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Only You	By : Hazeleyed Category: 1 through F > Foyle's War Views: 6319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Foyles War, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Disclaimer: Fan fiction for entertainment only, no profit being made. Foyle’s War and characters are the product of Anthony Horowitz’ imagination. No infringement intended,

Title: Only You, chapter 11

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: NC17, MA, over 18. This is a Sam/Foyle ‘ship; if it’s not your cup of tea, go no further!

A/N: All good things come to an end…at last!

                                Only You Chapter 11

Milner didn’t question the punishing pace that Foyle kept up on their return from the pub. His instincts were pretty sound, and if Mr Foyle wanted to hurry back to work, that was fine by him. If truth be told, Milner’s own instincts were letting him know that this was probably a personal matter; not one requiring police attention.

Well, perhaps the attention of one specific policeman…

Still wearing his outdoor coat and carrying his hat, Foyle absently patted his pockets as he passed Sgt Brooke at the front desk for a second time. He had no idea what he had expected to find in his coat pockets, but it was probably just unconsciously searching behaviour. He had stuck his head in his office, checked the staff room and waited a sufficient amount of time for a constipated elephant to have finished its business and emerged from the Ladies.

Where the hell is she?

Foyle returned to the front desk.

“Sergeant, have you seen Miss Stewart?”

Sgt. Brooke looked up in surprise.

“Sam? Not recently, sir. She left after putting that letter on your desk. Nothing wrong is there, sir?”

Letter? What letter?

Foyle hurried back to his office and checked his desk. This time he saw what he had missed when he had only looked in earlier; a sealed envelope with his name on it, in the fine penmanship of his driver.

He tore open the envelope and rapidly read the letter inside. He cursed under his breath, and then re-read the whole thing more slowly. He looked at his watch and cursed again. He quickly walked back to the front desk.

“Sergeant Brooke, I am in need of a driver.”

“I’d be happy to help, but there’s no car – the Commissioner took the Wolseley on official police business, and the other car is out.”

“What?” He rubbed at his forehead. “I’ll never get there in time. Bloody fine mess this is.”

Foyle was rapidly going through his options and dismissing all of them; taxi impossible to find, bus too slow, too far to walk or even run – although he had no intention of running all the way to the station, just to drop dead at Sam’s feet, or even worse, have no breath to speak.

Sergeant Brooke dared to interrupt.

“If you’re desperate, I have transport.”

Foyle rounded on him.

“You have? Where?”

Brooke pointed over his shoulder.

“It’s out the back, in the station yard.”

Foyle spotted Milner coming out of his office as Brooke was speaking.

“Milner, would you mind holding fort at the desk? I need to borrow Sgt Brooke.”

“Yes, sir.”

Having been left his own note, Milner kept his smile discreet and managed not to say ‘good luck’. He hadn’t seen Foyle this galvanised in some time.

Brookie disappeared off towards the station yard, with Foyle in tow. Outside, several moments later, the sergeant stopped and smiled with pride.

“There you are, sir; isn’t she a beauty?”

Foyle looked at ‘beauty’. He looked back at Brooke, his face filled with disbelief.

“Please tell me that you are joking.”

Brooke shrugged, not in the least put out and, in Foyle’s opinion, rather too amused.

“Well, I did say ‘if you were desperate’.”

* * * * *

Sam waited at the railway station platform for the next train to Lyminster. Fifty five miles and she would be back in the bosom of her family.

It would be nice to see her parents again, but...

She immediately felt bad that she was so glum about going home, but much as she loved her parents, she found them much more relaxing company at a little distance.

Say, fifty five miles, give or take a yard.

She had not brought her suitcase with her. Although she could probably fit all her possessions in two cases, she had left most of her things at her billet. All she had with her was her handbag and her gas mask. She strongly suspected that she had deliberately left some of her possessions in Hastings to make sure that she had to come back to get them.

After all, who knows who one might bump into in Hastings?

The coat she was wearing was keeping out the March chill, but the wind was whistling across the station and Sam wished that she had worn trousers. But as she was going home and her father thought that young ladies should wear dresses or skirts, she had decided to go with a dress. No point upsetting him before she had to.

I’ll take it as a sign that I have to stay here with Christopher if my train is late or cancelled.

I’ll take it as a sign that I have to stay here with Christopher if two seagulls fly over head in the next two minutes.

She glanced at her watch and then looked up at the sky. The familiar cry of the large seaside scavengers was heard less than a minute later.

That was hardly a fair test. Do more than two seagulls count? Or does it have to be just the two I specified? Let’s face it Sam, old girl, you want to stay anyway, so why look for silly signs?

She sighed heavily.

I love him enough to let him go. I’m pitting my short term happiness against his long term happiness. If I married him, I’d be unhappy that he was miserable, because I’d know if he was putting a brave face on things.

It’s just that I’ll miss him so. I knew that I would, but I didn’t know that it would hurt this much.

Sam’s already red eyes filled again, and her stiff upper lip was no match for the tears that slid down her face.

Christopher!

* * * * *

Foyle went back inside the station and after a quick glance at his watch decided to use the telephone on the front desk. Milner turned the phone towards him before being asked, and then moved a short but discreet distance away.

Within moments Foyle was through to Hastings railway station.

“Yes, hello, DCS Foyle of Hastings police here. We have reason to believe that a person we wish to speak to is trying to leave by train. Yes, that’s right. Young woman, mid twenties, auburn hair, tall. Freckles. Might have a case with her.”

He listened for a moment, focused on the call and not his surroundings.

“The reason? Um, well, theft mostly. I’d appreciate your help, if you could arrange for someone to hold her until I get there. Violent? Nnno, not especially. No rough stuff though, she’s…umm…expecting a baby.”

Foyle saw Milner’s back stiffen in either surprise or shock, but the younger man said nothing.

“Right, I’ll be there shortly. Appreciate it, thank you.”

Foyle hung up and turned to find that Brooke had returned. It was obvious from his expression that he had heard enough, but give the man his due, he too said nothing.

“Ready, sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

Milner caught his eye.

“Good luck, sir. Bring her back.”

Foyle nodded, knowing that he didn’t need to explain or justify anything.

We can’t always dictate where our heart leads us.

* * * * *

“Ready?”

Foyle could hardly hear the question above the noise of the engine, but he nodded anyway.

“Hang on, sir!”

As if I need telling!

Foyle was already hanging on like grim death and his grip tightened when Brooke gunned the engine and with an ear-splitting roar, the two of them shot forward, heading for the yard exit.

Pausing only briefly to check for other traffic, Brooke pulled out onto the main road, heading for the station. Within seconds Foyle decided that he would either have to sacrifice one of his handholds, or his hat.

The hat won.

It was Foyle’s first trip on a motorbike.

He sincerely hoped that it wasn’t his last.

* * * * *

Sam looked again at her watch. Her train was not yet late, but she had only a few more minutes to decide her future.

If this were one of my favourite novels, the hero would come dashing in at the last minute and sweep the damsel off her feet and into his arms. It might even possibly involve fighting off unspeakable beasts who want me for their own nefarious plans.

Which is probably why I left Christopher a letter telling him what time my train was leaving. I suppose I live in hope that he’ll come to his senses and tell me that he loves me, wants me, and to come back home jolly quick.

“Well, he’ll have to be very jolly quick, here’s my train.”

* * * * *

After a ride that he hoped he’d never have to repeat, Foyle climbed stiffly off the pillion seat and nodded his thanks to Sgt. Brooke. Brooke removed his goggles.

“Sorry about your hat, sir.”

“No matter. I’m sure I can bear the cost of another instead of a broken arm or leg.”

“That’s the spirit. I’ll wait, shall I? Just in case you need another lift?”

Against his better judgement, Foyle nodded before turning to walk into Hastings station.

The stationmaster was waiting in the foyer and eyed him up and down as he entered. He appeared to have no trouble identifying a policeman.

“Foyle, is it?”

“Yes, DCS Foyle.”

He got out his warrant card, which was closely scrutinised. He suspected that the stationmaster was a veteran from the Great War judging by his upright bearing and no-nonsense manner.

“Albert Morgan, Stationmaster. Bad news, I’m afraid. There is no-one here that fits the description you gave us. You sure she came this way? Where do you think she was headed?”

Foyle couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“Arundel way, Lyminster possibly? She has family in the region.”

The stationmaster brightened.

“Ah, well, are you sure it was this station she was going from? Westbound trains often stop at West St Leonards. P’raps she was going from there.”

Foyle closed his eyes briefly, inwardly cursing as he mentally re-read Sam’s letter.

“No idea, only mentioned a station. But thank you for your co-operation, much appreciated.”

The two men shook hands as they parted, and Foyle turned to leave, moving briskly. The stationmaster called after him, his curiosity too great.

“What did she steal?”

My heart.

“Not at liberty to tell you, but you’ve been very helpful.”

Morgan nodded sagely, tapping the side of his nose.

“Right-ho.”

War business, enough said.

Foyle emerged into sunlight and viewed the waiting sergeant with some resignation.

Brooke started the motorbike and pulled up his goggles.

This is a bit more like it, the thrill of the chase. Mind you, the crafty bugger has already caught her at least once by the sound of it. Who’d a thought it, hey? Didn’t think he ‘ad it in ‘im.

Brooke grinned as Foyle climbed on behind him.

He’s ‘ad it in ‘er though. Lucky bastard.

“Hold on tight, sir!”

Despite the warning Foyle was still caught unprepared and jerked backwards as they pulled away, but he managed not to fall off. His hat, long gone, would have protected him to some degree from the wind whipping what hair he had left around his head. He discovered that his eyes watered if he tried to look past Brooke, his coat flapped so badly that the material stung his legs and there was the distinct possibility that he had just swallowed a fly. As he coughed, he sincerely hoped that Sam was at West St Leonards; he didn’t think he could manage a third trip.

He was very grateful when the small station hove into view. His dismount was even shakier than before, but Foyle had enough pride left to attempt to hide his wobbly gait.

“Thank you, sergeant.”

Brooke grinned, a white split in a dusty face.

“Quite all right, sir.”

Foyle entered the station and moved through to the westbound platform, just in time to see a train pull out. His heart sank.

Foyle re-entered the office.

“Was the train that just left the ten past to Lyminster?”

The ticket clerk looked up over his half-moon glasses at him, noted the dusty and windswept appearance without comment and then glanced at the clock on the wall behind Foyle.

“Yes, sir. Next one in two hours.”

Foyle nodded his thanks and stepped back from the window to allow another passenger to buy a ticket.

Two hours.

What the hell am I going to do for two hours?

Sit down and think what an idiot I was for letting her go in the first place?

Yup.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, distracted enough not to notice the dust.

She’s so young. I know that I’m not a prime catch for her, but we have our desire for each other in common, and I’m sure that in time she could come to love me. She’s strong and independent, but being an unwed mother is no easy life at all and I don’t want that for her or the baby.

The baby.

Foyle’s mouth lifted at one side, his pleasure requiring an outlet.

When she first told me that she wasn’t pregnant, I was too dismayed to think clearly, but in hindsight all the clues were there. The ‘off’ milk and funny-tasting tea had also been a problem to Rosalind with Andrew. The tiredness, her fair skin even paler than usual, her uncharacteristic lack of interest in food and the near-faint at my feet, all pointed to the fact that my dear Sam has lied to me.

Foyle began to feel cautiously optimistic. If Sam had lied to him – and he was fairly certain that she had – then it must mean that she cared about him enough to think that she was doing him a favour by leaving. Caring, in his book, was well on the road to love. Maybe there was hope yet.

He returned to Sergeant Brooke and sent him back to the police station; he would make his own transport arrangements to get back to Hastings.

Foyle walked back to the westbound platform, his gait slow and measured. He looked down at his dusty coat and tried to brush off some of the marks. He ran a hand over his hair and felt undressed without his hat. God knows what his face must look like; it felt gritty to the touch.

Looking up the platform, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating.

“Sam?”

The young woman who had just exited the Ladies Waiting Room moved away, obviously unable to hear him at this distance, but he was certain that it was her.

Foyle moved towards her, his stride neither slow nor measured.

“Sam!”

The woman turned towards the sound of his voice.

It was her.

“Christopher?”

The instant flash of joy on her so expressive face was balm to Foyle’s soul.

Sam’s heart leapt into her throat. She felt sick, excited and dizzy all at once and her stomach churned.

She froze to the spot. She thought that if she moved one step he would vanish and her fantasy would be broken.

Foyle hesitated when she went white, but then his stride gained new resolution. He would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

He was so completely in love with her that his whole body ached with it.

“What are you doing here?”

Well, that didn’t come out quite the way he was expecting.

Still pale, Sam smiled.

“I seem to have missed my train.”

Foyle gave a dry look past Sam to the empty platform.

“I can see that, but I meant, what are you doing here?”

Sam’s eyes, the mirrors of her turbulent soul, still sparkled.

He was here, he had come for her!

“Trying to catch a train home. Not too successfully, as you can see.”

Sam gazed hungrily at him, not bothering to hide how she felt.

Foyle felt the heat run up his face at Sam’s expression. He was rock hard in a moment and had difficulty concentrating on what he was attempting to say.

Sam took in his appearance, intrigued by the dishevelled look of a man usually so immaculately turned out.

“Why are you so…” she thought better of what she was going to say, “Well, I hate to say it, but you look unusually…dusty?”

Foyle half grimaced.

“Well, my bloody driver ran off, so I had to get here on a motorbike. Lost my favourite hat.”

After a shocked moment, Sam burst out laughing, holding a hand up to her mouth in a futile attempt to control herself.

Foyle felt a smile pulling at his face at her amusement. It was lovely to hear her laugh again.

Sam continued to laugh, so much so that tears started to run down her cheeks, until suddenly they became real tears and all the pent up tension of the last few weeks flooded out of her.

Foyle took a pristine white handkerchief from an inside pocket and handed it to her before gathering her into his embrace, gently pulling her under his coat. Resting his head against the top of hers, he let her cry it all out until the sobs turned to hiccups.

“Sam, I know that you said you couldn’t be with me without love, but I think what we have is special and worth nurturing.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms and wondered again if he was doing the right thing for her.

“I’m sure in time love could grow given half a chance, and I want to give it all the time it needs.”

Foyle encouraged her to look at him. Even with red eyes and a blotchy face she was achingly beautiful.

“I’m not Clark Gable, but my heart is sincere. I know I made a complete botch of my proposal, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to marry you, I did…I do…but I just hadn’t intended to mention it until later…much later, possibly years. Once I’d plucked up the courage. Once I’d found out whether or not you could ever love me.”

Sam was held captive in the still blue pools that were her loves eyes. Hope blossomed in her heart just as heat blossomed elsewhere. She was happily aware of the aroused state of him and snuggled closer under the privacy of his coat. She savoured his masculine scent and the warmth and security of his arms.

“I don’t want Clark Gable, I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

Foyle’s expression was a mixture of amusement and gratitude.

“I want you too, and that’s a start. But I need you to know something, and while I appreciate that this could put a burden on you, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t become one.”

He looked in Sam’s warm dark eyes and suddenly it seemed so much easier to say it.

“I love you.”

Sam stared at him in amazement.

“What?”

Foyle looked rueful.

“I know, it came as a shock to me too, but I can’t help how I feel. I’ll still abide by your decision, but I thought that you should have all the facts.”

Sam was still looking at him as if mesmerised. He really wished that she would say something.

“I’d rather I’d spoken to your father first, but I find that I can’t wait. Would you -”

Sam pressed her fingers against his lips, preventing him from completing his sentence. Foyle’s heart sank. He’d blown it; she couldn’t bring herself to take the chance. Well, he couldn’t really blame her.

After a lifetime-sized moment or two, Sam managed to speak.

“I need…before I…”

She swallowed with a gulp, her grip on her emotions fragile.

“I have to know something.”

Foyle gave a single nod.

“Anything.”

Sam’s smile was tremulous, but determined.

“When you were ill, you cried out in your sleep; ‘Please don’t let her die!’. The pain in your voice about the loss of Rosalind was so deep, so real and so raw, that I don’t know if I can…share…that with you. I know that you loved her so much and that you still miss her, but I need to know that when you are with me, you don’t feel that you are betraying her.”

Feeling as though he were balanced on a knife edge, with his future dependant on the results, Foyle cast his mind back. What Sam was saying rang a bell with him, but he didn’t recall it the same way. He frowned in concentration.

“It’s difficult to remember much of that time…did I say anything else?”

Sam nodded; she would never forget.

“You cried out ‘Rosalind loved me, you’re not her, go away, dear God stop this torment’.”

Spoken without the passion behind them, just by rote, Foyle realised just how much sorrow the words had brought to Sam, and how often she must have heard them in her head. He held her closer still as he recalled the vivid dream of Rosalind’s corpse clutching at him. It had taken weeks to put the nightmare behind him.

“I did remember something of it when I woke up; fragments only, but I do vividly remember that you dying of the anthrax and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.”

Her eyes filled again when Sam realised what he meant.

“You…you were dreaming about me? Not about Rosalind?”

Foyle nodded, his voice low.

“Losing Rosalind was terrible; it nearly broke me, but losing you...I don’t even want to think of the possibility.”

Sam looked at him, a dawning sense of wonder in her eyes.

“All that pain, all that anguish…that was for me?”

Foyle frowned, aware of the pressure he was unintentionally putting on her.

“I promised that my love won’t be a burden to you, so please don’t feel sorry for me, or God forbid, pity me. I couldn’t bear that.”

Sam hugged him close.

“The only sorrow I feel is for keeping you waiting and the only pity I feel is for the time we’ve lost that we could have spent together.”

Feeling very bold for such a public place, Sam pulled Foyle towards her so that she could reach his lips. With her heart pounding, she kissed him as if her life depended on it.

Which, of course, it did.

As Foyle returned her kiss a shimmering warmth started to unfolded inside him for the first time since Rosalind died and it did not cease when finally they broke apart.

For a long moment, they just simply looked at each other and marvelled.

Sam grinned.

“Something we should clear up quickly, so we can get back to the kissing thing. Just so you know, when I said that ‘I couldn’t without love’ I was talking about your love, not mine. I already knew that I loved you. Have done for a long time, possibly even before you rescued me at Bexhill. You were the first person I thought of in my hour of need.”

Foyle the detective picked up the most relevant fact. With a dry smirk he leaned in next to her ear.

“You realise that’s the first time you’ve told me that you love me.”

Sam’s eyes danced.

“No, just the first time out loud while you’ve been conscious.”

Foyle’s lips twitched up at one side.

“Riiight. Something else to clear up quickly too, though only for clarification, not expediency.”

“What’s that?”

Foyle thought about his extensively revised proposal plans but then threw them out of the window.

“Marry me, please?”

Sam’s eyes gleamed happily, but she needed to be certain that he knew what he was getting in to.

“Are you sure you want to take me on? Or are you just doing the right thing?”

Foyle refused to be alarmed.

“Yes, I’m sure I want to take you on, and while I’m absolutely certain it’s the wrong thing for you to do, I hope you’ll do it anyway. Even though you could do so much better than me.”

Sam looked mock exasperated.

“Clark Gable’s busy with Carole Lombard, so you’ll just have to be a man and step up.”

“I’m old enough to be -”

Tugging on his coat lapels, Sam stopped his lips with hers.

“But you’re not. You don’t think of me as a daughter, do you?”

Foyle’s expression moue’d with distaste.

“Christ, Sam, if I thought about my daughter the way I think about you, I’d have to arrest myself.”

“Really? How marvellous!”

As usual Foyle had to bring the subject matter back on track.

“Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

Sam’s conscience smote her and her smile slipped fractionally as she remembered what else she had to clear up.

“One more thing, I have to confess to a fib. And it’s a whopper.”

Not in the least fazed, Foyle’s expression softened and his smile was gentle.

“You’re carrying our child.”

Sam’s initial surprise gave way to sheepishness.

“I should have guessed that you would know. I can’t hide anything from you.”

“You would do well to remember that, Miss Stewart.”

Foyle’s small lop-sided smirk did not reveal the truth.

“Didn’t want to marry you because you might be pregnant; I simply wanted to marry you. What I wanted was for you to have a choice about accepting me. I didn’t want you to feel that you had to marry me.”

Sam’s expression appeared regretful, but she couldn’t hide the gleam in her eyes.

“But I shall have to marry you.”

At Foyle’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated.

“Well, I can’t have you wandering around, and run the risk that someone else will snap you up, can I?”

Appearing to give it some thought, Foyle eventually agreed.

“Umm, no, I could see why we wouldn’t want that. I ought to extend the same courtesy to you, though, especially as I could get injured in the rush to take my place.”

“No, you won’t. No-one else could possibly measure up. There’s only you.”

Foyle pulled back to look in Sam’s eyes.

“Only me?”

Sam pinched one of his favourite words.

“Yep.” She grinned cheekily. “Only you.”

Foyle dipped slightly as he nodded once.

“Can I take that as a ‘yes’ then?”

Sam nodded happily.

“Absolutely yes.”

Foyle finally allowed himself to relax and breathe an inward sigh of relief. Turning towards the exit, and not caring what anyone else on the platform thought, he slipped his left hand into Sam’s right one.

She looked down at their joined hands and then smirked at him.

“Short engagement; I don’t think that I can bear to wait.”

Foyle looked mildly surprised.

“Really? I was thinking Special Licence; I don’t want to wait any longer than I have done already.”

Sam’s warm look combined admiration with speculation.

“Do we have to wait? Until we’re married, I mean.”

Foyle raised an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways glance.

“Yes. I behaved very badly before; I should have had more restraint. I intend to do it properly this time.”

In a prescient moment Foyle had a glimpse of what life with Sam was going to be like. She completely ignored what she did not agree with and leaned in close to him.

“It’s a bit ‘barn door after the horse has bolted’ really, isn’t it? And I do want you so much…”

Foyle was sure that he blushed as the heat ran to his face and places further south.

“Umm.”

He coughed to cover his discomfiture – or hide his grin – and straightened his tie with his free hand.

“Where is your modesty, woman? You are quite shameless.”

“I have no modesty or shame in anything to do with you, my dear.”

My dear.

Such simple words to provoke such a strong reaction. Foyle shook his head, happily resigned to his fate.

The two of them left the station and emerged onto the path outside. Foyle looked around for transport options, and then looked at the weather and the woman beside him.

It was a glorious day.

“Shall we walk? Are you feeling up to it?”

Pleased to have any excuse to have more time in his company despite the fact that she wanted to hurry back to Steep Lane and ravish him, Sam nodded.

“As my parents would say, only a small stretch of the legs; less than a couple of miles!”

That was easy for her to say; she wasn’t sporting an impressive engorgement of blood, but Foyle blessed the roomy nature of his trousers and turned towards Marine Parade.

“Christopher.”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to say it aloud again.”

Foyle’s lips curved upwards as he met her eyes.

“I can see that life is going to be very interesting around you.”

“Absolutely! It will be such fun. You teaching the children how to make fishing lures, me teaching them to -”

“Change tyres and fix engines?”

Sam grinned.

“Well, I was going to say cook, but with my limited ability, you may have a point. But the girls will be taught to fish and the boys to cook. Actually, I think we should teach them -”

“Them? Just how many children do you envisage in our future?”

Sam blushed delightfully at Foyle’s mildly voiced enquiry.

“Well, given your obvious virility, I confess that I don’t know, but I suspect that there will be more than one…”

Obvious virility?

She certainly knew how to make a man feel ten feet tall.

Not given to large emotional displays, Foyle contained most of his grin as he looked down at the ground in front of him, happier than he had been in a long time.

“Speaking of which, how are you feeling? Have you been to see your doctor?”

“I’m fine, quite well in between the other bits…and no, not yet.”

“Other…bits?”

“Falling asleep at the drop of a hat, things tasting funny and tingly bre...umm, that’s mostly it at the moment. I haven’t seen the doctor because I was trying to keep things under my hat anyway, but also because I wasn’t sure where I would be seeing the doctor.”

Foyle tutted softly, a quick nip at his lower lip.

“We’ll get you to your doctor as soon as possible; make sure that you are both all right. You should also see him to get a certificate for your green ration book.”

Sam frowned in puzzlement.

“Green? But they’re a buff colour.”

Foyle rubbed at his forehead with his right hand, and then rubbed the fingers and thumb together to get rid of the dust. He’s almost forgotten his bike ride.

“Umm. Expectant women get an extra ration book; more food, fruit juice, milk, vitamins, and an extra seventy blue clothing coupons for baby clothes.”

Fascinated, Sam stopped dead and by dint of their connected hands, Foyle stopped too.

“How do you know all this?”

Foyle had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“I…erm…made a few discreet enquiries. Just in case.”

Sam laughed, delighted. She felt considerably happier about how he felt about the baby, now that he had admitted that.

They resumed walking.

“So what else are you suffering with? You said ‘that’s mostly it at the moment’.”

“I’m not suffering exactly. Well, I suppose one could call it suffering, but only through lack of… Under normal circumstances, one would enjoy it. If one had help with it. So to speak.”

Still working his way through the statement, Foyle frowned.

“Is it anything that I can help you with, or do for you?”

Sam appeared quite resigned and sighed in a suspiciously dramatic fashion.

“Well, you could have, but you said that we had to wait until we were married.”

Foyle’s head came up.

“What?”

In a manner very reminiscent of Joyce Grenfell, Sam strode forward, swinging their joined hands and pretending that Foyle had not reacted to her comment.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait, in an agony of anticipation, for help with this…little problem.”

Having realised that he was being manipulated again, Foyle hid his smirk and played along.

“Don’t know.” He shrugged casually. “Time of war, limited resources. Busy people, doing worthy things. A Special Licence could take as long as a couple of weeks. More, if their offices get bombed.”

Sam squeaked in protest.

“A couple of weeks? I can’t wait a couple of weeks. It’s not natural. I can’t wait another minute.”

Foyle’s tone was very dry.

“That could prove quite interesting; as would spending the first night of our very short engagement in separate cells at the police station after we’re charged under the public indecency laws.”

Sam brightened.

“Public indecency, umm? That sounds promising, except I can vouch for the fact that the cell beds are little more than planks really, and not at all comfortable. Especially if you’re not going to be locked up with me.”

Foyle shook his head.

“Not on, really, is it?”

“I’ll say. You’ve really quite corrupted me. I used to be such a good girl.”

Foyle managed not to say anything aloud, but his expression spoke volumes as he looked at Sam. She protested her innocence.

“Well, I was. Now all I want to do is take you home and…do…all these things that I’ve been thinking about. The word ‘ravish’ sounds so delicious, don’t you think?”

Foyle missed his footing and almost stumbled, his concentration diverted.

Ravish?

How the Hell am I supposed to manage to walk the best part of a mile in a state of acutely aroused discomfort with the word ‘ravish’ running around my head?

“One of my favourites.”

Sam sidled closer to him and Foyle had to concentrate hard not to lose himself in the warm press of her breasts against his arm.

“Christopher?”

Immediately wary at her wheedling tone, Foyle raised a brow in enquiry.

“Umm?”

“Do we have to go back to work?”

No!

“Yes.”

“But it’s such a nice afternoon…”

While privately Foyle agreed with her, it wouldn’t do to let the side down by taking the day off willy-nilly. Even though they weren’t too busy when he had left the station, he couldn’t just drop everything. It would set all sorts of precedents.

“No, Sam, we can’t.”

Sam’s head dipped slightly, then she flicked her gaze up to meet Foyle’s. The hot gleam in her honey-dark eyes made it difficult for him to concentrate, and the soft waft of her perfume reminded him of stolen pleasures. He watched her lips move and the buzzing in his ears didn’t entirely prevent him from hearing what Sam asked.

“Absolutely not?”

Quite unaware that they had stopped walking, Foyle made a huge effort to focus.

“Absolutely not.”

* * * * *

It was with some relief that Foyle closed the front door behind him and he resisted the urge to lean back against it.

A pleasant stroll home after a satisfying day at work was one thing, but a brisk walk - while sporting a raging erection - in the company of his newly affianced young lady was quite another.

God knows what the neighbours must be thinking.

“I thought we’d never get here.”

Her amusement was obvious as Sam shrugged out of her coat and hung it up without waiting for it to be taken from her as if she was a guest.

Foyle’s lip curved wryly as he too hung up his coat. He automatically reached for his hat until he remembered what had happened to it.

“We very nearly didn’t. I don’t know what possessed me to bring you here in the middle of the afternoon, without the car or you in uniform; the neighbours will already be speculating about what’s going on.”

Aware that his tongue was firmly in his cheek, Sam was airily dismissive.

“Oh, pooh to them, they’re only jealous. I don’t look that different without my uniform.”

As Foyle was trying hard not to imagine Sam without her uniform or, indeed, any clothing, her statement was not very helpful.

“Rest assured, you do, and while you were my driver and in uniform, certain things were taken for granted; mainly, that the proprieties were observed. Now you’re here without the Wolseley and out of uniform…”

The reality finally hit Foyle and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Sam had turned automatically towards the kitchen as she was listening and Foyle deftly but surreptitiously adjusted his trousers for optimum comfort before following her.

Sam filled the kettle and put it on the stove, but didn’t light the gas. Foyle pursed his lips and frowned slightly in puzzlement, which Sam picked up when she turned to him.

“Tea is for later.”

“Later?”

Sam glided around the table and stopped right in front of him.

“Mmn. Much later.”

If Foyle was surprised at Sam’s boldness he shouldn’t have been. But having the object of his affections so close and so available after many months of self imposed restraint, he was finding it difficult to keep up with the change in the boundaries of their relationship.

A cup of tea would have given him time to adjust. Briefly.

Sam slid her hands under Foyle’s jacket and found the buttons to his waistcoat. She started undoing them, one by one. She appeared quite unaware that the tip of her tongue was peaking out between her lips as she concentrated on her task.

Perspiration popped out on Foyle’s brow.

Tea is overrated.

“Sam…”

Foyle brought a hand up to halt Sam’s. She looked at him, suddenly uncertain and worried that she had misjudged the situation.

“Is something wrong? As we’re here, I thought…hoped that you’d changed your mind about us having to wait.”

Foyle closed his eyes very briefly against the vision of loveliness in front of him.

Change his mind? Lord, all I can think about is pushing her back onto the kitchen table, lifting her skirts and…and…

He quickly opened his eyes before he lost himself again.

“Nnno, nothing is wrong, quite the contrary. It’s all…very…good, too good…”

Sam frowned, slightly puzzled.

“Too good?”

Brief analogies about the difference between a sprinter and a long distance runner seemed too crass and weighty to mention right this minute, and one about fireworks – whizz, bang, aaah! – seemed a little too close to home for comfort.

Looking into Sam’s eyes made some of his concerns fall away. It wasn’t as if they had never done this before and from what he could remember, he hadn’t made too much of a hash of it last time.

Releasing her hands, Foyle shook his head. In a gesture that made Sam quiver he gently removed the few pins that held her hair back from her face and allowed the red-gold strands their freedom.

After removing his suit jacket, Foyle hung it on the back of a kitchen chair while Sam made short work of the remaining waistcoat buttons. Trying not to fumble in her haste, part of Sam was astonished at her audacity – this was DCS Foyle, her boss – but by far the bigger part of her was happily being swept along on a tide of lust.

Foyle carefully placed the hairpins on the dresser behind him, quietly amused and possibly grateful for Sam’s obvious enthusiasm.

“Would you like to go…umm…sit in the front room…?”

Sam saw it for the delaying tactic that it was. They were both probably a little nervous, but conversation in the front room wouldn’t help.

“What I would like is for you to kiss me. Then I think the rest will probably take care of itself.”

Amused, Foyle gave a small smile as he gently pulled her into his arms and leaned to do her bidding.

“How did you get to be so wise?”

Just before their lips met, Sam murmured.

“I asked a policeman.”

The first kiss was a tender salute, the soft pressure of a loving ‘hello’.

Almost without thought, the next kiss quickly deepened into the recognition of a lover. When Foyle’s tongue stroked Sam’s lower lip seeking entrance, her lips were already parting to welcome him back.

It’s about time too!

Pulling her close, Foyle kissed and caressed her with all the pent up emotion that had been held back for weeks. His initial fear that Sam would feel overwhelmed was very quickly set aside by her ardent response and they didn’t stop until the need for breath was making him dizzy.

When the fog cleared for a moment, Foyle realised that Sam was trembling, but even as the thought formed in his head, she muttered under her breath.

“Heavens, I’m shaking; it’s all just so…so…wonderful.”

Sam looked at Foyle as if she couldn’t quite believe that it was finally happening.

It was all so good – his mouth, his hands and the way their bodies fitted against each other. Sam could feel his attention pressing against the juncture of her thighs and she felt the desire run through her veins like liquid fire.

It was even better than she remembered. She gasped when Foyle’s lips found the sensitive skin below her ear, and her legs shook as she tried and failed to keep herself upright. She clutched at Foyle as she bumped backward against the table and took advantage of its support.

Foyle followed, his thighs nudging hers apart so that he could remain balanced but close. He felt Sam’s hands roam across his back then dip down to clutch at his backside, before flying back up to his shoulders. Briefly letting her go, Foyle shrugged out of his waistcoat and removed his tie, allowing them to fall to the floor unheeded. Then he was kissing her again, holding her close as his tongue slipped into her mouth and one of his hands slid under her cardigan. He heard her moan deep in her throat as he smoothed his palm over a breast. Fearing that he had hurt her, he started to pull back, but relaxed again when he felt her follow him and push herself into his hand.

Eventually a bubble of sanity forced its way to the surface and Foyle reluctantly broke off from yet another scorching kiss.

“Umm, upstairs? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable…?”

Sam’s gaze darted to the table behind her and the man standing between her legs. Even while still clothed, the prominent ridge of his arousal against her most private place made thinking difficult and the idea of walking under her own steam impossible.

“Couldn’t we…here?”

The mixture of inexperience and boldness was very appealing to Foyle; he found it very sensual. Her suggestion was so in tune with his thoughts earlier that he had no serious intention of refusing her.

   Sam had obviously decided that silence gives assent, and the next thing Foyle felt was her hand at the waist of his trousers. Seconds later he heard an impatient mutter.

“How do I…?”

Foyle gave up trying to be the voice of reason about comfortable beds and instead assisted Sam’s progress with the troublesome buttons.

She seemed grateful.

Sam wanted to touch him all over. Since their abortive encounter the night Andrew had come home and interrupted them, she had felt incomplete; as if she was missing part of herself. Now that shimmering anticipation readied her for him and she didn’t want to wait any longer.

While Sam was occupied Foyle got busy with the small mother of pearl buttons on the front of her dress. They ran from neck to hem and he was relieved to find that they slipped open quite easily, which was fortunate as Sam was making his task far more difficult by distracting him with her questing hands.

When the last couple of buttons yielded to her meddling, Sam was grateful to feel Foyle’s trousers begin to slip down of their own accord just about the same time that she realised that her dress was now open down to her waist, revealing her silk slip.

Smiling, they both took a moment to enjoy their handiwork. Sam leaned back on her hands and her smile widened to a grin as she looked up at Foyle.

Come and get me!

Nothing loath, Foyle slowly leaned forward over her and kissed his way down her neck. He leant on his hands, either side of hers on the table, and touched her only with his lips. He heard her small excited moans as he drew one of her taut, silk-clad nipples into his mouth.

Sam felt a storm of sensation whirl through her as Foyle’s hot, clever mouth teased and tasted her. When he moved to her other breast the contrast between the new heat and the cold wet silk was so much more intense. She whimpered with her need for him and arched up, trying to push against him.

Foyle paid reverence to each breast several times until Sam was convinced that he was trying to drive her mad. When he finally nibbled and licked his way back up to her mouth, she was panting. She slipped a hand between their bodies and was thrilled when she found him hard and straining against his briefs. She ran her hand over the cotton material and his sharp intake of breath let her know that she was on the right track.

When Sam’s hand slipped inside his clothing and grasped him, Foyle lost any sense of the outside world. His universe began and ended here with her. Unable to wait any longer, he slid a hand up one silk clad leg and under the edge of her dress. He heard Sam gasp the moment that his fingers made contact with the bare flesh at the top of her stocking and felt the involuntary contraction of her hand on him.

It was difficult to concentrate, but he forced himself to do so.

A tiny sliver of uncertainty crossed his mind as he searched Sam’s eyes, but what he saw in them allayed all his fears; a maturity beyond her years coupled with the certainty of youth. She was intoxicating.

“Hurry.”

Foyle didn’t need the urgently whispered reminder. Her rich feminine scent called to him and he felt powerless to resist.

His other hand followed the first under the hem of the dress. His fingers trailed slowly, savouring the journey as if unwrapping a long-awaited gift. Foyle could feel the intermittent tremble of Sam’s thighs, but didn’t mistake it for fear – he was trembling a little himself.

“…beautiful…”

Sam barely heard Foyle’s mutter, sotto voce as it was, but she appreciated it all the same. It wasn’t just the utterance of the word though; it was what he made her feel that brought the flush to her face and chest.

Alive.

Revered.

Cherished.

Loved.

Sam reluctantly let go of Foyle and placed them both hands back on the kitchen table to steady herself before her legs gave way. She fought to keep her eyes open; they kept drifting shut as she felt wave after wave of sensation pulse through her. How could he do this just by the lightest of caresses along her thighs?

Oh Christopher!

Her senses had become heightened to such a degree that her clothing felt rough and she wanted to rip it off just so that he could touch her unimpeded. Sam grabbed a fistful of Foyle’s shirt to pull him closer and into another bone-melting kiss.

Foyle followed her lead, allowing her to set the pace. Each kiss led to the next until they were seamlessly linked, a stage in the dance as old as time. Eventually though, it wasn’t enough. They clutched at each other, trying to get closer still. Foyle pulled his head back so that he could see Sam’s face as he moved his hands under her slip. A moment later he touched the edge of her underwear and saw the leap of arousal in her eyes. Without breaking the eye contact he hooked his fingers in her knickers and purposefully pulled.

Sam’s pupils grew large and breath caught in her throat. She could feel the slither of damp silk against her legs and the cool air moving over her newly exposed skin. It felt very wicked to be standing in Christopher’s kitchen while he helped her step out of her knickers. It was very odd; everything seemed to be happening so slowly, but her heart was racing nineteen to the dozen. She could already feel the pressure beginning to build inside and he’d barely touched her; she didn’t want this to be over, but she thought that she may very possibly die if he didn’t do something very soon.

Foyle was of a similar mind, did he but know it. He wasn’t the hero in a three penny novel, just a real man with a real man’s feelings and desires faced with a beautiful woman who wanted him. He also had a perfectly natural fear that the minute he and Sam were together it would last about four seconds, and he wanted to make sure that she was happy first. The fact that he was achingly aroused almost to the point of pain was irrelevant.

Discarding Sam’s –

Don’t think of her knickers.

- underwear, to fall on his clothing on the floor, he pushed Sam’s dress aside so that he could see her unencumbered.

Big mistake.

Foyle’s breathing quickened as he studied her, legs spread, her stockings in dark contrast to the pale flesh of her thighs. The deep-red curls glistened invitingly as Sam leant back on her hands, waiting for him. Ignoring the pulse of arousal that made his whole body throb, Foyle’s hand completed its journey, unerringly touching the part of her that needed him the most.

Sam jerked as if shot and her breath hissed out ‘yessss’. She was aching for him now; needed him inside her because she could feel it building, the spiralling pressure that pushed all else before it. She didn’t want it to happen without him, not now.

“Please!”

Foyle would have explained his concerns, but he was left in no doubt as to Sam’s feelings on the matter; she tugged down the last remaining barrier between them and took hold of him. He gritted his teeth at the new wave of pleasure her touch brought and he shuddered, almost losing control. As tactfully as possible he freed himself to move firmly between her thighs.

There was a split second of thrilling anticipation for Sam as she felt his arousal nudging against her, blindly seeking, but then suddenly he was there.

Instinctively Sam lifted her hips to meet him; Foyle slid into her slowly, captivated by the expression on her face. She felt so good, so right, and as he sank into her, inch by inch, she held him tight, and it felt like coming home. In a moment her possession was complete and they both gasped with the pleasure of it.

“Oh God!”

Foyle’s thoughts echoed Sam’s sentiments as he buried himself in her, but he had no concentration spare to speak. He held her secure with one arm whilst the other braced them both as he moved in her. Fully sheathed, he didn’t want to hurry but he couldn’t help himself. He was hanging on by the slenderest of threads but mercifully Sam seemed to share his dilemma. Her arms clung around his shoulders as her hips hitched to his, and she whispered frantically.

“Now, it’s now!”

Foyle could feel her straining against him as he plunged into her heated depths, and then, thankfully, he felt the tell-tale ripples of her muscles clenching and releasing; she froze beneath him and her insides stroked him as he continued to thrust into her.

Sam flung her head back, her arms tightly holding Foyle as wave after wave of intense pleasure radiated throughout her body, pushing her higher and higher until it felt as if she was flying.

Someone, somewhere, was shouting ‘oh God’.

Hearing Sam’s cries of ecstasy snapped Foyle’s last vestige of control; his own orgasm exploded on the tail end of hers and he groaned as he shuddered into her, his face buried into her neck as his seed spilled into her.

For several long moments, nothing could be heard except for the harsh rasp of heavy breathing.

It was a moot point who recovered first, but Foyle suspected that it was Sam. By the time he could see straight and had brought his head back enough to focus on her, there was a wide grin splitting her face. He couldn’t resist smiling back as she declared breathlessly.

“That was rather…magnificent!”

Foyle nodded, feeling his heart still thunder in his chest. They were still clinging together; Sam rested against the edge of table with one foot on the floor, her other leg only now sliding to the ground. She released the handfuls of shirt that she hadn’t remembered crushing in her grip and cupped Foyle’s face.

“I see what people mean now when they talk about feeling the earth move!”

His heart tight with strong emotion that he didn’t know how to deal with, Foyle resorted to his dry humour and glanced down behind Sam.

“Well, the table certainly did.”

Sam looked behind her, shocked but unrepentant, and laughed with delight. She understood only too well how difficult he found it to express himself aloud, but they had the rest of their lives to practise. She flung her arms around Foyle and hugged him before pulling back and kissing him soundly.

“I love you so much, and I’ll never tire of telling you, so you better get used to it!”

As the two of them looked at each other the exuberant humour subsided naturally, to be replaced with quiet acceptance. Foyle delicately moved a strand of hair off Sam’s face, trailing his fingers down her cheek.

“You amaze me. You make me believe in miracles, if that makes any sense.”

Sam’s eyes filled as she looked at him.

“You and me is the only thing that does make sense in this crazy world.”

Foyle’s already full heart welled up and overflowed. Whatever life threw at them in the future, they would deal with it together.

“I love you.”

Sam tipped her head to rest against his hand and then kissed his palm. He felt it clear down to his toes and unbelievably he felt himself twitch in response. Sam held his gaze, her eyes mischievous.

“I know…”

She kissed him, soft at first, but then with increasing fervour.

“…and that’s my miracle.”

* * * * *

Much later, when the dark March evening had drawn in, Foyle was aroused from a light doze by Sam easing out of his sleepy embrace. When she realised that she had woken him, she apologised quietly.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where are you going?”

As they had fallen asleep before putting the blackout up, the moonlight illuminated Sam’s grin.

“Downstairs. I’m starving.”

Foyle couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

                                       ^^^^^^^
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