The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

I pressed the “power” button on the side of my phone, shutting it off, then threw it into my purse.

“Does Colin know he’s invited to the wedding?” Arabella asked, unashamed.

“No, because he’s not. I have no idea why my aunt thinks he might be.”

“Maybe she just has an aunt’s intuition. The sparks practically zoom off you two when you’re together.”

“Or it’s wishful thinking.”

“I bet he’d go. He’d probably go to Antarctica if you asked him, so Georgia shouldn’t be a problem.”

The train squealed to a stop, saving me from responding. We joined the throngs of exiting passengers, and I clutched my Harrods and Harvey Nichols shopping bags in both hands as I stood to the right on the escalator at the Baker Street tube station. Industrious Brits jostled by on the left, climbing the steep steps. I turned to Arabella, who was equally burdened with shopping bags.

“It’s so civilized here. I wish they’d adopt the whole ‘queue to the right’ thing in the States. Although most motorists haven’t yet got the hang of faster traffic to the left and slower traffic on the right on the highway. At least driving through Atlanta gives me the chance to practice all my cusswords.”

“How lovely.” We reached the top of the long escalator and lifted our bags as we left through the turnstiles to Marylebone Road, emerging into a steady drizzle.

“There’s a Marks and Sparks to Go here if you want something sweet.”

I pulled the hood of my raincoat over my head. “We just had lunch, Arabella. How someone as small as you can eat so much, I’ll never know.”

We walked past the M&S shop sign toward the long line of tourists waiting in the rain to get into Madame Tussauds wax museum.

“Have you heard from Colin?” I asked, keeping my voice nonchalant. “Last night he said he would bring up a box of handbags from the storeroom and the valise from Penelope’s attic this morning before he left for work.”

“Actually, yes. He called to let me know both box and valise were in the guest room. He seemed . . . upset. No, that’s not the right word. Confused, I think. He was very heavy-handed with the pronouns instead of using your name. It was all ‘she,’ ‘her,’ and ‘that woman,’ so I could tell he was quite confused about something. What on earth happened?”

My face reddened, and I tried to hide it by walking faster. Arabella quickened her pace and grinned when she peered under my hood. “You’re blushing! Does that mean he kissed you?”

I scowled at her. “No.”

If I’d thought that would shut her up, I was hugely mistaken. Instead she squealed, “You kissed him! Oh, that’s marvelous, Maddie.”

I marched silently beside her as we passed the Royal Academy of Music, the muted strains of a trumpet solo coming through a window that was partially open despite the drizzle. She was practically running, trying to keep up with me, but I didn’t slow until we’d reached the steps to our building and the porter was holding open the door. I did take a moment to scan the front drive to check for Colin’s Land Rover. I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed when I didn’t spot it.

Never one to miss anything, Arabella said, “It’s not here. I could message him if you like and tell him—”

“No.” My voice sounded harsher than I’d intended. I smiled my apology. “We don’t need him right now. We’re two intelligent women who are more than capable of sorting through old purses and a dusty valise.”

She grinned. “Agreed.”

We stepped out of the lift, and I followed Arabella into the foyer—then nearly ran into her. She’d stopped three paces into the room and was focused on Laura standing in the doorway to the reception room, watching something.

Laura faced us with a finger to her lips before turning her attention back to the room. Moving silently, we peered inside. Precious stood at the window, in front of the desk strewn with Sophia’s letters. She wore a midnight blue sequined gown. A hangtag I remembered making dangled from a shoulder strap. Arabella had already decided that she wanted the dress front and center in the exhibition, but I’d yet to get the full story behind it from Precious. It still fit her tall and slim body, but the opening in the back showed the soft pale skin of an old woman. It made her seem vulnerable somehow, like an animal showing its belly in surrender.

Letters lay scattered on the floor and chair, the drawers of the desk pulled open like turned-out pants pockets. “I can’t find it. I can’t find it.” Precious muttered the words over and over, her hands swiping through the messy pile on the desk, scattering the remaining letters.

“I’ll give her another moment, see if she calms down on her own,” Laura said quietly. “This happens sometimes, and I’ve found that if I interrupt her, it upsets her more.”

“Where is it?” Precious shouted, slamming one of the drawers shut before pulling it open again, surprising me with her strength.

“Is she dreaming?” I asked.

Laura shook her head. “No. She’s completely conscious. Just . . . off in her own world. She’s been looking for something for nearly fifteen minutes. She must have had a dream last night that jarred her memory.”

I dropped my packages on the ground. “I think I know what she’s looking for.” I walked silently into the room, toward the fireplace mantel, where I’d left Graham’s photograph. I carefully picked it up, then approached Precious.

She looked at it for a long moment, then took it from me. “Thank you.” She blinked as if just then realizing who I was. “It’s not mine. I’ve been keeping it for a friend.”

“For Eva?”

Precious nodded. “Yes. When you find her, would you please make sure she gets it?”

“Of course,” I said.

She flipped the photo over in her palm and looked as if she was seeing the writing on the back for the first time.

“I’m curious,” I said. “It’s