Reminiscent Ch 6

April 1946

Fields separated by hedgerows flashed by as the train sped on towards the sea. The compartment door slid open with a crash, and Sam Stewart looked up, jumping slightly.

"Oh good," she thought glumly, "another person." She shifted, if possible, closer to the window.

The dull light of the compartment gave off a ghostly reflection of the young woman as she stared at herself intently, ignoring the rest of the world. Letting the train's movement lull Sam back into her thoughts, she sighed heavily and began to wonder silently again.

It had been months since she had left Hastings. Her stomach tightened unpleasantly at the thought of why she had left, and she unconsciously clenched her teeth. After visiting Milner in Brighton, Sam had returned home to find Adam sitting in the lounge, glaring at the fireplace. His unpacked bag lay at his feet, coat slung over the back of his chair. Sam bit her lip, trying not to hear the words they had said. Because, by God, did they have words – it was something that Sam felt she would never forget, although Mr. Foyle said these things always looked better down the road. It was now nearly five months "down the road," and it didn't feel any less painful. In less than a year she had experienced the end of a war that had changed her life, been properly in love for the first time, engaged to be married, and now everything had gone. No big wedding, no Adam, no more Hastings.

She had dreaded telling Andrew and Mr. Foyle. What would they think of her? But of course they had been the most supportive and caring, unlike her own family, who dragged her back to the vicarage without further thought. Even Adam's existence was never to be mentioned again by her father – it was as if he had never come into Sam's life to sweep her off her feet. Sam did not hate Adam like her father did. In fact, she perhaps understood him better than anyone else. He had apologized, in a letter of course – "men are such cowards sometimes," Sam had thought angrily, remembering another letter from many years ago that had also broken her heart. The long winter months at the vicarage had felt like torture. She wrote each week to Andrew, and when the letters got too desperate he would drive up on his motorbike to take her out for the day.

Mr. Foyle wrote now and then too, but he never came to rescue her in his car like Andrew did with his bike. She had hoped he might, but never begrudged the fact that he didn't. She hadn't left so that Foyle might chase her. Grateful to Andrew, she told him everything – about Adam, about how miserable life at the vicarage was, even about Mr. Foyle. If their love was only ever to be in friendship, he had to know her inside and out, and Andrew was one of the last people she trusted completely.

"I never understood it, Andrew," she said once when they were huddle away from the January wind inside a pub.

"What's that?" Andrew replied, taking a sip of beer. He put it down suddenly when he saw tears welling in her eyes.

Sam took a deep breath. "I never understood why I felt like I was…" she paused -she couldn't bear to say it out loud. "Why Mr. Foyle and I were…why I was so…" she looked at him helplessly.

Sighing deeply, Andrew shrugged his shoulders, "Because."

Sam stopped sniffing long enough to give him a look. He continued, sighing again, "Sam, you and Dad helped each other more than you will ever know. You were there for each other, and the connection and partnership each of you shared is very special."

"But he was my boss," Sam cried, giving a little sob.

"Yes." Andrew's face broke into a grin, "Who would ever have guessed it? Dark horse, is our Sam."

They laughed, and Andrew took another sip before continuing. "Can't love express itself in many ways, Sam?" We love each other in our own way; so did you and Dad."

"Do," thought Sam.

"Besides," Andrew added, "He was able to give you something none of us other chaps have: stability."

Sam nodded, pursing her lips in a very Foyle like way.

"Means a lot in wartime, and means a damn bit more afterwards." Andrew said, draining his glass with finality.

"Indeed." Sam thought this for the hundredth time. She often felt that although on one hand it had helped saying it out loud for someone to hear, it had also made the situation worse, because she was aching to know, to resolve it somehow. It occupied her mind to such a degree that she became more clumsy than usual and it wasn't until her father commented that she did her best to put it out of mind.

Andrew's letters, still sparse, true to form, helped keep her spirits up. When Easter came Sam felt she could bear the vicarage no more, and she escaped to Uncle Aubrey's. He had been very matter of fact about the whole business with Adam.

Pouring a gracious amount of green wine for her, he had said, "Plenty of life still left to live, my girl, never mind. Now get a bit of this wine in you and we'll think no more about it."

Staying with Uncle Aubrey had done her good. It was thanks to him that she was on her way in the train now. His parish, like many others, was gathering volunteers willing to help reconstruct and restore the devastated countries in Europe. Along with a few strapping girls who hadn't had nearly enough fun out of this war yet, Sam volunteered to help in Poland for as long as they needed her. She could help with children, sorting out food for families, and offer services to refugees coming back to their country. It was just being an extra pair of hands really, but Sam was over the moon about it. She would be able to help and care for those who had suffered far worse in the war – it made her feel like she was giving back a bit. Uncle Aubrey had beamed with pride – he knew his niece would be one to get behind to such a plan. He had even told Mrs. Hill from next door so.

Sam's father was most displeased when she returned home a few weeks later. He wrote a particularly curt note to his brother, who immediately tossed it in the fire and thought nothing of it. Uncle Aubrey was used to Rev. Stewart by now.

Her father had tried everything to make her change her mind. Finally, Sam had turned to him, giving him a very Foyle look, clear and unwavering. "I thought it was our Christian duty, Father, to help others in a time of need. The Polish people, amongst others of course, are in need of our help. Why would you have me deny my duty?"

"Don't be self righteous, Samantha," he had said sharply. But Sam knew she had won the battle. Perhaps people here at home needed help too, but Poland sounded like a place far enough away from the oppressive vicarage. She loved her father, but enough was enough. Sam stopped worrying and looked forward to not only being useful once again, but to the adventure of it all.

Andrew telephoned her as soon as he heard. He was thrilled and made her promise to come to Hastings before she left. "It's on the way to Dover, anyway, Sam," he said excitedly, "Do say you'll come."

"Of course," she said breathlessly, the joy at the thought of being in Hastings again ringing in her voice.

Stepping on to the platform at Hastings felt wonderfully familiar. Sam took a deep breath before waving a porter down. Suddenly she felt a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close. That same old aftershave smell filled her nostrils and she felt fluttering in her stomach.

"Rascal," she said playfully, kissing Andrew's cheek. "Make yourself useful, then." Together, they pulled her heavy case onto a trolley.

"Good thing Dad has the car waiting," said Andrew, wiping his hands, "What on earth do you have in there?"

Sam blushed, "Well, I've never been to Poland."

"So you're taking half of England with you, just in case?"

Sam punched his shoulder lightly.

Outside, the gulls and smell of the sea greeted Sam. She closed her eyes for a moment and let it wash over her. The first thing she saw when she opened them again was Mr. Foyle, leaning against the bonnet of his car, looking quite cavalier with his hands in his pockets. He caught sight of them and stood, his gaze finding Sam right away. Her heart leapt into her throat, making her greeting sound more like a squeak than, "Hello, Sir."

He took off his hat and kissed her cheek, holding his lips against her face for a second longer than usual. He opened the door for her, "Nice to see you again, Miss Stewart." His eyes twinkled down at her as he grinned. Sam wondered how she could have ever left. "Left Hastings…left him." She shook her head slightly.

Andrew turned round as they pulled away from the station. "Tea, Sam?"

"Ooh yes please!"

Foyle smiled softly, glancing at Sam in the rear view mirror. She caught his eye and grinned back at him. She talked non-stop after that, in her usual Sam fashion, telling the two men about her plans for her trip.

Over tea, Andrew teased her, "How are you going to help the Polish if you eat like this? They are trying to round up food, you know."

"I've already thought of that, Andrew," Sam replied quickly, giving him a mischievous smile.

"You never?" Andrew laughed, leaning forward, "The suitcase?"

Sam giggled into her scone.

Foyle sat watching the two of them, a part of him wishing that they were compatible enough for marriage. What fun they all would have! But perhaps they wouldn't have wanted him around when they were married. He shook his head, annoyed at his wavering thoughts. "Why does it always come back to this?" he asked himself. "She would always be their Sam. But goodness, the vicarage had been far enough away, now Europe?"

Foyle would miss Sam, but he was also very glad. It was the best thing for her – to get away, to experience a bit more of life. "Though God knows what horrors she might see in the war torn areas. No wonder Rev. Stewart had been so against the idea," he thought.

Foyle chewed his lower lip, suddenly wondering if Sam was rushing in to this venture. He saw how enthusiastic Andrew was when he heard she was going – maybe he should convince Sam to take him along? It might be good for Andrew too. They were both going a bit stir crazy after being shut up together in Foyle's house in Hastings over the winter. Foyle did love having his son close by again though.

He was brought back to the conversation with a jolt when he realised Sam was speaking to him.

"What do you think about my plans, Sir?"

Foyle twitched his lips into a soft smile, "I think it will certainly be an experience. And if ever a place needed the sunshine and happiness you bring…" he paused, clearing his throat. He suddenly felt that letting lovely Sam slip away again was unbearable. He bit his lip, unsure of how to go on.

Andrew jumped in, saying, "Yes, we had quite a few Poles at our base at one point. Jolly good at mechanics, I must say. Decent chaps, most of them. Would do any job you asked and always enjoyed a laugh. It is a good deed, Sam."

Sam nodded, but didn't take her eyes off Foyle. She saw his discomfort. He looked up and saw her watching him. Smiling, he handed her the last scone. "We must feed you up, Sam."

Sam's hand shook as she took the plate.

After tea they made their way back to Steep Lane, quietly for a change. They all seemed to be preoccupied with their thoughts.

"I've made up the bed in my room for you, Sam, and I'll be in my attic office," said Andrew as he and Foyle dragged Sam's case up the steps.

"Very kind of you, Andrew," she replied, gazing up at the house. She had such a look of calm and peace as well as longing that Foyle nearly dropped his end of the case. Andrew went upstairs to lay out a spare flannel by the sink, leaving Sam and Foyle in the lounge, together and alone at last. Sam sighed as she sat, taking in the room that had never changed in her time of knowing it. It was a comforting sight, as it had always been. Foyle stood watching her from the doorway. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Putting one hand in a pocket he said softly, "I haven't seen him so happy in a while."

She nodded, "And you, Sir, how are you? Hastings seems the same, thank goodness."

"I'm well, thank you, Sam. We've missed you, of course." Foyle frowned slightly, as if each word pained him.

"Being away from you…from you all and Hastings has been horrible," Sam said slowly, "I have missed it all so very much." She sighed and continued in voice nearly a whisper, "And now I am going away again…"

"To do a very decent thing. It will be good for you to see more of the world and to get away for awhile." He paused, coming to sit near her. "It makes coming home that much easier."

"Did you find that coming back from America, Sir?" Sam asked.

"Yes, which is why I know this trip will be good for you in so many ways, Sam." He smiled at her, catching her eye.

Sam smiled back and nodded.

"Don't feel guilty," Foyle said kindly.

"But I do, Sir. I feel I am being selfish."

"You intentions may be – to get away, but your actions certainly are not. Isn't helping and serving others a selfless act in part?"

Sam nodded, seeing the sense in this.

Foyle bit his lip, looking out the window. He couldn't bear to see Sam troubled, and he could read her like a book. He knew she needed to go, and that she realised this too, but the anguish she felt in doing so was what needed to be soothed. He could not do that – she had to realise her actions were her own to make. It was time she started living her own life, and not one dictated by her father, her fiancé, or… himself. Foyle sat back with a heavy sigh. He hated when he was right.

They both jumped violently when Andrew came into the room saying, "Right, so what's for dinner?"

"Oh Andrew, you can't be hungry already – you're worse than me!" said Sam in mock astonishment.

Foyle stood, turning and taking in the whole room, thinking that the people he most loved were finally all together. He grinned suddenly at Sam, "Coq au vin?"

Sam laughed, "With the vin, Sir?"

Foyle dipped his knees and said with a smirk, "But of course."

Andrew looked puzzled, just as Foyle had intended. As Foyle turned to the kitchen, he thought to himself, "At least the history Sam and I share will always be ours, and I can carry that with me. I will always have her joyful character with me." He nodded, rather pleased with himself. For once he felt he had his Sam back, rather than having to share her with Andrew as our Sam.

Rolling up his shirtsleeves he called, "Miss Stewart, if you would be so kind as so assist me in your father's recipe."

Sam came in followed by Andrew who was looking slightly put out at being left out of things. She breezed past Foyle and went into the pantry. Popping her head out a moment later she said, "I see that cooking for my keep is to become a habit."

Foyle laughed, "Indeed I hope so."

Andrew looked back and forth between the two and shrugged, giving up. Foyle tossed him a tea towel, grinning slightly. "You can be in charge of washing up."

Foyle chuckled to himself as he caught Andrew rolling his eyes.

They sat up talking, as they always did, but tonight the two Foyles were listening intently to Sam. She always had something to say, and Foyle learned long ago to just let her say it. Tonight it was about someone from Uncle Aubrey's parish. He leaned back in chair comfortably, glad to listen and sit quietly. When it was getting late, Foyle stood slowly, setting his whiskey glass to one side. "Good night. Sleep well," he said softly, gazing around at the other two.

Much to his surprise, and certainly to his joy, Sam stood as well and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for letting me stay, Sir."

Foyle nodded, clearing his throat. "My pleasure, Sam." He let himself out, leaving the two young people to themselves.

He lay waiting for them to come up, losing himself in his thoughts. Holding his breath when he heard the stairs creak, Foyle listened carefully. If he were Andrew's age he would try to convince Sam to stay or at least come back to him, and he had no doubt his son would do the same.

"I hope the bed is comfortable enough for you, Sam."

"It will be fine. What about you up in the attic? Won't you be frozen?"

"I've got that little stove, remember? Besides…" Andrew paused, looking past Sam, biting his lip in that way that reminded her so forcefully of his father. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper and Sam leaned closer so as to hear him. "Sam, if I thought it would make any difference I would ask you to stay, but I know that this trip means a lot to you. So, what if I asked you instead to consider something while you are away?"

Sam gazed at him warily, wondering if he was about to propose again.

"I would ask you to marry me, Sam, but I feel you would only laugh," said Andrew, as if reading her thoughts.

Sam smiled, "Perhaps."

"So, instead of that, what if we just think about seeing if we could continue on again when you return home?"

Sam took up his hands gently, "Oh Andrew. If I thought we could make a go of it, I would do so in a heartbeat, but I know it would never work. I love you very deeply, but it isn't a love that would carry over into marriage. Can you understand that?" She looked at him carefully, hoping she hadn't hurt him.

"But we are so good together. Why would we never work?" Andrew said quietly. He sighed. "I felt it was worth asking, anyway."

Sam nodded, thinking hard. Suddenly she kissed him, pulling him close and letting her fingers run through his hair. Her kiss was eager and passionate, leaving Andrew slightly breathless. When they broke away, Andrew said almost shyly, "What was that for?"

"I need to know something." Sam looked at him steadily, all at once quite serious. "I tell myself that we would never work in the long run, but I do agree that we work well together in general." She frowned, leaning against Andrew, "I keep going around and around in my head, trying to understand why I feel one way and then the other."

Andrew turned her face towards him, "So stop thinking, darling Sam. For once, just let yourself go. It is just me."

"You are never just you, Andrew," Sam replied.

He laughed, thinking what a very Sam thing this was to say. He took her hand and pulled her towards the end of the landing. "Come help me keep my attic warm, Sam."

And for once she let herself be led away, determined not to think. "After all," she said to herself as she followed Andrew, feeling the warmth of his strong hand in hers, "Facing things usually helps."

Her eyes flicked towards Mr. Foyle's door as they passed it quietly. Sam told herself she would deal with the mixed up emotions she had for him later. Tonight was about solving things with Andrew.

TBC