Christopher spent his afternoons writing for the next week. His mornings were wither occupied by a lie in with his bride or with his rod down at the river trying to give a boost to the rationing that didn't seem to be abating. Everyone had understood the need for rationing during the war; supplies were short, often limited to what could be produced in the countryside and in back garden plots. Shipping had been erratic, at best, and often more concerned with cargos better suited to fighting than feeding a civilian population. But now that the war was finished, food still seemed to be in short supply, along with so many other things. Consequently, Christopher continued his wartime practice of fishing to supplement their meals. It also gave him time to think.

Sometimes his thoughts dwelled on the story he was trying to write; consider how he might make it more exciting for the reader, more mysterious. Not that this first one had lacked mystery. Besides the initial mystery of who killed the farmer, there was German crew and the secrets that surrounded them. Also, there was the matter of the farmer's wife. And of course, there had been Barbara Hicks. Sam said she added a little romance to the story, which any women readers would enjoy. But there had been no romance around Mrs. Hicks, as far as Christopher was concerned. Sam continued to suggest that he should write some in though, just a hint that something might develop, only to quash it when she was moved along. It bothered Christopher that Sam still seemed bothered by the woman, however. And he didn't want his young wife to be bothered about anything these days, or ever really.

Sam grew ever larger as the days passed, her abdomen swelling with their two 'elves' as the couple had fallen into calling the babies. She told him one night that it seemed they must be boys because there was a ferocious boxing match happening inside her at that moment. She'd placed his hand over her swelling belly so he could feel it for himself and he'd had to admit that she was not exaggerating. He couldn't remember Rosiland ever complaining about such fierce blows to her insides. But he supposed that two made more mischief than one. Still, feeling what she must have to endure more frequently now, Christopher was constantly on the lookout for anything that might things easier for her, or at least to show her that he truly appreciated what she was experiencing. Even though they had settled somewhat into being an established married couple, Christopher was constantly amazed at the mere presence of Samantha in his life, filling his house with her exuberance, and showering him with so much love. He had loved Rosalind with everything within him and he'd been quite happy in their marriage; but to have Sam at this time in his life…well, it was something very rare, indeed.

This particular morning, in the midst of his quietly blissful thoughts about his present state of marriage, Christopher had caught two very plump trout, a trio of small grayling, and a carp. He was pleased with his catch and as he packed his gear to begin the trek home, he smiled at the anticipated reception he would be given by Sam. Although, she had commented not long ago that their children would more likely be born with gills rather than noses. He'd quipped that in that case, they should plan on fish names for the twins and had suggested trout and grayling. That had earned him a smack on his arm, followed by an "Oh you…", which was then followed by a kiss that led them to their bedroom. Anyone who might have passed Christopher Foyle along the road as he remembered that exchange would have seen an expression wholly unlike anything he was known to wear in public. No, that particular expression was reserved for his wife in their private moments.

"Sam?" He called out as he entered the front door of their house. "I'm back." He hung his hat on the rack in the hall, pulled his boots off and set them against the wall. They'd need cleaning but he'd do that in the back garden where he also had a table set up for dealing with the fish. The rod and his lure box were set next to his boots. Leaving all that behind, he carried his creel full of fish through to the ice box. As he walked, he peeked into each room but did not see Sam. She wasn't in the kitchen either. After putting the fish away, he turned and headed upstairs. Maybe she was having a nap?

As Christopher reached the top landing, he knew that wasn't the case. Sniffles were heard coming from their bedroom. Alarms rang in Christopher's head as he gently pushed the door open. "Sam?"

"Yes, I'm here," she said, sounding if she had been crying quite a bit.

Christopher hurried to her and sat beside her on the bed. "Why are you crying?" He asked as gently as he could but dread was filling his entire being. "Are you hurt? Are the babies alright?"

"The babies are fine," she sniffled. "I just…I'm so fat with them. I can't fit any of my clothes; everything has been pulled and stretched and every seam let out as far as it can go."

"There's nothing that will fit? What about what you were wearing yesterday? Those trousers and that blouse seemed alright."

"Not today, they aren't. I even tried that dress that Mum sent that I said looks like a potato sack and it is too tight as well. I literally have no clothes I can wear," she exclaimed.

Christopher, try as he might, couldn't help the small quirk of a smile that formed. "Nothing? So, you'll bbe walking around the house with nothing on? Can't say I would mind that." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

"Oh you… men; honestly! I have nothing to wear and you're happy about it."

"Wull, not happy if you're upset about it. But … kind of enjoying the imagery, love."

She huffed. "What am I going to do?"

Christopher had seen her attempts at sewing and he knew that was not a solution. "Wull, perhaps I can pop out to a shop and find you something? Or you could try some of mine… or I think Andrew left a few things in his cupboard."

Her face lit up. "Yes, if Andrew has a jumper, I could use that. And perhaps I might be able to squeeze into my trousers long enough to go to the shop. But do we have enough coupons?"

"If we combine yours with mine, we should. Why don't you go wash your face and rummage through Andrew's things? I'll go down and clean the fish while you get yourself sorted and then we'll go down to the shops. See if we can't find you something of your own to wear. Maybe even stop in somewhere for lunch?"

Three quarters of an hour later, Christopher had the fish sorted and his boots, rod, and equipment all put away. Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway in an old cable knit jumper of Andrew's and her trousers The jumper was long enough to cover bump and hid the fact that her trousers were most likely not fastened completely. All Foyle could do was smile at her. "Wull, jumper looks much better on you than it ever did on Andrew."

Sam blushed slightly. "The trousers wouldn't fasten, so I… I borrowed your braces, the tan ones. You know, with the black stripes…"

Christopher walked over to her and lifted the jumper just a little and saw that she indeed was wearing his braces. Lifting the jumper a bit more, he realized that the straps ran over her breasts; well, along the sides anyway. And today, she wasn't wearing the usual undergarment, so that his braces were on her skin. "Hope they don't chaff your tender skin," he said. And then he added, "Don't mind you borrowing them but you do realize I won't be able to wear them in public again?" Setting his tongue on the inside of his cheek, Christopher waited for her response.

"Not wear them? Why not? It isn't as if I'm doing them any harm."

"Nup, not that. Just that, erm… all I'll be able to think about is where they've been, which will make me want to go there too."

Sam huffed a chuckle. "Oh you; you are simply incorrigible Christopher Foyle."

"Thought you knew that about me already, Sam."

"Well, you've gotten worse," she shot back.

"Nup. Just found new inspiration for my bad behavior. Now, shall we have our outing?"

Sam managed the ration coupons wonderfully in Christopher's estimation. Consequently, they left the ladies shop with two new blouses and two new skirts in their bag. The skirts had adjustable waistbands, so Sam was pleased. She could use them once she was back to her normal size. "Just think how much use I will have of them," she beamed as they walked along the pavement. "Yes, and the blouses too," Chrisopher reminded her.

"Oh, I dunno. I'm sure they'll be much too big on me once the babies are out." Sam stroked her hands down her rounded middle.

Christopher twitched his mouth. "Over the middle, p'haps. But I'm counting on you keeping your larger, erm…. bosom," he said cheekily.

Sam stopped mid stride. "Are you saying you didn't like my bosom before?"

"Nnnot'tall," he replied. "Was part of what got us here, after all. Bbut, the girls are just …"

"Just what?" She was eyeing him suspiciously.

"Ever so much more…delighful." He offered her a sincere grin to try to make up for his little gaffe.

"Christopher Foyle, you are a lech, a reprobate, a…a rascal."

"Wull… only since you married me, love. Our time together has put all sorts of notions in my head, I'm afraid. And many of them involve those lovely…girls of yours." His tongue was punishing the inside of his cheek by now as he waited for her to respond, hoping he hadn't gone too far.

Blushing wildly, Sam looked around and realized that no one was near. Leaning into him slightly, she said softly, "Well if I'm honest I rather enjoy our time together and have developed similar notions about you."

"Oh have you now?" he shot back.

"Let's go home and I'll show you." Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

"Like the sound of that. But I promised you lunch; let's save your notions for dessert, shall we?"

"Christopher Foyle, you are such a brilliant man," she cooed as she took his arm. "I've always thought so but lately, you keep reminding me of just how clever you are."

Christopher was feeling quite chuffed with himself as they made their way to a small café that was near the old nick. He remembered that Sam had enjoyed slipping out to eat there on occasion. But he was even more pleased with himself from turning her disappointment and frustration from the morning into an afternoon out for Sam, which lifted her spirits. Should do this more often, he thought as they entered the café. I've become far too sedate and she needs more than just being stuck in the house all the time. "Sam," he said as they sat at a table near the center of the room, "have any idea what's playing at the cinema?"

"The cinema? Really Christopher, did I seem so depressed that you think you have to keep me entertained?" He could see the alarm in her expression and knew he'd hit a nerve. "Nup, just thought… well, we haven't been in a while and thought that if there was something good playing, we might have a night out. Not tonight, but maybe later this week?"

Sam smiled at him. "We could walk by on our way home and find out."

"We could. Mmight be a Clark Gable playing," he teased.

"Mmmm, might be. But I have my own leading man now, don't need Gable anymore," she teased back.

"Leading man, eh? Wull, Olivier I am not."

"No, you're better; Gable and Olivier are just pretending on screen. I get the real you; lucky me." Her faced seemed to glow as she spoke.

"Nup, I'm the lucky one," he replied. "Now, what shall we order?"