Reminiscent - Chapter 3

In the intervening weeks, the air had become colder and the wind stronger – a general decline into winter. Nonetheless, Sam and Andrew still made a point to go out walking on the beach, in the woods or just through town. Sam felt sure, like her Uncle Aubrey insisted, that good, fresh air was a decent remedy for many annoyances, further facilitated by a drop of wine. So, despite the weather, Sam called round to Steep Lane each week, pulling Andrew out of the house and taking his mind off whatever horrors lay in wait in the recesses of his mind.

The best thing about these excursions, other than lunch or tea in Sam's eyes, was that Andrew had a chance to talk with someone. He had felt rather self-conscious at first – men he knew were not usually in the habit of speaking about what they felt, but after two or three conversations with Sam, Andrew realised it actually helped. She helped him look forwards. His writing was improving, and he had begun to move past whatever demons had possessed him during that week in September.

Andrew also admitted to himself that he had feelings for Sam. What was there not to like about the radiant, unique Sam? He put aside any romantic feelings however, because of her engagement and obvious attachment to Adam. He liked Adam, and although felt that perhaps it was not the match he would have foreseen for Sam, he knew they would do well together. Sometimes Andrew found himself cursing his own bad luck, but then remembered that having Sam as a good friend was just as lovely. They got along very well, laughing and teasing each other quite a lot, as well as supporting each other.

Andrew had come to the little house where Sam and Adam rented rooms a few times, but mostly Sam came to Steep Lane. It held fond memories of the absent Foyle for both of them. Adam had been spending time in London just recently, so Sam was coming to see Andrew more often. Adam was trying to find his way into politics and the meetings usually took place in London. Sam didn't hide the fact that she spent a lot of time with Andrew, and Adam was understanding. She was headstrong, and he loved her for it. He realised that if Sam wanted to leave him, she would have done so already. They had reached enough of a compromise that Adam just let her get on with it – with what he considered her little project, though he would never have put it in such terms to Sam.

Sam, on her part, never questioned Adam's movements, but enthusiastically supported his endeavours to be in politics. It was a world that was a bit beyond her, and the brief encounter she had previously had with it – with Martin Longmate during the campaign for new MP – had not presented a positive view. She much preferred Police work, exhibited in the collection of mystery and crime books she had acquired over the years. She missed discussing cases with Foyle and being on scene when it got exciting.

It was with these thoughts of past events with Foyle that Sam walked to Steep Lane. The previous day had been blustery and cold, and had now all but blown out, replacing it instead with grey and damp. For once Sam felt a good fire and cup of tea would be better than a walk. She knocked on the door and stamped her feet to keep warm.

"Hallo, Sam," came Andrew's usual greeting as he opened the door.

"Hallo! I say, Andrew, you wouldn't perhaps like to stay indoors today would you? It is terribly cold."

Andrew grinned, "I was hoping you'd say that. Come in and let me beat you at chess for a bit."

Sam sat in Foyle's old chair in front of the fire, accepting a cup of tea from Andrew. He was wearing his lovely old blue RAF jumper that had seen him through the War winters. With his beard he looked rather dashing and Sam smiled slightly, letting herself wonder for just a moment if this is what life would have been like if they had stayed together.

"You know, perhaps I wouldn't lose each time if you actually taught me the rules properly. Half the time I think you are making them up," Sam teased.

Andrew pulled the board towards him, setting up the pieces. "Dad's the one who should teach you really – I'm rubbish when it comes to explaining the details."

They played in silence for a while, each sipping their tea and contemplating the moves on the board. Finally Andrew asked, "Is Adam in Hastings at the moment?"

"No, he had a meeting this afternoon in London. He is making progress though."

"Good." Andrew paused and seeing Sam's look, added, "That he is making progress I mean." He paused again, "Well, why don't you stay and help me make dinner. We can have something nice and celebrate the fact that I've just had a poem published."

"Oh Andrew! Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me? When did you find out?" Sam fired this at him in her usual non-stop fashion.

Andrew smiled, sitting back in his chair. "Well I had a letter this morning, so don't feel I've been keeping it secret. I didn't want to say I'd sent one in case it was rejected."

"Well done, that is splendid. And of course I'll stay for dinner – what are we having?"

"I thought we could have cottage pie as it is that sort of weather. But I'm not sure I have everything for it." Andrew rose and went into the kitchen. Sam drank the last of her tea and followed. She found Andrew rifling through some items in the larder. He pulled out a few things, dumping them on the kitchen counter. "Right, you start, and I'll just pop into town before the shop closes for the afternoon."

Sam looked at the ingredients and laughed, "Andrew, do you even know how to make a cottage pie, or did you get me over here in the hopes I'd make it for you?"

He grinned, looking sheepish, "Well it never hurts to try. What have I forgotten?"

Sam laughed again, and wrote down a short list. "Now, where are the pans?"

Andrew showed her and scooted out of the way quickly when she lightheartedly brandished a frying pan at him, "You are just going to get under my feet, aren't you?" She found a tea towel and wiped the inside of the pan, which had hardly been used since Foyle left. Andrew wasn't much for cooking.

In response, Andrew broke into song, making up the words as he went,

Oh Sam dear, Sam dear,
You are what I mostly fear,
In the kitchen with the frying pan,
Oh dear Sam!

Laughing, he ducked as Sam threw the tea towel at him.

"Rascal," she giggled, "Now go on before the shop closes and we are left with bits that will only vaguely resemble cottage pie."

Andrew hadn't felt so happy in ages. He practically skipped the short distance to the shop, humming a tune. He was in luck, the shop was still open, and he got everything on the list, only briefly deliberating over what they should have to drink. Nodding and smiling to people he met on the pavement, much to their bemusement, Andrew hurried back to the house on Steep Lane. As he went up the steps, he thought he would try to surprise Sam with another burst of song. He quietly went through the door and into the lounge. As he came towards the kitchen he began singing at the top of his lungs,

Oh Sam dear, Sam dear,
I had the thought to buy some beer,
Sa –

Andrew's breath caught in his throat and he stopped in mid waltz into the kitchen. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him and all he could do was stare.

Sam was glad to be cooking for Andrew, but it was strange being in Foyle's house all alone. She looked around at the kitchen, throwing the tea towel over her shoulder before starting in on the potatoes, thinking once again how much she loved this house. She hoped one day she would find a place where she felt just as much at home. Losing herself in pleasant, wandering thoughts, she heard the front door open about ten minutes later. "That was quick," Sam thought, "I hope he was able to get everything we need." She heard a bump and movements in the hall, and she wondered why he was taking so long.

She called out, "Come on, you rascal, you aren't going to make me do all of this by myself I hope! Was the shop closed?"

There was no answer, but she heard footsteps coming through the lounge. Sam felt a flash of annoyance – "Is he trying to sneak up on me?" – then she suddenly thought it might not be Andrew at all. She picked up the frying pan again, waiting fearfully. When she saw who walked through the doorway she nearly dropped the pan in surprise.

"Sam." The man raised his eyebrows and tried not to look too amused.

"Mr. Foyle!" Sam went forward quickly, grinning from ear to ear. He broke into a smile too, looking pointedly at the pan in her hand. She put it down hurriedly, going red. Sam had imagined what she might say to Foyle when she saw him again, but it had all vanished from her mind and she felt suddenly quite shy. While trying to stop her mind racing, wondering how he had come to be there, she asked, "Did you have a nice trip? How are you?"

Foyle studied her carefully and with amusement. Of all the things he might have anticipated – the house in disarray from Andrew or half a dozen of his friends camped out about the place, seeing Sam standing in his kitchen looking quite at home hadn't even crossed his mind. And surprisingly, Foyle thought, it was the one thing he would have wanted.

He had expected a cold house and no one there to greet him because he had returned so suddenly and unexpectedly, but to have lovely, bubbly Sam there was a pleasant surprise. He wondered if this is what life might have been like if….Shaking his head and smiling at Sam, he said softly, "The trip was fine; I am doing well." Foyle came a step closer, "I am very glad to see you, Sam, but might I ask what you are doing?" He said this kindly, but Sam still blushed.

"I'm making cottage pie for Andrew – well he's supposed to be helping me, but he had to pop down to the shop for a few things."

Foyle didn't say anything, but Sam could see the questions forming in eyes, and she felt embarrassed. "He and I have been spending a lot of time together…he has had a hard time adjusting to civilian life, and I've been a friend to him, listening and supporting him. I thought it was a good idea to get him out of the house now and again, and Adam agreed with me." She said this all very quickly.

Foyle smiled, "Andrew is very lucky to have a friend like you." He paused, biting his lip, "I didn't know he was having a difficult time – is he alright now?"

"Yes, he just needed someone to talk to."

"And you, how are you…and Adam?" Foyle didn't meet her eyes.

"Fine, doing well and making a go of it. Adam is doing well too, though quite busy. He's away in London a lot just at the minute."

Foyle nodded slowly. He looked around the kitchen distractedly, unsure of what to say. There was so much to tell and catch up on.

Sam stepped closer, suddenly feeling quite bold. "Welcome home, Sir." She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Foyle looked surprised and gratified.

He smiled kindly, "Thank you, Sam. It is nice to be home, although the weather isn't very encouraging." They were still standing close to one another when Andrew waltzed in, making them both jump out of their skins. They stepped away from each other, and Foyle cleared his throat. Andrew stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Dad."

"Hello, Andrew."

Andrew forced a smile and set the shopping bag on the counter. "Welcome home. I didn't know you were coming – have a good trip?"

Foyle nodded, "Yes, I'll tell you all about it." He paused, clearing his throat again and patting his pockets as if unsure of what to say. "Right, well I think I'll unpack and let you two get on with it."

Sam spoke up, "Dinner will be ready at 7 o'clock." It felt strange saying that to Foyle in his own house. She was reminded of the time she had made him Coq au vin while staying in his back room.

Foyle nodded, and went out of the kitchen. Sam glared at Andrew, aware that he was feeling a bit sulky. Before he could say anything, she picked up the potato she had been peeling. "Don't be a five year old and bring me those onions." Andrew did as he was told, and tried not to feel as though a special evening with Sam had been spoiled.