A Light Between Oceans Episode 37
Hattie clutched the painting of the little blue rowing boat, tears in her eyes at the thought of parting with it.
It was the only painting of Donald’s in existence – the one legacy of his wonderful gift – and the time had come to give it to Sandy, especially now that the lighthouse and her childhood home were to be sold.
Sandy would hang it on the wall of her flat, to love and enjoy.
There was the phone ringing again. It must be one of the guests who was about to arrive.
She quickly tucked the painting back in its box and hurried downstairs.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” Sandy’s voice sounded faint and far away.
“Sandy! Are you still in Amsterdam? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
There was a silence.
“Sandy?” Hattie asked.
“I’m in London. Everything’s gone wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Hattie, please may I come right down? There’s a train to Belmouth in an hour, and –”
“Of course!” Hattie interrupted. “What has happened?”
“Lucas caught the train back to Belmouth right away. His hotel room is being held for him, and he has to return the hire car.
“His air ticket back to New York is an open one and I don’t know when he’s leaving.” Sandy choked out the words.
“It’s all over. He doesn’t love me. I’ve been such a fool.”
“We’ll talk about this, but for now you must put one foot in front of the other and take that train,” Hattie instructed. “I’ll collect you from the station.”
It was nearly dark and had begun to pour with rain as Sandy’s train pulled into the station.
Despite her umbrella, she had arrived wet through, and now she and Hattie sat by the gas fire, Sandy wrapped in an old dressing-gown as she sipped a cup of hot tea.
Hattie had listened to the astonishing chain of events, hardly able to take it all in.
She stared in disbelief as Sandy showed her the painting with the harsh black lines of Hans Van Bakkar’s signature.
Sandy had said that the restorer had wanted to remove the layer of paint. He would have it done it free of charge, but she had brought it back as it was.
Hattie imagined Donald’s signature rightfully at the bottom. The painting was so beautiful and unmistakably his style.
She longed to talk to Sandy about it, to explain that the distant woman in the painting was her mother, but she would wait for the right moment.
She looked at Sandy, her face reddened with crying.
She would heal from this, Hattie told herself, just as she had from other love affairs gone wrong.
“Lucas said on the plane that our relationship would never work now.” Sandy sobbed.
“I tried to convince him that it didn’t matter, but he feels so ashamed.
“It’s as if part of him has died. I feel guilty because it was so miraculous seeing Dad’s painting.”
She dissolved in a fresh flood of tears and Hattie looked on helplessly.
Then Sandy suddenly turned, anger flaring up in her tear-stained face.
“And all this time you’ve been hiding something from me. I know you have.”
There was a long silence, then Hattie sighed.
“You’re right to be angry with me, Sandy. I’ve been keeping secrets for a long time. I know it will be hard to understand this, but it was a way of protecting you.
“I wanted your memories to be as happy as possible.
“But it’s different now, and it seems only right that I tell you and Lucas the whole story.”
Sandy thought for a moment.
“Shall I phone the hotel and ask him if he’s free to come right away?” Hattie asked.
“If that’s what you feel you must do.” Sandy pulled herself to her feet. “I’d better get dressed.”
She made her way upstairs. Hattie sat staring into the gas fire, dreading what was to come.