“Even if the bombers don’t come tonight, I’ll never sleep.” Aleida laughed and hugged Hugh’s arm as they rushed up the street in Hampstead toward the Randolph home.
Hugh grinned at her, seemingly enchanted by her rambling.
“I have so much to do.” She ticked off tasks on his arm. “I need to make Theo’s bed and bring Oli and the other toys into his room. And clothes! He’ll have outgrown what I have. Do you suppose the Randolphs would send his wardrobe with him? I’ll compensate them.”
“I’m sure they would.” Hugh guided her around a corner in the wealthy neighborhood.
How she loved his smile, his joy, him. Her chest expanded with the thrill of falling in love, not just with Hugh—but withlife. “I can hold Theo again and kiss his face. How much do you think he grew?”
“He’s certainly taller than you by now.”
Aleida laughed and bumped Hugh with her shoulder. “I can put him to bed and make his meals and—oh! I’ll need to quit my job. I have no one to watch Theo during the day.”
Hugh’s lips bent down slightly. “Will you go to the country?”
“I should. Tante Margriet will be happy to have us. She didn’t want me to go to London anyway. She and Uncle James adore children.”
“I’ll miss you here, but I’ll visit often.” His smile became rueful, but deepened to genuine happiness.
Aleida faced him. “This is the best day of my life, and you—you’re a part of why it’s the best.” She leaned closer.
He put one finger to her lips. “As much as I enjoy being the object of your affection, every time we kiss, you promptly order me to take you to the Randolph home.”
She gave his finger a little kiss, whirled away, and pulled him down the street. “Come. I haven’t seen Theo for 239 days.” A delighted laugh spilled out. “Tomorrow will be 240 even—the day I’ll see him. It’s perfect.”
“You counted?” Then he laughed. “Of course, you did.”
All she could count now was houses. There—a stately red brick home with shining white trim.
Everything danced inside her, a jumble of excitement and nervousness and relief and gratitude. After a moment’s hesitation, she rang the bell.
A servant answered the door and showed them to the sitting room, tastefully decorated in dark woods and muted greens.
Aleida couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand still, could barely think. What would she say? Should she have planned a speech?
A man in his forties entered the room, with dark hair and a mustache and a look of authority. “Good evening. I’m Julian Randolph.”
“Thank you for seeing us.” Aleida shook the man’s hand. “I am Mrs. Sebastiaan Martens. Aleida is my given name.”
No recognition sparked in Mr. Randolph’s blue eyes, which turned to Hugh.
“How do you do, Mr. Randolph? I’m Hugh Collingwood.”
The man frowned. “From the BBC?”
Hugh chuckled. “I’m not here on business, only as a friend to Mrs. Martens.”
Mr. Randolph gestured to two sofas flanking the fireplace. “May I ask whatisyour business, since you declined to state at the door?”
How could Aleida sit? “I suppose Sebastiaan didn’t tell you his name.”
Mr. Randolph’s frown grew.
She sounded daft. “I’m looking for my son, Theodoor—Theo. You call him Teddy.”
Those blue eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
Aleida’s hand fluttered in the air. “I’ve been searching for almost eight months, and today we met Mr. and Mrs. Warwick, and Theo matches their description of Teddy perfectly.”
