Chapter 4

May 1945

A gull shrieked nearby causing Sam to break her gaze on the rolling waves.

"But I don't understand," Andrew said, frowning. "You hadn't taken up at this point?"

"No, it was…well, I'm not sure how to describe it. We were getting closer without realising it. The War and the uncertainties of the job kept throwing us together, if that makes sense."

"I suppose it does, yes." Andrew paused, "I know I keep on saying I'm sorry, and you probably don't believe me, but I did feel bad about breaking it off in a letter. I don't think I wouldn't have been able to do it if I had seen you."

"Oh?"

"I would have realised I was making a mistake." He looked at her, catching her eye. He said softly, "You made me a better man. I really did care for you, Sam…"

"Oh, Andrew," Sam sighed, "it wasn't meant to be."

"I know that now, but I didn't then. That's why my letter to Dad was so…well, you know."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"So…when did you…know?" Andrew blushed suddenly. "I say, Sam, I shouldn't be asking you all this."

She grinned, "I don't mind. He's my favourite subject. Besides, it's better you know what really happened. Then you'll know he's blameless."

Eyeing him keenly she added, "It was a slow burning thing, unlike what you believed."

His blush deepened. "I really was awful in my letter. I wish you hadn't read it."

"Well, I did have to pry it off him."

"Anyway," said Andrew, clearing his throat, "when did you…know you, er…?"

Sam thought a moment. "I suppose when I was ill. It would have been that summer after the Americans arrived."

"I didn't know you were ill, Sam."

She paused, "Yes, I was. It was very serious, Andrew. I very nearly died and I think that threw things into perspective a bit."

Andrew looked at her with concern, "Sam, I never knew."

"It was anthrax. I wouldn't have made it without your father."

Andrew slumped back, looking quite stunned. "And here I thought I was the only one in danger. I never imagined…"

"No, of course not." Sam looked over at him, "He bullied the medicine from the scientists who caused the trouble in the first place. I only found this out much later of course. He was with me every day at the hospital. Sat by my bed; fetched and carried for me, everything."

"Dad?"

"Yes, he made a wonderful nurse."

She grinned at him, eyes twinkling. She remembered very little of the struggle of recovery, but recalled Foyle's untiring selflessness perfectly…

True to form, Foyle had been there when she most needed someone. When she was first admitted to hospital he had come to see her, eyes full of fear and worry. The doctor had not been at all encouraging. Foyle did his best to hide the slow and sinking shock of what the doctor had said from his face, but Sam had seen it all too clearly.

Watching him walk away with fear in his eyes was overwhelming, and a small voice in the back her mind said insistently, now he will never know. Seeing the breadth of his concern had convinced her fever addled mind that she was going to die. Foyle was the only thing she thought of as she slipped into a feverish sleep.

The following day he returned. With her fever still raging, he sat by her all night, cradling her hand in his. When her fever broke in the early hours of the morning, she awoke to see him dozing upright in his chair, hand still clasping hers. Falling back to sleep in contentment, it wasn't until the nurse came later in the morning she noticed he was gone.

"Where is he, Nurse?"

"I sent him home. He wasn't even supposed to be here, but he was so worried for you. You're very lucky, miss, to have one who cares for you so. Took a lot to shift him this morning, I can tell you."

Sam cried then, knowing finally what it was she truly felt, and yet also knowing it would never come to be. The nurse had nearly forbidden him to come back if she was going to keep bursting into tears. But he had come back. Everyday in fact, and she had allowed herself to hope.

When Sergeant Milner came to visit her on her fourth day in hospital, bringing a small bunch of flowers, she wanted to discuss it. They had always talked about everything, and if anyone would understand, she thought he would.

"Paul, I want to tell you something."

"Just rest, Sam. We can talk later." He sat down on the chair by her bed, wincing as he did so, his sore leg above the prosthetic giving him pain. "I want to ask you something as well, but look, it can wait."

"All right."

"Brookie says hello. He wanted to come himself but he's on duty."

Sam nodded. "How are you all at the station?"

"Fine. Missing you."

"I hope I'll back soon."

He surprised her by taking her hand. "I hope so too. It isn't quite the same." He added, "You gave us a right scare. It's made me aware that…"

"What?"

He hesitated and then shrugged, "It can wait. Just focus on getting better, and then you'll be back before you know it."

"I will."

He squeezed her hand and let go as a keen eyed nurse went past briskly.

"They looking after you well here? The doctor says you are on the mend."

Sam nodded distractedly before saying softly, "Look, I need to tell you something. I can't keep it in any more, Paul."

"All right." His face brightened. "Just don't tire yourself out with talking."

She caught his eye. "I have been laying here thinking and thinking, and it feels such a weight on my shoulders. It's a sort of crossroad I suppose — I've got to choose which way I turn. But, you see, what if I had died and he never knew how much I cared?"

Milner went pale, "He?"

"It's made me realise…I think…I think I'm in love with him. With Mr Foyle."

Her voice was more sure than her words, and Milner rocked back in his chair as if Sam had thrown a book at him. Looking anywhere but at her, he frowned fiercely.

In a tight voice he said, "But, Sam…how…? You can't…love him… surely?"

He suddenly looked a bit ill. "You're just tired, that's it. It's been overwhelming for you and your thoughts are getting the better of you."

She looked at him, feeling hurt. "That's not it at all. I thought you would understand."

Milner still looked half shocked, "But…you mustn't think he will concede to return your feelings? He's our boss, you know he would never…"

"No, I know, but I just had to tell someone. I'm not asking you to give me encouragement."

"Well," he huffed, "I certainly won't do that." Milner shook his head. "What did you expect me to say, Sam? Mr Foyle for God's sake…"

Sam began to cry silently, "I know it's hopeless, you don't have to tell me."

Milner leaned over, looking suddenly guilty, "Sam, I'm sorry. Look, you must focus on getting better. That's what is important. Getting better, and coming back to work, and then going on from there. You don't have to decide about anything just now."

She nodded, unable to find her voice. The weight of her emotions had moved into the pit of her stomach, dragging her down. She felt wretched, Milner's words still smarting.

"What's all this then?" Nurse asked, bustling over and glaring at Milner. "Right, that's enough of that. You can go now, sir. My patient needs rest; not upsetting."

She chivvied him out severely, hardly allowing him a "goodbye." Returning, Nurse fussed over Sam's blankets, and handed her a handkerchief. She was the same nurse who had let Foyle stay with her.

"Lover's quarrel, my dear? Well, never mind, you worry about getting better, and let those two men fight it out. You needn't worry yourself any more."

Sam stopped crying and looked at her in utter surprise. "What do you mean, Nurse?"

"Well, the two gentleman callers, of course. Now, rest and try to get some sleep."

"But…"

"No more talking now; lie back, that's it."

With that, Nurse was off, checking on her other patients, leaving Sam to stare at the foot of her bed in surprise. Is Paul…jealous? Of Mr Foyle? Have I been so blind? Her bewilderment took her into a fitful sleep, and Nurse was forced to forbid visitors for a day, saying with severity to Foyle the next morning, "I'll not have you gentlemen upsetting her any further. If you want to help her, let her rest."

Foyle had eventually been allowed back in. He was very dutiful and a hit with the nurses. He came every day for an hour or more to talk with her and sometimes read. A few days before she was expected to leave hospital, though still quite weak, Sam was feeling more herself. Nurse had freshened her up, brushed back her a hair a bit, and kept smiling rather wickedly.

"What's going on, Nurse?"

"You've got a visitor. And we don't want to let the side down." She winked, much to Sam's amazement.

"You make me feel like it's the King with all this fussing, Nurse. Who is it? It isn't visiting hours?"

"Your nice Mr Foyle." Nurse winked again. "Now, I'll go to make some tea for you and leave you two to talk."

Sam went red. "I say, Nurse, you are an old softy."

Nurse smiled, "Well, as long you don't tell Matron."

She bustled off and Sam soon heard the squeak of shoes across the polished floor. Foyle came closer, smiling down at her.

"How are you feeling today?"

"All right. Still ache all over, but I'm sleeping better."

"Good." Foyle sat down in the chair beside her bed, tugging at the knees of his trousers before crossing his legs. He hung his hat on the end of her bed.

"Nurse is making us tea. I think she likes you."

Foyle twitched his lip, "When I'm not causing havoc to her patient, perhaps."

Sam went red again. She began to fiddle with the end of her sleeve. "How are things at the station?"

"M-much the same. Quieter without you of course."

"You haven't gotten a new driver?"

"No, Sergeant Brooke fills in most days."

Sam held her breath a moment, "I've been thinking…"

"What, again?" Foyle twitched his lips into a smile, enjoying teasing her.

"Yes, I know." She smiled at him before saying hesitantly, "Would you say I was…sort of a useful person to have on the team, sir? It's just…I…" she couldn't seem to find her words and she faltered.

Foyle eyed her carefully before saying slowly, "I would say you are an invaluable part of the team."

Sam smiled, feeling pleased, "Would you really?"

"Absolutely. Can't go anywhere without you, can I?

She laughed softly. "Jolly good."

"What's brought this on then?"

"I don't know, sir. You might have found…someone…better…" She shrugged.

"I don't think I could…f-find someone better."

Sam looked up, meeting his eyes. He met her gaze squarely, something determined sitting behind the cool blue of his eyes . She saw the warmth there and felt it wash over her, making her tingle.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered.

Foyle leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "I do."

Nurse came over with a full tray of tea things. "How are we today?" she asked brightly.

Sam watched Foyle, almost staring at him. Her face was caught between disbelief and a smile.

"Very well, thank you, Nurse," Foyle said, standing and offering to take the tray from her.

"I'll let you have some tea, but then you must be off. Miss Stewart needs more rest before you can whisk her away back to work. And don't tire her out with too much talking."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He watched her bustle away with some amusement before turning back to Sam and raising an eyebrow. His look said that in fact he would dream of it, and that whisking her away was the one thing he couldn't wait to do. She grinned at him as he handed her a cup of steaming tea.

"Your parents were here a few days ago?"

"Yes, they couldn't stay for long of course. Father's parish needs him. I'm glad they came down though. Mummy would have stayed if she could, but I told her I was being looked after."

She smiled at him. "Mummy is very grateful to you."

"Yes, I did see them. I'm just glad I can help put their minds at rest."

"I'm grateful too."

Foyle gave her a half smile, "All part of the service."

They talked a bit more about trivial things, Foyle steering the conversation away from anything too serious. Seeing she was tiring, he put down his empty cup. "Now, before I'm chased out, I'd better let you rest."

She moved to put her cup down, but in the process upset it and spilt the dregs across her hand and the bed sheet.

Foyle took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. It had slight marks on it and by way of explanation he said, "It is clean…it's the one from the, er…teapot incident."

Remembering how she had never been able to get the blood marks out, she had returned it guiltily thinking he would have made use of it as a rag. Seeing it now she laughed, "Poor old hanky never stands a chance with me around. I'm surprised you kept it."

Foyle said very softly, "Of course."

He picked up his hat, "You hang on to it for now." He smiled over at her, "I'll see you soon, Sam."

She nodded, watching him walk away through the ward, and out through the doors at the far end. Putting the hanky to her face she breathed in the smell of him and cried for the impossibility of it all.