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

was damaged—they might not want it at the exhibit, which is a shame. It’s so beautiful and unusual.”

“Maybe the story behind how it broke will make it interesting enough to display.”

“Very true,” I said, impressed with his ability to think like a writer.

We made our way down the hallway toward Precious’s rooms, stopping quickly to retrieve my pencil and notebook. I was old-school with my note-taking, loving the scratch of a pencil against paper. Oscar met us at the door with a snarl until he saw Colin, who scooped him up, presumably to save my ankles from attack.

“Hello, Nana,” Colin called out. “We’re here.”

Laura came to greet us and took the little dog. “Miss Dubose is out on the balcony.”

Precious held court at a round wrought iron table, wearing peach silk lounge pants and a matching long-sleeved tunic. Even though the table was in the shade, she had on a straw hat with an enormous brim and a matching peach ribbon. Large sunglasses hid her eyes. She resembled a movie star from the glamorous days of old Hollywood. I waited for Colin to kiss her on each cheek before I greeted her with an outstretched hand.

“Nonsense,” she said, holding out her cheek for me to kiss. “We’re kin, remember?”

“Of course.” I leaned down to kiss her, seeing again the ashen pallor of her skin beneath the makeup.

“We’re having pimiento cheese sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Laura found the recipe in Southern Living. It’s not bad, but it’s never quite as good as my mama used to make.”

I accepted the chair Colin had pulled out for me before he sat down on the other side of Precious, and I placed my notepad in my lap. Not knowing where to put the purse, I set it gently on the table.

Precious’s smile faded. Her peach-colored lips opened, but no sound emerged, her beringed hand finding her chest.

“Are you all right?” I asked with alarm.

Colin half stood until she waved him back. “I’m fine. It’s just a bit of a surprise, is all. It brings back a lot of memories.” She stroked the velvet, delicately picked at one of the embroidered leaves, then smoothed it with her finger. “Don’t you wish sometimes that objects could speak?”

“Yes, I do.” I thought of my mother’s clothes, which had hung in her closet for years before Aunt Cassie convinced my daddy to let her take them away.

“I thought so,” Precious said quietly. Lifting the purse, she gave it a gentle shake. “I’m wondering if I might have left my powder compact inside.” She slid it closer and fumbled with the rhinestone latch.

“May I help you with that?” I asked.

She stared at the reluctant latch with pursed lips, as if to force it open just by willing it. Eventually, she nodded her head in defeat. I played with the clasp, twisting and turning it until it clicked and popped open. The lid hinged backward, and after waiting for a nod of approval from Precious, I reached in and pulled out a slim, rectangular box, the silver tarnished to a dull bronze.

“I think it’s a cigarette case.” I pressed a narrow button on the edge, and it sprang open, the faintest scent of tobacco vanishing almost as soon as I became aware of it. A single cigarette, shriveled and yellowed, lay diagonally across the bottom. I turned the case to the side, but the cigarette didn’t roll, stuck to its prison.

“You smoked, Nana?” Colin watched as I rotated the case in my hand, allowing us to see the intricate curlicue pattern in the silver.

“No.” The single word sounded as if it had been forced through sandpaper. “It’s not mine. It belonged to a friend.” She swallowed.

“A friend?” I prompted.

“Yes. Another model. We lost touch. It was during the war, you see. So easy to lose touch with friends.” Her hand reached out for the case, and I placed it on her palm. Carefully, she snapped it shut. With deliberation, her fingers brushed against the tarnish on the lid, partially revealing a raised emblem in the center. It looked like some kind of insect. The case slid from her hands and fell onto the table with a clatter. I met Colin’s gaze before turning back to Precious and reaching to get the case.

“May I?” I asked.

She hesitated only a moment before nodding. I picked up the case and then, using my thumbs, rubbed at the marks, feeling like an archaeologist as the figure of a bee emerged. I could see now the careful marks on the translucent wings and striped body, the furred sections of the legs, the two stubby antennae. I studied the insect before flipping the case over, looking for an explanation. There was something so intentional, so precise, about the engraving that I wanted it to be more than just a decoration.

Again I rubbed the tarnish with my thumbs, revealing a British sterling hallmark in one corner, and a line of tiny words along the bottom edge. nil credam et omnia cavebo. I knew it was Latin. But having not taken Latin at Walton High School (I somehow doubted it had even been available) or in college, I had no idea what it meant.

I held it up so that Colin and Precious could see. “Do either of you know what this means?”

Colin nodded. “Give me a minute.” He read the words silently, his eyes moving from left to right, and then back again. “It’s an old Latin proverb I remember reading somewhere back in my school days. Loosely translated, I think it means, ‘I will trust to nothing, and be on my guard against everything.’”

Precious reached over, and her hands enveloped the slim case, pulling it into her grasp. “Betray before you are betrayed.”

“And this belonged to your friend?” I asked.

Precious slid off her sunglasses, her pale fingers trembling, her light blue eyes bright against the whiteness of her skin. Slowly, she nodded. “Her name was Eva. She’s the