Chapter 25

April 1944

"I'm not sure if I like the idea of you going back if senior police officer's are being shot on the streets of Hastings."

"That's precisely why I must go back, Sam."

"I know…" Sam agreed dispiritedly. "I'll just be worried about you, that's all."

"You weren't before?"

"No, of course not." She grinned at him, "Well, perhaps a bit. But I was there as your driver, ready to get you out of any scrapes."

"Oh I see." Foyle rolled his eyes and knotted his tie a bit more tightly.

"Let me look at you." Sam stood before him, scrutinising him carefully. Her fingers trailed over his tie. "You'll do."

She touched his cheek, finding his eyes. In a low voice she added, "I rather like you in three piece suits as well."

Foyle gave her a soft look. Jamming his trilby on his head, he gave her a quick kiss, "Be good; see you tonight," and was gone.

Strolling down to the station gave him time to think how he was to approach this situation. It had been a year since his departure from the police and goodness knows what had changed in the interim. As he came through the station doors a short while later, his stomach tightened in apprehension. Brookie looked up from his post behind the desk and a broad grin split his face. At least some things never change Foyle mused, rather pleased to see the young man.

"Mr Foyle! Good morning, sir. Nice to see you. 'ow is Mrs Foyle?"

"Hallo, Brookie. She's well thanks." He came around the desk, "Anything for me?"

"Not at the moment, sir. Well, I must say it is nice to see someone at the top has shown a bit of sanity. It will be good to have you back, sir."

Foyle pivoted slowly on his heel, face impassive and voice light as he said, "It's only temporary, and if I hear you speak of any senior officer like that again in front me I'll have you transferred and demoted. Better still, I'll have you discharged. All right?"

Brookie drew himself up, tucking his middle in and drawing his shoulders back, the smirk on his face melting. "Sir."

"Good." Foyle carried on down the corridor to his old office, smiling to himself as he heard Brookie's amused voice drifting behind him, "Well, nice to have 'im back…"

Entering his old office brought a wave of memories for Foyle, and he sighed heavily as he looked around the room. He hoped Milner would have some ideas, as he wasn't entirely sure where to begin with this case. He moved a photo of DCS Meredith and his family from its prominent position on his old desk. We'll start with the wife, of course.

He thought of Sam and his stomach tightened again. Until they had this case sorted, she had every right to worry. Everything here in the station seemed to remind him of her, and he found himself listening for her approach like he'd done a year before. It would be strange without her here. He'd have to endure Brookie's driving for now…

Sam got the fright of her life as she came down the stairs at Beverly Lodge, arms full of papers and books, when she saw Foyle shaking hands with Wing Commander Forster. She very nearly dropped the entire load as she stopped short. Looking around her, she noticed luckily no one had seen her reaction. As if by some deep connection, Foyle seemed to know she was there, as he looked up, caught her eye and nodded ever so slightly. She remained rooted to the spot and watched as the two men walked away, Forster talking as they went.

Good, he's here about Henry Scott she thought. They had discussed the case at length the previous evening, Sam able to supply some of her own information from a friend of Henry's. "Jane is convinced Henry didn't kill himself," she'd told Foyle, "you must speak with her."

It was thrilling to be back on a case, she thought, even though she wasn't his driver any more. She had pestered him for all sorts of information and about how things at the station were going. He had been fairly vague, but she thought it was exciting nonetheless. Sam had been pleased to see that Foyle was slightly more his old self now he had the bit between his teeth. She could almost see the cogs turning away in his mind as he puzzled over the case.

Although Foyle had protested that it was only a temporary assignment to solve Meredith's murder, she secretly hoped that he would stay on. It would do him good to be back in a familiar environment doing what he did best. It was undeniable that he was a brilliant police officer; if only the bureaucratic nonsense from the brass would remain at bay and let him get on with things. He had never been one to 'play the game' and Sam knew he found the interference of his superiors more unhelpful than of any use.

Though Sam hadn't yet brought it up, she hoped that he would want her back as his driver. Of course things were different now as she was his wife; maybe the force would frown upon such things. The men who came up with these nonsensical rules wouldn't much care for it, certainly. There was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind that the other chaps at the station might not like it either — might think she would repeat what was said over cups of tea to the boss. Not that she would of course, but it was reasonable for them to think it.

No, she would let Foyle decide what was best. She might drop a few hints though…anything had to be better than organising mountains of paperwork each day…

At the end of the week, Foyle was knee deep in his investigation, but made time to walk Aubrey to the bus stop. It was drizzling, leaving everything rather damp and grey. He carried the older man's case and listened to him recap the highlights of the conference as they walked down the hill.

"It was very good to see you my dear fellow," Aubrey said as they neared the bus stop. "I am glad you came along to the conference, and grateful to you and Samantha for putting me up...and for putting up with me!"

Foyle chuckled, "It's always a pleasure, Aubrey. I am glad I was at the talks too. It has left me with plenty to think about."

"Not that you need any more on your plate, eh?" Aubrey said. "By the way, I did visit Mrs Meredith, as you asked."

"Oh yes, do any good?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps. Having someone to blame - God, the church… It made me realise, Christopher, that you are absolutely right."

Foyle glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

"These talks of repentance and reconciliation…it's all very well. But perhaps what we need just now is a bit more humility. The church will be there at the end of the war, and people will find us again."

Foyle smiled at him and nodded.

"We can't drag people to places they don't want to go."

"Indeed," Foyle began, "and yet, er, sometimes a …. push in the right direction doesn't go amiss…"

The two men smiled at each other, and Aubrey nodded sagely. The sharp sound of wet bicycle brakes being applied made them look up. Sam jumped down from her cycle, smiling broadly at them.

"Hallo!"

"Come to give me a kiss goodbye, my dear?"

Sam threw an arm around him in an embrace, kissing his cheek. "Goodbye, dear Uncle Aubrey. It was lovely to see you. Do have a safe trip back."

"I shall, my dear. You look after Christopher now. Will you be going back to the Police as well?"

Sam eyed Foyle carefully, "We haven't discussed it."

"Ah well, perhaps for the best," Aubrey said with a grin.

The bus started its engine, roaring to life behind them.

"Better be going. Best of luck to you both." Aubrey climbed aboard, waving to them once he was seated.

Sam slipped an arm through Foyle's, leaning in to say, "Don't you think he has a point?"

"About what?"

"About me."

"About you?"

Foyle gave her a sideways look, clearly enjoying his subtle teasing.

"About having me back in the Police."

He leaned in, kissing her temple, "Thought about little else, you know."

"Jolly good…sir…" She grinned and leaned in to kiss him properly. They were interrupted by the beep of a car horn coming up the lane. Brookie was grinning mischievously at them from a police car.

Sam went red and dropped Foyle's arm as Brookie pulled the brake and winked wickedly at her. Foyle moved forwards to the car as Milner stepped out.

"Hallo, sir." Milner looked over at Sam, "Hi Sam, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Paul." She smiled at him, ignoring Brookie's soft laughter from behind the wheel.

Milner turned back to Foyle, "I've got some news that might interest you. Thought you might like a lift."

"Thank you," Foyle nodded at him, coming around to the back door. He turned ever so slightly back to Sam standing with her bicycle. "See you later," he mouthed, giving her a sweet smile and doffing his hat.

She grinned at him and stood waving as the car bumped down the lane.

That evening, when Foyle came home tired out after his long day, Sam was stood waiting for him in her MTC uniform.

"What, er, are you doing, Sam?" Foyle asked, shrugging off his long coat, eyeing her up down with an appreciative look.

"Making sure it still fits and nothing needs mending before tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow then?"

Sam looked at him with mock annoyance that he was still teasing her. "Well, I presumed you'd been needing a driver now you're back to work."

Foyle chewed his lip a moment, watching her squirm, before saying mischievously, "Well, jolly good. 8 o'clock start?"

She was beside him within a few seconds, pressing herself against him. "Don't tease, I can't bear to see Brookie driving you when I could be there."

Foyle breathed her in, murmuring, "Everything single thing in that ruddy police station reminds me of you." He found her lips, "Oh I've missed having you by me, Sam, I really have."

He didn't mean just the last week either, and she sensed this. She nibbled at his ear, "We're alone again and I'm by you now…"

Foyle leaned back to look at her, drinking in the sight of her in her MTC uniform. A sudden roguish look came into his face and she grinned back playfully. He rested a hand on her top button. "If I'd known you still had the uniform…"

Sam laughed out loud, "Really, Christopher?"

To his dismay, Foyle found himself going red, "Yes, well, it, er, I mean I suppose I…" he stopped.

She tugged at his tie, teasing him, "Yes? Sir?"

Foyle gulped, saying slowly, "I fell in love with you in that uniform and it makes me think of…" he paused before ending lamely, "things…"

"Devilish thoughts and all that?" She was grinning broadly at him, enjoying this secret confession.

"I suppose so," Foyle said, fingers already undoing the buttons of the outer jacket.

She reached between them and began plucking at his waistcoat. "Wait a mo'," she said suddenly. Turning from their position in the hall, she went to the hat stand and reached up for his old, battered green trilby that he only used now when fishing.

"I fell in love with you in this, so would you…?"

Foyle chuckled and let her push it onto his head. "Hmm, yes."

Sam looked at him with a smile which he suddenly crushed, leaning in to capture her mouth and wrap her in his arms. They shuffled back against the wall, and Sam let out a sound that made his knees nearly buckle. The pounding of his blood was loud in his ear and he felt his spine tingling with this fulfilling of their fancies.

He pulled her away from the wall, moving towards the stairs. But Foyle found that seeing Sam going up the steps before him was too much. He grabbed her waist and pinned her gently down on the third step. Fingers scrabbling for the hem of her skirt made Sam protest in a low voice, "You'll get it all untidy for tomorrow…"

"I'll make sure you're presentable," he murmured huskily. The skirt was bunched around her hips now and Foyle groaned in her ear, desire overwhelming him.

"Whatever's the matter?"

"I must be the luckiest man in the world…"

"Oh yes?" she purred.

His need for her was thrilling to them both and Sam met him eagerly and willingly at each foray. The hall floor looked rather like a massacre of clothes, littered in indiscriminate piles, the old, green trilby joining the fallen only at the very last.