A Light Between Oceans Episode 43
They sat side by side a little way down the beach, sheltered from the wind in one of Sandy’s favourite little coves, where she and Hattie had often come for picnics.
As they had made their way along, then settled themselves against a boulder, Lucas told her about the phone ringing in the early hours that morning.
“His voice jolted me right back to childhood. He and his wife moved to the Lower East Side in the late Forties, about a year after we arrived, and they and my parents became good friends.
“My father was struggling in those first years after we came over from Holland, and I remember it was particularly tough when my mother became ill.
“Then, quite suddenly, everything got a lot better,” Lucas explained.
“My dad managed to buy out the owner of the art supplies place where he’d been working, and then things really took off.
“I never questioned how it was that our life improved so dramatically. I just enjoyed it all – mostly seeing my parents looking so much happier.
“Many years later, when I was out of university and into my first job, and my dad was ill and in hospital, I remember Pieter Hoff going to see him.
“I’d go to the hospital every day. Pieter was sometimes there already, and then he’d leave and I’d take over.
“Well, as it turns out, he’d spilled out a lot to Pieter – a confession of sorts – about what he’d done during the war years, and about your dad’s painting,” Lucas finished.
Sandy looked at him incredulously, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“He tracked me down because he was worried I would get into trouble over it,” he explained.
“Little did he know that there was much more at stake than that.
“Our dads did bring us together in the end,” Lucas continued, taking her hand.
“But I think it would be best if I told you the story from the beginning.”
He took a deep breath.
“Apparently, my dad joined the Dutch Resistance. It was dangerous, but he was determined to fight the Nazi occupation.
“He somehow got us out of Amsterdam – I don’t remember how, but we had gone to a farm in the countryside where there was a distant cousin who took us in.
“My mother and I stayed there during the war, and when it was over my dad finally returned to us and we went back to the old house that I showed you.
“It was a wreck from the war, but it was patched up, and we lived there for a couple of years until we were able to get passage to New York.
“During the war, my dad ended up in England.
“He was one of a group that were called Engelandvaarders – Dutch people who were escaping the Nazis.
“As a member of the Resistance he must have found himself in great danger to have had to escape.
“And then, when he got to England, he was hired by British Intelligence to help track down Nazi sympathisers who were dotted around Britain during the war; members of what was called the Fifth Column.
“Pieter didn’t know very much about the circumstances of that,” Lucas explained. “But it’s certainly how my father ended up in Belmouth.”
“It all makes sense, Lucas.” Sandy nodded. “Remember what Hattie told us about the Townsends.
“Were they members of the Fifth Column?”
“It certainly seems so,” Lucas confirmed. “Pieter didn’t know their names, or about Hattie, but he did know all about what happened that night.
“We pieced it together from what he knew from my father, and from what I knew from what Hattie told us.”
“Your dad wasn’t a traitor as you’d feared, Lucas.”
He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand.
“I talked to Pieter a lot about that, and he said he’d practically stake his life on my father having been every inch a patriot.
“But I haven’t told you about your dad’s paintings,” he went on. “First of all, there are others.
“My father had at least two – maybe three.”
Sandy’s eyes were wide.
“But where could they be?” she asked.
“They could be anywhere, but Pieter said he’d do everything he could to help me find them,” Lucas replied.
“I do have one other painting, Lucas.” She told him about Hattie’s present to her.
“So you’ll most likely end up with a little collection,” he said.
She studied his face for signs of the hurt that he’d felt before, but he smiled into her eyes.
“It will be wonderful when we find them, Sandy. Pieter said it shouldn’t be impossible. And it seems my father didn’t actually steal them – not really.
“The night that he went to the lighthouse and escaped being caught by the Townsends – and I can’t think about what they would have done if they’d got to him – your father did give his paintings to him.”
“As a present?”
“Not exactly. Your father was desperately depressed by your mother’s death. His only reason for living at that point was his love for you, Sandy.
“Apparently my father said that he wanted to show your dad’s paintings to his contacts in the art world, and try to give your dad a boost in that way.
“Your dad had been very dismissive and said to do anything he wanted with them, and that they meant nothing to him any more.
“In his former life as an art dealer, my father had done the same for artists he’d championed.
“But Amsterdam was in a desperate state after the war, so he hung on to them. And then, quite suddenly, he was able to get passage for us to New York.
“So many people wanted to immigrate, and it was hard to do,” Lucas explained. “So he took the paintings with us.
“I suppose he must have hidden them somewhere in the apartment, because I never saw them.
“Then, when my mother was very ill and we were destitute, he painted over the signatures and sold them.
“He didn’t want to be accused of having stolen them, and he knew he would get more for them if the artist’s name was European.
“Even though he’d changed our name to Brook, he still had documentation that he was Van Bakkar.”