Many, many thanks to all who left reviews. You are all awesome! So here we are again. Is anyone else as hungry for some on screen Foyle as I am?
On a rainy day not many days later, Christopher looked up from his copy of the latest Hornblower to see Sam engrossed in her own reading. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he read the title of her magazine and as realization dawned, a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Greatest Detective Stories my love? Missing police work, are you?"
Sam looked up from her reading, confusion causing a slight frown before she caught up with him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do miss police work. I saw this magazine on the stand and thought I'd see about the stories. They're all short stories, you see. Several of the best crime novelists started in magazines like this, you know. So I just thought..." She slowed down as she watched the smile on his face turn downward and his eyes begin to sparkle with his amusement.
"Still believe I should write a crime novel then?"
"I do," she said frankly. "Your stories would be ever so much better than the ones in this edition. Why, I had the first two solved before I was even half way through."
"So it wouldn't be enough to write things as they happened; I would need to add something extra to create more mystery?"
"You could. But there are several that you could write about that would be much better than these stories and you wouldn't have to deviate at all."
"Mmmmm, not really much of a writer, Sam. It would sound like one of my reports; very dry and uninteresting."
"Then I'll write one," she said defiantly.
Pulling his lips down again, this time to contain his amused doubt that she would, he tilted his head slightly. "Wull, guess you could..." She settled back against the arm of the sofa, her feet curled under her, and gazed out toward the window. "I know I could. I just have to decide which story to write."
"Wull, some you still can't... secrets act... best not try any that involve that. "
"Oh, I know. I'll write about the Sir Leonard Spenser-Jones' case. That was a complete surprise, lots of intrigue."
"Sspenser-Jones? " He was dumbfounded. "You erm... going to include his... erm... artwork."
A slight blush crept into Sam's cheeks. as her eyes suddenly found something interesting to look at off to the side. "No, not really. Wouldn't add anything to the story, I don't believe."
"Nnooo, probably right. Bbut certainly added something to our story."
Her gaze fixed on him. "What? How?"
"Ssaw that drawing and... wull, can't describe the jealousy that went through me. He had seen you... Saw what I hadn't, except p'haps in my dreams."
"You hadn't."
"No, I hadn't. And had no intention to ever. I was almost resigned to having to see you as some young fellow's wife and him seeing you like that, but not a man even older than I am. Aand... in that way. Good thing he was already dead because I might have been tempted to kill him myself otherwise. Wasn't right of him, Sam, to take your innocence in that way."
"But he didn't," she declared. "I'll admit I wasn't comfortable with the arrangement but he never touched me."
"His eyes did and I don't care how old he was, some part of him reacted as a man to the sight of you like that. And I know how easily artists can sometimes talk their models into posing uncovered. There was one that tried to talk Rosalind into it just after we were married. Andrew wasn't quite making his presence known yet and we attended an art show over at Chichester. The artist chatted her up and had her just about ready to agree to posing for him. I saw what was happening and stopped it, just as I would have done with Spenser-Jones. Mmight've been looking at you with an artist's eyes but it was clear in his drawing that he found certain parts of you more noteworthy than others. "
"What? How can you say that?"
"His inattention to the details of your face and his attention elsewhere."
"Oh, I never noticed," she said, obviously mortified.
"Wull, no matter now."
"But that sketch was collected as evidence."
"Which I collected from Milner later. It is safely tucked away upstairs. No one to see it but us ever."
Her eyes glittered as she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. "You've had it all this time?"
He could see her mind turning and struggled not to tease her. "I have. Rolled up and tucked away in the back of the cupboard in our room. Didn't want anyone stumbling onto it."
"But you didn't, I mean... you never..."
"Peeked enough to know it was the one I had asked for and then tucked it away. Haven't looked at it since," he assured her.
"So, Paul knows..." Her face was red but the rest of her had gone pale.
"Told him that Sir Leonard had started the drawing long ago and sketched your face onto it. Seemed to accept it."
Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Sam looked at him, her eyes filled with adoration. "Thank you."
"My pleasure."
"And I am going to write that story," she said, returning to the point of the conversation.
"No doubt," he said with a tug at his lips.
Over the next few days, Sam proved her determination to indeed write the story. She set up a work space at the end of the dining table and each day worked the better part of the afternoon, scribbling away with pen and paper. Once, when she had left her papers open as she went upstairs to the water closet, Christopher risked a peek at her work.
Quite a lot of ink filled the pages, most as marks through parts she had written and obviously wished to discard. She was attempting to embellish an already almost unbelievable story, or at least it would be to many of the magazine's readers. As Christopher struggled through a few pages, he worried that she was in for disappointment and wondered how he might help her without being seen as interfering. Hearing her footsteps on the stairs, he quickly flipped the pages back and settled once again in his chair as if he hadn't left it. Sam settled once again at her work and after a few minutes let out a huff.
"Something wrong?"
"No," she replied softly. "I just... I can't make it sound as exciting as it was," she lamented.
"Wull, can I help?"
She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you, but I said I am going to do it and I am."
"Right," he conceded. "P'haps have someone look at it then? No me, but ... someone who's opinion you trust?"
"Perhaps."
"And Sam..."
"Yes?"
"When you've gotten it all written, we'll hire a typist. At least let me make that part of it easier for you?"
"But I can type it," she insisted.
"Yes, but mmight be nice to submit it to the magazine in my lifetime, don't you think," he replied as the corners of his mouth tugged down.
That earned him her best attempt at a glare before a smile bloomed on her face. "Oh you; you are simply impossible!"
Rising from his chair again, he walked over to her. Bending down, he placed a kiss at the back of her neck and lingered. "Impossibly taken with you," he whispered softly. She looked up at him, her eyes soft with pleasure. "Oh, you do say the nicest things sometimes."
"Mmmmm," was his answer as he stood straight again. "You um, going to be at this awhile?"
"About another hour. Why?"
"Thought I might take a walk. Wondered if you are free to join me?"
"You go; I'm determined to keep at this."
"Alright then," he said as he moved toward the entry to collect his hat and overcoat. "Shouldn't be long. Just need to move a bit; too much sitting around lately."
"Alright," she replied, her attention already turning back to her story.
Once outside, Christopher headed off toward the high street, thinking he'd buy his bride some flowers. But as he passed the bakery, he noticed there were some pastries on display. Sugar was still difficult to come by and any sweets the baker could manage were usually gone by mid morning, so he quickly gave up the idea of flowers. Sam would much prefer the sweets. Ducking into the shop, he studied the small selection and decided on a tart.
Walking back to Steep Lane, Foyle was happy with himself. He'd lent support to Sam and hadn't interfered. And to top off the day, he was bringing her sweets. She would be pleased, indeed. But as he entered the house, he heard crying from the other room and went to investigate.
"Ssam?" he asked tenderly, unsure of the source of her tears. He'd found Sam curled in his chair by the fire with tears streaming down her face. Obviously she'd been crying for some time. She looked up at his, surprised and chagrinned at him finding her in such a state. Hurrying across the room, he reached out his hand to caress her face. "Wwhat's wrong?"
"I just can't get the story right," she said before a sob overtook her. "I... I don't want the baby, or me, to be a burden and I thought if I could help, bring a little money in..."
Christopher pulled her up to stand with his arms wrapped around her. "Oh Sam, you're hardly a burden; more joy than I could have imagined. And the baby, wull, while not exactly expected quite so soon, was inevitable don't you think? And while an added expense, certainly not a heavy burden. Certainly one that is outweighed by the pleasure. And for me, an undeserved honor."
"Honor?" she sniffled.
"Yup, for a seasoned old bloke like me ... A beautiful young woman is having my baby, you are having my baby and it is actually a welcome event. Very honored. Would be a real prat not to 'ppreciate it."
"But... you're so worried about a job," she sniffled.
"Wull, want all the best for this child; this one and any others that might happen. We'd get by without a job but just think it best to have some extra income, is all. Certainly not pressing enough to put you in this state. And Sam, you really must get the idea of you being a burden out of your head. "
She sniffled again as she rested her head against him, her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what, in god's name?" Frustration with his own mindlessness was rising. He should have known Sam would have read more into his concern over a job. He'd let on far too much about how much it worried him.
"Ffor... letting it get to me so much, the story and..."
"Sam, you've nothing to apologize for. You were trying to be helpful, which is one of the very qualities that I find so attractive in you. But let's leave the employment worries to me; you have a much more important job taking care of yourself and our baby."
"And you," she added with a small bit of humor.
"And me," he agreed as his mouth dropped into one of his trademark smiles. "Oh, and I brought you something." His eyes twinkled as he turned away from her momentarily to retrieve the small bag with the treat from the bakery. Handing it to her, he watched her face to capture her reaction.
React, she did. First she looked at him quizzically. And then as she opened the bag, he thought she almost looked as if she were salivating. But when she realized what was contained inside, her face lit with excitement. "Oh golly," she exclaimed. "A sweet tart?"
"Yup. Was passing the baker's and there were a few. Thought I might surprise you."
"Oh, you have. B...but there is only one?"
"For you, love; the whole tart. I shall have my pleasure watching your enjoyment."
"But that feels so... selfish on my part."
"Not at all. I find I rather enjoy watching your delight with food."
"I'll make tea and..."
"Yes, splendid idea. I'll help."
The two worked together in the kitchen to prepare the tea and sat at the dining table, Foyle sipping his tea as Sam entertained him with her relishing of the tart, both thinking how lucky they were in the other.