Chapter 2

The ensuing afternoon stripped away the months that had come between them, and it soon felt like their Hasting days: once again rushing about, trying to put two and two together. It went horribly wrong, however, when they arrived at the victim's flat. Men in masks had burst in, running rods over and around them that clicked furiously. Sam couldn't believe it when the men explained they were in danger from exposure from radiation. Sam and Foyle had been taken to a special doctor and told to wash thoroughly. Their clothes were taken away and they were both given rough cast offs from bits of different uniforms from the war.

Sam was mortified and begged to be let go - she was missing Adam's interview for local MP, and she knew it would let him down terribly.

"But I must go," she pleaded, "There is somewhere I have to be!"

"Not until you are cleared by the quack," the young man in uniform said, closing the door firmly.

Sometime later, after the doctor had kept her waiting for nearly an hour, Sam was cleared to leave. She glared at the door after the doctor went out, and felt her eyes pricking with tears of frustration. Things had been tense between her and Adam already lately, and this would really be the last straw. He had been so adamant that she needed to be there at this interview. Not that Sam felt she would be much help. She didn't know the first thing about politics and had only felt more and more alone as Adam was whisked away each day, campaigning. No money of course, so she was working to keep them both. In a way, it rankled, as she had always been told a husband would look after her. She didn't mind working, but she didn't feel looked after at all.

"Mr Foyle saw me for half a minute," she mused as she pulled on a pair of too big overalls, "And he knew something was up. Adam never seems to notice."

She immediately felt ungracious thinking that, though. Things at the beginning were always tough, weren't they? Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes, come in," she called, pinning up her hair as it tumbled away in long curls.

Foyle's head came around the door and she heard him breath in sharply. He cleared his throat, "Er, has the doctor seen you?"

"Yes, sir - you?"

"Yes, cleared for duty." He came all the way in, leaving the door open. He was in a tan shirt, most likely from an army uniform, with brown braces holding up a pair baggy trousers. He stood very straight, looking slightly uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothes. He held a khaki, army issue jacket in his hands. Sam felt her pulse quicken.

"You all right?" he asked.

Sam nodded, which loosened a bit of hair. She saw his eyes watching it as it fell down her shoulder and across her breast, and she blushed - not with embarrassment but with pleasure. She'd forgotten what it felt like to have a man's eyes appraise and appreciate. Meeting his gaze, she asked, "What have they done with our clothes?"

"Burnt them, I'm afraid."

"What!?" Sam looked horrified. She didn't have many clothes to begin with, and now hardly any money to spend on new ones.

Foyle seemed to read her mind, and said soothingly, "I think we can convince the Service to get us some decent replacements."

"I jolly well hope so," said Sam, feeling put out. Foyle said nothing, but continued to watch her, as if waiting for her to speak her mind.

"I've missed Adam's interview," she stated, picking at a loose thread. "Fine mess you've gotten us into," she added petulantly.

Foyle looked at her calmly, raising one eyebrow.

Then Sam said softly, "Do you know, I'm not sure I even care. Isn't that awful?"

If Foyle was surprised, he didn't show it, but merely listened quietly, watching her face intently.

"Things keep going wrong, and suddenly you are here, accusing me of being a spy, and I lose my job...and Adam doesn't seem to notice anything unless it's politics...and how will we pay the rent now? I can't seem to do anything right. I can't keep a job...can't keep a b- ...But...you're back...you're here, so everything should be right, and yet it isn't..." Sam faltered, not quite meeting Foyle's eye this time.

He was beside her in two strides and she jumped when she heard the door click shut. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat.

"I'm here," Foyle said simply, catching her hand, holding it tightly in his. He saw her tears, and felt guilty for making her cry twice in one day.

"I didn't think you were a spy - really, Sam." His voice sounded slightly incredulous.

His other hand went instinctively to brush away her tears. "Do you want to know what I think? I think you are the bravest young women I've ever met. You astonish me at every turn. You have survived a war and you are making your way in life. You are bright, ever so hard working, Sam, so caring, so lovely. I know you realise life isn't easy, but you have a spirit that will not be broken, and I know you will overcome this rough period."

Foyle pulled her close and felt her chin nestle into his shoulder; smelled the carbolic soap. He felt the shudders of sobs rise and fall in her chest and whispered, "My hanky was burnt, unfortunately, so a sleeve will have to do."

She half laughed and half sobbed and he patted her back, rocking slightly and holding her tight against him. "Dear Sam. I would do anything to make it all better. To protect you and bring the sunshine back into your life - but I can't. It is something you must do for yourself. It is your life."

She murmured, "But I'm nearly thirty, and I've messed it all up."

"Have you? Maybe things happen as they do because they are meant to be." Foyle sighed, "I'm not sure. But - " he paused, "I am sure of this: I'm glad to be here with you, to see you again. I...I...well...I" he stopped.

Sam had stiffened and pulled her head back to look at him. They were so close - closer than they'd ever been before. She could see the stubble forming on his cheeks. There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes as he stared, unable to speak for the lump that had grown in his throat.

Her fingers grasped Foyle's borrowed braces, holding on for dear life, "You are right, sir. Things do happen for a reason, don't they. Like today - I didn't make Adam's interview because I was meant to be here with you."

Foyle found his voice, "I'm not sure that...that wasn't what I meant, you know. Do you really think..." he stopped again, for once eloquence eluding him in this unfamiliar territory.

He cleared his voice, picking his words carefully, "Look, I don't want to get rounded up by the service and debriefed just now - I want to talk with you properly without fear of interruption."

He took one of her hands gently in his own and pulled her towards the door. "Let's go back to the hotel, get something to eat and have a good long chat."

Sam just nodded and followed, allowing him to guide her back to where they had begun that very morning.

Walking through London in the late afternoon had a strangely calming effect on them both. Anonymous in the crowds of bustling humanity, the awkwardness that would have otherwise descended upon them slipped away. Foyle kept her hand firmly in his, and no one spared them a glance. Each person on the street was in their own world, and for the first time, Foyle didn't feel self conscious. He was looking after Sam, and that's all that mattered. Subconsciously, he had seen the look in her eyes - she hadn't been able to mask it. He hoped he'd been able to. It both frightened and exhilarated him.

Foyle hailed a cab as soon as he saw one, and he put Sam in first. Luckily, Hilda Pierce had replaced some of the things that he'd had in his pockets, money being one of them. They sat crushed together in the cab as it drove them to the hotel. Foyle's entire right side burned and tingled where it touched the length of Sam. He did not move away, but mentally began to calm himself, chewing his lip. Instead of letting his thoughts get the better of him, he thought pragmatically about the next steps. He rubbed his chin as he realised he would have to telephone Adam Wainwright.

They hadn't said a word the entire trip, nor had Foyle released Sam's hand. Once at the hotel, Foyle finally broke the silence, "I have a sitting room attached to my, um, well, would you come upstairs? I'll send for some tea."

Sam nodded, and followed him.

Foyle noticed the contented curl of her lip and the ease of which she moved with him. The hotel lobby was loud and busy, and no one noticed them. Perhaps the fates are with us, Foyle mused to himself. He said softly, "I'll meet you on the first floor landing; I'll just get they key."

Leaving her side briefly, he retrieved his key from the harried receptionist, and raced up the steps with a youthful bound. He resisted the urge to take her hand again once he found her in the corridor. Sam kept finding his eyes - she had a wonderful tendency to sink into the blue of them, to melt into them, as if she knew what he was thinking. It made Foyle shiver with a pleasant awareness.

Unlocking the door, he ushered her in. He pointed to the bathroom, "You can freshen up if you like." He paused, "I need to make a telephone call."

Sam nodded dutifully, still not saying a word. It was the quietest Foyle had ever known her to be, and in other circumstances he would be concerned. This time, however, he understood. She was taking it all in. It had been a shocking day. He realised he was being extremely bossy.

"But she needs that just now," he reasoned. He picked up the telephone and was soon put through to the Wainwright residence.

"Wainwright," an anxious voice said.

"Adam, Christopher Foyle here."

"Mr Foyle, thank God - have you seen Sam at all? She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth and - "

Foyle interrupted, "Yes, she's here with me." He heard Adam sigh in relief. "She's fine. A bit of shock - unfortunately got caught up in the work I'm doing here in London and- "

This time Adam interrupted, "Can she come home? I want to speak with her. She missed my interview and I jolly well think I've lost the candidacy now. Wives are meant to be by their husband's side you know, and well, typical Sam, she's left me in the lurch. What on earth were you doing, getting her mixed up in your business?"

Foyle's voice went icy, "It was unintentional, I assure you."

He cleared his throat and continued, hating the fib he was about to tell, "We had a dose of radiation exposure. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. But the Security Services want to keep us isolated and run some tests. I can't be sure when they'll let us go."

"Right." Adam sounded put out. "So, she's all right then? Really, Sam gets into the most peculiar trouble."

Foyle glared at the ceiling and stopped short of rolling his eyes, "Yes."

"Do you know, Mr Foyle, whenever you and Sam are near each other, some disaster happens. She goes off like a puppy, following your every move and usually gets herself into some mess. Her father always said so, and some of the stories she's told me...You should bloody well leave her alone. Leave us alone."

Foyle understood Adam had every right to be angry with him. Sam was his, Adam's, wife after all. But Foyle disliked the young man even more than before, and if not for the telephone between them, would have gladly throttled him.

"Yes, well, that's not up to me, quite frankly. Sam's been pulled into this investigation, whether any of us like it or not. Look, you can discuss this with her later. She's in safe hands for now."

"I'm sure," Adam replied, a hint of jealousy in the edge of his voice. "Goodbye." He rang off, leaving Foyle looking at the receiver with some anger. His opinion of Adam Wainwright was dropping with each breath.

He heard a movement behind him.

"Not exactly a sitting room, sir."

Foyle and Sam both burst out laughing. Setting themselves into armchairs that stood in front of the tiny gas heater, Foyle looked around. She was right of course, Foyle conceded. A bed, night stand, small desk and chair, wardrobe and the two armchairs made up the room, leaving it fairly cramped. It overlooked the back of the hotel, which had a surprisingly pleasant garden.

Sam had found her voice, and began asking questions. "Why did you ring Adam? I could have done that. And why the fib about the Security Services keeping us?"

"I apologise, it was presumptuous of me, Sam. I was just trying to think of all the necessities. Of course you may go straight home, but I thought perhaps talking things over might first might help."

"Is he annoyed with me?"

Foyle twitched his lips, "Well...you'll need to speak with him eventually. I think he was just anxious."

"You know, sir, it hasn't been...easy...between Adam and I lately. I think this was really the last thing."

Foyle said, "I'm sorry you became involved."

Frowning, Sam waved it away, "No, no need." She continued, "He's the type of person who likes to make big plans, but hardly ever is able to see them through. And then, of course, he blames someone else for that. Which, these days, is me. I don't know why I didn't see it before. Suppose I was taken in by the charm and grand ideas. It sounded good at the end of the war, you see, sir, something to cling to."

Foyle nodded, narrowing his eyes, "It doesn't mean it is your fault though. Forgive me asking...er...Do you love him?"

Sam looked slightly surprised at the question, "Well. I thought I did. Now, I realise I loved the idea of it all."

"Is it why you choose not to mention what happened to you - what you told me this morning?"

"I suppose so. I felt it would be something I would be blamed for again. My ... inadequacy." Sam's voice broke slightly, and Foyle bit his lip, cursing bloody Adam Wainwright with all his heart.

"Again, Sam, it isn't your fault. I know it feels like that, but please trust me when I say it isn't." He looked at her earnestly and with such clear eyes, that Sam felt a warmth spread through her. Her shoulders relaxed, and she felt able to speak about all the things that had troubled her since Foyle had left for America.

They spoke for over an hour, and Foyle could see the years slipping from her face as she opened up. Hearing her tummy growl with hunger, Foyle got up and picked up the telephone, ordering tea to be sent up.

"With extra scones, please," he said into the receiver, winking at Sam.