Faux Pas- Chapter 8

Disclaimer- Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. Rachel Roberts, her family, neighbors are my own.


Although she was on the phone with her back to him, Martha Ellis knew without a doubt that her boss was standing behind her listening to her end of the conversation. How many times in all the years she'd worked for Howard Paige had she lied for him? "I'm sorry sir, the senator is not in the office at the moment. Do you want to leave a message for him? Alright sir, if that is what you wish." She hung up the phone and turned to look up at the man who towered over her.

"Who was that Miss Ellis?"

"A gentleman with a British accent, sir."

"Did he give a name?"

"No, he didn't. He just said he would try to reach you later." She paused before asking, "Will you be available if he calls again?" Martha had learned that a little advanced knowledge helped her keep things straight when lying for Howard Paige; she'd done it for so many years.

Paige had just put a cigar in his mouth and mumbled while he lit it, "Don't know, depends on who it is. Do your best to get a name if and when the guy calls again."

"Yes sir, I will. By the way, I just wanted to remind you that I'm going out of town next week. Have you been able to find someone to fill in for me?"

Paige exhaled cigar smoke that hung in a low cloud directly over his secretary's desk. She hated it, but said nothing. Martha had put up with his cigars and their offensive smoke for a long time and had resigned herself to it. Oh how she longed to quit her job! "I'm not going anywhere and he knows it- I know too damn much about him!"

"Yes, Rhett Maybank has a new junior secretary starting to work for him in a couple of days. He told me I could make use of her while you were gone."

"Thank you sir." Martha resumed typing a letter she had been working on before the British mystery man had called. "Use is the operative word when it comes to Howard Paige. I feel sorry for the woman that replaces me while I'm gone."

A frustrated growl accompanied the sound of Christopher Foyle hanging up the phone a little harder than necessary. "Should have known better than to call Paige's office and expect him to be there. He's eluded me in New York, why would Washington be any different?" He closed the Washington DC telephone directory and finished getting dressed for the day.

While standing in front of the mirror assessing his appearance, his mind replayed the previous day's events- beginning with the knock on the forehead he received from the petite, green eyed American girl who was in truth no girl at all. He'd soon discovered that she was most definitely a grown woman as her nightgown had revealed in the middle of the night, much to his surprise and physical response. Foyle's body stirred at the memory of not only how she looked, but how it felt holding her close as she shivered against him in the middle of the night while waiting for the firemen to tell them it was safe to return to their rooms.

"I should check out of this hotel and find another one. Avoid seeing her." Foyle shook his head at the absurdity of the idea- just because he would no longer see her didn't mean he could forget her. It was more than just the memory of Rachel Roberts; it was the mystery of what had happened to her, the things that haunted her dreams. Her green eyes revealed a deep sorrow underlying any other emotions that might momentarily be reflected in them. Besides, he wanted to find out who Jimmy and Barney were if for no other reason to listen to her soft, drawling voice.


Rachel found Foyle before he found her and she hadn't been looking for him. Laden with shopping bags and aching feet, all that interested her at that moment was sitting down in the nearest restaurant with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. The unexpected sight of him trying on what closely resembled a Stetson cowboy hat brought her to a halt in front of the window of Raleigh Haberdashery. Delight bubbled up inside her and escaped as a giggling fit.

She cleared her throat in an effort to stifle the giggles when she entered the store, then took a deep breath as she approached him. The strangled sound of her "hello Mr. Foyle" got his immediate attention, causing him to turn his face in her direction and the hat to slump down over his eyes. "Oh sir, I don't think… that… hat…"

He pushed the hat's brim away from his face, revealing a raised eyebrow. He chewed his bottom lip for a second before asking, "Something wrong with the hat?"

Rachel felt the too familiar flush of embarrassment in her face and made an intense study of her feet before looking up to answer. She raised her head, but avoided looking directly at Foyle. "I… um...ah… think that hat's a little too big for you sir."

He shrugged and removed the hat, placing it on the sales counter. "I suppose you're right. Didn't suit me anyway. Not Gary Cooper."

It was then that she finally looked directly at him and her response was momentarily forgotten at the sight of him bareheaded. "Those curls! I could look at them all day. No, I would want to do more than just look. Would want to touch…. And Glory Hallelujah, I'm so glad you're not Gary Cooper! Oh Rachel, stop staring at him like a lovesick teenage girl!"

She mentally kicked herself for the thought and managed to stammer, "I…I didn't say that Mr. Foyle, I just said it was too big. Perhaps you need to try a different size."

"Nnoo…had enough shopping for the day." He glanced down at the shopping bags on the floor by her feet and noticed the way she was leaning against the counter. "Have you?"

"Oh yes! All I want is to collapse in a chair somewhere and not move for a while!"

He smiled ever so briefly, his lips turned down. Rachel found that nearly nonexistent smile so appealing she was tempted to do or say something ridiculous to see if she could coax another one from him. She couldn't help but wondering if he effected other women this way which led to something she hadn't contemplated since they'd met the previous day. "Wonder if he's married? He's mentioned his son, but not a wife. Isn't wearing a wedding ring, but that doesn't mean anything. I would like to know, but don't feel "brave" enough to ask him outright. Hmm… maybe he'll tell me… eventually. Why even worry about it? It's not like I'm…"

"Rachel?"

"Oh, sorry. My attention span is short for some reason." She was lying big time and the reason was standing right across from her! "I'm ready to get something to eat, maybe my mind will stay on track after a little rest and some food."

"Mmm…maybe... Let's go have lunch." Before Rachel could pick up her shopping bags, Foyle had them in his hands, indicating with nod of his head toward the door that he was ready to leave the haberdashery.

She responded with a hasty "yes sir" and a regret that she hadn't been able to grab hold of the shopping bag that held the new underthings she'd purchased that morning. Rachel felt she'd fulfilled her quota of embarrassment in the presence of Christopher Foyle.

They ate lunch in companionable silence. Although she was comfortable in his presence, Rachel had no idea how to make small talk with the man seated across the table from her. Every topic of conversation that came to mind was quickly dismissed because it seemed trivial or just down right foolish. She wanted to know more about him and his life in Hastings, but felt there was a boundary she shouldn't cross.

Finally, he broke the silence by asking her a question that confused her completely and made her wonder if she had misunderstood him. "Who's Barney?"

"Sir?" Rachel wracked her brain to remember when she would have mentioned Barney in any of their previous conversations. The only Barney she knew was in Hawaii and a dog at that! Oh well, she would answer his question anyway. "Mr. Foyle, Barney was an annoying little dog I once knew. I don't remember saying anything about him to you."

"You called out his name right before you woke up this morning. Seemed like you were having a bad dream."

Rachel glanced down at her scarred hand placed on the table and mumbled, "Yes, I was. Have them a lot." She then looked up at him and added, "It happens nearly every night. I can't remember what it's like not to have bad dreams when I sleep, even during naps."

Now Foyle knew he was wading into deep water. It was evident that Rachel was troubled by something in the past that she couldn't accept or let go. Did he even want to delve into what it might be? "Don't have to know…isn't necessary…might upset her…but I want to know the cause of sadness that's ever present in those green eyes and behind her smile." The impulse to cover her hand with his own was strong but he held back, as he so often did with his emotions.

Rachel held back as well. It would have been so easy to let the whole story of what happened at Pearl Harbor rush out of her in a torrent, but she believed telling it would be more painful than reliving it in dreams. In her mind it also meant that she accepted her losses from that awful day and she wasn't ready to acknowledge that the life she'd planned was gone forever.

The silence between them returned, but it was not a comfortable one. Foyle was afraid to ask and let his emotional guard down and Rachel was afraid to talk about the cause of her bad dreams and relive the pain of that distant December morning.

Rachel and Foyle were outside the restaurant before she said anything else to him and it was only to tell him that she had to make one last stop before returning to the hotel. "I've got to find a pharmacy and pick up a few things. Please don't let me hold you up in completing your business for today."

Was she, as the Americans say, giving him the "brush off"? Foyle worried his bottom lip for half a second before telling her, "No more business for me today. Could come with you to do your last bit of shopping and then we could share a cab back to the hotel."

The almost childlike expectancy in his eyes tugged at her heart and put away any notion of wanting to be alone. Rachel decided just being with him was more important than the potential questions he might ask her while they were together. "Sure Mr. Foyle, that's alright with me."

His mouth spread into an almost imperceptible grin. "Saw a pharmacy in the next block."

Rachel returned his grin with a broad smile. "Oh good, I think I can just about drag myself there."

Foyle reached out to take some of the shopping bags Rachel had been holding. His fingertips brushed her hand and she felt a warmth radiating from them that was comforting and she wished for a moment that he'd taken her hand instead. "Th...thank you. It will help me get there a little quicker if I'm not lugging all this stuff by myself."

"Yup."

They'd only walked a few feet when someone behind them called out, "Hey baby! What's a cute little dame like you doing with that old man?"

Rachel froze in place and Foyle halted beside her. Through clinched teeth she hissed, "Oh… hell… no! No one is going to talk that way to me… or you, Sir."

What Foyle saw when he looked at her was not a face red with embarrassment, but with anger. She thrust the bags she'd been holding into his already full hands and took off in the direction of the offender at full speed. When Rachel finally stopped she was toe to toe with an enormous man wearing a sailor's uniform. Only eye level with his torso, she had to lean back her head to see his face. The self-satisfied smirk she saw there only served to fuel the fury burning inside of her.

"You jackass! How… dare… you… behave that way, especially when you're wearing the uniform of the United States Navy! Shame on you!"

Christopher Foyle watched the scene playing out before him wondering if he should intervene or wait to see what would happen next. "Rachel, just ignore him and walk away!"

The sailor looked down at her and chuckled. "And just what are you gonna do about it Shorty? Don't think the old man is gonna be much help to you now. What is he anyway? Your father?" An evil grin spread across his face and he added, "By the look of all those shopping bags he's holding, I bet he's your sugar daddy. Hmm… you must be doing something extra special for him in exchange for all that stuff."

Rachel's hackles rose and she stood on tip toe as she blasted him with a rapid fire verbal assault which she punctuated with a jab to his stomach . "Look you SOB! That man is not my "sugar daddy", he's my friend. And what's more, I bought all "that stuff" with my own money! And… and he's not OLD!"

He threw back his head and let out a loud guffaw. "Well Shorty, you must be blind, 'cause he don't look like no spring chicken to me!"

Rachel kicked him hard on the shin of his left leg, causing him to howl and rub the injury while he shouted "Dammit girl! You didn't have to do that!"

For Foyle this was the last straw! He wasn't going to just observe anymore. He dropped everything he was holding onto the sidewalk and advanced towards the battling duo, calling out to her, "Rachel, enough of this! Let's go now!"

She was so consumed with anger that Foyle's directive sounded like an insect buzzing in her ears. All her attention was focused on the sailor. "Apologize for the things you said about me and my friend or I'll do it again!"

"Oh no you won't," he growled, raising a ham sized fist to strike her.

Foyle pulled Rachel backwards just before the sailor's fist connected with her face and whipped her around in the opposite direction with a firm grip on her arm. Although he spoke to her in a low, even tone it was evident by the look in his eyes that he wouldn't accept any objections to his course of action. "Keep moving. Don't look back. We're going back to the hotel now."

They stopped long enough to gather up Rachel's shopping bags and continued walking. Foyle was quite aware that the sailor was about to catch up with them and kept a firm grip on his young companion's elbow with one hand while signaling a passing cab with the other. No sooner than the driver pulled up to the curb, he jerked opened the rear passenger door, pushed Rachel and all her bags into the back seat of the cab. He then got in beside her, closed and locked the door just seconds before their pursuer caught up with them.

Immediately the cabbie pulled his car away from the red faced, cursing behemoth in a naval uniform. He drove a full block before asking, "What was that all about? You two were real lucky I picked you up when I did. That guy looked like he woulda made mincemeat outta you."

Ignoring the cabbie's remarks, Foyle simply ordered, "Hotel Harrington, please."

"Yes sir, right away."

Rachel made a sideways glance in Foyle's direction and then turned her whole body away from him, staring out the window while silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She was sure that he was angry with her and that distressed her more than how foolish she felt for confronting the sailor who'd insulted them. The scenery passed by in a blur and she didn't realize they had arrived at their destination until he touched her shoulder. She turned to face him but kept her eyes focused on the space between them, not daring to look up.

"Now she's afraid of me. Doesn't she understand that I was only trying to protect her?" Foyle pushed the brim of his hat back, exhaled a long, loud sigh and then proceeded to chew furiously on his bottom lip.

She blinked and tears that had been welling in her eyes splashed on his coat. Now it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her. Instead, Christopher Foyle focused on helping Rachel out of the cab, retrieving her shopping bags and paying the cabbie. A bellman took charge of the bags and followed them into the hotel lobby.

Foyle gently took hold of Rachel's elbow, guiding her toward the elevator. At first she struggled to pull away but yielded to him. All too soon he would tell her that he'd had enough of her foolish behavior and their brief friendship would end. She was sure of it.


A\N- The Raleigh Haberdashery, commonly called Raleigh's, was a high end men's and women's apparel store opened on February 16, 1911 on Pennsylvania Avenue in the Raleigh Hotel. The downtown store moved to 1310 F Street in 1923. The store closed in 1992.

Finally, Howard Paige has made his first and far from last appearance in this story. Pity his secretary, Martha Ellis. She must know about most of the skeletons in her bosses' closet and it's probably quite full of them!

Now Our Detective has his work cut out for him if he wants to know what Rachel is holding back from him.

Many thanks for reading this chapter. Please review if the spirit moves you!