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

by the way. Well done.” He held her away from him so she could see his face and smell his cologne, sharp and tangy and not entirely pleasant. Graham didn’t wear cologne, and she loved that, loved the clean sandalwood soap scent of him.

Alex pulled her closer. “You’re almost as clever as you are beautiful.” He pressed his lips against hers. His were dry and hard, and she was so surprised that she stood unmoving, unsure of what was happening. Then she reached out her hand and pushed him away, stepping back, gulping air.

“I want proof. Proof that my father is out of prison.”

“I will get it—something signed by the prison warden, perhaps? I suppose you don’t need proof that he’s found your mother. You said yourself that he has established a pattern of finding her wherever she goes. I suppose he’s who you got your industriousness from.”

She was shaking now, her jaw hurting as she clenched it, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “And I will come up with a surname for her. I will at least do that.”

Alex smiled. “Good night, Eva. It’s been a most pleasurable evening.” He tipped his hat and headed down the stairs, his footsteps stealthy on the carpeted runner, then clicking as he reached the marble of each floor. It reminded her of the disembodied smile in the car, as if Alex were an invisible man choosing the moments in which he wanted to appear.

She heard a small sound behind her, and she swung around to the closed front door of her flat. She stuck her key in the lock, opened it, and looked down the long hallway, hearing a door softly click shut. Eva waited for a long moment for Precious to reappear so she could explain what her friend might have seen through the small peephole. Or maybe the noise had been Eva’s imagination.

The fur coat fell from her shoulders, puddling on the floor. She stared at it, feeling ill, and left it where it lay and made her way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. She hesitated outside Precious’s door, listening for movement, for any excuse to knock and try to explain. But she heard only the creak of a floorboard from the flat above and the sound of old water pipes burbling in the walls.

When she reached her room, she kicked off her heels, sat down on her bed, and opened her purse, needing to see Graham’s handwriting, to read his words. But when she peered inside, the letter was gone.

CHAPTER 26

LONDON

MAY 2019

I sat next to Arabella on a crowded Jubilee Line tube carriage, our impressive collection of shopping bags tucked behind our legs, and I tried hard not to look like a tourist. I wasn’t wearing a fanny pack, which put me ahead of the game, and I was traveling with a bona fide Brit, but she said my face shouted “American.” She thought it had something to do with my perpetual tan and my straight white teeth, courtesy of fluoride in the water and three years in braces.

Arabella was tapping away on her cell phone, a result of being out of the office for an entire day, but I didn’t feel guilty since our shopping expedition had been her idea.

She looked up. “When is your lunch with the historian at the London College of Fashion? I’d like to join you. I’ll have Mia clear my schedule.”

“Tuesday at eleven thirty.”

Arabella nodded, then went back to tapping. The sudden sound of the theme song from Gone With the Wind erupted, strident enough to be heard over the sound of the train wheels on the metal tracks. I glanced around, realizing that people were looking at my purse on my lap. Arabella elbowed me. “I believe that’s yours.”

I fumbled for my phone, yanked it out, and hit “decline” when I saw it was Knoxie. On train. Can’t talk right now. I usually kept my ringer off, which was why I hadn’t been aware my brother had changed that ringtone, too.

It’s Aunt Cassie—my phone is dead and I’m borrowing your sister’s. When are you coming home? Maid of honor is supposed to organize bridal shower.

I resisted rolling my eyes. I don’t know. Pick a date and book the Dixie Diner. If I’m not there, Knoxie will know what to do. She’s always been bossy.

Two photos appeared on my screen, of iced confections that made my mouth water. A text from my aunt followed. Chocolate or vanilla charm cakes? Or both?

“What’s a charm cake?”

I turned to see Arabella unabashedly looking over my shoulder.

“It’s a Southern wedding thing. They’re little pastries with charms attached to a ribbon hiding inside. Each of the bridesmaids pulls one out to discover her fate.” I thought for a moment, trying to recall the meanings from when I’d been Suzanne’s maid of honor at my dad’s wedding. “Let’s see. . . . The anchor charm means a stable life. The ring means marriage, and the airplane means travel and adventure.”

“Sounds like a Southern version of a fortune cookie.”

“Pretty much,” I said, turning back to my phone as it buzzed again.

I’m thinking both.

Great. Sounds like you’ve got it all under control.

Lucinda wants to throw a lingerie shower at Lucinda’s Lingerie. I said I liked the idea if she didn’t mind punch and icing being near all that lace and polyester.

All fine with me.

I started to return my phone to my purse when it buzzed again. It sounds like you’re not taking your position as MOH seriously.

I held my thumbs over my phone, trying to think of a way to remind her why I didn’t want my visit to Walton to be too prolonged. Before I could type the first letter, my phone buzzed again.

How are things with Colin? Tell him I’ve earmarked the guest room at my house for him for the wedding. It’s over the back porch, so easy to access from the trellis. I recall you’re