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

sat by the front window, not having moved, an untouched plate of food long since grown cold beside her.

Eva worried about Precious and her despondency, her lack of interest in everything. She was desperate to reach out to Sophia, but Sophia was mourning the loss of her daughter, stillborn during an air raid in their small basement shelter in late January.

In desperation, Eva broke down and confided in David. It was he who told her that Paul’s ship had been sent to the northern coast of Africa and sunk by a German U-boat, all souls aboard lost. He couldn’t tell her where it had happened, as that was classified, but it didn’t matter. Paul was gone and, along with him, Eva’s remaining hope of helping Precious and her unborn baby.

She’d dreaded telling Precious, but when she shared the news, Precious simply nodded, then returned to watching sleet fall from the sky.

On a particularly nasty day in February, Eva received a note from Sophia inviting her and Alex to the theater. Though no air raid interrupted the evening, Eva felt on edge, a tremor shaking the air around her. Alex seemed to be watching her closely, measuring her words. They never spoke of Georgina, or Eva’s weekly trips to Chester Terrace, or anything that wasn’t banal and mundane. Eva still retrieved books from the London Library. And each day she waited to hear from Graham. To learn she was free of Alex. As each day passed without word from Graham, she felt more and more on edge, balancing on a precipice where equal disaster waited on either side.

During the intermission, while the men retired to smoke their cigars, Sophia took Eva by the elbow and walked slowly with her toward the women’s powder room. As if anticipating the question Eva wouldn’t ask, she said, “Graham is fine. He’s working hard, as is David, and has been doing quite a bit of traveling. I don’t think either of them is getting enough sleep, but Graham is well.” She dug into her evening bag. “I have something for you. I thought you might want it.”

She gave Eva a photograph of Graham, an official one of him in his RAF uniform. The boyish grin on his face softened the severity of the photo. It was the way Eva pictured him in her mind, his head slightly tilted, his eyes full of light and humor. This was the man she loved. The man for whom she’d wait forever.

“Thank you,” Eva said, pressing it to her heart. “Thank you so much.” She opened her purse and slipped it inside, making sure it wasn’t next to the cigarette case, as if it might get soiled.

A feeling like the start of a fever crept into Eva’s throat, making her dizzy. “To forgive the unforgivable. Graham said that to me.”

Sophia gently touched Eva’s chin. “You poor dear.”

“What do you mean?”

Sophia didn’t drop her gaze. “I know things that I shouldn’t. Being confined to bed above my husband’s office was quite enlightening.” She didn’t smile. “I know about Precious.”

“I didn’t want to tell you. Because . . .” She couldn’t finish.

“Because you knew it would hurt me. Here I am, a married, respectable woman with a wonderful husband who would make a wonderful father, and for some reason, we are not permitted to have children. Yet, Precious, well . . . Is she due soon?”

Eva nodded. “Yes. She thinks April. She won’t see a doctor, so she’s only guessing. She says that her mother had very quick and easy deliveries, and she isn’t afraid of childbirth, so she’s made no plans.”

Sophia studied Eva’s face, searching for something. “A woman usually knows these things. With all of my pregnancies, I knew without my doctor telling me when each of them had been conceived.” Her eyes hardened, as if she were remembering three babies, dead before they’d had a chance to live. “David says that the baby’s father was a sailor.”

“Killed in action. And Precious is reluctant to attempt contact with his family. Or her own, for that matter.”

“Has she told you much about the baby’s father?”

“I met him. Once. He was quite tall, and broad, and had very dark curly hair. That’s all I remember of him.”

Sophia nodded, her gaze still on Eva’s face. “Will you promise to call me when her pains begin? My doctor is wonderful. I’ll have him come to her, see her safely through. It’s the least I can do.”

“What do you mean?”

Sophia seemed flustered, waving her hands in front of her face. “Only that I know how difficult childbirth can be. She’ll need a good doctor.”

“Of course. That’s reassuring, although as I said, Precious believes she won’t have any trouble. Not that I have any intention of letting her find out on her own.”

Sophia leaned closer. “You will take care of her?”

“Of course. I love her like a sister. I couldn’t desert her now. Why might you think otherwise?”

Instead of answering, Sophia stepped back and smiled as David and Alex approached.

“Shall we go back in?” Alex said, offering Sophia his arm.

As Eva placed her hand on David’s elbow, she looked up to find him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.

—

Eva stepped out of a small basement workroom off of Oxford Street, squinting in the last bit of daylight. She and Odette had found work as seamstresses; it paid only a quarter of the money they’d made as models, but it kept them busy during the day, and Eva earned enough to buy food for her and Precious without having to use her emergency escape stash.

And she found her new job, creating clothes that were as functional as they were fashionable, oddly satisfying. Vogue magazine dictated all, and Eva found it amusing that, despite paper shortages, the magazine was still allowed to publish. Odette had said it was because the government realized Vogue’s importance in communicating messages about domesticity and consumerism to the women of Britain.

In a recent issue, the magazine had urged its readers to swap their