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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: Anthony Horrowitz’ copyright programme and characters borrowed for temporary use, returned unharmed, they were acting! No infringement is inferred, implied or sought.

Author: hazeleyes57

Title: Only You, chapter 8

Rating: A – mild sexual references.

A/N: Probably the penultimate chapter. Sam / Foyle pairing. Thank you for your reviews, they are much appreciated.

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                                      Only You (chapter 8)

“Thank you, but no.”

Sam’s quiet but firm voice seemed larger than life to Foyle as he looked at her, his expression slightly shocked.

She did not look at him, but kept her eyes on the road ahead. Red flags of colour stained her cheeks and Foyle could not tell if it was with anger or distress. Sam had been silent for several moments after his comment about marriage, so he had drifted into preliminary plans for a small private wedding, working on the principle that silence gives assent.

Both Foyle’s eyebrows now rose in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“Pardon?”

Sam’s voice took on the tone he always thought of as her best ‘make do and mend’ resolute one. Her chin inched upwards.

“I said, ‘Thank you, but no’. It was a jolly kind offer, but you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to get married with everyone thinking that I was doing it out of shame.”

Foyle was acutely aware that his motivation for marriage was not just to make reparation to Sam for the potential loss of her good name. He wasn’t being forced into marriage exactly, just hurried. Disappointment made his voice gruff.

“Don’t be silly, Sam. Give the idea some thought.”

If anything her jaw jutted even higher.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not being silly. Would you have mentioned marriage just now if there were no possibility that I could be in the family way?”

In a heartbeat, if I were fifteen years younger.

The idea of starting another family now was daunting, but it had never been his idea to have just the one child. Rosalind had been frail for quite a while after Andrew was born, and the doctors had said another child too soon would have been difficult for her. Then it had been too late and she was gone.

Lost in his thoughts, Foyle had hesitated too long. Sam answered her own question.

“You see? You wouldn’t have.”

Foyle’s tone was terse.

“Stop trying to second guess me, you’re rubbish at it. I meant what I said, my offer was genuine.”

Sam slammed on the brakes and the Wolseley stopped in an impressively short distance. Foyle did not and almost banged his head again. His glare was milder than he would have liked.

“Steady on, one concussion is enough, thank you.”

Both gloved hands on the wheel so that she wouldn’t grab him, Sam glared back at Foyle.

“You didn’t offer me marriage; you made a statement about what would be the best solution. Like I was a…a…problem to solve, not someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.”

Foyle looked taken aback. He frowned as he recalled exactly what he had said.

We’ll have to get married.

Yep, seems the best solution.

Foyle stretched his neck, trying to ease his collar.

Mmm, maybe she has a point.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention.”

Foyle pursed his lips, his ghost of a smile a touch wry.

“I’m a little out of practice.”

Sam huffed as she looked behind the Wolseley before pulling away. She didn’t manage it as smoothly as usual and Foyle took that as a measure of how deeply she had been affected by his mishandled proposal. He did not make the mistake of asking her again immediately. The vitally alive young woman that had lain in his arms the other night had not done so on a whim or out of curiosity. He hoped that it meant that Sam felt something for him – to find out that it had meant nothing, or God forbid, had been based on pity, would hurt him deeply. No, he would give her time to get used to the idea of marriage and then, sooner rather then later, he would convince her to take the proposal seriously.

He hoped Sam wouldn’t take too long to decide.

Just in case.

* * * * * *

The remainder of the journey back was a subdued affair. Sam had initially appeared reasonably relaxed to Foyle, but the nearer they got to Hastings, the more tense she became. When it was clear that she wasn’t going to start the conversation despite her obvious anxiety, Foyle sighed inwardly.

“What is it Sam?

She glanced at him, half grateful and half something else he couldn’t quite identify, but reminded him of defiance or bravery.

“I know things have changed, between us, I mean, but I still want to be your driver, whatever else happens.”

She hesitated, so Foyle gave her the time to finish what she wanted to say.

“I just need to know how…well, will things be the same at work? Like it used to be?”

Foyle raised one eyebrow, evincing mild surprise.

“Don’t see why not. Nobody else’s business but ours.”

Sam started to relax, but Foyle pursed his lips and tutted quietly.

“Of course, you will have to get used to calling me ‘Sir’ again. You won’t be able to call me ‘Christopher’ at work. I shall still expect my cups of tea as usual.”

Sam did relax then, aware that she could have so easily been on her way back to the dreaded MTC instead of being teased by the boss.

“Absolutely, just as you say.”

Hiding his smile, Foyle was pleased to see more of the familiar happy Sam again. When she turned to look at him, he saw the glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Does that mean when I see you away from work that I can call you ‘Christopher’?”

Foyle gave her a dry ‘so you think we’ll see each other outside of work’ look, but he couldn’t maintain it for long enough and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Sam spotted it instantly and smiled.

Foyle rolled his eyes in mock dismay.

“Just don’t call me Christopher in front of the Commissioner, or heads will roll, and it won’t just be yours, Samantha Stewart.”

“No, I won’t forget.”

“Good.”

Sam had been tempted to add ‘Christopher’, but stopped herself in time. Having turned down his proposal, such as it was, she had been concerned that she would lose every aspect of their ‘new’ relationship, but his gentle teasing had been reassuring.

She hoped that she was doing the right thing by turning him down and leaving him free to find a love of his own once he could move on from Rosalind. It could leave her in a difficult position though, if there was a baby on the way. Contrary to her breezy comment to Foyle about her parents’ attitude, she knew that they would be upset and feel let down by their daughter’s fall from grace.

Sam gnawed gently at her lip, deep in thought.

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Foyle could almost hear the cogs turning in Sam’s brain. He too was mulling over his thoughts, wondering just how much time to give Sam to think things through. A week? Two weeks? A couple of days? Sometimes having too much time renders a person incapable of making a decision. On the other hand, rushing a decision would be foolhardy, just as pushing Sam for an answer now would be counterproductive. He decided to assess the situation on a day-to-day basis, and see if his way forward would become clear.

Foyle was of the opinion that Sam did not love him, although he did concede that she had some affection for him. However, having an affection for someone, and marrying them were two different kettles of fish. He found himself thinking about Elizabeth and Rosalind. Two quite distinctly different women, both of whom had professed to love him, only one of whom he had believed with the benefit of hindsight. He meant what he had said to Elizabeth, they were not the same people anymore. Thankfully, he certainly was not and that had been Rosalind’s doing; he still missed her. More years than he cared to remember had passed, yet some days it seemed like yesterday.

Looking out of the car, Foyle realised that they were nearing the police station. He had not been aware of how far away his thoughts had taken him. He looked at his watch.

“Well done, Sam. You’ve made good time.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile quirking her lips.

“Thank you…Sir.”

Foyle glanced at her but didn’t say anything else. The last few minutes of the journey passed in silence, the occupants in the car unaware that they were both contemplating how much their lives had changed in just a week.

When Sam pulled to a stop in front of the station to let him out, Foyle turned to her.

“Will you be all right?”

It was a question of more than one level and Sam knew it. She chose to answer it simply.

“Oh, yes, fine thank you. I’ll go and sort the car out, then bring you and Sergeant Milner a cup of tea. I could certainly do with one.”

Foyle looked at her and she looked back at him for the longest moment. He nodded once.

“Thank you…for everything.”

“You’re welcome…” Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper “Sir.”

* * * * *

Foyle walked into the police building, the familiar smells and sounds surrounding him as if in welcome. It was a fanciful thought and quite unlike him; normally he didn’t do anything other than have a quick subconscious scan, just to check that all was well before settling down to work.

He found Milner just coming out of his office. The younger man smiled in greeting.

“Good to see you back safe and sound, Sir. How are you feeling?”

Foyle gave a brief smile as he shrugged out of his overcoat and placed it and his hat on the stand.

“I’ve been worse…”

Milner started to nod and smile in polite sympathy, but Foyle hadn’t finished.

“…and I’ve been a lot better.”

Milner’s smile was genuine this time.

“Sam still driving too fast?”

Foyle gave him a look that needed no translation and Milner suppressed a grin as he picked up the file he had recently placed on Foyle’s desk and handed it over.

As he walked around the desk and took his seat, Foyle flipped open the file and glanced at the first page.

“Right. Back to business, what have we got?”

He nodded at the Sergeant.

“Pull up a chair, looks like we’ll be a while.”

Less than ten minutes later, Sam walked through the open doorway to the office carrying two hot cups of tea. She looked slightly startled to see Milner sitting beside the desk but smiled in greeting.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in here.”

She placed one of the tea cups on the desk in front of Foyle and handed the other one out to Milner.

“Tea with milk all right for you? I’m afraid there’s no sugar.”

“But that’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get another, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sam glanced oh-so-casually at Foyle and gave a polite little smile. He looked back, his expression neutral.

“Thank you, Sam. Be finished about five-ish?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sam gave a crisp nod, smiled at Milner and left the office.

Milner was intrigued. He was only now remembering that Sam and the DCS had been forced to share a room for several nights. He could not put his finger on the difference, but something had definitely changed between his friend and his colleague. Feeling utterly disloyal to both Sam and Foyle for even thinking it, Milner wondered if there had been two beds, or only one, at the Inn.

Foyle cleared his throat and picked up where he had left off when Sam came in with the tea.

* * * * * *

Sam was waiting for Foyle when he left his office at twenty past five. She looked as fresh as a daisy and Foyle was mildly surprised to find that instead of it making him feel self-conscious about his age, he actually felt refreshed in her company.

She gave him a cheery smile.

“Home, Sir?”

Mindful of Sergeant Brooke at the front desk behind Sam, Foyle ‘Hmm’d’ noncommittally as they moved towards the exit together.

Once outside, Foyle turned towards Sam to speak to her, but paused briefly when a dispatch rider went past on a dark green motorbike. The noise was gone in a few moments, but the smell of the two-stroke engine lingered unpleasantly.

Sam waved her hand about.

“Pooh, that’s a bit whiffy.”

Foyle looked in the direction the rider had taken and shook his head.

“Yep, and dangerous to boot. Wouldn’t catch me on one.”

Sam grinned.

“That would depend on what I was driving.”

She opened the passenger door for Foyle who gave her a droll look before getting in the Wolseley. Sam nipped smartly around the car and got in the driver’s seat.

Foyle looked at her.

“I don’t fancy cooking tonight. We’ve had a long day so what do you say to going out and finding a local restaurant for dinner?”

Sam’s face lit up.

“Gosh, do you mean it? That would be lovely.”

Her enthusiasm made Foyle glad that he’d suggested it.

“Can’t promise a fantastic meal, but…”

Sam grinned as she started the engine.

“I don’t mind, it will still be fun.”

She didn’t add that she didn’t care where they went so long as they could be together for just a little bit longer.

They found a small restaurant slightly out of Hastings, a mile or so along the coast road. It was warm and cosy inside, with only a few other patrons as it was still early.

The waiter pulled out a chair for Sam and Foyle waited until she had been seated before he took his own place. They mulled over the menu options, deciding to have soup to start with fish for the main course. Being a coastal region, fish was one of the few things that were still available.

Mindful of the fact that she still had to drive, Sam only had one glass of wine with her meal, but Foyle had two and was feeling a little mellow by the time he finished the second glass. The conversation flowed easily and he was reminded of the evening that he and Sam had spent in the snug of The Crown Inn.

The warmth of the restaurant – and possibly the wine – had brought a flush to Sam’s cheeks, but it suited her and Foyle found he was enjoying himself just listening to her talk. Unsurprisingly, she was fairly well read and they discussed several books that they liked, and then segued onto music.

“…of course, that was before the Americans arrived. Some of the more modern music is very…er…lively.”

Sam laughed at Foyle’s expression.

“Yes, but fun! Joe taught me a couple of the new dances; they’re really quite easy once you get going.”

Foyle’s face easily conveyed his scepticism.

“Yes, well, speaking of getting going, it’s nearly nine thirty. We ought to get a move on.”

Sam looked at her watch in disbelief.

“Good heavens, I had no idea. Time flies when one is having fun.”

Foyle signalled the waiter over and quietly asked for the bill. When he had left, Foyle looked at Sam. He was sorry that the evening was at an end.

“I have enjoyed the evening, too. Thank you for the entertaining company.”

Sam looked at him, her gaze wistful. She didn’t want to leave him yet.

“You’re welcome.”

* * * * *

The journey back into Hastings didn’t take very long, and all too soon they were outside Foyle’s house. Sam left the engine running, having assumed that Foyle would be brisk about getting out so that she would be on her way back to the station garage and her bicycle.

He turned to her as he got out of the vehicle.

“Thank you again for a very pleasant evening. Will you be all right getting back home?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I just lock the car up and it only takes me ten minutes to get back to my digs. I have a little house on my own now, quite sweet really. You should see it.”

It was just a sociable throwaway comment, but to Sam’s surprise he nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Sam hoped that she didn’t look as startled as she felt, but she smiled anyway.

“Absolutely. It’s a date.” She looked at Foyle, still standing beside the car. “Well, not a ‘date’ date, just a friendly…sort of…meeting…thing.”

One side of Foyle’s mouth twitched upwards as he watched Sam flounder.

“Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow morning, sharp at eight.”

Sam grinned, immediately recovered.

“Yes, I’ll be here. Goodnight…Christopher.”

Foyle raised one eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the use of his name.

“’ Night, Sam.”

He closed the car door then watched Sam pull away and drive off. He would have liked to invite her in for a drink, be it tea or cocoa as the whisky was gone now, but it was too soon.

“Maybe next time.”

He turned, took the steps up to his front door and let himself in the house. It was cold as expected, but somehow did not seem quite as lonely as it used to. Foyle made a cup of cocoa to take upstairs to bed with him, thinking that he would read for a while as he felt too awake to sleep just yet. With that in mind, he perused the bookcase for Rosalind’s copy of Sense and Sensibility. She had asked him if he had read the book and he had admitted that he had not, simply because he regarded it as a book that women would more likely be interested in. His wife had challenged him to read it and he had risen to the bait, keen to prove himself flexible and open-minded, if not also right. He found now that his sympathies lay more with Colonel Brandon than they had previously.

He too was in love with a much younger woman.

* * * * *

Both Foyle and Sam settled back into their routine duties with few problems, or at least, no obvious ones to anyone else. Milner kept a watchful eye on both of his friends, simply because he cared enough to do so. He hoped that neither of them had noticed.

As the days passed and nothing awful happened, Milner was distracted by preparations for his wedding to Edie. Edith had been relieved that they would be able to marry in church, but they both felt guilty that it had come at the cost of Jane Milner’s life. He had wanted her out of his life, but not at the expense of hers.

Foyle was acutely aware of each day that passed. Several times he caught himself looking at Sam, trying to ascertain how she felt without actually having to come out with the words. He waited less than patiently for her news, unable to ask her outright as there never seemed to be an opportune moment; either they were not alone, or it wasn’t the right situation. Sam also seemed to have developed the knack of needing to be elsewhere just as he braced himself for their conversation. It wasn’t even as if he would have difficulty discussing the subject, very little shocked or surprised him, but he did not think that Sam would be in the same enviable position.

So in the mean time, he gently courted Sam, taking her out for the occasional meal, and then accepting her offer of a meal at her lodgings, before working his way up to inviting her back to Steep Lane.

The last of which he had not yet completed.

After three weeks of dallying around and avoiding the subject, Foyle finally ‘cracked’ on the way back to the station after visiting a witness out along the coast road.

Although as ‘cracked’ went, it was largely invisible to the majority of people. Sam was unusually quiet and concentrating on her driving when he spoke up.

“Sam?”

She glanced at him in the mirror briefly.

“Yes, Sir?”

Foyle frowned at the ‘Sir’. It seemed to emphasize their difference between them, but he had no right to complain, Sam had stuck to the rules that they had laid down.

“Any…um…news yet? I’m…concerned.”

Sam blushed furiously, her expression chagrined. He’d finally trapped her where she couldn’t escape.

“N…no, not exactly.”

One of Foyle’s eyebrows canted upwards and he pursed his lips.

“‘Not exactly’? What does that mean, exactly?”

Her back ramrod straight in the car seat, Sam avoided looking at Foyle in the mirror.

“Well, it’s a question of…regularity.”

Foyle spared her blushes to some extent by looking out of the car window at the passing scenery. He had been married, he was observant; he probably had a better idea than most men.

“I understand.”

When Sam did not continue, Foyle did.

“The last one was…?”

“A couple of weeks before we…before we went away.”

Sam’s voice was small. She was remembering what Simon, the doctor, had said. She had been in the middle of her month, the most dangerous – he had used the word ‘fertile’ – part.

Foyle blinked slowly.

Five weeks.

“Right.”

Sam still looked out the front of the car, but she answered as if it had been a question.

“It’s been longer before, I’m…still waiting, as such.”

Both of Foyle’s eyebrows went up this time.

“Really? Right, well, you let me know as soon as you know, would you please?”

Sam nodded, still flushed with colour.

“Yes, Sir.”

Foyle gave a wry smile.

“Frankly, Sam, that was one time that I expected you’d call me Christopher.”

His gentle blue gaze met Sam’s when she looked in the mirror. Her small smile could have been filed under ‘cheeky’.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

Foyle shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Sam did not answer him aloud.

Don’t know, but I have several ideas.

Later that day, when Sam took Foyle his afternoon cup of tea, he informed her that he would not be needing the car to take him home as he was dining out.

Sam was disappointed that she wouldn’t be taking him home or seeing him in the evening, but she understood. She seated herself on the visitor’s chair, as per their habit of late.

“That’s okay, Sir. Going anywhere nice?”

Foyle closed the file that he had just finished working on and slipped it into the filing cabinet. He turned back to Sam and noticed that she was looking a little peaky.

“Summoned to the Reid household. Very passable cook is Mrs Reid, shouldn’t suffer too badly. Are you all right? You look pale.”

Sam looked up suddenly at the abrupt change in subject. She looked surprised.

“I’m quite well, thank you, just a little tired. An early night will do me good.”

Foyle frowned.

“You getting enough sleep?”

Sam nodded.

“Not doing too badly. A lot on my mind.”

Aware that he was probably a significant part of her turmoil, Foyle gestured to her cup.

“In that case, finish your tea and get yourself off home. You work late often enough that I should spare you when I can.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Part of Sam was grateful for the early finish, but part of her was also now even more disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him until tomorrow. She tried, with limited success, to keep the conflict of emotions off her face. She quickly finished the last of her tea and stood up.

“Enjoy your meal, and I’ll see you tomorrow, as usual?”

Foyle nodded.

“Yep, thank you, I will. See you at eight.”

Sam turned and left the office, unaware that Foyle’s thoughtful gaze followed her.

He almost called her back. He would rather have spent the evening with her, but Hugh Reid’s dinner invitation had been couched more in the terms of an order than a request, and even though they were of an equivalent rank, it would still have been bad form to refuse.

* * * * *

Sam let herself into her lodgings and closed the front door behind her. Out of habit she ensured that the curtains were closed before she switched on the lights. She bent down and picked up her post from the mat and noted with mixed feelings that there was a letter from her parents.

She brewed a pot of tea before going upstairs to change out of her uniform, then came back down in a warm pair of slacks, a brushed cotton shirt and a jumper. She felt much warmer and far more comfortable by the time she sat down with her mug of tea to read her mail.

But before she had even opened the first letter, her thoughts returned – as they so often did these days – to Foyle. Since their return from East Anglia he had been different. Not in a bad way at all, quite the contrary. Instead of maintaining a distance from each other, Sam felt that they were closer than ever. She was even more unsure now about her future path.

Foyle was a decent man and also an honourable one. Sam was worried that he was ‘doing the right thing’ by her, rather than following his heart. He had obviously taken no serious notice of her rejection of his proposal, and was now attempting to persuade her to see reason by doing all the things she had often imagined them doing together.

It was perfect…and awful.

Sam didn’t want Foyle to marry her out of duty because there might be a baby on the way. She wanted him to marry her because he loved her. She wouldn’t expect a big showy declaration of heartfelt longing, just his usual dry little smirk, a nod, the twinkle in his eyes that said ‘you’re the one for me’. He could say more with the expression on his face than anyone else could with a thousand words.

Sam picked up the mug of tea and took a cautious sip before going back to her post. She started with the letter from her parents and read through it quickly before going back through it more slowly once she had established that they were both well. It contained the usual news, nothing too exciting or unpleasant because her mother didn’t like bad news or shocks and most certainly didn’t send that sort of news to anyone if she could possibly help it.

Oh, heavens, Mum, how do I tell you that you might be a Grandma by the end of the year?

* * * * *

In a house not too distant from that of Christopher Foyle, Inspector Reid, his wife, their guest and family had finished their very pleasant meal by eight in the evening.

Mrs Reid had ushered the two men into the front parlour in order to leave the dining room free to be cleared, but also because she knew Hugh wanted to speak to Christopher privately. The room had been warmed with a fire, and a couple of inches of whisky remained in the last bottle should either of the two men want it.

Hugh Reid saw to his guest’s needs; he offered Foyle a cigarette and a drink. Foyle declined the first and accepted the second. Once they were both holding a glass of amber liquid, Hugh turned to the seated Foyle.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?”

Foyle looked at his friend with wary humour.

“Already I don’t like where this is going.”

“Hear me out. I think I know you as well as anyone can, even though I’m fairly certain I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Foyle smiled as he swirled the drink in his glass.

“What’s this about?”

Reid rocked back on his feet.

“Funny, I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

Foyle’s eyebrows lifted in mild enquiry, but his instincts were on full alert.

“So ask.”

Reid sighed.

“What is going on between you and Sam?”
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