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

in Regent’s Park with him again, reciting the poetry she’d memorized for him. Eva had written a letter a day for the month of January and had Sophia promise she’d send them on. By February she stopped, clinging to what little pride she had left and not wanting Sophia to see how pathetic she was. But she still slept with the ivory dolphin in her fist, held against her heart. Not because she thought Graham might forgive her for the transgressions he knew and those he didn’t know, but to keep him safe. She could do that, at least.

As the weeks went by and Denmark, Norway, and then Belgium and the Netherlands toppled like Hitler’s dominoes, newly exiled governments settled into London. Alex became more demanding of Eva’s time, needing her to accompany him to various entertainments throughout the city.

There were no more matchboxes to retrieve. Instead Alex asked her to dig through the pockets of discarded evening jackets on the backs of chairs or to distract a man with her low décolletage while they danced so Alex could do the same. These men were nameless to her, the retrieval of odd bits of paper and other items seemingly meaningless. She knew she should care, that it wasn’t insignificant. But she was too dead inside for any of it to matter.

“I have something for you.”

They were in the backseat of his chauffeured motorcar after another interminable evening at the Suivi Club. Despite private automobiles being banned due to petrol rationing, Alex usually had his chauffeured car available to them. He pulled out a slim black velvet box, and impatiently opened it when Eva showed no inclination to do so.

A diamond bracelet sat on a bed of black velvet, the lovely gems catching the stray pieces of light in the darkened city, shimmering like an electrified snake.

“It looks expensive. Is it real?” She said it to annoy him, knowing that to question his generosity was to question his manhood.

He frowned, giving her immense satisfaction. “Of course it is. A small token to thank you for all of your good work.”

“Is that what you call this petty theft? Surely you can find a pickpocket in Piccadilly Circus who’s more skilled and who could be bought with a mere shilling.”

He pretended to consider. “Ah, yes, but a pickpocket wouldn’t be nearly as charming as you. Or have such a weakness for beautiful things.”

She hated herself then. Hated recognizing the truth as she held out her arm so he could place the bracelet on her bare wrist, leaning close so he could close the clasp. She felt the weight of the diamonds, could imagine how they’d twinkle like stars under the crystal chandeliers of the places they dined and danced. The part of her that was still Ethel Maltby wanted to raise her arm to show everyone, to prove that she was more than who she’d been. But the new Eva wanted to howl with her own disappointment that she hadn’t changed at all.

Alex looked up, meeting her eyes without drawing back. “Do you like it?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

She let him kiss her then. She kept her eyes open and didn’t push him away. But she didn’t kiss him back. He lifted his head, and she felt the unspoken question.

“I’m not a whore who can be bought.”

He sat back in his seat, straightened his cuffs. “Everyone has a price. Even you. It’s only a matter of time. Just know that I’ll be waiting. Anticipating your surrender.”

He turned to face her, his expression hidden in the shadows of the backseat. “You do know what you’re doing isn’t petty theft, yes? That this is all much more serious.”

Something in his tone made her shiver in her fur. When she didn’t respond, he settled back against his seat. “You remember Lord Merton, don’t you?”

“Of course. He was killed in a burglary.” She closed her eyes, saw the photograph in the paper. Remembered Alex’s threat about Precious or Sophia ending up like Lord Merton. How she’d told herself she didn’t understand, refusing to acknowledge an inconvenient truth.

“He was a Nazi spy. He was killed by his own countrymen for passing secrets to the enemy. Secrets hidden in a matchbox.”

Eva began trembling violently, her frozen bones crackling in her skin. She took two deep breaths, focused on keeping her voice steady. “So I was responsible?”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “In one way or another, yes.”

She was silent, searching for the right words. The right question. Knowing the answer before she voiced it. “But I gave the matchbox to you.”

Now he laughed out loud. “Yes, you did. And I made good use of it. I paid Lord Merton a good deal of money for it, too.”

She faced him, staring through the darkness, swallowing back the sob she knew he wanted to hear. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’ve paid my dues. Tell Graham what you want. I don’t care anymore. Just tell me where my mother is. She and I will find another place to live, and you will be done with me. Please, release me. Please. I can’t be a part of this.”

A slow, throaty chuckle emerged from the darkness beside her. “I’m afraid it’s too late, darling Eva. You’re already a woman without a country. That makes you the enemy to everyone. If you were to walk away, you’d meet the same fate as Lord Merton. Your friends, too, just to prove a point. Even your St. John wouldn’t be safe.”

She was light-headed, sparks of light like diamonds shooting across her eyes. “How do you live with yourself?” she asked, no longer able to keep the tremor from her voice.

He leaned closer to her, and she could feel his anger. “Because I know which side I stand on, which is always better than straddling a line. Something to remember, Eva—feigning innocence does not make you innocent.”

She turned her face to the window so he couldn’t see her tears.

When it was time to get out