FAUX PAS- CHAPTER 7
Disclaimer- Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. Rachel Roberts, her family and neighbors are my own.
A/N- DeSoto was an American automobile marque (brand) manufactured by the Chrysler Corporation from 1921 to 1961. It was name after the Spanish explorer, Hernando de Soto.
Sunday, December 7, 1941-8:30 am- Pearl Harbor, Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory
Frank Broussard thrust his car keys into Rachel's trembling hands. "Rachel, take the DeSoto, pick up the Simpsons and try to squeeze Mrs. Pula and her brood in the back seat. Then take off up into the sugar cane fields to get inland and away from the harbor."
"What about you, Uncle Frank?" She pointed out at the smoke and fire that filled the sky. "Are you gonna stay here with all this...going on?"
"Yes, I am."
"But, Uncle Frank, it's not safe. What are you going to do?"
"I was a medic in the Great War and I might be able to help with the wounded. As a minister, I've been called to be with the sick and dying and that's what I've got to do. Now go and take care of our neighbors. We'll find each other when this is over." Rev. Broussard kissed her on the forehead. "God be with you, my dear."
"And also with you Uncle Frank." Rachel ran out to her uncle's car and began the mission he'd assigned to her. In less than ten minutes, the DeSoto was full- the elderly Simpsons in the front seat with her and Mrs. Pula and her four little ones plus their Wire Haired terrier, Barney, were packed in the back seat. Trying to get the car down the street was a lot harder than picking up her passengers had been. Civilian traffic was brought to a standstill as one military truck after another passed by, full of soldiers and sailors, some half-dressed and struggling to put on their uniforms. Realizing they were going nowhere fast, she drove the DeSoto through several front yards, briefly wondering if she had destroyed anyone's flower beds, and quickly turned the car down the first side street she could find.
A little finger tapped her shoulder. Rachel glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the youngest of Mrs. Pula's children, Abigail, tears streaming down her face. "Miss Rachel, where are we going? Why were there all those trucks with soldiers? I'm scared. I wanna go home!"
Abigail's siblings joined in a chorus of "Me, too!" And then Barney added to the sounds of distress that emanated from the back seat of the car by barking and whining while running back and forth over the children and Mrs. Pula's legs.
Rachel's nerves were already frayed and they began to unravel quickly. She turned around and shouted at the children and their dog. "For God's sake, just shut up! I'm scared, too, but we can't go back home right now. It isn't safe!" Mrs. Pula opened her mouth to chide Rachel for speaking to her children that way, but was preempted by Barney jumping out the car window.
"All of you stay in the car and keep your heads down. I'm going to look for your da-darn dog." Rachel jumped out of the car and made a dash down the street, calling out "Barney, come here fella, it will be alright, just come and get back in the car!" Five long minutes later she found him hiding under the front porch of a house, four blocks down from where she'd left the car parked. "There you are! If those kids didn't love you so much, I would leave you here." Barney whimpered and waddled out to her waiting arms. Rachel scooped him up, tucking him under her right arm like a football. She ran, keeping her body low to the ground to avoid being hit by unknown debris that flew through the air above her. Within a few feet of her destination, something ripped across her right hand causing her to cry out in pain and unintentionally squeeze Barney so hard that he yelped and squirmed, trying to jump from her arm.
"Aw dammit! Hush Barney! You've got nothing to complain about. My hand just saved your hide. I'm the one who got wounded!"
Christopher Foyle's head jerked up at the sound of her angry and pained cry. His first sight of the morning was Rachel sitting up in the bed with a pillow tucked tightly under her right arm and rubbing the scar on her hand. He could tell she wasn't fully awake; her eyes were opened but unfocused.
He let his mind drift to other matters while he waited for her to become fully conscious. "Who is Barney? Why is there a pillow under her arm? What happened to her hand? He moved his head from side slowly, wincing at the stiffness he felt in his neck. "And….why did I let myself fall asleep sitting in this chair?" The chair was not a very comfortable one to start with and spending four hours sleeping in it didn't help matters. Foyle slowly stood up and a groan escaped his lips before he could stop it.
Rachel was fully awake at the sound of his groan and immediately jumped from the bed, nearly colliding with him. "Sir, are you o.k.? And…uh…why are you still here?"
Foyle sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. "Yep." He then made the mistake of looking down at her standing before him in her sheer nightgown. Every thought in his head flew out the window and it took several moments to regain his composure and answer her second question. "Uh….fell asleep in the chair. You were restless, didn't want to leave you alone."
She looked down at her feet and then back up at Foyle, brushing back an errant curl that had flopped down in her eyes. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."
"Oh God, you don't know the half of it m'dear. Got…to…get her covered up!" He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, but the way she looked at that moment was burned into his brain. Foyle took off his dressing gown and wrapped it around Rachel's shoulders. He answered her puzzled look with "it's chilly in this room."
Rachel involuntarily shivered as she felt the brush of his fingers across her shoulders. "Uh...thank you, sir."
"Welcome."
They stood there in an awkward silence until Rachel's stomach growled and she threw her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Foyle smiled and Rachel's heart did a flip when she saw the delight in his eyes. "I…uh…suppose we should have breakfast."
"Yep."
"Room service, then? I don't know about you Mr. Foyle, but I have no desire to get dressed just to go downstairs to the hotel dining room for breakfast. Besides, we deserve a little convenience considering the kind of night we had."
She then picked up the phone and asked the hotel operator to connect her to Room Service. "Hello…Room Service? This is Rachel Roberts in room 714. I would like to order breakfast for two- bacon, eggs, toast, coffee and a pot of tea. Thank you." Rachel sat back down on the edge of the bed, her bare legs and feet dangling over the side.
"She almost looks like a little girl sitting there. But she's definitely not a girl...Really shouldn't be alone in this room with her. Must leave after we eat breakfast. Best thing to do." He exhaled a long sigh and chewed at his bottom lip.
"Mr. Foyle, everything o.k.?"
"Yeah."
"Oh really? Now who's not telling the truth? I can tell by that sigh and the way he worried his lip that something's bothering him."
"Sir, I don't …" The shrill ring of the phone caused Rachel to jump and grab the receiver, answering with a curt "hello". She began pacing back and forth as she listened to the caller while rolling her eyes and occasionally responding with "yes ma'am", "no ma'am" and "I will Mama".
The conversation ended a few minutes later with, "Don't worry. I will go shopping for new clothes today and I guarantee that I will not show up for work at Senator Maybank's office in rags or naked. Bye Mama, I love you." She put the receiver back in the phone's cradle and sighed, "When will my mother realize that I'm a grown woman and that I do have some sense?"
"Because you are on your own now and she can't protect you anymore." Foyle was thinking of how much he had worried about Andrew during the War, so many times wondering if his son would survive it.
" Mr. Foyle, do you have children?"
"Yeah, a son. He was a RAF pilot during the War."
A sudden and quite unexpected rush of sadness swept through Rachel at the mention of parents and children. "I'll never know how it feels to worry about a child. Just don't think about, can't change what's happened." Without saying a word, she got back in bed, turned over and curled up in a ball.
Foyle had seen her eyes darken and mist just before she turned away from him. It was evident that she was struggling with her emotions. To him, she seemed as changeable as the weather-one moment sunshine and the next moment cloudy. "What did I say that upset her?" He approached her bed and touched her shoulder. "Rachel, are you alright?" A muffled sob was the only response she made as she pulled her body into an even tighter ball.
"Rachel, turn over and face me." She did as he asked and upon seeing the look in his eyes she knew he expected her to answer him.
She sat up, pushing hair away from her eyes before she answered. "I'm alright as I'll ever be. Can't change the past."
As far as Foyle was concerned her answer was a non-answer, but he let it go. "She's not a suspect I need to interrogate after all."
A knock on the door and the call of "Room Service" relieved Rachel of feeling like she needed to explain her actions, at least for as long as it took them to eat breakfast. Whether or not Foyle would pursue the cause of her momentary breakdown in the immediate future remained in question.
Foyle answered the door and a young waiter, who appeared to be no more than 16, entered the room pushing a cart with the contents of the breakfast Rachel had ordered. "Good morning Sir..." He glanced over to Rachel and upon seeing her, the young man squeaked out ..."M'aam...uh ,enjoyyourbreakfast...uh,please call...if you want anything else." He then sped out of the room, forgetting to close the door.
Rachel chuckled. "Wonder why he left in such a hurry? He took off like a scalded dog."
Her companion closed the door and focused his attention on the contents of the cart. "Dunno. He seemed alright until he saw you."
"Well gee whiz Mr. Foyle! Do I look that bad?"
Foyle knew he was on a slippery slope when a woman asked him how she looked. He made a studied gaze of Rachel. "Lovely, even with her hair in a mess and no makeup. Must've been another reason for the young man's hasty departure."
"Nnno. Another reason maybe?"
Rachel got out of bed and joined Foyle at the cart. She poured a cup of coffee and as she took her first sip, another reason for the young man's hasty exit from the room came to mind. She quickly swallowed the hot liquid and winced as it burned its way down her throat. "Oh sir, I think I know why he left in such a hurry." Her face took on that now familiar shade of crimson. "Oh...my...God! I bet he thought we were...I was...you were..."
Foyle's eyes widened as it suddenly dawned on him what she was thinking. "Hmm... young man must've thought she was my bit on the side or that this old chap had robbed the cradle and married a much younger woman." For a few moments he thought of Rosalind and how young she'd been when they married, but he was much younger then as well. He looked down at Rachel and let his imagination drift to the idea of being married to her. As his body responded to his imagination, he mercilessly brought his mind back to breakfast, trying hard to focus on the food sitting on the cart.
"We should eat before the food gets cold." Foyle then gave his full attention to getting some of the food onto a plate. Once that was done, he sat down in the chair with an uncomfortable reminder of where his imagination had taken him. He crossed his legs and turned to one side, hoping that Rachel wouldn't notice the state he was in.
Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and picked at the food on her plate, preoccupied with thoughts of what would happen after breakfast. "When this meal is finished, I've got to tell him that I need to get ready to go out for the day. Then he'll walk out of the room and my life."
For the next ten minutes the room was silent with only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain. Rachel gave up on trying to eat and put her plate aside and just watched Christopher Foyle finish his meal. It gave her great pleasure just to watch him eat. Everything about him was beautiful to her- the way sunlight made a halo around his silver curls, his blues eyes, long eyelashes and his lips. Oh, those lips were perfection itself- as if a sculptor had formed them! What would it feel like to kiss him?
When her breakfast companion had finished eating, he looked up to see the admiring gaze in Rachel's green eyes and it unsettled him to the core. It was definitely time for him to leave her room! He placed his plate on the cart and stood up. "I should go now and let you get on with your plans for the day."
She looked down at her feet and then back up at him. "Yes, I suppose so." She began to push one sleeve of Foyle's dressing gown off her shoulder. "And I should give you this back before you go."
He shook his head slightly and blinked once or twice. "Oh God, do not take that off in front of me! I know what's underneath! Why does she seem so oblivious to the fact that she has on next to nothing?"
"Nnno…Return it to me later. Don't need it right now."
The word "later" made her heart leap. She would see him again, at least long enough to give him back his dressing gown. "O.K., I'll do that sir. Thank you for all your kindness to me since I "crashed" into you yesterday. It's been much more than I expected."
"Rachel, you've been much more than I expected. So much more."
Foyle's lips formed into a turned down smile and his eyes lit up. "You're very welcome Miss Roberts. " The smile faded but his eyes still shone as he told her, "If you need me again, please let me know." He then walked to the door and she followed him, not wanting to waste any remaining seconds with him in her room.
"I will Mr. Foyle. Thank you."
After he stepped out into the hall, she closed the door and leaned against it, telling him even though he couldn't hear her- "I need you now Christopher Foyle. I really do."
Post script- The idea for Rachel's uncle telling her to drive up into the sugar cane fields to get away from the harbor came from an eyewitness account I read of a young girl who was living in Pearl City on the island of Oahu when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
It appears that there are more questions than answers in this chapter. Of course, the questions haven't been asked aloud yet. Perhaps Foyle will begin to ask Rachel the questions that have only been in his mind so far.
More to come. Thanks for reading!
