FOYLE'S WAR- FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 3
Disclaimer- Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts and Jimmy Dubose are products of my imagination.
"Miss Roberts, your room is 714. Mr. Foyle, you have 716." The desk clerk handed them their room keys and added, "I hope you have a pleasant stay."
As they followed the bellman to the elevator, Foyle thought, "Could be a pleasant stay, quite pleasant indeed in Miss Robert's company." The elevator doors closed and she looked up, giving him a bright smile, as if she'd read his mind.
That's all the encouragement he needed. "Care to have dinner with me, Miss Roberts?"
"Yes sir, that sounds just fine." Her eyebrows knitted together as a thought spun out in her mind. "Is this a date? No…no…no! Mr. Foyle and I just met on the train and we happen to be staying at the same hotel…on the same floor- that's all. Not a date at all." Her face relaxed and she remained silent for the remainder of the elevator ride.
"Mmm…that look on her face. Does she regret saying "yes" to dinner with me? Not exactly the effect on a woman you were looking for, was it Old Man? Does she think I might…?" The elevator doors opened, interrupting his self interrogation.
Rachel was shown to her room first. Once alone, she flopped down on the bed while toeing off her shoes. Sinking down into a soft pillow, she placed her hands behind her head and told the ceiling, "Dinner with a man. Long time since I've done that."
Saturday evening- December 6, 1941
"My sweet Rachel, smile for me- will ya?" Jimmy reinforced his request by running his thumb across her lips. "You know I've got to get back to the Arizona before my skipper sends out the Shore Patrol for me. He only gave me 12 hours shore leave today because I've got 48 hours coming to me next weekend for our wedding and a little honeymoon. I need your smile to tide me over until then." He chuckled and then added, "Besides, frowning is bad for the digestion."
Looking down at her half eaten hamburger and soggy fried potatoes, she sighed, "I suppose you're right." Rachel kissed Jimmy's fingers and then graced him with the smile he asked for. "Is that better Seaman Dubose?"
He leaned across the table and kissed her mouth, murmuring, "Oh yes, much better!"
Foyle tossed his hat and coat on the bed before sitting down on its edge. He had a few free hours before dinner and while pondering what to do with them, an absent minded brush of his hand across his forehead provided him with a reminder of the eventful afternoon in the company of Rachel Roberts. Perhaps he should investigate the damage done when the two of them "bumped" into each other.
The mirror in the bathroom revealed very little in the way of an injury- no swelling or bruising. Instead he saw the face of a travel weary man who was beginning to wonder if the "accidental" meeting with the young woman would derail him from the purpose of his trip to the States. Rather than ponder the question, he decided to do something practical by taking a nap.
In the room adjacent to Foyle's, Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror making a similar "damage" assessment. There was a sizeable swelling in the middle of her forehead. "No amount of makeup in the world is gonna cover this up. I'm going to make a great looking dinner companion for Mr. Foyle!" Tears formed in her eyes, but brushed them away with her thumb. "Not going to cry! Not…going…to…cry! The only water I want to feel on me is bathwater!"
She turned on the taps full blast and quickly stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor. She stepped in the tub and slid down in the water up to her chin. Rachel closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind wouldn't let her. It took her from memories of Jimmy to the present and Mr. Foyle. "Same hotel, same floor and rooms next to each other," she mused rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and told the Almighty, "You've got an interesting sense of humor, Lord! Why did I meet Mr. Foyle?" In an accusatory tone she added, "Not playing matchmaker, are you? Really, the man's old enough to be my father and he's from the other side of the Atlantic. What are you playing at? That's what I'd like to know!"
No heavenly answer was forthcoming so Rachel completed her bath, put on make-up and then set about making a decision about what to wear. She didn't have many dresses to choose from. For over four years she'd worn the same ones and despite her best efforts they looked their age. Only one dress was an exception. It had never really been worn other than when she tried it on in the dress shop where she bought it. It was a long sleeved emerald green rayon dress with an embroidered bodice and dyed to match buttons. Jimmy had liked the way it looked on her so much that he insisted on buying her the hat to go with it; the hat that she thought she had lost on the train when it tumbled off her head.
The special occasion it was intended for never happened. It was the best one she owned and she would wear it that evening. Rachel put on the dress and smoothed and adjusted it to her satisfaction, her hands trembling. She then gave her dark auburn locks some attention by running a comb through them. The finishing touch was her hat that she made sure to secure with a hat pin, not wanting risk a chance of it falling off her head again. In the bedroom mirror she saw the image of a young woman smartly turned out, ready for dinner out and not for the occasion her dress had been intended for- her wedding day.
"Rachel, are you sure that you don't want a big wedding with a gown, flowers, the works?"
"Yes Jimmy, I'm very sure. All I want is to be your wife, that's all that matters to me."
As tears welled in her eyes Rachel fumbled in her handbag looking for her handkerchief; instead she found the wadded mess that had been Mr. Foyle's own handkerchief. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and told it fiercely, "Not gonna cry. Not…gonna…do…it."
The sun was setting when Foyle woke up from his nap. He called the front desk to get the time and found out that is was six thirty already! Sitting on the edge of the bed, he indulged in some stretching and yawning before trudging to the bathroom. One look in the mirror told him that he was in need of a shave.
The familiar routine of shaving gave him the opportunity to think about Rachel Roberts. What would they talk about during dinner? "Don't really make small talk. Hmm…what if she asks me why I'm in America?" He pursed his lips and studied his reflection in the mirror. "Just have to take it as it comes." Just then Foyle nicked his chin with the razor. He grunted in pain and held back a curse. The cut was bleeding out of proportion to its size. He grabbed a tiny piece of bathroom tissue and stuck it to the place where the razor had made a tiny slice in his chin. "Can't blame that on Miss Roberts. Self inflected injury."
After he'd put on a fresh shirt and tie, Foyle returned to the bathroom mirror for one last look at himself before he went to his dinner companion's room. By that time the cut on his chin had stopped bleeding and he peeled the tiny piece of bathroom tissue away with a sigh, "Ready as I'll ever be."
Rachel heard his footsteps in the hotel corridor and hurried to open the door before he even had a chance to knock. She looked up at him and her glistening eyes seemed enormous compared to the rest of her face. An underlying sadness was there as well. "If I ask her what's wrong, would she tell me? Don't want to make her cry again."
"Good evening, Mr. Foyle. Ready for dinner?" she stammered.
He pulled his lower lip inward for a second and then answered, "Yep. But you're not."
A puzzled Rachel Roberts looked at the coat and handbag over her arm and felt for the hat poised on her head. "What is he talking about'? I'm dressed and have my coat and hat."
Foyle pointed down at her stocking feet. "Shoes. Too cold outside to go without them."
After Rachel mentally kicked herself, she stammered, "Oh yeah, suppose I should put them on."
"Yep"
A quick search under her bed yielded the shoes. Rachel jammed her feet into them and a quick glance down told her she'd put them on properly. "Thank Heaven for small favors. At least I put them on right way round!" She grabbed her handbag and turned to face him, endeavoring to gain her composure.
Foyle cleared his throat, a hint of a smile on his lips and asked, "Ready to go now, Miss Roberts?"
She nodded "yes" and stepped out into the corridor to join him. "Well, I'm glad to amuse, Mr. Foyle. Can't seem to do anything else right when I'm around you."
He pointed at her right arm. "Your coat. Might want to put it on before we go outside."
"Yes, I should."
Foyle took the coat from her and helped her in to it. She turned to face him and he found himself looking down into her eyes. It was a rare experience for a woman to literally look up to him and he lingered for a few seconds, studying her face. He knew nothing about her except her name and where she was from. More, he wanted to know more about her.
"His face speaks volumes. Is he always so economical with words? I want to know something about him, but I'm afraid to ask. He seems so private." Rachel unconsciously exhaled a long sigh at her thoughts about the man standing over her. For some reason she couldn't fathom, her heart started to gallop. "Come on, get a grip Rachel. He's not going to eat you. It will be alright, you'll have a nice dinner and then…"
Her thoughts trailed off when she felt the slightest touch of Foyle's hand on her arm and heard him say, "Ready, now?"
"Yes…uh…I am."
He smiled at her, not at first with his mouth, but with his eyes. She realized that if his lips never moved, the smile was there all the same and that comforted her in a way she couldn't explain.
The elevator ride and the trip through the lobby were silent until Rachel stopped and pointed at a sign that hung over the hotel bar. "Well, when somebody told me about this place, I thought they were kidding me. There really is a Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge. Sounds appropriate- have too much to drink and you might see "pink elephants"."
"Yep."
She turned to face Foyle and laughed, "O.K., Gary Cooper. Let's go get some grub."
He reacted to her calling him by the film star's name with a raised eyebrow and a twist of his lips. "Never heard Sam compare me to a film star. Nothing like Mr. Cooper. Must ask where she gets the idea from. Something to talk about at dinner." He pulled the brim of his trilby over his twinkling eyes and told Rachel, "Yep."
Notes-Yes, there really was a Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge at the Hotel Harrington. It opened in 1940 and became a popular gathering place, famous during World War II. It closed in 1986.
I just couldn't resist the Gary Cooper reference- Christopher Foyle's monosyllabic answers of "yep" and "nup" reminds me little bit of some of the characters that Mr. Cooper played in a great many films- men of high morals and few words who always win the day.
Rachel has memories that trouble her. Will she tell Mr. Foyle about them at dinner or at the very least, will she explain why she called him Gary Cooper?
Thanks for reading. Please review if you're so inclined. More to come.
