Emma de los nardos
Note for FS: No se como sabias que yo iba a entender tu nota, pero me encanta el hecho que me escribas en castellano. Tus comentarios me han animado mucho a continuar la historia. Espero que te guste. EN
Sam woke in the middle of the night with an intense craving for a cigarette. Foyle didn't smoke, and she doubted that he would appreciate if she smoked in the house, so she grabbed a pack of fags and a book of matches, threw her coat over her nightgown and went out his front door. She sat on the steps and lit a cigarette, looking down the darkened street for passersby. It was three in the morning. She was alone with the night.
Sam had not smoked before she moved to Hastings, but she had quickly taken to the calming, precise ritual of smoking. She blew delicate rings of smoke into the darkness as she sat and thought about the last few days. Her life had changed, again, taking another sudden turn when her house was destroyed, just as it had changed when she joined the MTC, then changed again when she was posted to the Hastings police force as Foyle's driver, and had changed yet another time when she began to see her boss outside of work.
At the moment, she felt rather like a child who has been chastised for sampling the marmalade before teatime. Foyle had seemed to say to her, "Don't think about sex, you're too young for all that," while still hinting at the lovely things that adults experienced together. He was part of that world; she was not. It couldn't have been clearer to her.
And yet—why had he kissed her that way in the kitchen, coming upon her unawares, pressing his body against her back, kissing her neck and her chest so passionately? He could not be ignorant of the effect that such touch would have on her. Sam wondered what would have happened if she had not told him how much desire he made her feel when he kissed her like that. Her comment had seemed to still him. If she had remained silent, would he have continued? Sam was not even certain it was what she would have preferred, but to have been denied the opportunity by Foyle was humiliating.
Or was he repulsed by what I said about hunger and longing? Sam asked herself. Perhaps I came on rather strong. But—no! It wasn't just me. He was the one who said that sex was the most powerful force there was, and then refused to talk to me any more about it. The old sourpuss! She smiled, thinking of how Foyle might respond if she called him "old". It's not as if I'm Eve, tempting him with the fruit. Quite the opposite, really—he's the one who's already eaten from it, telling me that I shouldn't have any, "for my own good." So maddening! As if I didn't have the right to decide for myself!
The door behind her creaked and she saw Foyle standing there, in his dressing gown and slippers.
"Sam?" he asked, puzzled. "What are you doing here?" His forehead crinkled in bemusement. She noticed how the belt of his robe neatly cinched his trim waist. His hands in his pockets, chin bent down, he waited for her reply.
"I felt like a ciggie so I came out here," she explained lightly. "Didn't know how you would feel about me smoking in the house."
"Hmm," he murmured. "Planning to stay here for long?"
"At least until I finish this one," she said, gesturing to the newly lit cigarette between her fingers. Foyle thought for a moment. He could not read her mood just then. Did she want to be left alone, or did she want company? He decided to risk asking her.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, pointing to the space next to her on the step.
"You smoke?" she asked in surprise.
"I have been known to do so," he said drily. "Picked up the habit during the last war—who didn't?—but I fell out of it during the years I was playing in the police football league. It didn't help my lungs. But," he sighed, "as you know, I'm no longer playing, so I don't mind a smoke from time to time." He sat down next to her, as she did not protest. She handed him a cigarette and helped him to light it. He sat back, sighing as he took the first drag. There really is nothing like tobacco to calm the nerves, Foyle thought, then reflected that that meant that he was feeling nervous. But why should I be nervous right now? he asked himself, almost critically. I'm just sitting here with Sam.
Exactly. Foyle didn't know how things stood between them now, after the curt ending to their conversation last night. How could he tell her that he had not meant to sound as if he were rejecting her, but rather that he was clumsy when he came to talking about his feelings? He had made it seem as if Sam were the one who was crossing the bounds, when, if he were honest with himself, he knew that he was as much to blame.
"Sam—" he started.
"Hmm?" she looked up and over at him. They sat quite close together on the porch step, but there was still an inch of space between them. She could feel the heat from his body and, for a moment, considered moving closer to close the distance between the two of them. The fresh smell of his cologne reminded her that he had bathed just before he went to bed. She had heard the water running upstairs and, fleetingly, had imagined him in the same bathtub that she had vacated not hours before.
"Sam—just wanted to say—you know, earlier tonight—I spoke rather harshly to you, came off as a bit of a curmudgeon, I'm afraid." He turned to look at her and as he did so she noticed, again, how fine his profile was.
Sam raised her eyebrows, astonished that he would admit this outloud.
"Yesss," she said slowly. "I hate to agree with you, but there it is. You are a curmudgeon!" She laughed, wringing her hands in her lap. He stilled them with his own, taking her right hand in his. His touch felt calming, and Sam was briefly reassured that things right themselves.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You wanted to talk to me about something important, and I—I was surprised, Sam, and I mishandled the situation."
"Yes," she agreed again. "But what was so bad about my questions?"
Foyle scratched his head. His eyes grew wide as he considered what to say.
"I am stepping out with you; that we have agreed upon, am I right?" She nodded and he continued. "But apart from that, we don't know where things will go from here. You can't stay here forever, and you can't keep working as my driver and keep seeing me in private. We're in a bit of a mess right now, and I feel responsible. I don't know how to say this, Sam, without offending you, but I just don't want you to do anything that you might regret later."
"I think I can judge for myself what I might regret or not!" Sam said indignantly, pulling her hands away from his. He had not meant to do so, but he had become patronizing again, suggesting that he knew better than she did what was right for herself.
"I disagree," Foyle said coldly. "I'm sorry to have to point out the difference in our ages, but I do think that my experience counts for something here."
Sam sniffed in disbelief. "But the war—things are changing—you can't mean that we have to follow those same ridiculous rules we were talking about earlier!"
"I am afraid we do," Foyle said. "In fact, it may be more important now than ever to keep to form for form's sake."
"Please don't say such a thing," Sam said, a pleading note in her voice. "I can't bear it when you go all wise on me. I know I can't argue with your experience. But I notice things, too! I wasn't born yesterday! I can see enough to know that things are changing out there." She gestured expansively.
"Maybe so, but they haven't changed enough," Foyle said. "The fact still remains that you are my driver, and if anyone found out about us, my career would not be the only one at stake. Forget going back to the MTC—you would have to go back to Lyminster. And good luck getting a position in another force!"
"So, what you are saying is…?"
"Tomorrow I'll talk to Hugh Reid, a friend of mine. He has a daughter in the WRNS, living in Surrey. I'm sure he'd let you use her room, once I explained that you've been bombed out and haven't anywhere else to stay. He's in the police, too."
"No!" Sam said, forcefully, shaking her curls. "I can't believe you are doing this to me—kicking me out."
"It has to be this way, Sam," he said gently. "You can't keep staying here with me. What if it got out later that we had been seeing each other outside of work, too? What would Milner think? What would the police commissioner think?"
"Milner wouldn't care," Sam said, starting to cry. She dabbed at her eyes as she thought of how to answer him. "And I don't see why your commissioner should care about whom you see in your spare time."
Foyle sucked in his breath sharply. "Well, I am certain that it would be one more reason not to let me get involved with the war effort," he commented, "but most likely it would lead to my early retirement."
"And so you don't want to risk it," she stated flatly. He did not respond right away.
"Sam," he said, "I don't want to do this. I wish—what I told you the other night. I wish that I weren't your boss. I wish that I were 15 years younger. I wish—"
She cut him off, her voice angry and sorrowful all at once. "—I've heard enough of your wishes! What's the use of wishing if you can't make things happen?" She stood up, pulling her coat tighter around her. Foyle rose, too, and reached to put his hands on her shoulders. She pulled away from him, turning to enter the house.
"I'll leave tomorrow, Sir," she said pointedly. "But I don't want to lose any more sleep over this. Good night." He watched her retreat and felt a lump forming in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. There was no other way—they had to stop seeing each other outside of work—but hewing to duty made Foyle feel indescribably sad. Sad, and old. Wasn't that what old men did, cling to honor and tradition and rules? He must have lost the spark of youth, the rebellious spirit he once had had in spades. But he would not let his penchant for disobedience ruin this young woman's chances in life.
He wondered when he had turned into an old man, caring more about appearances than about substance. Foyle sighed as he followed Sam into the house, and upstairs to his own bedroom. She might be able to fall back asleep, but he was certain that it would be impossible for him.