S1 E8 - What's The Secret?
Richard Poole had bitten his lip, sat on his hands, and counted to 100 in Latin but a question still burns on his lips. He sits quietly but not so easily in his usual corner table where he can put his back to the wall and keep an eye on things as is his wont. Granted, things are usually pretty copacetic in La Kaz during lunch time... but you just never know, you know?
Anyway, Poole had been drinking tea in a very contemplative way when something rather amazing caught his eye. There was a man... a decent looking bloke... rather tallish and slimmish and sandy-ish... if you like that sort of thing. He was quiet and unassuming, which Poole DID like since it meant peace and quiet. The man was wearing a rather appalling shirt of faux tropical design but he was also drinking tea and that was fine too.
What wasn't fine was the hovering presence of Catherine Bordey. She was keeping a very keen eye on this man... which made Poole look closer to see what she saw... but, try as he might, he couldn't see anything wrong with the man, other than his sartorial choice for today's wear, and for all Poole knew this might have been entirely tongue in cheek. Still, best keep an eye... And that's when Poole's careful observation gang slightly aglay... for Catherine then sauntered in rather a swaying sort of way to the man's table, bent down, and kissed him.
Poole's eyes flew open and he almost choked on his tea. He managed to not spill any as his cup rattled down onto the saucer... but it was a near thing. He ran a hand down his tie to check for damp spots but there were none then had to hide behind his napkin as he pretended to dab his lips as Catherine had heard his clatter and looked over at him which he pretended not to see. She exchanged a few soft words with the man then sauntered just as swayingly back to the kitchen and disappeared.
And now Poole dithers and frets in his seat. Catherine. And a man. A man unseen before and therefor not a local. A man obviously new to the island and therefor a fast worker... or perhaps an old flame? Well, whoever he is, he had a huge leg-up on Richard Poole in regards to friendly relations with French women and so...
And so Richard lays down his napkin, picks up his tea cup, and approaches the man's table to ask, "I say, I know a fellow Brit when I see one. May I join you for half a cuppa... and ask for some friendly advice?"
So it is, that several days later, a hand-cuffed Aidan Miles leans close to DI Poole and whispers, "It's a fair cop and I don't blame you for doing your job, mate. As for what we talked about earlier, whatever you do, never lie to a French woman. It's better to admit everything and hope they forgive you."
END