Disclaimer: Foyle's War was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle, Arthur Valentine, Elizabeth Addis, Sam and Adam Wainwright, et al., jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen, Mr. Tim McMullan, Ms. Hermione Gulliford, Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks and all the other brilliant actors. No infringement is intended, only admiration.

Thanks: Gratitude to GiuliettaC for beta-reading and suggesting improvements to the manuscript.


Chapter 8

"She won't talk to me. She wants you."

Valentine's words as he walked breezily into Foyle's office may have bordered on flippant, but their sudden effect on Foyle was profound. Valentine would swear his face had reddened as he turned away, pretending to hold a document he'd been reading under the morning light from the window. And he could see in profile his colleague's mouth working as he chewed on his lips, wrestling with a strong emotion.

As discretion was the better part, he pretended not to notice. However, combining this unmistakable agitation with the reaction of Mrs. Addis to the news that Foyle was taking on the case...added up to a prior personal connection he'd been unaware of. Far be it from him to pry into anyone else's private life — well, unofficially at least — but this was quite interesting.
"We can schedule another meeting for tomorrow morning."
"...Right." His colleague acknowledged the news with seeming indifference.
Valentine waited a beat before mercifully changing the subject,
"How did you manage with your interviews?"
Foyle had mastered himself sufficiently to face Valentine and reply,
"Errr, productive. Informative. The suggestion was made that we speak with a John Cairncross at MI6. How receptive d'you think he might be?"
Valentine raised his eyebrows in faint hope,
"They're never overly friendly towards us. I'll pull our file on him so we're fore-armed. What do you want to ask him?"
"For access to archived German Army signals from Yugoslavia."
That gave Valentine pause, as he hadn't thought of it himself,
"That's a very good idea, Foyle. Is that his department?"
Foyle answered with a rising inflection,
"He's in Section V, apparently."
"Counter-intelligence." Valentine considered a moment, then suggested,
"...We might have better success if Sir Alec made the request, at a higher level. I'll see him today."
Foyle gave a nod, bowing to his colleague's judgement.

There was a moment's silence between them, then Foyle offered,
"MacInnis gave strong support to the suspicion of a sleeper agent at SOE Cairo. Rees indicated Addis knew Cairo was influencing the shift to the Partisans."
"Well, if there was a sleeper agent, he was completely successful."
He paused, then asked pointedly,
"Who gave you Cairncross's name?"

Foyle looked down to rearrange some papers on his desk.
"Prefer not to say. A reliable witness." He looked up again with a bland expression.
Valentine half-smiled,
"You'll make a spy yet, Foyle."


Foyle exchanged greetings with Adam at the door of the now familiar prefab home in Peckham. After handing over a gift bottle of wine along with his coat and hat, he preceded his host through to the sitting room where he was soon met by an effusive Sam.
"Sir! Perfect timing! Dinner's almost ready. I'm so glad you accepted, ...Christopher."
Foyle blinked in affable surprise as she tried out this new form of address and approached him at speed. Clearly, having embraced and kissed him once, after her official resignation, she meant to make a habit of it, and now she held him close for a long moment. He accepted graciously, even putting an arm lightly around her still slender frame.

It hadn't been very many days since they'd last seen each other, but it was clear to Foyle that Sam had decided to embrace her impending motherhood as well. There was natural colour in her cheeks, she'd lost the gaunt and worried aspect that had so concerned him since their renewed association, and she'd arranged her hair in a softer style, befitting a first-time mother-to-be. She looked...happy.

"Something smells very good." He cast his eyes towards the kitchen, offering the remark by way of compliment.

"Oh, the usual, you know: 'Tomato soup, sole, roast chicken with roast potatoes, peas and sprouts, trifle and cream, cheese and biscuits and coffee.'"
As she listed the unheard of quantities of delectables, Foyle's smile grew, knowing she was referring to the recent newspaper story of a Gallup poll that asked the British public to name their no-expense-spared fantasy meal.
He genuinely laughed, and said,
"I'll have the sole. You two eat the rest."
"Actually, we're having Woolton pie."
"Delightful."
They all settled into seats, accepting glasses of the wine Adam had poured. Foyle crossed his legs comfortably.
"...You've taken up the sewing machine, Adam tells me."
"Yes! Well, that is, I plan to, when we can get one," she glanced at her husband.
"Err, soon, Sam." Wainwright assured her.
"I'm learning to use one at the WI. The tricky part in getting an even stitch is holding a consistent pressure on the foot pedal."
Foyle smiled from behind his wine glass, then suggested,
"W'oh, you're well experienced at that. Just imagine I'm beside you complaining about your speed." He aimed a wide-eyed look at her.
And that made Sam giggle.

The evening continued very agreeably, though Sam observed during dinner that Foyle fell into moments of worried introspection several times. As they finished their custard, Adam was called away by the telephone ringing.
Sam seized on the moment of privacy to say,
"You promised me you'd be all right, Christopher."
Foyle pursed his lips and set his napkin on the table,
"Didn't promise. Said I might be."
She studied him before asking gently,
"...Were you able to get away to Hastings? For the anniversary?"
He closed his eyes, moved that she would remember, and smiled,
"I was, yes. Andrew came down on a later train. We walked together to the cemetery."
"It's fifteen years now, isn't it."
"It is."
He thought, sadly — but didn't say out loud — that his wife had been gone now more years than they'd been married. The pain of losing her, the ache of missing her, was something that no longer overtook him; he could choose when to visit those feelings. Except in February.
"Em..., Hastings was just the same. Andrew said he'd like to live there again, if he could manage it with his work."
"What about you? Will you go home?"
"I...do miss the seaside. —And the river."
He had smiled fondly at her again, but soon fell into a pensive frown.
"There's something else bothering you. I can tell, Christopher." Sam enjoyed saying his name, signalling a closer friendship between them. It felt right, in this new phase of their long association.
Foyle attempted a half-hearted defensive scowl, which Sam ignored with a look of sympathetic appeal, and he gave up his usual reticence,
"Yyyes, it's true."
For once, she waited patiently for him to go on.
"I...may have been unfair to someone...who didn't deserve it. I need to apologise."
"Oh. That is difficult. Someone at work?"
"Nno, someone I...respect."
Their eyes met and, realising he'd just insulted everyone at the Security Service, they both broke into wry smiles.
Sam became serious again and asked in her direct way,
"Is it Dr. Addis?"
Foyle was dumbfounded,
"How…?"
"Well, at the funeral, she stood back from the gathering at the graveside, and you didn't greet her at all. It struck me as odd at the time, since you'd shaken hands with everyone else."
Foyle winced at the reminder of his public display of coldness towards Elizabeth Addis.
"Would it be of any help to tell me about it?"
He did, explaining, in only the level of detail necessary, first her expert help in the two previous cases, then his discovery of the part Addis had played in the wartime Plato investigation, her reluctant act of spying on him and her ties to Hilda Pierce, and finally the truth of her underlying motives regarding her late husband.
"Her husband may have been murdered? And someone had accused him as a traitor?"
"Mmmore than accused, it would seem, because his personnel file is blackmarked. But all pertinent documents are missing."
"How dreadful for her. The poor woman. ...How is the investigation going?"
Foyle sighed,
"Frankly, I've more information than I know what to do with. Files on every field agent and reports on every mission. ...But it isn't getting us any closer to an answer."
"It's just you and Mr. Valentine? ...Perhaps you need another team member."
Sam tilted up her chin and eyed him meaningfully.
Foyle shook his head,
"Oh, no. You've got more important things to do." He gave her an indulgent smile.
"I know," she agreed, with only a slight pout.
She pondered for a moment, then said brightly,
"Perhaps it would help to go back to the way you used to work - Police methods! Find the last person who spoke to the victim...and interview them."
Foyle looked her in the eyes, pressing his mouth into an upside down smile,
"That's a very good suggestion."
Sam reached across the table and put her hand over his, asking gently,
"...And when will you see Dr. Addis?"
"In the morning."


To be continued...