A/N: Thanks as always to LauraRaposa for polishing this chapter up for me. I hope you all enjoy it and please let me know what you think

Chapter 6

By the time they were both on their second cup of tea, Foyle felt steadier, his emotions more under control. He turned the second envelope over in his hands thoughtfully as he tried to decide if now was the right time to give it to Andrew.

He had come close twice before – back when Andrew was 15 years old and heartbroken that he had forgotten his mother's birthday, and again after he was at Oxford and he had stumbled home drunk following the funeral of a friend's mother. Andrew had tearfully admitted to his father just how much he missed Rosalind, and how hard it was to watch the other lads with their mums.

Both times Foyle hesitated, but perhaps now it was time. He thought back over Andrew's heartbroken words, "What if I forget her Dad?" Would this ease or add to his son's emotional burden? 'When I'm here at home I can remember better, but I can't stay here forever and it's not like I can take it away with me.' It was true. He couldn't keep Andrew home forever anymore then his son could carry Hastings back with him to the airbase. But he could carry a letter.

His mind made up, he cleared his throat causing Andrew to look up at him. "I meant what I said earlier. Even if you can't remember your mum as well as you would like right at the moment, I know you haven't forgotten her, and you never will. But I also think it's time I gave you this."

Foyle handed the envelope to Andrew who took it curiously, noticing at once that his name, written in his mother's hand, was on the front. He stared at his father and then back at the envelope, clearly confused. "Your mother wrote that before…" Foyle broke off and blinked several times before continuing. "She wanted you to have it when the time was right and I believe it is."

Andrew nodded distractedly, holding the envelope as if it were made of glass. Slowly he ran a finger along the flap and withdrew several sheets of paper. Placing the envelope carefully to one side he smoothed out the paper, and after a quick glance at his father began to read.

My Darling Boy… Andrew felt his chest tighten. No one except his mother had ever called him that. He swallowed and kept reading.

I do not know how old you will be when you read this or what will have happened to make your father believe that it is time for you to receive this letter. I can only hope that it will bring you some small measure of comfort.

We have just learned that I will not be able to watch you grow into the wonderful man that I know you'll be, to cry at your wedding or hold the children that I hope you will one day have. I am so sorry that I will miss so much of your life, Andrew; a life that I pray will be long, healthy and full of joy. But as there is nothing to be done about that, I hope you will indulge me and allow me to share a little bit of advice and some of the stories that I had hoped one day to share with my grandchildren.

I will never forget the day you were born, or indeed the sight of your father running out of the bedroom to fetch the midwife when I told him it was time. But mostly I will never forget the first time I saw you and knew you were the most beautiful, perfect baby I had ever laid eyes on. You came into this world loudly - and much more quickly - than anyone expected. And I have often wondered if this means you are destined to drive motorcars or fly those airplanes you are so fascinated with terribly fast.

Regardless of what you do as an adult, you should know that the day you were born was the happiest day of our (your father and my) lives. I remember handing you to your father for the first time and watching his eyes fill with tears before he looked at me and whispered 'Perfect.' And so, my darling boy, you have been much loved since you drew your first breath. Regardless of what this life has in store for you, please promise me that you will remember that you are loved, my Andrew. So very, very loved.

I have enjoyed watching you grow and seeing your personality develop. In you I see a little bit of me as well as your father, but mostly there's a spark that is yours alone. Each day for you is an adventure!

There are some things you do - like the way your chew on your lip or your stubborn insistence that things be 'fair' - that are so like your Dad that it makes me laugh. But please understand, Andrew, while I, and I suspect many other people, may compare you to your father; we do not expect you to 'be' him. He is a good man and one whom I love with all my heart. You could not find a better man to emulate. But Andrew, I do not want you to be him. There is already one Christopher Foyle. Your job is to be yourself and figure out what you want to do and how you can do you part in making this world a better place.

This does not mean you need to be a policeman! Although I know most Foyle men do seem to end up on the force. As long as you are a good man, the sort of man I already see in the boy that you are, then you will be doing your part. You are such a happy boy, Andrew, and I hope that life never dims your smile for it can light up a room.

There are so many things that I wish to tell you, lessons that I had hoped to teach you, milestones that I had hoped to witness. But life, my darling boy, does not always indulge us. I am sorry that I will not get to watch you grow into a man, but I take comfort in knowing that however old you are when you read this letter you will be a man of whom I could be proud. How do I know? I am your mother. I know your heart. You may only be 13 now but you have already shown me what a kind, gentle and caring heart you have.

Do you remember when you were seven years old and your friend Peter Davis cried because his mother told him she couldn't afford to buy him the new football that he had dreamed about all year? You ran home and begged me to let you give the one you had just received for your birthday to him. Just like Peter you had thought about a new football all year, but you looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and said, 'I've got my old one but Peter hasn't got one at all and it isn't fair! Please may I give it to him?' I was so proud of you, Andrew. Anyone would have thought you were being given a gift when I agreed. Your smile was so bright.

Do you also recall when you climbed the tree in the back garden because a kitten was stranded up on a high branch? You fell and broke your arm as you tried to reach the poor thing. And though I know you were in pain, your first question, as your father and I bent over you anxiously, was if the kitten was safe. I knew that day that you were well on your way to being a good man.

So even though I will miss many other examples as you grow up, I can confidently say that you will be a good man, one of the best. For between you and your father there is nothing else that you could be.

I do not know what has occurred that prompted your father to give you this letter, and part of me hopes you will never see it for I cannot stand the idea of you being so upset. But as you read this, Andrew, promise me that you will not give up on yourself.

Life can be terribly hard, and sometimes giving up will seem like the best option. But you are stronger than that, Andrew. It is perfectly fine to need a rest, to step back and gather your wits. However, you must promise me that if it is something you desperately want or something that you must do, you will try again. Being strong does not mean that you will never need help or never shed a tear. It means that you are brave enough to ask for assistance when you need it and to try again when the odds are against you.

You can do anything you put your mind to, Andrew. I know for I have watched you for 13 years. I never saw a child more determined to walk. You fell so often that you scared the dickens out of your father and me. But each time you fell, you picked yourself up and tried again, until one day you could walk without toppling over!

Life is very much like learning to walk, Andrew. Sometimes it will feel like nothing is going your way and everywhere you turn there are obstacles. But as long as you continue to try, you will get there in the end. If you do feel like giving up, promise you will try just one more time for me.

I would continue, but there is little else I can say except this: I love you very much, Andrew, and I am so very proud of you. Promise me that wherever life takes you, you will remember you have my love and admiration always.

God bless and Godspeed, my darling boy,

Your loving Mother

Andrew drew a shaky breath and looked up at his father. Tears stung his eyes and he clutched the letter tightly in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn't form the words. Foyle watched him with concern. Was it right to give him the letter or have I just upset him more?

He watched his son take sip of tea and wipe his eyes before trying again. "Thank you, Dad." His voice was thick with emotion and the words were just above a whisper. "This is the best letter I have ever received," he told his father with a smile.

The smile was watery but Foyle was delighted to see that a glint of light had returned to Andrew's eyes.

Christopher looked at the framed photograph of his wife with love and loss swelling in his chest together as they had for years. Thank you, my Rose, for knowing all those years ago exactly what our son needed at a moment like this.

He smiled at Andrew, and for a long time they sat in silence lost in the memories of a woman they both loved deeply and missed dearly.