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

models, their voices shriller and higher than usual because of nerves and excitement. Madame Lushtak had sent in champagne, and the atmosphere was almost festive as the girls sipped and offered one another encouragement. Even Freya had kind words for Eva, making Precious raise her brows.

“Graham will be in the first row, remember,” Precious said to Eva. “So look there first. He’ll give you all the confidence you need. You’ll walk on air for the rest of the show.”

Mrs. Ratcliffe entered. “All right, ladies. Settle down, please. Eva, you’re first, in the beaded evening gown. Girls, you know the order, so please line up behind Eva and follow me.”

Eva trailed her through the hallways to the showroom door, the other models close behind, waiting in anticipation for the door to open. They’d rehearsed everything—when to turn; when to drop a wrap to highlight a neckline; when to stick hands in pockets to show them off. Eva pressed her hands to the beaded bodice of her gown, amazed that she wasn’t nervous.

She could hear the murmur of voices quieting as Madame Lushtak greeted the guests. Staring at the closed door in front of her, she thought of Graham, in the front row, next to Sophia and her fiancé, David. The door began to open, and she took a step forward, her gaze trained on the spot where she knew he’d be.

The bright lights glinted off Graham’s light hair, giving his head an aura like a halo. He smiled at her as she walked in the direction of the front row, taking in Sophia and David sitting in the two seats next to him. She stifled an inexplicable and unexpected pang of disappointment, her smile slipping slightly as she tried to figure out why. She’d made it around the room once and was in the middle of her second pivot before she realized she’d been hoping to see another face in the crowd, one with silver eyes and a mocking mouth, one belonging to a stranger who thought her exquisite and unique.

CHAPTER 14

LONDON

MAY 2019

I sat amid the piles of letters and photographs at the dining table in Precious’s flat, watching the sun rise over the London skyline and bathe the buildings outside the large bay window in buttery light. Morning had always been my favorite time of day, the chatter and static of life briefly held inert. When I was little, I’d wake up early and go sit with my mama on the front porch swing while she drank her coffee. We’d talk about nothing in particular. Sometimes we wouldn’t talk at all. But when I looked back, I felt as if we’d spoken volumes, that our time together on that swing had been the most profound hours of my life.

I’d heard Colin leave an hour before. Now George was lying at my feet, snoring loudly while Oscar sat nearby, eyeing me. I turned at the sound of tapping on the doorframe and smiled at Laura, who held out a double leash.

“I was wondering where the dogs were. It’s time for their morning walk and breakfast.” She bent down to affix the leash to the dogs’ collars.

“Is there a printer in the flat that I can use? I could go to Arabella’s office, but it’s a bit far.”

“There’s a nice one in Colin’s room—on the big desk. He lets me use it all the time, so I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t allow you to use it, too.”

“In his bedroom?”

“Yes—but it’s perfectly all right. You can text him, if you like.”

“All right—I’ll do that.”

“I’ll see you later. Call me if you need anything. Precious is still asleep. Usually she doesn’t have breakfast until eleven, so she shouldn’t need anything before then. Listen for her bell, though, just in case.” Laura gave me a thumbs-up and led George by the leash but picked up Oscar, and the little dog peered at me over her shoulder. I could have sworn he was narrowing his eyes like Clint Eastwood in a gunfight.

I usually viewed and organized my photographs and notes on my laptop, but for this project, I felt the need to print everything out. I wanted to get a better idea of how everything would fit together and which holes could be filled if we found Eva. There was something about Precious’s story that defied containment, that made me think I was on a circuitous path with no beginning or ending. I sent Colin a text, asking for permission to use his printer. And when I hit “send,” I immediately heard a ping from under a pile of newspaper clippings on the other end of the table.

Carefully, I removed the papers and saw Colin’s phone. I picked it up, and as I held it, it rang. No name or picture was attached to the number, so I assumed it was Colin calling from someone else’s phone in an attempt to find his. I swiped to answer and said hello.

A woman’s voice said, “You’re not Colin.”

“No, I’m not, but I have Colin’s phone. Who’s this?”

“I’m Imogen Smith.”

I tried to place her accent—not quite cabdriver Cockney but not without some of its idiosyncrasies and odd inflections. Like someone pretending not to have a particular accent. It reminded me of how my aunt Cassie had sounded when she’d returned to Georgia after working in New York for more than a decade. “He’s not here.”

“Are you his new girlfriend, then?”

“No.” I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “Definitely not. Colin’s at work. Why don’t you call him there or text him so he can reply when he collects his phone?”

She paused. “Are you sure you’re not his girlfriend?”

“Quite sure.”

“Good. Because I’m the old girlfriend, and you seem rather nice, so I wouldn’t want to hate you without having met you. Besides, you’re an American. I never thought Colin was especially fond of Americans. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. But it’s Madison Warner.”

“Oh!