A soft knock on the door made Foyle look up from the report he was typing. "Yes, come in," he called, and the door opened to reveal a pale but resolute Sam.
"Sam. What can I do for you?"
"Well, um… I imagine I should be congratulating you," she said, observing him closely to see if he would be surprised that his secret was already out.
"Hm?" he replied, distracted by the report. "Oh, right! Yes, thank you."
"I'm sure you must be very happy."
"I am, yes, extremely satisfied."
"Oh. Don't you think you ought to take the rest of the day off to celebrate?"
"Nope. It's a pleasant enough result, but I don't think it warrants quite that. There is still work to be done, you know," he said, a familiar twinkle in his eye softening the reproach.
Bewildered and with a lump in her throat, Sam persisted, "But you are happy? About today's… events?"
"Yes, certainly," he answered calmly.
"In that case, sir, I have to give you this," she said miserably, holding out the letter she had just written. Foyle took it from her with a frown.
"What is this?"
"It's a formal request for transfer, sir. Or rather, it's a copy of the one I'll be handing in to the MTC. I'm sorry, but if Constable Davis is right, I just… I'm very happy for you, but I can't bear to stay here. I hope you understand."
Standing to attention, she saluted him, then turned on her heel to leave. As she opened the door, she stopped abruptly, surprised to see Milner on the other side, hand raised to knock. Murmuring an apology, she slunk past him, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. Not yet, she told herself. You mustn't let the grief out yet. Wait until you are alone.
…
In the office, Foyle stared at the door, dumbstruck, Sam's letter still clutched in his hand.
Milner was frowning, wondering what on earth had happened in this office that would leave Sam in tears and Mr Foyle gaping like a codfish out of water.
"What's wrong with Sam? She looked upset," he asked worriedly.
"I haven't the first clue," Foyle replied, glancing down at the request he held. Sam's loopy handwriting seemed stiff, and the words were overly formal, especially for her. "She came in here, congratulated me on closing the case, wondered if I shouldn't take the rest of the day off to celebrate, and then requested a transfer!"
"A transfer?" Milner frowned.
"Yes." Foyle stood up and paced the length of his office. "Is Constable Davis around?"
"I think so, yes. I just saw him in the kitchen… why?" Realisation was starting to dawn on Milner. If Sam had heard the same silly rumour he had…
"Well, I don't know what he's been telling Sam, but she declared that if Davis was right, she couldn't possibly bear to stay here."
"Ah," Milner said. "I have some idea of what's going on, sir."
He quickly gave Foyle the gist of what the young policemen had been gossiping about.
Foyle rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "So… because she thought I was remarrying, Sam has requested a transfer? Why on earth would she do that?" he asked.
Milner smiled, privately thinking that although Foyle had a keen mind and was one of the best detectives he'd ever had the pleasure to work with, he was also surprisingly dense in some areas. Could Christopher Foyle, with his talent for seeing through all the lies and excuses of even the most hardened criminals, really be so blind that he couldn't see the depth of Sam's attachment to him?
"For the same reason she wouldn't marry Mr Farnetti, I imagine," Milner replied evenly. When Foyle turned questioning eyes to him, he sighed. "She's in love with you, sir."
Milner couldn't remember ever seeing Foyle look as stunned as he did then. The older man's eyes widened for a moment, then he looked down and to the side, as though he were trying to comprehend what he'd just heard.
"What makes you think that?"
"She told me."
"She did?" The disbelief was obvious in Foyle's voice.
"Yes. She didn't mean to, but… when she was ill, she accidentally let it slip."
"Oh." He paused, rubbing his chin. Then, gesturing vaguely towards the door, he added, "I should probably… "
Milner nodded.
Just before leaving, Foyle turned back, and said, "Thank you, Paul."
…
The first place Foyle looked was the kitchen. He didn't find his driver there, but instead a small group of young, uniformed policemen, all gathered around Constable Davis. Though reluctant to lose time, he stepped up to them, putting on his sternest policeman façade.
"I'd just like to make one thing very clear, gentlemen: I am certainly not marrying anyone, and I do not appreciate my personal life being fodder for gossip." Giving them a resolute nod, he then strode out of the room.
Not having found her in the kitchen, he went to the small desk she used as her own when not driving him around. When that revealed only a dog-eared book, and not its reader, he chewed his lip softly, wondering.
Finally he found her out back, hugging herself in the cool shade of the station yard. Her back was to him, but when he called out to her, she lifted her hand to her face in a gesture he recognised as the brushing away of tears. His chest ached for her.
"There you are Sam. I need you to drive me somewhere," he said, conscious of how harsh it sounded when she was so obviously upset, but unwilling to have the inevitable discussion with her here, where anyone could overhear them. If nothing else, this day served as a reminder of how fast a rumour could travel.
"Right away, sir," she replied, her voice deceptively steady. "Sorry, I just came out for a bit of fresh air."
"Not a problem." He left her then, allowing her a little while to pull herself together.
When she pulled the car round, she seemed back to her old self, if a little quiet and pale.
"Where to, sir?" she asked as she shifted up into second.
"Castle Hill Road, please, Sam. I need your help with something."
"Yes, sir." Just the fact that she didn't ask any more questions, wheedling him for details, proved to him how upset she was. Their short drive was spent in silence. When they reached Castle Hill Road, Foyle asked her to pull over and park the car.
As she pulled the handbrake and placed her hands in her lap, he said, "Walk with me, Sam. Something's puzzling me, and I'd appreciate your point of view."
…
TBC
