborate on it.

He had not gone into how exactly they had spent the night of the hurricane as he had felt that this was very private and personal – and it would not have added any further relevant information. That was what he had reasoned – but of course it had only been part of the truth. The memory of the feeling of Camille's lithe body nestled so close to his and the peace he had felt while listening to her soft breathing as she was sleeping (after he had overcome his initial tenseness and the worries that she might notice how her nearness confused him) – that was too precious to him – he would not share that with anybody. Talking about this moment would have been an act of desecration.

Yes, he knew it, he was hopelessly sentimental about this, maybe to the extent of being silly. But well – if he wanted to be sentimental, that was all his own business. All that counted to him was that he wanted to cherish the memory – he might never get as close to her again as he had been that night – not only physically, but also emotionally. The dreams that had been haunting him even more persistently since then also remained his secret… He hardly admitted them to himself – there was no way he'd talk about them.

He had not mentioned to Alison, either, that during their conversation, Camille had tilted her head to the side – a habit that he found disturbingly adorable - and said "You don't have to solve your puzzles alone anymore. You have me now." He still wasn't quite sure what precisely she had wanted to say by that. It drove him nuts. There was a host of possible meanings, and he did not want to play guessing games. Women and their mysterious ways! He'd never understand them… Why didn't they just say what they meant? So he had only told Alison that he and Camille had talked about childhood memories, and she had said that she liked him when he was "human".

As he had fallen silent, Alison had been sitting there, quietly fingering her colourful wooden necklace and looking at him thoughtfully. She surely had been well aware of how much it had cost him emotionally to open up like that – although, compared to others, he still had been very reserved and had managed to formulate in his own factual, almost austere style. After all, he was used to sticking to bare facts. It was essential in his job.

"Well, you've had a bit of a bumpy start, haven't you," she finally had remarked. Richard just huffed. "Let me just summarize this, Richard…" she had then offered. "You are smitten with Camille, but you are afraid of showing her. If she returns your feelings and things move on from there, you're scared that you will muck up the relationship. Not to mention that working with her could become difficult if you cannot separate your private life from your professional relationship. Let me say that I don't think the latter would happen – you aren't the type who would mix up different levels of relationships with people and make Camille suffer at work for something she said to you in private – and the other way round. I know you are fair, even if you are upset with someone – at least you try. If she doesn't return your feelings, you will feel humiliated, and working together would also be difficult. You would perhaps also lose her friendship. So, you've been determined to keep it a secret until now. Right?"

He had nodded mutely, and she had continued: "Another issue is the three month extension to your assignment that you mentioned earlier on – you haven't made a move so far also because you've been scared that your assignment might not get prolonged at some point, and if you had started to open up and show your feelings a bit more, the budding relationship might have come to an end abruptly as the Met will just give you a month to finish all ongoing work and start at your new workplace. Asking for a permanent transfer to Saint Marie now would mean you'd be stuck there, for better or for worse, and if things between you and Camille go wrong, you couldn't escape. Seems like you're between a rock and a hard place here, huh! You don't want to move, and from your perspective, anything you did do might end in a catastrophe. You can't keep still, either, because your feelings are getting in the way now. It may not be a very original thing that I'm saying now, but honestly, there is no such thing as a risk-free life. You'll never know if you don't try, and you have already lost if you don't go ahead and give it a shot. I think it's time for you to take charge of your life and do something about what's paralysing you."

Her words had made Richard squirm in his armchair. "So," – he had cleared his throat – "you think I'm a coward?"

"No, Richard – if you were a coward you'd just bury your head and ignore the whole thing, hoping it would go away. You're trying to face it, though, and you know that something's got to happen, you just don't know what. As I see it, you've been hurt quite deeply at some point in the past, and you're afraid. You bury yourself in work, and when you're not working, you're busying yourself with solitary activities. You try not to want what you think is out of your league and that you believe you can't have." He had laughed with some bitterness at that remark – there was more truth in this than he cared to admit.

"Your fear of getting hurt again is like a cloak you're wearing, and you pretend you don't care about others so nobody can cause you pain. But who are you fooling there? Not even yourself, I daresay. According to your words, Camille is intuitive and reads people well… don't you think she has figured this all out yet? As far as her own feelings are concerned – I cannot speak for her, obviously. But a lot of what you say indicates that she honestly likes and respects you, and that's a good foundation. She spends so much time with you at work, and then she asks you to join the get-togethers in her mother's bar so she can spend even more time with you. She made your other officers revamp the boat for you. She took you to places so you'll get to know the island. She found someone to give you medication when you had that irritating skin condition. She did not even run away when she saw you in your striped pyjamas. She agreed to feeding your lizard during your absence. You know, she would not do these things if she didn't genuinely like you. She wants you to feel comfortable and settle in – do you think she'd do all that if she didn't care?"

"But what if it's really only friendship? I might destroy what we have if I show her how much she means to me." And I'd be lonely again, more so than before, he had added in his thoughts. Aloud, he continued "And I mean, look at me – I'm hardly good enough for her…"

He had pulled a face, thinking of his hairline and his lack of fitness. And of his age, his light, oversensitive skin, his overall boring looks. Alison had laughed again. "Oh Richard – that's silly, and you're fishing for compliments. You're so much more than just 'good enough'. You might not look like a Greek god – depending on which of their gods you choose to compare yourself to, that actually is a very good thing! - but you're in fairly good shape, and if you started to exercise again a bit more regularly, you'd look even better. Yes, I know it's hot and humid over there, but where there is a will, there is a way. Stop pitying yourself – do something! Not to impress people, but to feel better about yourself! And believe me, your beautiful Camille surely has doubts about herself, too. Everybody does, no matter how pretty they are. Whether there's a good reason for it or not - chances are, she thinks her bum is too fat or her boobs are too small. Or both."

Richard had stared at Alison in disbelief. Surely someone like Camille who had been blessed with beauty wouldn't have doubts about her appearance? He had tried to digest this. Alison had interrupted his thoughts by continuing: "But really, at the end of the day, it's not looks that count, and you know that, of course. It's character, it's a sense of humour, it's compassion, it's the ability to give and receive love, the readiness to forgive and compromise – oh, so much more. You have all that, and it will never ever go away although you try to hide it because people have taken advantage of you in the past. You know, looks might pique your interest initially, but if that's all you have, it won't hold the fascination for too long. If Camille was only beautiful, you would have lost interest long ago. I doubt you'd be pining for her if she were a shallow bimbo and judged people by their appearance. You say she worked undercover – don't you think she has a good eye for what people are and what they are not, no matter what they look like? It's about so much more than looks. I know for sure that Sid and I wouldn't have come together if it had only been our respective appearances! Particularly considering how we first met…" She had chuckled at a memory.

Richard suddenly had wanted to know how she and Sid had got to know one another – he had realised that he had never wondered. Sid just had been there at some point, and there never had been any hint about how they met. Alison had seen the question mark in his eyes and laughed again. "I never told you, did I? I guess it won't hurt to do so now… Well, we both were guests at a wedding. One of these big, fancy ones, with hats, feathers and fascinators. I didn't know anyone apart from the bride and just ate my way through the hors d'oeuvres. I was bored silly. You know that extensive small talk has never really been my cup of tea. Sid was standing at the other side of the lawn, idly watching people as he loves to do – you know what he's like! I didn't even notice him, I was just standing there, having a vol-au-vent. The next thing I knew was that I felt awfully sick, stumbled into the bushes behind me and threw up, trying to make as little noise as possible. Suddenly, I heard someone say 'It's going to be all right', and he was there, holding my head as I was sicking up and taking care of me. He gave me his handkerchief, helped me to make myself presentable again and even managed to retrieve my handbag that I had thrown somewhere. I was so embarrassed, yet unbelievably grateful. I think I just gawked at him once I had come to life again. He said nonchalantly 'You know, I love the colour of your dress' – it was sage! – 'but it got a bit disconcerting when your face turned the same shade of green, so I thought I'd come to the rescue.' Believe me, I wanted the ground to swallow me up! But we were friends from that moment on, went out for coffee and drinks a couple of times, and months later, we realised we were in love. We never had a serious 'date' with all the trimmings – candlelight, self-conscious chit-chat, so-called romantic gestures that are supposed to impress the person sitting opposite to you - you name it. That's all good and well, but personally, I believe that's over-rated. Anyway. We more or less slid into it. It just happened. Sid still is my best friend. He drives me bonkers at times, and I know that he feels the same way about me, but we don't want to live without one another."

Richard smiled as he thought of this love story. It gave him hope for the future. No matter how odd the circumstances had been - Alison had found a best friend who turned into the love of her life, so maybe there was a chance for him as well. He felt a lot more determined now than a week ago – he would make a move.

Then, much to his surprise, the announcement that passengers should get ready for landing came through. He hadn't even noticed that it was already time. He felt a knot in his stomach as he thought about what the evening and the forthcoming weekend might bring. As he shoved his briefcase under the seat in front of him, the flap opened and something rectangular fell out: Alison's goodbye present, nicely wrapped in gift paper, decorated with stars in all colours. The tag said 'Reach for the stars, Richard – enjoy, and good luck!'

Notes: The songs by the Beatles are "I feel fine" (published as a single record in 1964), "She loves you" (published as a single record in 1963) and "I'm a loser (published 1964, on the album "Beatles for Sale").

They obviously are from their early creative period during which they mostly came up with catchy tunes and easy lyrics, although "I'm a loser" is considered a turning point as it's the first time the Beatles actually go beyond "young love" in their songs and talk about disappointment and having to put up a straight face despite being sad ("Help" – which is a lot more straightforward and literally cries out for help, despite the zippy music – came out in the following year).