Hugh took a step forward. “We understand that when you fled the Netherlands, a man asked you to take his little boy. That man was her late husband, Sebastiaan Martens.”
Mr. Randolph drew back his chin. “That is not the name the man gave us.”
Aleida’s hands went cold. Her heart. It had never occurred to her that she’d have to prove herself.
Hugh patted the sofa back and tipped his chin to Aleida, inviting her to sit, then gave Mr. Randolph a grim smile. “As you’ve already learned, that man was a liar. Theo wasn’t sick as he claimed, and his mother, as you can see, is very much alive.”
Aleida didn’t sit. She gripped her hands together so tight the bones rubbed together. “I—I am.”
“My dear madam,” Mr. Randolph said in a cool voice. “Even if I were to believe you, why would I give a precious little boy to a woman who abandoned her child?”
Aleida’s chest caved in, and a gasp flew out. “I was sleeping in the car with Theo in my arms. My husband took him, gave him away without my permission, without waking me. In the morning, Theo was gone. Gone. I love my son. I’d never—”
“Do you have any proof he’s your son? Any papers?”
How could she breathe? “I have no papers for him. He’s too young for a passport, and Sebastiaan didn’t pack his birth certificate.”
Mr. Randolph spread his hands wide. “Where is this Sebastiaan? I’d recognize the man I met on the road.”
“He’s dead,” Hugh said. “Killed by a German fighter plane. But I assure you, Mrs. Martens is telling the truth.”
Mr. Randolph acknowledged Hugh with a lift of his eyebrows, then returned his gaze to Aleida. “May I see a family photograph?”
A low moan built in Aleida’s belly. She clamped her lips shut and stifled that moan. “I have none. My husband was ashamed of Theo’s hand. He never allowed me to have Theo photographed.”
Hugh rested his hand on her shoulder. “Please, Mr. Randolph. Sebastiaan Martens was a horrid man. Don’t let his cruelty and his lies keep a mother from the child she loves.”
Mr. Randolph moved toward the door, his gait stiff. “For eight months, my wife and I have raised Teddy, calmed his nightmares, taught him English, taught him to laugh again. I don’t know what you want with him, but you’ve failed to provide a single shred of proof that he’s your son, and the story you’ve told could easily have been pried from the Warwicks.”
Hugh’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t like that, sir.”
Panic hopped in Aleida’s belly. How could this be happening? It couldn’t be happening.
“I will not be fooled by a charlatan.” Mr. Randolph gestured to the doorway. “As for you, Mr. Collingwood, don’t let your love of a heart-wrenching story—and a pretty face—cloud your judgment.”
Hugh’s grip tightened on Aleida’s shoulder. “Sir, you’ve misinterpreted everything. I assure you, Mrs. Martens is no charlatan.”
Mr. Randolph nodded to them, his gaze as chilly as Aleida’s heart. “I must ask you to leave. If you return, I shall ring the police.”
No, no, no. Her breath came hard and fast. Theo ... Theo ...
“Come along, Aleida.” Hugh guided her toward the door.
Somehow her feet moved across the floor, out the door, down the steps, out into the cool evening air. She wouldn’t cry in front of Mr. Randolph. She would not.
With his arm around her shoulder, Hugh eased her around the corner, and then he folded her in his arms. He didn’t say a word.
She gripped his lapels and buried her face in his shoulder.
No. No. No.
She’d found Theo. Found him. And now she’d lost him forever.
26
MONDAY, JANUARY6, 1941
Scaffolding supported the circular, colonnaded, spire-topped vestibule of All Soul’s Church. The December parachute mine blast that had damaged Broadcasting House had rendered All Soul’s uninhabitable.
