Mr. Randolph jerked back his chin. “Yes. Yes, he’s fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Hugh came up beside her. “May I ask what brings you here?” He sounded stern and protective.
Mr. Randolph’s mouth twisted and shifted.
Across the street, the boys halted their game to watch.
Whatever he had to say, it shouldn’t be in front of the neighborhood. With trembling hands, Aleida unlocked the door. “Would you care to come in?”
“Yes, thank you. How kind of you.” His face relaxed, but his cheek twitched. Perhaps he remembered his own lack of hospitality to her.
Regardless, this man was raising her son, and she would treat him well. She climbed the stairs to her flat and led the men to the sitting room. “Would you care for tea?”
“Allow me, darling,” Hugh said.
“But your hand.”
“I’ll make do.” He gave her a quick smile, gave Mr. Randolph a quick scowl, then hastened to the kitchen.
Aleida sat on a sofa and clamped her hands in her lap.
On the sofa across from her, Mr. Randolph smoothed his dark blue trousers. “This is rather difficult. Last weekend I visited my wife in the country. And Teddy.”
Aleida’s heart jolted. What she wouldn’t give to see his sweet face once more, even from a distance.
Mr. Randolph’s dark mustache contorted. “On Sunday afternoon, we listened to the news on the wireless whilst Teddy played nearby. Mr. Collingwood reported on that ghastly murder case, and you came on the air.”
Fingers started tapping, and she clenched harder.
“Teddy.” Mr. Randolph put his hand to his ear. “He turned to the radio. My wife said he’d done so another time you were on the wireless. She—she thought it was sweet that he responded to the lilt of a Dutch accent.”
“Aleida.” Hugh stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his face stark. “He recognizes your voice.”
Her breath tumbled down steps in her throat. Could it be?
Hugh came to the sofa and put his arm around her shoulders.
Mr. Randolph lowered his chin. “I never told my wife of your visits or of your claim to be Teddy’s mother or of Thomas Warwick’s letter—which I’d skimmed, ignored, and stashed away. But at that moment, my conscience assaulted me, and I told my wife everything.”
Aleida’s face tingled. “What did she say?”
His blue-eyed gaze stretched to her. “You must understand, over the past year she’s come to love the boy as her own, as have I. She was heartbroken at the prospect of losing him—as was I.”
“I—I understand.” Their love was one of the reasons she’d given them her son.
Mr. Randolph folded his hands on his trim stomach. “However, Mrs. Randolph was quite upset that I’d concealed the matter from her. She believes you deserved a fair hearing. If you were indeed his mother, to prolong your heartbreak was a great evil.”
Aleida’s breath spilled out in broken pieces. “Please don’t. I understand. You love Teddy, and you’re protecting him.”
“You acted to protect him too, my wife said. You remind her of the mother who stood before King Solomon in the Bible. A woman who would rather have her child raised by another than to have him divided, if you will.”
Aleida’s head shook slightly. She hadn’t meant for her decision to influence them—only to provide a good life for Theo.
Red mottling marred Mr. Randolph’s cheeks. “I claimed you had no proof Teddy was your son. Yet you did offer proof, if unwittingly.”
“Proof?” She glanced at Hugh. Had he taken one of the photographs to Mr. Randolph? But Hugh looked as bewildered as she.
“The toy elephant,” Mr. Randolph said in a raspy voice. “On Friday I returned to the country and brought the toy. We said nothing about it, only placed it on the sofa. Teddy was drawn to it, as I suppose any small boy would be. But he held him—he held him precisely as you described. And he said, ‘Oli.’”
