A/N: This multi-chapter fic starts just before the last episode All Clear and the other three episodes never happened.
I'd like to also thank my new friends who helped me develop and edit this story – Em, dancesabove and hazeleyes (though she hasn't read the whole thing yet). All your encouragement and gentle pushing paid off.
Summary: Samantha Stewart has a secret. Will it destroy her blossoming relationship with her boss or will she fight her fears and find the courage to love?
Samantha Stewart drove through the darkened, quiet streets of Hastings, ferrying her boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle, to his home before storing the vehicle for the night at the police station. She was uncharacteristically quiet; even she had to acknowledge the fact. Since being in Hastings, she'd been bombed three times, stepped out with her boss' son, suffered through an anthrax infection, broken up with her almost fiancé, and developed romantic feelings for her boss, who was twenty-five years her senior and, it appeared, oblivious to her budding feelings. While she was most recently suffering and recovering from pneumonia, a complication relating to the anthrax attack of nearly three years earlier, he'd remained at her bedside, reading Shelley to her until she'd fallen asleep. In her eyes, he'd shown incredible aplomb in relation to her newest harrowing illness. It had scared the hell out of her.
She pretended preoccupation with the gearshift as she observed her boss, wondering where his attention now lay. She'd been correct to assume that he'd been furtively watching her and she knew he was curious as to her quietness. She really had no explanation for it, at least not one she could tell him about. He'd treated her to dinner after work, for the fourteenth time since she'd been released from hospital three weeks ago. With the exception of the few days she'd stayed at home after leaving hospital, and the weekends, she'd dined with him every night. It was alarming, to say the least. The first few times were lovely. She'd enjoyed whatever moments she got to spend with him before her illness, during work and after hours, and she still did, but the increase in the time he was intentionally spending with her, along with her burgeoning feelings for the older man, created a dilemma for her. Was he doing this just out of charity? Was he thinking that she needed extra care now, and just looking out for her as a father would his daughter? Or, dare she hope, was he developing the same feelings that she found herself facing?
She'd never held back from asking numerous questions before, but this was another matter. If he regarded her only as a daughter or as a charity case, asking him about his feelings or asking if he was courting her would certainly put a damper on their friendship as well as their work relationship. Still, she wished she could ask.
"Sam? Got something on your mind?" Foyle asked her.
How does he do that?
"No, not really, sir," she replied, lying outright.
"Sam, you can do better than that. You clearly have something on your mind. Another crossroads, perhaps?" he queried.
She shook her head. "No, not really. Just… well, thinking about some things."
"Anything I can help you with?"
She blinked. He'd left an opening… and normally she'd take it. She glanced over at him as she pulled up next to his house. She pulled on the handbrake, then sat back against the seat and looked down at her now-idle hands.
"May I ask you a, well… a personal question?"
"Yup."
He didn't think he'd be able to stop her anyway; it was either now or later.
Although Sam knew exactly what she wanted to ask him, her boss and friend, she couldn't form the words. Now that the time allowed for it, she was too reticent to mention what had been occupying her thoughts these last several weeks. It all seemed much too forward.
Foyle was waiting patiently, expectantly, but Sam just couldn't find the words. Instead, she shook her head and just said, "Never mind."
"You've usually let me know what you're thinking about, before. Why not now?"
"No, really sir, I couldn't. I don't know how to ask it without seeming a bit, well… no, it's all right. I'll see you Monday morning."
Now his curiosity was piqued. "Sam, just ask it, straight on."
They stared each other down a moment, and just when he thought he was to have a reprieve, she sighed and asked, "What… umm, are you…?"
She couldn't do it. Her dejection about her inability to voice her concern was plain to Foyle as she placed her forehead on the steering wheel between her hands.
At that point, he knew what she wanted to ask. He'd been asking the same question himself for the past three weeks. It wasn't as if tonight had been an unusual outing for them; a business-related dinner or lunch had often occurred during the past several years. But their dinners and lunches had become habitual and were nothing to do with work. To all intents and purposes, no matter how much he tried to justify it or to deny it, he was courting his young driver. He enjoyed her company and her inquisitiveness, and though she was sometimes far off the mark, she had a keen mind for searching out the answers as they investigated the multitude of crimes that came their way. She was also quite beautiful, in uniform or casually dressed.
"Sam, come inside."
She lifted her head and stared at him as if he'd suggested something rather untoward.
"Uh, no, sir. Thank you, but I don't really think—"
"Sam, we should talk, and we can't sit in the car. Switch off the engine and come inside."
She did as she was told, meeting him at the top of his steps as he unlocked the door. He allowed her to enter first, placing his hand on the small of her back to usher her in. He realized that it wasn't the first time he'd done so. Looking back, he remembered the first time, when she'd nearly taken a tumble in the early spring when the pavements were still a bit icy at times. It had also been one of their first non-business-related dinners. He also knew that she'd noticed, because he'd caught her on several occasions giving him a quizzical stare that he ignored in hopes of staving off the very conversation they were about to have. He really had no clue where they were headed, but he sincerely hoped that the fact she finally wanted to ask the question meant she was looking for the same answer.
She removed her jacket and hat and placed them on a hook in the hall.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please."
"Have a seat. I'll be back in a few moments."
When he returned, he found her sitting on the settee. He placed the tray on the small table and poured the tea. He didn't bother asking her how much sugar she liked; he already knew.
Foyle didn't take his customary chair, but chose instead to sit next to her on the settee. He didn't want her to feel intimidated and too afraid to speak her mind, as she had been in the car.
As she was taking a sip of her tea, he asked, "So, what was it you wanted to ask, Sam?"
She blinked once over the rim of the teacup. She lowered the cup to the saucer and stared at it as she gathered her thoughts.
"I have… we've… we seem to have… "
Her stuttering was endearing, especially as he'd rarely heard her do so before. Sam Stewart usually had no difficulty getting to the point.
He stopped her from continuing with his hand on her forearm. "Sam, I think I know what's on your mind. Just go ahead and spit it out."
"Are you courting me?" She blurted, then looked utterly chagrined.
With his hand still on her arm, he smiled kindly at her and said, "It would appear that way, wouldn't it?"
Though she knew it was a rhetorical question, she nodded anyway.
"I've been asking myself that same question the last few weeks and the only answer I can come up with is 'yes'."
"Why?"
He hadn't expected that question. He frowned, wondering why she would ask it.
"Why not?"
"No, I didn't mean that you shouldn't… just that you didn't seem to be interested before," she explained.
Again he smiled, this time his eyes dancing with the joy of remembrance. He recalled the very first day she had entered his office and declared that she was his new driver. How unexpected his reaction to her had been. Surprise—not only to find that his new driver would be a woman, but a young one who took his breath away. Within a few months, he knew he couldn't do without her.
"Sam, I wasn't… not attracted to you before. I just never thought that such a feeling would develop between us, especially in you. Am I assuming too much here?"
She shook her head vigorously. He had assumed correctly that she felt an attachment to him. She said, "I thought the same of you."
He took a sip of his tea, sparing himself a few seconds to think of what to say next. This was unchartered territory, sort of. Although he'd been married, he suddenly felt as though he'd never courted a woman before.
Sam also sipped her tea, but instead of waiting for him to say something more, she felt emboldened enough to ask, "What now?"
The answer had been there the whole time; he just hadn't been sure how to proceed with the situation as it now stood. He removed his hand from her arm and leaned forward toward her, a little more intimately. "The war is still on, though it seems to be drawing to an end. Shall we continue as we have been for now, and just let things happen as they may?"
Her eyes darted back and forth for a couple of seconds; then she nodded. "I think that would be best, don't you? I mean, this… is still new to us and we don't know what will happen."
"And we don't know what reaction we'll get from others, especially your father."
Sam closed her eyes at the thought of how her father would react. But then her eyes became large as she remembered something vitally important. "Did I ever mention that my mother is eighteen years younger than my father?"
"No, you didn't." Foyle couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat. "It wouldn't do for a vicar to live one way and expect his children and flock to live another, now would it?"
Sam shook her head, grinning from ear to ear. "No it wouldn't." Then she sobered a moment. "But he will be concerned, especially as I've been working for you, and so closely, for the past five years."
Foyle also looked pensive, and considered the situation more fully. If it were he in her father's place, he'd be quite disappointed that he hadn't been asked for permission. "Sam, let me be very clear."
She nodded.
"You do understand that I am courting you seriously and I'm given to understand that you welcome my interest?"
"Yes."
"That my intentions toward you are entirely aboveboard, and that if we suit I would eventually ask for your hand?"
"Ye...yes," she stuttered, barely able to believe her dreams were finally coming true.
He put his cup and saucer on the table and stared at his young driver in all earnestness. "Then I think it only proper that I pay a call on your father—now, not later."
Sam's eyes again grew very large, reminding Foyle of a doe's eyes as she becomes fully alert to the noises around her. Sam placed her teacup and saucer on the table too, and sat back against the cushions. "Really? You want to do that now?"
"If the situation was reversed, and my daughter was stepping out with a much older man, I'd be very concerned and extremely disappointed if I was not asked for permission."
"You're not old, sir."
He smiled. "I am, Sam. Just not decrepit… yet."
She smiled back at him and declared, "I certainly have never thought of you that way."
"Good to know."
"You did bring up, though, how you'd feel if you had a daughter in the same situation. Do you… I mean, have you ever thought of me as a daughter?"
He arched one eyebrow. "I… no. I mean I thought I did, or I tried to make myself believe my feelings for you were like a father's. But as time went on, it became quite clear that the feelings I've had, from the beginning, could not be those of a father for his daughter."
"Oh, I see."
He knew she did by the faint blush that had crept onto her face.
"Sam, I really do think I should speak with your father. Have I your permission to do so?"
She nodded and said, "I would like to be with you, though."
He started to disagree, but she continued, "I don't mean during your conversation, but I think your showing up at my home without me might be construed in an unfavorable light, at first. And in my mother's condition, it could even be… well, deadly."
She had a point and he conceded to it.
"Then I suggest that we use the weekend to drive up. We can leave around eight tomorrow morning and be back by late evening, as I'm sure they'll want you to stay a short while."
"I should get home then, and get some sleep."
"It is late, isn't it? You could stay in the back bedroom—"
"No, I don't think that I should. I'm not just your subordinate anymore. Given our understanding, I don't think it would be wise for me to spend the night again."
This time he blushed. He wasn't embarrassed, quite the contrary. He was recalling the dream he'd had the night before; it was a recurring dream and one he hoped to have fulfilled… soon. Knowing that she was giving that possibility even the slightest consideration made it even harder for him to let her leave.
"Understood. You'd better head home, then. And keep the car tonight."
He walked her to the door, and as she reached for her hat and jacket, she paused and turned to him. She was about to ask him one more pertinent question—but she quickly discovered that his mind had already turned down that same road. He cupped her jaw and neckline, pulling her closer to him. She rested her hands on his chest to steady herself as his lips met hers in an exquisitely tender, but much too brief, kiss.
She shuddered when he broke the kiss and her eyelids fluttered open. She spoke what was in her heart, not truly contemplating the consequences. "I don't want to go."
His hand still on her neck, he gathered her close again but only dropped a tender kiss on her forehead and murmured, "And that is precisely why you must." He took her jacket from her fingers and held it open for her as she slipped into it. She didn't put her cap back on.
"Eight o'clock sharp?" he asked, reminding her.
"Yup."
TBC…
