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

tea, fussing over setting out the cakes and sandwiches, making Eva want to scream at him to stop.

Sophia waited until he left, keeping her gaze down, her voice quiet. “You’re not to know this—I heard it from David. The RAF is sending fifteen squadrons to France. It’s all a disaster, and our boys are trapped on the coast. They’ve started an evacuation.”

“But those are the foot soldiers,” Eva said quietly.

Precious put a hand on her arm. “They need air cover. To protect the men being evacuated. It’s what Graham’s been trained for. He’s ready.”

Eva turned to Precious. “How do you know that?”

Precious shared a look with Sophia before taking Eva’s hand. “Graham was on leave, a week ago.”

“Graham was here—in London?” The joy of knowing he’d been safe a week ago was quickly tempered by the fact that he’d been so close to her and hadn’t let her know.

“Yes,” Sophia said quietly. “It was only for two days. He stayed with David and me.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Eva. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know he’s hurt, too. I begged him to let me tell you, but he wouldn’t allow it.”

“I see,” Eva said, and did a remarkable job of sipping her tea and replacing the cup without rattling it in the saucer. “Did he . . . ?”

“I could tell that he wanted to ask about you,” Precious said. She chewed on her lower lip. “I went to Sophia’s to pick up a pair of her old drapes for my bedroom, and he was there. He—”

“He thought it was you,” Sophia interrupted. “Precious walked into the drawing room, and the light from the window altered the shade of her hair, and she looked so much like you. He thought it was you until she spoke. He seemed happy at first. And then . . .” She stopped, looked at Precious as if for encouragement. “He became despondent, although he didn’t tell us why.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Eva carefully replaced her teacup on the saucer; the smell of the delicious cakes was making her nauseous.

“He asked us not to,” Precious said, her large blue eyes filling with tears. “He said he couldn’t afford to be distracted.”

“He didn’t want to . . . ,” Eva started, wishing she had the choice not to see Graham’s face every time she closed her eyes. “And he’s flying over France. Right now.”

Sophia nodded. “Somewhere over the Channel, at least. Many of the British Expeditionary Force and their allies are stranded on the coast in a place called Dunkirk. Graham’s been there for two days already to protect the British ships.” She stared at her cup of tea, grown cold, the curdling milk floating at the top. She glanced around the table, ensuring nobody could eavesdrop, before adding, “David said that the navy has requisitioned private vessels to help rescue as many men as they can. It’s all quite . . . bewildering.”

Sophia’s eyes glistened, and Eva looked away, unwilling to share that particular weakness. She stared at her empty teacup, wishing it were full of numbing whisky.

“Don’t, Eva. Drinking is not going to help.”

Eva looked into Precious’s wide, innocent eyes. “It’s all I’ve got.” The last word ended on a sob.

“We’ll get through this together. Just like we have since we first met.”

Eva nodded, but only so Precious would stop talking. Stop looking at her with pity. She hated to be pitied. She was meant to be envied.

Sophia made a small strangled sound in her throat, and the three of them turned to the entrance of the Palm Court. David stood there, dark and morose, his hat in his hands, his gaze moving about the room until it settled on their table. He greeted them somberly, kissing his wife on the cheek before pulling out the fourth chair and joining them.

“What is it, David? Is there news of Graham?” Sophia’s voice was steady, belying the trembling in her fingers.

He nodded, just once. “I’m afraid it’s not good.”

They remained seated, as if this were no more than a passing conversation. David placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Precious reached for Eva’s hand and held it tightly while Sophia looked stoically at her husband.

“This is premature, you understand,” David said quietly. “We won’t receive confirmation until tomorrow, and the public . . .” He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “The War Office will decide how much to release to the press and when to release it.”

“Please, David. What is it?” Sophia did her best to put on her brave face, but her lower lip trembled.

“Graham and two other Spitfire pilots in his squadron were in a dogfight with a Messerschmitt over the Channel last evening.” David paused, collected himself. Cleared his throat. “Witnesses saw Graham take a hit. His plane caught fire. He jettisoned the canopy in time, and his parachute was seen hitting the water. A British vessel rescued him from the burning wreckage, and he’s being transported to hospital. There has been no confirming information, but his injuries are reported to be quite severe. Queen Victoria Hospital, where he’s being sent, is the absolute best for burns. I made inquiries and have been assured there is no better place for him to recuperate.”

Sophia remained ramrod straight in her chair, the only sign of her distress the handkerchief pressed to her mouth. “Does Mother know?”

David shook his head.

“Good. Let us allow her a few more hours of peace, shall we?” She focused on the plate in front of her. “I’ll have to take the train up to Surrey so I can tell Mother in person. I don’t have enough ration coupons for petrol and besides, our chauffeur has left us for the army, so it will have to be the train,” she said matter-of-factly. “Mother won’t want Father to know. It could kill him.”

A delicate frown marred her face as she looked up at David. “I should go to Graham—he’ll need someone. They do say that patients heal sooner if surrounded by loved ones.”

David gave his wife such a tender