Writer's Note: Ladies and gents, I have been trying to figure out how to navigate the issue of Milner's presence during the final scenes of 'The French Drop,' which add some conflict into the mix with the events below. Since I moved the bit about winning the onion to an earlier chapter way back when, I've decided to take a bit of artistic license with Milner's storyline a bit in this section. I hope that will be acceptable and that you enjoy this chapter! With that said, read on, McDuff!
Foyle was reaching the end of his tether. After the long drive from Hastings, Lieutenant Colonel Wintringham was refusing to talk. It was his insistence that the SOR had done 'nothing illegal' that was bothering Foyle the most.
'The suicide letter – forged. The girlfriend, Marian Greenwood, works for you and perverted the course of justice. Added to which, one of your men tried to kill me.'
He paused, trying not to think of the other life that had nearly been claimed by Major Stafford's showboating.
'Illegal, all morally unacceptable,' he concluded. 'How would you like to justify it?'
From all outward appearances anyone in the room might have described Foyle's demeanor as cool, calm and collected. Inside, however, he boiled with disgust – a disgust which grew stronger with the lieutenant colonel's every utterance.
'Necessities of war, Mr Foyle, in which there is no morality,' Wintringham said, unflinchingly. 'You fail to grasp this,' he continued 'in truth I don't like it any more than you do, but it's part of our existence. It's what we're for.'
There was a moment of silence. Foyle knew he would get nothing further from this man, let alone remorse at the suffering and injustice he'd caused. Everything the SOE had done was disgraceful, and yet Wintringham was prepared to defend such behavior until the end. Such a man didn't care whether people like Sam lived or died, and Foyle hated him for it.
As he made to leave – guided by Ms. Pierce – he believed his frustration had reached its peak. Not only could he not explain to the Messengers what had happened to their son, he was being held to secrecy on the behalf of people he despised. Ms. Pierce had assured him he could 'wait' before exposing the SOE's malpractice, but Foyle knew such a deadline was open-ended at best. Who could say how long the war would last?
But it was the arrival of the Messengers that capped it all, as Sir Giles assured Foyle that he may 'put any idea about joining The Service out of his mind.' While such a threat was unlikely to dissuade Foyle from pursuing work outside the force, he would have been a fool to consider the threat idle.
Exhausted and thoroughly put out, he returned to the Wolseley to join Milner and Sam.
The drive back to Sam's uncle's house was filled with questions – as was commonplace when Sam was in a good mood. In particular she wanted to know who had been responsible for the death of the British agent, and why she hadn't seen any criminals escorted from Hill House. Foyle declined to comment until the question he'd most dreaded finally came up.
'And did you ever find out what happened to the car?'
He was silent, chewing on the corner of his lip as he cast his eyes down and away from her prying side glances.
'…Yyyyes,' he said finally.
Her eyes grew wide in sudden surprise. She hadn't expected him to give her anything after the secrecy of his meeting this afternoon.
'Did you really, sir? What was it? I've not had any trouble from her since then and I only recall it happening the one time after we'd left the estate,' she said.
'Perhaps it's better not to worry about that, Sam,' he said somewhat awkwardly, resting his arm behind the headrest of her seat, as was his habit during long drives.
'I'd like to know too, sir,' Milner chimed in from the back seat. 'Someone trying to disrupt the investigation?'
Damn it, Milner, he thought. He had wanted to avoid talking about the accident, but it appeared they were teaming up on him.
Reluctantly he acknowledged that one of the SOE majors had employed a disabling technique on the Wolseley during their last visit.
Sam's brow furrowed slightly as she took this in, sitting silently as she processing. Foyle didn't like the shadow that clouded her face and hoped their arrival at Aubrey's house would distract her.
After saying their goodbyes to Sam's uncle and driving through the small village, Milner asked to be let out at the next town – the only town for the next 20 miles with a train station and hotel.
Foyle was confused and looked back at Milner, his inquisitive brow on full display.
'What are you doing?' he asked.
'I'll be back in Hastings tomorrow, don't you worry sir,' Milner said quietly as he slid toward the door to let himself out.
Foyle thought a moment. He could think of only one reason why Milner would spend the night away from Hastings.
'Jane?' he asked simply. Milner's cheerful expression withered and he nodded, eyes crestfallen. Without another word he opened the door and made his way to the boot, collecting an overnight case Foyle hadn't seen him bring.
Foyle looked at Sam only to find her quiet and unmoved by the change of plan.
So, she knew about this, he thought. He gave a tiny private nod, more to himself than to anyone else.
Sam was avoiding his eyes and gave Milner a parting wave. Foyle tipped his hat in Milner's direction, and as Milner bid them goodbye they set off to complete their journey.
Foyle was worried about Sam. As the village disappeared behind them and the barren countryside began, Sam hadn't said a word. Indeed, Foyle could barely hear her breathe. For perhaps 10 minutes he'd noticed her eyes becoming glossy, but her look of determination had assured him she had no intention of discussing her feelings. Finally, after his attempts at small talk had failed and he could bare her silence no longer he broached the subject.
'What's the matter, Sam?' Foyle asked gently.
She was silent for another few seconds before she let out an exclamation:
'Thank God!' she cried, a small sob choking the Lord's name as it escaped her lips.
Foyle looked around, wondering what she was talking about. She was now clearly distraught.
'Here, pull over,' he said, gesturing to the edge of a field that was swiftly approaching. She pulled the car to the side of the road before switching off the engine and covering her face in her gloved hands.
Sam was embarrassed by this sudden (and atypical) display of emotion. She felt foolish and immature for losing control this way, particularly while on the job. She could feel her face going hot and red as she held back tears.
'What is it?' he asked, trying to look into her eyes.
She took a breath.
'All this time I'd been so worried I'd done something wrong,' she said, her lip twitching slightly with the effort of not crying. 'I thought I'd lost control or something, I don't know.'
'When?' he asked, feeling stupid.
'I thought it was my fault all along, but now I know it wasn't. I thought I'd almost killed you and didn't know how to prevent it happening again!'
Foyle's eyebrow creased in supplication as he realized what she was talking about.
'Oh, Sam,' he murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her toward him.
He held her close and rested her head against his shoulder and she sniffed into his lapel. He didn't care that he was on duty just now – as far as he was concerned he was doing his job: keeping the peace.
'I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier,' he said. 'I thought you wouldn't want to know. I can see I was wrong.'
She wrapped her arms under his jacket and around his middle.
'I understand, sir,' she said, muffled in his shoulder.
He paused.
'Why don't we take a breather?' he asked. 'The sun's out. Let's get some air.'
She didn't need much convincing and nodded before turning and opening the door. Foyle followed her.
The afternoon had turned surprisingly warm and bright, and Foyle found himself glad he'd proposed the stop. The field was on the side of a hill with woodland bordering the south, east, and west, and birds were practicing their music all around them.
Leaning against the car he surveyed Sam, who was breathing in the fresh air. A few loose strand of curly blonde hair had blown out from under her hat, but she seemed not to notice.
He felt dreadful for not anticipating her needs - her need to know the truth, her need to know she wasn't to blame. For a detective, Foyle did not feel particularly observant.
'Sam, did you really recover from the accident?' he asked, watching her eyes for any signs of upset. Sam didn't seem to mind the question.
'I thought I had,' she said. 'It could have been a lot worse, I know. You hear about accidents like that every day.'
She was now filling about with the car, absentmindedly buffing a smudge off the passenger side door.
'But when you mentioned it earlier... I don't know, I guess it was just such a relief, that's all.' She sounded as though she was trying to be casual and level-headed, he noticed.
'Well... Just... Know that you're still a damn good driver,' he said warmly, his brows creased awkwardly as he gave her her favorite half-smile.
That seemed to do the trick. Her eyes momentarily filled with tears again, only now he knew it was for a decidedly more positive reason.
'Thank you, sir,' she said horsely. The croak in her voice made his heart constrict, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. He controlled the urge to the best of his ability.
A few moments later he saw her making her way to the back of the car. She then returned with a basket under one arm and a blanket curled up beneath the other.
'Where did you get that?'
'From the boot. I thought we could have a picnic while we were in the country,' she said, noticeably cheerier.
He smiled wryly, confident he was watching her plan play out before him.
'Milner help you arrange this?' he asked. She chuckled.
'No, but he did ask me if I'd stop for him on the way back.'
'Thought as much,' he said, following her to a level spot in the field.
Sam had brought toast, jam and a bottle of Aubrey's dreadful wine. Upon her opening the basket she met his glance, which was followed with a singular raised eyebrow. She smiled wider.
'I know, I'm sorry. It was all I could manage.'
'You didn't steal that from him, did you?'
'No, he always sends me a bottle,' she said, getting out the butter knife and plates.
'I also brought tea, but it's cold.'
'I'll take my chances,' he said, accepting her proffered cup and saucer with a grateful nod. He wasn't sure he could handle the drive back under a haze of green spirits.
After the food and tea were polished off they decided to extend their stay a bit longer. The breeze was so lovely and the multiplicity of wildflowers was intoxicating, and both Foyle and Sam found they had little interest in returning to the road.
Foyle made himself comfortable on the blanket - his arms behind his head - and watched Sam pick wild flowers by the hedgerow. She looked like Persephone incarnate, walking back to him, her arm swinging beside her, a large fistful of wild daisy, yarrow and black-eyed Susans in-hand. She'd removed her hat and gloves, and the sight of her made Foyle wonder how such natural beauty could exist in a time of war.
His heart felt as though it were growing with his every breath.
She settled down beside him comfortably after slipping a stem of Queen Anne's lace in the button hole of his jacket. He made a mental note to not wear it into the station – provided they got back to Hastings before nightfall. He brushed away the fallen petals the bloom had left upon his breast pocket and looked into his eyes for a moment.
'I really do love you, you know' she said matter-of-factly, smiling at him.
He smiled and took her hand in his, locking their fingers together and resting them on his stomach while he reclined.
'And I you,' he said.
But as she leaned forward to kiss him he held her back by the shoulders.
'Steady on, Miss Stewart, we're on duty,' he said, not realizing the aphrodisiac effect of those words.
'There's no one about,' she said rationally – almost too rationally, he thought. 'And besides, who's to say they'd know it was us?'
'Well, the police car's a good start,' he said with raised eyebrows.
She looked down for a moment before giving up her attempt, holding her hands in her lap innocently as she picked leaves from the stems of her wildflowers. As she did this he watched her, thinking.
Well, it istrue,his Devil's Advocate thought. At this hour it's not likely anyone will be around – maybe the odd farmer or two, but they wouldn't care enough to stop. Further, they were more that two hours away from Hastings.
He propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to stroke Sam's jaw, running his thumb along her cheek. She smiled softly, her eyes closing as she embraced the sensation of him kissing her neck. Then his lips met hers, deeply and lovingly – as though pledging his bodily commitment.
God only knew how much longer their day trip would take now, he thought. Still, he had to admit the prospect was a lovely one.
'Are you sure you want to leave the police?'
They'd been sitting in peaceful, quiet embrace before Sam spoke.
He smiled.
'Wull… I'd like to, but it ssseems the plan's been delayed somewhat,' he said slowly as he squinted up at the clouds. She looked at him.
'So you won't be leaving after all, then?' she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. 'Not yet.'
'But you will eventually?'
Now it was his turn to chuckle.
'Well, I can't stay forever, Sam.'
'I know. I just mean, you won't… well, you won't want to be rid of everything, I hope.' She was stumbling a bit as she tried to find the right words. '…Everyone?' she added, so quietly it was a whisper.
She knew she didn't hide her fear well, for she saw his brow crease slightly before he turned his gaze down to her. He could see uncertainty in her eyes, heard it in her voice – even felt it in the way she'd awkwardly shifted against him.
'No.'
His eyes were warm with reassurance. He ran his fingers through her hair and cradled the back of her neck as he brought her brow to his lips. After a long, patient kiss he rested her forehead against his, eyes closed.
'No, love,' he whispered.
Her responding smile was dazzling and took his breath away.
All was quiet as the breeze swept through the fields. The trees seemed to sigh as their leaves shuddered in the wind. She laid her head against his shoulder again, finally at ease for what felt like the first time that day. Slowly rising and falling with his breathing she felt as though they were rooted to the earth, fixed and protected from the soft chaos of the natural world around them.
She twirled one of his stray locks around her index finger, the warmth of the sun embracing her back as the warmth of her policeman embraced the rest of her.
The chirping birds in the wood a few yards behind her, and the zapping sound of insects in the tall grass beside the road were nearly drowned out by the sound of the heart pounding below her.
The sound brought about a feeling in the pit of her stomach – a dull ache she'd only recently come to understand.
'Dearest,' she said softly, trying to find a way to make a proposition without stirring his ever-present professional principles.
'Hmm?'
She thought a moment. Easier not to use words, I think, she decided.
She shifted her waight onto her hands on either side of him and looked down for a moment. He appeared surprisingly comfortable for a man of his age, considering he was lying on uneven ground. He might as well have been sunbathing. His hat was slightly tipped down to shade his eyes, and from below the brim he returned her gaze calmly and with perfect comfort.
He ran his hands up her sides as he waited for her next move. He didn't have to wait long.
For a moment he wondered what he should do as she leaned forward and kissed him at the crook of his neck. His hand hesitated for a moment beside her as he struggled to find words. One of her hands vanished underneath his shirt and caressed his torso.
'Was this your plan?' he asked breathlessly. She shook her head.
'Not really,' she murmured. 'I'd hoped we'd have more privacy.'
The sensation of her nose lightly brushing against his neck sent shivers over him.
'Then again, perhaps it's better this way,' she said thoughtfully. 'Then we can't go completely mad.'
His eyes closed as he struggled to make his body agree with her.
'Nnnnot sure we're doing too well at that, Sam,' he said as he felt her breasts brush against him.
His hands began to wonder, curving down her waist to her thighs and pulling them instinctively, wanting to feel them on either side of him.
Unfortunately her skirt would not allow for such nonsense.
'Sam,' he said suddenly as he stopped her in the process of pulling her skirt higher. Though his senses hadn't entirely returned to him, the sight of her bare thigh and tied stockings brought him momentarily back to earth.
'I think you're right,' he said, catching his breath as he loosened his tie. 'We need more privacy.'
