.
.
.
Part One: Postwar life
September 1946
After four years of marriage to Katherine Neville-West - Katherine Foyle, as she was now known - Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle would certainly have asserted, if asked, that he knew his wife very well, thank you very much. Theirs had grown into a solid, deeply loving union built on the shared pleasures of daily life, living together and bringing up Cecily, her daughter from her first marriage. The happiness they found in each other had been enhanced by the end of the war and the safe return of his son Andrew to civilian life.
To his continuing delight, Katherine had made good on her pre-marriage vow to spoil him. He came home every evening to a hot meal on the table, freshly pressed shirts in his wardrobe, his newspaper folded neatly by his chair and, best of all, her welcoming smile. She had adjusted easily to his introverted nature, falling quiet when she sensed he was pondering something yet always ready for thoughtful and spirited conversation when he was in the mood. While she had a knack for managing things on her own that frustrated him at times, accustomed as he had been to Rosalind's more dependent ways, she had proved herself to be efficient and capable manager of the household. On the few occasions when they had fallen out over some trifle, she had always been the first to make peace. And in the most intimate part of their life, to his deep and abiding joy, she still responded to him as passionately as she had done on their wedding night.
But long-buried secrets can emerge at unexpected times, unsettling the most contented of marriages. For the Foyles, trouble erupted without warning at a London dinner party.
In the year since the end of hostilities, many aspects of life had returned to normal - well, to a new sort of normal, at least. To be sure, the shadows of war still loomed large - rationing was more restrictive than ever, the housing shortage was acute and bomb damage had left ugly scars on Britain's cities. But air raids and the blackout were mercifully things of the past, making it safe to venture out after dark and allowing people to resume a semblance of their prewar social lives.
Like other families, the Foyles happily took advantage of the leisure opportunities afforded by peace. They indulged in picnics on the beaches and in the country, dined out in restaurants and took in the occasional theatre or concert. Christopher and Katherine began to socialise with a circle of friends both old and new with whom they enjoyed bridge, dinner parties and other outings.
This welcome new freedom soon grew to include regular visits to London. Katherine, ever the scholar, delighted in introducing her young daughter to the historical and cultural sights of the capital, while her husband reestablished friendships with a number of old acquaintances. One of these was with Charles Howard, his brother-in-law. Christopher had felt slightly awkward about introducing his new wife to Rosalind's brother, but both Charles and his wife Dorothy had greeted Katherine warmly and the two couples had quickly become firm friends. Several times a year the Howards came down to Hastings for a seaside weekend with the Foyles, and they returned the hospitality with invitations to their comfortable home on Hampstead Heath.
On this particular weekend their plans included a Friday-night chamber music concert at the Albert Hall, a visit to a new exhibit of Tudor portraits at the National Portrait Gallery, a trip to Selfridges to shop for Cecily's upcoming twelfth birthday and a dinner party at the Howard home Saturday night. They had met most of the guests, old Navy friends of the hosts, on previous visits, so Christopher had no reason to anticipate anything other than a pleasant evening in congenial company.
Half-past eight on that windy September evening found him pouring drinks in the Howard drawing room as Charles welcomed the arriving guests. Katherine was helping Dorothy pass hors d'oeuvres. Christopher glimpsed her as she moved among the company with a tray of canapés, catching snatches of her melodious voice as she greeted people, and as always, his heart swelled with pride. She was so charming, so graceful and so very, very lovely in the lilac-coloured dress he'd insisted on buying her that afternoon. The soft hue flattered her complexion while the clinging jersey accentuated the gentle curves of her figure. She was easily the prettiest woman in the room in his eyes; other men, he saw, were casting her admiring glances too. My beautiful wife, he thought. Even after four years, there were still moments when he couldn't quite believe she was his.
Through a break in the gathering her eyes met his for a long moment. Christopher caught his breath as a little thrill shot through him, starting in his chest and radiating south. It was a look she reserved just for him, discreet but intense, one that promised an exquisite end to the evening. He returned her glance with one of his own, equally ardent, and was rewarded with a tiny smile and a faint blush before she turned to offer her tray to a grizzled captain and his wife.
He was recalled to his bartending duties by the arrival of the final guest, a retired commander called Fletcher. Foyle had never met him before; he'd overheard Dorothy say that he was a last-minute replacement for a guest who had been called away on business. Charles made a brief introduction as Foyle mixed the new arrival a gin and tonic. Still distracted by Katherine's unspoken hint of pleasures to come, he gained only the most fleeting impression of the newcomer – late forties, stocky frame, greying ginger hair, lantern jaw, tweed jacket well-worn at the cuffs. Utterly unremarkable.
"It'll be Manchester United this year, Charles, mark my words," said a voice to his left. He turned to see the other men gathered by the fireplace in an animated discussion of the new season of association football. Irresistibly drawn, he took up his own drink and moved to join the circle passionately debating the relative merits of Arsenal, Liverpool, Aston Villa and Wolverhampton.
Happily engaged in the football talk, Christopher was unaware of what was taking place behind him. He did not notice the newcomer approach his wife and speak to her. He failed to see Katherine's posture go rigid or the colour drain from her face. When the man bent to brush a kiss on her cheek, he did not observe her recoil from the gesture, then turn quickly away to vanish into the kitchen.