Chapter 3

The windows of the station had all been thrown open, letting in the smell of the sea and a cool breeze. Sam followed Foyle into the station, trying to rearrange her face. Not only was she sure to blush in front of Brookie in remembrance of last night, he was also bound to spot the half smile that still remained on Foyle's lips. Taking a deep breath she pulled her gaze up from the floor, hoping it would be over soon. Brookie was there as usual, looking bright and cheerful.

"Not too much to hand over, Mr Foyle," he said, "Seems Hastings is giving us the day to enjoy the sunshine."

Foyle whipped off his trilby, and paused, "Don't be too sure, Sergeant, something usually comes up."

Brookie nodded politely before turning to look at Sam. "Good morning, Miss Stewart, beautiful day, wouldn't you agree?"

He grinned and winked at her.

She grinned back, suddenly feeling at ease, "It is indeed, Brookie."

She leaned over the desk, "You're sure there's nothing interesting? I don't really feel like cleaning the car or checking the plugs for the millionth time..."

"You could make us all a cup of tea?" He suggested, ducking as she threw the morning paper at him.

"Make it yourself." She grinned at him and went to the little kitchenette anyway. There might be a biscuit left somewhere...

Foyle had witnessed their exchange from the doorway of his office at the end of the hall. He went in and closed the door, thinking and worrying his lower lip.

"She is much better suited for a younger man like Sergeant Brooke," he admitted to himself. The walk on the beach from the morning kept coming to mind, however, and Foyle wondered if this was normal. He hadn't felt so confused and bewildered about what to do in a long time. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he least knew how to proceed.

Sitting at his desk, he told himself sternly, "Well of course you know how to proceed, you old fool - leave it and don't even think about it." He knew this was the sensible thing, but he couldn't help feel a sort of sadness come over him. Leaning back, he sighed deeply. Bloody sensibility and propriety, he thought; damn it all.

The telephone on his desk shrilled loudly, making the police detective jump right out of his skin. He cursed and picked up the receiver hastily.

"Foyle."

He listened intently, said a few words, and rang off.

Going back into the corridor he nearly collided with Sam, who was carrying a steaming cup of tea. She jolted, sending most of the hot liquid dripping over the saucer.

"Sam."

"Sir. I was just bringing you a cup of tea. Or now what's left of it..."

"Ah, yes, thank you...er, sorry. Well, I think Brookie's cursed us."

"Pardon?" Sam's thoughts raced, inexplicably arriving first at the feelings she held for the man in front of her. She blushed. "Sir?"

"Just got a call from the Coast Guard - a body has been found caught up under the end of the pier."

Letting out her breath, Sam said, "Oh I see, sir."

"So the tea will have to wait, I'm afraid."

"Nevermind," Sam said brightly, she turned and called over her shoulder, "I'll just get Milner and the car."

Foyle nodded, following her along the corridor. At the desk he stopped and gave Brookie a look. "A day off for the sunshine, eh, Sergeant?"

Brookie grinned, "Let me guess, sir..."

Foyle rolled his eyes and went to find Sam and Milner.

The case kept them busy for the better part of ten days. Foyle noticed an air of change between Brookie and Sam, and once again he felt that shiver of jealousy. He kept his thoughts at bay however, throwing himself into the case. He was quieter and more determined to focus on his work. If Sam noticed, she didn't mention it, but remained her fastidious self.

After the eleventh day, with no further progress, Foyle had Sam drive him home in the early evening.

"See you tomorrow, sir," she said as he stepped out.

Foyle doffed his hat and gave a half smile, "Good night, Sam." He lingered for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something, but then nodded at her and closed the door.

She drove back to the station to leave the car there. As she was parking she noticed Brookie waving at her. Pulling hard on the handbrake, she parked, and got out quickly. "What is it, Brookie?"

"I've just had a call from Eastbourne Constabulary; the sergeant over there said they think they might have a lead for us."

"I've just taken Mr Foyle home," Sam said, frowning.

"Mr Milner is still here - he says we should go over there, the three of us. Will you bring the car round?"

"Of course."

Sam got back in and drove around to the front, waiting as Brookie slid into the back and Milner settled himself awkwardly in the front. His leg was bothering him lately, Sam had noticed, and she gave him an encouraging smile.

"Off we go, then," Sam said brightly. On the drive over the three talked about the case.

At one point Milner said in explanation, "I thought we would check it out first before worrying Mr Foyle - he's been looking quite rung out lately, so no need for him to come back out again if we can do it ourselves."

"Absolutely, Milner," Sam said, "And yes, he has looked worse for wear lately." Her eyes unconsciously flicked to the rear view mirror, catching Brookie's smirk.

In Eastbourne she waited in the car for the two policeman. The evening had drawn in long and pink over the sea and it was pleasant sitting in the quiet of Wolseley. She thought about Brookie's look in the mirror - he knew this secret she held and it made her feel uneasy. With the business of the case, she and Foyle hadn't really discussed their moment on the beach. Perhaps he saw it as a nice gesture, or, God forbid, as daughterly affection, being so far away from her own family. Sam felt confused and unsettled. She was unsure of what to do; although she did realise she would need to confront Brookie. If the secret got out, it would be back off to Lyminster for her, that's for sure. It was most unsuitable, even Sam could admit that. Her boss, for heaven's sake. What was she thinking?

Night had closed in by the time they returned to Hastings. Sam drove Milner home, watching him with concerned eyes as he limped up the steps to his cold, empty house. Another man who kept things to himself, Sam thought. She shook herself as Brookie slid into the seat next to her - she must focus on what she wanted to say to the cheeky and charming young sergeant.

She pulled away from Milner's house, watching Brookie out of the corner of her eye. He did cut quite a figure in his smart uniform, and he obviously wore it proudly.

"Brookie," she began, "Might we speak a moment?"

"Of course, Miss." He glanced at her quickly, sensing something in her voice. "It's about Mr Foyle, isn't it?"

Sam put on the brakes and pulled over. "No, Brookie, it's about you."

"Oh."

"You know my secret and I feel like I'm walking around on tiptoes. I don't like it."

"Don't like me knowing or don't like feeling you have to worry someone else will find out?"

"Both!"

He took her hand and said very seriously, "I told, you, Sam, I knew from day one, yeah? And I never, ever said a thing, did I? I never would dream of hurting you, or insulting you in that way. Nor would I dare to do so with Mr Foyle. You should see this as a good thing - someone to share your burden. There is no shame in what you feel towards him."

Sam suddenly felt guilty for being annoyed with him. He was trying to be a friend and here she was accusing him of making her feel less than she should. "I apologise, Brookie."

He squeezed her hand. "He's a lucky man - he just doesn't know it. I'd tried to sweep you away myself if I thought I had half a chance..."

Sam began to say something, but Brookie stopped her, "No, no, don't worry; I understand. But I do think if you love him, he should know."

"You know why I can't possibly tell him..."

"You're worried about your job?"

"Not just that - what people might say of him, and that he might be in danger of losing his job."

"Sam," Brookie said, his voice suddenly low so that she had to lean towards him to hear better. "How do you feel towards me?"

She was surprised by the question. "Well, as I said before, I like you very, very much, but this...other...feeling seems to keep getting in the way." She looked at him apologetically.

"I only ask because, perhaps it isn't so different..."

"What do you mean?"

Brookie gave a small sigh, "We work together, I'm older than you, I have some sort of rank here, people who depend on me to do my job properly, you know - so, not all together different?"

Sam nodded, seeing his point. "But, it is different isn't it?"

"Well, he is more old fashioned than I am..."

Sam gave a small chuckle. "Thank you, Brookie, you are a good friend. I wish...I wish I could..."

He shook his head and patted her hand, "Don't trouble yourself, Miss; just glad to help, if I can."

Sam nodded, heaving a sigh. "I won't tell him; I just can't."

"Then just be the best friend he can have; by God if anyone needs a friend, Mr Foyle does. He's got the world on his shoulders, that man has. No, you continue to be your sunny self, Miss Stewart, and things will work themselves out." He tapped his nose conspiratorially and gave her a wink.

"But we'll look after each other, won't we, Brookie?"

"We will, Miss Stewart, we will. We are like a family here at the old Constabulary. No getting rid of us so easily."

She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Starting the car again, they pulled away into the dark, black night, feeling closer and perhaps even more connected than before.