With her passport, she could cross the Channel. With Sebastiaan’s, she could block him from following.
“Here’s the food hamper.” Bas set it under a tree.
Aleida jolted out of her dream. What was she thinking? Hasty decisions led to disaster. Like marrying Bas.
She knelt beside the hamper. “Let’s see what Cook packed for dinner, Theo.”
He twisted to see, and she set him down.
Aleida spread a cloth under the tree and arranged bread, sausage, gouda, and mustard.
Bas’s tools still clanked, so she leaned back against the tree trunk. Theo crawled onto her lap, and she kissed his silky hair. Before them, golden barley waved in the fading sunlight.
If only she could tune out the trudging feet and honkinghorns behind her and pretend the Germans hadn’t invaded the Low Countries and Bas hadn’t invaded her plan.
“Green!” Theo pointed up to the leaves with his right hand, the one with no fingers, only five darling little bumps, as if his digits had been sleeping when the order to grow was issued.
“You’re so smart, Theo.”
“Blue.” He plopped his hand close to Aleida’s eye.
She laughed and gazed into her son’s sparkling greenish-blue eyes. “Just like yours.” Thank goodness her son had inherited the van der Zee eyes, not Bas’s cold gray.
“Red.” Theo tugged down her lips, and he giggled.
She kissed his hand, each darling bump, leaving lipstick behind. “Now your hand is red.”
A click.
“That’s swell,” a man said in American-accented English. He crouched in front of them, holding a camera and grinning. “A swell bunch of photos.”
He’d taken pictures of them? Aleida’s heart pounded in hope—photos of her son at last?—and in dread.
“I beg your pardon,” Bas said in English. He marched over, his face a cool mask. “Did I give you permission to photograph my wife?”
Aleida curled inward and gathered Theo closer.
“Good evening, sir.” The dark-haired man tipped his fedora. “I’m with the United Press.”
Bas’s gaze bored into Aleida. “Was thatthingshowing?”
“I—I don’t know.” She tugged down her son’s sleeve. “I didn’t see him until it was too late.”
“Give me that camera.” Bas held out his hand.
The photographer let out a scoffing sound. “I don’t need to do that.”
“Vaderangry.” Theo burrowed in Aleida’s arms.
He was indeed. The poor American didn’t know he’d entered a bear’s lair.
“I will tell you what you need to do.” Bas’s fingers clenched and unclenched. “I am a powerful man with powerful friends. If you print those photographs, I will destroy your career.”
The photographer’s lips twisted in disbelief, and he turned to Aleida.
A sob burst from Theo’s mouth, and Aleida begged with her eyes. “Please don’t cross him, sir. Please. You don’t know what you’ve done.”
Dark eyes widened, and the man’s jaw fell slack. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I promise I won’t print the pictures.”
