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

Eva took a step backward and swiveled so they could admire the low back. Mrs. St. John took a sip from her glass and said, “I daresay it looks best on someone tall and slender.”

Madame Lushtak appeared from where she’d been standing to the side, nearly hidden by a mannequin wearing one of the previous season’s suits. “It has been designed to flatter the female form, emphasizing the waist or creating one where none exists. And of course, the length can be shortened if necessary. It is the perfect transitional fabric. It wears well in cooler or warmer temperatures.”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. St. John said dubiously. She waved her hand. “Walk some more so we can see how it moves. Those sleeves are quite interesting.”

Eva faced the women again, moving her shoulders to emphasize the fluttering sleeves; then she turned completely to walk away and give them a better view of the dress. That was when she noticed the man sitting in one of the cushioned chairs, his legs crossed nonchalantly. He held a cigarette in one hand and a champagne glass in the other. “I rather like it.” He smiled, and her cheeks flushed at the familiarity. She’d seen that smile only once, but it had been the subject of her daydreams ever since. And she’d even taken to sleeping with his handkerchief under her pillow every night in the hopes that his smile would invade her nighttime dreams as well.

He lifted his glass in her direction. With an even broader grin, he said, “But is it waterproof?”

Eva stumbled but quickly recovered, disguising it as a twirl, the skirts floating prettily around her ankles and earning her an admiring nod from Madame Lushtak.

“Really, Graham,” Mrs. St. John said. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not meant to be worn traipsing through the fields.”

Eva stood still and placed her hands on her hips, seemingly showing off the trim waistline and the delicate sleeves but actually trying to stop her legs from acting like rubber. She had to walk out of the room without making a fool of herself. She dared not glance at the man again, but kept smiling at the two women as she pivoted her hips from side to side.

“Naturally,” the man said.

Graham. Finally, Eva had a name to go with her fantasy. She stole a glance at him over her shoulder and flushed again when she realized he hadn’t dropped his gaze.

“Still,” he continued, looking directly at Eva, “I think it’s absolutely stunning.”

It seemed as if he wasn’t speaking about the gown at all. Eva felt as if she were standing completely naked, open for all scrutiny. Without waiting for the nod from Madame Lushtak, she turned away from the small group and, taking deliberate, slow steps, made her way to the showroom door without stumbling. She closed the door and leaned against it, panting as if she’d just run a great distance.

Graham. His name was Graham. She felt giddy and weak and worried all at the same time—three emotions she couldn’t explain. Was he the fiancé? The thought nearly made her sick.

“You were magnificent,” Precious said. “Just magnificent. And did you see that man? He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you!”

Eva nodded. “But I think he might be the fiancé.”

Precious tucked her chin. “I sure hope not, because that man had eyes for nobody but you. No other girl would stand a chance—if I were a betting girl, I’d bet on you for sure.”

Her friend’s appearance and reassuring words quieted the fluttering in her stomach. Mrs. Ratcliffe appeared and took Eva’s arm. “Hurry, girl. There’s no time for dallying. Mrs. St. John doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Eva nodded, and she and Precious followed her back to the fitting room. Mrs. Williams was pressing the pleated skirt of a cream silk and linen street frock with a tucked bolero section at the front and a scalloped border and collar.

“Hurry, hurry,” Mrs. Ratcliffe shrilled, unpinning the dress while Eva was still walking.

“There’s a man in the showroom,” Eva began.

“There are usually men in the showroom,” Mrs. Ratcliffe said brusquely. “Many of our ladies require the opinions of gentlemen before they make a purchase.”

“Is he Miss St. John’s fiancé, then?” Eva didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she needed to know. She held her arms out so one outfit could be removed and the other put over her head. It fit almost perfectly; after one small stitch to the waist, she was ready to return to the showroom, where Graham was waiting.

Mrs. Ratcliffe huffed as she roughly adjusted the shoulders. “That is none of your concern. Come now. They’re waiting.”

Precious touched up Eva’s makeup, and Mrs. Williams gave her a sympathetic smile as Mrs. Ratcliffe whisked Eva back to the showroom. But Eva felt different this time. When she’d seen herself in the full-length mirror, she hadn’t recognized herself. The woman staring back at her had been poised. Sophisticated. Beautiful. A world apart from the Ethel Maltby who’d boarded a train in Yorkshire with only three shillings and a suitcase full of hope.

“You look finer than a frog’s hair split four ways, so act like you own the place,” Precious whispered loudly, giving Eva confidence and making her smile.

When the showroom door opened this time, she was ready. She was Myrna Loy, Bette Davis, and Jean Harlow all at once. Ethel Maltby had begun to fade, replaced by an exquisite creature named Eva who’d always remember this day as the day she’d truly been born.

She strutted across the room, smiling at Madame Lushtak, her pace slowing when she reached the sofas and chairs. Mrs. St. John still sat with her back ramrod straight, her daughter smiling from the seat next to her. But the chair where Graham had sat was empty, the cigarette stub smoldering in the ashtray.

Eva pushed her disappointment aside, feeling foolish for having imagined he’d exhibited any interest in her at all. She threw all of