CHAPTER TWO

Foyle put the receiver on the handle a few minutes before Sam descended the stairs with baby Christopher. She smiled at Foyle and sat on a kitchen chair.

Christopher returned the smile with a small one of his own. Needing a drink himself, he asked, "Sam, would you like to have ...hmmm … some Christmas Eve cheer?"

Sam was looking at him with an inquiring glance to which Foyle blandly returned her gaze. He was not about to divulge one second of his conversation with Peter Harrison to Sam. Even if he could, which, of course, he could not; he would not speak of it for a multiple of reasons. That main reason being that it was Christmas Eve. He was enjoying this unique time with Sam and, amazingly, his young godson.

"Yes, I will have a small drink," Sam agreed and watched as he left. He came back shortly with two tumblers and sat back down. Foyle held his glass silently up to Sam and tapped her whiskey as she correspondingly raised hers.

'Hmmm… sorry. But is everything alright?' Sam asked after a brief pause.

Foyle looked back tilting his head to the left, "Yes of course. Why do you ask?'

Foyle worried, bit his lower lip. Did he give himself away? He was confident he behaved above board, treating her as he had always done.

"Oh, I don't know... but you appear to be preoccupied…. as if you had something on your mind… I thought…"

Sam's voice drifted off not completing her sentence, and her eyes darted away from his.

"You thought what, Sam?" Foyle asked quietly and waited for her to look at him.

"Oh, I don't know… I thought perhaps… well, perhaps you were regretting asking me to stay. A small baby is not… hmmm… well, not everyone's cup of tea… and…" Sam's voice faded again though she kept her eyes on his.

Foyle shook his head negatively and smiled with relief, "No, Sam. Not at all. Christopher has been perfect. And wull… we have always rubbed along quite nicely… I am very glad of both your company."

Sam grinned saying, "Good!"

Foyle took a sip from his glass and crossed his legs comfortable preparing himself mentally to forget about Peter Richardson until the New Year.

Foyle, though, sat straighter and more alert, when he heard a knock on the door. Foyle bit his lip and gave a small smile to Sam, "Probably, a neighbour."

Christopher opened the door with great trepidation, hoping it was just a neighbour. Foyle was pleased to find Andrew on the doorstep with a very pretty young woman, standing in front of him.

"Hello, Happy Christmas, Dad. I thought we would surprise you," Andrew grinned at his father.

"Andrew, very good to see you," his eyes beamed at his son. Foyle stepped back from the door to let his son and his friend come in. Foyle discreetly took in the young lady's appearance and liked what he saw, "Happy Christmas. Please come in." Foyle greeted the newcomers.

The girl passed Foyle and Andrew grinned suggestively at his father's wide-eyed and inquiring expression.

Andrew stopped dead in front of Foyle as he heard the baby cooing from the kitchen. Now it was Andrew's turn to raise his eyebrow with a slightly confused express, "Dad?"

"Sam's here with the baby," said briefly and nodded his head to the left, "Hmmm .. kitchen."

The three of them moved to the kitchen, and Foyle went to slip past Andrew. Christopher smiled again at the new arrivals and held out his hand, "I am Andrew's father."

"Dad, this is Eve," Andrew smiled.

"How do you do, Mr Foyle?" Eve's linty voice was soft, and her eyes were bright and friendly.

"Very nice to meet you, Eve," Foyle nodded to his son's friend and waved at Sam, who was now standing up with the baby, "This is Samantha and her son… my godson, Christopher."

The ladies said hello to each other and Andrew took the baby from Sam, as Foyle moved to pull out a chair for Eve and went to sit next to Sam. Andrew caught the warning in his father's eye over the head of Sam.

"He is gorgeous," Andrew held the boy not quite as confidently as his father, which was only natural. Sam beamed back at him as he sat across from her, "Well, Dad, I've asked Eve to married me and was accepted. We decided to come down and surprise you."

Andrew eyed his father, and Foyle had the distinct impression Andrew was relieved to have Sam as a buffer. Ever the detective, Foyle assessed a delighted Andrew. Happily, Eve appeared to be a very grounded young lady.

Foyle rose from his chair and stepped around Sam to give Eve a brief kiss on the cheek and saying, "Wull, I am delighted. …. Congratulations."

Foyle took the baby from Andrew's hand and gave him to Sam, then turned and gave Andrew a heartfelt embrace.

"I think I have some wine," Foyle gave a small smile with a nod at Eve and went to the living room. He returned with the 1940 California wine, which he gave to Andrew and said, "I was able to get a case through customs. Your Uncle Charles was quite persuasive having it cleared; with special instructions for delivery to the Hasting's Police Department."

"Dad!" Andrew's voice rose several octaves in shock.

"I believe the Department will be using the six bottles I donated at the New Year's police banquet next week," Foyle's eyes twinkled at both women, ignoring Andrew.

The baby needed feeding which left the others alone in the kitchen. Foyle, in a brief and hushed tone, explained Sam and the baby's visit to the new arrivals.

Christmas Eve dinner easily stretched to four by adding extra vegetables and bread to the main fish course. Foyle sent Eve, Sam and the baby to the living room and urged Andrew to dry as he did the washing up.

"So, do you approve?" Andrew asked quietly glancing up from drying a teacup.

"Wull…., yes. Of course, Eve is very nice," Christopher said with a distinct gleam in his eye, "More importantly what you think…. I can see how you both feel about each other, so I'm quite happy for you, Andrew."

"Thanks, Dad," Andrew smiled back, "I met her in Scotland six months back, and well, I couldn't get her out of my head. She is a sister of a friend of mine that trained up our squadron. Anyway, when I met her again in London two months ago, everything…well… anyway, she is just perfect."

"I can see that," Foyle agreed with his son, giving him a knowing look.

After the washing was complete, the five of them sat in the living room as Sam moved to the floor with the baby laid out on a warm throw.

The evening progressed very well, and spirits were high as everyone took a turn entertaining or holding young Christopher, exchanging news and agreeing that they all would get up for the early service.

"Dad, I'll just go take Eve to the Inn, and I'll just stay on the settee," Andrew helped Eve on with her coat and took his off the hook, "I won't be long, but you needn't wait up."

"Wull, it's been a long day, you have a key," Foyle smiled at Eve, "Again very happy to welcome you to the family. I'll see you both in the morning."

Foyle returned Andrew's embrace and detected that Andrew was relieved that Foyle was not going to wait up. He winked at him before heading up to bed.

Foyle found himself in the same living room chair while Andrew and Eve sat in the settee, and while on the hearthrug, Sam had her legs folded neatly to the side leaning against the wall near the fireplace. Christopher had his godson securely in the crook of his left arm tilting him up for him to see about the room. It had been a full day with the service first, then the light banter while preparing the festive but minimalist Christmas dinner. Now they all were relaxing before the fire. Andrew and Eve were to leave by two, so they could visit her parents near Rye.

Christopher had found himself thinking about his phone call conversation with Peter Harrison last night, but he had promised himself that he would not give the situation any consideration on today of all days. Of course, when he heard a firm thump at the door. Foyle took a deep breath and stood up. He gave the baby to Andrew and with a brief nod, "I'll just go and see who it is."

Foyle opened the door and saw the very last person he expected to see.

James Devereaux or, rather, Jack Devereaux stood there in a sharp suit and a firm look on his face, giving only the merest of indication that he was nervous. Anyone other than Foyle would not have even detected the slightly tense hand movement at his side. Foyle had years of experience reading people. Christopher saw that Jack Devereaux was more nervous than when first they met.