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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.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: Foyle’s War and all original characters are owned by Anthony Horowitz and subject to copyright. No infringement is intended.

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: Nothing too bad, mild adult themed references.

Ship: Sam and Foyle

Spoilers: Minor ones for the whole series, usually as recollections.

Title: Only You – chapter two

                                                      Only You (2)

     A very subdued and damp Sam followed Mrs Flack back to the seats beside the fireplace. The latter was carrying a tray of sandwiches and fresh tea for Sam and...her husband.

'Oh dear' was a bit of an understatement. Sam had got them into this pickle, but it was up to her to keep the pickle straight. She was sure that she had done the right thing, they did need somewhere to stay for the night and it wasn't her fault that there was only one room at the inn. Sam was relieved to see that the boss was still more than three-quarters asleep; hopefully he would remain so until Mrs Flack had left and she would have a chance to explain the situation to him.

Mrs Flack deposited the tray on the low bar table and stood up. She looked at Foyle, then at Sam.

“I'll just go and see to the room, then I'll bring you the key. Normally I don't allow guests to take plates from the bar upstairs, but you both look exhausted, so I’ll make an exception for tonight. I won't be long.”

Sam nodded gratefully, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose back behind an ear. She couldn’t wait to get out of her wet shoes and dry off.

With that, the publican’s wife turned and left. As soon as she had gone, Sam shook Foyle's arm gently.

“Mr Foyle? Are you awake? I have something that I need to tell you.”

Foyle opened weary eyes and sat up straighter in his chair. He looked a little dazed, his eyes glassy.

''Sorry, I must have dozed off. Everything okay? Got the rooms sorted?”

Sam looked awkward as she seated herself beside him.

   ''Well, yes and no. What I mean is...''

Distracted, she handed Foyle his tea and a sandwich. He took them without thought, his mind more caught up in the fact that his driver was looking decidedly shifty about something.

''Spit it out, Sam, what's the problem?''

Sam looked in her cup of tea, then at the plate of food, then at the floor, then, finally, at Foyle.

''Umm, there is only...'' Sam faltered, then began again, ''...I couldn't very well let you...I mean, it's not as if...but if you minded, I'll understand, but I had no choice, you see, when she asked me under what name, I just -''

Mrs Flack chose that moment to return from upstairs and Sam abruptly clammed up. Despite feeling distinctly under par, Foyle looked from Sam to the landlord's wife and back with interest. He fixed his driver with his best interrogation stare.

''You were saying, Sam?''

Mindful that they were no longer alone, she tried to drop him a hint.

''N...nothing...dear.''

Foyle froze in the act of taking a sip of his tea. He looked at Sam over the rim of his cup and raised an eyebrow. She gave him a wide-eyed and somewhat shaky smile. To give himself time to work out what was going on, he took a drink of his tea, then a bite out of his sandwich. He chewed slowly, watching the colour come and go on his driver’s face.

Interesting.

“Ah, Mr Foyle, I’m pleased to see you both looking a little warmer now. I’m Mrs Flack, my husband and I run the inn.” She smiled and carried on. “As I was just saying to your wife, you were lucky we had the one room left -”

Foyle coughed as his tea went down the wrong way. Eyes watering, he put his tea back on the tray, and reached for a handkerchief. Alarmed, Mrs Flack attempted to fuss around him to make sure he was all right, but Foyle recovered quickly. Getting to his feet and hiding a momentary unsteadiness, he reassured her.

“Really, I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Flack. If we could just have our room key, I think we’d better go...umm...upstairs, I’m assuming?”

Their landlady nodded and reached in her pocket for the key.

“Yes, of course. Last room at the end of the landing, you can’t miss it. I have laid the fire for the morning, and breakfast is at eight.”

Sam got to her feet, eager to get away from the coming conversation with her boss, but before she could move, Foyle turned to her and nodded to the tray on the table.

“I’ll bring the cases, if you would like to bring the tray...um...sweetheart?”

There was no mistaking the amused glint in Foyle’s eye as he dared Sam to say anything. She was bright red in the face now, but she gamely picked up the tray. Mrs Flack gave her a curious look, before turning back to Foyle and handing him the room key.

“My husband has already taken your suitcases up to your room, Mr Foyle, while you were catching your breath. May I suggest that you leave your coats in the kitchen overnight? They’ll dry better in the warmth from the range.”

Foyle nodded in agreement. He and Sam said goodnight, took their leave and headed for the stairs.

Sam was very conscious of him right behind her every step of the way up to their room. The door was already ajar and the bedside lamp was on as she scurried in and put the tray down on the small table under the window. She barely noticed the lovely room with its whitewashed walls and black beamed sloping roof.

Foyle entered the room after her and gently closed the door. It had barely shut before Sam burst into speech.

“I’m really sorry, but I had no choice, there was only one room, and I think that I just...well, panicked, I wasn’t quick enough to think what -.”

Foyle held up a hand as if to stave off the words.

“Sam.”

Sam halted in the middle of another apology and looked at her boss with an anxious but ‘waiting for judgement’ expression. Foyle was tempted to string out her suffering a little longer just because it was amusing, but decided to take pity on her.

“Sam, it’s all right. We may have to share, but at least we have a roof over our heads and we are dry. Or will be. We couldn’t have shared the room without putting an appropriate cover over the whole business, so we’ll just have to make the best of it...”

Foyle took in their surroundings as he reassured Sam.

Sam began to relax as he spoke to her, and her shoulders slumped when she realised that he wasn’t furious with her. She, too, looked around the room and saw him looking at the large wrought iron double bed that dominated the room. It was the picture of comfort; large fluffy pillows, crisp linen sheets and a big fat pink silk eiderdown.

Foyle turned back to face her, his expression innocent.

“So, which side of the bed do you want...um…sweetheart?”

Sam gulped.

Oh dear oh dear.

X x X x X x X x X x X

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs Flack straightend up the overcoats and hats belonging to their two latest guests. They would be nicely dry by the morning, hanging near the warm range as they were.

Mr Flack was seated at the big kitchen table, finishing off the last of his malted drink and having a look through the local parish pamphlet about forthcoming events, for the want of something to read.

“Something funny about those two upstairs, Len. She’s awful young to be in uniform and driving round the countryside.”

“John was fifteen when he joined up, Lily. She’s older’n that.”

At the mention of their eldest son, Lily went and sat down beside her husband. He took her hand in his and kissed what was left exposed of the back. His wife smiled at the familier gesture.

“I know, ‘it’s the war’, it’s what everyone says. But she was bright red when that Mr Foyle called her ‘sweetheart’, Len. She wasn’t comfortable with it. Not like a wife would be.”

Mrs Flack looked disturbed, wondering if everything was all right upstairs.

Her husband smiled gently and lowered his voice.

“I seem to recall a fresh faced lass who blushed everytime I called her sweetheart.”

Mrs Flack waved her hand in a gesture usually interpreted as ‘Oh, you, go on!’

“Yes, but that was when we were first married, it didn’t last much longer than – oh!”

She looked at her husband, her mouth round with surprise. He smiled and nodded, his point made.

X x X x X x X x X x

Back upstairs, Foyle was waiting for Sam’s response. His head had begun to throb and he ached like the devil. Suddenly the whole thing didn’t seem so funny any more. He was tired and just wanted to get some rest.

“Look, Sam, I was -”

“The right side. As one looks at it.”

They had both spoken at once, their voices overlapping. They looked at each other. Foyle sighed.

“Please, Sam, sit down.”

Sam seated herself beside the tea tray and automatically picked up a sandwich. Feeling awkward, she took a bigger bite than average and found herself with too much bread in her mouth. She tried to chew discreetly but quickly. It was not really her day.

“Sam, look at me.”

She looked up, still chewing.

“I was teasing about the bed. It was insensitive, and I apologise. You can have the whole thing, I’ll kip in the armchair. It will be perfectly acceptable with a couple of the pillows and the eiderdown.”

Sam chewed even more rapidly. In the end, she grabbed a mouthful of tea so that she could speak.

“No, that wouldn’t be right. I’ll take the chair, I’m smaller than you, and at least I’m feeling okay. You don’t look at all well.”

While privately he agreed with her, there was no situation he could think of that would make him take the bed instead of her.

“Then please don’t argue with a sick man. You can get ready first while I use the bathroom or vice versa, I don’t mind, but let’s get some sleep soon, please?”

Sam nodded. She quickly finished her tea and sandwich, and then hung up her damp uniform jacket. She opened her case and took the necessary toiletries out before going to the bathroom. She wasn’t very long and when she came back Foyle was in his shirtsleeves, minus his tie and holding his overnight wash bag and nightwear. He left the room with a polite nod.

Sam quickly changed into her nightgown. She wished now that she had gone for sensible pyjamas, but in her excitement about being away overnight with the boss – though it was for a case – she had allowed her heart instead of practicality to govern her choice. Even though at the time she thought that he would not see it, there was always the fantasy that he might.

The gown was cream silk, a gift to herself when she turned twenty one. It was full length, generously cut, and with slim straps over her shoulders. If the voluminous style gave it a tendency to tangle her legs, and the straps kept falling off a shoulder whilst she slept, it didn’t matter. The material made it feel and move like a ball gown, and she loved it.

Sam brushed her hair and hopped into bed. Used to a single, she moved to the right side of the bed simply because she slept on her left side and liked to be close to the edge of the bed. She lay down and pulled up the crisp linen sheet and the blankets to armpit level.

She was wide awake.

Five minutes later there was a soft knock on the door. At Sam’s whispered ‘come in’ Foyle entered the room wearing pale blue and white striped pyjamas and a grey dressing gown. He hung up his suit and shirt, and one side of his mouth lifted in a small smile at Sam’s presence in the large bed.

“Good, I’m glad you did as I asked.”

“Under protest, Sir.”

One of Foyle’s eyebrows went up.

“Duly noted. Under our current circumstances though, perhaps you had better call me Christopher.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Foyle sighed.

He removed the thick eiderdown cover from the foot of the bed where Sam had rolled it, and took a couple of the pillows. He made himself as comfortable as he could on the armchair and tried not to shiver.

“Lights out?”

Foyle nodded, pulling his dressing gown tighter to try to get warm.

“Yep, light out, please.”

Sam twisted to reach the bedside lamp’s switch. She found it just as she answered,

“Okay, Si – Christopher.”

and plunged the room into darkness. Doing so meant that she did not see the smile on Foyle’s face as he heard her refer to him as Christopher.

The blackout curtains were closed, so there was very little light in the room. For several long minutes Sam was painfully aware of Foyle’s restless movements in the armchair. He was obviously having even more trouble than her in getting to sleep.

Her natural sense of fair play made her want to offer the bed to Foyle, but she was snug and warm for the first time in hours. She desperately wanted to suggest that he share it – it was certainly big enough – but she didn’t want him to think it was forward of her to suggest it. She couldn’t stand it if he thought badly of her.

Sam caught her lip with her teeth and frowned. She was aware when one of the Chief Super’s pillows hit the floor with a soft thud and heard him bite back a curse. She could sense when he leaned down to retrieve the pillow and heard the slither of the eiderdown shifting. Another bitten off curse. Sam stifled the urge to giggle nervously.

Just at that moment there came a knock on the door and the muffled sound of Mrs Flack’s voice.

“Mr Foyle? Mrs Foyle? Hello, are you still awake?”

Foyle sat up in alarm. He turned to Sam as she fumbled in the dark for the lamp. His voice was soft.

“Did you lock the door?”

“No, I forgot with all the discussion about the bed.”

Foyle stood up and the eiderdown slipped to the floor. He threw the pillow he still had in his hand on to the bed.

He whispered urgently.

“Move over.”

“What?”

Despite her response, her brain was already issuing instructions to her body and she started to shift across to the other side of the bed.

“If you want this plan to work, move over. Please.”

Foyle lifted the bedding and slid quickly under the covers just as Sam’s hand found the light switch. The abrupt illumination made them both blink in the brightness.

Sam suddenly realised that she could not move over any further as Foyle was now lying on the material of her nightgown. She tugged to no avail – she was pinned like a butterfly. To her further mortification, in her efforts to reach the switch, she had twisted but her nightwear had not.

Forward momentum had carried Foyle into the bed, but for some inexplicable reason Sam had stopped moving across it and he found himself jammed up against her, his face thrust into her neck where she was still reaching up to the lamp. He had a spectacular view of the creamy upper curve of one breast right in front of him.

He moaned under his breath. Never before in his life had he been so tempted to forget all he knew about behaving like a gentleman. He could not even do the decent thing of closing his eyes or looking away. Not even when he felt Sam tremble. Lord, what must she think of him?

Sam was terribly torn. Part of her felt as if her father was going to pop out of the woodwork and condemn her to some sub-section of Hell that dealt with misbehaving virgins, but by far the bigger part of her felt as old as Eve as she saw Christopher’s expression and heard him groan under his breath. She was thrilled to have evoked such a reaction and it made her tremble with excitement.

Foyle found himself floundering in what appeared to be yards of silk; he could not get any purchase on the bed and as soon as he eased (reluctantly) away from Sam, he slid straight back to her side. To cap it all, he had the distinct feeling now that Sam’s trembling was her trying not to laugh at their situation.

“Mr Foyle?”

Damn the woman, she was still there. He turned his head in time to see the door open and Mrs Flack’s head appeared around the edge. Foyle’s voice was testy.

“Yes?”

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I just needed to mention about the fire -”

She paused briefly when the scene in front of her actually registered.

Mr and Mrs Foyle were entwined, his face buried in her chest, her arms cradling his head. The pillows were scattered about, the eiderdown on the floor and a dressing gown was tossed on the floor as if cast aside at speed. Even with all her years running the Inn, she had never been witness to evidence of such enthusiasm. Any fears she had about Mrs Foyle were laid to rest.

“…um…to mention about the fire. Not to light one, at night, that is, because of the risk to the thatch. Thank you. I’ll leave you to it – to sleep that is. Goodnight.”

Their hostess backed out and the door closed quietly behind her.

If a silence could speak volumes, this one was chatting away nineteen to the dozen.

Sam looked at Foyle and he looked at her. There was a moment where Sam was convinced that he would say something that would change her world forever, but he closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them she could see that the moment was gone.

“Sam…”

She knew that he was going to say something about how ‘it’ could never be between them, or some such nonsense, and she didn’t want to hear the words that would dash her hopes forever, so she hurriedly went to cut in with;

“Would you mind moving just enough to allow me to move over?”

Or at least that was what she was planning to say, but what she actually said was something else entirely.

“Look, I know you think that you should sleep in that chair, but please don’t think badly of me for suggesting that - as you are already here - you might as well sleep in the bed -”

Foyle frowned, and tried to say something. Sam blithely carried on.

“I mean, the bed’s much more comfortable, it’s warmer, and it’s big enough for both of us, really.”

Foyle opened his mouth again, but Sam was on a roll.

“It can be another of those things that we don’t need to mention to anyone, like staying at your house when I was unable to get a billet. Least said, soonest mended and all that. What do you say?”

Foyle looked tired and exasperated in equal measure.

“Okay.”

“I mean, it’s not as if we…”

“I said ‘okay’, Sam.”

“What?”

Sam looked down into his eyes, so close to her chest.

“Really?”

Foyle nodded tiredly.

“Yes, really. You win; just get me off this silk, please?”

Sam tried really hard not to grin all over her face. She gave him her efficient, no nonsense ‘driver’ look.

“Absolutely. If you could just lift your…you, up, and I’ll pull at the same time?”

Foyle moved his legs while Sam pulled her nightgown towards her, then he was able to push with his feet to lift his middle. The effort clearly tired him and he lay back down with an involuntary sigh, his eyes closed.

Sam rearranged her pillow and settled down too, until she realised that the light was still on.

“Um, Christopher?”

There was no response. He was fast asleep, his breathing deep.

Sam didn’t make any further effort to wake him. She lay on her left side, her head resting on her bent arm while she watched him sleep. She had often dared to dream of such a moment as this, though in her dream they were married, of course. She had wondered what this quiet and thoughtful man was like when he wasn’t at work. What face did he show to the world away from the force?

After a few minutes, Sam sat up and leaned over Foyle to get to the lamp. He didn’t stir. Sam settled back down under the covers and wished again that she had brought pyjamas; her gown was twisted around her waist and she took a few moments to straighten it.

It was odd sharing a bed with someone else. The last time she had was when her cousins came to stay at the Vicarage and she had to top/tail with Elaine. They had been six at the time and they had giggled most of the night until her mother had come to tell them to be quiet.

Sam thought that she would never get to sleep, but within twenty minutes she was sound asleep too.

Only to be woken some time much later in the night by the startling fact that she had an arm around her waist, and a warm body against her back.

“Umm…Sir?”

.

.

.

TBC
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Only You