Chapter 11
Foyle was the last to enter the old car. He brought in his foot and reached over to grasp the rusted handle.
"Where to?" Sam asked, wriggling slightly in her seat.
"Home" Foyle simply replied before slamming the door.
"Surely not? Not now" she replied, her hands dropping to her lap. "Don't you want to know what it was that Comino had seen?" She adjusted her posture in the seat and re-gripped the wheel – ten and two. "We could go and see Comino's family…."
"Not a good idea, Sam" Foyle retorted, his face solemn. "Best that we leave that one for the local police."
Sam's contorted face showed her frustration.
"Home, Sam" he repeated, this time with a little more gravitas.
"Katie's probably awake" Andrew added, his voice breathy due to the fact that he was bent in the middle, reaching under Sam's seat for the flask's small black and silver lid. "I can give her some lunch, if you like" he suggested once he was upright.
"She'd like that" Sam said, her hand on Andrew's shoulder. They both smiled.
The entryway of the vicarage was still chilly despite it being well after midday. Foyle held out his hand to take Sam's coat. He placed it on one of the small hooks then added his own to the space beside it.
"Do your husband and father generally come home for lunch?" Foyle asked as he ran the tips of his fingers through his hair.
"They're normally home well before lunch is ready" Sam replied. "At least on Saturdays."
Isobelle Stewart met them in the front room. She had her granddaughter in her arms and was pacing, the ruffled pile of the old floor mat beside the dining table showing just how many times it had been trampled.
"Did you see your father outside, dear?" Isobelle asked Sam, barely slowing down.
"No" she replied, yawning. "He's not home yet?"
"Apparently not."
"Danny?" Sam asked, a hand covering the magnitude of her yawn.
"I haven't seen him either."
Andrew approached from the side, meeting Isobelle and Katie as they reached the end of the table. "Ahh" he cooed, opening his hands. "Who's upset, hmmm?"
Katie was handed over, her mitten covered hands pushing at the loosely wrapped blanket. "Come here to your Uncle Andrew" he said quietly, juggling both a wriggling baby and a drooping blanket. He tossed the corner of the blanket over his shoulder, adjusting the weight of it with his free elbow. "Are you cold?" he whispered. "Or," he continued, positioning the baby against his chest, "are you hungry?" The three corners of the blanket were expertly wrapped around the small body, the ends tucked in tightly.
Foyle, hearing his son's words, smiled.
"Lunch is ready" Isobelle stated softly, although she sat soon after saying it – the old chair creaking in protest at her rapid descent.
"I can fix it" Foyle said, a gentle hand on Isobelle's shoulder. "Stay there."
"Oh you are a gem, Christopher" Isobelle told him, her head lolling against the back of her chair, a clear indication of how exhausted she was.
Foyle rolled his eyes and gave a half smile before making his way into the kitchen.
"I'll help" Sam declared, slowly rising.
"You'll do nothing of the sort" he said, stopping suddenly and turning his head to speak over his shoulder. "Rest."
"Even Dad can put soup into bowls unsupervised" Andrew said from his chair at the dining table. "At least I hope he can." Katie wriggled in his arms, rolling herself closer to take advantage of his warmth.
"Oh, I see" Foyle said, feigning hurt.
"Christopher, dear, there are some cold cooked potatoes on a plate beside the stove" Isobelle called from her chair, her voice a little croaky.
"I see. Yes" Foyle called back, his finger touching the crazed edge of the plate.
"If you fork mash them with a dash of milk, they can be added to a little of the soup. Katie will just adore you if you make it for her lunch".
"Oh" chimed Andrew, his voice deliberately loud enough for his father to hear. He lifted Katie so that she could see his face. "And I though it was me that you adored." Andrew screwed up his nose and moved her closer so that their foreheads were touching. "You and I will reserve our judgement until after your Uncle Christopher has made your lunch, shall we? Then we'll see."
Sam giggled as Katie grabbed onto Andrew's nose.
Foyle soon brought out a bowl of thickened soup, a spoon and the small towel that normally sat on the hook next to the stove. He placed the bounty on the table in front of Andrew but slid it back a little, out of reach of small hands.
"There you are, sweetheart" Foyle whispered as he bent to kiss the top of Katie's head.
Andrew laid the towel across her chest, under her chin, and sat her on his knee, her back reclined in the crook of his arm. He stuck his finger in the soup and then had a taste, his lips sliding over his fingernail. "Not bad" he declared with a surprised look on his face.
Katie grunted her disapproval, reaching out with both hands and kicking her feet.
"Alright, little one" Andrew soothed and scooped a little of the soup onto the spoon. "See what you think of this."
Katie opened her mouth expectantly and touched Andrew's wrist with her fingers.
"Oh good girl" Andrew encouraged, and twisted to refill the spoon. "I wonder how hungry you are" he asked and shovelled two more spoonfuls into her mouth.
"Must have got her appetite from her mother" Foyle declared and gently stroked the baby's fine ginger hair with his thumb.
Smiling cheekily, he turned to look at Sam. Expecting an equally cheeky response, he was surprised to see that Sam was sound asleep in her chair. One arm drooped lazily over the side of the old chair and the other rested in her lap. Her head had found a home in the corner of the headrest and a gentle snore could be heard on every exhale.
"Poor Sam" Andrew said quietly. "I think we've worked her too hard."
"Hmmm" Foyle hummed and quietly walked over to be beside her. "Ssshhhh" he whispered as he fed one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. "Off to bed now" he said, his voice still quiet. As her head rolled onto his shoulder, she asked "is Danny home yet?"
"Not yet. Get some rest." At the completion of his words he walked into her small bedroom. He laid her on the bed, drawing over the opposite side of the blanket – the less he did to disturb her the better.
"Promise you won't leave without me?" she mumbled, grasping at the blanket and pulling it up to her chin.
"Promise."
