(no subject)
Once again, Mr Foyle is inside and working on a murder investigation...and Sam is left outside with the car.
It's a fine day, at least, and pleasant enough for the beginning of summer. So Sam can stand outside, near the car, and look Very Official and Proper.
They're investigating at a hotel this time, looking into the shooting of the woman who ran the place. Murders don't tend to make any building look like a nice place to be, but The White Feather -- a funny name for a hotel, in Sam's opinion -- definitely looks like it's seen better days. The policemen are walking the grounds to look for anything that might give a clue as to the identity of the murderer. Sam hasn't been asked to move the car just yet, so she's rather resigned herself to waiting outside for at least the next half-hour --
'You!'
Sam startles, and looks round in time to see a gentleman in a brown suit and hat pointing his cane at her as he strides out of the hotel. As she watches, a well-dressed matronly woman in a fur stole and another woman, younger and more mousy-looking, are following in the gentleman's wake.
'Yes, you!' the man snaps at her as he comes round the side of the car. 'Young woman, I want to speak to your commanding officer!'
Somehow, Sam doesn't think he means her MTC officer, who is absolutely nowhere near this place. 'You mean Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, sir?'
'I don't care what his name is,' the gentleman says rudely. 'I want to leave this hotel.'
'I...would say that's not possible.' Sam can feel her knees weaken a bit; she shifts her posture, trying to compensate. 'He gave strict orders that everyone -- '
The man interrupts her before she can get another word in. 'Do you know who I am?'
Am I supposed to remind you, sir? Sam has to fight back her first response.
'No, sir,' she says, trying to sound as honest and sincere as possible, 'I'm afraid I haven't got the faintest idea.'
'I am Sir Ernest Bannerman,' the man says, as if that explains everything.
The well-dressed matronly woman adds, in a distinctly patronising tone, 'Sir Ernest is the MP for this constituency.'
'You have no right whatsoever to keep me here,' Sir Ernest declares. He glances over his shoulder at the younger woman, who is hovering at his elbow. 'And this lady, Miss Harwood -- she has important work in Whitehall.'
'I have to be in London,' Miss Harwood informs her, in a sniffy sort of voice. 'I'm at the Foreign Office, I'll be missed.'
Oh, will you? Sam tries not to bite down on her lip, and keeps her face neutral. Your work can't be that important if it lets you come down here for the weekend. Why aren't you in London now?
Her thoughts are interrupted when Sir Ernest starts talking again.
'Now, you're a driver,' he says as he walks right past her, opens the rear door of the car, and stands beside it as if waiting for Sam to follow orders. 'You can take me and my wife home, and then take Miss Harwood to the station.'
The matronly woman -- Sir Ernest's wife -- is almost in the car when Sam realises that Sir Ernest is entirely serious about ordering her around.
'I'm afraid you'll have to ask Mr Foyle, sir,' she says quickly, hoping with all her heart that Mr Foyle will come out of the hotel soon and put a stop to all this.
'What?' Sir Ernest stares at her as if he can't believe his ears. 'Are you defying me?!'
It's the combination of voice and attitude that chases all thoughts of backing down out of Sam's mind. Even without the shouting, there's something horrid about the way he addresses her, as if she's nothing more than a silly little schoolgirl with uneven plaits and no brain to speak of. Or worse than that, even -- as if she's so utterly unimportant that he can't understand why he should be speaking to her, let alone listening to her say 'no' to him.
And so she looks Sir Ernest Bannerman, MP, straight in the eyes as she replies, with a bright and only slightly fixed smile:
'Yes -- it looks as if I am.'