Chapter 11

Revelations and Surprises

They were driving the familiar route to Richard's shack. Camille was more nervous than she cared to admit – she hoped he'd like the surprise she had prepared for him. The welcome party at La Kaz had been a team thing, but she had wanted something more personal… Now she wasn't so sure anymore that it had been a good idea, but well – she'd find out.

As they were riding along in silence, she remembered all the times she had driven here to pick him up. During the first few months she had been reluctant, and it had only been a chore. This changed gradually, and over the past months, she had actually been looking forward to their commute to work. It wasn't a long ride, but it was long enough to talk a little. They had had some enlightening conversations about cases. Of course, they had also had arguments. But it never got boring. Since she had started working with Richard, there had never been a really dull day on the job – although it didn't provide the same kind of excitement like undercover work.

Richard was an amazing detective, and she had learnt to respect him fairly quickly –she only didn't want to admit it at first, not even to herself. Over time, she began to like him – although she didn't always understand him. When precisely she had fallen in love with him she really couldn't pinpoint. It seemed that before she knew it, she was already there – knee-deep in it. It hadn't happened head over heels, that much was sure. Oh, how he had driven her up the walls at first! And little by little, the traits that had annoyed her to no end for a long time didn't count so much anymore – his qualities outweighed his irritating features. He still was the most annoying man on the planet – but for whatever reason, he was just what she wanted. She had worked that out during the week of his absence. The intensity of her feelings for him scared her a little – it had been a long time since she had felt so strongly about someone.

"So, how was London?" she finally asked. "I mean, I know it was cold and rainy – but what else? Did you get together with your parents? Wasn't it nice to see them again?" She took a quick sideways glance at him and noticed how his face clouded. Hmm. That hadn't been the best question to ask, obviously. She expected him to give her an evasive answer, but much to her surprise he didn't – instead he looked down on his hands that were resting on his thighs and said matter-of-factly "Oh, it was pretty much the same as usual. My mother – ah, she just keeps fussing about me. It can be a little suffocating. And I can't help but wish she'd done that some odd 30 years ago instead of now that I'm an adult. She doesn't know me as a person, if that makes sense. Of course, I know that people always look at their offspring as 'children' who have to be mothered, if you know what I mean, but well, it all remains on the surface. And then… She asks the same general things over and over – and basically, you get the impression that as long as you wear your woollen underwear, carry an umbrella with you and cover up your ears when it gets too windy, all is well in your life."

Camille couldn't suppress a smile. "And are you wearing your woollen underwear?" she teased. He pursed his lips, and for a moment she half-expected that he'd retort something that could be interpreted as frivolous (he sometimes said the most surprising things, after all… she remembered how she had asked him about his 'date' with a book once and he had given her an unexpectedly suggestive answer) – but then he just huffed at her and replied lightly "Wouldn't you just love to know that, Detective Sergeant!"

Before she could squeeze in another remark, he went on: "And as far as my father is concerned… You know, I told you before I hadn't had a real conversation with him in more than 20 years, and it hasn't changed this time." He looked down on his hands. "It's kind of depressing. I really tried to have an open mind this time when I visited them – our recent conversation, you know, while we were… er… stuck in the meteorological lab, made me wonder if I had perhaps not asked the right questions or talked about things that interested him. Mum and he both have said fairly often that they hardly know anything important about my life, but as I started telling them about Saint Marie and my work and all that, they clearly didn't want to hear it. Or so it seemed to me. Mum interrupted me constantly and asked things that were completely unrelated to what I had just mentioned, and Dad went away in the middle of it all to look after the plants in his shed. You know, I think it's fairly hopeless. They live their lives, and I live mine, and there's no common ground anymore – if there ever was – apart from the fact that we are genetically connected. And even that seems doubtful sometimes. It's like "Matilda", you know, Roald Dahl's book. They're not horrible like that, but it's like they cannot understand we're related as I haven't turned out the way they had expected. I feel like an alien with them sometimes." He now stared glumly out of the window. His dejection was palpable.

Without thinking, she took her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it on his. "I'm so sorry" she said softly. He didn't push it away, but squeezed her fingers lightly before reminding her to keep both of her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road.

After a few minutes of silence, Camille tentatively took up the conversation again. "And what else did you do? Did you visit any museums or see exhibits?" His face lit up and he began to give her a rambling description of the places he had gone to. "And then, of course, it just was nice to walk around. I had really missed London, you know. It's such a special city. So much to do and so much to see."

"Has it changed a lot during your absence?" she asked.

"Well, London will always be London… but of course, some things are different now. New buildings, new shops, new restaurants… all that. It just happens, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know what you mean. When I was in Paris again last year – you remember, that was around the time when you had the case with the diver, when you fell ill with the fever, and that DS from the UK stepped in – I realised that it had changed quite a bit since my training. And yet again, the atmosphere remained the same, and it was still Paris!"

"Do you ever miss Paris?" he asked. "In your daily life, I mean?" Camille pondered the question. Did she miss Paris? Oh yes, sometimes she did…

"Paris is wonderful, and yes, I miss it sometimes. Not painfully so, and not on a daily basis. There are certain small things that I loved – things like walking along the Seine, croissants and baguettes from my favourite bakery, going to the cinema with friends… I miss all that, there's nothing like that over here. Well, we do have croissants and baguette, obviously, but it's not so much the bakery goods themselves but the atmosphere of the place where I bought them. And I miss being able to go and see a play in the theatre, to go to an exhibit or a museum when the mood strikes me – that kind of thing. There's just not so much of that around here. I also miss some of the people there. But I also have friends here, and I have Maman, and I can do other things here, like watersports, or bush hiking. I missed that when I was in Paris! And of course, life is more relaxed here, there's less pressure, and I like that, too. You know, there are good sides to both places, and I prefer enjoying those instead of dwelling on what I could have at the other place."

He had never asked about her time in Paris before – it was almost strange to talk about it now. He never had shown any interest, and she certainly hadn't said much about it to him over the past two years. Now, it seemed like he wanted to know more – which was actually really nice – and maybe get to know her from a different angle and understand how she had developed into the person that she was now. She sensed that it was more than general chit-chat. His stay in London after his long absence had apparently opened his eyes to the fact that she, too, had had a different life before her undercover work had brought her back to Saint Marie. And it had been an interesting life in so many respects…

"Careful. There's a pot – ouch! Really, Camille, one would think you'd be familiar with the road by now so you could avoid the potholes!" he complained with a scowl.

"Um. Sorry – I was thinking about something else" she apologised and continued "I'm sorry about your suitcase, Richard – that makes you wonder about bad karma, doesn't it?"

"It would if I believed in the concept. I don't, however, so to me it seems more like a conspiracy. I just cannot get my head around who would conspire against me like that. After all, nobody wins if I have to walk around in the same suit for who knows how long." He groaned and rolled his eyes. Camille laughed sympathetically.

The look on his face changed, and he glanced at her hesitantly. "Actually…" he began – but then lost his courage again. "Actually – what?" she asked back. It was as if he was nervous – Camille felt self-conscious all of a sudden and wondered what would come next.

"Erm, you know, Camille… the Commissioner has given me a few addresses of places for shopping – um, clothes shopping, that is… lightweight stuff, apparently… Do you think – ah... Would you mind very much – erm…"

He obviously struggled with his tongue-tiedness, but she smiled at him and said happily "Are you asking me to go shopping with you? Actually, I'd like that very much, Richard!" "Would you? Oh – ah – thank you!" He seemed baffled – and relieved. She rested her elbow on the frame of the open car window and said gleefully "I know a couple of nice shops, too – maybe we can get a few bargains! How about getting some colourful shorts?" She grinned at the horrified look on his face and added "Instead of the woollen underwear, I mean!" He began to say something, but in the next moment, he cried out "Ouch! Camille, really, could you just pay a little more attention, please?" She had hit a small rock on her way down to his shack, and the Rover had jolted a little. Fortunately, they were there now, so she hit the brake and shut off the engine.

As they got off the car, she reached behind the front seat and took out a cooler. Noticing his inquiring look, she explained "I bought some basic supplies for you so you'll survive until you can go grocery shopping again. It's no fun coming back to an empty fridge. Well – as it is, you are indeed returning to an empty fridge, but I'm filling it up for you right away, so there's no hurry for you to hit the shops first thing tomorrow morning! It's nothing spectacular, but it should get you through the weekend."

The approached the shack, and Camille pointed at Harry's water dish. "See, I have kept my promise! I put out water for Harry regularly, and I gave him his mango-and-bugs mix as well. I fed him yesterday evening, so it's time again." She looked around, but no sign of Harry so far. She went on: "He's usually fairly punctual – I hope he hasn't gone into a sulk because dinner is a little later today. Do you want me to feed him for you, or do you want to do it yourself?" She smiled as she saw that he was keen to see the lizard again. "Oh, and I hope you'll see that I have taken good care of your place!" she added. "I've even swept out the loathsome sand a couple of times, just to please you!"

He shot her a disgruntled look, unlocked the door and went inside. As Camille followed him, her nervousness returned – oh dear, what an assortment of mixed emotions she had gone through already since his return. What would come next? Only a few more minutes, and he'd see his surprise – what would he say? Would he notice at all? After all, he was a man – and men didn't always notice little things. Although, all in all it was several little things. Surely he couldn't overlook that? And what would his reaction be? Had she gone too far? Had she messed up?

She turned to the kitchen counter, and for a brief moment she closed her eyes so she could focus again. Then she opened the fridge and put the food inside in an unhurried manner as he dropped his briefcase and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. She heard water splashing, then he came back, towel in hand, with a bewildered look on his face.

"Um, Camille, I think… Did you bring… this towel here – it's not mine, as far as I know!" She peeked around the fridge door. "Well, it is now…" she responded. "Do you mean…?" He turned to look back into the bathroom and suddenly saw that there were several sets of new towels in different sizes on the shelf, all of the best quality, thick and cozy, and in nice colours as he liked them – dark blue, tan, burgundy red, hunter green… He returned to the kitchenette. Camille couldn't help but smile when she saw his face – he seemed incredulous, mystified and pleased all at the same time. Good grief, if a couple of towels already made him so happy, what would he say about the other things?

"Erm, thank you, Camille – that's a lovely surprise. How did you… oh, I know. The towels that were here were – uh - a bit threadbare, weren't they… I had never bothered to replace them." He seemed a little ashamed.

Camille said softly "Yes, they were. I couldn't imagine you'd find them very comfy. And I thought that maybe you'd be less grumpy if you had nice cozy towels to look forward to after your morning shower." Then she nodded in the direction of the main room and said "There's more. I hope you'll like it." He rushed over - Harry and his dinner seemed forgotten.

His excitement was endearing. All his weariness after the long flight seemed to fall off as he looked at the new coverlet on the bed – one of the upper corners was neatly folded to the middle so it looked like a triangle, and he cold see that there were new sheets as well. Several small cushions that obviously had no other purpose but adorn the arrangement rounded it all off. Camille wasn't all that gifted when it came to domestic affairs, but she had put a lot of effort into this so it would look inviting – and maybe, just maybe, it would inspire him a little. She had vowed to be kind and patient – but there was more to the love she felt for him, and she just wanted to give him a little nudge. A clear sign that he could not mistake for anything else…

He also found her card. Well, that wasn't much of a feat since it was placed right on the pillow. Camille busied herself with re-arranging the tea tins on his kitchen shelf, but watched him from the corner of her eye. He opened the card, read it and smiled bashfully. She hadn't chosen an overly suggestive card, and what she had written inside was not exactly a straightforward confession of her feelings, but she had trusted his power of deduction to come to the appropriate conclusion. And she had signed with her name and a series of 'X's and O's' – he'd know what that meant.

Obviously all this along with the fact that she had supplied him with new towels and bed linen was enough to set off his imagination. "Still waters run deep", she thought with a little smile as she saw the expression on his face change. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. It almost appeared like he was trying to summon up the resolve and courage to do something he was scared of.

She noticed that he looked up - right in her direction. Their eyes met very briefly. Suddenly shy again, she looked away, turned her back on him and wiped some invisible crumbs off the counter. She heard his steps as he was moving closer to her again, could feel him standing behind her now, his hands were hovering over her shoulders, and his nervousness was tangible.

"Camille…" His voice was soft and a tiny little bit hoarse. She waited – it was his turn now. He cleared his throat and tried again: "Thank you, Camille. I've never said it, have I?" He paused. "I'm just not very good at these things… I mean… Thank you for everything you've done for me, that is, not only for this, but... well, I guess I'm thanking you for being here and for being you... and maybe we… erm… You shouldn't… oh, Camille, you are so special to me, but I didn't think… um… are you…" There was a moment of silence, then he took a deep breath and continued "I mean, are you sure about what you wrote in the card?"

She took pity now and turned around – what else could she do? It certainly wasn't an eloquent speech, but it clearly came straight from his heart, and knowing him, she understood how difficult it was for him to make this move. She looked up from under her lashes, invitingly. His hands finally settled on her shoulders, and he looked into her eyes. His thumbs were beginning to draw small semi circles on her skin – it seemed like he didn't even notice what he was doing. She was very aware of it, though, and it made her heart beat faster… She tried a smile and tilted her head to one side, still waiting, trying to look more encouraging. Surely, now he would… wouldn't he?

And then he kissed her. A little diffidently and with restraint at first, as if he wasn't sure of her response and wanted to leave her a chance to back out if she wanted to. But that changed quickly – her enthusiastic reaction showed him clearly how much she wanted him, and his increasing confidence took her by surprise. Her head was whirling as his kiss got deeper and more demanding, his lips were teasing hers apart, she felt his tongue in her mouth, his muscles under her hands, his hands sliding down her back and then stroking her flanks. She trembled slightly in his arms, sensed the little sway as he pulled her closer still… and for a moment, she wondered – it had been quite a while for her, after all… and then there was nothing but him.

The doubts, questions, frustrations and worries of the past months dissolved, and all that remained was the love, the hunger, and the desire. She felt how he lifted her up and carried her to the bed… Shirt, dress, belt, trousers, underwear – they all got into the way, piece after piece was discarded - and before too long, the new sheets were put to good use...

Notes: The book that Richard refers to is "Matilda" by Roald Dahl. There's a movie version which isn't all that bad, but I absolutely recommend the book – Roald Dahl is just so funny.