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

flat, the one that she and Eva had shared before the war. A moan came from the bedroom next to mine, soft and muffled. I quickly crossed to my door and pulled it open to listen.

Laura and Oscar slept in another bedroom, only a bell ring away, and there was no sound from their end of the hallway.

I crossed to Precious’s door and, after a brief tap, let myself into the empty sitting room, which was lit by a small lamp. After another brief tap with no response, I entered her bedroom. All of the windows were open, allowing in the smell of cut grass from the park and the gentle sounds of stirring birds. Although the front of the building faced Marylebone Road, the back of the flat, where our bedrooms were, could have been out in the country for all the absence of traffic sounds.

Moonlight spilled into the room, falling on the white sheets of the empty bed. I started, then rushed over, expecting to find Precious on the floor. Instead, I heard the moaning again from a chair by the window and blinked, trying to accustom my eyes to the moonlit room.

Precious sat utterly still. She had something in her lap, her head bent over it. Her hair had fallen undone around the shoulders of her pale nightgown, and the moonlight bleached it to cottony whiteness. She looked at me, and the moonlight made her twenty-two again.

“Are you all right?” I asked, moving to her side and kneeling. “I thought I heard you calling.” That wasn’t exactly right, but I thought it was easier for her to accept than I heard you moaning. Because that would have construed weakness, and there was something about Precious Dubose that defied that word.

“I’m fine,” she said, although the wetness on her cheeks told me otherwise.

A cool breeze blew through the windows. “Are you cold? I can close these.”

I made to stand, but she put a hand on my arm. “Don’t. I enjoy the fresh air.”

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I suppose I should ask you the same thing.” She reminded me so much of my aunt Lucinda that I smiled.

“I wanted to see if you needed anything. It’s three thirty in the morning.”

“Is it?” I heard the weariness in her voice. Not exhaustion or tiredness, but something bone-deep, something that had festered for years. “Time isn’t the same to me now. I know it’s there, waiting. It’s like watching a stopped clock, but I can still hear it tick.” She tilted her face, flooding it with soft light, erasing the faint lines around her mouth and eyes. “Like you do, Maddie. But I’m old, so I’m allowed.”

Her words stung. “What do you mean?”

I heard the sound of rustling cotton more than I saw the small shrug of her shoulders. “You’re too young to think you know how your story ends. You haven’t yet figured out that life holds more than one story. Each with a separate ending. The end of one doesn’t mean you’re done.”

I forced a lightness I didn’t feel. “And it takes ninety-nine years to figure that out?”

“It took me seventy, but I suppose I can be a slow learner. Imagine all those who never figure it out at all. Of all the tragedies in the world, I think that’s the worst.”

I swallowed my unformed response. It was too late at night to be arguing about the meaning of life. Mostly because I had a terrible suspicion that she might be right. “It really is late. You should be getting some sleep.”

As if I hadn’t said anything, she asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

“No,” I said quickly, ignoring the flash of Colin’s face in the back of my mind, his beautiful eyes and the way his smile always started like an accident. Maybe it was because of the darkness, or because my confessor was nearly one hundred years old and had probably heard worse, but I added, “My grandmother and mother died young, and I’m probably going to die young, too. It wouldn’t be fair to have a relationship just to share my misfortune with someone else.”

The room was silent except for the soft ticking of a clock somewhere nearby. I felt her watching me, considering. “My sweet Maddie. Life is about reinvention.” She emphasized the word, as if I might misunderstand or confuse her meaning. “If you don’t like what life’s dished out for you, turn on the oven and start baking something new.”

I surprised myself by smiling. “Did your mama tell you that?”

Her gaze shifted away from me. “Yes. And she was absolutely right.” Slowly, she picked up a dark shape from her lap. “If you’d be so kind as to put this on my dresser, I should probably lie down and get some beauty sleep. Careful—it’s full of memories.”

I took it from her, recognizing the boxy contours of the old embroidered silk purse. Something moved inside as I settled it on the dresser. The cigarette case, I thought, with the Latin words and the bee on the front. The case that once belonged to the elusive Eva.

As I helped her into bed and tucked her under the sheets, she said, “You need to find Eva, Maddie. She’s the only person who can help you.”

“Help me?” I wasn’t sure if she was confused and babbling, if she even knew what she was saying. Either way, I was afraid to hear her answer.

“Eva was a formidable woman. She always knew who she was. And she understood that reinventing herself was always better than giving up.”

I kept my voice gentle. “You know, Precious, it’s possible that Eva isn’t alive. I’d be happy to record her stories, too, while I’m here. Beyond the modeling and the fashions. I want to hear about two women coming of age in a time of crisis. That would be a great way to preserve your memories for future generations.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “Hogwash. What’s the point in reinvention