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

shoulder, he said, “Even if you only have nine years to live, you should live them. And let the people who love you decide what they can and cannot endure.”

He flicked off the desk lamp, the glow of the moon settling on the furniture, softening the corners. “Good night, Madison.” He leaned down to kiss me on the cheek, then left the room. I waited in the slant of the light from the window until I heard the creak of his footsteps down the hallway, and the finality of his bedroom door clicking shut.

CHAPTER 25

LONDON

DECEMBER 18, 1939

Eva sat in the front parlor next to the wireless, reciting from memory her favorite poem by Wordsworth. Graham had given her a book of poetry, and she had done her best to memorize it all so she could surprise him when she saw him again.

Closing her eyes, she spoke out loud, using the inflections and pronunciations she’d been learning from listening to the BBC broadcasts:

With tranquil restoration: feelings too

Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man’s life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love.

The wireless sat next to her so she could flip it on and off, giving her time to practice the proper inflections in between. Leaning over, she flipped the “on” switch, and heard now the voice of Winston Churchill. He was the first lord of the admiralty, which Eva knew because of her nearly daily conversations about world events at Horvath’s with Mr. Danek. She made sure to stay up-to-date by listening to the wireless so she wouldn’t disappoint him.

Eva still saw Mr. Danek at Lushtak’s, too, but talking about war was frowned upon by Madame Lushtak, who didn’t want her fashions shown by dour girls wearing frowns and depressed by the news.

But Graham’s absence and the lack of letters had made Eva hunger for any information at all. Graham had told her he might not be able to write; even if he did, he might not be able to say very much. Sophia appeared to be as ignorant as Eva regarding Graham’s whereabouts, so Eva didn’t feel left out. And there was a part of her that was grateful she didn’t have to lie to Alex about not having any letters to share.

The front door to the flat shut, and Precious came into the room, bringing with her the scent of chilly air and Vol de Nuit on her emerald green coat. Her arms were burdened with gaily wrapped presents from shops on Oxford Street. She marched over to the sofa and let them fall, watching as several slid to the floor.

“Oh, my goodness. I am plumb wore out. Who knew Christmas shopping could be so exhausting?” She took off her leather gloves and shoved them into her pockets before slipping off her coat and letting it fall on top of the presents. She turned her attention to the wireless. “Is there any news?”

“Something about a British victory at sea—they sank a German ship called the Graf Spee. Somewhere near Uruguay.”

Eva reached over and turned up the volume in time to hear Churchill say, “. . . brilliant sea fight that warmed the cockles of British hearts.”

She frowned. “After so many defeats of our allies in Europe, I suppose this one ship is considered quite the victory. I’d much rather hear the whole German army had been routed.”

Eva surprised herself by how much she’d begun to sound like Mr. Danek. In the last few months, he’d become like a father to her, proud of her when she could converse intelligently. But only when Jiri Zeman wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen Alex again at Horvath’s, but Jiri was now a regular, his mocking eyes watching her closely. She suspected that he was the one who’d discovered her real name and learned that her mother had been a laundress, but she was too afraid to confront him. Sitting next to him at Horvath’s felt like sitting next to a time bomb. She refused to consider what else he might have discovered.

The sound of the post slot slamming had Precious running to the foyer. “You have a letter,” she squealed with excitement. “I think it might be from Graham!”

Eva took the envelope and stared at the handwriting. Miss Eva Harlow. Seeing it written like that gave the name veracity, gave her confidence somehow, as if seeing herself through Graham’s eyes made the charade real. She stood, wanting to read the letter in private, away from Precious and her curious eyes.

“I think it is. Excuse me,” Eva said, feeling badly about the hurt look from her roommate as she retreated down the hallway to her bedroom.

She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed. Not wasting time looking for a letter opener, she slid her finger under the flap, ripped it open, and eagerly pulled out the letter. There were no marks from censors, making Eva wonder whether Graham had known what not to write to avoid censorship, or if he’d used his government connections to send her a letter bypassing review. She didn’t care. She was holding his letter, and it took a moment for her hands to stop shaking long enough for her to read it.

12 November 1939

My darling Eva,

I’m sorry this has taken so long to write. Please know that it’s not because I haven’t wanted to, that I haven’t been thinking about you every waking moment, because I have. I’m working dawn to dusk and I’m quite bleary with exhaustion.

I’ve been assigned a squadron, and there’s word that we’re being readied for an important operation, and they are asking for volunteers. I can’t say more. Just know that I am safe and well, and missing you with every passing moment. I’m eager to hear news from you, but I’m moving bases again. Not sure where, but hopefully I’ll be able to be more specific when I see you