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The Honeymoon	By : HagenRenaker Category: 1 through F > Foyle's War Views: 2428 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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A few months thereafter Sam had accepted a few “dates” with Andrew Foyle, in an effort to deny her feelings for his father and in hopes of finding a more appropriate version of them. It wasn’t much of a courtship, given the amount of time Andrew was away, but as an exchange of affectionate letters and a few depressingly chaste kisses, it had lasted slightly more than a year.
Andrew had that cocksure quality so many boys had, and one that always rather put her off—he’d had a line the very first time he saw her. Not that she had held a grudge when Mr Foyle asked her to take Andrew out and get his mind off his injuries… that was just the way of young men, she’d philosophised. Now, older men… they could be more courtly and communicate their attraction in a much more thrilling way. At least, she mused, I think that’s what Mr Foyle is doing…
She had noticed how appreciatively the detective looked at her when she was dressed for a special occasion—his regard may not have been paternal, but he certainly didn’t look at her in an inappropriate fashion. It was... warm. It made her feel feminine and admired; more attractive than she had upon glancing at her finished ensemble in the mirror.
It could be he just admires you without feeling anything emotional about you, Samantha argued with herself. But then she remembered the times their gazes had met and held. Did he feel the intense longing that she thought she saw in his eyes?
The American Joe Farnetti’s bold approach had been even more blunt than Andrew’s, and she had felt increasingly uncomfortable with his immediate insistence that he accompany him to a movie. Mr Foyle and Captain Kieffer had entered the station lobby just at that moment, and the protective way that Mr Foyle had asked “You all right?” (having immediately summed up the situation) had filled her with warmth and affection for him. After the Americans had departed he’d teased her about Farnetti being her “Clark Gable,” but all she could think of, her eyes aglow at her boss, was how amusing it was that he’d think she could possibly prefer the company of that brash young man to his.
Andrew had broken things off with her just this past April. The night of the Americans’ dance, she had set out determined to have some fun despite his cowardly “Dear Jane” letter.
When to her surprise she’d met Mr Foyle entering the Americans’ billet for the dance, he’d placed his hand on the small of her back for a moment to guide her through the door, giving her an unexpected little thrill that she’d covered with the inane comment, “They have wonderful doughnuts,” eliciting a gentle chuckle from him.
Trying out the jitterbug with Private Farnetti had been fun, but she kept wondering hopefully if a gentler-paced tune might inspire her boss to ask her to dance. He seemed to keep at the edge of things with Milner, talking with him and Mr Pritchett the accountant, or chatting with the American soldiers. When poor Susan Davis’ body was discovered, Captain Kieffer had announced that the dance was over and herded most of the unsuspecting crowd out of the old school building.
The following day she had been aware of a subtle curtness from DCS Foyle, to whom it must have seemed that she was not being altogether true to his son. Little could she know that Foyle was suffering with mixed feelings about the very concept of her walking out with Andrew. He knew his son was not the steadiest type romantically, despite his basic integrity. When Sam had finally confided in him that Andrew had thrown her over, he had been torn between the unbidden thrill in his heart that she was free again and exasperation with his son for treating her so shabbily.
That late afternoon Sam had sat in one of the interrogation rooms, waiting for her boss to finish work. She drew a deep sigh, thinking about the whole situation with Andrew.
Her pride had been a little hurt by Andrew’s tactless rejection, but there was something else she’d felt as she sat reading his letter, she remembered now. Something she couldn’t quite recognise at the time for what it was: relief. That, and a sense of freedom to… to what? That was when she had decided to attend the dance to get her mind off all the strange confusion she’d begun to feel.
Foyle’s face, when she told him about the letter, was sorrowful and sympathetic and… beautiful. She knew he understood and no longer blamed her for anything. His voice was so very gentle when he thanked her for letting him know. It was a great solace, and at the same time, something about the whole exchange had shaken her. Some escaping spark in his eyes had reflected the feelings she’d puzzled over as she sat on the stairs with Andrew’s crumpled letter in her hand.
He was relieved, too. It struck her like an electric shock. He was glad she was no longer dating Andrew, and it wasn’t because he wondered about how good a match his son might be for her. It was because he cared about her himself. Sam suddenly felt one notch away from certain. She had to find out whether she was right. But when? How, exactly?
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The Honeymoon