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

rationing, his car and driver were waiting at the curb when they exited the building. She was surprised to see Jiri Zeman in a chauffeur’s uniform, but treated him as if he were just the driver and not someone she knew.

He held out a full-length mink coat. Alex took it from him and draped it over Eva’s shoulders. “Your coat won’t do on such a cold night, dearest Eva. Wear this and you’ll be warm.”

Knowing that he really meant her serviceable coat wouldn’t do at the Savoy, she accepted the offer after only a brief hesitation, and snuggled into the backseat. She moved her chin against the fur, feeling the unadulterated luxury of it, the heavy weight of all those pelts on her shoulders. She took off her gloves so she could stroke the fur, just like the Hollywood actresses wore, enjoying the sensation of believing it was hers. She caught Alex watching her and immediately dropped her hands, but not before she saw his knowing grin.

On their way to the Savoy on the Strand, they drove past the venerable emporium of Fortnum & Mason. The windows had been x-ed out with tape, and the walls banked with sandbags. All across the city, blackout curtains covered windows; half-painted headlights on cars and the extinguishing of streetlights evidenced a population preparing for an air attack. Thus far, all had been for naught—and an alarmingly large number of pedestrians had been struck and killed at night by motor vehicles. Despite England’s having been officially at war with Germany for nearly four months, not one single bomb had fallen in the British Isles.

Last week, Mr. Danek had shown Eva a map, pointing out where Hitler stood with his armies, poised at borders like vultures waiting for something to die before devouring the carcasses. Eventually they would make it into France, he said, and then onto the coast and into the English Channel. Only twenty miles of water separated England from the Continent. It was simply a matter of time.

“It’s a supper and dance cabaret tonight—I hope you enjoy the dancing.” Alex’s words broke her reverie. “My friends will be quite envious of my partner for the evening.”

“I doubt I shall enjoy any of it. Just tell me what ‘job’ you want me to do so I can get it done and you can tell me about my parents. I’d like to get home as soon as possible.”

“All right,” he said. “Tonight’s job is easy. It’s a test for you, to see how well you can follow directions.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Though it’s a test you shouldn’t fail.”

She shivered in her mink but was careful not to show her apprehension. “Go on,” she said, sounding bored.

“I want you to be friendly with a gentleman who will be introduced to you, Lord Merton. If he asks you to dance, tell him yes. And then, while you are dancing, ask him if he buys his cheeses at Paxton and Whitfield’s. He will then escort you back to your seat, where you will pull out a cigarette and ask for a match. He will give you a matchbox and tell you to keep it. You smoke your cigarette and deliver the matchbox to me when we are in my car, but not before.”

“May I ask why you need me to do this?” Eva faced him, wanting to read his expression, to see if he’d gone completely mad.

He touched her jaw, caressing it. “My dear, it is not for you to understand. You are merely to do what I ask.”

He grinned, the flash of white from his smile seeming detached from his face as it floated in the darkness. She turned her head away from him, eager for the night to be over so she could return to the flat and wait for Graham.

—

At the Savoy, Eva was introduced to Lord Merton, an older man with muttonchop whiskers and thick hair in his ears and nose, at the beginning of the evening. She didn’t see him again until after the dancing had begun.

She endured the long night and the dancing with partners who spoke little to no English. She kept glancing at her purse, on the table, where she’d put Graham’s letter, as if to keep him close. She barely tasted the caviar, quail Richelieu, and jalousie Parisienne, and not just because she felt guilty for the rationing that the rest of the city had to withstand.

Eventually, near midnight, Lord Merton appeared at her side and asked her to dance. He seemed drunk, and Eva was afraid his cold, clammy hands would leave marks on her gown. He spoke of the weather while she tried not to look up into the hairy caverns of his pronounced nose. And just when it seemed that the band was about to finish, she asked casually, “Sir, do you buy your cheeses at Paxton and Whitfield’s?”

He stumbled, and she had to use all of her strength to keep them both from falling over. Beads of sweat formed on his temples, dripping onto her arms. He offered her a stiff smile. “Yes, my dear. I do.”

And when he escorted her back to her seat, she asked him for a light. He gave her a matchbox before excusing himself. As she sat smoking, she caught Alex’s approving gaze, and she turned away without acknowledgment. Then, as the praline ices and coffee were served, she pleaded a headache and asked to be taken home.

When the driver pulled up to the curb in front of her building, she handed Alex the matchbox, which he took without comment. “I’ve done what you asked,” Eva said. “Now tell me about my parents.”

“Allow me first to escort you upstairs, to see that you are safely home.”

Reluctantly, she led him through the checkerboard-floored foyer and into the lift. As soon as he slid open the gate, she stepped into the hallway and turned around. “Thank you for the lovely evening. I can see my way