A Light Between Oceans Episode 22

Candlelight and silver and glass gleamed from the tables, and as Lucas and Sandy made their way up the staircase and opened the door, they were greeted by a pleasant hum of voices mingling with the soft sounds of jazz.
They were shown to the table that Lucas had reserved in a corner, with a view of a courtyard below.
The sky was darkening quickly, and a tiny sliver of moon peeked through the leaves of the trees.
Menus and linen napkins were placed before them.
“The specials sound nice,” Lucas mused. “Do you see anything that tempts you?”
“It all looks wonderful.”
They both decided on the lemon sole, accompanied by an array of vegetables, then Lucas discussed wine with the waiter, who brought two bottles of crisp white to choose from.
Sandy looked on, a wave of panic edging its way towards her consciousness.
Yes, he was attractive, and the combination of his confidence and gentle interest in her life felt like a kind of balm.
But Hattie was right – she was vulnerable, and she must keep her guard.
It was only a few days ago that she’d thought her foundations were being shaken solely by the changes that were taking place in Belmouth.
With her loss of trust in Hattie, those foundations had weakened much more.
Lucas raised his glass.
“To Belmouth, and to you, Sandy, for agreeing to be here with me this evening.”
She smiled weakly, her mind such a jumble that she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
The wine was smooth and refreshing, and the restaurant, with its soft candlelight, had begun to calm her.
For a moment she allowed her senses to breathe in the seductive pleasure of it all.
“It’s a beautiful place. Thank you, Lucas.” Sandy smiled.
“My pleasure. It feels a long way from New York.”
“Have you lived there all your life?” she asked.
“Not quite. We arrived in the city when I was about eight,” Lucas explained.
“It was just after the war. My parents were Dutch and managed to get passage.”
“How interesting!”
She suddenly imagined him as a little boy standing on the deck of the ship, those blue eyes bright with excitement and the wind in his hair.
“Did you have anywhere to go?” Sandy asked. “Did you know anyone?”
“My mother had a second cousin who had come over the year before.
“He helped us find a place to live on the Lower East Side, then we eventually moved to a better apartment.
“My father got a job in a small art supplies shop.
“He was artistic, too – he liked to draw, and he loved going to art museums.
“He eventually became part owner of the shop, then owned it outright,” Lucas went on. “He built it up and expanded.
“He and my mother were determined I should go to university, and that costs a lot in America.”
“You must be so proud of them – and they of you. Are they
still . . .?”
Lucas shook his head.
“My mother died just before I went to university. And Dad six years ago.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit Holland,” Sandy remarked. “How lovely to have that culture in your background. Do you speak Dutch?”
“Not really. My parents were adamant that I grow up as an American boy,” he replied, a hint of irony in his voice. “They didn’t want me to feel different.
“They spoke Dutch to each other, but English to me. They didn’t want me to have an accent.”
“Did you feel different?”
“I don’t think I did. I always had a feeling my father felt a little ashamed of himself. I could never understand it.
“He worked so hard, and was highly respected. I don’t know if there was a stigma about being an immigrant, or if it was something else.”