Page 2 of Johan. (Van Den Bosch #8)
Hannah
I close the distance between us, my steps hesitant.
The lush greenery of Fellows’ Garden surrounds us, a vibrant contrast to the storm of emotions whirling inside me.
The woman standing before me is supposed to be a shadow from the past, a person spoken of in whispers and cloaked in mystery.
Yet here she is—Amelia van Wassenaer, my great-aunt, looking very much alive and not at all like the ghost of stories.
Her presence is overwhelming, a tangible force that contradicts every story I’ve heard since I found her picture at Oma’s.
“What are you doing here?” The question bursts from me before I can compose myself, my voice tinged with disbelief. My mind races, trying to bridge the gap between the great-aunt who vanished without a trace and the woman standing confidently before me in this secluded garden.
Her eyes, reflecting years of hidden stories, meet mine with an intensity that steadies me. “I told you we’ll meet soon.”
As I confront Amelia with a touch of accusation, my voice quivers slightly, reflecting my disappointment and anxiety. “You told me we'll meet when I have retrieved the research file from Johan’s office.”
Amelia’s response is calm yet expectant, her eyebrows raised in gentle inquiry. “Haven’t you?”
Feeling the pressure of her expectations, I shuffle uncomfortably, my hands fidgeting as I struggle to deliver the news.
“Well, eh, we looked for it in his office like you asked, but they’re gone.
We searched everywhere, but it just…they’ve disappeared.
” The last words trail off into a defeated murmur as I avoid her penetrating gaze, feeling somewhat responsible for the loss.
Amelia’s face falls, the impact of my words hitting her hard. She takes a moment, collecting herself, her hands clasping tightly together. “That’s very bad news,” she says, her voice laced with worry. “Those files are crucial, Hannah.”
“Why are they so important?” I ask, drawn deeper into the mystery she’s presenting, a mystery that now feels like a heavy cloak draped around both of our shoulders.
Her gaze hardens with resolve as she explains, “My research details a few locations where we could find tombs belonging to those who ruled the Atlantis of the Sands—Ubar. The last thing we need is for scavengers to get a hold of them.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Ubar?”
Her voice carries academic pride and a hint of excitement as she starts speaking.
“It was a wealthy trading city that played a crucial role in the frankincense trade during antiquity.” Her tone is rich with the reverence of a scholar who has spent years piecing together the puzzles of the past. “Some remnants were found at the site of Shisr in Oman, and my research points out possible excavation points to find tombs, archives, artifacts, and more.”
“But how will we find those files now?” I press, the urgency of the situation tightening my chest.
Her eyes don’t waver. “I know who took them,” she confesses, her voice dropping to a whisper.. When she notices the glint of curiosity in my gaze, she proceeds, “It was the man I once loved—the man who ultimately betrayed everything we worked for.”
“Who?” My curiosity peaks, mixed with a sense of foreboding.
“Ludovic Goschen.”
The name sends a shiver down my spine, and my eyes widen in shock. “Astrid’s father? He was your lover?”
“It was different,” she quickly corrects, her expression clouded with the pain of the past. “He was a major benefactor of our research department and the one who sponsored the expedition. I thought his motives were pure, driven by a passion for discovery. But he coveted the treasures of Ubar for himself. When he realized I was cautious, protecting key information, he orchestrated my disappearance.”
The depth of her revelation leaves me reeling; this isn’t just about lost archaeological treasures—it's a tale of deep betrayal and personal agony.
“We need to act quickly,” Amelia asserts, her voice firm despite the odds. “He won’t stop until he uncovers Ubar for himself. We must retrieve those files before it’s too late.”
Nodding, a resolve builds within me, fueled by the unfolding family saga and the need to right past wrongs. “We will get them back,” I promise, more to myself than to her. “Do you know where he might have hidden them?”
Amelia shares a thoughtful look, the garden's tranquil setting a stark contrast to the tension in her voice. “Ludovic always had a way of keeping secrets hidden in plain sight,” she begins, her eyes distant as she recalls past events. “In his office at Goschen Hall, there’s a private box that looks like a big hardcover book where he stores important documents. I only saw it once. It’s hidden on the bookshelf, but if you know what you’re looking for, it’s accessible. ”
Her revelation adds weight to our conversation. “I’m invited to Goschen Hall for Astrid’s engagement party to Johan,” I mention, seeing an opportunity. “It might be our best chance to search his office.”
As my great-aunt listens to me mention the engagement party, her expression shifts from focus to surprise. “Johan is engaged to Astrid? When did this happen?” The shock is evident in her voice, her eyes searching mine for an explanation.
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat as I confirm. “Recently. It was announced just two weeks ago.” I try to maintain my composure, but the hurt is difficult to mask. “I received the invitation today, actually.”
Amelia notices the change in my demeanor, her observant gaze softening. As my face falls, she reaches out, laying a comforting hand on my arm. “What’s wrong, dear? Are you sad about it?” Her voice is gentle, filled with empathy, prompting a vulnerability I rarely show.
The question catches me off guard, and embarrassment mixes with a raw sense of loss. I look away, unable to meet her knowing eyes. “It doesn't matter now,” I murmur. “He's engaged. And not just to anyone—to the daughter of the man who… who caused you so much pain.”
Amelia’s grip tightens slightly, offering silent support as she processes this tangled web of personal and historical threads.
After a moment, she speaks, her tone still gentle but laced with resolve.
“You don't have to be involved in this if it's too much. I can find another way; send someone else.”
But my resolve, fueled by the need to do something meaningful, pushes me past the personal hurt. “No, I want to help,” I insist, meeting her gaze again. “I'll go with Conrad, and I’ll find a way to get those documents. It's what you need, and... and it's a chance to maybe set some things right.”
Amelia nods, understanding my decision but still concerned. “We'll need to ensure Ludovic is distracted. Perhaps Johan can help with that?—”
“Johan's help?” The idea makes me hesitate, the personal entanglements making the task seem even more daunting.
Amelia senses my reluctance. “He knows who I am, Hannah, and he's deeply involved in this already. I believe he will help if you ask him.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the turmoil inside. “Are you sure about it?” I ask, finding the thought of approaching Johan daunting. “Can’t we do it without him?”
Amelia gives me a reassuring smile, her understanding clear. “What’s going on, Hannah?” she probes gently, giving me space to voice my fears.
“It's just… complicated,” I admit, feeling the weight of the entire situation. Amelia frowns in confusion, causing me to simply sigh and say, “Alright, fine, I'll talk to him. I need to do this—not just for us, but for myself too.”
Not wanting to dwell on Johan any longer, I change the subject, clearing my throat.
“Now, tell me, where have you been for the past twenty years?” I loop an arm around hers, and we begin to walk slowly towards a nearby bench, the gravel path crunching softly under our feet.
The gentle rustle of leaves above us creates a hushed backdrop, matching the solemnity of our discussion.
“It’s a long story, dear.”
Reaching the bench, Amelia gestures for us to sit.
As we lower ourselves onto the cool metal, the slight creak of the bench seems to echo the weight of history and secrets we are about to delve deeper into.
She settles into her seat with a thoughtful sigh, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, ready to continue our discussion in this quiet corner of the garden, now turned into a confessional of sorts.