Chapter 9

Foyle felt something akin to fear as he placed the key in the front door lock. How long since he'd crossed this threshold? He hadn't lived in his father's house for almost four years, but he'd been here just before he left for France.

Mum had made all his favourites for a farewell dinner—so much food—kedgeree, roast beef, creamed spinach, even a trifle. She'd worked so hard, but she sobbed all the way through dinner. Christopher valiantly tried to eat but it was difficult with the lump stuck in his throat. It was the last time he saw his father. If he had known, it certainly would have been much worse.

Caroline cleared her throat, breaking Foyle out of his reverie. He glanced back at her and saw the sympathy on her face. He took a breath, turned the lock and opened the door to usher this special woman inside.

He looked around nervously, but led Caroline to the settee in the parlour and then set to work starting a fire. The house had a chill but was clean and had been aired recently; Mrs Neagle was taking good care.

He arose from the fireplace and then stood glancing around and fidgeting. Caroline empathised but also was amused. The young soldier who had captured her heart was usually calm and composed. She knew it wasn't her presence that was causing him to worry his lower lip that way—at least, not for the most part.

"Why don't you show me around?"

"Ahhh, yes. Not much to show."

Foyle took Caroline through the small dining room into the kitchen, ignoring the door that led off from the parlour. The kitchen was bright and cheery with its crisp red-and-white curtains and tablecloth.

"Shall I put the kettle on?" Caroline asked.

"Yes. That is, I assume there is tea, and sugar. But milk... ?" As she lit the burner he quickly looked and found both tea and sugar, but no milk. "I guess we'll have to make do until I can get to the shop."

"Still, a cup of tea will be nice."

They walked out into the garden back of the house. It was small but had been well-tended and laid out in with an imaginative eye for design.

"My father's pride and joy," Christopher said, taking in the garden with a sweep of his right arm.

"It looks lovely. I imagine he worked very hard out here. And everything is just now starting to bloom and leaf out... Oh, it's just so sad. I'm sorry, Christopher."

"Yesss..." More agitated mouth-quirking. "Shall we see if the kettle has boiled?"

They went back inside the house, where Caroline prepared a tray so they could take their tea in the parlour.

"No milk, no biscuits—I wonder what else?" he grumbled. "I'll have to go collect some things straight away. Help me make a list?"

Over the rest of their tea they made a list of necessities, talking as they did so about rationing caused by the war and what should be available and what definitely would not be.

"Will you stay here after you're released from hospital? Or will it be too difficult?" Caroline asked, laying her hand atop his.

Christopher glanced down at their hands and back up to Caroline's face. "I imagine I shall stay here; it will be all right. It's just getting used to the... the emptiness."

He turned his hand up and intertwined his fingers with hers. "I'm glad you're here. Thank you."

She smiled and gave Christopher a kiss on the cheek.

"Now, you should show me the rest of your house. I want to see your room. The realm of the young Christopher Foyle," she added dramatically.

Foyle followed her up the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to avoid watching the slight sway of her hips as she ascended. His mind drifting elsewhere, he was startled when Caroline stopped at the top of the stairs. She gave him a questioning look.

"My parents' room to the left, bathroom straight ahead, and to the right, the realm."

Caroline stepped to the left and briefly looked from the doorway into Christopher's parents' neat, traditionally appointed room. Then she went on down the hallway, slowing as she joined Christopher in his boyhood bedroom.

He was standing just inside the doorway of a small sunlit room. The room was dominated by a large wooden bedstead and by bookcases up to the windowsills along all sides. An embroidered bed cover was tucked neatly over the mattress. A small wardrobe stood against the only part of a wall not covered with books.

Caroline looked up at Foyle, who looked preoccupied, slightly lost. She placed her hand on his forearm, and he smiled gently at her.

"It seems so different. So long ago. I've changed so much."

"Has it been so much, Christopher? Aren't you just the same man with different experiences?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps."

Caroline, attempting to lighten his mood, remarked, "That is quite a large bed for a young boy's room. Did you have a tendency to fall out?"

Foyle twisted his lips up into a self-mocking little smile and replied, looking at the bed but not at her, "I'll have you know that this fine bed is the total of my inheritance from my grandparents—last male heir and such. I know it's much too big for the size of the room, but I loved it. Many a battle has been fought over that great expanse of counterpane."

Caroline began inspecting the books in the cases. It was an eclectic variety. Science, history, economics, politics, and philosophy, together with a good selection of literature. Shakespeare, Dickens, Eliot, Shelley, Conrad, Stevenson, Verne and Kipling.

She looked at him with a cheeky grin. "The Legend of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. The children's version, I presume."

He smiled shyly and moved towards her, but she sidestepped him and continued to examine the bookshelves. Her eyes were drawn to some brightly covered books tucked in the corner.

"Wait—what's this? Boys of England, UnionJack, Ha' Penny Marvel—you read penny dreadfuls!" Suddenly she turned to him. "Jack Harkaway or Sexton Blake?"

Foyle's only response was wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

She chuckled. "Oh yes, I read them too. Of course I had to sneak them from my brothers, as it was 'not proper reading material for a nice young lady.' I don't believe Mum entirely approved of Tom and Richard reading penny dreadfuls, but her precious daughter must be protected by all means from such horrors!

"Now Sergeant Foyle, answer my question: Jack Harkaway or Sexton Blake?"

Foyle appeared taken aback by the intensity of the question. He gazed at Caroline, then glanced at the floor before looking up with his answer.

"Well... Sexton Blake..." He noted a baleful glance sent his way, "was good fun, but I much preferred Jack Harkaway."

Caroline nodded and looked pleased.

"Oh yes, Jack Harkaway was always my favourite—his adventures were the best."

He grinned, but their eyes met and held for long seconds.

"The schoolboy's code of honour," Christopher mused aloud. "It may sound naive, Caroline, but I never meant to break it." His smile had dimmed and become rueful; pain overflowed his eyes.

They both knew what each of them had dreamed of doing if they could be together alone like this, and they both knew it could never be with unalloyed happiness.

She stepped towards him, held his hands in hers. "I know it, my darling. And I never meant to break the vow I made on my wedding day, even knowing I didn't truly love the man I was marrying." She looked deep into his eyes as she moved closer, and his good arm curved around her as naturally as the tendrils of a vine.

Caroline whispered, "But if one is wed to someone dishonourable? And if she is in love for the first time—passionately in love—with a man who is honourable? What then, Christopher?"

He held her close, lovingly rubbing her cheek with his, trying to think straight about too many things at once, finding himself able to concentrate only on the way her slender body felt pressed tight along his, and on the clean light scent of her hair and skin, which reminded him of fresh linens.

Caroline stroked his hair, then swirled two fingers over the texture of the close-cropped hair at his nape as she gently kissed his ear. He could not decide which of the two tiny gestures was the more stimulating.

Then she drew back and brought her soft lips up to his, and he surrendered to kissing her as he had longed to for days... as he had done in his dreams. They both felt the effect the kiss had on him, but he was unable to care any longer about whether it was right for him to want her, to need her as much as she needed him.

He took a deep breath as he reluctantly pulled back and looked into her sweet eyes again.

"Caroline, I've never... that is, I'm not... experienced." He bowed his head in embarrassment, wondering if she would think him less manly for his innocence.

Tears came to her eyes as she realised she would be his first lover, and she was suffused with tenderness for him.

"It won't matter at all, Christopher. You'll just somehow know what to do, but if you are unsure, just tell me. I'll be with you."

And as he bent to kiss her with all his heart and soul, he knew it would always be true.

TBC…