Chapter 9
Spring 1943
Sam came back each morning to Foyle's house to look after James during the day while Foyle was at the station, and left each night after dinner and putting James to bed. They would sit and talk together before Foyle walked her home. Though the discussion of what she and Foyle would do was still unspoken, she left him to get on with more pressing matters. It was enough for her that he returned her love. They could make plans later, she had assured him. She could see the strain the unresolved cases were putting on him, and the Commissioner was still in Hastings conducting his inspection of the coastal constabularies.
Lydia came out of hospital four days after the bomb in the woods. Sam and James went to collect her and drove back to Steep Lane together. Sam had her hands full as both nurse and child minder, getting them all settled in to some sort of routine. James kept coming in and out of his mother's room, ready to be cheeky towards her again now he'd found his voice. Sam, however, found being firm was best, and kept him occupied as much as possible. Lydia wasn't ready to deal with James just yet; she could hardly find the strength to get up during the day.
When Foyle came home that evening, his face was dark. Sam met him in the hall with a peck on the cheek, "How did it go with the Commissioner?"
"Where are they?"
"Lydia is in bed; she's just had something to eat, and James…I mean Jimmy, is finishing his in the dining room."
Foyle nodded, pulling off his coat. "I need to speak with you, Sam."
Noticing his troubled face, Sam took his hand. "Have you eaten? No? Right, well have something now and a cup of tea too…"
She lead him into the dining room and made him sit. James glared at him across the table and Foyle shot back a withering glance that made the little boy subside quickly.
"Why don't you tell Uncle Christopher what you did today, Jimmy?" Sam suggested as she prepared a plate for Foyle.
James shrugged, "We read some silly story and then she," he shot an indignant glance at Sam, "made me do maths. I hate maths. Maths is for girls."
"Is it now? Well, I think many scientists would disagree with you."
He pulled a face.
Sam poked him, "Well you've got to keep up with school work, now don't you? Haven't you finished yet? Eat up, then it's time to get ready for bed."
"I don't like carrots."
"Neither do I," said Foyle unexpectedly, "but you'll find it's better than having no dinner at all." He gave the boy a fierce look, though his eyes had softened slightly. Jimmy shovelled the rest of his carrots in his mouth, then announced, "I'm done, can I go?"
"Yes, you may," Sam said, adding, "go say goodnight to your mum and then I'll bring up that story we were reading."
James rolled his eyes and trudged off.
When the door to the lounge had shut, rather loudly in this instance, Foyle caught her hand and pulled her onto his knee.
"You're a natural," he murmured, kissing her gently.
Sam kissed him back, before saying, "Do you really not like carrots?"
Foyle laughed, "I don't give a tuppence about them." He motioned to the chair next to him, "Sit down, I want to tell you something."
Sam settled herself into the chair, plucking one of his carrots off his plate and popping it into her mouth. "I'm listening."
"Sam, I've resigned from the Police force. Handed my resignation after seeing the Commissioner."
She stopped chewing and stared at him. Swallowing hard she asked, "But why?"
"The Commissioner has made it obvious that upholding the law is not his first priority. I can't be a part of that, and I think I can be more useful for the war effort elsewhere."
"Besides," he took her hand, "perhaps it is time I gave my attention to other things."
"But…what will you do? What about the rest of us? Will I drive your replacement? What will we do without you?" She fired these questions at him in dismay, her eyes suddenly filling with tears at the thought of such a dramatic change.
Seeing she had failed to see his point, Foyle hurriedly tried to assure her. "It means, Sam, that you can continue in your position if you like, but moreover, it means I can ask if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Sam stared at him again. "But…so…you left the Police to marry me?"
"Well, not exactly," said Foyle, "it just has happened all at the same time really. Call it a perk." He tried to smile, but her thunderstruck face was suddenly making him worried.
"I see where he gets it from," Sam muttered.
"Sorry?"
"Your son." She looked at him fiercely. "You two have the oddest idea of romance I've ever encountered."
"R-right…" Foyle looked distinctly worried now. "Um…"
Sam suddenly threw her arms around his neck, knocking him back in his chair, "Can we really be married? Oh I accept! Yes, yes!"
"Well, thank goodness for that." Foyle said from under her arm, "I thought I'd have to telephone your father again and tell him you wouldn't have me."
"You spoke to Father?"
"As soon as I got back to the station from seeing the Commissioner. You don't mind, I hope?"
"No, of course not." She kissed him, grinning against his lips. "What did he say? Did he die of shock?"
"I think your mother rather took him in hand. He did give us his blessing though."
Sam laughed, "Good old Mummy."
"So, er…did Andrew propose too?" Foyle pushed back to look at her, still baffled by her comment.
"No, silly, but you do both have a skewed idea of what is romantic."
She suddenly giggled, "So, Christopher Foyle, are you sure you're ready for all this. I must warn you I'm a handful."
"I'm counting on it," he murmured in her ear, making her giggle all the more.
Foyle realised he'd rather sprung this on her. I haven't even told her I love her, no wonder she was stunned…maybe she has a point about my rusty romancing.
He pulled her into his lap again, knocking the table and sending his plate skittering. With a serious face, Foyle said softly, "I love you, Samantha Stewart. I will do everything in my power to make you happy until my last breath. I love you so dearly that I can't see a life without you. You are the bravest, kindest, most wonderful woman…"
He paused, voice now so low that she held her breath to hear him, "You make me so truly happy. Will you have me, Samantha?"
A becoming flush crept into her cheeks and she smiled at him, "Yes, of course. I love you more than anything…Christopher."
Still quite unaccustomed to hearing his Christian name cascade from her lips, Foyle breathed in sharply. He kissed her firmly, breaching her lips with his tongue, inquisitive and greedy. "My darling, darling, Sam," he whispered.
His heart was beating hard and fast as she returned his vigour with an alarming eagerness.
They both got the fright of their lives when a little voice behind them said, "Where's my bedtime story then? Mummy's only gone and fallen asleep. I want my story."
Foyle laughed quietly as Sam hurriedly disentangled herself from him.
"Up you go then, little man. Have you brushed your teeth? Say goodnight to Uncle Christopher."
"G'night," James said indifferently, tugging at Sam's hand. "Why were you on 'is lap? Was 'e re..reassurding you again?"
Foyle snorted as Sam steered the little boy towards the stairs.
"Yes, he was reassuring me, in fact. Now do you remember where we left off in our book?"
Smiling broadly to himself Foyle went quietly to his desk and searched through the drawers slowly. When he'd found the little box he'd been looking for, he slipped it into his pocket and went to pour himself a drink. Children always were the best chaperones. He walked slowly about the room, cradling his whiskey tumbler in his hand and shivering slightly from pleasant remembrances of her on his lap and the taste of her kiss. Putting a hand into his pocket, fingering the velvet box there, he smiled thoughtfully into his whisky. My dear Sam, I can hardly wait…
With a gentle tap, Foyle opened Lydia's door and put his head in. The morning sun was flooding in across the floorboards and in the early light he saw how pale she still was.
"Uncle Christopher," she said smiling warmly at him. She held out a hand, "Come in." She tried to sit up, but Foyle put up a hand, "No, don't move, it's all right. Um, how are you feeling?"
"Very foolish." Lydia eyed him carefully. "Will I be charged, Uncle?"
"Well, certainly not by me." Foyle sighed, "Lydia, I've resigned from the force. I will do my best to keep you safe, but I can't promise anything."
Lydia nodded, playing with the edge of the eiderdown, "I understand." She met his eye and said with emotion, "I'm sorry."
He came to sit on the edge of the bed, and took her hand. "Lydia, I can't tell you what to do, I can only try to help. Your son is the most important thing right now, as well as getting your strength back. I will do what I can."
"I know," she sobbed quietly, "I feel I've let you all down."
"Well, you haven't. But you must focus on getting better; then we can go from there. James needs you."
Lydia nodded, wiping her face. "Thank you, you've been so kind; you always have been so kind."
He patted her hand.
With a sniff, Lydia suddenly said, "Your driver, Sam, has been brilliant with James. She's a real wonder."
Foyle's eyes crinkled into a soft smile. "She is that. I'd be lost without her."
"Be sure to hang on to her, then, Uncle Christopher."
Foyle nodded and said brightly, "I will. I've asked her to marry me."
"Oh but that's lovely!"
He gave her an upside down smile.
She put a hand on his arm, "Rosalind would be pleased to see you looking so happy again. Sam is a wonderful young lady."
Foyle regarded his God-daughter with a sideways glance, "I finally feel alive again. Not since Ros…" he cleared his throat, "I'm very…lucky to have this chance again."
Lydia grinned, "Well, she is fortunate too; you're a good man, Uncle Christopher. I wish you both all the best."
"Thank you." Nodding, Foyle stood, "Right. I'll go see about breakfast."
He went downstairs quietly, thinking about Sam. How he had come to by worthy of her love, he didn't know, but it swam within him, making him feel years younger. It was as if she were a beacon of light that had drawn him to the safe port…as if they had been searching and searching for ages, and suddenly they had found each other. What did she say the other night? "We've been silly to ignore it…" Perhaps so. It's been there… long before I even realised it…
Foyle scratched his chin, putting the kettle on. When had he known? A sudden image of her striding into his office and saluting passed through his mind, quickly followed by more: there she was, fresh as summer's day in her MTC uniform knocking down a suspect with a bin lid…sitting across from him at Carlo's restaurant radiant and delightful…kneeling next to him in the church on a National Day of prayer smelling of roses and distracting him from his entreaties to God to look after Andrew…Sam cooking Coq au Vin without the vin in his kitchen after being bombed out of her billet, making a glorious mess and looking so at home…driving him to and fro across the South Downs, her chatter and level headedness keeping the darkness at bay…
He suddenly sat down with a thump. I've loved her…from the start. He began to chuckle, shaking his head side to side. Have I been so blind? That she was beautiful and bright was easy to see, but she was kind and patient to a fault, curious and lively too. Foyle felt his heart swell. She had kept him going, he saw that now.
A knock on the door made him jump, and he suddenly realised the time. His hand flew to his collar, undone and without a tie before he remembered he wouldn't be going back to the Police any more after today. This was it: goodbyes, good lucks and clearing his desk once and for all.
He opened the door, immediately feeling the warmth of the sun as it touched his face. He squinted and saw Sam smiling up at him from the step. Stepping back, he ushered her in, closing the door softly behind them.
She was in his arms as soon as he turned around, pressing against him, cool breath at his ear. "Good morning…sir."
He kissed her. "I had the most wonderful realisation about five minutes ago," he said in a husky voice, lips whispering over her cheek.
"Oh yes?"
"I realised, Miss Stewart, that I've been captivated by you since day one…"
She pulled back to look at him, "So, we've been denying ourselves this pleasure for three years? Now you tell me."
He squeezed her playfully.
"However," Sam added, eyes soft and adoring, "now you mention it, I've been fascinated with you just as long."
"Have you really?"
"Hmm," she hummed, lips at his ear again, "I think it was when you took me to dinner that first time…though I rather bullied you into it didn't I…"
"At Carlo's?"
"Hmm…we had the Pork Arista…" She was making an exploration of his cheek, enjoying the feel of his freshly shaved skin, easing her way to his lips.
"Oh I see…cupboard love is it?"
"Scoundrel," she giggled.
"Absolutely," Foyle grinned, gathering her to him and making much of her.
Sam had decided to resign with him. She joined him at the station in the afternoon, Lydia finally feeling more up to looking after herself and James on their own for an hour or two. Making her way around the station, she said goodbye to the friends she'd made there. She lingered over her parting with Brookie, who had been a good friend to her.
He kept gazing wistful at her, saying, "It won't be the same around here, without you and the boss, Miss. It makes me right sad to see you go."
She left Milner for last. Knocking at his open door, she grinned over at him.
"Hallo, Sam," said Milner in surprise, "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I've come to bring you my news."
"Best sit down then."
"I've resigned along with Mr Foyle, Paul."
He nodded slowly, "I thought you might." Looking at her with his head to one side, "He cares for you very much. You should have seen the way he raced out of here after the day in the woods…"
"Anyway," Milner continued, swallowing hard, "what will you do?"
"I'll find something else. Something to do with the war effort, most likely," she said.
"Yes, I suppose you will." He nodded before leaning over to touch her arm, "I am happy for you, Sam. Truly."
She smiled at him, "I'm glad, Paul. I wouldn't want to part on bad terms."
"Me either." He paused, "Sam, I'm sorry for behaving beastly. I've been a proper fool."
"If I'd been any wiser, Paul, I would have noticed sooner and not put my foot in it quite so spectacularly that day."
She winced, remembering their meeting at the hospital last year. She saw again his shattered face when she'd told him she loved Foyle, just as he'd been about to share the feelings he'd been harbouring for her.
"I'm sorry too." Though they had worked together amicably enough for the last eight or nine months, they had never discussed what had happened at the hospital. Now, however, Sam didn't want to leave things unsaid. It felt like the end of an era, and she knew she would miss her days spent around the station and Policework.
"We'll put it behind us."
"Good." She smiled warmly at him. "I should tell you that we're to be married."
Milner nodded again, "Congratulations. I wish you and Mr Foyle all the best.
She got up and came around the desk to hug him, whispering in his ear, "You are a wonderful man, Paul Milner. Don't you forget it. I know I never shall."
By five o'clock, the former DCS' office was bare and cold, boxes ready to be sent on and files all organised for his replacement. There was a lot of hand shaking, wishes of good luck and claps on shoulders. For the first time, Sam and Foyle walked the route they had driven thousands of times: hand in hand, headed home.
"You all right, Christopher?" Sam asked finally.
"Feels a bit strange, but then again, I've got so much to look forward to." He squeezed her hand.
She grinned, looking happily at him.
Halfway home her stomach rumbled. "I put together a cottage pie for tonight. Lydia still doesn't eat much, but Jimmy's found his appetite again."
"You know, Sam," Foyle began, "I don't expect you to cook and clean for me, warm my slippers and all the rest — I want you to go out to do your bit, if that's what you want to do."
"I know, Christopher." She leaned in closer, "But has it occurred to you that I might enjoy doing things for you precisely because you don't expect it?"
"Still…when we are married I don't expect or demand…"
"I know," she said, giving him a quick kiss and closing the matter. Cheekily she added, "And as your wife I'll be able to make...certain demands of my own."
