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Part Nine: Unforeseen Developments
Christopher found his mind straying to Katherine often during the next several days. Sitting in church listening to the sermon next morning he marvelled at the way she had gently drawn him out about things he rarely talked about, like bringing up Andrew alone. Pouring himself a cup of tea at work Tuesday afternoon, he found himself fretting about the anti-American prejudice she was encountering. And on Wednesday, driving in the car, his mind drifted back to the warmth in her eyes, the exquisite sensation of kissing her...
"Sir!" It had taken Sam three tries to get his attention. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Yes, fine. Sorry," he'd mumbled, glad she couldn't guess his thoughts. He felt ridiculously like a lovesick schoolboy. At his age!
At home that evening he steeled his nerves and picked up the telephone.
"Hello?" Hearing her melodious voice sent an absurd thrill through him. Funny how he didn't mind her American accent at all any more …
"Katherine? This is Christopher Foyle."
"Christopher, how nice to hear from you! How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you. You and Cecily all right?"
"Oh, yes. Just tucked her in."
"Good. Wanted to ask you if you'd like to have dinner with me this Saturday."
"Oh! That sounds lovely."
"Shall I come by for you around seven, then?"
"Seven o'clock is fine. I'll be looking forward to it."
"See you then."
He returned the receiver to its cradle and shook his head in wonder. He'd take her to the Carlisle Hotel, he decided. He knew it had a dance floor, and it was a stuffy enough establishment that its musical selections probably wouldn't be too alarmingly modern. Perhaps she would enjoy a bit of dancing after dinner. He knew it was madness, since he hadn't danced in years, but he was willing to risk making a fool of himself for the chance to hold Katherine in his arms in a socially acceptable manner.
Friday morning, though, his carefully laid plans were torpedoed by the ring of his office telephone. "Yes?" he said with his usual professional gruffness.
"Is this Mr Foyle?"
"Speaking."
"Christopher, it's Katherine Neville-West calling."
"Katherine!" Christopher sat up straight in his chair, thankful that Sam was well out of earshot. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm afraid I have bad news, Christopher. It's about tomorrow night. I've just had a call from the canteen manager at Lympne. Three of the WVS workers have gone down with 'flu and she's begging me to work Saturday night. I didn't feel I could refuse."
"Oh! Well, that's all right, Katherine. We'll do it some other time." Christopher struggled to keep his disappointment out of his voice. "Of course if you're needed there, I understand."
"I'm so sorry, Christopher. I feel very badly about it."
"Not at all. Don't think of it."
"Would it be terribly rude of me to suggest another time? I am free on Sunday evening …"
"Sunday? Excellent suggestion. What time shall I call for you?"
"Would six-thirty be all right? I know that's dreadfully early but I won't have had much sleep the night before and I have to get Cecily off to school next morning."
"Half past six it is. I'll see you then."
He rang off just as Sam entered the office with his morning tea.
On Sunday morning Christopher returned from church to another surprise. Andrew's RAF cap and tunic were hanging from a peg in the front hall. His son was sprawled in his favourite armchair, reading a newspaper and munching on a slice of toast. "Andrew! Didn't expect to see you home this week-end."
"Hello, Dad. Good to see you. I've got a 48-hour pass. Just got in a little while ago."
His father noticed the bloodshot eyes and unshaven face. "You look like you haven't been to bed."
"I haven't. I flew last night and came down right after on the early train. Thought I'd grab a nap and then we can catch up. I'm taking Sam out tonight. At least, I hope I am. She wasn't home when I tried to ring her just now."
"Saw her at church. She'll probably get home soon." Underneath his calm exterior Christopher was, as always, delighted to see his son. Having Andrew at home meant that he was alive and unhurt and allowed his father to shelve his worries for a day or two. But he sincerely hoped that Sam would be available that evening to distract Andrew. He wasn't yet ready to share his relationship with Katherine with anyone, not even his son.
Luckily Sam was free that evening. At a quarter to six a freshly rested Andrew dashed out the door to meet her, leaving his father innocently reading a book in the sitting room. The second the door closed, Christopher hurried upstairs to get ready for his own evening out. Best dark-blue suit, crisp white shirt, polished shoes and the light-blue silk tie Sam had given him for Christmas last year. "Just the colour of your eyes, sir!" she had told him airily. He took stock of his appearance in the mirror as he knotted it: medium height, receding hairline, dour countenance, figure still fairly trim (rationing helped there). Still, definitely a man past his prime. He wondered what Katherine saw in him.
When he knocked on her door just past six-thirty he was momentarily struck speechless. She looked stunning in a simple black cocktail dress, sleeveless and close-fitting, with a slim skirt that ended just below her knees. The elegant effect was enhanced by a demurely high neckline, silk stockings, and heeled pumps. Her dark hair was swept up in a twist, her only ornament a pair of antique silver earrings.
"Christopher." She smiled at him. "Good evening. Please come in."
"Katherine. You …" he began, but broke off when he saw an older woman sitting on the sofa, knitting.
"I'm ready. I just need to say goodnight to Cecily," she assured him, and called her daughter's name.
The little girl promptly appeared from the bedroom, clad in dressing gown and nightdress, her mane of blonde hair brushed loose. "Hello, Mr Foyle!" she smiled at him.
"Hello, Cecily." Christopher was struck once again by the child's artless charm. "You look all ready for bed."
"Mummy says I can stay up 'til half past seven."
"That's right, half past seven, but no later, do you hear? School tomorrow. And no wireless."
"Yes, Mummy."
"Goodnight, darling. I'll come kiss you in your bed when I get home." She bent to hug the child. "Sleep well." Glancing over at the older woman, she said, "Thanks again, Mrs Ramsey. I shouldn't be too late."
"Have a lovely time, dear," replied the woman placidly, as Christopher helped Katherine with her coat. She draped an emerald-green scarf round her neck and they departed.
Once outside, Christopher found his voice. "Over here. Taxi's waiting."
She looked at him in surprise. "A taxi? Where are we going?"
"The Carlisle."
He couldn't help feeling proud as he escorted her into the hotel. He thought she was by far the loveliest woman in sight and her pleasure in his company was evident. When they were at last seated at a table in a quiet corner of the dimly lit dining room, he found the courage to give voice to his thoughts. "Katherine. You look beautiful tonight."
"Why thank you, Christopher." She looked both pleased and shy at the compliment. "It was so kind of you to invite me again. I had such a lovely time last Saturday."
"So did I," he told her, feeling his confidence growing.
The meal sped by in a flow of easy conversation. She talked about her childhood in Virginia and told droll stories about her time at Cambridge. He in turn elaborated on his own early years in Hastings and described how his father had taught him to fish. Gradually she led the conversation round to Andrew, the centre of his life, and Christopher found himself recalling incidents he hadn't thought of in years. He even mentioned Rosalind several times, surprised at how little pain her name caused him.
The meal finished, he summoned his courage to ask her if she'd care to dance. She accepted readily, first excusing herself to visit the powder room. When she returned to the table she said, "Do you know, I think I just saw that driver of yours."
He looked up in surprise. "Sam? Where?"
"Out there." She nodded in the direction of the dance floor.
His eyebrows shot up. "Did she speak to you?"
"Oh, she didn't notice me at all. She was dancing with a very handsome young airman and didn't appear to be paying attention to anything else."
"Hmmm," Christopher muttered, frowning. This was a wrinkle he hadn't expected.
"Oh, come now, Christopher," Katherine said with a gently reproving smile. "He seemed like a perfectly respectable young man. Don't believe everything you've heard about pilots. Anyway, you're not her dad, are you?"
He realised there was no escape. "Well, no. Actually, I'm his dad."
"Oh?" Her eyes widened with surprise. "That was your son?"
"Yep."
"And he's walking out with your driver?"
"Mmmm."
"Oh, my … is that a problem?"
"No, not really."
"Has it been going on long?"
"Over a year now."
"Ah." She cocked her head and gave him a penetrating look. "And you're sure you don't mind?"
"No … well, did at first, a bit. Especially since they kept it secret from me for the first six months."
"Oh, dear!" Katherine raised a hand to her face, trying to hide her smile. "Dear old Dad is always the last to know, eh?"
"Apparently."
"So am I correct in guessing you'd just as soon not venture onto that dance floor tonight?"
"Well … might be a bit awkward. Do you mind if we skip it?"
"Not at all, Christopher. They were playing the Lambeth Walk earlier, and I don't think anyone over thirty should even attempt it. It looks like a guaranteed road to rheumatism. I'm afraid I don't go much beyond waltzes and foxtrots."
"Well, just have to find someplace that specialises in waltzes and foxtrots. Another night, though. Not very many places open for dancing on a Sunday."
"That's fine with me. I am starting to get a bit tired. Let's see if we can slip out without them spotting us."
Departing unseen, they found no taxis in front of the hotel. "Too cold to stand about," said Christopher, turning up his coat collar and offering her his arm. "Shall we start walking? There's enough moonlight to see where we're going and with any luck we'll see a taxi soon."
"Katherine," he said, after they had covered a few dark and deserted blocks, "I do want you to meet Andrew sometime. I just thought it would be … awkward for him to run into us unexpectedly like that."
"Oh, I understand, Christopher. It's perfectly fine. There's no reason to rush. Besides -" her eyes twinkled mischievously at him - "I can certainly understand why you wouldn't be too eager to tell him after he'd kept you in the dark for six months."
He smiled in the darkness. "No, it isn't that. I just … would prefer to keep this private for a while. Not that I think my walking out with you would bother him, but …"
Katherine sounded puzzled. "But surely he's accustomed to seeing you step out with women. It's been, what - ten years since you lost your wife?"
"Well … not really. I've had very little social life since … since then."
She stopped, turning to face him in the stillness. "Really? There hasn't been anyone in your life since … in ten years?"
"No one serious."
"Oh," she said in a very quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Christopher. I had no idea. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"You didn't."
"I'm just … surprised. You're such an attractive man, and so charming, that I naturally assumed …"
Christopher felt a warm glow of pleasure at her words. "Assumed what?"
"Well, that you have many lady friends, of course."
His eyes locked onto hers in the faint light. "Only one," he replied softly. Suddenly feeling that words were a very inadequate tool for expressing his feelings, he leaned closer. She lifted her face to his as he bent toward her.
Their lips had barely touched before the stillness was shattered by the wail of an air-raid siren. They pulled apart.
"We need to take shelter," he said immediately, his quick instincts springing to the fore. "Nothing open near here on a Sunday evening. My house isn't too far. D'you think you can run?"
"Not very well, in these shoes -"
"Try." He took her arm to help hurry her along. Already they could hear the distant hum of bombers.
At Steep Lane, Christopher unlocked the door and ushered her inside, shutting the door before he switched on a light. He took Katherine's coat and hung it on the hall-stand with his own. "Do you want to go out to the shelter?"
"We probably don't need to unless we hear bombs falling, don't you think?" she replied. They both knew that the bombers were likely to fly over Hastings and release their deadly loads on London.
"I agree. Please come in and sit down." He gestured toward the sitting room. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"No, thank you."
Foyle switched on a lamp and she picked up a framed photograph that stood beneath it. "Is this your son?"
"Yes."
Her brow furrowed as she stared at the picture. "He looks familiar. Was he ever stationed at Lympne?"
"Yes. Last year."
"Hmmm … I'm not sure. The insignia is wrong. The young man I'm thinking of is a pilot officer. Wears a DFC."
Christopher's eyebrows shot up. "That's Andrew. That picture is old. It was taken when he first got his wings." He cocked his head at her. "So you know him."
"Well, I wouldn't say that. I've seen him, yes, but he wouldn't remember me. I've just poured him a few cups of tea, that's all." She set the picture carefully back on the table.
"I'm surprised you didn't recognise him at the hotel earlier."
"Well, the light was dim and they were dancing cheek-to-cheek. I couldn't see much of his face. But I do remember him from the base. Always polite, not self-important like so many pilots. All the men look up to him, Christopher. I remember him talking a lot to the younger pilots, checking up on them, encouraging them. He showed a great deal of compassion when - well, when someone didn't make it back. He's one of those lads the others seem to revolve around. A natural leader."
Christopher felt absurdly proud at her words. He had often wondered how Andrew was regarded by his RAF peers and this precious glimpse into his son's service life was something he knew he'd cherish. "Thank you, Katherine," he said, deeply moved.
"No need to thank me. It's just what I remember."
A little embarrassed by his emotions, Christopher turned away from her for a moment. He switched on the wireless and a soft, slow melody filled the room. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to her and held out his hand. "Perhaps … we might get in some dancing after all?"
She put her hand in his and they moved together as if they had been doing it all their lives. His arm went round her slender waist while her hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. He felt his cheek brush against her smooth dark hair and closed his eyes, the better to savour the softness of her skin and the delicate floral scent of her perfume.
They swayed gently together for a long, long time. Neither spoke. Gradually he drew her closer to him, enjoying the tantalising nearness of her figure brushing lightly against him. Finally he could resist no longer, and drew his head back enough to seek out her mouth.
He kissed her softly at first, until he felt her lips parting beneath his. Delicately, tentatively, his tongue explored hers, the contact making his pulse quicken. When he broke away, he pulled back far enough to look searchingly into her eyes for a long moment. Seeing no reluctance there, he kissed her more deeply, a thrill of excitement coursing through him as he felt her respond.
Her body grew soft and pliant and he let go her hand to put his other arm around her too, pulling her tighter against him. Her hands slid around his neck and he could feel her running her fingers lightly through the short hairs at the nape, sending delightful shivers down his spine. He murmured her name indistinctly against the side of her neck. Her breath caught and she pressed herself to him as he nuzzled the delicate skin just below her earlobe. Emboldened, his kisses grew more fervent, his hands caressing sensuously up and down her back. He had almost forgotten how marvellous it felt to embrace a woman like this. He felt as though he were coming alive again after ten years of hibernation.
A few minutes more and he realised he was on the brink of being overwhelmed by their passion. Dangerous, he thought. This is too dangerous. He wondered wildly what she would do if he led her upstairs to his bedroom. The unexpected impulse shocked and thrilled him. Oh, God, I mustn't. But I want her so badly … desperately he tried to push the erotic images from his mind.
Katherine seemed to come to herself at the same time. She pulled back and pushed him away slightly, chest heaving, her eyes soft with desire. "Christopher, please," she gasped. "I'm not ready for this …"
He released her immediately. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I didn't mean to … I mean, I didn't intend for this to happen when I suggested we come here…" He jammed his hands into his pockets and took a deep, steadying breath.
"I know that. I just … didn't expect us to get so … carried away. I … I don't want to feel I've led you on, Christopher." Her cheeks were very pink.
"No, no, of course not! Entirely my fault. I don't want to rush you, Katherine. It's just … it's been a very long time since I've felt ..." he broke off, his voice husky with emotion.
Much later, he wondered how she would have replied if their attention hadn't been distracted by an urgent voice from the wireless. "This is the BBC Home Service bringing you an update on the latest war news. At least twenty American ships have been heavily damaged or destroyed in a surprise Japanese air raid on the United States naval base at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii. Carrier-based Zero fighter planes swept down on America's main naval outpost in the Pacific Ocean shortly after dawn today …"
Both their heads had swung sharply toward the wireless. Foyle moved over to the set and turned up the volume. They listened in stunned silence to the newsreader's description of the attack and its aftermath. "My God," Christopher murmured at last, looking at Katherine. She stared back at him, eyes wide.
"Those poor sailors!" she exclaimed softly. "But … do you realise what this means, Christopher?"
Before he could answer, Christopher heard the front door open. "Dad!" shouted his son's voice. Andrew burst into the sitting room, dragging a breathless Sam by the hand. "Dad! Did you hear the news -" He broke off abruptly when he saw his father wasn't alone. "Oh, I'm sorry …"