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

“Make that two,” Alexander added, giving Eva another charming smile. He kept a respectful distance from her, allowing for a wide gap between them on the small sofa, and this made her relax somewhat.

After they chatted a few moments about the weather, a uniformed maid brought their drinks on a tray. Alexander took them both and handed one to Eva.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. Eva did the same, then took a small, ladylike sip.

“Are you Czech?” she asked, belatedly recognizing the accent that hid behind his impeccable English.

He looked at her with surprise. “Very good, Eva. My mother is English, but my father is half-Czech and half-German, raised in Prague. As was I, until I attended Harrow at the tender age of thirteen. I find that my loyalties are split between three countries.” He took a sip of his drink and eyed her appreciatively. “You have an excellent ear.”

His silver gaze held such intensity that Eva was forced to look away. She focused on the bubbles rising to the surface of her glass and took another sip.

“Where have you heard my accent?” he asked.

“My friend Anton Danek. He does the makeup for the models at the House of Lushtak.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I suspected that you were a model. You have a rare sort of beauty. The sort that deserves to be shown off in jewels and beautiful clothes.”

“Thank you,” Eva said, nervous again. Something in the way he spoke hinted at indecent things; it made her skin heat. She put her glass down on the side table and fumbled for her cigarette case inside her purse. Her fingers moved clumsily as she attempted to open the case, and she dropped it on the floor. The hinge Precious had glued together with fingernail polish popped open, spilling cigarettes over the Persian rug.

The maid rushed over and retrieved the pieces of the case along with the three cigarettes that had been inside. “Thank you,” Eva said, returning all but one cigarette to her bag. The maid, younger even than Eva, looked worried, as if embarrassed at being noticed.

“Allow me,” Alexander said, leaning forward with a match.

Her hand shook as she held the cigarette to her mouth. He lit it, then his own, his eyes never straying from her face. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Devon,” she said.

He sat back, studying her carefully. “No, you’re not.”

Her hand trembled as she brought her cigarette to her mouth, trying to disguise the white-hot fear that flashed through her.

“Your accent is very proper, but every once in a while, I can hear you use an inflection that isn’t quite right—and it isn’t quite Devon, either. You see, Eva, you’re not the only one with a good ear.”

She took her time blowing smoke from her mouth, trying to think of a response. Mr. Danek had told her that to make a lie believable, one had to mix in some truth. “I was born in Yorkshire, in a small town called Muker. We moved to Devon when I was a little girl, but I suppose that’s where I learned to speak.”

“Ah, yes. That would make sense.” He took a puff from his cigarette, a knowing smile touching his lips as he continued to study her.

Sophia appeared beside Eva. “I do believe you’re monopolizing our new friend, Alex. Would you please excuse us? We’ve lots to talk about.” She held her hand out to Eva, and Eva tried not to seem too eager as she took it and stood. She met Graham’s gaze from across the room, feeling her nerves settle at its warmth. Her pulse danced in her veins. She wished they were back in the showroom again, just the two of them.

Alexander stood and bowed formally. “It has been my pleasure.”

Eva smiled noncommittally, then allowed Sophia to lead her away.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Later, Eva couldn’t recall anybody’s names or what they had had to eat, what the conversation had been about or what she had said. All she could remember was the nearness of Graham, his leg pressed against hers beneath the table, and the unnerving silver eyes of the man whose stares she did her best to avoid for the duration of the party.

CHAPTER 10

LONDON

MAY 2019

The doorbell rang, and I looked up from my laptop, where I’d been jotting down descriptions and anecdotes to attach to the outfits Precious, Arabella, and I had so far decided upon for the exhibition. Dresses, skirts, jackets, and gowns lay scattered around me on the bed, and as I stood to answer the door, a peach satin gown slid off onto the floor.

As I bent to pick it up, I let my fingers stroke the fabric, still soft and supple eighty years since it had been last worn. I placed it next to a one-shouldered black tulle confection and was tempted to touch that, too. I’d learned a new appreciation for fashion just by talking with Precious and taking notes, which was surprising, considering my usual attire of jeans and button-downs. I’d even come up with a new title for the exhibition and the article that Arabella loved: War & Beauty: The World of Fashion in a World at War.

I loved everything about this assignment. I loved talking with Precious and learning about the fashion industry of the late nineteen thirties and nineteen forties, and I loved the beautiful clothes that surrounded me. I loved everything except the presence of Colin Eliot.

As Arabella had promised, he worked long hours. Though it had been only three nights so far, I’d figured out that if I ate early, I could be in my room before he came home. But even after the first night, I’d found myself waiting for the sound of his key in the door. I resented him for that, which, I could admit to myself, was ridiculous. It might even have been unfair.

The doorbell rang again, and I moved