Part Two

The next day, when Sam was just making a cup of tea in the Police station kitchenette she heard the clipped tones of the Captain at the front desk. She nearly spilt the tea in her haste to put it down and fly out to the desk.

"Captain Hammond, how nice to see you," she said breathlessly. Sergeant Rivers gave her a look and discreetly removed himself.

"Hallo." He grinned at her, twirling his hat in his hands.

"Glad you are all right," she said without thinking. "I mean, that you are here." She flushed. "Why are you here?"

He gave a low chuckle, "We missed out on lunch. How about dinner with me tonight?"

"That's very kind." She beamed at him. "I finish about six here."

"Shall I pick you up at your billet at seven, then? Would that give you enough time?"

"Seven would be fine, yes."

"Splendid." He grinned roguishly at her, "And bring a scarf or a hat for your hair."

"Sorry?"

"You'll see."

Oh dear…She had sudden visions of being crammed on the back of a motorbike.

It was another dilemma for her, after she raced home from the station, choosing a decent frock for a dinner engagement. Going across the hall to Susan's door, she knocked with a feeling of rising panic. Susan had been billeted there about the same time as Sam, and worked as a nurse at the hospital. The other girl opened the door rather sleepily, having only gotten in from a shift about an hour before.

"Susan, I'm so terribly sorry, but I need your help."

"Are you ill? Whatever's the matter, Sam?"

"I've got a Captain in the Royal Engineers coming to take me to dinner in an hour and I haven't a thing to wear."

Susan laughed, rubbing her eyes, "Come in, I've got just the thing. A captain, eh? Do tell."

They found her a lovely red dress to wear. It was a little small for Sam, as Susan was shorter, but it swished around her knees pleasantly enough, hugging tightly at her curves. Susan, wide awake now and having taken on Sam's appearance for this dinner as a matter of seriousness, was applying a deep red lipstick that matched the dress and brought out the fullness of Sam's face in a most becoming fashion. They pulled Sam's hair back on one side, pinning it fast.

"He said to bring a hat or scarf…"

"Ooh, has he got a motor?"

"I haven't a clue. I just hope it isn't a smelly motorbike that roars up and down the lanes. The last thing I need is for us to be stopped. I'm sure Mr Foyle wouldn't approve."

Susan giggled, "Of this dashing captain or the tearing about?"

Sam pursed her lips at her in the mirror.

A sharp knock on the door below made them both jump. "He's here," Sam hissed, scrabbling for her last bits and pieces and searching for her handbag.

"Here," Susan threw a pale, silk scarf at her, "take this just in case."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now go before he gives you up and goes home."

"Thanks awfully," Sam said, rushing down the stairs two at a time.

Their landlady had opened the door, and she and the captain were chatting amicably in the hall. He must have said something rather jolly because the landlady was giggling behind her hand like a schoolgirl. Drat the man… Sam held her breath when she saw him. He was in uniform, standing ramrod straight, hat under his arm. Captain Hammond looked up and saw her. His face broke into a handsome smile and he eyed her appreciatively.

"Hallo."

"Hallo."

Oh do say something more intelligent than hallo, she chastised herself furiously.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"Have a nice time, dearie," said Sam's landlady, ushering them out.

Sam wasn't entirely sure if she was speaking to the captain or herself, having never been called 'dearie' before by the rather dragon of a landlady. Well, she obviously approves of him.

Once in the street Sam stopped short, staring open mouthed. In the pink light of evening a beautiful emerald green, two seater convertible MG roadster stood gleaming.

"Oh golly. She's gorgeous," Sam breathed, taking a step or two closer.

"As are you," Hammond said smoothly, watching her admire the motor with some amusement.

"Is it the '36 T model? The 1.3 litre?"

Hammond looked suitably impressed, "Yes. Goes up to eighty miles per hour, not that I've ever had the chance to test it, mind."

"Is it really yours?"

He grinned, "Yes. Thought if I was going to cop it any day I might as well buy the car I always dreamt about."

Going around the side, he opened the small door for her. "Bit of a squeeze but she goes like an absolute dream."

Sam, grinning ear to ear, slid in, folding herself into the small bench seat. She wrapped her hair tightly with Susan's scarf to keep the wind from blowing away all their efforts. The captain settled himself in next to her, their shoulders touching in the small space.

"Let's hope it doesn't rain," he said lightly, eyeing the open canopy.

The MG started up with a delightful purr and they were off.

"I thought the Royal Crescent might be nice," he shouted over the sound of the engine as they drove along the coast road.

Sam looked at him quickly, "Are you sure?" It was awfully expensive and in the last year only the very well to do went there.

"Yes. There might be some dancing later as well. Thought we could make an evening of it." He shot her a glance, "If you like."

"Sounds marvellous!"

The hotel was just as lovely as she'd imagined it. Hammond ordered for them both, and Sam wondered at the good quality of the food. Salad greens and pates, a fish course with fresh vegetables … she was nearly more interested in the dishes they kept bringing out than the conversation. Sam thought he was inordinately pleased with himself throughout the entire dinner. He was as brash as ever, and quick to laugh and joke, but there was an air of frenzy about it. Sam supposed that surviving another day at his job would be cause for such a release of tension, but there was something else about it. She couldn't put her finger on it. He splashed out on drinks, though she noticed he was careful to only have two cocktails. She felt herself spoiled and rather enjoyed the feeling.

They talked about everything, starting with childhood, then schooling, and on up to the war. She found he was quite well read and they had a nice time discussing their favourite authors. She also asked him about his work as an engineer before the war. When he inquired, she told him about her family of clergymen, and he seemed intrigued by her stories of village life that she had experienced during the holidays. He had no family left himself, which he said made his job a bit easier.

"Not so bad if you haven't got your people worrying about you. Jack and Ernie are worse off in that respect, and Jack about to get married too."

Sam said nothing at first, thinking to herself that she was worried about him. She tried not to think about it.

"He admires you very much, Ralph," she said slowly, "he'd do anything you said I should think."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.

"Nothing," she said, surprised, "only that he is a bit like a puppy, following you about, that's all."

Hammond relaxed, "Yes, I suppose you're right. He's a good lad. I try to keep him out of it as much as possible — send him away while I do the defusing, that sort of thing. Should like to see him married…"

He sounded wistful, and Sam reached for his hand across the table. "You are a good man, Ralph."

"If only," he murmured. He squeezed her hand. "Shall we go dancing?"

He paid for their meal with crisp five pound notes. Sam tried not to notice, but it did seem odd. She hadn't seen any like that in ages. It would make sense for him to have plenty of money with his background, she supposed. Putting it from her mind, she let him whirl them onto the dance floor. He was a good dancer, careening her about in wide arcs, making her collapse into helpless giggles as he gave running commentaries on the other people around the room. It was a strange mix of people; uniformed servicemen, politician types, young people from town — a wartime dance floor.

Here, pressed against him, she could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth from the palms of his hands. His arms were strong around her on the slower numbers and his eyes had pooled into soft, light blue smudges. Under his gaze, she felt beautiful in the borrowed red dress.

Stroking the back of her hand on his chest he whispered, "Shall we get some fresh air?"

He nodded with his head towards the large terrace at the side of the hotel. They slipped away from the press of humanity and went to stand by the balustrade, looking out over the sea. The moon was just beginning to rise in the summer sky.

"What a beautiful evening," Sam sighed happily.

"How glad I am to be here with you, Samantha," he said softly. Taking her hand gently in his, he found her eyes. "I must be the luckiest man in England."

The genuine note in his voice was heartfelt and for some reason this made Sam want to cry. The realisation that his life was so transient seemed to hit her. To hide this fact, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. He returned her kiss before chuckling slightly.

"Why are you laughing?" she murmured, wondering if she was doing it wrong.

"Because I got told off for doing the same thing…"

"Yes, but this is different," she said quickly.

"Not sure how, but I don't mind in the slightest." He held both her hands now, and brought them up to his lips. "May I kiss you again, Sam?"

She nodded, thinking that saying, yes, please might sound unladylike.

Hammond leaned in, tracing the contours of her face with his nose, brushing her cheeks with his lips. Kissing her firmly, Sam felt her knees begin to tremble. He wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her tight against him. It's heaven to be in his arms, she thought blasphemously.

She felt so alive on the way home in the MG, wind rushing against her face. All her senses seemed to be tingling and the excitement of a perfect evening was coursing through her. He held her hand the entire way, only letting go to change gears.

At her door, Hammond took off his hat slowly.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ralph."

He kissed her gently on the lips. "The pleasure was all mine. May I see you again?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll call."

"Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams, darling Sam."

She went in and heard the purr of the motor starting up a moment later. A silly grin seemed to have plastered itself on her face and she went up the stairs to bed feeling the happiest she'd ever been.

While driving DCS Foyle and DS Milner to and fro the next day, Sam did her utmost to keep the giddy feelings from showing. Foyle kept giving her long looks, and when she missed a turning for the second time that day, he was inclined to be short with her. From then on she paid greater attention to the road, and it was only when Milner mentioned "Sapper Jones" that her ears pricked.

"The barman says he was trying to pay with a new five pound note; couldn't make the change of course. Do you think that has something to do with his disappearance?"

"Could well be, Milner," said Foyle thoughtfully, a forefinger tapping his lip as he stared out the windscreen.

Sam turned quickly to look at Milner, "Sapper Jones?"

"Sam!"

She snapped her head back.

"Do watch the road, if you would." Foyle shifted in his seat.

"Yes, of course, sir. Sorry, sir. What about Sapper Jones?"

Foyle looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What of him?"

"Is he missing, sir?"

"We're going to find out. The Royal Engineers HQ, please, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, sudden unpleasant thoughts connecting in her mind.

She stayed by the car fidgeting while Captain Hammond took Foyle and Milner on a tour of the HQ. "He's probably just gone for a walk; he'll turn up soon," she heard Hammond say about Jones. His voice was all wrong though, and Sam, with a sinking feeling, knew there was something going on.

When the men returned, Sam stood up, looking eagerly for a sign of some answers. Foyle's look was grim though, and she knew that he would keep his thoughts to himself no matter how much she pestered. Once the two policeman had said goodbye and began walking towards the car, Hammond caught Sam's eye. She bit her lip to stop herself from going to him. He gave her a little nod and half smile. It will be all right it seemed to say.

They drove back to the Police station in silence. As Sam pulled carefully into the station's yard, Foyle said in a quiet voice, "If you would be so kind as to bring some tea to my office in about ten minutes, Sam."

He face was impassive, blue eyes clear and giving nothing away. But is was then that Sam knew something was wrong. Her heart sank like a stone through her and she nearly gasped from the sensation.

Trailing after the two men, she went into the kitchenette, feeling subdued and worried. Ten minutes later, as requested, she knocked on Foyle's door with a cup of steaming tea.

Foyle was pacing by the window, leafing through papers in his hand. He looked up and rubbed his forehead, "Thanks, Sam. Um…come in a minute; yes, shut the door."

Do not cry, whatever you do she told herself fiercely. If she was to be cross examined, she would give her answers honourably without tears.

Setting the tea down on the edge of his desk, she sank into a chair, clasping her hands together in agitation.

Instead of sitting behind his desk, Foyle came to sit in the chair beside her. He waited quietly until she looked up and met his eyes, and then smiled kindly. Despite her earlier promise to herself, her eyes welled up.

"It's about the money, isn't it?"

"It is."

"He can't be involved, sir."

"What can you tell me?"

The tears were slipping past her nose now, and she cursed inwardly. Her heart was racing so she took three calming breaths. "Not much, sir, honestly. I don't know what's going on."

"M-makes two of us." He smiled kindly again, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and handed her his hanky. "Take your time."

"We went to the Royal Crescent Hotel," she sniffed, dabbing at her face with his handkerchief.

Foyle's eyes went wide and he clamped his bottom lip between his teeth.

"We had a marvellous dinner…three courses and everything…"

He let his breath out, face suddenly relieved, and made a vague motion with his hand to indicate she should go on.

"He paid with new five pound notes, just like what Milner said Sapper Ernest Jones tried to use in the pub."

"I see." Foyle nodded sagely, chewing his cheek. "Well, thank you for telling me."

"Please, sir, he isn't involved in this, I just know it."

"We don't know that yet, Sam," he said evenly. "And you mustn't ask him about it. We don't know what the circumstances are and I don't want you getting mixed up in it."

She nodded, "Are you very cross with me?"

"Certainly not." He gave her a swift smile, the corners of his mouth turning down. He took the cup of tea and pressed it into her hands. "You'd better drink this. You could do with it."

"Can I still see him?" Her voice was earnest, almost desperate, the thought of not being able to go to him on Foyle's orders filling her with dread.

He looked at her for a moment, and seemed to realise saying 'no' would put her in an awkward position. Diplomatically, he said, "I'd suggest not seeing him just yet, until we know he's in the clear."

She choked back a small sob, but nodded.

She slept very little that night, thoughts of what the sappers might have done racing through her mind. She had tried to reach Hammond at the HQ over the telephone — Mr Foyle had said not to see him— but the captain was out on a call. Mr Foyle seemed to think it was all to do with this scheme at the docks — whole lists of names of people who no longer existed, but were still being paid. The money had to have gone somewhere…embezzled, he'd called it. She couldn't quite see how Hammond could be involved. But if there had been money stolen from the docks, then perhaps…

No. She couldn't allow herself to believe he was a thief. It was with a heavy heart that she finally slept in fits and starts, dreaming of dropping bombs.

The next day, Sam sat dispiritedly in a chair in the corner of Foyle's office, doing some of his filing and listening to him talking with Milner.

"I went back to the warehouse," Milner said, "and I found these." He placed two balls of what looked like putty on the desk, and Sam sat up from her chair, suddenly curious. "It's the crater."

"Seems strange that the engineers left it behind," Foyle, frowning.

"Yes, I thought so too," said Milner. "It means they must have dismantled the bomb there. I thought they just removed the fuse and blew it up later?"

Foyle's frown deepened.

A sharp knock came at the door. "Yes, come in."

Sergeant Rivers came in, looking for all the world as if he would rather be anywhere else. "Sir," he said, face creased with worry. "It's Sapper Jones…he's dead."

Foyle nodded, closing his eyes and sighing, "Right, thank you, Sergeant." His eyes snapped open to look at Sam, "Best get the car, Sam," he said quietly.

They drove quickly to the Royal Engineer's HQ, Sam's heart pounding. She was left by the car again, as Foyle and Milner went with the Medical Officer inside. About ten minutes later she saw the two policemen coming outside with Hammond. Their voices drifted across the pavement and she caught snippets of what was said.

"Tell me about the bomb at the dockyard," Foyle said.

"It was a Herman. We give them names, you see. A Herman is a thousand pound bomb, with a single fuse. It probably wasn't meant to blow up at once." Hammond tugged on his hat and looked at them, "The Jerries do it on purpose now. It causes more havoc and destruction than a simple bang."

Sam began to wring her hands, desperately wanting to go to him; to know what was happening and reassure herself everything was all right. It most certainly isn't all right though, just look at them… Hammond turned back however, before being close enough to make eye contact. He may not have even seen her; he looked quite troubled himself, and Foyle returned to the Wolseley with a grave face.

They drove on, and as Sam changed gear she asked tentatively, "Sir? What's happened to Sapper Jones?"

"He was tortured and killed," Foyle said shortly. His eyes turned to meet hers as she quickly looked over at him. She saw that he was angry, but felt that it wasn't with her. What had Ralph said to upset him? Could he really be involved in this?

Knowing that Foyle was angry made it all the more difficult to keep her mind from worrying over Ralph. By the evening, she felt sick with worry. She couldn't even face the idea of supper. Susan was on shift, and the landlady was out at her sister's; Sam felt the quietness of the house overwhelming her. Finally, she went to the telephone and tried the RE HQ again.

The voice on the other end made her heart leap, "Captain Hammond here."

"Ralph, it's Sam. Oh thank God."

"Sam, my darling, are you all right? You sound frightfully out of breath."

"Don't go anywhere, I'm coming to see you."

She threw all caution to the wind and forgot Foyle's words. The sound of Hammond's warm voice across the line seemed to pull her, and she rang off, slamming the receiver down in a manner that would have garnered a stern look from the landlady.

Sam leapt on her bicycle and raced across the Old Town, tackling the hills like an Olympic champion. She arrived within ten minutes at the HQ, chest heaving, hair in slight disarray. She tossed the bicycle to one side and went up the stone steps. Her footfalls echoed in the hall, and she went on blindly not knowing where he would be. She ran into — literally — a young sapper, and she asked him, "Where is Captain Hammond?"

"Through there, miss," the young man pointed.

She continued on, and came to a sort of office. Beyond it was a small makeshift canteen which led onto the barracks. She found him sat cradling a tin cup of steaming tea, elbows on his knees. He had dirt in his hair, under his fingernails and smudged across his forehead. His jacket was thrown over the back of his chair, tie undone, and there were large sweat stains on his khaki shirt. He was the very image of masculinity. At the sound of her footsteps he looked up slowly. Their eyes met and she saw in him all the bravery and self-assuredness gone; the man who looked back at her was frightened and full of guilt.

In that moment, she loved him.

Hammond stood, ever the gentleman. In a voice full of emotion he asked, "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

She laughed incredulously and burst into tears simultaneously, crossing the office in three strides, and falling into his arms. Seeking his lips, she kissed him passionately, feeling the scratch of his shadowed stubble, tasting the dirt mingled with his sweat from his face. "I love you, I love you," she murmured in relief.

"I love you too," he whispered in her ear. "I thought of you in that moment before I defused the bomb, Sam, and I knew that I loved you. I desperately didn't want to die and I nearly lost my head."

She gripped the back of his shirt between her fingers, clutching at him, afraid to lose him. "I'm so frightened," she cried.

He held her and stroked her hair, murmuring soft sweet nothings in her ear, calming her. She stopped crying, and he wiped her face with a hanky that had seen better days.

"Ernie's dead," he said sadly.

"I know. I was here earlier. Oh Ralph, what's going on?"

He sighed and ran a hand up and down her right arm, looking for words.

"Mr Foyle is furious about something. I don't know what you lot have done, but he's on the warpath."

"Oh my darling," he said, smiling at last, "don't cry, I'll sort it out. By two-thirty tomorrow afternoon it will all be over."

"Mr Foyle can help if you are in trouble, I know he will. You must tell me what's going on."

"I'm not a dishonest man," Hammond began quietly, "or at least I used not to be…My men and I…we're just cannon fodder, really. Precious little training or support. We find out how the Germans make their bombs by waiting until one of us gets blown up…"

She looked at him with eyes full of tears, trying to understand.

"It was an opportunity of a lifetime…a lifetime that for us, was likely to be quite, quite short."

And then she knew. "Oh Ralph…"

She began to cry again, both angry and frightened. He lifted her chin to look at him.

"It was stupid of me, and I dragged the others in too. I have to live with that. Poor Ernie..." He shook his head sadly.

"I should have known it would bring trouble. It was a moment of weakness, and I thought 'why not.' You see, I thought I had nothing to live for. That's all changed, Sam. You have changed that for me."

He kissed her, desperate for her to understand. "It will be all be sorted tomorrow, you'll see."

She nodded miserably against his shoulder. "You should go to Mr Foyle, Ralph, really you should…you'll only get into more trouble otherwise."

"I will, just give me one more day..."

A little cough behind them startled them both, and they looked around to see Jack Archer standing in the doorway to the office. "Sorry, sir; Sam." He nodded at her, smiling shyly. "We've got a call out, Captain."

"Thank you, Corporal, I'll be there presently."

Archer left them, and Hammond smiled down at her, still entwined in his arms. "Duty calls. Don't worry, Sam, it will all be all right. Please trust me."

She nodded again.

He kissed her, and murmured, "Best not make a habit of this, darling, the other chaps will become jealous…"

She gave him a push and kissed him once more before letting him get his gear together. "I love you."

"I love you. We'll have dinner tomorrow after it's all over, all right?"

"Do I get to drive the MG?"

"Absolutely." He grinned and she left, looking over her shoulder at him once before moving out of sight.