Part 2 of 3
DI Poole hears the strangled silence from across the breakfast table as he scans the article again, hoping that this is a bad dream of some kind. Faint hope, as it turns out, because now he can feel the air heating up all around him.
He risks a quick peek overtop his Guadeloupe newspaper to gauge his wife's reaction to reading the same news in her local paper then gulps and ducks his head, now hoping to merely survive the next few minutes.
"Did you…?" is all she gets out before he forestalls her with his most levelest voice, "No, I didn't, you KNOW I didn't. Whoever is dreaming up these schemes is doing it without my knowledge or permission… and we both know who it is." He calmly folds his paper and lays it upon the table, "I don't know why he thinks he can get away with such behaviour."
Camille spears him with burning eyes, "He gets away with it because he CAN! You're too polite to punch him and I'm too scared of his wife to punch him myself! You are tourist-bait of the first water and he's going to use you as long as you're young and beautiful!"
Now he smiles small and clears his throat, "You think I'm young and beautiful?"
She slaps the table, making him jump as she grits out, "Oh yes, young and beautiful enough to pull in the ladies from all over!" She shakes her copy of the Sainte-Marie Times at him, "You'll notice that nowhere does it mention that you're married and a gentleman! That you're polite and quiet and not the dancing roué!" She glares at the innocent newsprint, "Oooo, that man!"
He stares at her for several seconds then wipes his lips and sets his napkin atop his paper, "Right, it's time someone told him the facts of life." He stands, smoothing down his tie, "I'll march right over to Government House and tell him in no uncertain terms that this latest deal is a no-go. He'll have to think of something else to lure visitors."
Her eyebrows go up, "Really? Do you want me to come with you?"
He leans down, kisses her cheek, "No, dearest, as I once told you, I'm not a child. Besides, you need to rest. You and the little one," and he gently pats her burgeoning belly." There is determination in his actions as he slips on his suit jacket and heads for the door. "I'll be back soon. Is there anything I can pick up for you in town?"
Her head lifts, "Yes! Another bunch of those icy-cold radishes, please!"
He turns in the doorway, "Camille! The baby will be bright red if you keep this up."
She grins, "I can't help it, the cool crunch, the firm white flesh, the peppery tang, I can't get enough of it… better get me TWO bunches."
He turns away with a satisfied smirk and mutters something but before she can ask him to repeat whatever husbandly insult he just said, he's out the door and gone.
Sighing, she picks up her paper and turns to the crosswords, "Let's see now, 8 letters, heaven on earth. Oh, that's easy!" Very carefully she crams in 'Richard Poole'. It's a constant marvel to her just how many puzzles can be satisfied by that one answer.
One hour later
She hears him come in the front door and struggles up from the divan where she's been reading the latest baby book. "Mon Cher, how did it go?"
He comes into the room, looking decidedly unsettled, "It didn't go at all! When I got to his office, he had Zannier and Romeo and Perse and several other small business owners crammed in around his desk. Everyone has a stake in this tour! The town is even getting a new bus out of it!" He sits down beside her and takes her hand, "Your mother was there…"
She brightens, "Maman? Well! I'm sure she had something to say about all this!"
He darkens, "She certainly did. She advised me to lose half a stone and let my hair grow out."
This is met with betrayed silence. "She did! Everyone in that room is investing a lot of effort and money in this. Then, adding insult to injury, they congratulated me on being such a good sport!" He puts his head into his hands and groans, "Oh, Camille, what am I going to do?"
She rubs his back in commiseration, "You'll do what you always do, your very best! You'll lead this tour like the fine Chief of Police that you are and I'll make sure Fidel goes with you as he's memorized every single case we've ever handled." She wobbles to her feet.
"Where are you going?" he asks, his arm around her non-existent waist, steadying her.
"I'm calling Juliette to tell her they're going to chaperone, that's what! And if they can bring Rosie, even better!"
He follows her out to the hallway phone, "Rosie? What's wee Rosie got to do with it?"
As she dials, she explains, "The only person who will guard you more jealously then me is Rosie. That child thinks you walk on water, Richard. No one will get within a yard of you with her on the job." She puts a hand over the mouthpiece and makes shooing motions, "Now, you go do something detectivey while I scheme with Juliette."
Richard sighs and turns away. It's true; he does have detectivey things to do, his home desk is never clear. He goes into his air-conditioned office and immerses himself once more in cold hard facts. Cups of perfect tea appear as if by magic all through the afternoon until he closes the final file, stretches, and returns to the real world.
He finds his wife happily preparing supper. He takes the knife out of her hand and motions her to sit while he takes over, which she does with evident relief. "Well?" he asks, "How did it go?"
"Very well," she huffs, lifting her tired feet onto a vacant chair. "The Best family is all set, Rosie especially."
"Oh? Why Rosie especially?"
Camille replies, "She says she'll keep the bad'uns away from you." At her husband's sharp look, she shrugs and avoids his eyes, "Um, it might be that Rosie has overheard some private conversations between her mother and me about… well… you know."
He shakes his head, scoffing, "So now I have THREE extra shadows, wonderful."
"The more the merrier!" his wife agrees heartily.
He finishes, slips the casserole into the oven, and comes to the table. He lifts her feet, slides into the chair, then settles her heels onto his lap and begins a most welcome foot rub. "Well, your machinations can't do much else to confuse things; the Commissioner WILL have his tour, the business people WILL do business, and I…" he sighs, "… I will endure, as always."
She leans forward, slips a comforting hand around to stroke his nape, "My hero."
He grumps, "That might sound nicer if you weren't trying so hard not to laugh."
She settles back with a chuckle, "Sorry, but all I can imagine is you on a bus full of sun-burnt murder fans and answering all their insane questions, just like…"
His head snaps up. He has that look in his eyes, the 'white board' look. "… just like Suzy Park? Oh, Camille, you're a genius!" He swivels her feet onto another chair and leaves the room.
"Where are you going?" she calls after him, feeling like a beached whale.
His voice drifts back up the hallway, "To make my own plans."
She hears his office door close and sighs wearily, patting her stomach, "Ah, me, kid, it isn't easy being married to the…" she pauses, picks up the paper, checks the wording, then lays it back down again, "… the most illustrious and gracious Chief of Police of Sainte-Marie."
Then she smiles, "Not easy… but definitely worth it, yes aye!"
END – part 2
