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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Disclaimer: Foyle’s War is a copyright product belonging to Anthony Horowitz. No infringement is intended by the use of characters or scenes in this fic.

Title: Only You (chapter 9)

Rating: T or 16+ for suggestive sexual themes.

Author: hazeleyes57

‘Ship: Sam/Foyle

A/N: Still a WIP, for which I sincerely apologise, but I can’t seem to hurry these two up, and I’m already up to page seventeen, so I’ve decided to split it into another chapter. Hope you’re not too cross…

Only You

Chapter Nine

Reid sighed.

“What is going on between you and Sam?”

Foyle froze, but made every effort to appear not to have done so.

“Sam?”

Hugh Reid waved his hand dismissively as if to say ‘don’t bother pretending to be ignorant’.

He settled in the other chair, opposite his friend. He was well aware that he would appear less intimidating if he wasn’t standing over Foyle, and therefore far more likely to get the answers he sought.

“Christopher, you and I are bloody good coppers. Bloody good coppers have bloody good instincts, and mine are screaming. So I ask you again, what is going on between you and Sam?”

Foyle’s hooded gaze centred on the whiskey in his glass as he debated what to say. Hugh was a good friend as well as a longstanding one, but he was also a work colleague, and as such he had another master to obey.

“Nothing.”

Hugh’s look was one of disbelief.

“Nothing?”

Foyle nodded, glancing up briefly and catching Reid’s eye.

“Yep. Nothing at all.”

Hugh was silent for several moments. He took a sip of his drink and felt the smooth burn of a fine whisky in his throat.

“So…nothing going on at the moment. Has something gone on in the past or is something likely to go on in the future?”

Foyle played his best poker face, and managed not to smile at his friend’s shrewd guess.

But he didn’t answer.

“As your friend, Christopher, it’s none of my business what you do with your spare time, so long as you don’t break the law. As your colleague, I don’t need to point out that it would be deemed inappropriate for you to conduct an illicit relationship with your driver.”

Foyle took a calming sip of his drink. He savoured the flavour on his tongue for a long moment before swallowing.

“No, you don’t need to point it out. But you would seem to be implying that an open relationship with my driver would be acceptable.”

Reid’s smile was rueful.

“You can marry or not as you choose; just don’t get into…difficulties.”

Foyle didn’t like the direction that the conversation had taken and Hugh was intuitive enough to recognise in his friend’s expression that he had gone as far as he dared with his warning. He tried to change the subject, but didn’t get very far.

“Do you ever think about marrying again? I mean, it’s been ten years now. You must have given it some thought.”

There was a long silence while Foyle decided whether or not to let Reid have the benefit of the doubt.

“Eleven years; nineteen thirty two, and it doesn’t seem that long ago.”

Foyle was clearly uncomfortable, but Reid did not drop the subject.

“But you didn’t answer my question – have you thought, even in the abstract, about marrying again?”

“Yes, it has occasionally crossed my mind. It has been difficult to think that I could move on...when Rosalind could not…”

“Poppycock.”

Foyle looked him with some surprise, but it was only later that Reid realised that he did not look as shocked as he would have expected.

“No, I’ve not lost my mind. Rosalind died, Christopher. Just Rosalind. Not you. Do you honestly think that the delightful young woman that she was would have wanted you to grieve forever?”

He answered his own question.

“No, she wouldn’t.”

Foyle looked pained despite the fact that he was aware that Reid was trying to help.

“Hugh…”

“For goodness sake, man! If the position was reversed and you had died instead of her, would you have expected her to grieve for more than ten years? Or would you have hoped that she would marry again and be happy?”

“Of course I would have wanted her to be happy. She was only thirty, far too young to spend the rest of her life alone.”

Reid smiled with satisfaction.

“Exactly!”

Foyle shook his head slowly, inwardly amused at Reid’s supposition that he had altered his opinion on the idea of re-marriage.

He was a few months too late for that.

Reid, however, took Foyle’s response as a denial.

“All I’m saying Christopher, is that you should give it some thought. I know the war has changed the way people behave, good and bad, but there are still decent women out there who will expect marriage.”

Clearly demonstrating the direction of his thoughts, he added, “I certainly don’t think that Sam is one of the fast and loose variety.”

Foyle looked at Reid, allowing his exasperation to show.

“Hugh, that really is enough. Pick another subject or I’ll go home and leave you to explain to Sylvie.”

* * * * * *

Across Hastings, just a short distance from Steep Lane in the big scheme of things, Sam gave up trying to sleep and switched on her beside light. Even its dim and shaded bulb seemed inordinately bright for several moments, but eventually she was able to open her eyes long enough to read the time on her alarm clock.

“Gone two in the morning! Honestly, it’s just so unfair. Why can’t I sleep?”

Because I have a hamster brain; it’s running around all the time, keeping me from sleeping even though I’m exhausted.

Another ten minutes passed while Sam looked at the ceiling and discovered that there were two new cobwebs since she had last dusted. Sleep seemed just as far away, so she threw back the covers and quickly slipped into her dressing gown and slippers. She folded the blankets back on the bed to retain the warmth while she went downstairs to make some hot milk. She would have preferred cocoa, but was nearly out of it and didn’t want to use the last of it tonight.

Ten minutes later Sam was back in bed with the hot milk. She plumped her pillows up behind her and pulled the blankets up almost to her chin, just leaving her arms free. As she was still wearing her dressing gown, she was nice and cosy.

But I can think of a better way to keep warm.

But you’re not here, are you? You’re probably back home by now, tucked up in your big bed, fast asleep. Are you wearing those blue and white stripy pj’s that I like? Or those pale blue ones that I saw when I stayed at your house?

Oh, those days were so wonderful. I used to imagine what it was like to live there all the time, and sleep in that lovely big bed next to you. Sometimes, when you were in the bathroom, and you’d left the bedroom door open, I could see all your bedding messed up, as if you’d been restless – or naughty! I used to try to imagine what it would be like to make love to you and we would leave the bed looking just like that. Sometimes, when you would look at me at breakfast, or in the evening, I’d be embarrassed and panic that you knew what I was thinking.

I even wondered if you’d ever thought about me in that way.

I didn’t think it was possible at the time, but you must have done.

Now I can’t think of anything else. Now I know what it’s like to make love to you, I want to stop wasting time apart, and get back with you. My body pulses when you get close enough to me so that I can smell you. I can’t smell your shaving cologne without wanting to pull your tie off and kiss your neck.

When you walk in front of me I want to reach out and touch the curls at the back of your neck. I remember the feel of them under my fingers that night.

When I can sleep, my dreams are filled with you. Sometimes we are in your bed, and you press me into the mattress, filling me just as you did before, and I fall into ecstasy before I wake up, wet but empty and so alone.

Most of my dreams don’t end in fulfilment. They are full of us trying to make love somewhere – anywhere – but we keep being interrupted; we get started, but never finish.

It doesn’t take an idiot to figure out what it all means, especially as the person that tears us apart is often Rosalind.

Sam frowned as she drained the last of her drink, placed the mug on the floor beside her slippers and put out the light.

She sighed heavily.

“It always comes back to her, doesn’t it?”

* * * * * *

Contrary to Sam’s belief, Christopher Foyle was also awake. He had left Hugh Reid’s house at about ten and walked home. Although it was a cold night, it wasn’t bitter or windy, and he set off with enough of a pace to be quite warm by the time he got home.

He had not bothered with a nightcap; he had had just enough to drink to be feeling pleasantly mellow, so he locked up the house for the night, climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom. He removed his tie first and undid the top button of his shirt, then took off his jacket and waistcoat, hanging them both up before he removed his shirt. He sat down on the side of the bed, undid his shoelaces and pulled his shoes off, placing them together at the end of the bed. The socks came off next, then he stood again and took off his trousers and underwear. Feeling rapidly cooler and more sober by the minute, he hurriedly pulled on his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers before heading to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he was back in his bedroom.

Within moments, Foyle had kicked off his slippers, draped his dressing gown across the bottom of the bed, and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool but not icy and he warmed up quickly. He decided not to read tonight as he was tired and thought that he could sleep easily enough. He put out the light and tried to quiet his mind.

It was easier said than done.

Sam.

Foyle wondered if tomorrow would be the day his luck ran out.

As each day passed and there was no news from Sam, part of him selfishly hoped that she was expecting his baby. It would lend more impetus to his argument that they marry, and as soon as possible. Yet the fairer, mature Foyle wanted Sam to choose to marry him because she wanted to, not because she had to.

Maybe tomorrow he would find out, one way or the other. In the mean time, he really needed some rest.

Within ten minutes Foyle was fast asleep, his breathing deep and even.

He woke from the middle of a dream with a start a few hours later. He looked at his watch and could just make out that it was after half past one. He looked around the darkened bedroom to see if there was any practical reason that had disturbed him, but everything seemed to be in order, so he tried to settle back down.

Annoyingly, he now felt wide awake. He tried a couple of the tricks he learned during the First World War to help him sleep in the trenches, but to no avail.

Twenty minutes crawled past.

Foyle thumped his pillow and turned onto his right side.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the memories that he had managed to recover from the time that he had spent with Sam, just before he had succumbed to the ‘flu. He didn’t indulge in these memories very often and he tried only to think of them at home; they still had a very powerful effect on him, and the last thing he needed at work was to be confined behind his desk every time he thought of Sam.

My only defence was that I was ill at the time. My guard was lowered to the point where I no longer had the will to resist what shouldn’t have been offered or accepted at the time.

Sometimes I wonder if what I recall is a dream or the truth or a combination of both.

Her scent is my most vivid memory – even now I can still feel that same jolt when I unexpectedly catch a whiff as she passes me, or leans past me to get something. It was the subtlest of tortures to have my bathroom smell of Sam’s toiletries when she was staying at the house.

Next I think of silk – the silk of her gown, the exquisite silk of her skin under my lips and the silky flow of her hair through my fingers.

Then taste; her hot sweet mouth, so addictive, so forbidden, but so yielding and willing.

God! Please tell me I didn’t imagine that she enjoyed it as much as I did, I could never forgive myself.

Unbidden, another memory surfaced, but it was much clearer than the earlier ones. Sam had deliberately manoeuvred him into kissing her, unwittingly restoring his fragmentary memories. But before he had realised what had previously happened, he and Sam had been kissing for several minutes, tangled up in the blankets and sheets. If he hadn’t remembered, they would have been only moments away from her complete possession.

With her complete agreement.

Foyle restlessly shifted again, this time on to his left side.

Sam hadn’t been afraid of him, or repelled by his tongue demanding her mouth, or his hands sliding down her body to cup her delicious bottom.

Foyle groaned. He was still wide awake and now he was hard too. Without word of a lie, he’d been erect more times in the last six weeks than he had in the previous six months.

He was far too aroused to sleep. He gave in to his desire and slid his hand under the blankets and down his body, imagining that it was Sam’s hand that he felt take hold of him, just as she had before. Sam’s hand that caressed him, held him, stroked him and finally brought him to a shuddering climax that left him drained.

* * * * * *

Mindful of Hugh Reid’s warning, Foyle tried to give no sign of anything out of the ordinary going on with him at work. He had always had the capacity to compartmentalise the separate portions of his life from an early age. It had been Rosalind who had taught him that they need not be mutually exclusive, and that he could safely overlap them from time to time.

This was not one of those times.

The first chance that he had, he vowed to bring Sam in on the advice he had received, but pinning her down had been just as difficult as before. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that she was avoiding him. That he did know better was a relief – they were still going out for the occasional meal, he had been to her house for tea again and they had attended a piano recital together. He had been a little concerned that it might not have been Sam’s idea of ‘fun’, but she had appeared to enjoy it as much as he had.

Three more days passed and Foyle still hadn’t heard any news. With each passing day his hopes increased, but so did his concern. What on Earth must she be thinking? Was she worried?

They had been quite busy at work, a large fraud case concerning essential supplies at the hospital had come to a head and although it had ended with more than one arrest, there were reports to type and loose ends to tie up. Everyone was quite exhilarated but drained by the end of it.

Sam made herself useful where possible, helping where she could with typing up handwritten notes, and tea for the ‘troops’ - she had even managed to scrounge up some biscuits, which had gone down very well.

It was early evening and already dark when Foyle, Milner and Sam stepped out of the front of the station in to the cool air. Foyle looked at the other two.

“I think we deserve a little reward. What do you two say to a quick drink before we get going? My treat.”

Milner looked genuinely apologetic.

“I’m sorry Sir, I’ve just telephoned Edie to let her know that I was on my way, she’s kept supper back for me.”

“I see.”

Foyle gave him a small smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow, correctly interpreted by Milner as the ‘you are a lucky man’ smirk.

“Sorry, Sir, perhaps another time?”

Foyle nodded.

“Of course. Can we drop you on the way?”

Milner shook his head, the humour confined to his eyes. He had never been fond of gooseberry.

“Thank you, but no, I’m fine. I’ll see you on Monday, unless anything crops up in the weekend.”

“Let’s hope not. Monday it is. Goodnight, and give my regards to your young lady.”

Milner smiled and nodded, already starting to back away.

“I shall. Goodnight, Sir, ‘night Sam.”

“’Night, Paul.”

Foyle waited until Milner was out of earshot before turning to Sam. She was smiling as they turned and walked towards the Wolseley.

“Well, it’s just you and me. Would you like to go for a drink?”

Sam looked at him, the sparkle still in her eyes. She leaned in a little, but not so much that it would cause comment if witnessed,

“To be honest, I fancy a night in…”

Foyle was disappointed.

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry, it was very selfish of me to keep you waiting all this time; you must be tired after such a long day.”

Sam kept her grin hidden.

“Absolutely. So I thought, as my reward for sterling services in the tea and biscuit department, that you, Christopher, should have me for supper.”

Foyle allowed himself to look startled.

“Pardon?”

Sam let her smirk escape.

“You know what I mean. It’s your turn to cook for me. Nothing fancy, I’m quite happy to take pot-luck.”

Foyle’s mood lifted instantly, but the only change in his expression was the small lift of one side of his mouth.

“Mmmn. Good, because I think pot-luck is about all I’ve got.”

Keeping her hands clasped behind her back – mainly so that she didn’t grab him here in public, Sam faced Foyle.

“Splendid. My favourite.”

The short drive back to Steep Lane was quiet but filled with electricity. It felt to Foyle as if Sam had come to a decision of some kind and the uncertainty about what she was thinking was both unsettling and enervating.

The practical side of him was grateful that the house was tidy and was already mentally going through his cupboards to think of what to do to eat.

He was actually nervous. Which was quite ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

Sam was not so much nervous as excited.

Tonight’s opportunity to get Foyle alone and talk to him without fear of interruption or whilst having to concentrate on her driving was heaven sent. She still didn’t know for sure about a baby, but it was looking increasingly likely now, so she really wanted to know where she stood with its father.

Sam still wasn’t going to marry a man who wasn’t in love with her, but she owed it to the baby to at least find out how Foyle felt about her. She knew that he desired her, but was that enough? Could she take the chance that duty and desire might turn into something more?

The front door closed behind Foyle as Sam removed her coat and hung it up on what used to be its usual place when she had lodged there. Foyle hung his coat and hat up too, and then followed Sam as she went through to the kitchen. He was pleased to notice that she seemed to be quite relaxed about being there.

Whilst discussing the day’s events, they gathered the makings for a meal and worked together to get something to eat on the table. Neither noticed how easily they moved around the kitchen in a co-ordinated fashion that demonstrated how well they were matched.

Once the hotpot was in the oven they took a cup of tea through to the living room. Out of habit Foyle headed for his chair as usual, but then hesitated, wondering if he ought to sit next to Sam on the settee.

Sam noticed the hesitation and thought it quite sweet; the thoughtfulness in him that was much less apparent in men of her own age. She placed his cup of tea beside his chair, making the decision for him, and took her place on the nearest end of the settee.

They continued the discussion they had started in the kitchen and talked easily about a variety of things. Sam did not want to discuss anything about their possible relationship until after they had eaten, but her sense of anticipation was almost palpable and both of them were aware that they were skating around the edges.

The hotpot was delicious, hot and filling, but not enough to leave either of them in a state of torpor.

Back in the living room, with another cup of tea, the tension had increased, as if they both had sub-consciously realised that the long awaited moment was at hand.

“Christopher -”

“Sam-”

They had both spoken at exactly the same time. Foyle smiled and Sam laughed. Foyle, ever the gentleman, yielded to Sam. She took a steadying breath.

“I need to ask you something, and I would appreciate an honest answer, because you are an honest man.”

Whatever Foyle was expecting, this was not how he thought it would start.

“Very well, you have my word.”

Foyle’s heart sank as he saw Sam screw up her courage.

“I know I’ve asked you this before, but I have my reasons for asking it again. Would you be suggesting marriage to me now, if we hadn’t…if there was no possibility of…of…”

“A baby?”

Sam nodded, suddenly unsure of herself.

Foyle realised that he was in a minefield. One misstep here could be disastrous, but she had asked him to be honest. He spoke cautiously, not wanting Sam to be upset.

“Being completely honest, no, probably not.”

Sam’s hands clasped together, the thumb of one hand nervously rubbing the back of the other.

“I see.”

Foyle leaned forward so that he could place his hand over hers.

“No, Sam, I don’t think that you do. My offer, however clumsily presented, was genuine. I will marry you, and as soon as you wish it.”

Sam’s eyes began to fill. He was being so kind, but if he had no intention of marrying her beforehand, then she didn’t see how he could be offering marriage out of love now.

“Do you like me?”

Foyle was taken aback.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Am I presentable to look at?”

Foyle was now baffled as well.

“Very easy on the eye. Practically attractive, I would say, if pressed.”

Sam half laughed, almost dislodging her precariously balanced tears.

“Do you…want…me?”

Foyle was so surprised by the question that he came and sat down next to her, his hand still holding hers.

“What on earth is all this about?”

One tear did escape now, and slid down Sam’s face.

“It’s just that you don’t…. Since we came back, away from work you haven’t…I mean to say, there is ‘respect’ and there is a complete lack of the…wanting.”

Foyle did not make the mistake of laughing, but he was greatly relieved. He moved closer and opened his arms so that Sam could slip naturally into his embrace.

“You’re worried that I don’t want you?”

Sam nodded, her head on his chest, below his chin.

“Oh Sam.”

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Foyle wanted to tell her how he truly felt about her, but was worried that he was putting too much pressure on her. In turning down his proposal she had shaken him and he was uncertain how to proceed. He needed to let her know that he cared, but not in a way that had her running for the hills. Unfortunately, with the way she felt in his arms it was all he could do not to haul her up and kiss her senseless.

“It’s not that at all. I was trying to give you a choice by waiting until we knew about a baby. I wanted you to have the option of finding out that there wasn’t one, so that you could decide if and where we went from then.”

Sam was considerably cheered by his words. Reluctantly, she pulled away from the comforting smell of Foyle’s shirt but remained in his arms as she looked at his face.

At his lips.

“Really? So you have no actual objection to kis -”

She never got chance to finish the word, let alone the sentence. Foyle’s lips took hers with a surety that was literally breathtaking. Her gasp of surprise granted him access that he exploited to the full and her gasp became a moan of pleasure.

Any thoughts that Foyle had about being the mature adult in charge of the situation flew out of the window within seconds of first contact. Sam’s unguarded response ignited a corresponding charge within him, a sudden conflagration that shocked him with its strength.

With one accord, they parted briefly to stare at each other for a long moment. His eyes were so close to hers that Sam felt as if she were drowning in their pale blue depths – and what’s more, she didn’t mind a bit.

As if compelled by an outside force, they came together again and this kiss proved it was no fluke. Excitement spiralled through them both, each recharging the other until it felt as if something had exploded inside them. Suddenly Sam felt as if she couldn’t get enough of Foyle, but fortunately she sensed the same greedy hunger in him as he pulled her closer.

Foyle held Sam securely in his left arm as his tongue plundered her mouth. His right hand ran along her arm and up to cup her neck, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched.

Sam clutched at Foyle as if her life depended on it. She wanted to press him to her until there was no space between them, so that no-one could tell where one ended and the other started.

If her mouth had not been too busy Sam would have gasped, but as it was, she moaned into Foyle’s mouth as she felt his hand slide from her neck down the front of her shirt until it reached her breast.

Foyle felt Sam shudder as his hand brushed lightly over the already erect nipple he could just feel through the thick cotton of her shirt. He lovingly cupped the breast with his palm and brushed the firm peak with his thumb; God, but she was so beautiful, he just wanted to –

He froze. Was that…?

Lost in a cloud of desire, adrift with sensations that she barely knew how to describe, Sam was abruptly brought back to earth with a bump. For no apparent reason she felt Foyle freeze and withdraw from her embrace with unflattering speed. She had barely begun to comprehend what had happened before she found herself alone on the settee.

Still shocked, she turned just in time to see Foyle hasten through the open doorway into the hall and pull the door to behind him. She opened her mouth to ask what on earth was going on when she heard what she should have heard earlier.

The unmistakable scratch of a key fumbling for the lock on the front door and then the sound of the door opening.

Sam’s hands flew to her cheeks.

Oh Lord!

She hurriedly straightened her shirt and tucked it back into her skirt. She smoothed her hair, checked her bun and pushed some of the pins back in.

Voices. Out in the hall. She tip-toed to the door.

“What the devil are you doing here?”

The thump of something heavy hitting the floor. A kitbag, perhaps?

“Gee, pleased to see you too, Dad.”

Andrew!

“Of course I’m pleased to see you, just surprised at the lack of advance warning, and the late hour. You staying?”

“Was planning to, unless you have Sam stashed in my room again. It’s just for a couple of nights I’m afraid, but I didn’t think you’d mind. I take it that it is okay?”

“Yep, fine. You going straight up, or do you want something to eat?”

“I’ve eaten thanks; I’ll go straight up if that’s all right with you. I’ve been up since five this morning and I’m dead on my feet.”

The voices faded as they moved towards the stairs until Sam couldn’t hear anything else. She went back to the settee to wait for Foyle and noticed Rosalind’s photograph for the first time this evening. To Sam’s fevered imagination, the dark-haired woman’s gaze was faintly censorious, as if she was unhappy about the shenanigans going on under her roof.

Entirely unbidden Sam recalled Foyle’s desperate cry for Rosalind during his delirium.

‘Please don’t let her die!’

Sam wanted to scream with the injustice of it all.

What on earth was I thinking? I haven’t proved that Christopher loves me; all I have done is prove that he desires me, and I already knew that.

I can’t do this without his love and respect, or I’ll have no respect for myself. Not once has he mentioned love, not once, yet I’m almost certain that he feels something for me…oh, God, please don’t let it be that he feels paternal…no, don’t be silly Sam, he wouldn’t kiss a daughter like that…good Heavens no.

Too anxious to sit still, but too worried about the noise to pace around until Foyle returned, Sam quietly opened the door to the hall and gathered her jacket, coat and cap from the hall stand before slipping back to the front room. Hopefully Andrew either didn’t see them or didn’t register them as he passed through.

Upstairs, in the back bedroom, Foyle was unaware that he was worrying at his bottom lip until Andrew gave him an odd look.

“You all right, Dad? You look a little pensive.”

“Mmn? No, I’m fine, just reviewing breakfast options. It’s always nice to see you, Andrew, but a little more notice would be appreciated. Still, good to have you here, even if only for a couple of days. Will you need an early call?”

“It’s Saturday, so thankfully I have until Sunday night to get up to….so that I can report in on Monday morning for duty.”

Foyle Senior gave a wry smile at his son’s near slip up. They both knew that their secrets were safe with the other, but why put the other at risk?

“Good…good. Well, see you in the morning, then. Fancy the river?”

“We’ll see.”

Foyle raised one eyebrow.

“Mmn. When you were six you complained that ‘we’ll see’ always turned out to mean ‘no’.”

Andrew grinned as he dropped his braces and tugged at his shirt.

“Goodnight Dad.”

His father had already started to turn towards the door, but he glanced back with a smile.

“’Night, Son.”

Trying not to make undue haste, Foyle headed for the front room. God only knew what Sam was thinking right this minute, but there was not going to be time to discuss it tonight.

At Foyle’s first glance the room appeared to be empty, but Sam stepped into the light when, presumably, she realised that he wasn’t Andrew. He crossed to her, noting that she was dressed ready to leave. He kept his voice low.

“I’m so sorry to have left you so abruptly, I didn’t want Andrew seeing the light on and interrupting us. Are you all right?”

While Foyle was speaking he was already registering the fact that something had changed dramatically since he had left the room. There was a distance between them that was more than the barrier created by Sam being back in her uniform.

“No, no, I quite understand, can’t be helped.”

Sam looked at Foyle, her dark eyes sad. His stomach turned to ice as he felt her withdrawal. This felt like a lot more than just ‘good night’.

What the devil has she got into her head now?

“Sam? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Foyle could see that she was upset. When he stepped forward, she stepped back, one hand raised as if to hold him off.

“I’m so sorry. I thought that I could do this, but I can’t, not without love. We have desire, please believe me when I say that I have so completely enjoyed what we did, both before and tonight, none of it was put on. I really did – do – want you, but I can’t. Please forgive me.”

Foyle was devastated and looked every inch of it. Sam’s resolve had almost crumbled when he reached out to her, which was why she had had to back away. If he had touched her, she would have been lost, and then she would always wonder if he loved her.

Sam stepped past the immobile Foyle and let herself out of the house, quietly closing the door behind her. By the time she reached the Wolseley she was crying hard, the pain in her chest immense.

Back in the front room of the Steep Lane house, Foyle managed to get to the settee before his legs gave way. The only time in his life that he felt worse than this was the day Rosalind died.

Bloody old fool! Stupid bloody fool, of course she doesn’t love you, what did you expect?!

Every fibre of Sam’s being wanted to go back to Foyle and tell him that she would take him regardless, that half a loaf was better than none, especially if he were the loaf, but she did not.

Sam realised later that she had no memory of the drive back to her little house, but when she woke up in the morning after an appalling night with very little sleep, she knew what she had to do.

Set him free.

.

.

TBC.
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