FOYLE'S WAR- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 4

Disclaimer- Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is my own creation.

As Foyle studied Rachel's face while she stared down at her menu, he thought she was the picture of concentration with her brows knit together and a slight frown shaping her lips. The exception was her hands; with the left one she pinned the menu to the table as if it might blow away and the right one was planted over her knife and spoon, which she fiddled with incessantly.

"Don't frown, it's just dinner, not a life or death decision. Oh, for God's sake, stop fussing with the silverware!" He was about to clear his throat or say something to get her to stop fiddling with her knife and spoon when the waiter arrived to take their orders. After Foyle gave his order, the waiter turned to Rachel.

"And you, Miss?" he asked the young woman who was still staring at her menu. He waited a few seconds and then asked, "Um Miss, what would you like to order?"

"Poor old sod, he'll stand here all night waiting on Miss Roberts to answer him. Better help him out." Foyle gently touched her right hand to get her attention.

Rachel simultaneously jumped and let out a strangled scream, "Great gosh almighty, Mr. Foyle! What are you doing? Trying to give me heart failure? "

He managed not to smile, but his eyes betrayed the amusement he felt. Foyle inclined his head in the waiter's direction to let her know that the poor man was waiting to take her order.

Her face slowly turned crimson, starting at her chin and working its way up to her cheeks. "Well damn it all. I did it again! Made an absolute fool of myself. I have no clue what was on that menu, but I'll take a stab in the dark and order chicken. Surely they have that here."

"I'll have the chicken," Rachel stammered.

"Very good miss." The waiter grinned at her and then took the menus, heading toward the kitchen to turn in their orders. She watched him walk away until he disappeared behind the kitchen doors. Now she had no choice but face her dinner companion, which she did with great reluctance.

"Miss Roberts, are you alright?"

Rachel let out a long sigh and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair. "Guess you think I'm an idiot. There… I said it. Been wondering what you thought of me since we "met" today on the train."

The corners of his lips lifted in a nearly imperceptible smile. "Don't think you're an idiot. Nervous, perhaps?"

Rachel blurted out her answer, "YesIfeelnervousaroundyou." The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. "I'm sorry Mr. Foyle, I shouldn't have said that."

"S'alright. You're just telling the truth. Nothing wrong with that. I'm a stranger to you… and you were traveling alone. Shows you've got some common sense to be wary of me."

"How can I explain to him that I'm not nervous around him because he's a stranger or because I was traveling to Washington on my own? It's because…because… for the first time in years that I felt…" Rachel preempted her thoughts, looked into the depths of his blue eyes and simply told him, "I trust you."

Rachel's response seemed quite earnest. He wondered if she was more than a little naïve and it bothered him to think of anyone taking advantage of her trusting nature.

"Now, that being said Mr. Foyle, you have me at a disadvantage."

A puzzled expression crossed his face. "First she declares she trusts me and then she tells me I have her at a disadvantage." His eyes widened and he tilted his head slightly before asking, "In what way?"

"Well, for one thing you know my first and last name and where I'm from. I only know your last name and your accent tells me you're from somewhere in England. A little more detail would be appreciated."

A little more detail is just what she received when he answered, "First name's Christopher and my home is Hastings."

"Oh, I see. Hastings as in the Battle of… and 1066?"

"Yep."

Rachel silently gave thanks that she'd been paying attention in History class when she was in school. "By the way, sir, I would never presume to call you by your given name. The joke where I'm from is that you always say 'sir' or 'ma'am' to someone five minutes older than you."

This revelation of Southern custom amused him and he thought, "Well, I'm considerably more than five minutes older than Miss Roberts. Wonder if she considers me ancient?"

She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand, "Hmm…dare I ask another question of you, sir?"

Foyle shrugged and nodded ascent to another query from the young woman.

"Why are you here in the States? Is it business or pleasure?" She paused and then added, "Or… you can tell me I'm being too nosey."

Now it was up to Christopher Foyle to reveal the purpose of his trip to America. "How much should I tell her? Probably as little as possible without outright lying to her. Yes, I'm here on business, but now there's a little pleasure to be had just being in her company for a little while. Wouldn't want to spoil it."

He settled on the simplest answer he could give. "Business." Foyle then asked Rachel a similar question, hoping at the very least to keep her from digging any deeper about his reason for being in America. "And what brings you to Washington?"

"A job. I'm going to work for Senator Maybank, he's from Charleston. I'll be the most junior of his clerical staff and that occasionally I might be asked to work for another senator when Senator Maybank doesn't need me. Trying to remember his name…let me see…Parks…no…Parker….Palmer…uh… I remember now; his name is Paige and he's from Pennsylvania."

Foyle endeavored to maintain a neutral expression on his face at the news that Rachel might come in contact with Howard Paige. He quickly filed this information away in his mind- now was not the time to give details about his visit to the States. Maybe he shouldn't tell her at all. "Perhaps I should tell her that I can't see her anymore after tonight. Don't want her entangled in my affairs. It would probably hurt her feelings, but that's better than getting her involved in something that's none of her concern. I'll make an excuse for not seeing her again when we return to the hotel." Now the struggle began between wanting to keep Rachel safe by not involving her in his unfinished business with Howard Paige and his desire to have the continued pleasure of her company.

"You don't mind walking back to the hotel? I could hail a taxi."

Rachel laughed and patted her stomach. "No, I don't mind walking. I ate way more than I should have. Besides, I'm used to walking long distances. Did a lot of it during the War. Daddy gave up driving his car and gave his gasoline and tire coupons to our minister so he was able to take care of parish business and make visitations to the sick. Only problem with Daddy's generosity was that there was always a struggle to have enough coupons for shoes. Sure wore out a lot of shoe leather walking so much."

"I would imagine so," Foyle responded. "Lots of people did the same thing here and in Britain."

"Did you, sir?"

"Certainly did my share of walking, but travelled a lot by car." Sam Stewart's bright smiling face and her question "where to sir?" came to mind.

"Well… probably not as much as you. Had a driver."

"A driver? Why? What kind of work did you do during the War?" Rachel decided to stop worrying about whether or not he would answer her questions; she would ask anyway. She'd spent just enough time with him to realize that he wouldn't give her personal information unless he wanted her to know it.

They walked another block before he answered her. "Police work."

"Oh, you must've been high ranking to have a driver."

Not willing to give her details about his rank or work, he simply told her, "Don't like driving."

"Never heard a man say he didn't like driving a car. Guess there's a first time for everything."

"Yep."

They continued on in a companionable silence for several blocks, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Rachel caught the toe of her right shoe in a crack in the pavement. She landed face down with a thud and remained motionless for a full minute before she sobbed "dammit!"

Foyle knelt down and took her hand, slowly pulling her up until she was standing. Without a second thought, he brushed away blood that trickled down her cheek with his thumb. Unconsciously, Rachel leaned against his hand, taking in the comfort of his touch. Yes, she trusted him. He now had no doubt.

"Are you alright?"

Realizing that his hand was still on her cheek, she backed away from him an inch before she looked up and said, "Yes, just a scratch on my cheek and a ruined stocking. I'll be fine."

"Question is, will I?" Christopher Foyle still had no clearer picture about what to do about Rachel Roberts than he did before dinner.

A/N- My mom was a little girl when the United States entered the Second World War. In discussing her memories about the War, she shared with me that my grandfather gave up his car during the war so their pastor could make use of the extra gasoline and tire coupons for it.

Senator Burnet R. Maybank served in the U.S. Congress from November 1, 1941- September 1, 1954. He was the mayor of Charleston from 1931-1938 and governor of South Carolina from 1938- 1941.

How is Christopher Foyle going to deal with the knowledge that Rachel will most likely come in contact with Howard Paige, the very man he is pursuing?

Please pardon the brevity of this chapter. More to come.

Once again, I want to express my appreciation to everyone who reads this little effort. Reviews are also very much appreciated!