Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Foyle’s Private War.

Disclaimer: I do not own Foyle’s War, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Foyle’s War and all the characters therein are owned by Anthony Horowitz and subject to copyright. No infringement is intended. All original characters and story belong to hazeleyes57.

Sam Stewart tutted in a frustrated manner. It was perfectly beastly that the cellar door would not budge an inch. She stood, her back ramrod straight, with her hands on her hips and glared at the recalcitrant door, as if able to convince it to move by sheer force of will.

The door ignored her.

Despite their serious predicament, Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle allowed a small smile to curve his lips. It was entirely within Sam’s character that she expected the door to respond with polite goodwill and yield. She had been brought up in an atmosphere of manners and good behaviour, where the ‘right thing’ was encouraged and, indeed, expected.

Foyle coughed discreetly as the dust began to settle. From his initial inspection and the sounds that he had heard since, it would appear that one of the neighbouring houses had been bombed during the air raid. Although shocked and bruised, neither of them had been seriously injured when the peripheral damage had blocked their only exit from the cellar room.

The sound of falling masonry had been less than comforting, but at least all was quiet now. A direct hit and neither of them would have been wondering about anything.

Sam turned to face her boss.

“I’m sorry Sir, but it looks like we’re here until we are rescued. The door is supposed to open inwards, but I think it’s warped in the frame with the weight from above. We’re jolly lucky the whole lot didn’t come down.”

Foyle nodded in agreement, that had been his assessment too. Sam’s voice was still determinedly optimistic, but he could tell that her faith had been dented and underneath he detected a note of anxiety. He brushed his hands together to remove dust as he moved to the far wall and its high set barred window.

“Try not to worry, Sam. It sounds like the raid is over for now. I’m sure that we’ll be out of here before too long.”

As if in response they heard the muted drone of the all clear siren. Foyle’s expression, which Sam had become quite adept at reading, seemed to say ‘what did I tell you?’

Sam gave a nod.

“Right-ho. I’ll just sit…down.”

Sam looked all round the small dark room, barely illuminated by the weak light through the dirty basement window. There were no chairs or tables, or anything that looked stable enough to sit upon, just some sad-looking boxes that had seen better days. It was the dusty floor, or remain standing.

Sam sighed inwardly. Another tough day for the laundry tomorrow. She sat down; her legs straight out in front of her, and then felt hugely uncomfortable when she realised that the boss was still standing up. She remained seated despite her discomfort and tried not to fidget. She wondered what the Chief Super was thinking.

After several minutes of more careful examination of their predicament, Foyle realised that neither of them would be getting out of the cellar without outside assistance. As this was not likely to be forthcoming in the immediate future, he, too, sat down after a brief consideration of the floor.

“We’ll just have to make the best of it for now.”

Sam nodded in what she hoped was a positive manner and wondered what to do next.

The silence stretched out between them until finally Sam’s stomach gurgled. She immediately crossed her arms and leaned forward, her cheeks a little warm. She saw Foyle’s hurriedly suppressed smile and shrugged.

“Sorry Sir, missed tea. I am getting rather peckish.”

“You don’t have to apologise Sam.”  

A wry smile escaped from Foyle’s slightly dour demeanour.

“I dare say mine will join in soon.”

Sam smiled, relieved. She was not always sure when he teased her how she should respond. The turkey ‘evidence’  incident certainly made her aware of his dry sense of humour, but on other occasions he had let her know that she had overstepped her mark. Though to be fair, he hadn’t had much cause to reprimand her recently. Until now, she thought, becoming slightly glum. It was mostly her fault that they were here. Her second sigh was audible.

Foyle inwardly cursed the circumstances that had led to their – hopefully brief -incarceration. When the meeting had gone wrong and Sam had run like the dickens after the fleeing black market spiv, it had been all that he could do to keep up, then when the air raid had sounded they had no time to think before running for cover. As usual the headstrong girl… Foyle stopped the thought. Going over it again with himself would not alter their circumstances. They were here now, so he had to deal with that.

Above all, we have to stay calm. There’s no need to get Sam distressed. Leaving aside my concerns about another air raid before we are found, there’s also the fact that the two of us are stuck in here together. Damned English prudery. I know exactly what her father would be thinking. Probably try – again - to get Sam to go back home. Completely against her wishes, just like before.

Foyle sighed. He removed his hat, brushing at the top to remove a little brick dust, and then placed it on top of a watering can. It looked absurd, but he left it anyway.

Sam became aware of the chill of the cellar floor through the material of her uniform skirt. Her stockings were no real practical help in the warmth stakes, and sitting down had removed the tension from her suspenders, so she had to resist the urge to pull the fragile nylons up.

For Heaven’s sake, think of something to say. Don’t talk about being hungry. Or thirsty. But I am both. Gosh, I wish I’d had tea; even those spam sandwiches would be nice about now. Think about something else. Not the planes coming back. I wonder how long we’ll be down here. Maybe even until the morning, can’t search without lights. Don’t think about that either. Lucky that we weren’t hurt. So glad that he wasn’t injured. Didn’t even lose his hat, though it does look funny on that watering can. Wish the floor wasn’t so cold; my btm is getting quite numb. I do so wish that I could think of something to say; anything other than ‘May I call you Christopher?’ or ‘Do you think that we’ll be okay, because I’d rather not die a virgin?’ Heavens!

Foyle glanced at Sam, wondering if he had imagined the little squeak of noise from her. She was looking at her feet, idly clacking the shoes together, a picture of mildly bored relaxation. Even in the dim light he could see expressions flit across her face as her thoughts took her from one idea to the next. She had a lively mind, and although he occasionally found her questions inappropriate or overly inquisitive, she had the makings of a good detective.

What are you thinking? Are you afraid? You don’t look it. Are you cold? Even with my coat I am aware of the chill. You only have your uniform. How long do we have to be here before I can ask you if you are warm enough? Would you like to share my coat? How could we share it? It will only fit one of us unless we lie down and drape it over the both of us, and that, my dear Samantha, would not be a good idea.

Foyle stirred.

“I wonder if there is anything that we can put on the floor to offset the chill? Perhaps some newspapers or painting cloths in one of these boxes?”

Sam looked brighter at the prospect of doing something. She scrabbled to her feet.

“I’ll have a look. There’s bound to be some paper kept here, for fire-making, at least.”

So saying, she set about opening some of the boxes in order to inspect their contents. It was dark outside and it was difficult to see what was what.

“Paint and brushes, but no cloths. Just some – oh, hello, that’s better.”

The second box had come up trumps, yielding a big pile of broadsheets. They looked old, but didn’t smell musty.

“I can’t make out the date, but they must be a few years old. One doesn’t get to see newspapers this big these days.”

Foyle ‘ummd’ and nodded his agreement as he took some of the proffered papers and between them laid them several copies thick on the cellar floor. Providing that neither of them moved around too much, they would be warmer while sitting.

The brief flurry of activity had given them something to do, but it didn’t take long. The silence threatened to take over again as Sam seated herself carefully on the papers next to Foyle. They were side by side, their feet facing the door, the window on their left. Foyle could see that she was uncomfortable, but he was not certain what it was about.

Is it our situation or is your discomfort about being here with me? We have a good working relationship and I would like to think that you trusted me. I would never behave inappropriately towards you.

I care about you too much for that.

I will never burden you with the truth that I care for you more than I should. That I am glad that nothing came of you and Andrew, because I don’t want you for my daughter in law. I am genuinely sorry that you could not find happiness with your American soldier, but he made me feel uncomfortable when he referred to me as being like a second father to you. I don’t feel in the least paternal about you.

You make me feel young again, but remind me how old I am too.

Sam shifted and the newspapers creaked. Foyle looked at her.

“You all right, Sam?”

Sam smiled.

“Oh, yes. Tickety boo at the moment, the papers work a treat. Just sorry that we are not at home, warm and fed. My fault.”

Foyle looked surprised.

“I rather think that the Germans are at fault here, y’know? All we did was to seek shelter during an air raid; it was just unfortunate that we picked this one. Could have been worse - we could have been next door.”

Sam laughed despite herself.

“Yes, we should look at it like that. Blame the Jerries.”

Foyle looked at his watch, angling it to try to see the time. Sam whipped out her lighter and held the flame aloft.

“It’s just after eleven. The late night rendezvous that Evans wanted to try to hide his illegal activity has unfortunately meant that we are out long after anyone else would be. As Milner understood the meeting was for tomorrow, and as we were unable to let him know about the change of plans, he’s probably at home by now.”

Sam understood what Foyle was trying to tell her.

“You mean that we are pretty much stuck here until tomorrow.”

Foyle nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

Sam swallowed, torn between anxiety and excitement.


After a long moment of silence, Sam reached around behind her and straightened a pile of the newspapers to form a pillow. She made one beside hers for Foyle, hoping that he didn’t think she was being too forward.

“In that case, it’s been a long day, Sir, so I’m going to try to get some sleep. It will make the time go quickly and I shan’t worry about Jerry coming back if I’m not awake.”

Foyle raised his eyebrows at Sam’s no nonsense approach, but his tone was approving.

“Good idea.”

He had been about to suggest that he take the first ‘watch’ at the window, but as it was too high to see out, there was no point. He stood up and shrugged out of his overcoat as Sam lay down, flat on her back.

“I think that you should take the coat, Sam; it will get very cold once we stop moving around.”

“Certainly not!”

Sam’s indignation would have had more impact had she been upright instead of lying on the floor.

“I don’t see why you should suffer. I can’t see any reason for us not to share it. It will keep us both warm.”

A cheeky grin was suddenly just about visible in the gloom.

“If it’s any help, I promise to behave myself.”

One side of Foyle’s mouth quirked upwards.

“Steady on, Sam.”

But he did as he was bid; laying the coat over the both of them as he sat down on the newspaper, and then lay back on the makeshift pillow.

Sam’s voice came from Foyle’s left, almost too close for comfort.

“Thank you, that’s much better.”

“Good. Sleep if you can, Sam.”

“Yes Sir, goodnight.”

Foyle smiled gently, amused at her formality.

“’Night, Sam.”

Silence reigned, but neither person had felt less like sleep. Sam held the edge of the winter coat close.

Your coat reminds me of you, it smells like you; warmth, smoke, and some clean fresh male scent that I recognise as yours even with my eyes shut. I would know it anywhere. It brings me comfort but confuses me; it brings desire too. This is the closest I have been to any man except when dancing, yet I want to be closer still. I may not have gone all the way, but I’m not ignorant about sex. I’ve read about it in publications that would have made my father faint. The girls back in the MTC came from all walks of life and they talked about everything. Working on a farm has given me a well rounded overview too.

Sam’s hands and feet may have been cold, but the heat pooled in her belly and lower, the sensation making her wish that she knew more about being bold. She shifted slightly to ease her back.

Foyle heard Sam move, uncomfortably aware of her proximity.

It has been a while since I have been this close to a woman, though this is Sam, not just any woman. I wonder if I keep mentally referring to her as a girl in order to remind myself how distant it has to be between us. But you are not a child, are you? You are a woman of twenty three, who has had at least one proposal of marriage to my knowledge. I wonder what Rosalind would have thought of you?

Foyle could hear his late wife’s voice in his head. It was full of the warmth and amusement he had known when she was alive.

My darling Christopher, you are missing the obvious. She is only seven years younger than I was when we were parted. I didn’t want to leave you and Andrew, but I didn’t expect you to die with me either. Live your life to the full, don’t just exist. Be happy, everyone deserves that.

Foyle closed his eyes against the darkness, trying to drift into sleep. Rosalind was kind as well as wise, and he had quite recently resolved to his own satisfaction the fact that she would forgive him for moving on, one day.

Time passed slowly, the minutes dragging on with no sign of sleep evident. They had been trapped at least an hour but it had seemed more like three to Foyle.

Sam has shapely ankles. He had looked at them earlier as he was draping his coat over them both; it wasn’t the first time he had noticed them, but somehow today he had taken more notice. It wasn’t the first time that he had noticed Sam as an attractive woman. He recalled the time that he had seen her at the station, dressed for an evening out. Although he admired women for qualities such as intelligence and kindness, he was not blind to their other attributes. He had been in London recently and with the advent of the blackout regulations relaxing a little, people were allowed torches, though there were strict rules on their use, and the ladies of the night shone the light on their ankles to attract passing trade. How ironic that the Blackout has made the ankle the most erotic part of the body.

Feeling his body start to respond to his thoughts, Foyle mentally shifted gears to something less stirring. He thought about the report he was still compiling for Head Office. Statistics on the huge rise in the crime rate since the start of the war. There had been a large increase in theft, and gambling was rife.

His body began to settle.

It’s not just the crime rate that’s rising. There are increasing numbers of babies born out of wedlock as people are seizing the moment. Boyfriends and husbands sent overseas to face possible death and almost nightly air raids make woman feel that they might as well enjoy themselves, because who knew what tomorrow would bring?

Lord, this is not helping.

Beside him, Sam’s breathing pattern indicated that she was still awake, but he did not want to talk, he couldn’t take a chance on saying something inappropriate. He breathed in and let it out slowly.

Out through the lips; don’t think about her red lips. Or her expressive mouth. Or how she would feel to kiss. She couldn’t be passive; she was so passionate about everything. Perhaps he should simply accept these stolen thoughts for what they were, a fantasy, and just this once, let them play out in his head.

Foyle felt restless and desperately wanted to shift about, but didn’t want to disturb Sam. Each thought he had led him back to her. His only consolation was that she did not have a clue how he felt. It would quite probably shock the vicar’s daughter.

It certainly shocked him.

Sam again breathed in the scent of the coat, trying not to be too obvious about it. She risked a quick glance at her companion and saw in the moonlight that his eyes were shut. She hoped that he was asleep.

Moonlight. Too much light, the enemy might have further plans for tonight. Just too beastly to think that we could die in here, alone but together. The girls were right; the war did funny things to ones sense of right and wrong. Oh, not to my moral compass, I know the law of the land and the legal black and white, and I have no intention of bending it, well, not much at least - it would have been wasteful to let that turkey rot - but my sexual compass is looking distinctly off kilter from where I stand – or lie. But then that’s a moral issue too. Hang it, the safest thing to do is to do nothing. But I don’t want to do nothing! Perhaps I should just think about it and get it out of my system. At least he won’t have the faintest idea that the vicar’s daughter has a pash for him.

Sam settled deeper under the coat.

He would have to be persuaded that I want him; he’s too much of a gentleman to make the first move. I could ‘accidentally’ allow my skirt to ride up, so that he can see my stocking top. His breath would catch in his throat and his eyes would fly to mine to check whether I am aware of the display. I am just the right combination of modesty and immodesty. I am flirtatious. I am not cheap, but I am…completely out of my depth here. Oh, I should skip this and get to the good stuff. He’s interested, he knows that I am. We are lying here on this newspaper; he puts his hand on my thigh, just where the stocking meets the flesh. His hand is warm and dry (not like mine) and he slides it up along my thigh to my btm (for Heaven’s sake Sam, you’re trying to have sex here, call it your bum or even ‘ass’ like the Yanks do).

Sam could feel herself blush in the dark, but it was too much fun to stop.

Thankfully for her already shaky composure, she was quite unaware of her companion’s thoughts.

In the summer of Foyle’s eleventh year he had often played in the fields behind his parent’s house. At the edge of the field had been an old abandoned barn and it was well known to the local youths who used it for trysting after dark. To young Christopher it had been a variety of things; a racing car, a pirate ship, a train attacked by Indians, all sorts of imaginary wonders. One day in particular he had been so carried away up in the loft with his adventures that he hadn’t noticed that it was dusk. He had been about to go home when he realised that a couple had entered the barn, oblivious to his presence.

Despite his tender years he had instantly decided that discretion was the better part of valour, though this did not occur to him until he was much older. At the time it was more a case of keeping quiet so that he would not be caught and possibly punished.

The next half an hour taught him more about sex than he would otherwise have learned for several more years, and left him with a life-long love of abandoned buildings. They would always be linked in his mind to the frantic coupling that he had witnessed both with fascination and an erection that had not subsided until a further half an hour had passed. He had received a sound ticking off when he had arrived home so late, but he had considered the punishment more than worth it.

Finding himself now in an abandoned cellar with his very attractive driver combined the twin allures of danger and desire, and made it almost impossible for his thoughts to stay away from the woman lying beside him. He was perfectly aware that the desire to have what was forbidden was one of the greatest aphrodisiacs.

Foyle’s body betrayed him as he found himself responding with as much verve as his youthful self had done. Thank God that he was covered from view.

Beside him Sam lay oblivious, lost in a world of her own making.

His hand remained on her thigh and progressed no further, its mere presence a thrill. His left arm slid behind her neck, a comfortable embrace that brought her face closer to his above her. They are beyond the need for speech as he leaned slowly down towards her, allowing her the chance to cry off if she wished.

She did not.

She wants this even more than he does. Now his hand slides to the back of her thigh to pull her against him at the same time as he leans in. Their lips meet at last and it’s thrilling, this gentle pressure is almost polite, as if asking her permission to proceed. But she doesn’t want polite, she needs more. She kisses him back – she did learn something from her Yank – and this time she opens her mouth to accept his tongue, letting him explore her mouth before she returns the favour. He tastes unexpectedly different; male, exciting, naughty. He appears unsurprised at her response, probably relieved that he has not rushed or shocked her unduly. He relaxes slightly, still aroused, but not feeling the need now to treat her like glass. They kiss again and again for long moments, feeding the fire building between them, stoking the flames until she is dizzy with the wanting.

His hand leaves her thigh and she feels bereft until it closes on her breast instead. Even though her clothes his caress is skilled, firm but not painful, and his fingers simply magical. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants him to do, but she does know that she doesn’t want him to stop.

Eventually it’s not enough for either of them and she feels the tug of her buttons being undone, then shockingly, the divine touch of his fingers on her skin. It makes her gasp into his mouth and she can feel his lips smile on hers. It’s not all that she can feel; he is hard against her thigh, his rigid length a sign of things to come (her mind voice butted in; terrible pun, Sam, and she retorts – oh, do shut up, you’re spoiling it!).

Sam shifted on the newspapers, feeling just as fidgety as Foyle, though she didn’t realise it. Her breasts tingled and her nipples were hard against the fabric of her uniform shirt and jacket. It was not helped by the fact that she wore no bra – they took too many clothing coupons and there were other things she needed more. In her thoughts she was wearing her best silk undies, of course.

She felt very warm. Her mouth opened slightly so that she could breathe more easily and quietly. Both in reality and in her day dream she felt the urge to meld her thighs to his, desperate to assuage the need for sexual satisfaction. She had no idea that the compulsion could be so strong. It was terribly difficult to resist turning to him.

Just as she was wondering what would happen next, his mouth left hers and closed on the tip of her breast instead, his tongue toying with the puckered flesh until she thought that she would die of pleasure. Her head tipped back and her chest heaved upwards to crush against him, creating the weight against her that she craved from him. He seemed to know what she wanted, and leaned against her, giving her some of the pressure she desired, but leaving him room to move. Now that his mouth was busy again, his hand was free to return to her thigh and it skimmed from the stocking top to the bare flesh above it. His fingers trailed across her skin and the feeling was so intense she thought that the contact should have scorched her flesh. She jerked when he touched the edge of her underwear, but then whimpered when he paused. He took that as tacit permission to continue and slowly ran a knuckle over the damp material. She bucked again with the jolt of electricity that shot through her, forcing a plea from her lips.

‘Oh, please!’

She wasn’t quite sure what she was begging him to do exactly, but when he raised his head to look into her eyes she could see that his were kind and sympathetic to her plight.

‘I know, I know, but I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You couldn’t hurt me, I know you.’

She was earnest and so impossibly young.

He smiled that half-smile that she so loved.

‘Yes, I shall, unless we stop now.’

Even in her fantasy, Sam blushed as she realised what he was alluding to, but it mattered not one jot. Losing ones virginity was supposed to hurt at little if the MTC girls were telling the truth.

‘No, no stopping.’

His mouth dipped to her breast again and she took it for his agreement. His leg moved between hers, parting her thighs to the limit defined by her hitched up skirt. She felt damp, terribly excited and hot. She surged up to meet his clever fingers, wanting more of him. She knew that she was on the edge of something momentous, but didn’t quite know how it could possibly get any better.

Just then he pulled back, but it was only to remove her underwear, sliding the pale cream silk down and off her legs. He came back to her, taking up where he left off, his caresses making her writhe with pleasure. She wanted him so badly that she would simply die if he didn’t finish what they had started.

While she was distracted he rearranged his clothing to free himself from confinement and as soon as she could she took hold of him, feeling the smooth silky hardness of a man for the first time. Instinctively she moved her hand up and down the shaft and felt a deep feminine satisfaction when he groaned with pleasure.

After a delightful few minutes that were all that she had previously imagined that they would be, he moved between her knees, helping her to shimmy her skirt up around her waist. He eased himself down until he rested on her, taking most of his weight on his left arm. Simply by lying on top of her she was further aroused by his solid presence. She smiled up at him, her trust self-evident, but despite this he gave her another chance to change her mind.

‘You sure about this?’

She nodded, eager. He kissed her once more before reaching down between them to place himself carefully. She felt the moist heat of him touch her, and then ease forward until the head was just inside. She could feel him, large and foreign, a male invader. It stretched her, but didn’t hurt much as she was so aroused and ready. He hesitated, but she pulled him close, instinctively angling her hips to meet his thrust, and in another moment her possession was completed. He waited until she had adjusted to his intrusion, and then slowly withdrew part way before sliding back into her warmth. He set up a slow steady rhythm that she initially matched, but then she picked up the pace, chasing the rising pleasure.

Sam was sure her breathing was going to give her away, but she didn’t want to stop her fantasy. Her thighs were clenched together and in a moment of startling clarity she realised that this was why girls got carried away with their young men. If the reality was even half as thrilling as it felt to her right now, she was not at all surprised that people found it impossible to resist.

Beside Sam’s ostensibly sleeping body, Foyle lay quiet. His imagination had already placed Sam in the abandoned cellar, but it had changed her clothing to the deep plum coloured dress that she had worn to attend the party with the Americans. As then, her hair was down and her smile was beguiling.

His fantasy had placed them both in the cellar, but had not wasted time on the how or why that they were there. It also didn’t bother to explain the thick layer of straw on the floor, but it was entirely logical to him. He stood in front of a softly smiling Samantha and reached out to touch her cheek. She leaned into his hand, her eyes closing briefly with pleasure. He moved closer, pulling her unresisting body into his arms. She was a similar height to him, making her lips only inches and moments away from their first kiss. To his delight she met him halfway, her lips soft and pliant. Suddenly, kissing Sam seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

When eventually the kiss ended, he looked her in the eyes and what he saw in their brown depths warmed him more than any fire could. His head dipped again and this time the kiss was more raw and unrestrained. Sam’s mouth opened under his, allowing his tongue to explore her. She responded with a tentative exploration of her own until his blatant approval gave her more confidence. Her unaware sensuality combined with her obvious eagerness was a heady mixture.

His hands roamed over Sam’s body, giving her the time to learn where she liked him to touch her. Her gasps and sighs gave him the clues to her pleasure and he noted them all. Before long they lay on the fragrant straw, unable to remain standing on legs that trembled. In between kisses that he could feel all the way down to his toes, he undid one after another of the tiny buttons holding the front of Sam’s dress closed, until finally he could slip his hand under the material. He watched her face as his hand closed over the silk clad flesh, seeing the blush rise and fade as his fingers teased the nipple to a point. He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth, taking in the proud tip to tease it with his tongue. He felt her arms cling around him and then one hand slid up to the back of his head, urging him closer still.

Lying on the newspaper covered floor, Foyle could almost taste the silk in his mouth. He managed to prevent a groan from escaping and silently licked his dry lips. This is madness. My secret insanity, never to be divulged. But such a sweet madness nonetheless.

Sam’s other hand found its way under his shirt at the waist. The touch of her fingers sent shivers through his body, a current that awakened nerves that had been asleep for years. It didn’t matter what had brought them together, it only mattered that they were here now.

Unbidden, Foyle’s mind cast him back to the first moment that he clapped eyes on Sam, standing to attention in his office, presenting herself to him as his new driver. He remembered feeling stunned as he involuntarily cast a very quick glance up and down over her, barely able to get anything coherent out of his mouth. If he recalled correctly, he actually stuttered at one point. Right from the outset he had tried to create a barrier between them, but Sam’s irrepressible manner had defeated him at every turn. She got under his skin and had stayed there, right from the start, earning his admiration even on day one, when she had clobbered Keegan with that dustbin lid. Foyle smiled at the memory.

Beside him, Sam sighed, and to Foyle’s fevered imagination it seemed to sound aroused rather than sleepy. He briefly wondered what she was dreaming about, but then his fantasy called, and willingly, he went.

Sam’s body seemed attuned to his, her responsiveness leading him along with delight at the new experiences they were sharing. His lips returned to her mouth, gently nipping at the lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. She tasted so good, he wanted more. He kissed her fully, moving his tongue along hers. He could hear her moaning in her throat, and the sound called to him at a basic level, sharpening his desire for her. She shifted slightly under him and hugged his knee between her legs, pulling him closer. Her body curled against him, the hardness of his contrasting delightfully with the soft welcome of hers. He felt Sam lick, and then nibble at the skin of his neck, her tongue trailing along his collarbone until she could reach no further. Cool shivers of excitement ran along his damp skin, making him want to rip his shirt off and have Sam’s fingers and lips touch him instead.

His hand and mouth moved lower to the flesh that he had just uncovered. His touch was urgent, but not rough, the embrace of a man who desired so much and had waited so long. His body ached with raw need, but he controlled it, determined to enjoy this stolen time for as long as possible. His fingers teased her skin and his lips caressed a path across from one highly sensitised breast to the other, then his tongue traced lower, dipping in to her navel before continuing down to the soft nest of downy golden curls at the juncture of her legs. He heard the breath catch in Sam’s throat as he lightly kissed the flesh of her inner thigh, and felt her muscles tighten with anticipation. Through his hands he could feel her trembling as his kisses got closer and closer to the centre of her need. He inhaled the fragrant scent of her arousal and felt himself pulse in response, his own hips grinding down against the straw covered ground. He held Sam steady with one hand and used the thumb of the other to gently stroke the proud hood of flesh in front of him. As expected, Sam’s hips jerked in response, but he continued to stroke her until she had relaxed enough to enjoy the sensations he was giving her. She was very aroused already, but within moments she was even more wet and he spread the liquid over her outer lips before dipping down to taste her. He felt her momentarily tense at the unexpectedness of the touch, but she relaxed again almost immediately and her thighs parted further as she unconsciously gave him permission to get closer still. He took full advantage as he licked and kissed her nether lips and the exposed clitoris. Sam’s moans of pleasure were interspersed with gasps for air as her breathing became deeper and more rapid.

He slipped his middle finger between the soft folds of flesh so close to his face and moistened it with her juices before gently insinuating it further. When Sam made no move to stop him, he continued until his finger could go no further, then slowly withdrew before pushing back again. He could tell Sam was enjoying the sensation when she immediately hitched her hips to follow his rhythm. Within a few minutes it was obvious to him that Sam was on the brink of coming, and he fought not to alter anything that would spoil it for her. He didn’t know if it would be her first, but either way he wanted her to thoroughly enjoy it.

Foyle fought against every instinct that screamed at him to move his own hand to himself in the waking reality of the cellar. Beside him, Sam could possibly still be awake and he didn’t want her to worry about what he was up to. But his jaw ached with the muscles tight under his control, while his erection strained against the buttons of his fly.

It had been a long day, but it was turning into a longer night. Would the morning never come?

Foyle silently cursed. Poor choice of word.

Sam lay quiet, but not quiescent, on her bed of newspaper. Her tightly clenched thighs seemed to have acquired a mind of their own and she was not entirely sure that she disagreed with them. She felt as if she had ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ sitting on a shoulder each; one telling her to lie quiet and sleep, the other pushing her to turn to her reluctant companion to ask for help to ease the terrible, wonderful, ache that craved the feeling of his weight above her, and that wanted his hips nestled between her thighs as he moved within her.

In the end, Sam did neither. She retreated back into her dream, where Christopher was already doing exactly what she desired in reality.

Each thrust moved her closer to ‘coming’, a concept that she had heard about but not experienced. She knew – having both read about it and been told indirectly by the MTC girls casual conversation – that it was the peak of pleasure for men and women, but knowing about it and having it were two different things entirely.

‘Oh, please.’ she implored.

‘Is this what you want?’

His voice was soft in her ear as he picked up the pace, his breath becoming harsher, matching hers. She found herself excited by his excitement, and the elusive ‘something’ leapt closer. Currents of pleasure shot through her, gathering at the apex of her thighs, but also running throughout her body until every nerve felt as though it were on fire.

It was at this point that reality and fantasy blurred together. Sam really did feel that her nerves were on fire, and she was sure that her face was red. She was too hot for the coat over her, but dare not remove it. Unable to resist, one hand stole over the front of her skirt and she pressed as hard as she could though the thick material. She wasn’t sure exactly what she hoped to achieve, but it was what her instincts told her to do.

Her breath stilled on a gasp and she didn’t care if anyone heard. The most amazing sensation struck her suddenly, making her body spasm. Fiery pleasure shot through her, from under her hand, out to her toes and up to her head. Heat ran under her skin and she felt her whole body pulse. After a long moment there was a deep shudder inside her, followed by a lovely sort of exhaustion that settled over her, making every muscle loose and every nerve sing.


Sam was very glad that it was so dark that it was unlikely that anyone could see her bright red face with its wide, still somewhat shocked, grin.

So that’s what it’s all about. No wonder people get so worked up about it. Gosh. That was really rather nice. I feel terribly sleepy now; sleepy, and relaxed.

Sam was half asleep before she knew it, and quite oblivious to her companion’s discomfort.

Inches away on her right, Foyle was wide awake. His raging erection had not abated one bit and he was quite certain that should he be foolish enough to touch himself he would find himself disgraced – and damp. He had only just managed to keep everything under control a few moments ago when he heard Sam’s surprised gasp. At first he had thought that he had imagined it, a remnant of his fantasy, but then he realised that it had come from her.

Foyle was certain that he had not been the cause of Sam’s quiet exclamation, so he concluded that it had to have been something else. Whatever ‘that’ was did not bear too close an examination though, for in his precarious state it would not take much to push him over the edge. Even the smallest idea that she might have been thinking along a similar line to him was dangerous.

I’m a man of the world, I’ve been around the block once or twice, seen action – of the military kind, of course – and been married, even raised a child, I should be able to control myself under most circumstances, even the odd one that we find ourselves in this evening. But something about Sam draws me to her. There is a deep friendship and respect there I know, but there is something more. She makes me feel alive in a way that I haven’t done for a long time.

She makes me feel passionate. I was tired of my work, tired of the effort of working for imbeciles who refused to admit that I could be of more use elsewhere in the war effort. Tired of everything.

Until I met her.

Now I feel so much more. I’ll never forget that telephone call – when she told me that she was locked in that office with a bomb about to go off, I thought my heart would stop. The thought of losing her, so young, so full of life, so…Sam.

Afterwards, when I hustled her out of the office and left the bomb disposal engineers to their task, I was so relieved that she was alright that I could not help being angry with her for putting herself in danger. She was so calm and unrepentant. Solved the case, chin up. So matter of fact, just like the time she was bombed out of her lodgings. She had actually apologised for not turning up for work!

I meant every word when I said that it couldn’t have mattered less. I was so thankful that no real harm had come to her.

Foyle was grateful to realise that he had managed to step back from the brink. His body was calming down as he distracted himself from the idea that Sam was – he cut the thought off, again attempting to steer clear before it was too late.

Would he ever learn?

He found himself smiling sadly. It would be wholly inappropriate for me to say anything to Sam about how I feel, even if I thought for an instant that she felt the same way.  Best to remain the colleagues and friends that they were, sharing a common interest in Andrew’s welfare, and leave it at that. Any time his feeling wanted to try to take over he would remind himself that he fought his own private war, and it was just as important as the other war going on around them.

It was the first time that Foyle had given himself the luxury of time to think about the situation with Sam, and despite the response of his body, he knew that he had made the right decision. She was young enough to be his daughter; that was an end to it. She would meet someone, settle down, and have the life she was meant to have. He would be happy for her.

At least on the surface.

Foyle sighed quietly as he stored away the memories that he could take with him of this night. There was much to admire about her; at least he couldn’t fault his choice.  The grace and courage of the young woman, the cheeky sense of humour, the ability of the irrepressible Sam to suffer without complaining about her lot. The -

Sam snorted in her sleep.

Foyle smiled in the darkness.

That’s my girl.

He lay awake for another half an hour at least, then slipped into sleep without being aware that he had done so. As she had in the past, Sam came to him in his dreams, her eyes smiling, her lips soft and her heart willing.

In his dream he finished what they had started, and this time when Sam reached fulfillment he was buried to the hilt in her, acutely aware of every convulsive shudder that stroked him so intimately, until he surged in her one last time and found his release in the wake of hers.


Sam surfaced gradually from sleep, hardly aware of her surroundings. She had shifted billets so many times over the last two years that the momentary lack of familiarity seemed familiar. All she was aware of was that she was in a very hard bed, and that she was cosily warm. She tried to move, but discovered to her surprise that she couldn’t. She opened her eyes and knew instantly where she was, easily recalling the events of the night. It was only then that she realised with some consternation that at some point in the night she had turned to her companion for warmth, and was now wedged snugly against his side.

The Chief Super – somehow it was easier to call him Christopher in the dark - was lying on his back, his head facing towards her, and appeared to be asleep. Sam was thankful for small mercies. She decided to take a few minutes to ponder her situation before making any attempt to move again. As her father had often said in the past, sometimes the way to proceed revealed itself after contemplation.

Sam lay still and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy.

I’ll watch you sleep for a change. Fair’s fair, you saw me in hospital when I was asleep. I can tell you, even with the five o’clock shadow, you look a lot better than I did at the time. Anthrax knocks the stuffing out of one.

Sam could trace the subtle change in the way she thought about him to that moment in the hospital, when he had offered to go and call Joe back to see her.

I didn’t want to see Joe while I was so low, but I didn’t mind you being there. You were so kind to me, and you had looked so worried before you realised that I was awake. Milner – Paul – told me later that you had chivvied the Desk Sergeant to drive faster all the way to the hospital.

Sam smiled; to her romantic heart it had all the trappings of a knight on a white charger.

Well, okay, a black Wolseley, but the principle was the same.

Even if the knight wasn’t actually driving the car. Dear Mr Foyle, you were quite right when you said that the Foyle men were hard to resist. I was upset at the time that Andrew was leaving, but even so, you managed to make me laugh. I should think that it was then that I started to fall a tiny bit in love with you.

Sam started with surprise, then frowned with concentration.

In love?

The question turned into a statement.

In love.

I’ve been so blind – fooling myself above all else.

As if it were yesterday, she remembered asking her mother how one knew that one was ‘in love’. Her mother’s expression had softened as she looked at Sam in the reflection of her bedroom vanity mirror. At the time her mother’s reply had been less than helpful.

If you have to ask the question Samantha, then you are not in love.

Double Crikey. Sam’s gaze flew to the face beside hers.

It seems that I am in love – just not with the Foyle that I had expected it to be.


After many years as a police officer – a successful one – you develop instincts that serve you well. The knowledge when someone is lying, or hiding something, or, like now, someone is studying you. Some people describe it as a tickle at the back of the neck, others as ‘gut feelings’, but Foyle just knew that he was being watched. Without even opening his eyes, he knew exactly where he was and what had happened last night.

He had always been a morning person and today was no different.

Having said that, waking up with female company tucked under his arm was a novelty.

Waking up with any company is unusual enough for me.

Foyle opened his eyes and found himself looking straight at Sam’s somewhat startled expression. He wondered what had surprised her.

“Morning, Sam. Sleep well?”

Given their incongruous position, it was a very casual greeting, but it was exactly what Sam needed – just what she felt she could cope with at that moment.

She scrambled to unravel herself from the coat that had inexplicably wrapped her to Foyle’s side, and sat up, her hair charmingly askew.

“Oh, quite well, actually Sir. Unexpectedly well, really. All things to be considered. How did you sleep?”

As Sam’s comment had come out in a rush, Foyle gave her time to gain her composure. He could see the faint trace of colour in her cheeks and understood how she might be feeling.

“As you say, quite well under the circumstances.”

He looked around the cellar, getting a better idea about the room now that the sun was up and shedding more light. He climbed to his feet and picked his coat up, absently brushing at the dust it had acquired from the floor, while he contemplated what to do next. 

Sam started packing the newspapers back in their box. If their rescuers turned up any time soon, she did not want any evidence lying around to invite speculation about how they had spent the night. For her, at least, the night had been a revelation in more ways than one and she needed some time to think it all through before she decided what to do next.

She looked at the back of her companion as he attempted to see out of the window.

If I ‘do’ anything about it at all, that is.

Sam saved a couple of the papers for them both to sit upon until rescue arrived. That rescue would arrive, she did not doubt for a moment. Sgt. Milner would not give up looking for them. She privately hoped that he wouldn’t wait for the scheduled meeting with the black marketeer, but would come looking for them as soon as he realised that neither she nor ‘the boss’ had arrived for work.

Foyle was managing the morning better than Sam. He had been aware of his regard for her for some while, so it was nothing new for him to deal with now. There was a measure of peace in the knowledge that he accepted the fact that he loved her, but also that he had made the decision to leave well alone.

While he was thinking he looked around for something to stand on so that he was at eye level with the window, then climbed up and pressed his fingers against the glass. It didn’t move and his hand came away dirty, but he could see through the clean spot.

“Any luck, Sir?”

“Umm. Well, I can see out.”

Sam half smiled, her lips hitched up on one side as she looked up.

“Well, that’s something. Maybe Sergeant Milner will be along shortly. He is a stickler for punctuality. I’m sure he will miss us at work.”

Foyle glanced back from the window with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe, maybe not, but I will settle for a Fire Warden or a member of the Home Guard on their way home.”

Sam nodded.

“Absolutely. Any pair of hands in a crisis.”

Especially now that I could do with a visit to powder my nose – and soon! On top of that, I’m famished and very thirsty. And in love with my boss. Oh, Samantha Stewart, you are in a fix.


An hour or so later - Foyle wasn’t sure exactly because he had been deep in thought and had not checked his watch at the time - he got up to take Sam’s place on the box by the window.

They had been taking it in turns to stand on the box under the window and bang on the glass with handle end of a gardening trowel. Sam was alternately banging and listening for a response, grateful for something to do to take her mind off her growling stomach and full bladder.

The two of them had not talked to begin with, the banging interfering with conversation, but Sam wasn’t comfortable with the silence – it gave her too much time for thinking and she wasn’t ready for that yet – so she had chattered away, much as she had when the two of them had first met. Foyle answered where necessary to start with, but he very quickly recognised Sam’s efforts for the distraction they were, and assisted where he could. They discovered a shared love of music, if of differing styles; he cooked tolerably well and she did not unless it was coq au vin. (but without the vin since the war) They both had a dry sense of humour and appreciated wit, but agreed to differ over fly fishing. If privately she thought she couldn’t stand still for the length of time required to catch a fish and he thought that she couldn’t be quiet for long enough, they wisely kept their thoughts to themselves.

Foyle took Sam’s hand to help her down from the box, and then climbed up to take her place. He peered through the glass before he picked up the trowel.

Sam had not even seated herself before he spoke.

“It seems your faith in Sgt Milner has been rewarded.”

Sam looked hopefully at Foyle.


Foyle tapped loudly on the glass until it was obvious to Sam that he had Milner’s attention. The Chief Superintendent climbed down from the window after a few brief words with his sergeant about their situation.

“All we have to do now is wait while they assess the bomb damage and figure out how long it will take to get us out of here.”

Sam looked crestfallen by the news that their rescue was not imminent, but rallied several minutes later when Milner returned with the news that the house was almost impossible to get into due to the fallen rubble, and that the simplest rescue would be to break open the cellar window and have them climb out. To this effect, he had the jack from the car with him.

After explaining briefly what he was going to do and giving Sam and Foyle a few moments to get away from the window, Milner swung the large metal jack at the window. It took three good bashes before the wooden frame and glass gave way, after which it was short work to pad the broken frame with a couple of the newspapers, then hand Sam up through the gap. Between Milner and the constable with him, it was nearly as easy (though not quite so dignified) to drag the Chief Superintendent out too. At the last moment Foyle remembered to retrieve his hat from the watering can, much to Sam’s amusement.

After assuring Milner that they were both fine and would be in to work after a clean up and something to eat, Sam and Foyle walked back to where Sam had parked the car prior to their meeting with Evans the previous night. The car was also fine, having managed to avoid being hit during the raid.

The journey back to Foyle’s house was subdued, each of the car’s occupants deep in thought. Eventually Foyle turned to look at Sam’s profile as she drove.

“You all right Sam? Will you be up to driving me back to work later?”

She glanced quickly at him before returning her gaze to the front.

“Oh, absolutely Sir. Tickety-boo. I shall be right as ninepence after something to eat.”


Foyle frowned slightly, then pursed his lips in thought.

“It’s just that you are umm…unusually quiet.”

Sam smiled, a trace of her trademark grin present.

“Take advantage of it Sir, it won’t last.”

Foyle looked amused as he nodded once in acknowledgement.

Whatever was bothering her, she obviously did not want to discuss it. He would do what he did best and wait – for as long as she needed. A few minutes later the car pulled up outside Foyle’s house. He got out of the car and turned back to Sam before he closed the door.

“Will an hour be long enough for you?”

Sam nodded.

“Oh absolutely, yes, fine. I’ll see you here in one hour.”

Foyle nodded in agreement and closed the car door. Sam pulled away slowly, and headed for her digs.

Once back at her rooms, Sam quickly got some tea on to brew before having a wash and changing her clothes for fresh. After the cup of tea and some breakfast she felt much better physically, and a little calmer in her mind. After careful consideration, she had come to the conclusion that she was not going to say anything to Christopher – Mr Foyle until either (a) he said something first, or (b) she no longer worked for him and was not likely to in the foreseeable future.

Having settled the matter in her own mind, Sam couldn’t help thinking that it was not what she really wanted to do. However, the war was responsible for a lot of misery and she just had to buck up and take her share. She considered that she was better off than many women of her age – at least she had known love, even if she wasn’t going to pursue it to its logical conclusion.

As to the other discovery made while trapped in the cellar, she was definitely going to pursue that line of enquiry, but discreetly; the subject had been taboo with her parents, so much so that it hadn’t even been banned – it had simply never been discussed.

Sam smiled as she swallowed the last of her tea. A day with the Chief Super, then bed tonight with her imagination.

She could hardly wait.


Foyle looked at himself in his bathroom mirror as he wiped away the last of his shaving soap. He looked more tired than he felt, and wondered if that was a sign of age catching him up. As if to point out the contrast – not that he needed it – between him and Sam, his memory reminded him of how lovely she looked first thing this morning, rosy with sleep. Or embarrassment. Or both.  

He considered himself blessed. He had had the love of a good woman and had a son to be proud of. It would be greedy of him to have hoped for more, so he was reasonably content to step back and accept that he could only love Sam from afar. It was all it could be, and it would have to be enough. He looked at his watch on the shelf. He would be seeing her soon.

He could hardly wait.

Exactly an hour after he had last seen Sam, Foyle heard the knock on his front door. He smiled briefly at her punctuality as he straightened his tie and did up his waistcoat. Satisfied that he was ready, he picked up his coat and hat and opened the front door.

Sam smiled at him in greeting, her cheerful demeanour undiminished by a night in the cellar. There seemed to be an extra sparkle about her today, but he put it down to her love of adventure and decided not to question it. 

“Morning, Sam.”

“Good morning again, Sir. Off to the station?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Whatever you say, Sir.”

They both climbed into the Wolseley and Sam started the engine.

It was another beautiful day.



Assistant Commissioner Parkins,

I’ve suggested to you that maintaining the law in a time of war is all but impossible. I’ve now reached the conclusion that I’m no longer up to the task and it would seem therefore that there can be no useful purpose in me remaining in my position. I am therefore offering you my resignation, effective as of now.

I remain Sir, your obedient servant,

Christopher Foyle.

Ex Chief Superintendent Foyle walked out along the sea groyne to meet Sam and Milner. The sky was grey and overcast which suited his somber mood.

Quietly and succinctly he told them of his decision to resign and his reasons for doing so, though neither came as a surprise to his sergeant or driver. Sam’s dismay was mostly contained, though Milner did look at her briefly to see that she was coping all right.

All three of them walked slowly back to the Wolseley. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to say.  


Sam hurried down the station steps after the newly unemployed Foyle, grateful that she had managed to catch him after Milner had tipped her the wink about him clearing out the few personal things from his desk.

At first Sam had been distressed about her former boss leaving, but then condition (b), decided after their night in the cellar, had popped into her head. She no longer worked for him. They were both free. Her smile was magnificent.

“Sir! Might I have a word?”

Foyle stopped and turned to her. His somber expression lightened a little at Sam’s unexpected presence.

“Sam. Of course you can have a word; when have I ever been able to stop you?”

Sam’s smile widened to a grin.

“Just so, Sir. Thought you’d like a lift home, you know, last hurrah and all that.”

Foyle pursed his lips and tipped his head to one side in contemplation. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear…no, he must be mistaken. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No, not this time, thank you. I’d like to walk.”

“Whatever you say Sir. I’ve finished here, so I’ll walk with you if I may.”

Foyle took a second look at her, puzzled by her good humour. She too, was out of a job and probably would be sent back to the MTC motor pool, a prospect he knew she didn’t relish.

“You don’t have to ‘Sir’ me anymore, Sam, and if I recall correctly, aren’t your digs in the opposite direction to my house?”

“Umm. It’s a nice day for a walk.”

Foyle looked sceptically up at the grey sky, and then back at Sam. He shook his head again, but smiled briefly too. They fell in to step together and set off for Steep Street.

“So, what are your plans now, Christopher?”

Foyle’s eyebrows threatened to make it off the back of his head as he looked at Sam in surprise.

She looked perfectly innocent.

“Well, you just said that I shouldn’t ‘Sir’ you, and, call me old fashioned, but I think ‘darling’ is a little forward just yet, don’t you?”

Foyle stopped dead in his tracks. She couldn’t possibly mean…?

He looked at her and could see both truth and hope in her eyes. His eyes crinkled at the edge as he tried to keep a straight face.

“I say; steady on, Miss Stewart.”

Sam’s smile was sunshine on a cloudy day as they resumed walking.

“Whatever you say…Christopher.”

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