Promise Me
Disclaimer: Own nothing/profit nothing - for entertainment only. No beta - all errors are mine, and mine alone.
Preface:
Before leaving England –
Following the destruction of Adam's guest house, Foyle asked Sam if she would be willing to stay at his home and look after the place until she and Adam were married, if they were able to get it scheduled before he returned, she could leave the keys with his neighbor for Andrew to pick up.
While in America –
Foyle contacted John Kiefer. They met for a drink and set the past roughness behind them. Kiefer invited Foyle home to dinner. Following dinner, Kiefer's wife, Sharon, sent their boys up to get ready for bed and started cleaning up after the meal. Foyle insisted on helping 'in appreciation of the lovely meal' and John excused himself to 'supervise the boys'.
Approximately 9 pm on a Saturday, Northbridge, Massachusetts
For several minutes Sharon Kiefer and Christopher Foyle worked together clearing the table and staging the dirty dishes. It had been an amiable afternoon and evening with their charming and pleasant guest from England and Sharon had grown quiet comfortable in conversation with Christopher. Sharon made a point of keeping them on domestically focused topics; her and John, John and their boys, Foyle and Andrew, the ways things had changed for all of them due to the war.
Once the table was cleared and the left overs were put away, Sharon ran hot water in the sink over the sacks of dirty dishes. "I think I'll let these soak for a while." She turned to face Christopher who had begun to roll up his sleeves, "Would you care for another cup of coffee?"
He hesitated just a moment before, realizing Sharon had accepted all the help from her guest as she was inclined to, he offered her a small knowing smile, "I would, thank you."
The pair sat at the table, once Sharon had set the coffee to brew, and continued on their previous discussion. When the coffee was ready Sharon removed the pot for the stove and poured two cups; leaving Foyle's black and doctoring the other to her taste. She returned to the table, sitting across from Christopher, and placed both cups on the table in front of them.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They each took a sip and Sharon chose her moment to advance the conversation, in hope of achieving her end goal.
"John truly admires you and felt horrid about the way he behaved the last you saw each other in England. We are both very grateful you braved to call."
Foyle nodded in understanding, "I admire John too. It was important for me to see ... Well, I had hoped it was ..." He sighed, hoping he wasn't getting too personal. "I just couldn't believe he would stay in that state once he was home."
Sharon's turn to offer a knowing smile, "With his family? A wife who loves him?"
"Yes."
"That's something everyone deserves, don't you think?"
He said nothing, but she read the slightly inquisitive glance Christopher gave her as agreement and continued.
"And you?"
"Beg pardon?"
"What about you Christopher? Don't you deserve to be with the one that loves you? The one you love?"
Foyle stalled out. He was walled in and hadn't even seen it coming. It was even impossible for him to look away from the imploring gaze of the woman across from him.
As Mrs. Kiefer's posture tightened and her eyes held his, Foyle knew she was truly a match to her husband and could likely hold her own on any topic with any person she wished.
"Tell me about her?"
It was a request, not a demand.
He drew in a slow breath and tried to think of the conversation as a chess game; he needed to think several moves in advance.
Opting for a deflection strategy, he asked, "Has John said something to you?"
"No. I am perfectly capable of seeing things for myself."
"Right." Finally able to break eye contact with his formidable hostess, Foyle studied his coffee.
She allowed him a few moments in thought before gently nudging, "Christopher?"
He looked at her with a wry half smirk as he said flatly, "Last I saw her she was engaged. Likely married by now."
"Well, she's not opposed to marriage, that's good. Tell me about her." she saw his expression shift as though he were closing himself off from her. Shifting to a more subtle approach Sharon tried, "What's her name?"
"Sam." Foyle gave little sideways nod, "Samantha, but everyone calls her Sam."
"And you, call her Sam?"
His brows furrowed in a hint of suspicion, "Yes."
Sharon smiled in approval, "And how do think of her Christopher?"
He was puzzled by that, "Excuse me?"
"You said everyone calls her Sam. But, do you think of her as Sam or as Samantha?"
Foyle pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "I don't think I…" it suddenly occurred to him and he opened his eyes to look at Sharon as he amended, "Samantha."
The woman could not contain her satisfaction in getting his answer. She smiled to the point of almost laughing in her delight. "That's good."
Foyle's expression shifted to reveal his doubt.
Sharon's smile held firm and full, "And very telling."
His discomfort at being quizzed on his personal feelings fueled his doubt and brought him to start biting at his lower lip.
With a gentle hand to his arm, Sharon schooled her features into a more neutral expression, "Christopher, you're going to bruise your lip, if not cause it to bleed, if you keep that up."
He blinked at her as her words reached him, with a quick lick across the abused lip he sighed, "Yeah."
"Sorry, I didn't want and don't want to cause you any distress. It's just that you said several things during dinner that led me to think you hold some very strong, if not acknowledged feelings for your Sam." She gave his arm a quick squeeze and then withdrew her hand. "You have done so much, more than you know, for my John and I just wanted to … Well, try and repay the favor." She punctuated her statement with an apologetic look.
Foyle bobbed his head a tiny bit and pulled one corner of his mouth back in a hint of an attempt to smile.
The pair were quite a few moments before Foyle asked, "Couldn't I have just said, 'you're welcome'?"
Mrs. Kiefer could not help it, his plaintive expression was too much to resist, and she laughed at him, "Incorrigible!"
With a roll of his eyes he stated, "I guess that's where Andrew gets it from."
She snickered again at his humor. "If he is half as charming as his father I am sure he is as easily forgiven." Sharon added a flash of a wink.
Foyle tilted his head slightly and arched an eyebrow at her.
Refusing to be intimidated, she boldly mirrored his look back at him.
Foyle snickered in spite of himself. "Thank you? I think."
They shared the joke, each at greater ease.
Resuming a level of seriousness Sharon pursued her inquiry again, "Christopher, tell me about Sam? Please."
He was quite for some time, thumb absently rubbing back and forth across his lip, eyes cast down to the table top; unfocused in thought. Foyle huffed a short sigh of frustration and admitted, "I honestly, don't know where to begin."
The simple, heartfelt, admission told Sharon more about his feelings for Sam than the man would ever realize. "What do you think her view of you is?"
"Couldn't say."
"Christopher." Her tone was clearly a warning.
He lifted his hands; fingers spread, surrender clear in the motion and matched expression. "Nnnno. Uh, professionally," he nodded in emphases, "I would say, probably quiet favorable. IIIII, uh, assumed you were asking," a shrug hinted at his nervousness, "personally. On that, I really couldn't say."
"Never talk about…"
He was shaking his head before she could finish the question. "No."
She slowly waved a hand between them, "No looks or …"
Again he was shaking his head before she finished. "No. Nothing."
Sharon noted that as he said 'nothing' his tone was not as firm as the two 'no's had been, "Did you just think of something?"
She sounded so certain of her observation, he smiled in admiration, "You ever consider becoming a police officer?"
A knowing smirk accompanied her reply, "No, I'm more than happy applying my skills being a wife and mother." As though it needed further explaining she added, "You've met boys."
Foyle conceded, "Point made. Just know you would excel."
"So, what did you think of?"
His head shook in a short repetitive motion, "Probably nothing. Just, uh, well, she offered to come drive for me, here in America."
"Was she serious?"
"Tttthhhhat's where I'm not sure if it was anything or not. I took as a joke at the time, but,"
"But?"
"I don't know. Never thought about this, any this, before now."
"Before tonight?"
Foyle started to nod, "Yyyyea… uh, no. Before coming to America. I've had a lot of time to think here."
"Okay. Anything else in addition to her offer to come with you to drive for you?"
Her careful wording, and purposefully adding that Sam had 'offered to come with' him as well as to drive for him, hit home and she knew the instant it registered in his mind. Sharon waited while he scrutinized his memories in light of her suggestion.
He started nodding again as he worked his way through a few memories, "Could be." Foyle looked Sharon in the eye and affirmed a bit more assuredly, "Could be."
Shifting back toward the counter, Sharon reached out and picked up the phone. She gently, pushed the phone against his hands and stated firmly, "Call her!"
He didn't move as she withdrew her hands.
Foyle glanced past her to the clock on the far wall and managed to breathe the start of a protest, "But, ..."
Her tone remained firm, brokering no argument, "Don't worry about the cost. Just call her!"
His eyes pulled shut and then rolled open as he shook his head slightly at her misunderstanding. Foyle had quickly calculated the time difference when she had first picked up the phone. His volume wavered as he explained, "It's half past two in the morning."
A flash of consternation crossed her face, quickly supplanted by a bright open expression; one that reminded him of Sam just before she would toss out a well-considered opinion, one she was obviously proud of.
Mrs. Kiefer smiled at him as though she were indulging a hesitant child in need of additional coaxing to do as she wished. Sharon's tone, while still firm, held a distinct note of amusement, "Damn the time! And, call her! If she hears your voice and sounds at all perturbed, simply apologize for having forgotten the time difference or blame it on being a bit drunk and hang up."
As he worried the inner edge of his lip to match his worried thoughts, Foyle noticed the woman looked ridiculously proud of herself. Again, she reminded him of Sam.
It would be hard enough to try and make the call, have that type of conversation with Sam, but there was no way he could ever lie to Sam. "I can't ..."
And misunderstanding his protest, Mrs. Kiefer interrupted, "You can and you will."
When he opened his mouth she didn't give him a chance and hastily went on.
"Christopher, if she feels about you the way I suspect she does. Your Sam will not care about the time in the least."
Finally, he managed to level a look at her that warned her not to interrupt him again, "I don't even know if she's married or not."
"Then call and find out." She said as though it were the only logical thing to say or do. With a quick pat of his arm she turned to leave him in privacy. Before stepping through the door she tossed back over her shoulder, "I meant what I said. Don't worry about the cost. Consider it a gift from John and me to you and your Sam." A warm smile graced her features as she exited the room.
Foyle sighed and stared at the phone in his hands. The back and forth argument raged in his brain. It was not a thing to do over the phone. If he didn't act now it could be too late. He didn't have the right to upset Sam's plans or the life she was building. He had missed her more than he could have imagined while he was gone. It was the middle of the night in England. It suddenly occurred to him, that of all the thoughts he had had regarding to possibly of calling Sam, since Sharon first mentioned it, never once had he thought he didn't want to. In fact he could think of nothing he wanted more than to hear Sam's voice. Not true. He wanted to see her, be in the same room with her. But, considering he was a continent away. Hearing her voice was the most he could hope for in the moment and therefore the thing he wanted most.
Without another moment of hesitation, he dialed 0 and requested an overseas operator. Waiting through the various connections and requests, Foyle found his anticipation of hearing Sam's voice had completely negated any remaining apprehension regarding the wisdom of his actions.
He listened as the phone rang. On the fourth ring, a very sleepy, but nonetheless familiar voice answered, "Hello?"
Foyle's heart soared just to hear her voice, he closed his eyes to picture her and consciously kept his tone soft, in deference to the time, "Hello, Sam!"
"Sir?"
He smiled at the obvious surprise in her one word question.
"Yes. I'm sorry to phone so late."
As she roused to a more awakened state, her voice reflected her growing alertness, "That's alright, sir, really. Are you alright?! Is anything the matter?!" Sudden concern flooding her voice.
"Fine, Sam. Thank you. As for the 'anything' part, I don't know, yet. Uh ..." He halted as he debated with himself how he should explain his phoning.
"Sir? What is it? Can I do anything to help?"
"Would you mind to answer a question for me first?"
"Sure." Her bright eagerness to help resonated over the line.
Foyle dropped his voice back to the quiet tone he'd used when she first answered, "Sam have you married yet?"
Without a single second of hesitation she answered clearly and firmly, "No, sir."
He involuntary sighed and hoped she hadn't heard him. Foyle tried to think past his relief.
"But, sir, I don't understand ..."
"IIIII know, Sam. I'm sorry."
She yawned loudly, "Sorry, sir. What time is it anyway?" The question was punctuated by another yawn.
He smiled apologetically, even though she couldn't see him, "For you, about quarter to three."
"Oh! And for you?"
"Quarter to ten."
"Then, you're still in America, sir?" It came across as half question half statement.
"Yes. Yyyyyou, er, think you might stop calling me sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Foyle."
'Right.' he thought partly amused, that that was what she thought to call him, and partly disappointed. Before he could decide how to rephrase his request she asked.
"Where in America are you, ssss, Mr. Foyle?"
"At present. Captain Kiefer's kitchen."
"Our Captain Kiefer?! I, uhm, that is, the Captain Kiefer we know?"
He didn't even try to hide his laughter, he missed her, and was going to enjoy this brief time with her to the fullest. "Yes, 'our' Captain Kiefer."
"Don't make fun of me, sir. It's the middle of the night and I can't think too clearly."
The plaintive note in her voice pierced him and compelled his immediate response, "Not making fun, Sam. Just pleased to be talking with you again. I've missed it, you." The last word was little more than a whisper.
Sam replied without hesitation, "I've missed you too, Christopher."
He savored the sound of his name as it was tenderly spoken by 'his Sam'.
Almost immediately she started, "Oh! I am so sorry, I didn't ... I mean, I ... That was ... I …"
"Not at all, Sam. That was what I had in mind when I asked if you might stop calling me sir."
"Oh." Surprise evident in the one word.
"That alright with you?"
A smile laced in her tone, as clearly as if he could see her, "Yes, Christopher." A wistful breath encompassed his name.
His heartbeat quickened with the spark of hope that she may in fact feel something more for him. The back of his mind tried to push a few questions of doubt to the forefront, but he left them unbidden to fade from neglect. "Sam, I ... Well, I know it's late. And, this isn't really the way to do this. But, I …" he stalled, a flutter of panic clutching him.
Sam's voice full of soothing, comforting, encouragement, urged gently, "What is it, Christopher? Why have you phoned?"
He could almost believe she was caressing his name as she might his face were they in the same room.
Foyle closed his eyes once again and pictured Sam as though she were with him and not merely on the phone, thousands of miles away. He drew a steadying breath and asked in a surprising sense of unexpected calmness, "Promise me, Sam? You won't marry until I come home and we can talk."
"I promise!" Her somber reply was resolute; unmistakably decisive. Then he thought heard his name in a wistful, nearly inaudible, whisper.
His sigh of, "Oh, Sam," spoke volumes he was unaware of in the moment. Mostly, because he had not realized he had spoken aloud. He offered, "Sam, I don't know exactly when I will be home. It's likely to be close to a month," by way of an apology and in hope that she would still wait.
"That's alright, Christopher."
Foyle thought she sounded as though she were becoming quite comfortable using his given name.
Then she caught him unawares as she boldly added, "As long as you are coming home to me."
His combined surprise and relief compelled him to speak unguarded directly from his heart, "Just as soon as possible, my dear Sam, I promise."