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

one who told me what it meant.” A small smile teased her lips before failing completely. “We were like sisters.” She dropped her gaze, studying the bee on the case.

Betray before you are betrayed. The words lingered in my head. I wondered at their meaning. And why this Eva had had them engraved on her cigarette case. An idea occurred to me. “Precious, Eva might still be alive, you know. Since you were both models, I’d love to interview you both for the article. She might even have her own collection of clothes! Would you like me to try to find her?”

Precious’s eyes clouded, but not with tears. It was as if some deep memory had tried to reappear, and she’d slammed down the shutters to avoid seeing it. “Just because a person is lost doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

Colin leaned forward. “You were like sisters, though. Wouldn’t you like to see her again?”

“It could be very interesting,” I added. “Two friends in conversation about the fashion through wartime and over the decades.”

Precious’s eyes met mine, shadows running behind hers like elusive ghosts. “Yes, Maddie. You’re right.” She took a deep breath. “And I think you’re just the person. To find Eva. To tell our stories. For our families. You understand, don’t you?”

I nodded because I did understand. Stories passed from one generation to the next were the cornerstone of Southern family tradition. It was fitting that I, as a blood relation—albeit a distant one—would be the person to tell hers. “And even if I can’t find Eva, you can include her in your stories so she’s not forgotten.”

“So she’s not forgotten,” Precious repeated. A smile touched her peach-tinted lips. “I like that. I like that very much.”

Despite the confidence of her words, I could still see the shadows in her eyes. Grief is like a ghost. “All right,” I said. “I’ll get started today.”

Colin leaned forward. “What was her surname?”

“I’ll think of it. It’s been so long.” Precious pressed her hands against the edge of the table. “I’m feeling poorly. If you will excuse me, I’m going to go for a lie-down.” Colin pulled out her chair and helped her stand. She gave me a wobbly smile. “I’ll have Laura pack up the pimiento cheese sandwiches so you can have a picnic in Regent’s Park. Queen Mary’s Gardens are lovely this time of year. It would be a shame to let this beautiful day go to waste. And I’ll let you know when I’m up for another chat. Maybe this evening or tomorrow morning. But you have all those lovely clothes to look at for inspiration. Choose the ones you find most interesting, and we’ll start with those.”

I stood, too, meeting Colin’s gaze, but he just gave me a quick shake of his head as he escorted Precious inside. I picked up the cigarette case to put it back inside the purse, noticing as I did a label sewn into the satin interior. It was hard to read, but the stitches had been done in gold thread, and the sunlight picked out the letters.

HOUSE OF LUSHTAK, LONDON

I closed the clasp, hearing Precious’s words echoing in my head. Just because a person is lost doesn’t mean they want to be found.

My gaze drifted past the roofs of the terraces, toward the park, and I tried to imagine bombs dropping from the sky, fire and debris filling the air. I couldn’t. The dual images were too opposed, like sand and sea.

I carried the purse inside, closing the balcony doors behind me, wondering why Eva, wherever she might be, might have chosen to remain lost.

CHAPTER 7

LONDON

MARCH 1939

Eva paused to catch her breath outside the door of Horvath’s Café, her gaze moving from the painted letters on the glass window, advertising Builders Breakfasts, Horlicks, and Bovril, to her own reflection. She was late meeting Mr. Danek but eager to show off her new look and to get his approval for the smart outfit on which she’d spent almost an entire paycheck. It had been foolish, she knew. But it was an investment in her future. If she wanted to rise above her station in life, she needed to dress for her new role.

Closing the door, she paused to take off her coat, aware suddenly of the change in the air, of the conversation spoken in rapid Czech that was halted and absorbed into the clouds of cigarette smoke that hung over the small tables like secrets.

Then someone shouted an order in English from behind the Vitrolite bar, and things seemed normal again. Almost. Eva shook off the sense that she’d interrupted something, too excited about sharing the details of the last two weeks with Mr. Danek.

“Eva.”

She turned at the sound of her name. With her shoulders back, she walked toward the table in the back, taking careful steps in her new suede pumps, feeling everyone’s gaze on her. She’d felt people’s attention on her walk to and from the bus stop and on the bus. Men and women alike watched her as if she were some prize to win. Or a dream to attain.

And she was both. She was Lady Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel, an object of envy. A clever and beautiful woman admired by all, capable of holding the attention of an intelligent and handsome man of means.

Mr. Danek stood as she approached, his gaze one of open admiration. Too high on her cloud of elation to check herself at the subdued tone of the voices in the café, or at the crumpled newspaper on the table, Eva twirled, showing off her smart pale blue two-piece, beautifully cut so that it fit her to perfection, the solid color lightened by an enchanting red bow on the pocket and an identical one on her left breast. The hat, a fur felt Breton sailor, and the matching coat, thrown casually over her arm, made Eva feel as though she were dressed