Reminiscent - Chapter 7
A/N: Thank you all for sticking out this long winded, complicated story. I am grateful for the comments, and hope you don't mind the liberties I've taken with our favourite characters.
Foyle was very surprise to find Sam already making the tea when he came downstairs the next morning. The early morning sun caught her hair, making it look more golden than ever. His breath caught in his throat and she looked up.
"Good morning, Sir," she said cheerfully, handing him a cup and saucer.
He nodded and smiled slightly before letting his face return to a questioning look. "Damn it all, why does she have to look so at home here?" Foyle thought, taking himself by surprise. He sipped the scalding tea before putting it down hurriedly. He could see Sam shivering with anticipation and excitement about her journey that evening; with the idea of starting out on a whole new adventure. "Shall we take a walk, Sam? See a bit of Hastings in this light and let Andrew wake up?" Foyle said suddenly.
"What a lovely idea, Sir, I'll just fetch my cardigan."
As she passed him he said quietly, "What did I say about calling me 'Sir'?" They caught each other's eye and smiled quickly.
Hastings seemed to glisten in the sunshine. It was if the town was shivering in anticipation too.
Sam wished she might link arms with her former boss, but refrained. She heard him clear his throat as he pulled his old green trilby down low over his eyes to shade them. "Sleep well?" he asked casually, eyes flicking towards her.
Sam blushed, and said a bit too quickly, "Yes, thank you."
Foyle smiled to himself.
Sam turned in a circle as they walked, "It is one of those mornings, Mr. Foyle, that remind us why we should be glad to be alive. I shall miss this."
"Mmm," agreed Foyle, admiring her rather than their surroundings. He suddenly felt quite young and daring and he quickened his pace to match Sam's. Walking down to the beach they passed shopkeepers setting up for the day's business. It was peaceful and calm, and only the seagulls were making themselves heard. On the pebbled beach Foyle put his arm through Sam's and gave her a smile. "How nice it is to be close," he mused to himself.
"I suppose Andrew has already asked you to think about the future, so I won't," Foyle said slowly, carefully watching each step he took. "And as I have no right to ask, I won't ask you to think of me." He said this with an air of finality that he did not feel.
Sam stopped abruptly and turned to him, "But how can I not – when all I ever think about is you?" She put a hand up to her mouth, as if trying to catch the words before they could be heard.
Foyle gazed intently at her, curious and amused. "You surprise me, Sam. Andrew is a good man, and –"
Sam cut him off, "Forget Andrew for a minute – we've said our goodbyes and know where we stand. What I need to know is where you stand?" She said this with such intensity that Foyle drew in his breath sharply and bit his lip.
Clearing his throat and standing back, he said, "Where I stand?" He smiled somewhat sadly, "I stand before you and beside you, as I have always done, and will continue to do."
Sam frowned, "That's not really an answer, Si-, uh, I mean, well?"
Foyle smiled to see her in such a state. He wasn't sure why it amused him so much, but he touched her cheek softly and made sure she was looking at him. "Call me Christopher if you like. It is my name, after all." Foyle continued, lowering his voice, "Sam, I would do anything for you, and I am never as happy as when you are around, but you must live your life to the fullest, and I would only hinder that."
"You wouldn't, you wouldn't," she cried, rubbing her nose.
"Sam," Foyle said with a hint of authority in his voice, "You will go on this trip and do your bit. Afterwards we can think about…all this." He waved his hand vaguely, trying to find the words. "You must see more of what life has to offer and find out who you are. Isn't that part of why you wanted to get away?"
"Yes, but-"
Foyle stopped her, "We will still be here when you are ready to come back."
Sam nodded, fiercely brushing away a few tears.
"Dear Sam – what can I say that will ease the worries I see on your face?" Foyle pulled her into his arms, letting her nestle her head into his shoulder. He was forcefully reminded of another time on this beach, a lifetime ago – he had hated saying goodbye then just as much.
"I shall write you every day," Sam said with a sniff. She felt a shiver run down her back as Foyle's warm, familiar scent filled her nostrils.
"Perhaps every week would suffice, Sam," Foyle said lightly with a smile, pulling her closer. He kissed the top of her head gently.
They walked back to the house on Steep Lane. The morning felt more subdued and less bright all of a sudden. Foyle squeezed her hand as they walked up the steps. They both put on a good face for Andrew who greeted them with a, "Didn't you get the paper when you went out? I've been waiting ages you know, where on earth did you go?"
Sam kissed him on the cheek, "Good morning, rascal. Don't be silly – you've only just woken up. Not even shaved yet! C'mon, get ready, we're going to enjoy this day before I ship off."
He looked quickly over at Foyle who was busy sorting through the letters on the sideboard. He caught Sam's hand and asked softly, "Do you want me with you today?"
Sam nodded and whispered back hurriedly, "You both are to come." She glanced at Andrew meaningfully and he smiled. He clapped his hands, "Right, what is the battle plan, then, Sam?"
Foyle turned as Sam replied, "Well, the most important thing first: sandwiches or cake?"
"Both!" said the Foyle's in unison, grinning at Sam.
It had been raining for a week straight and Foyle, for once, was glad Andrew was away visiting a friend. The house seemed to close around him more each day as his thoughts constantly turned to Sam. One year to the day that peace was declared Foyle received a letter. He tore it open, giddy as a schoolboy.
May 1946
Dear Christopher, it read,
I am hoping I've timed this correctly to reach you on the commemoration of VE Day.
We never did have our dance, you know. I hope my last letter made sense – I kept adding to
it because I kept forgetting to send it, and then I couldn't find a post office, and then more
things would happen that I wanted to tell you.
Foyle smiled. He pulled the letter straight and continued reading.
As I said in my previous letter, it is fantastic here. The people constantly amaze me,
and I am ever reminded how lucky we were not to have our country invaded. It is beautiful,
nonetheless. We have been moving around a lot this week, setting up a sort of travelling relief
effort. Our group leader is a bit of stick, but his right hand man is a good sort. He is staying on
for a few more months and said he would keep some of us on. The two girls I joined up with
(from Uncle Aubrey's village) are staying. We've had loads of fun together. I'm not sure if we are
meant to be having fun, since this is relief work, but there we are.
How are you and Andrew? Have you been fishing much lately? I'll include an address where
we can have post sent. They will keep it for us, and we can collect it when we arrive there at the end
of the month. I think it will be a sort of a base camp from then on for the smaller group. I will be here
a bit longer. You were right, as usual, and I'm glad. Getting away has been good, but I do think of
you often. Wish you were here, to be honest. There are so many things I want to tell you and show
you. I imagine myself pulling you all around to show you the things I have seen.
I hope you are well. Love to you and Andrew,
Your Sam x
Folding the letter, Foyle put it to one side, staring at it for a moment. He sighed and picked up the rest of his post. An official looking envelope lay on top and he ripped it open curiously. He read it through twice, his eyes wide with disbelief. Suddenly he grinned and re-read the last bit.
We believe you would be an ideal candidate for our operational program, currently based in Poland.
If you choose to accept this offer, you will be briefed at 11 a.m, 54 Broadway Avenue, London, on May 14th.
It was signed by someone with a double-barrelled name, with SIS underneath. Foyle didn't dare to breath for a few seconds. The official seal at the top of the letter shone up at him. He stood slowly, setting the letter carefully next to Sam's. Walking to the window, he looked out at the soggy street, thinking hard. He spent the next hour in a daze, wandering about the house, pouring himself cups of tea, all the while staring into space and chewing his lip.
Standing in front of his desk, Foyle looked over at the two letters lying on the sideboard. He grinned widely, laughing out loud and shaking his head. He finally knew what he needed to do. His pathway forward was clear.
THE END