Part 2 of 5
She pats his cheek, cajoling, "Yes, yes, yes, I know! Detective Inspector Richard POOLE… of THE MET!"
His eyes weave open, slightly out of sync, and he jabs a shaky finger at her, "An' don' you forgeddit!"
She gets an arm under his shoulder again and turns him towards his bed, "I won't, I won't, I promise. Now, let's get into bed, hmmm?"
He reaches out an equally shaky arm, plops his hand down onto the snowy linens, nods jerkily, "Thass th' best idea you had yet, Sarge," and he crawls slowly onto the bed.
She deftly undoes his belt and grabs hold of his trousers. He crawls right out of them and collapses onto his belly with a low groan but she is already running around to the other side to grab his out flung hand, "C'mon, Detective Inspector, nap time's over, time for a nice cool shower, doctor's orders."
He opens one aggrieved eye and glares, "Go 'way, lemme sleep, thass a direct order, Sarge!" He closes his eye and breaks out into a fresh sheen of sweat, his back mottling an unsettling crimson.
Camille swoops down and grabs his far hip and shoulder, pulls, and rolls him over almost right off the bed. He squalls and clutches at the sheets but she is relentless and manages to jack-knife his feet onto the floor which pretty much forces him into a semi-prone position. From there, she tugs his arms and he swoons upright and onto her shoulder.
He's heavier than he looks. Solid. Dense. She shakes her head to dislodge these thoughts, "Okay, Richard, c'mon, one step at a time. We're going to have a nice cool shower."
His head lolls and he slurs, "We are? T'gether? Thass nice, real nice, I always want'd t' try tha'."
She doesn't answer. She's concentrating on not tangling up their feet as she woman-handles him into the bathroom and props him up in the corner of the tiny shower stall. She has to push him aside to reach the taps and - finally! - a lukewarm sprinkle of cooler-than-Richard water sputters out and she could swear little puffs of steam curl up when the droplets hit his skin. She grabs up a pristine face cloth, wets it in the sink, then turns back to find a rather startling development.
Richard is still propped up in the corner, his face turned up to the pleasant relief of water, and his shorts have been kicked off onto the floor. At her strangled silence, he opens his eyes, blinking away crystal prisms, and says, "C'mere." He holds out a hand and waits.
Talk about your conundrum! Richard Poole, naked, in the shower, inviting her to join him. Doctor Paul Johnson on his way and due any minute. Camille Bordey, fully clothed and regretting it bitterly. She puts the face cloth into his hand and cries miserably, "I can't, Richard, I can't! Doctor Johnson will be here any second and I need to get you cooled down… so wash yourself, OK? Just… wash yourself." She keeps her head turned, trying not to look at what she wants so badly to admire.
He takes the cloth, "Oh, OK, I unnerstand, later then. I'm not up t' much ri' now, I'm awful tired." He begins scrubbing at himself rather clumsily; frowning as if this is the hardest job he's had to do in a while.
Over the gentle patter of the shower, Camille hears a car and whoops with relief, making Richard jump a bit, "Whew! There's the doctor. Will you be OK if I go get him?"
He scoffs indignantly, "A'course I'll be OK! I'm not a child! I'm a grown man, I'll have you know!"
She loses the battle and allows herself a lightning glance at him and groans, "Oh, I know, believe me, I know!" before turning away and making for the back door. She's just waving the doctor in when she hears a muffled crash and groans, "Hurry! I think he's fallen!" before leaping the stairs yet again.
Sure enough, Richard is on his hands and knees on the bathroom floor, a towel in one hand. As she drops to her knees beside him, he looks up and says blearily, "The towel was too far away…"
She scoops up the towel, throws it over his hips, tries to twist it shut as he wearily climbs her torso with cooler hands until they're kneeling and facing each other. He nods and she rises, pulling him to his feet but now she has help. Paul Johnson is there, catching Richard under an arm. Together, they maneuver him out of the bathroom and back to his bed where he settles onto his back with a heart-felt sigh.
Richard looks up at the two of them, "Thanks, I don' know why I'm s' weak. Paul, am I sick?"
Paul sits, checks Richard's vitals, speaks soothingly and calmly while Camille goes back into the kitchen to fill a pitcher with water and brings it back to the bedside. Dr. Johnson indicates the empty glass as he goes over Richard checking for injuries from his fall. Camille fills the glass and Richard drinks just as greedily before sinking back onto his pillows and snuffing out like a used-up candle.
Camille stands with the glass clutched between her breasts, almost afraid to ask, "Doctor? Will he be alright? I've never seen him so fevered!"
Paul Johnson watches Richard breathe, holding his wrist, timing his pulse, "Was he ill earlier today?"
Camille thinks back, kicking herself for teasing him over the stolen tea and being so unaware of his true state, "Well, maybe, but he's always complaining about the heat and drinking lots of water. We're so used to it that we hardly hear him anymore. I think it got worse on the cab ride back here. Thank goodness Perse called me, otherwise…"
Paul nods, "Yes, otherwise he would have suffered all night on his own and be much worse in the morning, like last time."
Camille nods miserably, "Yes, I wasn't here for his first fever but I understand he was pretty sick."
"He was, but thanks to you and Perse, I think we caught it in time. With bed rest and medication and plenty of fluids, I think he'll feel much better by tomorrow."
"Does he have to go to the hospital?"
"No, I think he'll do better here but he'll need round-the-clock care for 24 hours just in case he suffers a flare-up. I'll arrange for a nurse. Let me see who's available for tonight." He reaches for his phone but is interrupted by a slim hand on his wrist.
"Um, he won't like the idea of a female nurse. Once he's back in his right mind, I mean. He's a very private person."
Dr. Johnson waits a beat then murmurs, "You're worried about his privacy? Why was he naked in the shower then?"
Camille huffs indignantly, "I didn't do that, HE did! I turned my back for just a second and he…"
Dr. Johnson laughs quietly, "OK, OK, I didn't think you'd done it. I was just curious, that's all."
She harrumphs, "Well, I didn't! I hope he doesn't remember because he'll be as stroppy as a stroppy thing if he does. English men live and die in their suits, you know."
Paul holds up his phone with a sigh, "Yes, well, this English man will live to be stroppy another day. Let me call Carlton Reynolds. I believe you already know him from a case you worked at the Spa?"
Camille smiles with relief, "Oh, yes, Carlton, Richard took quite a shine to him. Carlton will do just fine!"
END – part 2
