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

Her voice broke and Eva turned in her chair to look at her.

“You just wish what?”

Precious blinked hard. “That you’d been the one to go to him. I wish it had been you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were the one he wanted.”

The buzzer rang, and Precious slowly rose to her feet. “It’s Paul. He’s on leave for a few days, and he promised to take me out tonight.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more. “Maybe we’ll have cocoa later and talk like we used to—if the bombs stay away. I’ve missed that.”

“Me, too,” Eva said, meaning it, wondering how such a short time could seem to stretch across years, leaving just as many scars.

—

The sign in the Savoy’s lobby reminded all visitors that the blackout would begin at precisely five thirty. It was far later now, but Eva imagined the well-dressed guests passing the sign wouldn’t have paid it much attention. They seemed the sort to allow others to take care of things like closing blinds and pulling shades.

After checking her mink coat, Alex led her to the American Bar. Its bar of chrome and rounded edges always made Eva feel as if she were on an ocean liner. The effect had probably been intentional, but she’d always thought it in bad taste to mix alcohol with the potential reminder of seasickness.

It was reported that Winston Churchill had his own private entrance here, as well as a private bottle of coveted whisky held behind the bar. Piano music could barely be heard beneath the din of so many voices, an array of foreign languages that Eva had become adept at not only recognizing but mimicking. Alex called it her special talent. She could now understand and speak French, thanks to her lessons with Odette, and had become familiar enough with Czech and Dutch that she could understand most words in conversations she overheard. She didn’t understand why Alex was so interested in the banal chatter of drunkards, their talk of people she didn’t know and places she’d never been. Yet Alex wanted to hear every word repeated and would jot it all down in a small notebook he kept in his jacket pocket.

As Alex escorted her to a table in a corner, strategically placed so he could see who entered and who left—and with whom—Eva mentally slid on her mask, a mask that was becoming more familiar to her than her own face, and gave a dazzling smile to everyone Alex introduced. She smiled, she nodded, and she made small talk. She allowed men to stand too close and look down her dress. She didn’t mind anymore. She was playing a part, and it had nothing to do with who she really was.

Across the bar, she thought she spotted Georgina, Alex’s childhood friend. They had met only once, and Eva was drunk enough that she wanted to demand to know what she’d been judged for and if she’d come up short.

She began to stand, but Alex put a strong hand on her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said under his breath, a wide smile on his face, as if he’d just uttered an endearment. And when Eva turned back to where she thought she’d seen Georgina, the woman was gone.

A white-coated bartender approached. Alex never drank, though he always ordered a Scotch, neat. But in this bar, famous for its invention of the cocktail, he felt the need to order something from its famed cocktail menu. “French Seventy-five?” he asked Eva.

She shrugged, then pulled out a cigarette. “Sure. If they still have champagne. If not, I’ll take whatever they’ve got with a kick.”

Throughout the evening, they were joined at their table by Alex’s friends and acquaintances, many of whom Eva recognized, though she couldn’t remember their names. She forgot them on purpose, to aggravate Alex when he asked.

A young French couple sat with them for a time, complaining about de Gaulle’s inability to admit the French defeat, instead wasting his time rallying support for the Resistance. They spoke with disdain of the leader of the Free French, as if they themselves hadn’t fled to live in exile. As if they were merely waiting for the Germans to leave of their own accord so they could go home.

Eva paused with her glass halfway to her mouth, feeling a pinprick of awareness on the back of her neck, a heatwave of sensation that made her turn. Look up. Graham’s green eyes didn’t register surprise, as if he’d been expecting to see her. Or had been watching her for a while. Her breath stopped. Colors and movement stilled around her, and it was only the two of them in the crowded bar. Her chest hurt, the heat spreading to her limbs as if he’d touched her. She smiled and began to stand just as Alex slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing his lips against the bare skin on her neck.

She quickly pulled away, but when she turned back to Graham, he was gone. With both hands bracing her on the table, she pushed herself up, feeling the gazes of the French couple on her, seeing the interest in the eyes of the passersby. Alex pulled on her wrist, making her sit again. When she saw the Frenchwoman staring at her with pity, she looked away, feeling ashamed.

“Where are you going, my dear?”

“Don’t . . . ,” she pleaded, just as the air raid sirens began their nocturnal wail. The French couple stood immediately and began to follow the line of people heading out of the bar toward the posh basement shelter, carefully holding their drinks so as not to waste a single sip. As if that might be the biggest concern when German planes were dropping bombs overhead.

Alex remained seated, holding Eva’s wrist tightly. He pressed his mouth against her ear. “Perfect timing. While everyone’s distracted, I need you to go into the coat check and search