Chapter 7
They drew up in front of Sam's billet and before switching the motor off, she turned to Foyle with an intake of breath.
"Sir? Perhaps you would like to speak to him on your own?"
Foyle smiled, "Good idea. Why don't you wait around the corner by the pub. I'll have chat with Andrew, give him a drink, and then you can drive him back to base."
Nodding, Sam watched him get out, putting the car into gear and pulling away once he knocked on the door. Her face was still a bit red from admitting she had allowed Andrew to stay with her overnight at her digs.
Andrew opened the door on the second knock, looking very surprised to see Foyle. He had been expecting Sam back at midday and it was gone one o'clock already.
"Dad? How did you find me?"
"How do you think? Come on, get your coat. Let's have a drink."
They walked slowly towards the pub on the corner. Andrew looking miserably at the ground in front of him. Foyle bumped his shoulder with his own softly, causing the young man to look up.
"It's going to be all right, Andrew. Turner came to see me. He wants you back."
"For the court martial?"
"No. Well, as long as you're back by two o'clock."
They entered the pub, which at this hour was quiet and still.
"Have a seat, I'll be right there."
Andrew sat, noticing the shafts of sunlight coming through the old windows and how it caught the dust floating. He felt he was in a dream.
"Get this in you and you'll feel better."
"Thanks, Dad." Andrew took a sip of the whiskey and scratched at his unshaven chin, thinking he probably looked a sight.
"So you know about me and Sam, then?"
Foyle sat opposite him, pushing his hat higher on his forehead. "I do."
"Sorry."
"What on earth for?"
"Well, she is your driver and…"
"Yes, she's my very…" Foyle laboured over the word, "attractive driver, and it's perfectly understandable."
"I've let everyone down, haven't I, Dad?" Andrew asked slowly.
"No Andrew, that's not the case. Turner thinks you've got a sort of, um, Combat Fatigue. He understands and wants you back. You see…he understands that sometimes we ask too much. It's like another way of being…burnt."
Andrew nodded, the whiskey starting to warm his insides. "Sam explained it that way too. I just got overwhelmed, Dad. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"And I'm also sorry I didn't come to you sooner…I know who killed Gordon Drake. I went to his house… to give him a bit of a push around or something; I don't know what I was thinking. But anyway, someone was already there. They bashed him on the head and ran away. I've felt awful for not coming to tell you. But, I was so angry at Drake for what happened to Greville that…well, I couldn't blame the chap. I know that's horrible."
"Well, I know who killed him too." Foyle looked at his watch. "Come on, now, we don't want you to be late. Sam will drive you."
"I'd rather go in on my bike…"
"You haven't got the time. She'll drive you. You can walk in on your own. No Police escort."
Andrew gave a soft smile, "Righto." He finished his drink and stood, following Foyle towards the door.
Just before they went through, Foyle stopped. Thrusting a forefinger at his son's chest he said, "I should really box your ears, Andrew. Putting her in a precarious position like that. Sam doesn't deserve it…I know she is kind and wouldn't have dreamed of turning you away. But for God's sake, Andrew, think next time, will you."
Though his words were sharp, his tone was not. More exasperation than annoyance. Andrew looked surprised, and felt inclined to smile at his father's indignation. He wisely kept still.
"And another thing," Foyle added, opening the door, "she deserves to be treated well and with respect."
"I know, Dad. I think the world of her. She's a wonderful girl. Someone special."
Foyle nodded, saying wistfully, "That is she is. And don't you forget it."
"I know I don't deserve her. She's too good for me, but I don't know where I'd be without her."
"Me either." Foyle's voice was very soft and Andrew wasn't sure if he had heard him.
He was distracted by the sight of Sam pulling the Wolseley around. She waved at the two men before stopping.
"Right, off you go, on the double."
"Aren't you coming too, sir?"
Foyle resettled his hat more firmly on his head and did up his coat. He said meaningfully, "I'll walk. See you later."
Andrew and Sam watched him walk away, before turning to each other. He slid in next to her, smiling shyly.
"Hallo."
"You all right?"
"Yes, thanks. Dad bought me drink."
"Talked it all out?"
"Yes. Wing Co. wants me back, so that's something."
"You'll be fine, Andrew," said Sam warmly. She reached across to take his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Thanks, Sam." He squeezed her hand in return. "Thanks for everything. I know the circumstances weren't great, but I had a nice time with you."
He grinned shyly, and she went a lovely pink.
"Yes, it was rather splendid."
They both laughed and continued to hold hands until the gate of the RAF base came into view.
"Stop here, if you would, Sam."
She pulled the handbrake and tried to smile. "Good luck, Andrew."
He leaned over and kissed her, reveling in the now familiar feel of her lips.
"If this is goodbye, Sam, well…know I care for you and I won't forget your kindness and support."
"They aren't going to lock you up, Andrew," she murmured.
He kissed her more deeply, "Just in case."
She giggled and gave him a push, "Go on now, before your time is up."
He jumped out of the car, shut the door and leaned through the window. "I…"
He sighed with a grin and shrugged, looking a bit lost and yet more his old self. He waved at her. Sam watched him enter the gatehouse and show his identity papers. He didn't look back.
Andrew stood on the edge of the tarmac, enjoying a second cigarette, the words of praise from Wing Commander Turner still ringing in his ear. Greville was going to be all right too, he'd said. Good news all round, really.
I've been promoted, and no more ops. Golly, I've really made it through. Andrew took a long drag, letting the smoke out slowly, and thought warmly that Turner was a good sort. He had stuck by his pilots and was understanding if not firm. Andrew was grateful he hadn't had the book thrown at him. Promotion and a new posting was certainly a surprise. He hadn't expected to be rewarded for taking measures into his own hands.
The sun was just dipping down now. Thinking he should really go pack his things as he was flying up to Debden tomorrow, he sauntered back towards the huts, hands in his pockets. He had put on a fresh uniform and shaved, and felt a weight lifted off his shoulders.
It was a shame Debden wasn't closer by. He would miss Sam. He had missed her before, but now…it wasn't the same and he knew he'd feel lost without her. He thought of her until he reached the Wing. Co.'s hut. Struck by a sudden idea, he rapped on the door, hoping Turner was still there.
"Yes, come in."
Turner looked up as Andrew saluted smartly.
"What do you want, Foyle?" He looked busy, lamp burning brightly over strewn files on his desk.
"I know it's an awful cheek, sir, but would it be possible for me to take my best girl and my dad to dinner. They don't know I'm leaving tomorrow, sir, and well, I'd like to tell them in person and say goodbye."
Turner gave him a stern look before glancing at his watch. "You'll want to take her dancing afterwards, I suppose?"
"Well, she'd rather expect it, I think, sir." Andrew bit his lip, trying not smile.
"Cheeky sod," Turner muttered. "Right, back by eleven o'clock, sharp, mind, otherwise I'll have your guts for garters. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. And, um, my motorbike is still at my father's, I don't suppose…"
Turner looked ready to either laugh out loud or burst a vein. "Yes, yes, all right. Ask one of the lorry men to give you lift. I don't know where you get your boldness from, really I don't. Now be off with you before I change my mind."
Andrew saluted jauntily, giving Turner a grin as he left. "You're a real brick, sir," he said, turning to scarper before the Wing Co. threw something at him.
