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

lips together so I wouldn’t laugh, and rolled my eyes. “That was his official position. But what was his real role post–nineteen forty?”

He turned to me and grinned. “It’s what we suspected.”

I stopped in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, making Colin stop, too. “Get out! MI-Six? Like James Bond?”

“Close. MI-Five. Roughly speaking, MI-Six were our spies overseas, whereas MI-Five operatives were here in England looking for their spies. Graham’s ‘cover,’ so to speak, was the War Office.”

“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t expect that. Although . . .” I smacked my forehead, remembering the box of purses. “Was one of the languages he knew Czech?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“Arabella and I found a scribbled note on the back of a Savoy menu, stuck inside one of the old purses. We found it right before Precious collapsed, so I completely forgot about it until just now, when you said ‘MI-Five.’ It was written in Czech, and it said something like ‘You’re in danger—run.’ According to the translation app, anyway. Maybe Eva was Czechoslovakian?”

He rubbed his chin. “Could be. There were a lot of Czech refugees in England during the war, so it’s certainly possible. But why the cryptic note?”

“There’s no way of knowing, is there? Unless Precious tells us.”

Our eyes met in mutual understanding. “Then we’ll wait until she fully recovers and ask her.” Colin spoke so matter-of-factly that I could have almost believed the world would unfold the way he predicted.

We resumed walking. “So, when did Graham die?” I asked.

“Now, there’s a good question. Precious told us that she saw him off and on in nineteen forty and early nineteen forty-one, and then he and Eva disappeared from her life. Hyacinth can’t find anything related to an Eva Harlow, nor can she find a date or a place of death for Graham. She hasn’t given up, of course. She’s quite keen on the challenge of finding out what happened to him. She believes it’s very untidy of the government archives to be missing this information, and she is bound and determined to put it to rights.”

As we approached Harley House, my steps slowed. “Just out of curiosity, when did William die? I keep thinking about Sophia’s parents, losing their elder son in the war and not knowing what happened to the second one. It must have been awful. I guess that’s why it wasn’t spoken about around your father.”

“Most likely—how very British of us. But from what I remember, William was killed toward the beginning of the war. He wasn’t married and had no children. My father said it was lonely growing up without siblings or cousins.”

“And your father was born in nineteen forty-one, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. And then waited until he was practically in his dotage before getting married and having children. My mother is a good decade younger than he is. But according to my parents, their late start wasn’t for lack of trying. Not that I wanted them to elaborate, of course.”

“Of course.” I placed my hand on the outside railing of the steps leading up to our block of flats and led the way inside, choosing the stairs instead of the lift, unwilling to be with Colin in a confined space. I put my key into the front door and walked inside, almost tripping over George, who had apparently been waiting for Colin. I scratched behind his ears, happy to have something to keep my hands occupied. “I’d offer you some Scotch, but I remember what happened last time.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

The small hallway lamp illuminated his smile, and I had the sudden impulse to kiss him. Instead I slipped his sweater over my head and handed it back. “Yes, it probably would.” I paused, trying to remember the name on the valise label. “By the way, are you familiar with the last name Nash?”

He thought for a moment. “Not personally, no. Just the famous architect of Regent’s Park, John Nash, but he died nearly two hundred years ago. Why?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow. I’m feeling more and more like that bagel.”

He smiled. “Well, then. Go get some sleep.” He didn’t move away. “Are we ever going to talk about last night?”

“I’d rather not.”

“That’s very British of you, you know.”

“Yeah, it probably is. I guess London is rubbing off on me.”

He nodded. “I’m going to take George and stay at my parents’ town house in Cadogan Gardens. I need to get more clothes.”

I wondered if that was the whole reason and felt a little satisfaction in knowing it probably wasn’t.

“Well, then,” he said again. “Good night, Maddie.”

“Good night, Colin.”

I latched the door behind him and was halfway to my room when I realized he’d called me Maddie.

CHAPTER 30

LONDON

AUGUST 1940

Throughout the summer, while Eva worked double the hours at Lushtak’s to fill in for her friend, Precious dutifully sent letters to both Sophia and Eva detailing Graham’s condition. Eva had a newfound respect for her American friend, admiring her carefully chosen words, which were meant to truthfully inform and not alarm. The letters arrived biweekly, Precious’s surprisingly bold yet elegant handwriting sprawled across the envelopes.

In the beginning, Precious spent more time discussing Graham’s injuries and the doctors’ hopes for his recovery. He’d suffered burns to his back and to his hands as well as a broken arm, smashed ribs, and a broken nose. And a crushed leg. It wasn’t until her third letter that Precious informed Eva that the doctors were afraid that the injuries to his leg were extensive enough to cause permanent debilitation. Graham might never walk again.

Eva had rushed to Sophia’s to console her, only to be told by David at the front door that Sophia had been ordered by her doctor to stay in bed for the duration of her pregnancy, and that David had deemed it best to keep any bad news from her.

Alone, Eva had gone back to the flat and drunk half a bottle of Alex’s whisky. Before showing up for work,