A/N: "Write what you know," writers are always advised. And it is a good idea to do that, as it enables you to sound credible as you create (or base stories upon) a fictional world. So just what made me decide to insert into a Foyle's War fanfic an Indian lady love for Andrew? And for that matter, Ellie's enchantment with horses? I know very little about India or horses, and even less about Indian politics of the 1940s (though Gandhi is next in our Netflix queue, and before writing this chapter and the last, I watched and read all of The Jewel in the Crown, Bhowani Junction, and other films set in India, and did some other reading. And I admittedly love going off on these research tangents).

So I can only offer this caveat as I belatedly give you this new chapter… and earnestly hope you'll feel free to correct me if I go astray. Fortunately I have great beta help from Jewell and additions and beta from GiuC, and even a generous horse-breeding advisor, mohairMK. Thank you, dear friends!

Chapter 4

As Andrew and Madhirakshi explained to Christopher and Sam over a pot of tea, the likeliest reason for Ellie's sudden evaporation would have been her shyness of the lady in the sari. "I could tell she was fascinated," Andrew laughed, "but she also seemed a bit…"

"Well, dumbstruck," supplied the young Indian woman, elegant eyebrows arching as she smiled.

Sam chuckled, tactfully not looking at her husband. "Yes, Ellie is sometimes overwhelmed by things she finds dazzling. How long have you been here in England, Madhirakshi?"

"Please, Mrs Foyle, my friends call me 'Madhi'. Ever so much easier… though my mother scolds that it sounds too much like an Islamic messiah." She rolled her dark eyes prettily into a sidelong glance at Andrew, but Foyle noted a tightening of his son's jaw.

"Very well, Madhi! But only if you call me Sam."

"Thank you, Sam. Well, I am finishing my first year at Oxford in a few months. And though I lived in Calcutta" (she pronounced this Kolkata, as Andrew was getting used to hearing it now) "with my parents until I began my studies, I had visited often. My father is a breeder of horses, you see, and…"

Foyle's eyebrows were the elevated ones this time, and he smiled crookedly. "Ah! Does Ellie know that?"

Madhi shook her head slowly. "But that was in part what Andrew and I were discussing earlier, you see; how much she may enjoy my stories about growing up around them. Papa and his father before him were breeders, and have done much travelling… just now he is consulting with Mrs Kortran about an American breed! He always has loved them and devoted a great deal of attention to his work. I sometimes fear that he is so wrapped up in his horses, he is ignoring the unrest which plagues our country…" A shadow crossed her face.

"My parents are… I have worried about their safety. Although they are a most traditional—and Brahmin—Indian family, my father always valued highly a British education, and is cast in the mould of a British gentleman."

She paused, and as Sam nodded in empathy, Christopher found himself impressed by the girl's lack of loftiness in describing her caste and her privileges. Madhi seemed, above all, troubled and careful in what she told them.

"My own feelings," she went on, "are torn. We are not Anglo-Indian, but in the company of Anglo-Indians I know, I am at ease. My schooling, and my ways, have made things so. I cannot separate those parts of me that are both Indian and English…"

Foyle pursed his lips. "Your Mr Gandhi has a mind to separate those parts of you."

Madhi's eyes lit up at an informed opinion, and the prospect of a small debate. "Oh, but I think the Mahatma is right, Sir, and that India should be its own country."

Sam nodded her encouragement. The subject, until now, had not been one she'd had a personal reason to think much about, but it fitted with her sense of fairness.

"Madhi's parents are another story, though," interjected Andrew.

Madhi lowered her gaze sadly. "Never have they been very political, but my father's general belief is that we have been better off under British rule. Of course it is very helpful that he is of high caste, and can command a measure of respect,"—the young woman paused reflectively, before continuing with a hint of acerbity—"or seems to, from many British clients and friends. But the irony is…" she took a deep breath and glanced worriedly at Andrew. "…my parents remain traditional enough to frown on my… association with Andrew."

Sam nodded slowly as her husband worked his inner cheek. "Have you met them, Andrew?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said, then added darkly, "but there's a visit on the cards."

Foyle canted his head, eyes widening at his son.

"When I am in Oxford, I have my auntie staying with me," Madhi explained. "She is traditionally minded also, which is why you see me dressed like this… My own taste is for European clothing, but Auntie harangues me so much when I wear it, and then, well, Andrew rather likes this, too," she gave a balletic sweep of her hand from shoulder to hip, then, realising what she had let slip, blushed beautifully. Foyle and Sam hid smiles behind their teacups.

Just then, Ellie, who had risen from an imposed nap in a proper bed for an additional hour, entered rubbing her eyes, and clutching a small pale-blue vinyl stuffed horse, complete with painted red bridle and feminine eyelashes. She hovered by her father's knee until he picked her up and sat her between him and Samantha.

"Who's coming, Andoo?" Her small mouth stretched into a yawn. Christopher's finger slipped under her jaw, closing her mouth. "You'll catch a fly," he whispered.

"Madhi's parents, Ell. They live in far-off In-JUH." Andrew said this in stentorian, C. Aubrey Smith tones, then attempted a smile over Ellie's delighted giggles.

Once again the little girl was darting bashfully flirtatious glances in Madhirakshi's direction, and the young woman levelled her illuminated smile at the tot.

"You like horses, Ellie?"

The little girl nodded, eyes alight at the expression of interest, and stroked her pony shyly. "This is Philly!"

Madhi clasped her hands together. "She's beautiful. And what a clever name!" She nonchalantly brushed invisible lint from her elegant skirts. "Do you know I have been riding since I was nearly as small as you, Priya. I had a Manipuri pony when we lived in Calcutta."

Just as Foyle expected, his daughter's saucer eyes sought his. "Ooh, Daddy! The lady had a Manny-pony! Can I…?"

He shook his head imperceptibly, and said firmly, "Not quite yet." But his eyes twinkled.

"Ellie," Madhi reached across to tickle the toy horse's muzzle, setting her wrist bangle jingling. Her eyes gleamed. "Now, I even had an uncle in Jodhpur who bred the Marwari horses. I will bring you a photograph. So tall and regal. Their ears do this!" Madhi cupped her hands slightly and held them above her head, fingers touching.

Ellie tried to follow suit, to soft laughs from the family.

"Also, they turn… they swivel!" Madhi rotated her wrists as much as she could and then, with fascinating flexibility, brought the tips of some of her fingers together again.

Ellie was entranced. "Oooh! Can I see a Mar-ee horse?"

Madhi turned to Andrew, who pondered a moment; then offered, "The Oxford polo chaps do stable some, I believe. Witney way."

"Jo-da-poo-ra horses!" chanted Ellie, copying her Indian lady's voice. Her toy horse tucked between her legs, she started bouncing up and down in her seat. "Take me, Andoo, pleeease!"

A trip to see the ponies planned for the following weekend, Andrew and his father sat beside the hearth, each savouring a whisky while Sam tackled the washing up. From the other room they could hear Ellie's excited stream of chatter as she sat on a kitchen chair beside the sink, pestering her amused mother with horse-related plans.

Foyle leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and looked Andrew in the eye.

"When exactly did you realise she'd given her chaperone the slip to join you here?"

Andrew fingered his glass and looked askance. "Not soon enough. That girl can spin a tale like Kipling."

Foyle grinned acknowledgement. "Yeah, well… the pitfalls of attraction. But you and this girl seem to be quite serious about each other—don't you think you'd better learn to play lip service to the culture?" Nothing in his tone denoted disapproval, but his concerns were evident in his steady gaze, and the slight puckering just between his eyes.

Andrew closed his eyes, tilting back his head in a gesture that seemed to combine bliss with weariness. Then he took a sip of his drink and looked steadily at his father again.

"I never would have thought I had a chance with Madhirakshi, Dad. I mean, for all her modern ways, it's just as she said: she comes from a traditional family, and…" Imitating Madhi's imitation of her father, he said in an unexaggerated Indian accent, "'The British are all well and fine I'm sure, but ve vish you to marry inside your own religion.' …Then, too, I'm pushing thirty, and she's only nineteen."

Foyle rolled his eyes and said quietly, "No comment."

"Oh. Yes. Well, same sort of thing: she's uncommonly level-headed and courageous. Do you know, she used to volunteer at a nursery school, and she hid seven children from Muslim insurgents?"

Andrew's father smiled at him. They'd both picked plucky women. "Reckon she and Sam could swap some stories on that score."

TBC…