A Light Between Oceans Episode 29

Hattie stared out of the kitchen window, gazing at nothing, her mind a tempest of worry, sadness and guilt.
She’d always been one to look on the bright side, and for all that she had longed for things she knew were out of her reach, she had been grateful for all that life had given to her.
But so much had changed. Had she lost Sandy for ever?
It had all felt so crucial, protecting her from the past and keeping everything in place, as it always had been.
The extreme lengths to which she had gone, tracking down the estate agent, putting a spanner in the works in the hope of sending Lucas packing – it had all seemed to gather its own momentum.
Now it seemed at the point of no return.
How ironic that there had been only one other time in her whole life when she had felt as guilty as she did now.
She had gone against all of her principles that day. It had been as if she were being pushed by some demon of temptation.
But then, as now, she had been led by fear, and the need to protect the two people she loved most in the world.
Belmouth, 1941
The Townsends had gone out for the day, taking a lunch basket that Hattie had packed for them, to explore the coastline and surrounding countryside on their rented bicycles.
It had given her a good feeling to see them enjoying the fresh air, and it was a pleasure packing the basket and tucking in a few extra treats from her own rations.
Sandy was with Donald, and Hans Van Bakkar was out as well.
Recently she had chanced upon Mr Van Bakkar listening at the Townsends’ door, and the memory haunted her.
And though he had told her the odd snatch of information about the study he was involved in, it seemed he never left the cottage without his paints and easel.
There was something about it that didn’t add up.
Why had he been listening at his fellow guests’ door?
Either he had been eavesdropping or he had wanted to find out if they were inside.
He’d been sweeter than ever with Sandy, getting to know her, drawing pictures and playing little games with her whenever she came into the dining-room.
Though this had touched Hattie at first, for some reason she couldn’t explain it had begun to worry her – especially when she’d heard him asking her questions about her father.
Hattie stood in the kitchen, the stillness of the empty cottage beckoning.
Then, feeling almost as if she were being led by some force against her will, she took the extra key, went upstairs and let herself into Mr Van Bakkar’s room.
Never in all the years she had been in business had she done such a thing without guests’ permission.
There was nothing unusual, and she nearly turned round and left at that moment.
Then, seemingly being propelled by something beyond her control, she walked across the room, opened the wardrobe, fished in pockets, then opened bureau drawers.
Finding only clothing, and her guilt mounting, she closed them and walked briskly to the door.
But there was one last place – under the bed. His case would be there.
She turned back, kneeled down and pulled it out, almost pleased that it was locked.
This is madness, she thought, and wrong.
Closing her ears to reason, she leaped up, hurried downstairs to the kitchen and opened her junk drawer.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had picked a lock, but that had been in the company of the sheepish couple to whom she had given not only the room key, but also her own copy.
When they had confessed to having locked one of the keys in the room and losing the other, Hattie found herself fishing into the lock of their room with a bent paper clip, profoundly grateful to the school friend who had shown her the technique many years ago.
But would it work for a suitcase?
She hurried back, breathing hard from the surges of guilt and tension that flooded through her.
For at least a quarter of an hour she worked away, and then, just as she had decided to give it up, she felt something move.
Once again she pushed gently on the paper clip.
There was a discreet, crisp click.
Holding her breath, she carefully lifted the lid of the case.
Hattie pawed through the contents.
There was nothing but books written in Dutch and some laundry.
Furious and disgusted with herself, she started to close it.
Then she looked again.
The case was deeper on the outside than the inside.
Running her fingers round the inside edges, she felt for some way to lift the bottom, for surely there was a section underneath.
Finding nothing, she took the paper clip and forced it between the bottom and the side.
Then, as smoothly as lifting the lid of a box to reveal some lovely gift, the section came away.
Sitting in the bottom of the case was all she needed to see.
Maps, a compass, documents of various kinds, some sort of radio – and a pistol.