CHAPTER 9

LONDON

MARCH 1939

Eva sat at the dressing table in the models’ room at Lushtak’s with her back to the mirror and her eyes closed. Gently, Mr. Danek applied a shimmery eye color to her lids from a small jar. When she felt him lean back, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Well?”

“Perfection. You hardly need anything—your skin is like porcelain. Just a little rouge, hmm?”

She nodded as he reached for another small jar. Mrs. Williams bustled in, holding a peach satin gown draped carefully over her arm. She studied Eva with pursed lips. “I think more mascara, Mr. Danek. She has such lovely eyes.” Her mouth broadened into a smile. “Your gown is pressed, and I found a fur stole from last year’s show that you can borrow. Just promise me you won’t damage any of it.” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest. “Promise me that. The show is next week, and I won’t have any time to resew seams or clean any stains.”

“I promise you, I will be more than careful.”

Mr. Danek swiped a small brush against the black mascara compact. Looking up so he could apply it to her upper lashes, Eva said, “And I can’t thank you both enough. I wish you’d allow me to pay you for your time.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Williams said with a wave. “I’m here into the wee hours anyway, sewing for the show. This was a nice diversion. And I do appreciate the steak and kidney pie for my supper. That was very kind of you.”

“Likewise,” said Mr. Danek with a small smile.

Eva smiled back but avoided his gaze. She’d confessed to him that she didn’t want Graham to see where she lived, to smell the cooking grease and other odors from her neighbors as he climbed the steps to her flat. Soon she and Precious would find a more acceptable flat with the kind of address she wasn’t embarrassed about giving to taxi drivers. Or to Graham.

When Mr. Danek was finished, Eva sat back. “May I look now?”

At his nod, Eva spun around on the stool and stared at the woman in the glass. It was like staring into the future, like seeing the woman she’d always wanted to become, a woman of elegance and beauty. Of substance. A lady. She leaned forward, trying to find the laundress’s daughter, surprised by the thread of sadness that wrapped around her joy and squeezed. For one bright and fleeting moment, she found herself wishing that her mother was there to see her. To share this happiness.

“Your hair is lovely,” the seamstress said from behind her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Williams. I did it myself.” Eva reached up to touch the soft curls that framed her face and swept up at the back of her head in a tight chignon. She’d learned the style by poring over fashion magazines and studying the hairstyles of the actresses in the movies. She’d been shooed out of more than one newsstand for reading the magazines instead of purchasing them, but she’d needed the money for the new strappy gold high-heeled sandals she’d seen at Selfridges and set her heart on.

“Well, it looks like you went to one of those fancy salons, to be sure. Now,” the older woman said, her wide face splitting with a smile, “are you ready for the gown? I’ve altered it, so it should fit you like a glove.”

Eva let the peach-colored satin be slipped over her head, the fabric soft and liquid. “It’s . . .” She paused, unable to voice what it was like to have a dream come true. She had the sudden memory of her mother bent over a washboard, her once-beautiful hair dull and lifeless. Eva had been telling her about the movie she’d just seen, Libeled Lady with Myrna Loy, about a beautiful heiress who wore beautiful clothes. Her mother had stopped her midsentence. “You’ll never be more than what you are. You’d best remember that.”

And Eva had. If only to prove her mother wrong.

“It’s perfect,” Mr. Danek said, finishing Eva’s sentence.

Eva nodded. “Do you think I need a paste necklace or earrings? Something to brighten the front of the dress?”

Mr. Danek shook his head. “No. Showy jewelry is not in style right now, my dear. Believe me, this dress, your face, and your figure are all you will need. People will assume you are a princess. With all these exiled governments now in London, if only you could speak with a foreign accent, everyone would be easily fooled.”

Eva laughed. “Oh, but I can. I am quite the expert at accents, Mr. Danek.” She imitated his own with such precision that he threw his head back and laughed.

“Yes, my dear. You are quite good. You must be a very good listener.”

Eva nodded earnestly. “Oh, yes. I’m always listening—on the bus and at the theater, and to the other girls at Madame Lushtak’s. Odette says my French accent is better than hers!”

Mr. Danek laughed again and began packing up his makeup. “If you will excuse me, I will place you in the capable hands of Mrs. Williams. I have a bottle of champagne chilling for when your gentleman arrives. A small glass will help calm your nerves.”

Eva wanted to say that she wasn’t nervous to meet Graham’s sister formally or pretend that she was comfortable mixing in high society, and that she was confident no one would suspect her true origins. But that would have been a lie. She hadn’t been able to eat a thing all day, and even the thought of champagne made her queasy. “Thank you, Mr. Danek.”

He bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment, then left.

“I think I’m ready,” Eva said, her voice surprisingly steady.

“Except for this.” Mrs. Williams handed her the fur stole.

“And my purse,” Eva added, picking up Precious’s box bag.

Mrs. Williams followed her to the door. “I’ll be here early tomorrow before Madame Lushtak. Please, don’t be late returning your dress and stole.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll be here.”

Very carefully, Eva walked down the hallway to the showroom door and opened it. Only a few lights were on, and it appeared she was alone. She tamped down her disappointment as she closed the door behind her; then she stepped into the room.

“‘She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies.’”

Eva turned toward the sound of Graham’s voice, her thrill at his presence dimmed by the thought that she should know the poem he’d just quoted. A doctor’s educated daughter from Devon would. And he’d paused, as if expecting her to finish the line.

“Graham,” she said instead. She walked quickly toward him, and kissed him deeply.

“Darling,” he said against her lips. “What a lovely greeting.”

“I’ve missed you.” Eva leaned in to kiss him again. “It’s been a whole day.”

His hands slid to her back, his fingers warm against her bare skin. He sucked in his breath, then pulled away slightly. “Perhaps a glass of champagne? Otherwise I have doubts we will make it to the party, and Sophia will be most disappointed.”

“What have you told her about me?” Eva asked.

He seemed surprised by her question. “Why, the truth, of course.”

“The truth?” she asked, her mouth gone suddenly dry.

“Yes, darling. You have nothing to be ashamed of. She remembers you, by the way. From the day you modeled clothes for her and our mother. She thought you very lovely. And she also finds it admirable that you have made a life for yourself after such tragedy. Being a clotheshorse for a reputable fashion house is quite respectable.” He took her hands in his. “Our mother isn’t as forward-thinking, but she’ll come around, I’m sure. I can be quite persuasive.”

He grinned, and Eva’s own smile wobbled as she attempted to grin back. She almost told him the real truth then. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. And she knew with certainty that if Mrs. St. John would find a doctor’s daughter forced to model of objectionable character, then her reaction to the truth would be unimaginable.

Graham reached for the opened bottle on the small table and poured champagne into the two waiting glasses. He handed one to Eva, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You look absolutely stunning, Eva. I daresay the other ladies could be wearing sackcloth tonight, and I don’t think any of the gentlemen would notice.”

She took a sip from her glass and smiled. “There’s only one gentleman whose notice I care about. And he’s looking quite divine himself.” She allowed her gaze to slowly take in Graham’s bespoke black dinner jacket, which fit his lean frame and accented his broad shoulders; the black bow tie and white piqué shirt with a turned-down collar highlighted his suntan. “And he’s looking quite exotic, too—like Errol Flynn in Captain Blood.”

He leaned down and kissed her, his lips tasting like champagne and lingering on hers while he breathed in deeply. “What is that perfume you’re wearing? It’s quite intoxicating.”

“Vol de Nuit.” Her husky voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. When she’d been in Selfridges to buy the shoes, she’d passed the counter where a salesgirl was offering a sample dab. Eva knew she had to have it but couldn’t afford it. Which was why she’d stopped by Selfridges on her way to Lushtak’s tonight to tap on the perfume from the sample bottle.

“It means ‘Night Flight,’” she said, having already asked Odette for the translation and practiced the pronunciation—which Odette said was flawless. “From a book written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, about a man’s lust for adventure and success in adversity.” The salesgirl had told her that much before it became clear that Eva wasn’t a paying customer, at which point she had abruptly left to help a mink-clad woman.

Graham kissed Eva behind the ear where she’d put a dollop of the perfume, and her pulse jumped under her skin. “So you have a lust for adventure and a desire for success in adversity?”

She smiled against his lips, which had returned to her mouth. “Of course.”

“Then I’d say we were well matched.” He grinned, but his eyes were serious as he stepped back. “We should be going. Sophia wanted us there before the other guests so she can have time to get to know you.”

He took her empty glass from her fingers and put it next to his on the table before adjusting the fur stole around her shoulders. “Ah,” he said as she picked up her bag and slid it onto her arm. “We owe a lot to that purse, don’t we? If you hadn’t dropped it in front of the chemist, we might never have met.”

“It was fate, wasn’t it? Like Romeo and Juliet,” Eva said proudly, happy to show off her newfound knowledge. At Mr. Danek’s suggestion, she’d begun frequenting the library and checking out books she thought would improve her mind. She’d even read Pygmalion.

“I should hope not. I’d like to think we aren’t fated for such a tragic ending.” He winked at her to take the severity from his words, put on his hat and overcoat, then led her outside to the front of the building, where a long dark car awaited them.

A uniformed driver held open the back door. Graham must have felt Eva’s hesitation, because he placed his hand on hers where it rested in the crook of his arm. “Sadly, it isn’t mine—I’m a mere second son, and a humble public servant at that. The car is borrowed from my future brother-in-law, David Eliot. He has much deeper pockets than I do. I suppose the only thing we have to worry about is whether or not it will turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

She laughed, and he kissed her again, then held her hand as he helped her into the backseat. He broke contact only to move to the other side of the car to get in, then kept his hand solidly over hers as they made their way down Saint George Street.

The car slowed as they turned into Berkeley Square, with its flat-fronted brick buildings, each with four or five floors with regularly spaced sash windows and brass fittings on the front doors. The elegant town houses surrounding the private garden in the center of the square lent the whole neighborhood the illusion of being a perfect oasis despite how close it was to the bustle of the shopping district.

The driver stopped at the curb in front of an imposing entrance beneath an iron canopy with a hanging carriage light. A single stone step led up to a large black door. Beneath an elaborate fan window with wavy glass, a brass lion’s-head knocker held court in the middle of the door, its mouth open in midgrowl. For a brief moment, Eva felt as if it were telling her that she should go to the rear, where she belonged.

The driver stepped out and opened Eva’s door. Graham turned to her and asked softly, “Are you ready?” He squeezed her hand, and she loved him for that, for knowing without asking that she was nervous.

“Graham,” she said, suddenly afraid, wanting to turn back. But the look he gave her was open and honest, his eyes full of light and longing.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I . . .” She stopped. “I’m glad you’re with me tonight. I feel at a loss when you’re not.”

His eyes widened. “Good,” he said, a grin forming. And then he kissed her slowly, his lips lingering on hers.

The front door of the town house opened. Anything else he’d been about to say was lost as he climbed from the car and escorted Eva to the door, where a butler waited.

Eva had a brief flash of a lofty entrance hall with a black-and-white marble-tiled floor and elaborate moldings, the bottom step of a grand staircase visible from the arched opening on the opposite end of the foyer. A handsome young couple waited in front of a tall gilded mirror. Eva recognized Sophia from the showing at Lushtak’s, noticing that she wore one of the frocks Eva had shown her. The pale blue silk was more conservatively cut than Eva’s gown, but flattered Sophia’s fuller figure and rounded bosom. A double strand of pearls and matching earrings were her only extra adornments, besides the large emerald engagement ring on her left hand.

Graham kissed his sister on each cheek and shook hands with the tall, dark-haired man beside her. Graham turned to Eva, but before he could introduce her, Sophia took both of Eva’s hands in hers.

“Graham has spoken of you so much that I feel as if I already know you. I remember you from Lushtak’s. You looked so beautiful in all of the clothes that I had to have every single outfit in the hopes that I would look like you.” She smiled and a dimple deepened on her cheek. “Of course, that’s an impossibility, but one can hope.”

Sophia let go of Eva’s hands and turned to the man beside her. “This is my fiancé, David Eliot. If he weren’t so besotted with me, I wouldn’t have invited such a gorgeous creature as you to my home.”

She beamed up at David, and the look of adoration he returned made it clear that she was absolutely right.

As Eva greeted them both, she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She turned her head slightly and met the gaze of two gray eyes so pale they appeared silver. They were set beneath thick brows in a masculine face that was spared perfection by its angularity—and a nose that appeared to have been broken at least once. Sharp cheekbones and a wide forehead split by a dark widow’s peak kept the man from appearing unapproachable. As did the grin he directed at Eva as he drew a cigarette to his mouth.

David followed her gaze. “Ah, Alexander. Come meet our guests.”

The man put out his cigarette in an ashtray before walking over to the group in the foyer. His gait was casual as he crossed the marble floor. He was powerfully built, even though he wasn’t tall; his silver eyes appeared to take in everything yet somehow find it all wanting.

“Alexander Grof,” he said, extending his hand to Graham. “David and I are old friends from our Harrow days.” They shook, and Graham introduced himself before placing his hand on the small of Eva’s back to bring her closer.

“This is Miss Eva Harlow.”

The man’s unusual eyes met hers again, and what seemed like a jolt of electricity pulsed through her. The feeling wasn’t the same as when Graham looked at her. More the sense of surprise caused by an intruder crashing through a locked door. Alexander took her hand and kissed it, making her wish that evening gloves were still in fashion. She didn’t look down at her hand, sure his lips had left some kind of a mark.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grof,” Eva said, although it wasn’t, not really. He was an attractive, magnetic man, but he was like the luscious red apple hanging from the tree, beautiful to look at, possibly poisonous if eaten. Perhaps she’d seen too many films, but she couldn’t avoid the unsettled feeling he gave her, the sense of having stepped into quicksand.

“Likewise,” he said, and gave her such an engaging smile that she almost doubted her initial negative impression of him. “I’m afraid that I’ve quite upset our charming hostess by appearing unannounced and creating an uneven number at dinner. I tried to leave, but Sophia and David insisted I stay. I’m only saying this so that you won’t think ill of Miss St. John’s hostess abilities, which are beyond compare. I say that with all honesty, having been a guest at her dining table on several occasions.”

“Oh, Alex, don’t be absurd,” Sophia said, blushing prettily. “And am I truly Miss St. John to you? I do believe we should all be on a first-name basis. Those of us who know one another are such good friends, and those who don’t soon will be.” She linked her arm with Eva’s and gave a small squeeze, then led her through the arched doorway toward the staircase. “Please, call me Sophia. And may I call you Eva?”

“I’d like that,” Eva said, warming to the young woman.

As they reached the stairs, Eva gave a quick glance into the room opposite and saw shelves of books and a heavy wood desk—likely the library. Sophia led her on, bringing her upstairs to an elegantly appointed drawing room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, making the large room appear cozy but doing nothing to erase the chill Eva felt from the open back of her dress, or from the sense that something was askew.

She sought out Graham’s gaze, and he smiled at her. Her uneasiness fled. Sophia noticed her shiver and led her to a small sofa, upholstered in a deep blue velvet, next to the fireplace. “I gave instructions for the room to be warmed, and here you are about to catch your death.” She sent a glowering look toward the butler, who immediately pushed a call button, presumably to summon a maid to stoke the fire.

Eva sank down onto the sofa, grateful to relieve her feet.

Sophia continued. “I should get rid of the lot of them—they’ve grown too soft living in London. Staff from the country are far better, I’m told. Not terribly intelligent, but hard workers. I imagine they’re so eager to get out of their hovels and live in a London town house that they’d work twice as hard for half the money.” She smiled at her own wit, apparently unaware of Eva’s frozen expression. It had nothing to do with the temperature in the room and everything to do with what Sophia had just said, especially the word “hovels.”

After Sophia excused herself to see to her other guests, Eva looked for Graham again, wanting him to sit next to her. He was facing away; she started to call out to him, but Alexander moved in front of her, blocking her view. After a brief bow and a perfunctory “May I?” he took the empty seat beside her without waiting for her to answer.

David came toward them before she could react. “I’m your official drinks man for the evening. Sophia says I’m quite good at it, says it’s the main reason she’s marrying me.”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Eva said, glad for his interruption. “I’d like a French Seventy-five, please.” Precious had assured her that this was the champagne drink all the smart women liked.

“Make that two,” Alexander added, giving Eva another charming smile. He kept a respectful distance from her, allowing for a wide gap between them on the small sofa, and this made her relax somewhat.

After they chatted a few moments about the weather, a uniformed maid brought their drinks on a tray. Alexander took them both and handed one to Eva.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. Eva did the same, then took a small, ladylike sip.

“Are you Czech?” she asked, belatedly recognizing the accent that hid behind his impeccable English.

He looked at her with surprise. “Very good, Eva. My mother is English, but my father is half-Czech and half-German, raised in Prague. As was I, until I attended Harrow at the tender age of thirteen. I find that my loyalties are split between three countries.” He took a sip of his drink and eyed her appreciatively. “You have an excellent ear.”

His silver gaze held such intensity that Eva was forced to look away. She focused on the bubbles rising to the surface of her glass and took another sip.

“Where have you heard my accent?” he asked.

“My friend Anton Danek. He does the makeup for the models at the House of Lushtak.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “I suspected that you were a model. You have a rare sort of beauty. The sort that deserves to be shown off in jewels and beautiful clothes.”

“Thank you,” Eva said, nervous again. Something in the way he spoke hinted at indecent things; it made her skin heat. She put her glass down on the side table and fumbled for her cigarette case inside her purse. Her fingers moved clumsily as she attempted to open the case, and she dropped it on the floor. The hinge Precious had glued together with fingernail polish popped open, spilling cigarettes over the Persian rug.

The maid rushed over and retrieved the pieces of the case along with the three cigarettes that had been inside. “Thank you,” Eva said, returning all but one cigarette to her bag. The maid, younger even than Eva, looked worried, as if embarrassed at being noticed.

“Allow me,” Alexander said, leaning forward with a match.

Her hand shook as she held the cigarette to her mouth. He lit it, then his own, his eyes never straying from her face. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Devon,” she said.

He sat back, studying her carefully. “No, you’re not.”

Her hand trembled as she brought her cigarette to her mouth, trying to disguise the white-hot fear that flashed through her.

“Your accent is very proper, but every once in a while, I can hear you use an inflection that isn’t quite right—and it isn’t quite Devon, either. You see, Eva, you’re not the only one with a good ear.”

She took her time blowing smoke from her mouth, trying to think of a response. Mr. Danek had told her that to make a lie believable, one had to mix in some truth. “I was born in Yorkshire, in a small town called Muker. We moved to Devon when I was a little girl, but I suppose that’s where I learned to speak.”

“Ah, yes. That would make sense.” He took a puff from his cigarette, a knowing smile touching his lips as he continued to study her.

Sophia appeared beside Eva. “I do believe you’re monopolizing our new friend, Alex. Would you please excuse us? We’ve lots to talk about.” She held her hand out to Eva, and Eva tried not to seem too eager as she took it and stood. She met Graham’s gaze from across the room, feeling her nerves settle at its warmth. Her pulse danced in her veins. She wished they were back in the showroom again, just the two of them.

Alexander stood and bowed formally. “It has been my pleasure.”

Eva smiled noncommittally, then allowed Sophia to lead her away.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Later, Eva couldn’t recall anybody’s names or what they had had to eat, what the conversation had been about or what she had said. All she could remember was the nearness of Graham, his leg pressed against hers beneath the table, and the unnerving silver eyes of the man whose stares she did her best to avoid for the duration of the party.