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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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Foyle’s war or any of the characters. They are the property of Anthony Horowitz. I am not making any money here and no infringement is intended.

Author: hazeleyes57

Title: Only You – Chapter three

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Sam and Foyle. If you prefer not to read this pairing, please don’t - I won’t be offended. Thanks for dropping by J

                                               Only You (3)

“Umm…Sir?”

There was no response to Sam’s tentative whisper. Foyle’s left arm rested around her waist, his hand tucked limply between the bed sheet and her ribs. He was spooned against her back and Sam felt the soft susurration of his breath on her left shoulder.

It was quite extraordinary. Sam thought that she ought to be outraged at the very least, but she felt nothing of the sort. She felt warm, comfortable and oddly cherished.

“Christopher? Are you awake?”

Sam tried to move away a little, just so that he wouldn’t be so upset when he woke up and found them together, but her efforts to distance her body resulted in Foyle pulling her back against him. His arm tightened and his hand moved up and cupped her right breast. Sam sucked in an involuntary breath at the heat of his touch. She turned her head to try to look at him; although it was dark, there was a small amount of light showing under the door from the hallway and her night-adjusted eyes could just make out Foyle’s face. His eyes were shut and he appeared to be asleep, but there was no mistaking his hold on her. Sam looked at her watch and the dimly glowing hands told her that it was after four in the morning.

Foyle moved again and Sam could feel a pyjama clad leg against the back of her bare left leg. Again she felt the heat of his touch all along her body. Never having been in this position before she wasn’t sure if this was normal or not, but she had never realised just how hot it felt to be lying next to someone else.

Sam’s nightgown had done its usual trick of riding up whilst she slept and her efforts to restore order just made Foyle hang on that much harder. She was just debating the wisdom of having left off her knickers when she changed for bed – she had, after all, thought that she would be in the bed alone – when she thought she heard Foyle say something. She turned to face him, as best as she could.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“So cold.”

Sam had never heard his voice sound like that, even at his most intense.

“Are you all right?”

There was no answer. Sam wondered what on earth was going on in his head.

She stood before him, both familiar and new. He thought that she was dead, but it must have been a horrible dream, a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. Her glorious red blonde hair was free and moving in the softest of winds. He shivered, so cold, so cold. She could warm him, make him feel alive again. If he could just hold her.

Sam was surprised when Foyle turned her in his arms, pulling her on to her back. He lay back down against her, his left leg nudging its way between her knees, his face resting on the exposed flesh between her jaw and the nightgown that covered her bust. It was then that Sam realised what she should have figured out earlier.

Foyle had a raised temperature. Wherever his body rested against her she could feel the fever heat - he had said himself that he was so cold.

“I’m so sorry; I should have known you were ill, you haven’t been yourself.”

Sam looked down at Foyle’s face. Despite her concern, she couldn’t resist adding a rider.

“I have to say, I rather like the new you, though. A little more carefree.”

Foyle mumbled something in his sleep, but Sam couldn’t make it out.

I’d be lost without you. Don’t leave me. I need you, I want you. Please stay!

Foyle felt disorientated. In his fevered state he kept confusing Sam and Rosalind together; in his deepest self he knew that Rosalind was gone, but part of him hung on to the idea that it was not true. It created conflict in him. Rosalind was the past; they were both so much younger then, they had had their time. He had changed, grown older, while she had not. He was not the man she had married, nor was he the person he was when she died. It saddened him to realise that he was content to leave Rosalind in the past but he also felt guilty to even think of loving someone new.

Foyle shivered as Sam appeared to him again. She was standing on higher ground than him, wearing that silk gown. The wind was colder and stronger now; her hair blew back off her face and the silk outlined her body, clearly delineating her pert nipples, her slim waist, the dip of her navel and the soft mound at the juncture of her legs. She was smiling at him, her arms raised to welcome him into her embrace. He tried to walk towards her but every step was an effort, as if his feet were encased in molasses.

Sam didn’t know what to do for the best. Apart from the occasional murmur, Foyle seemed to be resting adequately well. Although he had a temperature, she didn’t think that he needed a doctor, and her mother always said that sleep was the best medicine.

Foyle’s hold on Sam seemed to calm him, but it had quite the opposite effect on her. Nothing in her father’s lectures – either as her parent or her vicar – had prepared her for this eventuality. Good girls took care of themselves and were entitled to marry in white. Bad girls didn’t. She didn’t consider herself a bad girl, but she wasn’t sure that she had her heart in the right place to be a good girl. No-one had made it clear just how hard it would be to resist the temptation of the flesh.

Foyle might be burning up, but Sam was burning too. She would be deceiving herself if she didn’t admit that she was tempted to move the shortest of distances and find out what it was like to kiss Christopher, or better still, to be kissed by him.

She wasn’t in any pain from the bruising after the accident yet, not even where Foyle’s hand was resting on her breast. Her nipples had tightened instead, aching for his touch, and her world had reduced to the feel of his hand on her body. Sam knew that she should move his hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She sighed under her breath, a soft exhalation of pleasure.

“Oh, this is just too nice.”

Foyle stirred at the sound of her voice; he moved slightly and tried to get even closer to her. His leg moved further between her legs and his hip and thigh pushed against her.

Arousal leapt along Sam’s veins like fire. She had never felt anything like it before; desire, yes, soft and romantic longing, but never this burning that threatened her sanity and made her question her own beliefs. What she wanted and what she knew was right were polar opposites. Despite this, she felt her body soften and moisten as nature made her ready for more, whether or not she intended to do anything about it.

Sam risked touching Foyle. She gently stroked her right hand up the back of his left arm, barely disturbing the pyjama sleeve. When disaster did not follow, she felt sufficiently emboldened to try for a one-arm cuddle. She smiled to herself in the darkness, secretly shocked at her own boldness. She breathed in his male scent and nuzzled gently at his head, feeling the heat under her lips.

Sam was torn. She wanted to let Foyle sleep to get better, but she also wanted him to wake up and take notice of her and what she was doing – preferably so that he could take an active role in it, too.

Sam suddenly thought of Joan and Rose, the Land Army girls she had come to know quite well in the course of an investigation. Before they had become friends, she had been at the receiving end of Joan’s vitriol about her driving Foyle around instead of working hard like them. Joan had crudely suggested that the reason she was there was because Foyle was ‘giving her one’, even going so far as to suggest that Sam was his ‘fancy woman’. Sam had been surprised and quite shocked at the idea, but it had opened her eyes and altered her perception of her relationship with Foyle. She had begun to rethink her time with him, and put a different interpretation on some of their interactions. It had been very illuminating.

Now Sam whispered softly into the darkness.

“My dearest sir, if only you were privy to my secret desires.”

Secret desires.



Christopher Foyle’s brain registered the soft words and felt a stab of recognition.

Desire, yes, he understood that; he felt it too.

In both his dream and his reality, Sam was in his arms. He could smell her scent; the alluring combination of fragrances that never failed to grab his attention and it did so now, bringing him to shallow wakefulness. In the distant part of his brain that monitored his behaviour, alarm bells were going off, but they were so faint as to be almost inaudible. He was going against his own mores, but he didn’t care. The lure of the promise of her was too strong and her touch destroyed every defence that he had.

Foyle turned his head the slightest amount and his lips touched Sam’s skin for the first time.

“My dear…”

Sam almost didn’t believe the softly spoken words, but the shocking touch of Foyle’s lips on her skin branded her as his forever. Scorching heat that had nothing to do with his temperature blazed through her as she realised what was happening. She looked at his face, trying to see if he was aware of what he was doing. His eyes appeared closed, or so closed that she couldn’t tell for certain. Unwilling to say anything that would stop him in his tracks, her voice came out as the softest of whispers.

“Christopher?”

Another gentle stroke of lips touched her collarbone before they lifted just high enough to murmur;

“Mmm?”

Sam almost sagged with relief – Foyle was responding to prompts; he must be awake and aware. She asked an utterly stupid question and regretted it immediately.

“What are you – uuaahh – doing?”

Another stroking caress nearly silenced her, but she waited with bated breath to hear his answer.

If there was one.

Foyle’s head lifted just enough for his half-closed eyes to meet Sam’s in the near dark. He sounded conflicted, but the look in his eyes belied this.

“Tell me to stop and I shall.”

He waited, feeling curiously dreamlike and separated from reality. Matters concerning his attraction to Sam that he would normally have avoided or had under strict control seemed unimportant. He could see from her expression that she was torn in two directions, but it didn’t worry him as much as it ought to have done.

He felt rather than saw when Sam made her mind up. Her body seemed to relax against his, and her face cleared of indecision.

“No….I don’t want you to stop.”

Foyle’s conscience jabbed at him, a little too gently and much too late.

“I just don’t want you to regret this later.”

Her answer was gratifyingly prompt.

“I won’t.”

They looked at each other and the atmosphere suddenly shifted and thickened. The underlying sexual tension that had always existed between them flared up as an erotic frisson pulsed between them; Sam felt her insides swoop with excitement as if she had just driven over the brow of a hill too fast.

Foyle lowered his head; his lips sought out and captured Sam’s mouth. She tasted just as he had expected; hot, sweet, addictive and forbidden. He promised himself that he would stop in a moment, he really would, but each moment led to the next and the next and he didn’t want to stop – ever.

Sam was overwhelmed with sensations. The unfamiliar weight of a man in her arms, the slightly abrasive rub of five o’clock shadow, the firm pressure of his lips on hers – all new and wonderful – but the biggest surprise of all was the response he engendered in her. She wanted him and wanted him now in a way that shook her to the centre of her being.

Eventually Foyle summoned the strength to pull back, and he looked into Sam’s dark eyes. She looked stunned, as if he had shocked her with his ardour. He started to apologise; not for kissing her – which he didn’t regret for a second, but for shocking her.

“I’m sor -”

Recovering from her initial surprise about just how thrilling their kisses were, Sam linked her arms behind Foyle’s neck and pulled him back down to her.

“Please don’t apologise, I couldn’t bear it.”

Her breath was cool on Foyle’s flushed face, then her lips sought his again and he realised that Sam in the flesh was better than any fantasy he could dream of. He knew that he should stop while they still could, but his head was saying one thing while his heart was saying another. He felt the tentative probing of Sam’s tongue along his bottom lip and his resistance crumbled. Heaven help him, he met her kiss and returned it - with interest.

Sam moaned into his mouth and reason vanished. She hadn’t even known that she was capable of sharing such a kiss. Vibrant need pounded through her as she clutched Foyle to her, tightening her thighs around his leg in an effort to get closer to him.

Her touch ignited Foyle and he pulled her body against his, drawing her leg up along his hip. Voluminous yards of nightdress had bunched around Sam’s thighs and he impatiently brushed the silk aside, keen to feel her soft skin beneath his hands. He slid a hand up under the material, smoothing his palm over her ribs until his fingers were halted by the soft under-curve of a breast. He heard and felt Sam gasp against his mouth. A thrill ran though him and suddenly he was consumed with the desire to find out what else she liked, so that he could please her.

Whimpering in the back of her throat, Sam wordlessly encouraged him as she urgently pulled at the buttons of his pyjama top. She felt his lips trail down her throat and heard him murmur.

“You taste like heaven.”

Foyle traced the curve of her collarbone with his lips; one strap had already slipped off Sam’s shoulder and he used his mouth to move the other one. He felt the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under him and he ached to touch her all over. He felt her hands flutter over his arms and shoulders as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them, until one settled in the hair at the back of his neck. Her other hand tugged at his pyjama top, trying to free him from it. Foyle leaned on his right arm without removing his lips from Sam’s shoulder and managed to slip his left sleeve off, shoving it away impatiently. Sam tugged again, this time with her other hand, and he lifted on the opposite elbow so that he was able to shrug out of the top, which landed on the floor, unnoticed.

Foyle’s hand and mouth moved lower, to the skin that he had just exposed.

The warmth of his breath teased the skin between Sam’s breasts and she shivered with delight. Under her hands she could feel the heat of his body and the pent-up tension in his muscles. When one of his hands slipped back under her silk nightie and closed on a breast she couldn’t help arching her back and pushing herself into his grasp. She gave no thought to her lack of experience; his touch left her nothing to worry about except reacting to him. He seemed to know exactly where to kiss or lick or caress her into madness.

Foyle toyed with Sam’s breast, gently smoothing his hand over the delicate skin as he sought out the tightening nipple. His fingers stroked and moulded it until he lowered his head and took the dusky tip into his mouth.

Sam’s eyes flew open with surprise. The heat of his mouth on her was wonderful, but he took it further by teasing her with his tongue and gently nipping with his teeth. Just when she thought she had died and gone to heaven he transferred his attention to her other breast, leaving the first one wet and tingling. She shivered as the cool silk of her nightdress settled back into place. So many sensations to absorb and enjoy whilst storing up the memories for later left Sam breathless. As Foyle took her into his mouth again she clutched at his head and gasped aloud her delight. Her leg tightened over his hip to hold him close.

Foyle was distantly reassured by Sam’s enthusiasm, both from the viewpoint that she was enjoying herself and that she must have had at least a little experience to be so responsive. He reluctantly allowed the tasty morsel in his mouth to slip free, and then kissed his way back up her to Sam’s neck and jaw line. He took her mouth again with hot and hungry kisses that plundered rather than asked, but Sam gave them freely. Foyle buried his hands in her hair and crushed her to him, breathing rapidly as his tongue duelled with hers.

Long moments later an aching shudder passed through his body as he slipped one arm under Sam’s torso, and ran his other hand up the silky skin of her leg before tracing over her knee and up her thigh. Foyle slid his hand from there to her buttock and he was delighted to find that she wore no underwear.

It was his turn to groan.

Sam held her breath as Foyle’s palm ran along her thigh, but relaxed when he veered off from the juncture at the top of her legs, only to have her breath halt in her throat again when she felt him clasp her bottom. She didn’t think it was possible to feel any more excited, but when Foyle pulled her to him her hips pressed against the rigid length of his erection and she felt a fresh flood of moisture between her legs in response. Everything Sam had ever been told about waiting for her wedding night flew out of the window. If her dear sweet Christopher didn’t do something soon she was quite certain that she would explode. She was astonished to realise that she was panting for goodness sake!

Foyle had wanted to take things more slowly, but found himself caught up in the rapidly spiralling desire for release, for both of them. He ached all over, not just in his balls, and he felt dizzy with it. The scent of Sam’s arousal made him even harder and he had to fight the urge to bury his head between her thighs and lap at the fragrant liquid there, but what little rational brain he had left thought that Sam might find that a little too much for her sensibilities just yet. A delicious thought to save for later.

   His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he felt Sam’s hand move between their hips and rub over his cock. With only a thin layer of cotton pyjama material between them, the cool contrast of her hand could easily be felt and his hips jerked against her without conscious thought. It was no better when her tender exploration cupped his balls either. Foyle sucked air into his lungs in a desperate attempt to stave off coming into Sam’s hand. He groaned aloud with the effort.

Foyle’s obvious enjoyment spurred Sam on, and any reserves that she may have had about her impending deflowerment were lost in the ether. She was too hot and felt trapped by her nightdress. With real reluctance she released Foyle; without any preamble she tugged at the offending nightwear until it was up around her waist – she ignored the sound of a seam popping – then pulled it off over her head and threw it aside. There was just sufficient light to see the look on Foyle’s face as he looked upon her body, and Sam was no more disappointed than he was, if his expression was anything to go by. He shoved back the bedclothes, the better to see in the limited light. Sam smiled, and reached up to his face with one hand. He turned his head and kissed the palm before reaching for the cord on his pyjamas.

When Foyle looked very briefly as if he were contemplating whether or not to proceed, Sam grabbed for the cord too, and a moment later he was freed from the confines of his last item of cover, like it or not.

Foyle liked it.

So did Sam.

Foyle shed his pyjamas and lay back down beside Sam, half on, and half off her. His rigid shaft pressed against her leg and he slipped his right hand along her silky thigh until he circled around the top of her legs, so close to her centre, but not directly touching. She squirmed under his light caresses, trying to push him in the right direction, though she wasn’t sure where that was exactly. She had long lost any sense of modesty and didn’t care that she would have to resort to begging if he didn’t touch her soon.

As soon as Foyle saw her look up at him he ran his thumb through the golden curls at the juncture of her legs until he found his target and pressed; he was perfectly poised to see the reaction on Sam’s face as she gasped aloud and shuddered. He couldn’t help smiling as he circled and lightly touched, circled and touched. He felt how wet and open Sam was, but still he tantalised until satisfied that she was as ready as he was. He stroked a finger between her soft folds and then slipped it gently inside her. As he expected, Sam’s hips lifted, trying to force him further inside her, and Foyle’s groin throbbed with anticipation.

Sam didn’t know what to do with herself. Thank Heavens Christopher knew what he was doing; she was just along for the ride. Her thighs clenched his hand, even as her hands grabbed at him, trying to pull him over her and into place. He seemed to know exactly how to please her, how gently, how slowly, how soft and how firmly. It was the sweetest torture. Sam moaned, quite unaware that she had been unable to keep her pleasure contained.

“Christopher!”

It was a cry that Foyle had heard often in his dreams, and in just that tone. He shifted slightly, using his knee to encourage Sam to open her legs for him. She responded immediately and reached down between them to touch him, but he captured her hand in one of his and shook his head once.

Sam met his eyes and understood that he was not rejecting her at all. She put her hands on his shoulders instead.

Foyle took hold of himself and used the fluid on his fingers to add to the bead of clear liquid at the tip of his cock. The sensation made him shiver and gave him goose pimples, but it was good. He leaned forward and touched the head of his shaft to her other lips, and felt the sweat pop out on his brow at the sensation of being kissed by them. He managed to concentrate sufficiently to stroke her with the tip of him, spreading her lubrication over the two of them, before aligning himself correctly. Before he could move, Sam’s hips came up again and lodged the head of him just right for his entry. Foyle just managed to stop himself from thrusting forward through sheer effort of will. Despite the lubrication, Sam was still tight and he didn’t want to hurt her. He tried to pull back slightly.

Sam could feel Foyle against her, large and new to her very limited experience. She wasn’t afraid, just excited, and wanted him to hurry up. She strained against him, urging him on. She felt him begin to slip just inside, but before she could get used to his intrusion, he started to withdraw.

“No, don’t leave!”

Foyle looked at Sam as he rested on his forearms. Given his position, relaxation was the last thing on his mind, but he wanted to reassure her.

“I’m not going anywhere, trust me.”

Sam smiled as she looked into his dear face.

“I do trust you, but hurry, please?”

Foyle ummd with amusement and nodded once. He leaned down to kiss Sam as he nudged a little further inside, then waited for a few moments, distracting her with more kisses. He eased forward a little more; the effort to remain still required more reserves than he had.

Sam was getting frustrated with Foyle’s overly considerate pace. She wasn’t made of the best bone china, she wasn’t fragile. She wanted him. Now.

Foyle had just realised that he was meeting unexpected resistance when Sam took it into her head to hurry things along. To his dismay his distraction meant that he was unprepared for her sudden upwardly thrust hips combined with her leg hooked behind his thigh. He found himself buried to the hilt before he could react, and by then it was too late.

Sam flinched only briefly at the sudden and complete penetration. Foyle’s consideration beforehand had not been in vain, and now she found herself deliciously filled and eager for the rest. After a brief hesitation, her lover kissed her hard, almost angrily, but then it transformed into something else entirely. Sam gave herself up to the kiss with all of her heart.

When Foyle finally pulled back, Sam wriggled suggestively under him, reminding him of unfinished business. Her unrepentant grin surfaced and he found himself smiling ruefully back. He accepted her gift and gave himself up to her.

For Sam the feel of him inside her, filling her, touching her so intimately was almost more than she could stand. It sent her desire rocketing as she moved with Foyle, and he moved within her, more easily now, chasing the rising pleasure to the end of the line. Her breath came in short gasps and the sounds of his effort were adding to her excitement. It was not genteel, it was urgent and hard and wonderful. Sam moaned deep in her throat, tilting her hips to meet Foyle’s thrusts; she clutched at his shoulders and back, digging her fingers in to hold on for dear life.

A groan ripped from Foyle’s throat as he drove into Sam, harder and faster.

Sam felt a growing tension gather within her body, a delicious ache that thrived on the friction building between them. She pushed back against Foyle, wanting him so deep inside her that he would never leave.

Foyle’s pace became ragged and uneven as his world view narrowed to a very small focus. He rocked into Sam, again and again – teetering on the brink himself - until blessedly, he felt her already snug hold on him tighten further.

Sam’s nerves tingled throughout her body, gathering a pulse of pure energy from where they were joined as one. She strained against Foyle again, desperate to catch the elusive something that was just out of reach. Each of his thrusts brought it closer, higher and brighter until she suddenly cried out and clutched at him, remaining rigid as her insides pulsed in spasms of ecstasy that seemed to go on forever as he continued to thrust into her.

Foyle couldn’t stop if his life depended on it. A shudder ran through him as he felt Sam coming – her intimate stroking pushing him ever closer to the edge. He felt the waves of his own impending climax wash over him until it suddenly overtook him. He cried out as his hips jerked spasmodically; once, twice, as he filled her with his seed until he was drained.

For Sam her enjoyment was complete. Feeling Foyle finish within her, seeing him so driven and carried away and knowing that she had caused him to feel that way made her feel very womanly, older than Eve herself. She regretted nothing, not even in the relaxed aftermath when reason returned. Her breathing slowed and her body cooled as she turned to look up at her lover.

Foyle’s feelings were much more mixed. He remained on his elbows, keeping most of his weight off Sam’s chest, but the rest of him was in a state of collapse. His head lifted once his breathing was more under control and he looked Sam in the eye. He knew it was important to say the right thing to her now, but it was difficult to know where to start. His mind felt befuddled and he had difficulty in focussing his train of thought. One thing was paramount though, he had made a grave error of judgement.

“Sam…”

Sam intuitively knew from that single syllable that she wasn’t going to like what came after it, but she refused to jump to conclusions. She felt Foyle shift slightly and was suddenly assailed by an odd sensation as he started to slip out of her. He had reached for his pyjama jacket and now gently used the handkerchief from its breast pocket to help clean up. It was a curiously tender moment that countered what Sam had thought she heard in his voice. She tried to read Foyle’s expression, but his face was now in shadow as he turned to retrieve the rest of his pyjamas.

“Please, say something. Anything.”

Sam’s plea made Foyle wince inside. He was not doing this right. He took a moment to pull up the bedclothes over the both of them, grateful for the darkness in the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

Sam looked astonished. Her voice was a fierce whisper.

“What? I assumed that you knew! What kind of a girl to you think I am? Do you honestly think that I could go from either Joe’s or your own son’s bed to yours?”

It was the second time he had made a misjudgement about Sam and he was sorry beyond belief that he had been so selfish to his own needs and desires. He felt utterly weary.

“I’m sorry, I do know you better than that; it was my fault entirely.”

Sam glared at him.

“I’m not assigning blame here. It was as much my fault for assuming that you wanted what -”

She stopped abruptly, realising what she had been about to give away. If she told him that she loved him now, she would lose him and her job in one fell swoop.

“Umm?”

Foyle’s eyes were already closing; he knew that he was missing something important, but he couldn’t seem to keep his lids open. Sam’s voice seemed very far away.

“Nothing. Go to sleep, forget anything ever happened. I shall.”

Foyle protested but nothing was heard except by him.

“No!”

Sam turned her back to her erstwhile lover, who apparently had no trouble falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. She cried silently for several minutes; not for the loss of her virginity, which she had gladly surrendered, but for the possible loss of her friendship with Foyle. She respected him, admired him and loved him. Nothing here tonight had altered that and regardless of what had transpired afterwards, he had been the most attentive and considerate lover who had made her first time as good as it could have possibly been. Despite what she had said in anger, she would never forget.

X X X X X

Sam surface gradually to an awareness that morning had arrived. She didn’t need her body’s new aches to remind her of last night, and she basked for a while in the good memories before it all went so horribly bad.

Within a few minutes Sam realised that something was wrong. The silence from the other side of the bed was ominous, as was the lack of movement. She turned over to face Foyle.

“Christopher?”

She put out a tentative hand and shook him gently. There was no response.

“Christopher?”

Sam tried to quell her rising panic as she shook him harder. She got out of bed and trotted around to his side. Still no response.

“Dear Heaven!”

Sam ran for the door of the room and only realised that she was naked when she was unlocking it. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand and shot downstairs, running barefoot for the kitchen.

“Mrs Flack! Mrs Flack!”

Sam’s relief was profound when she saw the older woman look up from the range where she was seeing to breakfast. Mrs Flack wiped her hands on a cloth and crossed to a pale Sam who appeared to be wearing a man’s robe and not much else as far as she could see.

“What is it?”

Sam pointed back towards their room as she caught her breath, tight as it was with panic.

“It’s Mr Foyle, Christopher – I can’t wake him up, he needs a doctor as soon as possible. Oh, please hurry!”

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TBC.
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Only You