Faux Pas – Chapter 9

Disclaimer- Disclaimer- Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful! My only claim is to the characters I've created for this story.


Before Foyle could help Rachel remove her coat, she shrugged out of it and let the garment slip off her arms onto the floor. In the same careless fashion, she took off her hat and tossed it on the bed. She turned to face him but didn't dare look up as she mumbled, "I'm a fool. Should have walked away from the big jackass."

Foyle lifted her chin with a finger and saw humiliation and defeat in her eyes. How he wanted to pull her into his arms! He swallowed hard to control his emotions and shook his head. "Nn…not a fool at all. You did a foolish thing. Could have been seriously hurt." What the "jackass" could have done to her lovely face and more importantly her spirit was a disturbing thought

Rachel could no longer fight the tears that misted her eyes and began to sob. "I'm… so… very… sorry… Mr. Foyle."

Sweeping away any effort at restraint, he took her in his arms while whispering, "No need to apologize." At first her arms were pressed against his chest; then slowly she wrapped one arm around his torso followed by the other one. Foyle's waistcoat became damp with her tears as she pressed her face against him. His left hand had a will of its own and he stroked her hair as he murmured, "It's alright… not angry with you… just wanted to protect you." Rachel exhaled a shuddering sigh that put an end to her sobs and relaxed, still clinging to him.

"Better now?" He loosened his embrace and she pulled away just far enough to look up at him.

Rachel nodded but remained silent. One tear trickled from her eye and Foyle brushed it away with his fingertips. She leaned into his touch and he was nearly undone, wanting to kiss her. Foyle's desire warred with his idea of what was proper. He hardly knew the young woman looking up at him and she was so very young. This dilemma was familiar- Sam Stewart. They'd worked together for years and he never let himself cross over the boundary he'd made in that relationship. Now it was too late. Sam was marrying another man and he accepted that reality.

"I think so, Sir." Her voice so low as to be nearly inaudible, but it was enough to bring Foyle back to the present moment.

He gave her a brief but encouraging smile. "Good."

For Rachel, that bit of a smile lifted her heart. "Thank you for being so kind and patient with me and…I know this may sound silly…thank you for not leaving me alone." The impulse to hug him was strong but she held back, afraid of really putting him off of remaining in her company. Instead she chose to do something else, something to at least distance herself a few feet away from him for a brief time. "I'm going to wash my face. Must look a mess."

It was a mess alright with rivulets of black mascara running down her cheeks, but he certainly wouldn't say that! " You'll feel better after you wash you face" is all he told her.

She quickly entered the bathroom and closed the door. As soon as he heard water running, Foyle picked up the phone to order tea from Room Service. "No…need something stronger than tea... At least I do." Instead, he ordered whiskey and then sat down in one of the room's two chairs while he waited for Rachel to finish washing her face.

"Thanks for not leaving me alone." Her words repeated over and over in his mind. They were the very essence of vulnerability and a fear of rejection. Had someone abandoned her in the past? "Well…I won't leave her alone." Finally, he acknowledged how he truly felt. "Can't leave her."

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Foyle looked up from his reverie to see Rachel appear with a clean face, free of makeup. Although she no longer wore lipstick, her full lips were still red. A thought flashed through his mind. "Those lips should be kissed…I should hold her… Comfort her." Immediately, he took a rather large sip of whiskey and nearly dropped the glass when he put it down on the table.

"My goodness Mr. Foyle, do I look so scary without makeup that I drove you to drink?" As emotionally drained as Rachel felt, she couldn't resist teasing him.

He chewed his bottom lip a few seconds before answering, "Nup." Then he quickly added, "You look just fine. Feel better?"

"Yes sir, I do." She pointed at the untouched glass on the table as she sat down across from him. "Is this one for me?"

"Yeah, thought you might need it."

"Oh boy, do I ever! Thanks."

"Welcome."

Rachel took a sip of whiskey and sat the glass down on the table. She absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim for a full minute before blurting out, "It was the uniform. I mean if that guy hadn't been wearing a sailor's uniform I would have just turned and walked away from him."

"Rachel, what do you mean?"

Her eyes became distant and she groaned as if in physical pain. It was time to tell him about Jimmy and Pearl Harbor. Christopher Foyle patiently waited while Rachel gathered up the strength to relive the day her world shattered.


December 7, 1941 - Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory

Rachel managed to navigate the Desoto and its passengers to safety inland above the harbor. She pulled the car off the road next to sugar cane fields that appeared to be endless. She turned off the engine and rested her head against her head against the steering wheel, feeling lightheaded and shaky as the adrenalin that had kept her going on the harrowing drive ebbed away. Her throbbing hand could no longer be ignored as the pain suddenly seemed amplified tenfold. Lifting her head and seeing if her fellow passengers were alright seemed an impossible task. "Oh God, no one is saying anything. Hope they're o.k. I just need to rest a bit before I check on them."

A knock on the driver's side window caused a chorus of screams from Mrs. Pula's children and ear piercing barks from Barney. As Rachel tried to turn her head in the direction of the window she knew she was going to pass out. Hoping the stranger outside the car wasn't an enemy soldier, she made a great effort to stay conscious long enough to stammer, "Ss…someone…find out who it is and what they want." She then gave into the darkness taking hold of her.

A cacophony of voices, some close and others distant competed with the intense, throbbing pain in her right hand in bringing her to consciousness. She slowly opened her eyes and saw two concerned faces hovering over her.

"Hmm… where am I?"

The response came from a familiar voice. "We're at a sugar plantation, in the owner's house."

Rachel's eyes had not yet focused properly, but she knew Adelaide Simpson was speaking to her. "Mrs. Simpson, how did we get here? The last thing I remember is the kids screaming and Barney barking his head off when someone knocked on the driver's side window."

"You passed out my dear. A man who works for the owner brought us here. He was the one who knocked on the car window. He led the way here on his motorcycle and I drove the car."

On the other side of the bed was a large man who appeared to be Hawaiian. "Oh Miss, you sure gave me a fright when you passed out right after I knocked on your window. I saw the blood on you and thought you were a goner!"

Another voice cut in and curtly ordered, "Everyone move away from my patient and let me see to her!" They complied and retreated out of the room in a hurry.

Rachel turned her attention to the man now standing over her. He was tall and thin with a shock of unruly white hair and a beard to match. All she could think of were the paintings of God she'd seen in art books and blurted out, "Am I dead, Lord?"

He snorted and then, in a mountain twang that sounded far removed from Hawaii, told her, "Heavens no child! I'm just the fella that patched up your hand. It was a mess."

She absorbed this information and then asked, "Are you a doctor?"

"Not exactly…. Well, I'm a doctor of sorts." He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. "You've been sewn up by a veterinarian. Isaiah Crawford Long, DVM at your service. Can't guarantee that you won't have an ugly scar. Cows and horses aren't so particular about how they look after surgery. I cleaned the wound thoroughly, applied sulfa powder to it and stitched up your hand as carefully as an old animal doctor could do on a human. Real glad you passed out before I started stitching' up you hand, not sure these old nerves could have stood up to hearing you holler as I was sewing'. You're still in the land of the living and that's a very good thing right now. Don't know what's happened to a lot of folks in the last few hours." He stopped short of saying anything else about the events of that morning because the news on the radio, although sketchy, was devastating. Only God knew how many sailors, soldiers and civilians had been killed or wounded.

In the chaos of getting herself and her neighbors to some sort of safety that morning, Rachel pushed the thought of Jimmy's fate to the farthest corner of her mind. Now that thought seized her with such violence that she cried out "Jimmy" and "no!" over and over until sobs replaced the words.

The vet gently but firmly told her, "Young lady, that's enough of that! Not gonna do you any good to fret over whether Jimmy is alive or dead. We just don't know yet. Right now, I want you try to calm down and sleep if you can."

"I'll try Dr. Long… to calm down. Can't promise I'll sleep."

Feeling so completely out of his depth when it came to trying to comfort her, he directed his comments to practical matters. "Close your eyes now and rest. I'll check on you in an hour or so. Have someone fetch me if the pain gets worse or you start feelin' feverish."

"Yes sir, thank you." Rachel turned over and for the first time since she was a little girl, cried herself to sleep.


Foyle placed his hand over Rachel's scarred one and said nothing. He understood how difficult it was for her to tell him what had happened to her on that distant December day; just thinking about his own experience in the Great War was hard enough and talking about it filled with him with the dread of reliving it.

"Mr. Foyle, if anyone says they don't believe in Hell, they're a fool. Not knowing if someone is alive or dead is torment."

He nodded his head in agreement. All through the War, not knowing where Andrew was or what dangers he faced was indeed a hellish thing on a par with watching his beloved Rosalind fade away in a few short days. He considered the finality of death the cruelest torment of all until he thought again about the agony of not knowing a loved one's fate. It almost made those few days before his wife's passing seem like a sort of terrible gift.

Rachel took a large sip of whiskey and let its warmth work its way down her throat and into her veins. She didn't understand why she still cared for the stuff as she had consumed a fair amount of it as a means of temporary pain relief when nothing else was available after Dr. Long sewed up her hand. Like the scar on her hand, the taste of it would forever remind her of Pearl Harbor, pain and loss.

Rachel's sleep only lasted for an hour or so before her hand began to throb with pain so intense that she sat straight up in the bed, eyes still closed and cried out, "Oh God, it hurts. Make it stop, make it stop!"

The sound of many footsteps, followed by a gruff "she don't need everybody and their brother crowding around her right now!" brought her to full consciousness.

Dr. Long shooed away everyone who followed him to Rachel's bedside and then pulled a silver flask along with a small bottle from his pants pocket. "I sure wish there wish there was more that I could do for your pain other than give you whiskey and aspirin, but it's all we got right now." He handed her two aspirin tablets and opened the flask. She popped the tablets in her mouth and washed them down with a long swallow of whiskey that made her sputter, then cough.

Rachel handed him back the flask as she croaked out, "Whiskey and aspirin don't taste too good together. Thank you. Don't mean to be any trouble."

He shrugged and smiled at her. "No trouble for me. You're a sight prettier than my other patients. I'm gonna leave the whiskey on the table by the bed. You can take another swig or two if need be, just don't drink too much or you'll be sick as a dog. Now lay back down and close those big green eyes."

Whether it was the effect of the aspirin and whiskey or simply the idea that they might give her a bit of relief from the pain, Rachel relaxed and fell into a deep sleep that lasted all afternoon.

That evening she wandered into the living room to find most of the adults huddled around the radio, desperate for any scrap of news about the events of that morning. The children were in the dining room with Adelaide Simpson, Dr. Long and the Hawaiian man trying to keep them occupied with card games and art work.

Abigail Pula looked up from the picture she'd been drawing and pointed in the direction of the living room. "Look!" She bounded out of chair and grabbed Rachel around the waist. "I was scared Miss Rachel. I thought you might die."

Dr. Long stopped his card game with one of the other children to huff, "Don't be silly. She wasn't gonna die, her hand was hurt bad and I fixed it up. No more talk about anybody dying!"

The little girl broke her hold on Rachel's waist and scurried back to the table. She decided it was best to be quiet because the white haired man hollered a lot when people made a commotion and she didn't want him fussing at her or anyone else, especially Rachel who was hurt.

Feeling lightheaded but not wanting to leave the company of other people, Rachel sat beside Abigail and tried to focus on what the children were doing instead of what might have happened to her fiancé.

"Miss Rachel, would you like to draw a picture with me?"

"Oh Abigail, I sure wish I could but…" She held up her right hand. The sight of it, wrapped in bandages made out of an old bed sheet, terrified the child whose dark brown eyes widened and lips trembled.

Rachel put her arm around the girl and held her close, while whispering, "It's alright honey. I didn't mean to scare you. I think I should go back to bed now."

Abigail agreed with a solemn nod of her head. "Yeah, so Dr. Long won't fuss at you."

Rachel grinned and winked at her, "I sure don't want to get in trouble with him." She kissed the top of the little girl's head, rose from the table and made her way back to bed.

Before laying down, she picked up the vet's flask and took two long swallows of whiskey along with more aspirin. Wondering out loud to no one, she asked, "How much whiskey would it take for me to drink, go to sleep and wake up to find this day was only a horrible nightmare?" Her common sense told her it was impossible, but Rachel proceeded to drink more whiskey and quickly fell into a deep, but fitful sleep.


"Now you know why my hand has that ugly scar, Mr. Foyle." As memories of being wounded in the Great War played in his mind, he wrapped his fingers around her hand and told her, "Rachel, that scar is a reminder- proof you survived. Never forget that."

The warmth of his fingers radiated through her like a healing balm. "I've never thought about it that way before." Rachel looked down at their hands joined together and then up into his eyes. "You're a very wise man, Mr. Foyle."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before telling her, "Not wise, just a lot more life experience, that's all."

Suddenly afraid he would let go, Rachel begged, "Don't let go. Please... not just now. I need… I'm sorry…I…"

Instead, Christopher Foyle held her small hand even tighter. In a low voice he promised, "Rachel, I won't let go until you tell me to."


A/N- Don't know 'bout you Dear Reader, but I need a drink! 😊

Dr. Long is so named as tribute to a medical pioneer, Crawford Williamson Long (1815-1880) of Georgia. He is recognized as the first physician to administer ether anesthesia for surgery.

It's difficult now to imagine a world without antibiotics, but there was a time when a small scratch could become septic and lead to death, to say nothing of infectious diseases such as STDs. Sulfonamides were the first anti-microbial drugs and they paved the way for the development of antibiotics. A wide variety of sulfa drugs were available by the late 1930's. Our Dr. Long would have made use of it in his veterinary practice.

Although Scottish scientist, Alexander Fleming, is credited for the discovery of Penicillin in 1928, a way to mass produce it was not found until 1943. A little over 2 million doses were available in time for the invasion of Normandy in the spring of 1944. It only became available for civilian use after World War II ended.

As always, I appreciate my Readers' support! Reviews are welcome. 😊