Work Text:
“Sure you don't mind?” Sam said for the third time. She stood in the hall, her coat open over her dark-blue dress, her face irresolute.
“Certain,” Foyle answered.
“Missing the service, I mean.”
“No.” When her frown stayed, he went on “Understand perfectly if… don't want. Leave her with me.”
“Oh, no. Not that, s- Dad.” She flushed.
“Right. Andrew will… ought to be... waiting.” When the door had shut behind her he crossed the sitting room with quick steps to bend over the Moses basket.
“Well, Miranda,” he said softly as he took his granddaughter in his arms. “Well.”