Chapter 7

Drawing up outside a white columned hotel five days later, Foyle noticed Sam glance at him with some concern. He ignored the looks, continuing to stare ahead. His face was set in grim determination, and as he stepped out he said, "Right, this won't take long. Back soon."

Foyle found the Assistant Commissioner coming down the stairs of the hotel to meet him.

"I've finished here, Foyle, and I'm heading back up to London."

"Certainly had no intention of keeping you…sir."

He'd endured a week of the man hindering him at every step of the present investigation, and Foyle had just about had enough. He had rung and arranged this meeting with a somewhat heavy heart, knowing the decision he would likely have to make would affect others around him.

They went into a now disused dining hall, its furniture laying abandoned under white sheets. On any other day, Foyle would have noticed the beautiful view from the terrace windows, but today, his mind was on other things.

"I'm here to find out about the De Perez situation," Foyle began, setting his hat on the table and sitting down. Foyle had plenty of evidence to tie the Spaniard to the week long acts of sabotage, and he wanted the man in custody.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," the Commissioner said, "he's attached to the embassy." He went on to explain what Foyle already knew about diplomatic staff attached to foreign embassies and the seemingly free pass they had in matters concerning the law.

Foyle folded his hands in front of him and nodded, listening. He felt inwardly furious, but bit his lip to hold back his anger.

"So, he goes free. That's marvellous. They all go free."

"What on earth do you mean, Foyle?" said the Commissioner impatiently.

Foyle succinctly outlined the developments and findings of his investigation, staring back at the man opposite him with piercing eyes. Why was it because of a war, suddenly law and justice didn't seem to matter? If that was the way they wanted to do things, they could jolly well do it without him.

"It's not enough," the Commissioner said promptly once he had finished.

Foyle closed his eyes and felt his heart sink. "Well." He began to stand up, adding softly, "It certainly is for me."

The Commissioner tried to stop him, panic suddenly sweeping his face. He tried pleading, apologising, and then bargaining. Foyle merely gave him a withering look and tossed an envelope on the table before his superior.

He left without glancing back, feeling the colour rising in his face.

Foyle took a deep breath as he left the hotel, his anger and frustration slipping away into sadness. A bitter taste lay on his tongue and he thought, "After all this time, is this really how it ends?"

He saw Sam and Milner standing along the beach near the sea wall and he walked slowly down to meet them. Sam came forward first, noticing the look on his face. She and Milner stood unbelievingly as they heard Foyle say softly, "I've resigned."

Sam's mouth dropped in dismay.

Milner glanced at Sam before looking back at Foyle, unsure of himself.

"Sir?" he asked.

Sam's cheeks began to colour as tears sprang into her eyes.

"Let's get back," Foyle suggested, pivoting and walking away.

He said nothing more as they trudged back towards the Wolseley.

Sam drove in silence, feeling as if her chest would be crushed by the confusion she felt. She felt hurt, and almost betrayed, as if Foyle was leaving her behind. What did this resignation mean? Would she lose her job as well? And not driving him every day — Sam gulped.

The two men in the car next to her said nothing, and the thick silence was beginning to be stifling.
At the station, they all got out hurriedly, and Sam watched as Milner followed Foyle sadly inside. She leaned against the bonnet and with a sob began to cry in earnest. Her shoulders shook and for a few minutes her breaths came as gasps as the sobs wracked her body.

She closed her eyes and held her head in her hands, not noticing the man coming quietly into the station's yard. She looked up only when she felt arms come around her and a warm voice whisper, "Sam?"

She recognised the buttons before her, and her gaze moved upwards to see the concerned look. Burying her tear stained face in his chest she cried, "Oh Brookie…"

He pulled her into an almighty embrace, wrapping her up easily like a doll. "Shh," he whispered, "there, there, Miss Stewart."

Brookie rested his chin on the top of her head, "It will be all right, you'll see."

"But how, Brookie?" Sam asked, sobs subsiding. "What will I do now?"

"I don't know," Brookie admitted. "But you won't lose him."

"But I won't drive him everyday, and I won't ever see him," Sam sniffed, feeling overwhelmed and empty.

"You don't know that," Brookie said sensibly. "We'll all miss him, but he won't leave Hastings. Together you'll figure out the next step. It isn't hopeless, you'll see."

"But if I'm not working here, my father will be on at me to come home."

Brookie pulled back to give her a half grin, "Well, if I were you, I'd tell old Dad that you're not quite finished with things here."

Sam gave a half sob, half laugh, dabbing at her eyes and trying to rearrange her face.

"You are right, Brookie; best to take one step at a time."

"That's the ticket, my love," Brookie said, giving her a squeeze.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Where else would you be? Mr Foyle came in with Sergeant Milner and told us all that he had resigned, and then went into his office. I came to find you as you hadn't come in with them."

Sam placed a hand on his arm, "Brookie, what would I do without you?"

He chuckled, "All part and parcel, Miss Stewart." He gave her a mock salute and offered his arm. "Come on then, let's have a cuppa and put on a smile."

In the late afternoon, after spending most of the day flitting between Milner's office and Brookie's station in agitation, Sam tried to get up the nerve to knock on Foyle's door. Before she could make her way down the corridor however, the door opened and Foyle came out carrying an old, battered briefcase. Sam had not seen it before and wondered what he was doing with it.

Foyle paused by the front desk, looking at Sam and Brookie. He gave a small smile. "Let's go, Sam."

He held out his hand to Brookie and they shook hands. "Good luck, Sergeant."

Foyle's eyes flicked towards Sam, "And thank you…for everything."

Sam felt tears prick the back of her eyes again and she blinked furiously.

Brookie nodded, swallowing hard.

"Sam." Foyle nodded his head towards the door and she followed him.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Sam concentrating on shifting. Finally, she asked, "You have a briefcase, sir?"

Foyle looked at her with a sideways glance. "Er…well, it's an old one I kept at the bottom of my filing cabinet. Haven't used it since Andrew was small…my wife...my late wife…she gave it to me when I got my first promotion..."

Foyle broke off, clearing his throat. "The rest they can box up and send."

"Sir, you can't really be leaving?"

"I have."

"But…"

She stopped speaking as a lorry pulled out in front of them on the narrow road, causing her to brake hard.

"Shall we talk about this later, Sam?" Foyle said, touching his tie nervously.

"You promise?" asked Sam, somewhat severely. She knew his tendency to get out of discussing things if he could.

"Look, I've got the last three fingers of some old whiskey in this case," he said, resting his arm comfortably along the back of the bench, "also from the bottom of the cabinet…um, you can have a drink with me to celebrate the end of my police service."

Foyle paused and twitched his lip, "If you like."

"Ooh, rather, sir!" she said, turning to look at him.

"Watch the road, Sam," he said with an exasperated smile. "And perhaps you'd like to call me Christopher?"