Chapter 4

While brushing her teeth and letting down her long curls, Sam stared firmly at her reflection in the glass. You will drag him to Mr Foyle's tomorrow morning. We will sort this out so he won't get into trouble. And you will not let him anywhere near you tonight. No PWP for this Police Driver. She nodded at herself, promising her reflection adamantly.

Going back into her room quietly, she heard Andrew's intake of breath. It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and she set her mouth firmly, remembering what she had told herself. It was an odd feeling, this nervousness. It was expectant and hopeful, and the flutterings inside her were both pleasant and alarming. She slipped into bed noiselessly, leaning over to switch out the light.

"Now no talking," she said, still in mock matron mode. She heard him chuckle.

"Sweet dreams, Sam."

"You too, Andrew."

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"It's no trouble. Now go to sleep."

"All right."

And much like the rest of the evening, he obeyed. She heard him turn over and within five minutes his breathing became heavy and measured. Listening to him for awhile, Sam let her thoughts wander. She was so glad he was here, even if it was risky for them both. Here, he was safe, away from faulty cockpits and fire and bullets. The despair she had seen in him today was stuck inside her chest, feeling weighty. She was deeply worried for Andrew. He was quick to anger and despair, and she was concerned not only for his absence without leave, but the way he had gone off looking for Drake. Desperate men are capable of unlikely actions.

She wondered for a brief moment if he would ever be the same again. Would he be his lovely self after all of this was over? In between moments of what they would say to Foyle and the seriousness of what tomorrow would bring came unbidden images of Andrew's arms around her, looking as he had been — carefree and boyish; another of his kiss heavy on her lips; lastly came an image of his body above hers, and the rush of warmth that coursed through her made her sit up. She shook her head in annoyance at herself, fluffed her pillow and lay down again, turning her back to the sleeping man beside the grate.

When she woke some time later, she was disorientated. It seemed like she had only been asleep for five minutes but the small clock on the bedside table showed two a.m with its luminous hands. For a moment all she heard was the ticking before the noise that had awoken her came again, chilling her to the bone with fright. Suddenly remembering it was Andrew lying there, she let out her breath, whispering his name.

He groaned again, none too quietly, and in sudden panic of being discovered, she leapt out of bed, going to his side. Giving his shoulder a mighty shake, Andrew woke with a small cry. Sam hissed, "Quiet, it's me, Andrew. You were dreaming."

The young man was panting. Sam felt his chest rise and fall under her hand.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but you must be quiet. If my landlady hears…you'll get us shot." Her voice was crisp with agitation.

Clearing his throat, Andrew raised a hand to rub his forehead, "Sorry, Sam."

"You all right?"

"I was dreaming…"

The images must have come back to him with force, because all at once he was crying again, silent tears dripping down the side of his face.

"I was flying, and a fire broke out and I couldn't get away…"

His voice was small and vulnerable in the darkness and Sam reached for his arm. "Come to bed."

She wasn't sure what made her say it, but she was shivering with cold and fright. His choked voice was terrifying in the dark. Tugging his arm, she led him back to her warm bed, laying on her side to make space for him on the narrow mattress. She saw with a jolt of surprise that he was only in his vest and shorts.

He slid in beside her, trembling violently. Sam heard his teeth chattering and she wrapped him up in her arms, pulling the eiderdown close around them. In a soft voice that she realised she had only ever used with him, she murmured in his ear, "I've got you, my darling. You are safe here. I won't let you go." Her grip on him tightened and he inched closer, fresh sobs causing his shoulders to shake.

"My darling, my darling," she continued to whisper. She was trembling now too; it began in her legs, coursing up through her body. She felt close to despair. What can I say to him? Oh, his crying is awful...like the world is ending. Trying hard not to cry herself, she soothed him the best she could. He tucked himself into the crook between her shoulder and neck, snuffling and breathing damply.

It soon subsided and she felt his shoulders relax. Sam forgot the stern talking to she had given herself in the mirror and did what felt natural, which was to kiss him. She found his lips, tasting the salt of his tears.

"Oh Andrew," she murmured.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry for everything." His voice was still tight and choky.

"I would do anything to make it better for you, but I haven't a clue where to begin. But you're safe here, so relax now and try to forget the dream."

His breathing was even now and he snuggled back into the crook of her neck, lips whispering over the soft skin there, caressing and tentative.

Sam felt her legs begin to shake again, and an excitement that frightened her pulsed through her.

"Andrew," she whispered in some panic, "We can't…I can't…be intimate with you."

He pulled back, giving her an amused look.

"It's your father, you see, and…"

Andrew rose up on one elbow, "My father?" He looked incredulous now. "What on earth has my father got to do with this?"

"He can read me like a book, Andrew. He would know right away. He'd pack me off to Lyminster…or worse, tell my father. They'd never let me out of the vicarage; I'd be married off to some horrible farmer's son…."

She was rambling now, and Andrew shushed her gently with a finger to her lips. His hair flopped across his forehead and he gave her a sudden grin, "Well, if that's all. You had me worried for a moment." He stole a brief kiss.

"Andrew."

"Sam, I wouldn't dare, believe me."

"You don't…you don't want me?" She looked hurt and confused when Andrew gave a short chuckle.

"Quite the contrary. But your father is a vicar, mine is a policeman — we'd both of us be hung and quartered. Why do you think I've always been so…I already feel a cad for compromising you by coming here like this…"

Sam's sigh of relief cut him off and she burrowed into his chest. "Thank God," she said irreverently.

Andrew pushed gently at her shoulder, turning her to face him, "You thought…? Oh Sam."

He crushed her lips, gently folding her in his arms beneath him. "My darling, beautiful, brave, incredible, Samantha."

She smiled in spite of herself against his lips, and he laughed. "I don't deserve you, not one bit. I'm sorry I haven't been good to you; I should have told you a thousand times how beautiful you are."

He continued in a serious whisper, "I admire you so much, you know. And I loved that dress you wore the other night. I'm sorry I've been in such a mood. I should have told you how lovely and wonderful you are. How much I love your hair as it falls across your shoulders."

He kissed her shoulder, pushing aside the frilly edge of her nightie. "I should write you reams of poetry every day."

"You do," she said with a laugh.

"Well, yes…but what I mean to say is…I should have told you how much you mean to me. Really mean to me. I'd not be here without you, dear Sam."

Her eyes grew misty as she looked up at him. "I'm so proud of you, Andrew."

He gave a small huff of short laughter, "Even now, hiding away under the bedsheets."

"Even now." She pulled him down to meet her lips, "My strong, handsome pilot."

Sam had stopped trembling now, focused as she was on exploring his lips. She opened her mouth to him, feeling his tongue pressing inquiringly at her bottom lip. It was wonderful being held in his arms like this. She felt the power of his muscles bunching and rolling in his arms and shoulders. Feeling safe, she allowed some part of herself to give in to him. To let him wash over her like a great wave, sweeping her up in the moment.

"I like this, Andrew," she admitted softly, her voice unsteady. Was she meant to to enjoy this? Sam felt a bit guilty and surprised at herself. Her body seemed to react without thought.

"I do too. You're lovely and soft." He tickled her and she giggled. He added more seriously, "You're beautiful."

His hands began an exploration of her curves and when his fingers found the hem of her nightie and began to pull upwards, she stiffened.

"Andrew, we can't."

"I know, Sam," he said in that way of his, putting her at ease. She relaxed against his hands.

He looked at her shyly, "I just want to see you. I want to be close to you, that's all. I respect you, Sam, and I promise you we will do nothing you don't want to do."

Sam pushed his fringe away, enjoying the boyish eyes full of nervousness that stared back at her. "All right."

They sat up. He pulled the nightie over her head, letting his hands trace the outline of her.

"Andrew?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, lips at her throat, working downwards, hands busy with memorising the shapes of her.

"How can you see me properly if it is pitch dark?"

"Yes, well…"

His hands continued their way along her and she giggled again.

Sam felt emboldened by the cover of darkness, and she surprised him by peeling off his vest. Her fingers curled into the wiry hair on his chest. She loved the smell of him, and pulling him close she breathed him in deeply. The feel of his strong chest against her already sensitive skin gave her a shiver of pleasure. Andrew pulled them back down under the eiderdown, assuming she was cold. He nestled close, tucking themselves in. He snaked his arm around her middle, pulling her against him.

"I'm glad you let me hide away here."

"I want to help you; I care about you."

"I know, I'm very lucky. I don't deserve you at all."

"I think your father suspects something."

"What do you mean?"

"He was questioning me about knowing Greville, saying that I must have seen you about if I knew him."

Andrew chuckled, "Typical Dad."

"He's too good for us, Andrew. He will find out." She paused. "I don't like keeping things from him."

Andrew stroked her hair, "I know you don't. You're awfully loyal, Sam."

"Well, it just feels dishonest. Like I'm betraying his trust."

"Funny, I feel the same."

"Do you?"

"Hmm, as if he would disapprove of me stepping out with you."

"But you're his son."

"Exactly." Andrew laughed softly, tucking his nose in just behind Sam's ear. "If I were him, I wouldn't want me running after you either."

"Now you tell me." She pinched him playfully.

"Well, he knows me well. I've not always been the best example of gentlemanliness. Unlike him."

"I'm sure he had his moments. We're all young once — that's what my Uncle Aubrey always says, anyway."

"I think Mum's death really changed him."

Sam turned her head slightly to see him, "How?"

"I'm not sure. I just know he's different. They sort of complemented each other and brought out the best in each other, if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded against his arm, "Yes, I know."

She added, "Do you think of her often?"

"Not really. Isn't that bad? No, I've a hard time remembering her now. I wish I could picture her better."

"You were so young. Only eight. A lot has happened in between."

"Yes. But I remember it being a happy time, so that's something."

"You poor Foyles. You never talk about these things, and yet look, don't you feel better for it?"

"I suppose." Andrew gave a small yawn. "We Foyles tend to keep things inside, don't we?"

"You're telling me — trying to get a straight answer out of your father is like pushing water uphill sometimes."

"What's it like working with him — really, I mean? I think you see more of him than I ever did."

"He's brilliant — at his job obviously, but also at putting people at ease or making them feel useful. He treats me like one of the team and always answers my questions, even if it is with 'subject off limits'. A very kind man…in his own laconic way."

She paused thoughtfully, "I think he is a man full of emotions that he won't allow himself to express."

"Reticent, that's Dad."

"Yes, but, he holds himself back for a reason, I just don't know what it is."

"Well, you puzzle it out and let me know," Andrew said sleepily.

Sam felt his arm become heavy on her middle and she pushed it down to her hip.

"Hmm?" he stirred, already half asleep.

"He's a good man, Andrew, like you." She leaned around to kiss him. "Just like you."