Title: The Long Shadow

Authors: dancesabove and jewell

Rating: T+

Disclaimer: The creative rights to the characters and plotlines in Foyle's War belong to Anthony Horowitz, but no infringement is intended and we in no way profit from the story we've written.

A/N: Please don't read this story unless you've seen "The Hide," the final episode of Foyle's War.

Feedback: Always very welcome. Let us know!

Chapter 11

Late afternoon sun shone in Christopher's eyes and brought him reluctantly awake. He shifted just slightly, causing Caroline to murmur in her sleep as she nestled against his shoulder and chest. He studied the faintly blue-veined eyelids he had brushed lightly, reverently with his lips; the feathery lashes resting on her cheekbones. For the first time he noticed a light pattern of tiny freckles near and across her nose. Though she'd tugged up the bed sheet and counterpane for warmth, a graceful slope of bare shoulder was visible to him. Drawing a quick breath, he gently covered her and stroked her arm with one finger. He was seized again with the desire to touch and kiss every part of her.

Soon he must wake Caroline and send her away. The paradise of today would be gone. But she must get back to Brighton, back to her… home. She couldn't stay here with him unnoticed. Perhaps if she had been someone else, but a Lady with a houseful of servants… she couldn't stay here with him.

Servants, like anyone else, talked. As a policeman he knew them to be excellent sources of information. Even though he knew dear Caroline would have servants that were loyal to her and would not betray her, there were always others with indifferent loyalty, and there might be one allied with Charles who would notice if something were amiss. No, he needed to get Caroline on the train so she could return to Whitefriars as if she were coming from the hospital ward as usual.

Her husband was away this weekend; perhaps if her return appeared routine, she might come back here to him for at least part of the day tomorrow. Oh, if only...

Their love-making that morning and afternoon had been wonderful—better than wonderful—but words failed him. He was glad that he had held off his first experience in order to be with a woman he loved. To share something so thrilling with his love was incredible.

Earlier, after their first time together, they had both risen energised and hungry. Armed with the list they had put together, Christopher had hurried out to the shops. It was a busy shopping Saturday in this little outlying neighbourhood of Hastings. He stopped in briefly to the butcher's, with old Mr Derrick greeting him like a lost son. He chatted as much as custom dictated, but as little as possible, mindful of beauty awaiting.

Luckily he didn't recognise the young girl behind the counter at the bakery, and therefore didn't have to chat. She seemed unable to carry on a conversation anyway, blushing shyly and stammering the few words necessary to communicate with him. Not realising that he was the cause of this blushing and stammering, he just assumed that she was the exceptionally shy daughter.

At the greengrocer's, luck was once again against Foyle. Not only did he have to submit to Mrs Riddel's inspection, tut-tutting and gentle pats, but he also ran into a mate from school, George Hawkins.

George was just coming into the shop behind another customer, who mercifully had freed Christopher from the inquisitive clutches of Mrs Riddel. He was stealthily escaping when George appeared at the door.

"Christopher!" George boomed, "How good to see you! Wounded, eh? Do hope you're all right now."

Blast the Army for making me wear this bloody recovering soldier uniform! No privacy, at all!

The two stood on the step just outside the shop. "George, very glad to see you, how are you?"

"Very well, Christopher, very well indeed. I've taken a wife, you know."

"No, I didn't know. I'm happy for you. Who is she?"

"I don't believe you would have known her; Victoria Burns, from Brighton."

"Ah well, those Brighton girls have always been exceptional." He suppressed the broad smile he was tempted to display.

"Are you staying at the house? I'll fetch Victoria and we'll stop by this afternoon to—"

"Erm, no…no, this afternoon wouldn't do, I'm afraid. I uh, I'm expected back at hospital…"

"Oh," George gave his old school chum an uncertain look, but recovered quickly with a smile and said, "Of course. Some other time."

"Yes… when I get my official release I'll be staying here until they send me back—back to France."

"I wish I was going over there with you."

Foyle replied with a tight smile, "Good to see you, George. I'll be in touch."

The young soldier watched as his friend limped into the shop. George had broken his leg in a fall from a horse when he was ten, and had never walked without a limp since. You're better off out of it, my friend, Christopher thought as he left the shop and turned for home and Caroline.

Meanwhile Caroline had freshened up and decided to take Christopher up on his parting words to "make yourself at home."

After putting the kettle on she went back into the parlour. She tended the fire, then took a long look around the room. A few framed photographs on the mantel caught her eye.

A young constable in an old-fashioned uniform and a pretty young lady with dark, curling hair; Christopher's parents. The next photograph was the same couple a few years older, with a serious- faced little boy leaning against his mother's knee. Ah, how sweet, little Christopher.

Caroline couldn't identify the people in the next photo. But the final photograph was of a fresh-faced constable standing proudly upright. His face was somehow more open, happy and without the haunted shade that was now there.

Perhaps I was wrong, Christopher. Perhaps you aren't the same man who once lived in this house. I spoke rashly, my darling. Some experiences aren't just what happen to you; some experiences, like combat, may change your very core.

The kettle whistled, breaking her train of thought. After pouring up the water she returned to the parlour. Once more she noticed the door leading from the parlour that Christopher had bypassed during this morning's tour. Pushing it open slowly, Caroline peered in. Christopher's father's study—no wonder he had passed it by. Well, that was a ghost he would have to confront, and she would be there to help him through it all.

So deep in thought was Caroline that she didn't hear Christopher arrive through the kitchen door and set down his carton of groceries. As she quietly shut the study door, she found that he was standing at the other side of the parlour, watching her. His expression flashed from intense happiness just to be seeing her, to sadness at the prospect of looking for his father's documents.

"I do have to face that before the day is out…"

Again she said softly, "I'll be with you." The look in his eyes as he thought about what had followed those words earlier made her sit suddenly, her knees too weak to support her.

The lovers dined upon chicken and carrots and even some fresh bread, though Christopher philosophically lamented that most of the food had been very dear given some of the shortages. After washing up they turned their attention to James Foyle's study.

As it turned out, it was a simple matter of opening the closet cabinet that his mother had mentioned; in the front of the top drawer of it was a folder marked "Will." They searched a few additional drawers of the cabinet as well as Mr Foyle's desk, but none of the other papers seemed to pertain to the house or property.

Caroline sat close beside Christopher as he read the short will and testament. "He does leave the house to me, for Mum to live in, and the savings to her. I thought that was probably how it would be." He sighed, and she stroked his arm soothingly. "But I'll consult Monday with Mr Fisher in town. Dad sometimes would see him about these matters… he probably has the deeds."

Foyle looked at the beautiful face of the woman beside him, at her expression of caring concern. He had already tried to stop himself wondering if somehow this house could ever be a place they both lived… and if it could only be so, whether it would be enough for a woman who had lived in an estate as grand as Whitefriars.

But what good is it dreaming of her divorcing Charles and marrying you? Not only could you never give her that kind of wealth and status, but you can't even give her the promise that you'll live through this war. He failed to hide from her his look of despair.

"Christopher… oh, my love." Then Caroline had touched his face gently, wishing desperately that she could erase the suffering in his eyes. She kissed his ear and then his cheek; then in a tentative way, his lips. His answering kiss was sweet and light at first, but then their passion began again to sweep him away from his misery, he had stood, grasped her hand, and led her up the stairs.

TBC...