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Christopher was up early the next morning after a fitful night of trying to sleep. He'd made tea and put breakfast on by the time he heard Sam stirring upstairs. Standing in the middle of the kitchen he debated whether he should go up and check on her or give her time to come down on her own. Glancing at the clock, he decided his first task should be to call Hugh Reid and let him know they'd have to do without him for a few days. He heard the bathroom door close as he dialed the number. By the time he'd finished with Hugh, Sam was gingerly making her way down the steps.

He looked up after replacing the phone back in the cradle to see her turn as she descended the last step and his heart broke once again. Oh Sam, darling Sam... The bruising on her face was only a hint at the deeper wounds to her he knew, and that knowledge was crushing. Too broken and weary to hide her feelings, she looked at the floor and swallowed with difficulty. "Thank you for letting me stay," she whispered weakly.

"Nnot at all... I erm, I've prepared breakfast," he replied, hoping the mention of food might lift her, if even just a little.

She looked up briefly, glanced around, and tried to smile, but it was obviously too much and her gaze shifted back to the floor. "That's very kind... I'm not sure I can eat though."

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Christopher stepped closer to her. "Let's give it a try, mmm? At least some tea? Nneed something, Sam, to face the day; don't you think?"

She sighed and turned toward his kitchen. "Right," she answered with no emotion at all. Nothing right about any of this, he thought as he followed her through.

Sam was quiet through the day, eerily quiet. Once Foyle would have valued the quiet, an escape from the constant questions and curiosity of well wishers and concerned friends or nosey neighbors after his wife's death. Then the din had settled and he was able to go about his routine, obviously lacking the warm conversation with Rosalind at the end of each day but at least free of the solicitous inquiries of others. Andrew had supplied noise enough, childish chatter and disquiet, depending on his son's mood, but through it all the boy was rarely quiet. After he left for Oxford, Christopher found himself adapting to the now quiet house and while he missed his son, he relished the quiet. Andrew's departure with the RAF had changed the comfort of the quiet as worry seeped into Christopher's thoughts.

But at nearly the same time, Sam had entered the picture with her cheeriness and constant chatter and questions. Annoyed by it at first, he came to value her presence, enjoy it even, and eventually even looked forward to it; much more than he should. So having her so quiet unsettled him. That and her lack of appetite were indicators of just how badly affected she was after the brutal attack. Anger boiled deep within him as he thought of the men who had done this to her, to Sam, his Sam. He shook his head at that; she wasn't his, at least not in that way, the way he'd thought of her just then. Perhaps she was his in terms of responsibility but not... no, he mustn't let his mind or his feelings go there. Still, he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of protectiveness that he felt towards her, or the desire to make things better for her. If he only knew how...

Finally when he laid out things for tea, she took a passing interest in the food he'd set out. She nibbled but at least she was making an effort to eat.

They listened to the wireless that evening. He was attempting to read a new novel and she was curled on the couch, lethargic and still quiet. When he heard her sigh from across the space, he laid the book aside and looked at her. She seemed deep in thought but from her expression he deduced that her thoughts weren't as dark as they had been earlier in the day. Progress perhaps? Slowly her face turned up to look at him. "Do you ever think..." She shook her head as if to stop herself.

"Think what, Sam?"

"About remarrying. I know you loved your wife, still do I think. But... well, you are too young to be alone."

He let a small grin quirk at the corners of his mouth. "Been speaking with Andrew, have you?"

"What? No..." Her brow furrowed. "I just... you're too good, too kind to .."

"To what?"

She took a deep breath which he took as a sign of a verbal barrage about to come. "It's just that it seems such a waste, you being alone when there are women, plenty of them that would be happy to step out with you, marry you eventually and there are so many women... some are widows so they would understand your... your grief. Or maybe not a widow, maybe ... someone like that Miss Hicks, Barbara Hicks. You remember her don't you? She didn't seem to like men much but you changed her opinion, I think. Or... well, there are some who haven't even been married yet; younger women who might prefer someone slightly older."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he gave her comments a moment's consideration. "Wull Sam, these erm... women hhaven't exactly been beating a path to my door. Partly my fault, I'm sure. The war, the staff shortages, its kept me busy. Aand for a long time after Rosalind's death I just couldn't, didn't want to think about... someone else."

"But you could now?"

What is this about? "Oh I don't know. I've been on my own for so long; not sure why a woman would have me. Bit set in my ways."

"Well for a detective, you certainly aren't very observant then," Sam replied.

"Beg pardon?" He felt his eyes widen, surprised by her comment.

"I've seen heads turn when you enter a room. You're an attractive man. And your manner; I wish more men would adopt a manner like yours. Women appreciate the way you are with them, always courteous and... well, there are a lot of things about you that women would find attractive."

He gave her a puzzled look. He couldn't remember turning any heads, not that he paid much attention to such things any longer, although a pretty woman occasionally caught his eye. "You have anyone in mind for me, Sam? One of your MTC friends perhaps? Or is it someone else that you've met since you've been here? Hhave to tell you Sam, I prefer to catch my own fish, if you don't mind."

"No, not... I mean, I'm not trying to ... I was just curious."

Realizing this was the most animated since she'd appeared on his doorstep hurt, Foyle decided to play it out a little further. "You sure? Because if it's Mrs. Elkins from church, wull you can forget that. But now I'm curious. What sort of woman do you think I should pursue, if I decide I'm back on the market?"

She almost smiled as her eyes dipped down to contemplate her hands as well as his matrimonial future. "Mrs. Elkins? She's an old bat, so you must be teasing me. Can't imagine you'd want to spend a moment's time with her." She pressed her lips together in thought. "I can't think of anyone in particular right now. There's Mrs. Madison, perhaps."

Foyle quirked an eyebrow. "Mrs. Madison?"

"Yes, you know her; she helps out at the green grocers sometimes. Her husband was killed in the first bombing. Although she does have two children still at home..." Sam finished with a worried frown.

A hint of a smile worked at the corners of his mouth as he recalled Mrs. Madison. "Mid 40's perhaps? Beginning to go gray? Has a tick in her left eye?" He watched for her reaction. "Oh, and mustn't forget mole on the tip of her nose either," he added mischievously.

"She does not have a mole there!" Sam replied. Then looking up she saw the cheekiness in his dancing eyes and smiled. "You're just being... " She struggled to find a word.

"What Sam? You object because I'm not taking to your suggestion for my future wife?" He played at looking insulted but was secretly enjoying having a bit of Sam back.

She watched him try to hide a smile and worked hard to subdue her own facial features. "Then who would you have? Or have you set impossibly high standards for yourself?"

His mouth twisted and then compressed as he considered her question. "Nno, don't think I have. Rosalind set them for me, I suppose." His eyes moved to look at his late wife's picture which still occupied a prominent place in his front room. "She... she put me in my place about a few things and... showed me how to be a bbetter man. " His mind wandered back to a conversation awhile ago with another woman, Elizabeth, in this very room. Losing her didn't change a thing, he'd said in response to her suggestion that losing Rosalind had made him harder somehow. Marrying her changed everything... And it had in so many ways. Rosalind was from a higher class than his but it had never mattered to her. In her eyes, he was an equal and she'd stood up to anyone who dared suggest otherwise. Her support of him gave life to his ambitions and freed his mind and his soul from the restraints he'd felt all his life as a policeman's son. She had allowed and even at times pushed him into being the man he became, supporting him in his efforts and building his confidence. After she died it had been a struggle to continue but he hadn't wanted to let her down, so he had drawn on their life together for strength to be the man she had seen in him. He missed her still, her kindness and her support, and most of all, her love. Thoughts of anyone else had left him cold... until recently.

Sam watched almost in awe as a look of profound grief passed over his features, his eyes gaining a prominence in his face, wide and sad, hurt even. She guessed him to be in his mid forties, approaching fifty perhaps, but just in that moment he seemed a mix of a very old man and a lost little boy. Deciding he needed rescuing from impending melancholy, she replied, " Can't imagine you ever not being a better man."

He blinked and then looked at her in a manner that made her think he was startled by her comment. "Wull, thank you for that but I came back from the war, the last war, bit crude."

"A diamond in the rough then?"

Tilting his head, Foyle considered the analogy. "I s'pose. Rosalind smoothed out the edges and lifted me from... well, where I was." He turned contemplative again.

Having seen how difficult it was for some of the returning soldiers, ones that had been wounded, Sam thought she an idea of what he meant. Still, she couldn't imagine him like that. He was a proper gentleman in her view, smooth about the edges, polite, kind... except when dealing with criminals, of course. But most of all he had integrity, something that her work with him had shown to be lacking in many people. Shaking her head she replied, "well, I can't imagine she had much work to do there but I didn't know you then, so I can't disagree. She must have been a very special person though."

Foyle's mouth almost turned into one of his upside down smiles as he looked at her dubiously before his features softened into an expression of happy contemplation. He hadn't spoken this much with anyone about Rosalind in years, preferring to keep what they had shared safely tucked deep within himself. But somehow it was easy with Sam. "She was but why do you say that?"

"Well..." Sam looked down as she gathered her thoughts. "You're still in love with her after all this time. And you speak of her with such regard and other than that ... I don't know what to call it with Barbara Hicks ... you hardly even look at women as, well... women. Yet I've watched other women's reactions to you and I know what they are thinking. They want you to look at them in that way because you're... well, you."

Embarrassment had crept into the exchange for him and now was in full bloom. He really didn't know quite how to respond to her assessment. Feeling the heat creeping from his neck to his face, Foyle looked away. "I, I wasn't aware... of such... notions. I'm rather past my prime and haven't thought there is much of interest here." This really is getting too personal.

"Oh but you're wrong, sir. I'd say it's more that you are in your prime and there is a great lot of interest," she said with enthusiasm. Sam opened her mouth to add more but upon seeing the completely bewildered expression on his face decided against it. She had always looked upon him with respect and their working relationship had evolved into a friendship of sorts, although she suspected he pictured himself more of an interested uncle than a friend. Yet here they were discussing his marital prospects and she found herself fearing that he might actually have some. And to put a tin lid on it, he was looking at her in a bemused way but with a different sort of glint in his eye, one she had only noticed a few times, including one of the encounters with Barbara Hicks. Remembering that, her mind wandered back further to the time she had changed at the station for an evening with Tony Lucciano. She'd descended the steps in her blue dress and turned to see an expression on his face that had stirred something deep within her. She hadn't understood it at the time, other than he thought she looked nice. But knowing him better now, she knew something had stirred in him that evening too. His expression now was very similar, except that on that night so long ago he seemed more sure of himself and he seemed uncertain tonight. Her eyes widened as the meaning of his expression sank into her. It was a revelation she had not been prepared for. Then she wondered why she was asking all the questions, why was she doing this to him? Her mind paused momentarily to consider. And then it jumped to a new thought. She wanted it to be her; she wanted to be his marital prospect, of course she did and he... he might welcome it.

He saw the look of contemplation cross her features and grew even more uncomfortable. "Getting late, Sam. Perhaps time to retire? I know it is for me."

She nodded quietly, still mulling the end of their discussion and her reactions... and his. He began turning out lights as she made her way upstairs. By the time she heard his footsteps on the stairs she'd finished her preparations for bed and was climbing into his bed. Once again she wondered if she shouldn't just move to the other room, leaving his to be reclaimed by him. But she couldn't bring herself to do that; she felt safe here in his room. But after his gentle consolation last night and all through the day, she realized she would also feel lonely without him in the room, here in his room.