Chapter 8

Spring 1943

Sam took the tumbler from Foyle and followed him into the lounge where they sat quietly for a moment, regarding each other. He felt his nerves tingling. It felt both pleasant and unnerving.

"Do you know," Sam began, "this is the third time I've been blown up."

"Is it? I can't say I was counting," Foyle said, thinking perhaps that wasn't entirely true. He remembered them well enough, but hadn't realised it was so many occasions. Once was more than enough, and he felt a wave of guilt as he realised he was to blame for most of them.

"Yes," she replied, taking a swig of the whiskey.

She suddenly looked indignant. "First Jerry blew us up in a pub; then Jerry blew up my house, and then I was nearly sent up by a bomb at a petrol depot. I suppose it doesn't really count, seeing as it didn't go off…and now today in the woods. Honestly, nowhere is safe these days. " She shook her head, taking another sip.

Foyle felt his heart pound at the memories as she rattled off each occasion. He had nearly lost her so many times; and her illness last year too had been a near miss. He had been at his wits end then. Shaking his head he tried to push away the thoughts. She's your driver, man, pull yourself together. It was no good. He stood abruptly and began to pace, chewing his lip.

Sam watched him for a moment. "Nevertheless, I'm lucky, sir. Wouldn't you say?"

Foyle nodded, not meeting her eye. He paused by the front window and pulled the blackout curtain across, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I've allowed you to come to danger too many times." His voice was soft.

Sam was suddenly concerned, "I say, you aren't going to send me packing are you?"

Foyle looked up, "Certainly not. I only mean to say that…um, well…"

"I am the one who should be sorry. I don't mean to get in to so many jams."

"Well, not as sorry as I would have been had I lost you."

Foyle closed his eyes. Damn, I wasn't going to say that.

Sam set her whiskey down. "I see."

"You are irreplaceable…you know, I'd never get anywhere on time if I left it up to the Sergeant." He smiled feebly, feeling he was suddenly right in the place he had tried to avoid.

Foyle sat back down. "Anyway, Milner is busy looking for the two lads. And if I can get the Commissioner off my back for two minutes, I'm hopeful we can charge Hans Lindemann for shooting Mr Richards."

He had changed the subject to their current case and he saw that she knew it. She sat back, crossing her arms, looking at him.

"Mr Foyle," she began.

He met her eyes, feeling suddenly nervous under the determined gaze of the young woman.

"If you are trying to say you'd be sad if I was…gone, then thank you."

"Well, naturally, but I, er…" Foyle cleared his throat, thinking this wasn't going at all like he'd hoped. He began to fiddle with a button on his waistcoat.

"Because I would be quite lost myself without you. I suspect you know that, however."

He chewed his cheek, not daring to look at her. Stop this now, some small voice said, growing ever fainter at the back of his mind.

She leaned forwards, "Mr Foyle, would you say we make a good team?"

"I...I would, but I don't see—"

"I believe so too. I think, in fact, that we've been such a good team for so long that we would go rather to pieces if faced with being without the other."

Foyle's eyes went wide with surprise and he sat up. Is she saying…? He swallowed hard.

"Sam," he began, putting up a hand, "it's better left alone, don't you think?"

"No, I jolly well don't. We've left it for long enough. I can't do it any more." She stood, frowning at him, "Am I wrong in thinking…you care for me?" The frown deepened and Foyle saw her eyes become bright.

He clenched his teeth and murmured, "But I'm too old, and I'm your boss, and you were Andrew's…"

She was suddenly in front of him kneeling beside his chair. "You won't always be my boss. I stepped out with Andrew what feels like a lifetime ago when we were playing at love. I know the difference now."

"Sam please," Foyle said, passing a hand across his forehead.

"And you aren't too old. In fact, I think you are just old enough."

Foyle smiled softly in spite of himself. "If only I had your optimism."

She looked at him imploringly, "This is not easy for me. But you must know. It isn't just because of bombs all over the place, but it was my illness too. I don't know how many more chances I'll get. Don't you see?"

"But we can't…"

"You can't or you won't? You can't deny it, surely?" Sam asked, tears finally spilling over.

Foyle's face filled with despair, "I don't know what to do, Sam. I want…I want to do what is right."

"Am I wrong?" she asked again, eyes wide with fear of what he might say. A few more tears escaped, slipping slowly, almost painfully down her cheek.

He took a shuddering breath, weighing the options, a battle going on behind his eyes.

She took his hand, "Oh please, just tell me if I'm wrong. I don't want to be wrong about this. For so long I have tried to dismiss this, but I can't any longer. Not after today."

Foyle touched her cheek, "You're not wrong."

He closed his eyes and let out his breath, as if a huge weight had finally been released.

"Thank goodness," Sam choked back a sob, "I couldn't bear to be without you."

He held her chin, tilting her face up. "There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you, Sam. About all you've done for me. I told myself that it was selfish to keep you near me; that I was leading you towards a life that would never be fulfilling. I…" His voice caught in his throat.

"If I'd had the courage, Sam, I would have sent you away long ago to find someone who could make you happy."

"But you make me happy," she whispered with a sniff, bottom lip trembling. "Don't you see? I couldn't be happy with anyone else."

He closed his eyes, "Are you sure? What if I can't give you all you want…"

She put a hand on his cheek, eyeing him carefully, "I would like to believe that you trust my judgement. After all that has happened…so many near misses, and you there to catch me each time…I know you are everything I could ever hope for."

The corners of Foyle's mouth turn downwards, a mixture of a smile and sentiment reflected in the motion. He pulled her roughly to him in an embrace, his voice husky and tight with emotion, "I've nearly lost you so many times, Sam. I can't stand the thought…I was so worried today…I…I…"

She shushed him with a kiss. Foyle pulled back in surprise, like he'd been scalded. His face was so bewildered that Sam laughed, and raising an eyebrow in amusement, she waited.

He smiled back shyly, "I didn't, um…expect that."

"Obviously." She grinned now, "Shall I warn you this time?"

He laughed and pulled her back towards him. Leaning in with a smile, he touched her nose with his, nudging her…beckoning her in again. This time, he kissed her properly, capturing her lips with his. He felt his heart racing as if it would burst from his chest. Sam! Darling, darling Sam. He seemed to lose any thoughts but those of the woman in his arms.

"I don't want to ever let you go, Sam," he murmured.

"I'm here," she whispered, kissing him fervently, "if you want me. I'll never go away from you. No running from you again."

"Is it why you left? After being in hospital?"

She nodded, murmuring against his lips, "Uncle Aubrey said I couldn't run from it. I came back to face it all. I couldn't bear not being near you."

"I must remember to thank him…I was going nearly out of my mind without you."

"Were you?" she smiled in the midst of his kiss. "Oh what fools we've been…"

"Let me keep you close, Sam?"

Foyle felt her nod, and with a trembling breath of relief he put all of himself in his kiss; his fingers, lost in her hair, pulled her deeper and closer. His eyes had suddenly filled with tears but he didn't mind if she saw. He had never thought he could love again, nor could he have believed his love for this young woman would ever be returned. He cried for the relief of it all — no longer able to deny himself.

She had been kneeling before his chair, and now, having pulled her to him, she was between his knees, her elbows resting on the chair arms, fingers in his hair. Her mouth was open to him, allowing his tongue to make an exploration. She strained forward to try to get closer. She is enchanting beyond measure he thought, heart soaring. He felt her begin to shake and a warning voice in his mind caused him to ease his eagerness.

Foyle pulled back, looking at her with a smile. Twitching his lips he said, "If my memory serves me right, children have a sixth sense about these sorts of things, and we are bound to be interrupted sooner or later. So, let's finish our drink…over here."

He stood, breathing deeply to calm himself, leading her to the settee. They sat beside each other and Sam took his hand.

"You're lovely." She gazed at him longingly. "We've been silly to ignore it, haven't we."

Foyle gave an upside down smile, "I'm not sure. You still work for me. It isn't the done thing."

Sam sighed, leaning her head back to gaze at the ceiling. "I know. You're right of course."

Foyle paused a moment. "Um, I really meant it earlier when I said I don't know what to do. Sam, this could become very difficult…"

"I don't see why it should."

Foyle looked at her carefully. How could she not see why this might go badly? What people might say of her, of how Andrew would react, of what it might mean to both their jobs… "You mean keep it secret?"

"Until we work something out, perhaps."

"Hmm." Foyle nodded, thinking. "Leave it with me." He would do whatever it took to keep her. Now that he'd found her, or perhaps more accurately, now she had found him beneath the walls he'd erected over the years, and coaxed him out, he wasn't about to let it all go.

She lifted her head and smiled at him. "You'll think of something, I know you will." She crept closer to him, "But for now, can we just enjoy the fact that I wasn't blown to Kingdom Come?"

He traced her smiling lips with a finger. "Christopher..." she breathed in a voice that made his stomach drop with sudden desire.

Foyle kissed her again, the reminder of the fluidity of life in this war spurring him into action. He reassured himself that all of her was still in one piece, his hands wandering and exploring purposefully and delicately. Fingers tracing her cheek, inching down to her slender neck, slipping to cup a breast, and coming to rest heavily on her hip. He almost couldn't believe it was Sam here beside him; that he had her love. To touch her made his fingertips tingle.

"Oh how I have dreamed of this," he murmured.

"As have I," Sam whispered back, "we've wasted years with dreaming, haven't we? I don't want to waste another moment."

"Nor do I, Sam, but we must think this through." Foyle paused and pulled back. "I want you by me, but my first thought has to be for James."

"Of course," Sam said, nestling in the crook of his arm. "We shall carry on as before. I'll look after him, and Lydia too when she comes out of hospital."

Foyle looked down at her, face a mixture of awe and warmth. It never ceased to amaze him how she constantly thought of others first. "I do adore you."

She kissed him, "How nice to hear you say it."

"Lydia will need our support, that is certain." Foyle bit his lip. "I've got to finish up these cases too. If only the Assistant Commissioner would get off my back."

"Is it just me, or is he even worse than the last one?"

Foyle prodded her, "That's enough of that." He smiled, "You may be right though. He could prove to be a complication in this case."

Sam reached up to smooth his furrowed brow. "What's been happening while I've been away? I miss driving you."

Foyle held her to him tightly, not wanting to let her go. Snuggling closer, they talked as they had always done, allowing their new closeness to sink in slowly. With Police work, they had often talked openly, and now was no exception. Foyle respected Sam's keenness and knew her different points of view often helped him see things in a new light. That she was curled into his side, sighing happily in contentment, was something he had never allowed himself to believe. Though the world was locked in conflict, Foyle had never felt happier or more relieved. If Sam is beside me, I can get through it all, come hell or high water…yes, indeed…