Well, I asked for t and I got it. One reviewer said I needed to check my facts. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that rationing in Great Britain continued after the war but as I wrote the last chapter, I was remembering the stories my parents had told of rationing here in the States, which ended soon after the war. My apologies for the mis-representation. I've tried to adjust the impression that food was more abundant after the war in Hastings in this chapter.

Many thanks to all who leave a word or two after each chapter. It really keeps me "in the story".

Hadley took Foyle to one of the interview rooms for privacy. His desk was in a room with two others and the subject matter was sensitive. He remembered well how intense DCI Foyle had been in his inquiries before leaving the force. Hadley couldn't quite understand what the connection was, but Mr. Foyle had one to the crimes these blokes were committing. And the DCI had been kind to Hadley as the younger man stepped into the shoes of a Detective Constable, giving him confidence as well as instruction. The young detective felt he owed much to Mr. Foyle.

"I have the feeling this is personal for you, Mr. Foyle," young Hadley told his former boss. "And I want to help, I really do. I also understand why you might not want to share why you are so intent on finding these blokes. But just so you know, I'm glad to help however I can." He then placed a innocuous looking file folder on the table in front of Christopher and settled back in his chair to wait as the older man perused the file. Hadley hadn't worked for Foyle very long, but he knew the older man well enough to recognize the anger and disgust that was growing in his expression.

Christopher was fuming as he read the file. Apparently a Tom Long and a Terry Ledford had been creating mischief along the coast from Portsmouth all the way round to Dover over the last two years. As Foyle read the list of charges each constabulary had for them, he realized these men had committed just about every crime short of murder. There were three reported rapes attributed to them, owing to their resemblances to the men who were described as the culprits. All three women had been cut in a fashion similar to the marks he'd seem on Sam. He closed his eyes to chase away the memory of that discovery. It was something that would always be there, something he would always have to look beyond. And he knew Sam felt it too.

The two men had successfully escaped capture and therefore there had been no positive identification as the rapists. But their methods were the same, whether they were stealing a man's wallet or a woman's virtue. Mean, cruel, and vicious in their dealings, it was clear to Christopher that these were the men that had attacked Sam. "Any indication where they might strike next?" he asked Hadley as he finished the reports.

"They seem to be heading back from Dover. Their pattern is to work their way east then turn around and work back to Portsmouth and then back to Dover. The latest report was in Foulkstone. They'll be caught, Mr. Foyle. Every copper on the south coast is looking for them. "

Foyle nodded quietly. "When they are caught, I want to know."

"Yes, sir." Hadley grimaced a bit. "Anything I should know? I mean, this seems personal for you."

Foyle fixed his eyes on Hadley in a hard glare. "It is," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

Hadley couldn't ever remember Mr. Foyle sounding quite so... ominous. He wondered who it was that these two thugs had victimized. And then he remembered the young Mrs. Foyle and Mr. Foyle's protective posture with her and understanding dawned. "I think I understand, sir. And I'll do everything I can to help."

With a business-like nod of his head, Christopher stood and walked out of the room. As he stepped out onto the pavement he remember the upstart DC that Milner had at Brighton. Christopher mused that'd he'd been far more fortunate when Hadley had been assigned to him. The young man would do well in the force, no doubt.

By the time he returned to Steep Lane, his arms one smallish bag from the shops, Christopher was feeling a bit tired. He was used to a decent night's sleep every night but with Sam in his life, that didn't seem to be happening. Not that he was complaining; man would be a fool to complain about having Sam in his bed every night. Still, between his worry over her, the emotions he'd barely contained that morning at the station, and his ruminations over the situation as he walked hime, Christopher was tired.

He let himself in through the door and carried his bit of plunder through to the kitchen, calling out to Sam. There was no answer, which perplexed him. After putting the food away, he searched for her. She wasn't in any of the rooms downstairs, so he climbed the stairs quietly, hoping she was perhaps napping.

Indeed, he found her curled under the covers in his bed; no, their bed now. Christopher stood quietly, watching her sleep and smiled. The sight of her in this room, in that bed, was just about perfect, he thought. And then another thought crossed his mind and within seconds he was carefully crawling in under the covers to be with her. And filled with the scent and the warmth of her, his Sam, he dozed into a pleasant slumber.

He awoke sometime later to the feeling he was being watched. Letting his eyes open slowly as they adjusted to the light, he was finally able to see who it was. Warm dark eyes stared into his as a soft grin set in a face full of freckles welcomed him to awareness.

Christopher couldn't contain the smile that crept across his lower face. It was such enchantment to awaken in this manner, with Sam there beside him obviously as delighted as he. He closed his eyes against the rush of gratitude and joy that bubbled inside him. Neither spoke for several moments, simply luxuriating in the pleasure of the circumstance. But of course, it was Sam who broke the contented silence. "I've rested," she hinted softly as her fingers trailed along his jaw. Christopher felt his smile widen into a rare one that revealed his teeth. "Mmmmm, both have, I'd say."

"So, maybe we could..." Sam blushed slightly but her expression was eager and hopeful.

"Don't know what you're suggesting, Mrs. Foyle," he teased.

A small huff escaped her. "Sometimes you can be quite obtuse, you know." She sat up and began to crawl from the bed but Christopher was quick in his response. His hand shot out to grab her arm and in an instant she was beside him again, this time his arms around her, and his lips planted firmly on hers. "Just going to have to sort me out then, aren't you Mrs. Foyle?" he teased again as the kiss ended.

She giggled. "Oh yes, I'll definitely get you sorted, leave you speechless in the end."

"Wull, already do that... and more," he replied huskily.

"I do?" she asked, seemingly genuinely surprised.

"Yup," he answered as he traced the line of her cheek with his fingertip. then he combed his fingers back into her hair, his hand covering her ear. "Leave all my senses bit useless," he whispered before he zeroed in on another kiss, this one much more passionate and a strong indication of how their afternoon might be spent.

Christopher Foyle had always had an energy about him, his hands rarely idle and his mind always churning. But on this afternoon, as he lay beside his bride, he was quite languid. Once again Sam had taken him to heights that just a few weeks ago seemed impossible. She really had always been very capable of getting a rise out of him in one way or another and he was finding her latest method much more effective, not to mention satisfactory that any of her others. Although he had always been amused by her unique way of expressing her thoughts, sometimes quite improperly, what she did to him with her hands along with the rest of her body was nothing short of miraculous. But as he recovered from her latest exposition the only thought he seemed capable of was how very happy his life had become.

That night as they ate, Sam brought up a honeymoon. "We had that night at the Dorchester," she said, as if she might be suggesting they not have anything else. "I know you said we'd go away for a honeymoon but I've been thinking..." she paused, composing what she was about to say next.

"What? Again?" Christopher teased.

She smiled at him nervously. "Yes, again." Pressing her lips together she dove in. "There's so much we need to do with the house though. It's been locked up for ages and is rather musty and it needs airing. And then there's the back garden. I thought I might try making it into something usable. And ..."

Reaching over the corner of the table to take Sam's hand in his, Christopher knew this was a discussion he should have started earlier. "You know you are free to make whatever changes you feel are needed, don't you, love?"

She looked up at him, startled and a little confused.

"Rosalind decorated this house many years ago and you can't turn around without being reminded of her, I know. And I understand. Please Sam, do whatever is required for this to feel like your home."

She blushed slightly and cast her eyes toward her lap. Then looking up again, she took a deep breath. "I... I'd like to start with... well, her picture in the sitting room. I... I don't want you to get rid of it but..."

"It's fine, Sam. I'll find a less conspicuous place for it, alright? Perhaps we should go to the photographer's and have one made of the two of us to put in its place?"

Her eyes lit. "Oh, that would be wonderful."

"And anything else Sam... just... make the changes you want to make. Rosalind and I spent happy years here and she made it our home. But Rosalind isn't here any longer and you are. And I want you to make it a home in which the both of us can have happy times. Only thing I ask is that anything of Rosalind's that you want to dispose of, please pack it away for Andrew?"

"Of course! And... you're sure, really sure?"

Christopher smiled at the earnestness in Sam's question. "Absolutely certain." He chewed his inner cheek a moment and then looked down. "I do want that time away with you though," he said quietly.

"The honeymoon?"

"Yes. But if you're anxious to get started on the house, then perhaps it could wait a bit. Perhaps make it a summer holiday?" He did want the time alone with Sam, but since speaking with Hadley, Christopher wanted the time in Hastings just now too, for much darker reasons than Sam's. He also knew she mustn't know why.

"A summer holiday, oh yes. That would be lovely. Where shall we go?"

"Wull, have a few months to consider that. My guess is you'll be more worried about paint colors and new drapes for the next few weeks."

Her shy smile warmed him. He was making her happy; this might be alright for her too, he thought.