The Last Night in London, Karen White [english novels to improve english .TXT] 📗

her energy into modeling the remaining outfits, making sure to highlight the silk linings of the coats, the functional pockets on the skirts.

When she returned to the fitting room for the final time, her feet screaming and her back aching, Mrs. Ratcliffe actually smiled at her. Mrs. St. John and her daughter had ordered all five outfits that Eva had modeled for them, she said.

After Mrs. Ratcliffe left, Precious descended on Eva in a flurry. “Did you get his name? Did you find out where he’s going?”

Eva shook her head. “Maybe he’ll come back.” Her smile slipped.

Precious hugged her. “He will. Trust me. I’ve got to go now—Ronald is waiting. I’ll see you back at the flat.”

“Thanks for all your help. You’re a good friend. I’d have been too nervous to walk straight without you.”

Precious hugged her again. “I don’t believe that for a second.” She winked, then left.

Mrs. Williams helped Eva dress, pursing her lips as she slipped Eva’s simple frock over her head. She tutted when Eva retrieved her wool coat, and said, “Is that all you have to wear? You’ll catch your death.”

“I’ll be fine—I’m on the bus most of the way.”

But Mrs. Williams was already hunting through one of the racks of clothes. She pulled a long red cashmere cape off a hanger and handed it to Eva. “Wear this instead. It’s from last year; it has a moth hole, but you can barely see it. It was brought here for repair, so no harm if you wear it tonight. And it will look right smart with those shoes.”

Eva wanted to say no, that her wool coat was fine. But when she touched the soft fabric and saw the tightly gauged weave and quality of the cashmere, she couldn’t refuse. “Thank you,” she said, allowing Mrs. Williams to place it over her shoulders, then fasten the large silk-wrapped button at the neck. She showed Eva the slits in the front to stick her hands through, then stepped back to admire her work as Eva pulled on a pair of kid leather gloves. They were mismatched, which was why Eva could afford them, but similar enough that no one would notice unless they examined the pair very closely. Eva had meant to change her shoes, as her feet hurt and she didn’t want to risk damaging them, but Mrs. Williams was right. They looked perfect with the cape.

“Beautiful,” Mrs. Williams said.

And when Eva looked at her reflection in the long mirror, she had to agree.

She let herself out the back door, looking up at the darkened sky, her path lit by streetlights. The earlier fog had lifted, lending a crispness to the air, reminding Eva of the freshly laundered linens she’d folded with her mother. They’d smelled of soap and sunshine, the two forever linked in her mind. It was one of her few good memories of home.

Her step was light, her feet nearly forgetting their fatigue as she imagined what she must look like in the stylish cape. It seemed the sprinkling of stars and the slender crescent of the moon had been set there just for her. God’s smile. That was what Precious had called the sliver of moon, and Eva was inclined on this night to believe it was.

She walked in the direction of her bus stop, skirting Hanover Square, her steps slower than usual as she embraced the night and her buoyant mood. She was thinking of picking up fish and chips from the corner shop, and was looking inside her purse to see if she had enough coins when she nearly collided with another pedestrian.

“Pardon me . . . ,” she began, then stopped as she raised her gaze to meet familiar green eyes. “Oh.” She stepped back in surprise, attempting to quell the fluttering in her stomach. “It’s you.”

“I thought you’d never be allowed to leave. Park benches can be dreadfully uncomfortable if one sits on them long enough. How my nanny must have suffered.” He grinned boyishly, and Eva felt the flutter again. “I trust my mother and sister made it worth your while.”

Sister. Eva focused on the word as she stared at him foolishly. If only Precious were there. Her friend always knew the right things to say.

When she didn’t speak, he took off his hat. “Where are my manners? I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.” He gave her a mock bow. “Mr. Graham St. John. At your service.”

He grinned again, and Eva was so charmed that she laughed.

“Ah, so the lady has a voice after all.”

Eva pictured herself in the red cape and smart shoes, and the girl who’d been Ethel Maltby vanished forever. Mimicking Katharine Hepburn’s character in Stage Door, she held out the tips of her gloved hand. “Miss Eva Harlow.”

She felt the warmth of his fingers through her gloves. “Miss Eva Harlow,” he repeated, the name like music on his lips, filled with meaning. “And where are you from, Miss Harlow?”

Mr. Danek’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear. Reinvention. “I’m from Devon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He replaced his hat on his head. “I’ve been hoping to see you again. I wanted to thank you for giving me directions to St. Marylebone. It was all that I’d hoped it would be, and I owe it all to you.”

“Actually, I believe you owe it all to the architect who designed it.”

He grinned broadly, and her heart flipped in her chest. “Yes, you would be right. But I never would have found it without your help. Would you allow me to thank you properly with a drink or—dare I hope—a meal?”

Eva stared up at this beautiful man, wondering if finally her luck had changed. Or if she blinked, would he and the cape and the shoes all disappear?

Misreading her silence, Graham said, “You’ve already met my mother and sister, so you can be assured that I am completely respectable.”

“In that case . . . ,” Eva began.

He held out his arm, and she slid her hand into the crook