A/N: This story ignores the letter series that shows up in "glimpses". Anything in double brackets ((word)) has been struck through.
Later that evening, after speaking to Andrew, Foyle settled him by the fire with a tumbler of scotch and the stack of letters. The date on the next letter indicated that it had been written while Andrew was in Debden.
Dear Dad,
It's so different here and I can't decide if I actually like it, I miss my spit. I mean I'm glad to be off ops for a bit but I have this crawling feeling in my gut, like I've let someone down. I suppose I have, the lads, you…I still can't believe I forgot Dad, I know you'll tell me not to worry about it, that Mum would have understood, but none of that changes the fact that I forgot…
The paper was creased as if it had been crumpled up and then straightened out again and Foyle smoothed his hand across it as he contemplated Andrew's words. He knew that forgetting the anniversary of Rosalind's death had bothered Andrew deeply. He had hoped their conversation about it before he flew up to Debden had put his son's mind at rest but clearly that hadn't been the case.
He looked at Rosalind's picture for a long minute 'At least he'll be home this year, hopefully that will help and he'll be able to put it behind him once and for all.' Taking a sip of scotch he placed the letter with the other he had finished and picked up the next one.
Dear Dad,
I deserved the letter you sent and I know you are probably still cross with me. I know it was wrong of me to break things off with Sam in a letter but ((I didn't have much time)) I was trying to do what was best for her in the long run. There are things I can't really talk about, Official Secrets Act and all that, but Sam deserves far more than I'm able to give her right now and that's why I broke things off.
I'm sorry that I've disappointed you Dad and I hope that you'll be able to forgive me one day, Sam too although she has every right not to. I really hope this hasn't made things awkward between you and Sam, it was certainly not how I planned for things to go but, well it's war I suppose.
Foyle read the half finished letter several times before taking a sip of scotch his throat suddenly dry. He knew exactly which letter Andrew was referring too, the one he had written the evening after he found out from Sam that Andrew had broken things off and was apparently already seeing another girl.
He had been furious and disappointed and he hadn't tried to disguise it. He had been sure that Andrew deserved the rough end of his tongue for his actions but now he had the distinct feeling that he was wrong.
"I didn't have much time…Official Secrets Act…" He frowned deeply, 'Andrew was supposed to have been an instructor, off ops, out of immediate danger. What the devil did they have him doing in Debden that had involved the Official Secrets Act and insufficient time to at least call and explain things over the phone to Sam?'
It would appear, reading between the lines of this letter, that Andrew had agreed to take on some type of secret and dangerous assignment while he was in Debden, one that he couldn't tell anyone about and that he wasn't sure he'd come back from. 'So he threw Sam off to protect her, couldn't tell her why so he pretended he was a stereotypical flyboy and I believed him…'
Foyle closed his eyes disgusted with himself for thinking so little of his son, 'I'm sorry Rose, I should have thought better of him. What was it he said when he finally came home?
Foyle replayed the conversation in his head. Andrew had asked after Sam, expressing an interest in seeing her again and he had fixed him with a hard stare, "You weren't very kind to her"
Andrew had nodded, head down, "I know. Stupid bloody war."
'He'd even talked about the girl he'd supposedly met, Kate he'd said her name was. He'd believed him at the time but now…' Foyle re-read the letter again and felt even more convinced that there hadn't been another girl, Kate or otherwise, at least not when he broke things off with Sam.
Rather than behaving like a cad as he had accused him of doing Andrew had done his best to be a gentleman in a god-awful situation. Foyle pinched the bridge of his nose, ashamed of his own actions and aware that unless he told Andrew that he had read these letters he wouldn't get the chance to apologize; even now Andrew probably couldn't talk about whatever it was that he had done.
He took a bracing sip of scotch as he reached for the next letter.
Dear Dad,
I'm not sure how much more of this I can take, training lads who don't look old enough to be out of school…some of them probably aren't. I shouldn't have written that, censor's bound to cut it out. Remember when letters were private?
How's work? I hope you aren't stretched too thin for men, although I suspect you are everyone seems to be. I think I'll ask for a transfer somewhere I can be operational again. I feel like a coward hidden away here in Debden and I'm sure someone else would do a better job training these lads than I can. Even when they're doing exactly what I tell them I can't help thinking it's not enough, that nothing I can show them here in these old crates is going to prepare them for what it's actually like up there…
There's nothing like it Dad, the good and the bad. I'll try and call if my request gets approved.
Andrew had called, one of the only telephone calls Foyle had received from his son during the war. His delight in hearing his son's voice had been dampened by Andrew's announcement that his request a return to operational standing had been approved and he was just waiting to hear where he'd be posted.
As he had in this letter Andrew had insisted it would be best for everyone and Foyle had only just stopped himself from pointing out that it would not be best for him. That he didn't want to return to feeling sick with fear every time he got a telegram and wondering everyday if his son was alive or not.
But Andrew had needed his support so instead he'd told him that he understood and was proud of him and asked him to let him know when he received his orders. Two weeks later Andrew had been posted to Malta.