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“Hold still!” Camille chastised.
“You know, this would have never happened at all if you hadn’t-”
“Hey now, don’t blame me. How was I to know you’d never even-”
“Well maybe if you’d simply asked-”
“Look, do you want me to do this or not?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Hold still then!”
“Afternoon Sir, afternoon C- errr, don’t mind me!” Catching sight of the strange scene in front of him, Dwayne skidded to a halt before he drew any attention.
Inside the room, Richard was laid back in his chair, almost horizontal with his bum balanced precariously on the front edge of the seat and legs stretched out to the floor. His head was tipped backward, the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling casting light across his cheekbone.
His Detective Sergeant stood astride him, holding his hips in place with her thighs. Leant over, she appeared to be peering intently into his eyes. Neither of them appeared to have noticed his arrival so he continued to watch as Camille dragged a fingernail slowly across Richards lashes.
“Couldn’t you hurry this up a bit?”
Dwayne gulped and almost swallowed his tongue, chewing down firmly on his lip to contain any noise. Where was Fidel? This was gold.
Pulling the phone out of his back pocket he hastily flicked it to video mode, pointed it subtly at his colleagues and pressed record.
“Richard. Do you want it done, or do you want it done properly? Without lasting damage.”
“Obviously I’d prefer to walk away unscathed.”
“Well then be patient with me.” Camille replied, leaning further across him.
Silence spread across the room. Dwayne edged forward an inch or two to try to improve his viewing position, wishing he could get closer to his desk. He consoled himself with checking the phone was still recording, and zoomed in.
“C-Camille.”
“Hmm?”
“Your hair is tickling me.”
“Oh for-”
“Well I wouldn’t want to sneeze all over you.”
Camille flicked her hair across one shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Better?”
“Mmm hmm”
“How does that feel?”
“Yes, ok. Maybe if you-”
“I think I. Yes. Just let me-”
“Can I-?”
“Oh. Yes. That’s it.”
“Oh thank god. Yes!”
Dwayne choked, his loud splutter alerting the two in the middle of the room. Richard jerked his head up and promptly slid off the chair, taking Camille crashing to the floor with him in a tangle of limbs. Pressing a fist firmly to his mouth, whilst he caught his breath and composed his features, Dwayne smoothly slid the mobile back into his pocket; it would be criminal if he was made to delete the evidence.
In attempting to right herself, Camille had managed only to prostate herself fully across her boss. She placed her palms either side of Richard’s head, pushed firmly and peeled herself off him, earning a low groan from beneath as the fleeting pressure of her hips against his released.
Dwayne appeared at her shoulder, holding out his hand. She accepted the offer, grinning ruefully and he pulled her up into standing before leaning back to offer the same to his DI. Richard batted him away, face pink with embarrassment and scrambled into an upright position.
“Afternoon.” Dwayne greeted jovially.
“How long were you standing there?”
“Not long Chief. Why? Everything ok?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be. I was-, Camille, Sergeant Bordey was just-”
“Is it out?” Camille interrupted, placing herself in front of Richard and holding one eye open with her finger and thumb.
Dwayne watched as Richards flush deepened, his panicked gaze darting left and right to avoid looking at the woman facing him, although it was noticeable that unlike Dwayne’s earlier offer of help, he was allowing her touch.
After a moments silence Richard nodded and Camille turned to face Dwayne to explain.
“He managed to get a splinter in his eye. I think I’ve got it out but Richard, I should take you to the medical centre to get it looked at anyway.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No. You won’t. It might generate an infection, or you might have scratched your eye and caused lasting damage. Dwayne agrees with me, don’t you Dwayne.”
“Sorry Sir, but she’s right. You’ll be miserable if you can’t see through your telescope.”
“Lucy is not a -, oh why do I bother. Yes. Ok. I give up. Let’s go to the medical centre. I assume you’re driving?”
“Great. Yes.” Camille stepped across to her desk to pick up her bag and the keys to the defender.
“How did you get a splinter in your eye Boss?” Dwayne asked, looking around the office for an offending implement.
Camille spun the keys around her finger. “Are you telling him or should I?”
Richard cast a hesitant glance across at her and cleared his throat. “Well you see, it began when-”
*****
“What am I doing? What on earth possessed me, really.” Richard berated himself, looking in dismay at the dusty uneven ground beneath his feet. “I could have been sat under some air conditioning somewhere. Out of the sun. Why-”
“Richard!”
“What?”
“I can hear you muttering to yourself you know.”
“And?”
“And whatever you’re saying, it’s probably not very positive. And you promised to be positive.”
“I-”
“Don’t you dare deny it. You did promise. Using pinkies and everything.”
“Ugghh that’s so childish. Linking our little fingers and tugging a couple of times does not constitute a binding contract.”
“It most certainly does.”
“Well I’ve changed my mind.”
“Nope. We’re doing this. No backing out now.”
“But Camille-” Richard sometimes felt like he had reverted to being six again, begging to get out of a family trip.
“Hey, how’re you doing!”
Richards heart sank. He groaned and turned to greet the young man climbing out of the grey van which had just pulled in behind them.
“Hi.” Camille smiled. “Ethan?”
“That’s me,” he grinned easily “You must be Camille, and-” he glanced down at scribbled notes on the back of his hand “Richard?”
“DI Poole.” Richard tried to manufacture a polite smile. Going on Camille's expression, it wasn’t entirely successful.
Ethan scraped long blonde streaks out of his eyes and shrugged genially. “Whatever man. The bikes are in the back. If you follow me, we’ll get you kitted out and on your way in two shakes.”
He sauntered around the back of the van and flung the doors open revealing two dusty looking mountain bikes. Wiping the seat of the one closest to him, he pulled it out and handed it effortlessly across to Camille.
Richard frowned. “Shouldn’t there be mud guards?”
“Nah mate. Just get clogged up with mud and end up rubbing on the tyre or breaking. Not worth it.”
“But we’ll get filthy.”
“Pretty dry today, shouldn’t be bad unless you go looking for it.” Ethan glanced across at Camille as she threw a long leg over the frame. “Height looks good. Give her a try.”
“And helmets?” Richard continued.
The younger man thumbed back towards the vans dark interior. “In the back if you want ‘em. Not much traffic on this route though.”
“Hmm” Richard replied, eyes following his DS who had begun cycling in looping circular shapes along the track.
“Looking mighty fine.”
Head snapping round, Richard directed a pointed stare at Ethan.
Ethan threw up his hands apologetically, palms facing forward. “Hey man, I meant on the bike. She’s obviously biked before. Anyway, let’s get you up and running.”
Letting the blonde jump up inside the van to gather equipment, Richard reached into his pocket and withdrew the trouser clips he’d brought along with him. He slipped each one around his shin then straightened to take ownership of the bike Ethan was now holding.
“Personally, I’d rather wear shorts than use those things.”
He looked down at himself, loose tracksuit type trousers, closely gathered where the clips now gripped his leg, and pristine white trainers with laces that were already annoying him despite the neat double knot. He shifted uncomfortably, plucking at the long sleeved white tennis polo. The unfamiliar clothing made him self conscious but shorts would surely be even worse with his skins propensity to burn.
“Come on Richard, stop wasting time.” Camille drew up beside him, hopping forwards to stand astride the frame, as graceful as ever.
He sighed, clambering onto the bike awkwardly and allowing Ethan to make the necessary adjustments.
Ten minutes later, the van pulled off down the track, Ethan waving a hand out of the window in farewell. Richard adjusted his helmet and tugged at the chin strap, already hot under the foam and polycarbonate shell. Camille had forgone wearing one, choosing to let her tightly plaited hair sit neatly into the back of her neck. Paired with the cap sleeved casual linen shirt in a soft yellow and almost knee length close fitting shorts she looked comfortable and somehow cool in the tropical heat. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow.
“Ready?” His companion for the day asked.
He took a deep breath and nodded. “You go ahead.”
“You will follow me?” The cynicism could be easily made out in her voice.
“You have the keys.” He waved a hand at the defender, looking vaguely abandoned at the side of the remote track. “Where else would I go?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to have organised a rescue party.” she retorted, looking at him carefully before pressing her foot to the pedal and setting off. Somewhat more gingerly, he did the same.
Richard hadn’t ever told anyone of his inability to bike. Like most, his parents had encouraged him to learn when he was a child but as soon as he had mastered the basics, the shiny bike bought for his fifth birthday had sat in the shed at the bottom of the garden getting dusty. He’d been happier with his nose in books or inspecting the bulging shelves in the local library. At university he’d been persuaded to give it another go, his crush on Sasha Reid more than a little responsible for that decision. He’d ventured around the city with his friends, on a town bike with a basket attached to the front which he’d acknowledged was quite handy for books and food items. But even then, the activity hadn’t grabbed him and he’d not been on a bike since. Certainly he had never been on a mountain bike before.
He was just starting to relax a little, getting the hang of which way to flick the gears and lowering his hovering fingers away from the brakes when the next challenge presented itself. The lane began to tilt upwards. Swiping hastily at the gear lever he ground to a sudden halt, cursing. Wrong direction.
Ahead of him, Camille had smoothly shifted into a lower gear, lifted herself away from the saddle and was grinding her way up the short steep incline seemingly without difficulty. He puffed out a frustrated breath, climbed off the bike and began to push.
She was waiting for him at the top of the rise, encouraging him up the last few metres with expansive hand gestures. “Come, look at this.”
Propping his bike against a large thick leafed bromeliad he walked across to where she was stood at the opposite side of the track. Ahead of them the land dropped steeply, revealing an expansive view over the dense shrub. Stretching away they could spot where foliage gave way to ocean, a rich turquoise hue with boats dotted across its swathe. It was a bucolic scene with the sun glinting off the gentle undulations of the water.
A warm breeze ruffled the hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a pleasant shiver running through him.
“It’s so beautiful.” His partner enthused, gazing out to the horizon. “On a day like this, I can almost see France.”
“Even if we discounted the curvature of the earth rendering your statement impossible, I think the heat haze means that we can probably only see about 7 miles off shore, despite our current altitude.”
“Don’t be annoying. You agree with me it’s beautiful right?”
“I accept that the view is pleasing to the eye.” Richard conceded as Camille clapped her hands gleefully at his admission.
“Thank you Richard. Now, because we parked where we did, that’s most of the ascending done for the day and according to the guide, we stay at this height for a couple of kilometres. Are you ready to carry on?”
He nodded. Setting off along the broad ride line, scattered palm trees sheltered them from the worst of the sun whilst the slopes to the side allowed ongoing distant views. He wasn’t prepared to admit it out loud but the feeling of the wind on his face was a real positive. And until the hill, it had been quite agreeable to ride along behind Camille. Perhaps cycling had something going for it.
No, it didn’t.
He revised his decision. Brakes squealing, and fingers hurting from gripping the levers, he followed her down a rough descent, broken concrete, moss and stones making his tyres skid and judder beneath him. The saddle kept jolting his pelvic bones. How could anyone regard hurtling down a barely passable track as a nice thing to do? It was awful and he was highly likely to end up with ischial bursitis. That would be a nightmare; it was notoriously difficult to treat and would involve finding alternative chairs to sit on. Or he’d have to try one of the donut pillows he’d seen a colleague once use. Uggh it didn’t bear thinking about. He tried lifting his bum off the saddle but that only felt more unstable, his thighs protesting and he lowered back onto the seat carefully.
Ahead of him, Camille was casting swift glances over her shoulder, trying to adjust her speed so that she didn’t get too far ahead. “Let go of the brakes Richard, going a bit faster will be easier.” She called back.
He ignored her. Brows knit together in concentration and sweat starting to pool in his armpits. The back wheel skipped again.
“Richard!” She persisted.
“What!” He shouted back tersely.
“Let go!” She yelled.
Unconsciously primed to follow her strident instruction, Richard let go, gathering speed rapidly.
“Nooooooo.” His focus narrowed to the twisting, slanting road ahead of him as he rattled over the uneven surface, wailing when he past an open mouthed Camille and tightening his grip on the handle bars. Fingers clenching he couldn’t adjust and find the brakes again.
Heart pounding and the wind in his face, he flew down the remainder of the descent, bouncing over rocks and slewing across the areas where grass and moss had invaded the road. The foliage around him blurred and it felt like a lifetime had passed by the time the gradient eased and he was gradually able to slow to a stop.
On shaky legs, he hauled himself off the bike and sank onto a large boulder, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his breathing. He looked back up at the hill behind him. Had he really just come down that? At that speed?
“Sir? Wow!” Camille pulled up beside him, peering at him. “I don’t know whether to be concerned or amazed. That was very impressive.”
“No concern necessary, all a piece of cake really.” Richard could hear the slight tremor in his voice, belying the conviction of his reply but Camille appeared to let it go with only a gentle arch of one eyebrow.
“Well, since you’re already sat down, I’d say it’s a good time to have a break.”
Seemingly from nowhere, she pulled out a small tin of jelly babies and offered him one. He took it gratefully, chewing down on the sugary sweet whilst his eyes swept across her body. Given her close fitting attire, he couldn’t work out how or where had she magicked them from. His detective skills obviously needed more work.
Swallowing roughly, he let the tension bleed out of his shoulders and turned to look at his surroundings. Much closer to sea level now, they were back within dense forest, the views eclipsed by leaf fronds and twisting roots. Birds chattered in the undergrowth and whilst they were sheltered from the sun, the heat was sultry and the breeze diminished. He jiggled his legs and rolled his shoulders, appreciating the return of normal sensation as the adrenaline surge dissipated. He accepted a second sweet and popped it in into his mouth.
Camille had pulled the guide out of yet another mysterious pocket. “If we take this next turning, here-” she raised the folded pamphlet, leaning into his body space to show him. “-we can cut a good chunk off the ride, and head directly to the bike hire place. Ethan will be able to take us back up to the defender.”
He swallowed the sweet, shaking his head. “In the words of the great Magnus Manusson, I’ve started so I’ll finish.”
“Who?”
“He’s a, was a British journalist and Television presenter.”
Camille slapped the pamphlet down onto her thigh. “Oh God, not more of your British television and British this and British that.”
“I’ll have you know-”
“I mean you could try to expand your horizons a little. There’s a whole world out here. Why limit yourself to such a small part of it. For example, I bet you’ve never even watched a Scandi-noir have you!”
“Actually he was Icelandic.”
“Oh.” His quiet response stopped her flow of words becoming a fully fledged rant. “So why-?”
“He lived and worked most of his life in Britain and was given an honorary knighthood, so I suppose we claimed him as one of ours. But he never took British citizenship.”
“Well whoever he was, he obviously made an impression on you.”
“Ah, well that was the show, Mastermind.”
“Do I want to know?” She sighed.
“It’s a game show which has been running for over forty years. There’s a series of two minute rounds and contestants have to answer questions on both general knowledge and then on their specialist subject. The best episode I ever saw was the-” Richard glanced to his left, catching sight of his DS sinking her head into her hands. Behind her, their bikes were haphazardly cast along the broken edge of the roadway where the forest was attempting to encroach.
He clapped his hands together, satisfied when her head jolted back up in surprise.
“Ok. Enough of that. If we survive this experience I’ll show you an episode sometime.”
“I can’t wait.”
“But for now, let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s just like climbing back on the horse Camille.”
“And have you ever done that Sir?”
“Well, no.”
“So if you wanted to sit here for a bit longer-”
“I said I’m fine.” He bit back tersely. “Honestly Camille, millions of people around the world cycle. Just because I’ve never done this before doesn’t mean you need to mollycoddle me.”
“What?” Her voice was a full octave higher than normal. “You’ve never been on a bike before? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Obviously I’ve been on a bike before.” He paused before admitting “-Just not one like this.”
“Richard! We could have chosen a flatter route through town or along the beach. You can’t keep important bits of information hidden like that.”
Richard shrugged. The thought of cycling through the centre of Honore on a market day and being recognised by all the locals was not an experience he wished to have. “Well we’re here now, and the next bit is steady isn’t it?”
Camille flipped the pamphlet over and back again, scanning route choices. “It is.” She agreed. “And I seem to remember they’ve re-paved some of it quite recently.”
“Then what are we waiting for.” Richard stood, happy to find his legs steady beneath him. He picked up the bike and swung his leg across the saddle, adjusting the trouser clips then settling his hands on the bars. “Coming?”
*****
“If you could sit down to dinner with anyone, alive or dead who would it be?”
Whilst she had been careful not to ask if he was ok too many times over the last hour, as she cycled alongside him Richard thought it quite possible that the question was her way of checking up on him rather than genuine interest.
“If they were dead, then they wouldn’t make a particularly good dinner partner Camille.” There was no immediate reply and he imagined she must be rolling her eyes at him. Focused on the road in front of him, he wasn’t going to risk turning his head to check.
“Seriously, who would it be?”
“Mike and Elizabeth Watkins, you know, the murder-suicide couple from last month.”
“Really? All the hundreds of amazing people through history that you could choose from, adventurers, academics, kings or queens and that’s who you’d spend a few hours with.”
“Why not? It’s been really bothering me that despite knowing the who and how, we never found out the reason why they died.”
“Sometimes there is no justifiable reason why people commit these crimes.”
“Well who would you have dinner with?”
“Watch out, rock ahead.” Camille swung her bike around the offending object then straightened up to ride in parallel with him once more. “It’d be someone like Nelson Mandela or Catherine the Great, maybe even Jeanne d’Arc.”
“How about Mary Berry, I’d eat well.”
“Is this another British woman you like to ogle?”
Richard coughed, the bike wobbling beneath him. “Err, no. No. She’s about 90. And I don’t ogle!”
“Hmmm, I disagree.”
“She makes a mean Victoria sponge though.”
“Ha! If it’s all about the baking, then you should choose Pierre Hermé. He’s the Picasso of Pastry.”
“And French.”
“You were the one who suggested it was about the food rather than the conversation. Besides, would it hurt you to try learning French?”
“Probably.”
Camille puffed out an exasperated breath.
*****
“Edmond Halley”
“Pardon?” Stopped under the shade of a Palm tree sometime later, Camille was busily consulting the pamphlet again.
“He would be a good candidate for dinner companion.” Richard tipped his head back to look at the Azure sky. “Think of the knowledge he could share with us, of mathematics and astronomy and meteorology. It would be a fascinating evening. He apparently questioned everything, didn’t just kowtow to religious zealots even when his first application for Professor of Astronomy at Oxford was opposed. Did you know he was censured for suggesting that the story of Noah’s flood could have been the account of a cometary impact?”
Camille looked up, frowning. “And has anyone tested that theory since?”
“Geologists generally don’t agree with the hypothesis.” Richard admitted. “Anyway, he should be on the list.”
“Perhaps not at the same dinner party as Jeanne d’Arc though.”
“Perhaps not.”
Camille returned to the pamphlet, huffing loudly.
“We’re lost aren’t we.”
“Not lost exactly-”
“Camille-”
“We missed a turn somewhere. We need to turn round and retrace.”
“Give me the guide.”
“You’re not going to suddenly find a route that I didn’t.” Camille held the folded leaflet away from him.
“You don’t know that. Give it here.”
“Make me.”
He tried to make a grab for the flyer, hampered by his position stood astride the bike. “Don’t be so childish. Let me see it.”
Camille waved it back and forth over her head tauntingly, letting out a startled gasp when he placed one hand on her shoulder for balance and snatched at the piece of paper. Reflexively holding on, the tearing noise could be clearly heard above the noises of the forest.
Richard looked in dismay at the torn flaps, the hand drawn map and accompanying writing now largely indecipherable. “Great. Now what?”
She shrugged glumly. “Go back the way we came, or ring for help.”
*****
“So what did you do? Call for help right?” Dwayne asked, checking his watch. It was surely too early for them to have made their way back without some sort of support.
“After we’d stopped arguing about whose fault it was you mean?” Camille replied in a sarcastic tone.
“You could’ve rung me you know, I’d have got you.”
“What, and strapped us and two bikes onto the side of your motorbike somehow?” Richard retorted. “We had the defender with us, remember?”
“True boss.”
“I remembered passing a small track which appeared to be heading in the right direction for town.” Camille picked up the story. “We took that and eventually found our way to the bike hire place. Ethan ran us back the rest of the way.”
“There’s something about Ethan I don’t like.” Richard grumbled.
“Don’t be grumpy, he’s lovely. Friendly, helpful, and the only reason we’re back here before dark.” She replied.
He huffed a noncommittal response, remembering the blonde stood in his small office an hour earlier. Totally deaf to Richard’s request, he’d appeared distracted by Camille unwinding her hair carefully from its tight plait. Richard had had to actually click his fingers to draw attention back onto the relevant topic.
“Hang on. I must have missed a bit. When did you get the splinter in your eye?” Dwayne asked, confused.
Richard glanced across at Camille who was making no attempt to cover her smirk. “Ah well, that would be-”
“It was here.” She interrupted. “He was walking back up the steps and so busy trying to disagree with everything I had to say that he tripped over his own feet and caught the edge of the window shutter awkwardly.”
“Ouch Chief! Coulda been nasty.” Dwayne replied peering in close to inspect Richards face for injury. “No wonder Camille wants you to get checked out.
The DI raised an arm to fend off his officer. “I’m fine. And it had absolutely nothing to do with our discussion. It’s these stupid trainers. They don’t fit me properly, the laces are too long and they’re not nearly as comfortable as people make them out to be. What’s wrong with a decent pair of brogues, that’s what I’d like to know.”
Camille shook her head, having heard the complaint more than once already.
“So why not go to straight to see the doc?”
Raising the hand holding car keys, she jangled them forcefully “Trying to-”
“I meant, earlier, why not go straight there as soon as you realised you’d hurt yourself?”
Dwayne watched as his Chief blushed and dropped his gaze to study the floor.
“He thought he could get it out himself, and then when he couldn’t, wanted to conduct me to examine it before bothering anyone at the centre.” She redirected her attention, voice firmer. “But we are going now.”
“Think you’d better do as she says Chief.”
“And now I have to give up the remainder of my day sat in a doctors waiting room. Cycling and me were not destined to be a good match.” He acquiesced grumpily.
“Richard! Hitting your head on the shutter has obviously given you concussion. The cycling
was fun and you were definitely enjoying it.” Camille countered.
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“Oh but I do.”
“How?”
“Your frown lines disappear and you get that little dimple developing in your cheek like you’re about to start smiling.” She stepped up close and pressed a fingertip to one corner of his mouth. “Just there.”
“Beers at Catherine’s then after you’ve been checked out? You can tell me more about your cycling experience.”
Richard and Camille blinked and slowly turned back to Dwayne as if they’d forgotten he was in the room with them for a moment.
“We’ll be there. Come on then Sir. Let’s go.” She nudged him forwards, raising a hand in farewell as she started towards the verandah.
Dwayne followed outside, watching them make their way down the steps. They were once again bickering; about the best route to take given the endless roadworks on the Main Street and whether Camille had really needed to accept the invitation for drinks on his behalf.
He grinned, pulling his mobile back out of his pocket and searching for Fidel's number. He’d want to know about this.
And then he needed to get to the bar and review those betting odds.