Chapter 10

Spring 1943

They spent their days together as they had always done, now revelling in their new closeness and frankness. With James and Lydia around, Sam could easily come and go without comment, and she often stayed until ten o'clock or later before Foyle would walk her home. One evening at the end of April, they sat before the hearth playing chess. Foyle had taught her well, and she was beginning to catch him up.

"You're not losing on purpose are you?" she asked. Leaning over the small table, she frowned at the chess pieces.

"Certainly not," he replied, face impassive.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past you to have a load of secrets up your sleeve. You'll pounce next move, I just know it, and I won't have any inkling."

Foyle drew a hand across his forehead. Her words had triggered something that had been on his mind lately. His stomach dropped and he felt suddenly very tired. I must tell her…

"Speaking of secrets, Sam…"

She looked up in surprise to hear his voice so strained. They had been playing a game, yet suddenly he looked for all the world as if he were carrying a large burden on his shoulders. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his face drawn.

"What on earth is the matter, darling?" Sam felt suddenly concerned.

"Sam, I have things I must tell you. It would be unfair of me not to."

"You're worrying me now, Christopher."

"I don't mean to, really, but you see, if you decide to marry me, you need to know."

"What do you mean, if I decide — you know…" Sam went suddenly pale. "You've changed your mind, haven't you?"

"No. No, of course I haven't." He caught her eye, pleading with her. "Hear me out, Sam. In all consciousness I must tell you."

"All right."

Her eyes were still frightened however, so he stood and took her hand. "Sit with me."

Leading them to the settee, he sat down with her beside him. Putting an arm around her, he began, "My past is not an easy thing, but it is a part of me. I feel it only fair that you know. I don't want any secrets between us."

Clearing his throat, he began, "Do you remember Elizabeth Lewes? Her husband is the barrister who had that American, Howard Paige, to stay."

"Yes, I remember."

"I asked her to marry me when we were both quite young. We'd gone to school together and always known each other. Her father wouldn't allow it however, as I was just a Policeman's son."

"As if that matters…"

"It did then."

"Not long after, the war started. I volunteered, glad to get away from Hastings and memories of her."

Foyle took a deep breath, "It was during the war — in 1917, before I'd met Rosalind — that I was injured, though not very badly, and sent to a hospital near Brighton. I met a volunteer nurse there who was…very kind to me. I was feeling lost and she… well, sort of brought me out of myself. She was married to a man who mistreated her terribly — it was an unhappy marriage, but still no excuse for my own behaviour. He was away in London much of the time, and for weeks on end she and I were with each other. She was beautiful and clever. I adored her."

"What was her name?" Sam asked softly, eyes glued to his face, a veritable palette of mixed emotions.

"Caroline. Caroline Devereux."

Foyle took a deep breath, "She found that she was expecting." He flicked his eyes towards Sam to gauge her reaction. Seeing only a slight widening of her eyes, he continued.

"It was Caroline's decision, knowing full well what her husband was like, that for the child's sake she would stay with him. She believed there was no other way. She asked that we part and never have any further contact. I was sent back to the Front, heartbroken. I became reckless and foolhardy, but I was never injured again. Bullets came close, but never close enough."

Foyle swallowed hard and closed his eyes, remembering all too clearly what he'd often tried his best to forget.

Sam put a hand on his knee and said sadly, "Oh darling…"

He continued, "I met Rosalind when I came back and she pulled me away from the darkness that had overwhelmed me. With her, I was able to move forwards. We were incredibly happy; I thought I was being given another chance."

Foyle drew his breath in sharply, "When Andrew was four I read in the newspaper that…that Caroline had died. In an accident. Her son, James, was eight at the time."

Sam's hand contracted unconsciously on his knee and Foyle nodded as if agreeing with her unspoken thought.

"Yes, the same age as Andrew when Rosalind died four years later. I thought after she died…well, I thought it was a sign. God was punishing me for having loved a married woman. I was not worthy to have loved again."

Foyle's voice became very low and soft, "It was fortunate that Andrew saved me from drawing in to myself too much, but I did become very reserved. All the women I'd ever loved had been taken from me. It was why I was so…reluctant…to love again."

Sam's eyes were bright when she said quietly, "You might say that all my near misses have shown that God thinks you are worthy. He was showing you it was time?"

Foyle nodded, pulling his arm tighter around her shoulder. "Perhaps."

"So…you have another son…"

"I…can't…be sure."

"You never tried to see him…after her death?"

"No." Foyle mouthed the word, closing his eyes.

"Oh you poor man…" Sam looked at him, eyes full of sadness and brimming with unshed tears.

"I've never told anyone this." Wincing he added, "Not even Ros…" He cleared his throat hurriedly as it caught somewhere inside him. "I didn't want to make the same mistake again."

Sam was silent for a moment, slowly taking in what he had said.

He closed his eyes, "I've shocked you."

"No." She leaned in, laying her forehead against his. "It only shows me that you are a man capable of deep emotion and tenderness. And I adore you all the more for trusting me with your love. I'm only sorry you've had to suffer so much."

"Part of me thinks I'll never stop grieving, but then you are here, keeping the darkness out…"

"If I can make it easier, then I am glad. I know Rosalind was very special to you…"

"I don't see you as a replacement, Sam, please know that. You are something else entirely your own, and I love you for…well, you. I'm very lucky."

She smiled softly, "As am I. I love you — so very, very much."

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. Darling Sam…

Snuggling in closer to him she whispered, "And now I know where Andrew gets his eye for the ladies."

Foyle smiled down at her, "Yes, I suppose so."

"Christopher?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for sharing this part of yourself with me. It means a lot."

He kissed her, eyes crinkling into a smile. A few tears slid past his eyelashes. He felt as if a weight had been taken off his chest.

"You'll still have me?"

"Like a shot."

She sought his lips, murmuring tenderness and reassurance as if trying to erase the dull ache emanating from his face.
Under her ministrations he felt himself relax. It began in his shoulders, coursing down through his arms, making him feel weightless. Without realising, Foyle suddenly found himself pulling her across his lap, letting his hands dreamily trace her curves. After a moment, she surprised him by pulling away and standing up.

"Er…Sam?" He watched her undo the buttons of her cardigan. "What are you…er…?"

She smiled at him coyly, "Getting comfortable…"

Foyle could only stare, a dozen thoughts of why he should tell her to stop racing through his mind. None would catch hold, however, so he remained silent, watching her inch out of her cardigan, undo the top button of her blouse and kick off her shoes. She leaned in and touched his cheek.

"My dear man, don't look quite so shocked…" she nudged his nose with hers, teasing him.

"Sam we can't…call me old fashioned, but…"

"And we won't. I just want to be close with you; without all these cotton barriers getting in the way. All right?"

Foyle let out his breath. "Um…what did you…er, have in mind?" He felt in uncharted territory all of a sudden. Sam pulled pins from her hair, shaking it out with her fingers. Foyle swallowed hard: she looked so inviting.

Leaning over him again, Sam pulled up the material of her skirt until it bunched above her knees, then straddled his lap. "I can get at you better this way," she said mischievously, nibbling his bottom lip.

"My thoughts exactly," he breathed, capturing her mouth with intense fervour. "Do keep in mind there is a six year old and his mother upstairs…"

"Lucky for us, the stairs creak something rotten…"

She slipped her hands inside the top of his shirt, undoing buttons to get at his chest. His hands were in her hair, lost amongst the curls. She pressed against him, enjoying the feel of his rising chest against her own.

"I'm so glad you told me, you wonderful, darling man," she murmured, mind still on Foyle's revelation. "Let us always be honest with each other, Christopher."

"Certainly…we shall…always…Sam," Foyle replied, words lost in the smother of her kiss.

He sighed happily, becoming immersed in her intensity. He felt so much better for having told her. That there should be no parts of himself unknown to her was vital to him, and he felt closer to her for it. She knows I come with baggage, but yet she loves me still…how am I so fortunate...such a wonderful woman…

Their breath came more quickly now, like gasps, struggling for air through the overwhelming tide of passion. Sam seemed to sink in his arms, and the inviting weight of her and the inquisitiveness of her mouth was pushing him towards a point of no return.

"Sam…my darling…" he whispered throatily, "I'm becoming too…I need you to move, my darling…otherwise I don't know what I might do."

She stopped her exploration of the soft skin behind his ear and looked at him with a half smile. "Something jolly nice, I expect…all right, I'll move."

In doing so, she rubbed against him, causing him to groan like fury.

"Oh have I hurt you?"

"No," said Foyle rather weakly, grabbing her hips and manhandling her so that she sat beside him. He was panting, and it seemed to trigger a memory for Sam.

"Oh dash it all, I've done it again, haven't I?"

Foyle, chest still rising and falling rapidly, looked at her blankly.

Sam went red, "Um…it has been called my…hidden talent…sorry, it was an accident."

He laughed then, still trying to catch his breath, "Hidden talents indeed. Don't be sorry at all."

Sam sighed, leaning back against the settee, "You don't make it easy for a girl, looking so devilishly handsome."

"Patience, my darling."

Tracing the outline of his cheek she said, "Patience was never a virtue I had, more's the pity."

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "I do love you."

When they looked up from each other, the clock on the mantle piece read 2.45am. Foyle sat up in alarm, pulling his pocket watch from his waistcoat to make sure. Hell, it's nearly three!

"Sam…won't your landlady notice if you are missing?"

She grinned, "No, she doesn't tuck us in."

"I will walk you back…I'm sorry to have kept you so late…"

Sam slid an arm around him, "Or I can stay?"

"Well…" Foyle hesitated. Wouldn't someone notice?

"Let's make a night of it."

Foyle raised an eyebrow.

Sam grinned and said, "Pour us a drink and we'll tell each other all our secrets and dreams. For instance, did you know that when I was younger I dreamt of being a detective?"

"It had crossed my mind…"

Foyle stood and went to pour them each a finger of whiskey. Over his shoulder he said, "Will being an old detective's wife suffice?"

Sam giggled, "Silly."

Twitching his lips in amusement, he smiled and handed her a glass.

"Isn't this jolly?" She said, curling her legs underneath her on the settee and grinning at him.