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

been folded over. The photographs were mostly of Precious posing on catwalks or on fashion magazine covers, including several from Vogue Paris. Other than the one of her exiting the car, there weren’t photographs of any man except for Colin’s grandfather David in his wedding photo, and of Colin at varying ages.

“You have cute knees,” I said, stopping in front of a young Colin wearing a schoolboy uniform of knee socks, shorts, navy blue jacket, and plaid tie.

“I’m glad you approve.”

“Don’t you find it strange that there aren’t any photos of her with friends? No photos of her family in the States. None of Eva, yet she says they were like sisters. And none from before the war, except for the wedding photo and that one of her in the car.”

“It’s not inconceivable that they were destroyed during the war.”

I paused at the photo of Precious as a glamorous young woman stepping out of the car, her expression, that cry for help, at odds with the rest of her. “It’s still a part of her story. I’ve discovered in my years as a journalist that what people leave out is as important as what they include.”

“Very true,” he said. “And I’m not even a journalist.”

I met his gaze, uncomfortable with its intensity. He hadn’t mentioned my outburst in the park, as if he knew I’d already said everything I was ready to say. “Come on,” I said, moving away. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

Precious was holding court in the large front reception room, standing before a bay window overlooking Marylebone Road, the constant moan and huff of muted afternoon traffic part of the ambience. She wore her signature peach, this time in another lounge set but with a feather boa thrown around her neck, the only evident acknowledgment of her age a bejeweled hand leaning on the edge of the kidney-shaped writing desk I’d been using. The tea tray had been placed on top of the desk, but Laura and Oscar had already disappeared from the room.

Precious didn’t turn around, and I thought she might not have heard us. I was about to say her name when she spoke. “I’m always surprised, despite the years that have passed since I first looked out this window in nineteen thirty-nine, how the view has hardly changed at all.”

A brass carriage clock on the mantel chimed, and she faced us, a crease between her brows. “Why do you look so surprised to see me standing? I’m not quite one hundred, you know. Even before Jane Fonda, I believed in exercise. Lots of walking every day. Walking is the best way to learn a city and its citizens, I’ve found.”

“Is it?” Colin asked.

“Oh, yes. And I have quite the knack for noticing details about people. It’s one of my talents.” She smiled at me. “Come closer and let me see that dress.”

I stood next to her and held up the yellow sundress. Precious nodded. “I remember that dress. We both wore it. We were the same size, you see.”

“You and Eva?”

She nodded, her eyes focusing on the dress. “I remember when I wore it the first time. It was on a beautiful spring day in Kew Gardens. We’d gone to see the cherry blossoms. Have you been yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m not sure I’ll have time for it on this trip. . . .”

“Don’t be silly. Colin will be happy to take you.” Ignoring my protests, she turned to Colin. “Would you please bring me my tea and fix my plate, dear?”

As he did, I said, “I’d like to add this one to the exhibition, if that’s all right with you. It’s so different from the other outfits, and I like the story about Kew. I think people will respond to it, since that’s something people still do today.” I placed the dress gently over the back of the sofa and held up my notebook. “So, you wore it for an outing at Kew. Was Eva with you?”

She smiled, then nodded. “We were always together, it seemed.”

Colin set down her iced tea and plate on the table by the sofa and sat down next to her.

“I’ve already told Arabella, but I also need you to promise, Maddie, that any photographs taken of me for the article will only be taken from my best side.” Precious smiled as she said it, but her eyes were serious.

I recalled the magazine cover photos and other pictures framed along the back hallway, her face always shown from the right or slightly tilted to the left. “Not that you have a bad side, but I understand. You’re the professional model, and I will bow to your expertise.”

With careful hands, she picked up her glass of iced tea. “Aren’t you having any today, Maddie?” She winked. I wondered how much longer she could stand it before she confessed to Laura.

“Um, no, thank you. Just water for me.”

Colin and I helped ourselves to the refreshments, then returned to the two armchairs in front of the sofa. As Precious and Colin ate and drank their tea, I excused myself and retrieved my Hasselblad. Arabella would be using a professional photographer for the article, but portraiture had always fascinated me, and Precious Dubose was a fascinating subject. I snapped the shutter, my eye looking for light and shadow, for the gray areas in between. It was those gray areas of a person, the places most people didn’t notice, that always caught my attention. The part that gave away some secret the subject might not even be aware they were hiding.

Colin picked up the wedding photograph I’d taken from the frame and showed it to Precious. “These are my grandparents, right?”

She blinked, surprised. “Did you take that off my wall? Go right now and put it back. . . .”

Her voice faded as Colin unfolded the other half of the photo and pointed to the blond woman, her face partially turned away from the camera. “Is that you?”

“It’s too hard to tell. My eyes aren’t as good as they used