Part Three
She came in with a cup of tea, finding Foyle staring at the two pieces of 'putty' that Milner had found. He didn't look up when she set the tea on the desk, and she had the distinct impression he was completely lost in thought. He was chewing his cheek and had that look about him. A part of her was desperate to tell him about what she knew. It felt almost disloyal not to.
But what do I know? she reasoned. Hammond hadn't said much of anything, and she wasn't sure what he had planned.
"I think we had better go back to talk to your Captain Hammond," he said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. He looked up then, and Sam saw a resigned look come into his face. She nodded sadly, thinking that at least in a prison cell, Hammond would be safe from bombs and would live to eventually make a life with her.
"He did take it, sir… the money I mean."
Foyle stood and jammed on his hat, "Tell me in the car."
He popped his head into Milner's office as they went down the corridor of the Police station. "Milner, better get the lads and follow us. I believe I know what's happened."
Once in the Wolseley, Sam told him everything she knew, albeit not much, but Foyle seemed satisfied.
"I knew he was lying yesterday," said Foyle, making a face at the windscreen. "Silly bugger. Could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd have come to me first. Might have saved Jones' life too."
"I told him to go to you," she said, wiping away a tear with her gauntleted hand.
"You went to see him, didn't you." He said it as a statement rather than a question.
"I'm sorry, sir."
Foyle made a small tutting sound, "Yes, well if you had come to me directly we might not be in this mess. I mean how long have you known this chap? Really, Sam."
She knew he had every right to be frustrated with her, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
At the HQ they found Archer tinkering with the small lorry. He looked up as Sam pulled in.
"Where's Captain Hammond?" Foyle asked quickly as they stepped out.
"He's not here."
Foyle came to stand beside him. "That's not quite what I asked."
The other police car pulled in behind the Wolseley and Milner got out. Archer shot a wary look at him, before flicking his eyes back to Foyle. "He left about an hour ago. I don't know where."
"You're lying. Where's Captain Hammond?" There was a sense of urgency about Foyle's words and Sam looked at him quickly.
Archer looked at him sulkily, pursing his lips.
"Look, Jones was killed over this; you and Hammond will be next, so wouldn't it be better to tell me what you know? Has he gone to see the Talbot brothers? Has he got the money?"
Archer continued in his sulky silence, and Sam could take it no longer. On hearing that Hammond might be in danger, she flung herself towards Archer.
"Oh Jack, please tell them, please. If he's in danger, he'll need our help, don't you see?"
Archer looked at her in some surprise as she gripped his arm. "Sam…I can't…"
"I know he told you to keep mum, and I know you always do as he says, but please, Jack." She leaned in, finding his eyes and meeting them squarely, "I love him. Please help us."
He closed his eyes against the intensity of her gaze. "All right," he nodded. "He's at the abandoned farm out by St Helen's Wood. Gone to meet the Talbots."
Sam turned to Foyle, pleading with him silently to help her find Hammond. He nodded.
"Thank you, Jack." She squeezed his arm.
"Has he got the explosives too?" Foyle asked as an afterthought, pivoting on his heel.
Jack nodded, and Sam went pale, the blood racing from her face.
"Right."
They went back to the car, and Sam drove faster than was probably safe. She wanted to cry but focusing on the road was more important. Foyle chewed his cheek in silence.
"I should have told you sooner," she said at last, turning onto a dirt road near the wood.
"The fact that you, er...love him has nothing to do with me."
"No, that he might have been involved."
"Well, yes, but we've established that. I just didn't realise how far…this, er…had gone. It's a good thing I trust you. You might have helped him and then where would we be?"
She felt momentarily indignant at the question of her loyalty.
"There's his car," she cried, braking hard and turning towards the clearing. Yes, there was the little MG, next to a large Humbler. Beyond the cars old farm buildings stood, crumbling and creaking in the wind.
Just as Sam turned off the motor they heard the sharp report of pistol fire.
"Ralph!"
She sprang out and Foyle had to use all his speed and agility to grab her before she ran into danger. "No, Sam, you must stay back."
She struggled in his arms, but his grip was vice-like. "Ralph!" she cried again.
A second shot rang out as the other police car pulled up.
"Sir?" Milner asked, having heard the shot.
Foyle put his mouth near Sam's ear, "Stay here, and let us sort this out. Please, Sam, stay here for your own safety."
She went limp in his arms, and he relaxed his grip. He moved forwards with Milner, "Right, come on."
The next second there was a flash and the front of a barn set between other outbuildings burst into bright flames. They all ducked as one instinctively.
She stared, eyes smarting from the brightness of the blaze. He's dead…he's dead… The world began to go black.
Foyle reached her just in time before she hit the ground.
Dear Sam,
If you are reading this, my darling girl, then my gamble didn't pay off, and I'm truly sorry. I've never been sorry for anything before, but I am for this. You, dearest Sam, were such a light in my life; a spark I had never expected that took me completely by surprise. The spark to my fuse, you might say. You brought such meaning into my life. With you, I felt I had a purpose and I so, so wanted to live to make you happy. If I could have made you happy, then I would have been complete.
But now, you must go on without me. Killed by a German explosive after all…just not in the usual way. You'd tell me not to joke at a time like this, but there we are. I've been a fool, Miss Samantha Stewart, completely and unequivocally. But equally I've been the luckiest man to know you. I hope, in some selfish way, that you will go on to be very happy in this life. You are a wonderful person, so kind and with such capacity to love and give. You are also strong, Sam, and I know if you're about, Jerry won't stand a chance. Go give them your best. Go on for me, go on for all the others that will die in this godforsaken war; go on, please my darling, for a life that I know will be full and happy if you let it.
I will think of you in the second before, and take with me the happiness you brought me in this short life.
With all my love,
Ralph
Sam could not remember how she had come to arrive in Foyle's front room, on his sofa, a tumbler of strong whiskey being pushed into her hand as she sat up. Her tie and shoes had been removed, and her face felt damp from a cool cloth. Her mind felt numb, eyes unseeing and she now sat staring in front of her. Foyle had been watching her; of all people he, widowed for nearly ten years, understood loss, and at this moment he knew it was best to let her be. Sam was grateful in a disconnected way.
A constable came to bring Milner by. "We've found the money, sir; in his quarters. This was on top of it." He handed Foyle an envelope with Sam's name on it.
He had given it to her, and she had read it over and over until finally the words sunk in. Ralph Hammond was gone; another causality of war. A sob, rising from the very depths of her, broke free. Foyle was there by her side then, removing the tumbler to a safe place on the side table. He knelt at her knee, and she noticed for the first time that he was in his shirt sleeves and braces. How long have I been here? He had stubble beginning, and the eyes with which he looked at her were deep and sad.
She sobbed again, falling into his arms, collapsing against him. With no recollection of the moments after the blast, she now felt the full fury of the pain. She beat a limp hand against Foyle's chest, crying out. She was angry. How could Ralph be so reckless…how could he leave me here alone like this? And Foyle let her be angry; he allowed the waves of her anguish to engulf him, and bore it well. They both knew pain and suffering, and he bit his lip, understanding words were useless just now.
His consolation was gentle and she soon cried herself out. The first thing she said, in a voice hoarse and thick, "How long have I been here?"
"You were out for about two hours. The doctor's seen you. Do you want me to take you home?"
"No, I don't want to be alone."
He nodded, wiping her face with his pristine hanky. It reminded her of Hammond old one that he had used at their last meeting and she gave a throaty chuckle that quickly turned into fresh tears.
"Can I call anyone for you?" Foyle asked, seeing it best to be practical while she was capable of talking.
"No. No one knew … Perhaps Gwen did, but she'll be comforting Jack...he'll be devastated. Besides...her Jack is still alive, and I shouldn't like to resent her for that."
The corner of Foyle's mouth lifted in a small smile, recognising her kindness and sense even at a time like this.
"And Daddy will only quote the Bible at me, and I really couldn't bear that at this particular moment. Susan will be on shift… No, if you don't mind awfully, sir…I think you would be the best just now."
"We two, we happy two…" he murmured, misquoting and yet making his meaning clear. They alone could understand the other in this moment of loss.
"I know we hadn't know each other long, and yet…"
"Love knows no boundaries or time limits, Sam. It just is."
She sniffed heavily, nodding.
"Tell me," she began, "does it get easier or shall I stop breathing from this—" she pointed to her chest, "suffocating feeling inside…" Is this what a heart breaking feels like...?
"You are a strong woman, Sam," he said, leaning back to look at her and holding on to her arms firmly, "and you will get through this because you must. There are others that depend on you."
She nodded, twisting the sodden hanky between her fingers.
"And," he said under his breath, ever so softly, "I'm right here, Sam, if you need me."
She fell against him again, tears flooding her, voice lost once more.
"I can't tell you it will be easy; I can say you'll be all right, but you won't believe it until the day you feel it. I can't say that it doesn't consume you, but I can tell you the day you choose to not let it, you begin to become whole again."
His words murmured over her and Sam had the fleeting impression this was the most she'd heard him speak in one go in a long time. There were no shadows to hide behind here in this land of grief; it was all stark and real. Far, far too real.
In the dying light of evening, she clung to Foyle as if her life depended on it and let him try to sooth her. She was inconsolable, but a part of her struggled forwards beyond the numbness. She wanted to live for her Captain Hammond so that he could be remembered. There was a sense of duty with carrying on. She was now just one of many who had lost someone to the war.
Sam allowed herself a moment to remember his strong chin that jutted proudly; blue eyes that looked on the world with such laughter; the hope of his firm kiss and the softness of his steady touch. He had given her so much and she would not forget him.
"Don't think badly of him, will you?" she asked fervently.
"No, certainly not. He was a hero," Foyle said, tightening his arm around her. "An unfortunate hero."
She gulped, nodding against his now sodden shoulder, "Yes…an unfortunate hero."
Fin