Chapter 4

Foyle woke to the sounds of incessant chirping outside the window. He wondered where he was for a moment, curious as to why he felt years younger. Looking around the room bathed in the half light of the cloudy morning, his eyes caught a small movement next to him. He grinned, turning carefully onto his side to quietly contemplate her. His darling Sam.

The dark circles from under her eyes had disappeared, her stress lines smoothed and cheeks glowing. He could see how she had aged from when he had first met her - goodness it seemed so long ago now. Samantha Stewart...how she had surprised them all at the station and become such a wonderful addition. Brightness seemed to radiate from her, even then, and Foyle knew that it was she who had allowed him to make it through the war years. Her selflessness and compassion towards others, like Milner and Andrew, had made him respect her all the more. "We really came to rely on each other in the end, didn't we?" Foyle mused.

Foyle was also aware that, as a self respecting man, he should be very ashamed of himself. Having inappropriate relations with a young woman in his hotel room, what on earth was he thinking? Had it been his intention? Recalling what he had said to Adam on the telephone, he tried to be honest with himself - he had fibbed about the Security Services needing to keep them - that was a sure sign of the wrongness of this.
He closed his eyes tightly against the feeling.

"What have I done?" he groaned inwardly, "I've made this worse for her."

He lay back, now staring at the ceiling. "But I do love her," he said to himself. What they did from here would need to be Sam's choice, he decided. He could live without her, let her go back to her husband to start again - if it was for the best, he would try his damnedest.

He worried that Sam would be ashamed, and wondered if she felt regret. Foyle sighed deeply, and jumped slightly when he felt an arm snaking over his chest, pulling the two of them closer.

"Hallo, you," Sam said huskily, smiling up at him.

"Good morning," Foyle smiled back.

They snuggled in together, shifting to get comfortable. Foyle's mind was whirling and he tried to think of a way to begin. He asked, "How are you?"

"Better than ever," Sam said warmly. She nuzzled against his neck, breathing him in.

Foyle froze, battling with his mind to stop his body from responding. In mild panic, he whispered, "We need to speak."

Sam shifted, looking up at him, "Oh dear, I know that voice."

Chewing his lip, Foyle glanced at her, "I'm not sure what I'm feeling - I should feel ashamed; I've not treated you respectfully or behaved at all appropriately."

Sam looked slightly confused, "Do you regret it?"

"Not at all - I should, perhaps. I'm just worried I've made things more difficult for you. You are a married woman, and well, this just isn't done."

"You mustn't always be so upright, Christopher - you were the pinnacle of respectability. If anything, this is my doing, and you shouldn't feel you've done anything wrong." Sam paused, then sat up to look at him properly. "I know this isn't the best way we might have begun things. And of course, you are right as always, but I shouldn't like you to feel you were to blame."

Foyle didn't say anything, but continued to worry his lower lip.

"What do you want to do?" he asked finally. "I will support your decision, no matter what, even if it means we never see each other again. I want what is best for you."

Sam looked indignant, "And you think us never seeing each other is what is best?"

"I didn't say that, Sam," Foyle said slowly. "I want the decision, whatever it may be, to be yours."

"You doubt me?"

Her face fell, and Foyle thought about all the hurt he was causing her.

Sitting up, he touched her face, "I'll love you, no matter what. I always, and only, ever want the best for you."

She said without hesitation, "Then the decision is simple. I want to make a life with you. To start again with you."

Tears came to both their eyes, and Foyle pulled her to him. "Are you sure?"

Sam gave him a small punch, "Yes, you silly, I jolly well am."

"Then," Foyle said with a solemn face, streaked with tears long overdue, "I promise to love you and look after you. I admire you ever so much Sam, and if I can make you happy, then I too shall be happy."

"Good," Sam grinned at him, "So now that's settled, can we have breakfast?"

As she tried to make the overalls look a bit more presentable, she heard Foyle clear his throat. "I think I'll go down first and get a car organised."

Sam nodded, "I will be right down."

She understood that leaving together might not look acceptable, though she didn't entirely care what the hotel guests thought. She heard the door click as she put the last unruly curl under a pin. The silence of the room seemed to wave over her.

It was slightly overwhelming, all that happened in the last day, but she had no doubts. The matter of Adam could be dealt with easily enough in legal terms, but she knew it would hurt him, or at least his pride. "If only I had listened to my gut all that time ago," she thought.

In the bathroom she checked her appearance, surprised by the difference in her face. The determination there gave her confidence. She thought back to the previous night, remembering the feel of the man she would never have believed could love her against her skin. The way he felt inside of her, the caress of his lips, and the hunger she felt from him came rushing back, causing her cheeks to glow in warm remembrance. She wanted him, and wished he hadn't gone downstairs.

She put the light out and pulled the door closed behind her, smiling to herself. She felt the years sliding off her shoulders, and a new spring in her step caused one guest on the stairs to smile knowingly.

When she came down into the lobby she looked around for Foyle, wondering where he might be. Her heart stopped when she saw him standing to one side, deep in conversation with Adam.

She walked towards the two men, feet suddenly feeling like lead.

"Adam."

The young man looked over, pushing past Foyle. "Sam, my God, are you all right? I've been so worried."

Sam all at once felt guilty, and didn't dare look at Foyle over Adam's shoulder. "I'm fine, really, Adam. I'm sorry about yesterday, but -"

He pulled her into an embrace, "Well, I'm glad you are all right. And don't worry about that, they rang this morning to say I have got the candidacy after all, so you haven't spoiled anything."

Sam's lips went into a thin hard line, and she moved away from him, "Right. Well done, Adam, that's brilliant of you." She couldn't think of what next to say, and was spared when Foyle walked over.

"There is a car out front that can take you both home," he said.

Sam looked at him desperately as Adam put his arm around and pulled her away. Foyle nodded as if to say, "You can do this."

When the two had disappeared from view, Foyle rubbed his forehead and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

A week had passed since Foyle had seen Sam. There had been a small note delivered to the hotel that read simply, "Getting it sorted. Feeling a bit beastly, but it will soon be over. Missing you and will come to you soon. Hope you are all right. Love you, Your Sam."

He wished he could go to her and help her, but knew that this was between the young couple. After speaking to Hilda Pierce, he secured a secretarial position for Sam. "Least I can do in the circumstances," he'd said to her.

Hilda Pierce had fixed him with such a knowing look that Foyle felt distinctly uncomfortable before the woman had smiled kindly.

"She'll need someone to stand by her," Pierce said, and left the matter there.

So, it was nearly ten days before Foyle saw Sam again. He saw her listening to one of the other MI5 secretaries, Charlotte, looking slightly overwhelmed. She did, however, look much brighter and healthier, and though this should have been a difficult time for her, the lines of worry didn't quite meet her eyes. "She looks positively radiant," Foyle mused to himself.

He called out across the room of typists, interrupting Charlotte's instructions. "Mrs Wainwright, could I see you for a moment?"

Sam's face lit up, though she tried hide her broad smile. She followed Foyle to his cramped office and closed the door softly. When she turned around she found herself in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just had to see you, to speak with you. Are you all right?"

Sam laughed softly in his ear, "This working with you will be a bit trickier than I imagined...sir."

She laughed again, "I'm fine, Christopher. Adam is behaving better than I think either of us would have believed. Gracious is perhaps the word I'm looking for. Any way, it will take some time, but he's agreed to everything. I've been staying in the spare room, but now I think I can come to you. The worst is over and he's not been unreasonable."

Foyle asked, "How did he take the news of us?"

Sam stiffened slightly, "Not well, really. He wanted to knock you up and give you a piece of his mind, but I convinced him he wasn't thinking clearly. He's no match for you anyway. He said some pretty rotten things, but it will soon be over. I nearly wasn't able to come work here with you, but in the end, as I say, he being fairly level headed."

Foyle nodded and rubbed her arm.

Sam continued in a softer voice, "It's been rough, Christopher. The solicitor explained it all, so what we must do is clear now. But of course, I am at fault, so unfortunately I rather get the short end of it."

Foyle swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed. He dropped his arms and took a slight step back. He felt dismayed that Sam was having to go through all this...for him. "I should have realised, Sam...mmmy fault."

Sam closed the gap he had created between them, "Nevermind," she said with a small smile.

Some relief crept into Foyle's eyes, but he remained unmoving. "Sam, I want us to always be honest with each other."

He sighed, "I have always worried that our ages would be something difficult to overcome. I worry that you will be left on your own when we are older and I die first. I love you, I want to have a life with you, but only if it is something you want and if you understand entirely what it means I am asking of you."

Taking his chin in her hand, Sam tilted his face towards hers. Looking directly into his eyes, she replied with a firm, clear voice, "Christopher Foyle, I love you. I love you so deeply that it hurts. I love you so much that I do not care what anyone thinks, not Adam, nor my parents, nor Andrew; I only care what you think. I love you so completely, that I would spend as many years as God grants us together rather than waste a moment more."

Sam paused, taking a breath, adding in a slightly husky tone, "I want a life with you, I want as many children as we agree on, and I realise I'm sounding very greedy, but I want you. I want you every day of the week and twice on Sundays."

She made this speech quickly, and Foyle reeled for a moment taking it all in. The worry disappeared. In front of him stood a woman he had loved at a distance for so many years, and she cared for him so deeply that she was promptly divorcing her perhaps more socially suitable husband, opening her already vulnerable self to his doubts, and taking it all in such shrewd stride that he felt slightly breathless.

Leaning his forehead against hers, Foyle gave his lopsided smile. He said softly, "Sam, know I never doubted you, but myself. I felt I'd pushed you into this too soon, that perhaps you would have had a change of heart...I dunno."

He stopped, and pulled her into his arms properly. "I feel I've asked a lot of you, Sam. I'm sorry. Just know I am here to stick by you through it all."

She kissed him lightly, "I know you are. I couldn't do it if you weren't. I ask and expect more of myself than you do of me, so don't worry."

He nuzzled her neck comfortingly, and they came to a better understanding than they had previously imagined.

"Can this door be bolted?" Sam asked suddenly, a hint of laugher behind her words.

Foyle cocked an eyebrow, "Really, Sam..."

Not quite knowing what was coming over him lately, Foyle moved to the door. He quickly checked, realising it could indeed be bolted from the inside, and turned to Sam with a hiss, "We can't possib-" he faltered, his mouth dropping.

Sam had sat herself seductively and comfortably on the top of his desk, and with a mischievous grin, said, "Oh dear, Mr Foyle, I think I need your help."

He was with her in a second, murmuring, "Oh yes?", all decency and propriety left behind.

"Well, do you know, sir, I rather think I've lost a button. Awfully clumsy of me I know. Hadn't we better check?" She guided his hands over her breast and he smiled down at her in amusement.

"I will not take you on His Majesty's property, tempting though it may be."

"What a shame...I'm sure he wouldn't mind..."

His hands trembled slightly as he traced her curves and lines. He paused, looking over her shoulder as if remembering something.

"Twice on Sundays, eh?"

She grinned at him cheekily, "If you can stand it...sir..."

Foyle murmured throatily in her ear, and she had to suppress a giggle.