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

with her in the labor and delivery room. She’s a general at multitasking.”

“That sounds terrible, but I hope you’re right. If what we suspect is true, it would certainly answer a lot of questions.”

“And raise just as many,” Colin said. “Although it might mean you have to stay longer.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. Maybe it will give you the chance to lose that accent of yours.”

I frowned at him as we passed through the terrace doors, my mind spinning with unanswered questions, wondering what ghosts haunted an old woman’s reflection. And which voices spoke to her in her dreams.

CHAPTER 23

LONDON

SEPTEMBER 3, 1939

Eva pushed open the door to Horvath’s Café, breathing heavily, desperate to hear the voice of reason. She’d been keeping her fear and apprehension at bay, practicing a cool demeanor in the flat and during her clothes showings at work. She dared not allow even a stray thought into her head, or her fear and worry over Graham would crush her.

He’d been sent to an RAF base in Gloucestershire for training. He’d written to her twice, letting her know that his previous flying experience had helped him bypass some of the training the other chaps were doing. He told her not to worry, that he was a good pilot. And he reminded her that he loved her.

And everything he’d written she’d given to Alex.

She’d told herself it would be only that once, that Alex would see how pointless it was and not ask again. But he had, and again she’d given him the letter. He’d insisted on keeping both, not explaining why, telling Eva it wasn’t her place to question him. So she didn’t, the persistent threat of exposure binding her tongue but not her mind. She might have thwarted Alex by refusing Graham’s marriage proposal, but it wasn’t enough. That was what kept her up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, trying to think of some way to escape her predicament, the niggling thought always pressing on her brain that she’d brought this on herself.

You have a fondness for beautiful things. Mr. Danek had been right, of course. If only she’d known to be different or to hide it. But that would have been like a leopard changing its spots.

That morning at Lushtak’s, instead of the usual conversation about the best lipsticks and mascaras, or whose gentleman had been seen at the most shows, all the models had been talking about the news, how Germany had invaded Poland. How England and France had sworn to stand with Poland and how the prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, had given Germany an ultimatum: Pull out or risk war.

Eva had seen in the past few months the growing number of sandbags stacked against hospitals and government buildings, the barrage balloons being flown in the sky to deter enemy aircraft. She’d even seen lorries delivering Anderson shelters to houses with back gardens big enough to contain them. But today’s news had shaken her, had made her run from Lushtak’s and vomit in the back alley behind the showroom. The thought of the inevitability of Graham going to battle, and the thought of all that was still unsaid between them, had loosened her fear like rocks in a landslide.

She’d seen Graham only once since his proposal at the Café de Paris. It had been the night before he left for training, at a dinner party organized by Sophia at the Savoy as a send-off. She had had barely a moment alone with Graham all evening and no opportunity to tell him she loved him. To remind him that she was already deeply and completely his. That she wanted to marry him.

Instead there had been long looks across the dining table and then just enough time for a quick embrace and a stiff good-bye as David’s car waited at the curb to drive Eva and Precious back to their flat. Eva had been struggling ever since through shadows cast by self-doubt and her fear for Graham, fighting them in dreams that were no longer sweet, no matter how many times Precious wished it otherwise. She was lost, left to holding the tiny ivory dolphin against her heart each night, hoping Graham could feel its strength, too.

Now Eva paused in the doorway of the familiar café, looking for Mr. Danek. He was there, at his usual table, but he wasn’t alone.

Alex stood and gave her a sharp bow. “What a delightful surprise, Eva. And how beautiful you look today. I believe you’ve already met my friend Jiri Zeman. I told you about him, remember? Although I don’t think I mentioned his name.”

She jerked her head to stare at Jiri, recalling Alex’s words: I know a man who got himself into a spot of bother in Prague. I was the one who paid enough people to look the other way, and we got him out of jail and into this country. Nobody knows this but me. This makes him very useful to me.

Jiri was smiling as if he had been told an enormous joke but didn’t want to share it. At least not with her. Her gaze traveled to Mr. Danek, who sat smoking a cigarette that was nearly down to its butt. She turned back to Alex. “What . . . ?”

“Sometimes Mr. Zeman and I need to hear our native tongue, so we come here for news and gossip. How delightful to know you are also a patron of Horvath’s.”

He pulled out a chair; the waiter brought Eva’s coffee and placed it in front of her. She looked at Mr. Danek. “You never mentioned you knew Mr. Grof.” She forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “What a funny coincidence.”

“Not so much when you consider how few Czech cafés are in the city.” He said this with an unconvincing smile, his eyes on Alex. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I see a friend with the latest newspaper.” Without waiting for a response, he stood and moved