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

you up at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve,” he called after her. “We’re going to a party.”

Eva knew she couldn’t say no. The photograph of Lord Merton and Alex’s threats danced in her head. Without acknowledging that she’d heard, she hurried across the sidewalk, nearly colliding with Freya in her rush to get inside and shut out the rest of the world.

DECEMBER 31, 1939

Eva stared at her face in the mirror, at her reddened and swollen eyes, the pallor of her skin, which couldn’t be disguised by pancake makeup or rouge. Precious stood behind her, twisting and curling Eva’s hair into an elaborate evening style.

The newspaper, its war news almost two weeks old, lay faceup on the dressing table, the bold headlines shouting at her with each glance.

RAF SUFFERS HEAVY LOSSES, 12 ENEMY PLANES SHOT DOWN

The first major air battle had taken place on the same day Eva had read Graham’s letter, the eighteenth, on the North Sea at the mouth of the Elbe River in some godforsaken German port called Heligoland Bight. It had been Sophia who’d told her. She’d rushed to Eva’s flat wearing her nightclothes under her fur coat. David, working in administration at the War Office, had come home, reassuring Sophia that despite the losses, some of the bomber crews had managed to return to England.

Eva had sat on the sofa with Sophia, holding her hand, a glimmer of hope spreading as she recalled something Graham had said. “But Graham isn’t a bomber pilot. He flies Spitfires and other fighters. There must be some mistake. . . .”

Sophia had shaken her head. Keeping her head down and speaking quietly, she said, “This is in strictest confidence, you understand. David told me. It appears that Graham volunteered for a mission. A secret mission involving the bombing, something to do with advance reconnaissance. He may have run out of fuel before he made it back.” She choked, squeezed Eva’s hand harder. “David says they believe he may have crashed into the sea. They found the wreckage of his plane, but they’re still searching for him. Because this was a covert operation, the information has been weak at best and will have been intentionally delayed. Even though David is in the War Office, this operation was out of his jurisdiction, so to speak.”

“So there’s still hope,” Eva said, wishing her head would agree with her heart, with the sure knowledge that Graham was still alive.

Sophia nodded, then swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “Until we hear differently, we can assume that he has been picked up by one of our allies and that he is safe. David will let us know as soon as there is confirmation.”

Eva, Precious, and Sophia had huddled together and wept, clinging to that one hope, emptying the vodka from the decanter before starting on the as-yet-untouched Scottish whisky Alex had given Eva. In that moment, Eva hadn’t cared where the alcohol was from. She wanted only to numb herself. To be rendered senseless until the moment Graham walked through the door and put his arms around her.

But Sophia had eventually left, and then Precious reluctantly returned to Lushtak’s, agreeing to tell Madame that Eva was ill. And Precious had made Eva promise that if she heard news, any news, she would let her know immediately. Believing she wasn’t alone in her grief and anxiety brought Eva some comfort, at least until she closed her eyes and the images of broken pieces of a plane floating in the water made her heart bleed again.

Now Precious dropped a golden lock of Eva’s hair from the curling tong so that it bounced against her neck. “I don’t know why you’re going out tonight, Eva. Alex knows that Graham is missing—surely he’d understand if you said you’d rather stay home?”

Eva didn’t miss the note of disapproval in her friend’s voice. It had been there ever since the night when Alex kissed her and gave her the mink coat. Eva wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened, because she couldn’t explain the reason for it. Nor could she explain why she continued to see Alex, to meet his friends, to go out dancing with him. She had become her lie; and to unravel it now would leave only empty air at its center, erasing Eva Harlow as if she’d never existed.

So Eva tried desperately to smile, looking instead like a grimacing clown, all red lips against white skin. “It makes me feel better—to be around happy people. And it’s New Year’s Eve. You should come, too.” She heard the desperation in her voice. She didn’t want to be alone with Alex. Precious, with her incessant chatter and drawling accent, was the buffer Eva needed.

Precious pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Well, it’s not right. It’s not right at all. Graham could be hurt, and you’re out there dancing with another man.” Her accent was always more pronounced when she was agitated.

“Stop it!” Eva hardly recognized the harshness in her voice. It was the sort of voice her father had used when he roared at her and her mother after a bout of drinking and heavy losses. But the lack of sleep, the nightmares when she did finally close her eyes, and the constant worry had all shot holes in the social niceties she’d worked so hard to attain.

She stood, pulling out the curl that Precious had been wrapping around her finger. “It’s not any of your concern. Graham’s mine to worry about, Precious. Not yours. Mine.” She jabbed her finger into her own chest, scratching the skin.

They stood staring at each other in shock, the angry words seeming to remain in the room like an echo. Eva dropped her hand, the fire of her anger extinguished by the hurt look on Precious’s face.

“I’m so sorry . . . ,” she began, but Precious was already retreating, shaking her head.

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t intrude. Worrying grabs people in different ways, and I understand. I really do. I just wish . . .”

The buzzer rang, and