Chapter 5

Foyle woke feeling incredibly grumpy. He couldn't explain why, having slept well; for once, a dreamless and restful night. The case was finally coming to a close, and he had fallen asleep right away in exhaustion. No tossing and turning, or worrying about Andrew, his work, or the nagging feeling at the back of his mind of what to do about Sam.

The fact that he should feel refreshed only further annoyed him. In the course of his ablutions he nicked himself shaving, knocked his water glass over so that it shattered, sending glass everywhere, and managed to cut his finger as he was tidying it up. Cursing loudly, he threw his clothes on, went down and began clattering agitatedly in the kitchen, glaring at the kettle.

A smart knock came at the door and he cursed again; he hadn't even done up his tie yet. He opened the door, face still set in annoyance.

"You'd better come in Sam, I'm a bit behind this morning."

Sam stepped in, closing the door. "Anything I can do, sir?"

As an answer he huffed, going back into the kitchen. "Cup of tea and we'll be off."

"You're bleeding, sir," she said in concern, pointing at his hand.

"Bugger."

Sam had to stifle a giggle, as it wasn't often Foyle was in this sort of mood. He was obviously out of sorts, but it only made Sam want to laugh, seeing his face. He looked like a five old denied a toy, having been told off by his mother.

"Let me, sir." She took his hand forcefully, running it under the tap. She caught his eye and smiled softly. "There that's better."

Foyle saw the laughter in her eyes. She felt him relax and then begin to shake with silent chuckles.

"I must seem a right mess."

"You've been working too hard, sir."

"It's this case. It's been hard work for everyone." He paused, "Sam? Does Brookie know something I don't? He gave me the strangest look yesterday."

Sam blushed, "I'm sure it was nothing."

"You two have been having your heads together a lot lately..." Foyle cleared his throat, " I know you two..."

Sam broke in, cutting him off, "It isn't what you think, sir!"

"So, not a birthday party, then? Well thank goodness for that..."

Sam looked at him blankly and Foyle laughed.

He took her hand gently in his dripping wet one, the bleeding now stopped. He said gently, "I shouldn't like the others to, um ... well, we'd better get to the station..."

"Yes..." Sam said distractedly... "We wouldn't want them to...think..."

She looked up, finding his eyes. "Sorry, sir."

"Why?"

"I don't want to make things difficult for you."

"Have you?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged.

Foyle felt this was getting them no where and stopped himself from tutting. He realised he shouldn't even be broaching this subject, should leave well alone, but he just couldn't. It was like an itch that had bothered him for too long. Seeing Brookie and Sam get closer hadn't helped either.

He bit his lip before asking, "Pardon me for asking, but are you walking out with Sergeant Brooke?"

Sam looked up in astonishment, "No, sir, of course not."

Foyle knew he should let go of her hand; knew he should not even consider what he was about to do; knew that this wasn't at all appropriate, but he couldn't help feeling it was right.

"Good, then he won't mind if I do this..." Foyle stepped in and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close in a tender embrace. "I hope you will forgive me, Sam, but I feel I owe you so much gratitude. You've kept me sane over these last few years, and even today when everything was going wrong, you are able to fix it and make it better."

He patted her shoulder, and pulled away, "I just wanted to...er...thank you..."

Foyle chewed his lower lip, looking at the floor.

If Sam was surprised, she didn't show it. Touching his arm, she said, "I should really be thanking you. You've kept me out of trouble so often and...given me a life I hadn't ever imagined. I would have been miserable at the MTC."

She grinned, "Wielding spanners for His Majesty for the duration would have been maddening."

Foyle looked up, "There are many things I'd like to say to you, Sam. But perhaps they will have to wait."

"Until when?" said Sam curiously.

Foyle smiled, "Later. Really we must be on our way now, otherwise we'll be terribly late." He let go of her hand and dried his on a tea towel. "Right, let's go."

It wasn't until a week later that the case was wrapped up properly. Sam could see that Foyle was exhausted. They hadn't had a chance to talk much outside of work and the case, but she knew he hadn't forgotten. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of someone whistling a jolly tune. Brookie.

She called out to him from the kitchenette of the station, where she stood brooding over a cup of tea. He popped his head round the door frame as he heard his name.

He grinned, " 'allo, got a cuppa for me?"

She smiled, "Yes, if you like. There's some left in the pot."

He came in, taking a cup from the sideboard. "What are you in here on your lonesome for?"

"Just thinking."

"You want to be careful doing that, it will get you into trouble." He gave her a wink.

"Brookie," Sam began slowly, "He hugged me and thanked me...for, being there, I suppose. Last week. He said we would talk, but we haven't had time to yet. I'm just wondering about it, what he might say; what I will say."

Brookie nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

He leant against the table next to her, their shoulders touching companionably.

"Don't think, perhaps that's the answer."

Sam smiled, "Easy for you to say. But, no, you might be right."

"Just do what comes naturally."

"But..."

Brookie nudged her shoulder, "Don't think, remember?"

"Right."

They both jumped when Foyle came past, doing a double take when he saw them. He raised his eyebrows and Brookie hurriedly gulped his tea.

"Thanks for the cuppa, Miss Stewart."

He breezed past Foyle with a grin and went back to the front desk. If he'd have looked back along the corridor he would have seen the Detective giving Sam a knowing look and heard him say, "I'll walk home. See you tomorrow morning, Sam, as usual."

She nodded, blushing furiously, hoping he hadn't overheard their conversation.

The next morning found her outside Foyle's house on Steep Lane. She was starving, wishing there was a tea room that still served large slices of cake here. Staring out towards Hastings from the top step reminded her of their walk along the beach; she wondered if Foyle would find time to talk with her soon. She wasn't sure what "the many things" he wanted to say to her were about, but her curiosity was starting to get the better of her. She turned as the door opened.

Foyle looked out from his narrow hall, eyes tired and face drawn. He should really take a holiday, Sam thought.

"Come in, Sam. I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet."

This was music to Sam's ears, and she followed him in; maybe now he would speak with her.
He was in only his shirtsleeves; he pulled on his waistcoat as they entered the lounge.

"Have a cup of tea if you like; there's some toast left too. I'm in no rush to get to the station."

"Thank you, sir, I will. Why aren't you in a rush?" Sam said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Well, the case is over...and do you know, I'm quite tired." He paused, fiddling with his cuff links.

"Seems no matter how I present the facts, decisions are made without consideration for justice. The commissioner has made that clear." He frowned, looking put-out and preoccupied.

"Sorry, sir."

"Hmm? Oh, it will get sorted out," Foyle said distractedly, adding under his breath, "One way or another."

He sat down opposite her. "Sam?"

She looked up, "Yes, sir?"

"Thank you for waiting patiently."

"It's no trouble, sir. I'm here to drive you where and when you like."

Foyle twitched his lip, "I didn't mean that...I meant, er, our chat. I said I wanted to speak to you about certain things, and I, um, suppose with one thing and another..." He broke off, looking at her, suddenly unsure.

She set down her cup. "I think we both aren't saying what we think, not openly anyway."

Foyle stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets, "I'm your boss, for goodness sake - really, Sam."

His gaze rested on the ceiling as he shifted his weight from foot to foot in agitation. "And far too, er... No, Sam, really, we should just leave it. I'm being completely unfair in even...no, no, let's just forget it. I apologise for my forwardness and for causing you any..."

Sam interrupted him, "In the past I think, sir, I would have agreed with you and kept my mouth shut. My father always said that's what I should learn to do, but I never have been any good at following rules, especially his. No, sir, please listen. I know you see all the problems that...this," she waved vaguely at the space between them, "May cause, but I'm rather at the end of my rope - I know this isn't at all proper, I work for you, and I don't want to get you into any hot water either, but you must know." She stopped for breath, gazing at him intensely.

Foyle let out a long sigh, "Yes, well..." He shook his head, feeling defeated. He couldn't explain himself, nor could he find a happy medium between mind and heart.

He turned to smile softly at her. "Better get to the station."

She nodded reluctantly, feeling a bit sad. She didn't want to admit that he was probably right to leave it unsaid. It burned within her, however, dancing on the tip of her tongue. She knew that they both understood each other, but neither could see a way, or at least a clear way, forward.

Sam stood, following him out into the hall. "Your tie, sir?"

Foyle rolled his eyes, "Would forget my head today, if it wasn't already attached."

He went up the stairs, leaving Sam trembling with pent up emotions below. She had thought about what things he might say, but this wasn't quite what she had imagined. What had Brookie said? Don't think.

Suddenly, she smiled, feeling determined. Her thoughts raced ahead, stumbling over pleasant images.

When he came back down, looking much more himself, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The look in his eyes was different and more purposeful. He had shaken off the weariness and he seemed more in control of his face. There was nothing there that said only five minutes before he had been staring at her in despair.

As he drew level with her, she tried to fight the desire to reach out and pull him to her. She touched his shoulder instead, moving her hand down to his tie to straighten it.

"I must be out of my mind, today, Sam," Foyle said in a low voice.

"Perhaps..." Her hand remained on his tie, thumb ever so slightly rubbing the soft, silky material.

He drew his breath in sharply. "Or I've been out of my mind not to have done this before..."

The desire that sank through Sam was like a magnet, drawing her to him. He pulled her to him, finding her lips in one swift move.

"Oh!" was all that Sam managed before falling into his kiss.

After a moment, he stopped, searching her eyes with concern. "Sam? I...er...I know that was terribly inappropriate, I should have asked...I mean I shouldn't have even..."

Sam crushed his protestations with kisses of her own, tentative and tender. Finding his ear, she purred, "I've wanted that for so long..."

Foyle was nearly beside himself, hearing such an admission. They both wanted this, and he could hardly believe it. He pushed her against the door gently, feeling her breasts against his chest. He was trembling, feeling like a schoolboy in uncharted territory. Every sense was on fire and he felt years of loneliness disappearing. He let his hands explore thoughtfully, experiencing immense pleasure at the feel of her beneath his touch. She seemed to come alive.

For Sam it was as if everything suddenly felt right. She didn't even stop to compare his kissing to Joe or Brookie; it just felt as it should and she shivered under his touch. Her desire for him was pent up from years of denial and feeling foolish, and it suddenly unleashed with an unabashed fervour. Her breath came now in gasps and pants and she felt she was drowning in this man's kiss.

He seemed to sense this and moved his lips to her neck, causing her to do as she had done with Brookie, throwing her head back and pulling him even closer. The feel of this man against her was almost more than she could bear and her knees shook until she could hardly stand.

Foyle tried to stop then, feeling her tremble against him. He held her a moment until it subsided. Both laughed a little, happiness exuding from each other's eyes.

He murmured, "We really will be late now..."

He kissed her cheek, "Though how we'll get through the day...or how we'll make this work..." He smiled at her, somewhat sadly, "I'm all out of answers, Sam."

"Let's worry about that later," Sam suggested.

Foyle touched her cheek, and raised one of his eyebrows in thought. "We'll have to keep this to ourselves...for now, I think."

She nodded, face flushed and eyes dancing. "Brookie knows though."

Foyle stopped, hand in midair, reaching for his trilby. "Oh?"

"He said he saw it from day one; we talked about it and he encouraged me to tell you - encouraged us both really - anyway, that's why we've been... he's been a real brick, actually."

She smiled at Foyle, watching him put his head to one side and bend his knees slightly in a little dip.

"Well, I'd best thank him sometime then." Foyle clamped his hat down on his head, smiling brightly.

Sam grinned, straightened her hair and opened the door, stepping out into a changed morning.