Author's note: This story diverges from canon (in which Andrew breaks up with Sam by letter in Invasion), but readers should know that it was written a number of years ago, before that episode aired.

Wednesday 4 March 1942, half-past ten in the evening

"Sam! Telephone!"

A young woman wearing the uniform of the St. John's Ambulance Brigade shouted the words up the boarding-house stairs. Moments later a quick, light step could be heard descending the flight and Samantha Stewart appeared clad in nightdress and slippers, long auburn curls brushed out loose over the shoulders of her dressing gown. "Thanks, Elsie," she said, flashing her housemate a quick smile as she headed for the alcove where the phone was housed. "Hello?"

"Sam. It's me, Andrew."

"Andrew!" She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. It had been nearly a month since he'd last called and even longer since she'd had a letter from him. "How are you?"

"Fine. Sorry it's been so long since I've rung. It's beastly, I know, but we've been so busy here. They've stepped up the training schedule for the Beaufighter; we've been at it seven days a week."

"It's all right," she replied immediately, feeling slightly ashamed of herself for her annoyance at his long silence. While not as bad as when he'd been a combat pilot, she knew that his job as a pilot training officer was stressful. It was her duty as his girl, wasn't it, to be supportive and encouraging and not make demands? "It's good to hear from you. I'm glad you're all right. Any chance you'll be able to get home on leave soon, do you think?"

"Ummm … not sure." His voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

He sounds odd, she thought. Strained. Perhaps he's heard of another pilot friend who's been killed. She certainly knew him well enough to tell when he had something on his mind so she waited patiently, sure that he would elaborate on whatever was bothering him. After all, that had been the pattern of their relationship from the very first – Andrew confessing his fears, his doubts and his worries into her sympathetic ears. "What is it, Andrew?" she prompted gently when he didn't speak.

She was utterly unprepared for his next words. "Look, Sam, there's something I have to tell you. I'm sorry, I don't know quite how to say this. The thing is … I'm getting married."

A quarter of an hour later Sam huddled on her bed wrestling with the tumult of emotions unleashed by Andrew's announcement. Upset? Heartbroken? Humiliated? She didn't know precisely how she was meant to feel after having been discarded so unceremoniously by the first real boyfriend she'd ever had.

It had been a year since Andrew had been removed from operational status and posted to Debden to train new pilots in the skills he'd acquired in a Spitfire cockpit. During that time his visits home had gradually grown less frequent and inevitably the couple had begun to grow apart. When he'd told her he was to be transferred to RAF Church Fenton in December she had wondered if the time had come to make a clean break between them. She'd given it a lot of thought, but in the end she had remained silent. His last visit home before leaving for Yorkshire had been over Christmas; to break things off then seemed unnecessarily cruel. Besides, Andrew had been relaxed and in good spirits and they'd had several enjoyable evenings together. Though he'd never used the word "love" he seemed genuinely fond of her, as she was of him, and her tears at their parting had been real.

Since then, however, she'd had exactly two letters and three phone calls from him. Meanwhile she was watching the other girls in her boarding house dressing up for dates to restaurants, nightclubs and the pictures with a seemingly endless parade of handsome young men in uniform while she stayed home. The social whirl had picked up considerably this winter with the opening of an American air base not far from town. Sam had received quite a few invitations herself, but as Andrew's girl she always refused them politely, if with increasing regret. Sometimes she'd wondered if she was foolish to socialise only with her girl friends or with groups from the station – after all, Andrew had never asked her not to see other men, but she knew she'd feel disloyal if she stepped out with anyone else.

He had also never promised to remain true to her – well, obviously, she thought bitterly, her hands balling into fists in the pockets of her dressing gown. It went without saying that a good-looking young man with an easy manner and pilot's wings on his tunic would be a magnet for female attention. Sam was aware that Andrew had had a long string of girlfriends before her, and she knew more about his relationship with a certain young lady named Violet than she'd ever let on. It hadn't taken much effort to figure out with whom the blonde had been – or what they'd been doing – when she hadn't come home the night her roommate Connie was murdered. Violet had expected to marry Andrew, she suddenly remembered, but the relationship had ended abruptly for reasons Sam never knew.

And now there was this girl in Yorkshire. What had he said her name was? Millie, that was it. A WAAF at Church Fenton. She'd got her hooks into him good and proper from the sound of it. Married! Andrew? It seemed incredible. He'd always seemed – well, almost scornful of his fellow pilots who'd got engaged or married, whether because of the dangers of the job or because of his own fickle nature she'd never been quite sure. And he hadn't just got engaged, he was getting married. Later this week. What on earth could have prompted such an astonishing reversal?

It suddenly clicked. His relationship with Violet, now this girl in Yorkshire … oh, Lord. She drew in a sharp breath. He'd got her into trouble and now he had to do the "decent thing" by her. That had to be it.

Sam threw herself facedown onto her pillow as hot tears of humiliation rose to her eyes. Lord, how stupid she'd been! She should have realised right away … as a vicar's daughter, she'd seen hasty marriages before and knew perfectly well what they usually meant. Here she'd been sitting at home loyally declining invitations from attractive fellows while he'd been up there in Yorkshire doing … well, doing what he'd been doing with this Millie to get her in a family way. And he hadn't wasted any time over it, either; for heaven's sake, he'd barely been posted there two months! He'd probably been enjoying the favours of other girls at Debden, too. Why hadn't she seen it?

Well, he never seemed to expect anything like that from me, she thought miserably, dashing away tears with her fingers. Of course not, she answered herself. He knows perfectly well you weren't brought up to behave like that, so he never tried. He knows about Dad. Besides, his father would have killed him.

His father! Sam abruptly rolled over onto her back and pushed herself up on her elbows with a hollow gasp. Lord have mercy. What on earth is Mr Foyle going to say?

Up in Church Fenton, Andrew Foyle had slipped into the bar to order another whisky before returning to the call box in the pub lounge. As difficult as the first telephone call had been, he knew that the next one was likely to be worse.