CHAPTER 25
LONDON
DECEMBER 18, 1939
Eva sat in the front parlor next to the wireless, reciting from memory her favorite poem by Wordsworth. Graham had given her a book of poetry, and she had done her best to memorize it all so she could surprise him when she saw him again.
Closing her eyes, she spoke out loud, using the inflections and pronunciations she’d been learning from listening to the BBC broadcasts:
With tranquil restoration: feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man’s life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.
The wireless sat next to her so she could flip it on and off, giving her time to practice the proper inflections in between. Leaning over, she flipped the “on” switch, and heard now the voice of Winston Churchill. He was the first lord of the admiralty, which Eva knew because of her nearly daily conversations about world events at Horvath’s with Mr. Danek. She made sure to stay up-to-date by listening to the wireless so she wouldn’t disappoint him.
Eva still saw Mr. Danek at Lushtak’s, too, but talking about war was frowned upon by Madame Lushtak, who didn’t want her fashions shown by dour girls wearing frowns and depressed by the news.
But Graham’s absence and the lack of letters had made Eva hunger for any information at all. Graham had told her he might not be able to write; even if he did, he might not be able to say very much. Sophia appeared to be as ignorant as Eva regarding Graham’s whereabouts, so Eva didn’t feel left out. And there was a part of her that was grateful she didn’t have to lie to Alex about not having any letters to share.
The front door to the flat shut, and Precious came into the room, bringing with her the scent of chilly air and Vol de Nuit on her emerald green coat. Her arms were burdened with gaily wrapped presents from shops on Oxford Street. She marched over to the sofa and let them fall, watching as several slid to the floor.
“Oh, my goodness. I am plumb wore out. Who knew Christmas shopping could be so exhausting?” She took off her leather gloves and shoved them into her pockets before slipping off her coat and letting it fall on top of the presents. She turned her attention to the wireless. “Is there any news?”
“Something about a British victory at sea—they sank a German ship called the Graf Spee. Somewhere near Uruguay.”
Eva reached over and turned up the volume in time to hear Churchill say, “. . . brilliant sea fight that warmed the cockles of British hearts.”
She frowned. “After so many defeats of our allies in Europe, I suppose this one ship is considered quite the victory. I’d much rather hear the whole German army had been routed.”
Eva surprised herself by how much she’d begun to sound like Mr. Danek. In the last few months, he’d become like a father to her, proud of her when she could converse intelligently. But only when Jiri Zeman wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen Alex again at Horvath’s, but Jiri was now a regular, his mocking eyes watching her closely. She suspected that he was the one who’d discovered her real name and learned that her mother had been a laundress, but she was too afraid to confront him. Sitting next to him at Horvath’s felt like sitting next to a time bomb. She refused to consider what else he might have discovered.
The sound of the post slot slamming had Precious running to the foyer. “You have a letter,” she squealed with excitement. “I think it might be from Graham!”
Eva took the envelope and stared at the handwriting. Miss Eva Harlow. Seeing it written like that gave the name veracity, gave her confidence somehow, as if seeing herself through Graham’s eyes made the charade real. She stood, wanting to read the letter in private, away from Precious and her curious eyes.
“I think it is. Excuse me,” Eva said, feeling badly about the hurt look from her roommate as she retreated down the hallway to her bedroom.
She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed. Not wasting time looking for a letter opener, she slid her finger under the flap, ripped it open, and eagerly pulled out the letter. There were no marks from censors, making Eva wonder whether Graham had known what not to write to avoid censorship, or if he’d used his government connections to send her a letter bypassing review. She didn’t care. She was holding his letter, and it took a moment for her hands to stop shaking long enough for her to read it.
12 November 1939
My darling Eva,
I’m sorry this has taken so long to write. Please know that it’s not because I haven’t wanted to, that I haven’t been thinking about you every waking moment, because I have. I’m working dawn to dusk and I’m quite bleary with exhaustion.
I’ve been assigned a squadron, and there’s word that we’re being readied for an important operation, and they are asking for volunteers. I can’t say more. Just know that I am safe and well, and missing you with every passing moment. I’m eager to hear news from you, but I’m moving bases again. Not sure where, but hopefully I’ll be able to be more specific when I see you again.
David writes often. As I’m sure you’re aware, he’s been assigned to administrative duties, owing to another failed medical evaluation. He’s bound and determined to try again, but in the meantime he brings me news of Sophia. He is proud to report that “our girls,” as he calls you, Sophia, and Precious, are quite active in the war effort and working with the Women’s Voluntary Service. I can’t imagine how the führer expects to win Britain with the strength of our women stacked against him. He also mentions how Alexander Grof has been kind enough to fill in as escort in our absence. I will be sure to thank him when I see him next.
I only have a few minutes until I have to report, so I have to cut this short, but I’m writing to let you know that I expect to have leave around Christmas. Because of the uncertainty of our special mission and which volunteers will be selected, everything is unclear at the moment. I won’t be able to let you know anything more specific, but that will make it a lovely surprise, won’t it?
Just know that you are my last thought before I fall asleep, and the first one when I awaken. I sometimes dream I hear the crash of waves against the shore, and I imagine that’s our future I’m dreaming of, and it makes my sleep restful.
I love you, darling.
Yours always,
Graham
Eva looked at the date on the letter—it had been written over a month ago, which meant they might be together any day now. She read the letter again, then hugged it to her chest, worry over the special mission warring with her excitement at seeing Graham again. She was reading it for the third time when Precious knocked on her door.
“Is it from Graham?” she asked, joining Eva on the edge of the bed. “He’s coming home, isn’t he? You see—I told you if you didn’t watch him leave, he’d come back.”
Eva nodded. “He’s coming home at Christmas. He wasn’t able to tell me when, so I suppose I’ll just have to say no to every invitation.” She picked up the bottle of Vol de Nuit and applied it generously to her neck. “I want to be ready,” she said, smiling at her friend in the mirror.
Precious turned a guileless gaze on Eva. “Did you ever tell Graham about the perfume?”
Eva considered lying but said simply, “No. And it’s not like Graham isn’t the one who is allowed to enjoy it the most.”
Precious smiled. “Looks like you figured out how to have your cake and eat it, too. I’m glad, since I love the perfume. Being able to wear it makes me as happy as a hog in a waller.”
The relief at not being judged for her decision to keep the perfume loosened the knot Eva had been carrying in the pit of her stomach. She smiled back at her roommate. “I have no idea what that is, but I’m glad it makes you happy.”
They both started laughing, from relief more than anything else. They were still howling with laughter, the tears running from their eyes, when the front door buzzer sounded, sobering them both quickly. Eva stood, smoothing her hair in the mirror. “It could be Graham.”
Precious pushed her gently. “Hurry. I’ll stay here so you two can have some privacy.”
Eva’s heart raced as she ran to the front door and threw it open.
Alexander stood on the threshold in elegant evening attire, his hat in his hand. “A kind gentleman let me inside so I didn’t have to ring up. I do apologize for the late notice, but I would like you to accompany me to dinner at the Savoy this evening.”
“No,” Eva said, not caring if she sounded rude. “I’m not going out tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason? Something I should know? I hope you’re not keeping anything from me.”
She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, hoping he didn’t notice. “No. I’m tired and want to stay in.” She began to close the door, but he put out his arm, stopping it.
“That would be a mistake on your part, my dear. I have news of your parents that I think you should hear. Or if you’re not interested, I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. St. John would be.”
Cold fear slipped through her veins as she let go of the door and allowed him to step inside. “You’re very smart, Eva,” he said. “It’s why I like you. Now, do run and make yourself presentable. I have a job for you this evening, and you need to look your most beautiful self.”
“What about my parents?”
He gave her a look of admonishment. “Didn’t you learn as a child that you don’t get a treat until you’ve done your work?”
She wanted to tell him that she’d never gotten treats as a child, but knew it wouldn’t matter to him. Without a word, she retreated to her bedroom, where Precious waited.
“It’s not Graham?”
Eva shook her head. “No. It’s Alex. He’s quite insistent that I join him for dinner this evening.”
“Didn’t you tell him no?”
“He’s not the sort to take no for an answer. I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do,” Precious said. “Just tell him no.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Eva said again in a tone she hoped brooked no argument.
“If you say so,” Precious said. She stood. “You take your time. I’ll go keep Alex company. I think I’ll tell him the story of how my little sister brought a skunk into the house as a pet. That should entertain him for a while.” She winked before heading out of the room, her quick footsteps receding down the hallway.
Eva read Graham’s letter again, then folded it into her bag to keep it close, to read again later, making herself a promise that she would not share this one with Alex.
Alex made Eva leave her cashmere coat in the flat before they descended in the lift. Despite gas rationing, his car and driver were waiting at the curb when they exited the building. She was surprised to see Jiri Zeman in a chauffeur’s uniform, but treated him as if he were just the driver and not someone she knew.
He held out a full-length mink coat. Alex took it from him and draped it over Eva’s shoulders. “Your coat won’t do on such a cold night, dearest Eva. Wear this and you’ll be warm.”
Knowing that he really meant her serviceable coat wouldn’t do at the Savoy, she accepted the offer after only a brief hesitation, and snuggled into the backseat. She moved her chin against the fur, feeling the unadulterated luxury of it, the heavy weight of all those pelts on her shoulders. She took off her gloves so she could stroke the fur, just like the Hollywood actresses wore, enjoying the sensation of believing it was hers. She caught Alex watching her and immediately dropped her hands, but not before she saw his knowing grin.
On their way to the Savoy on the Strand, they drove past the venerable emporium of Fortnum & Mason. The windows had been x-ed out with tape, and the walls banked with sandbags. All across the city, blackout curtains covered windows; half-painted headlights on cars and the extinguishing of streetlights evidenced a population preparing for an air attack. Thus far, all had been for naught—and an alarmingly large number of pedestrians had been struck and killed at night by motor vehicles. Despite England’s having been officially at war with Germany for nearly four months, not one single bomb had fallen in the British Isles.
Last week, Mr. Danek had shown Eva a map, pointing out where Hitler stood with his armies, poised at borders like vultures waiting for something to die before devouring the carcasses. Eventually they would make it into France, he said, and then onto the coast and into the English Channel. Only twenty miles of water separated England from the Continent. It was simply a matter of time.
“It’s a supper and dance cabaret tonight—I hope you enjoy the dancing.” Alex’s words broke her reverie. “My friends will be quite envious of my partner for the evening.”
“I doubt I shall enjoy any of it. Just tell me what ‘job’ you want me to do so I can get it done and you can tell me about my parents. I’d like to get home as soon as possible.”
“All right,” he said. “Tonight’s job is easy. It’s a test for you, to see how well you can follow directions.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Though it’s a test you shouldn’t fail.”
She shivered in her mink but was careful not to show her apprehension. “Go on,” she said, sounding bored.
“I want you to be friendly with a gentleman who will be introduced to you, Lord Merton. If he asks you to dance, tell him yes. And then, while you are dancing, ask him if he buys his cheeses at Paxton and Whitfield’s. He will then escort you back to your seat, where you will pull out a cigarette and ask for a match. He will give you a matchbox and tell you to keep it. You smoke your cigarette and deliver the matchbox to me when we are in my car, but not before.”
“May I ask why you need me to do this?” Eva faced him, wanting to read his expression, to see if he’d gone completely mad.
He touched her jaw, caressing it. “My dear, it is not for you to understand. You are merely to do what I ask.”
He grinned, the flash of white from his smile seeming detached from his face as it floated in the darkness. She turned her head away from him, eager for the night to be over so she could return to the flat and wait for Graham.
At the Savoy, Eva was introduced to Lord Merton, an older man with muttonchop whiskers and thick hair in his ears and nose, at the beginning of the evening. She didn’t see him again until after the dancing had begun.
She endured the long night and the dancing with partners who spoke little to no English. She kept glancing at her purse, on the table, where she’d put Graham’s letter, as if to keep him close. She barely tasted the caviar, quail Richelieu, and jalousie Parisienne, and not just because she felt guilty for the rationing that the rest of the city had to withstand.
Eventually, near midnight, Lord Merton appeared at her side and asked her to dance. He seemed drunk, and Eva was afraid his cold, clammy hands would leave marks on her gown. He spoke of the weather while she tried not to look up into the hairy caverns of his pronounced nose. And just when it seemed that the band was about to finish, she asked casually, “Sir, do you buy your cheeses at Paxton and Whitfield’s?”
He stumbled, and she had to use all of her strength to keep them both from falling over. Beads of sweat formed on his temples, dripping onto her arms. He offered her a stiff smile. “Yes, my dear. I do.”
And when he escorted her back to her seat, she asked him for a light. He gave her a matchbox before excusing himself. As she sat smoking, she caught Alex’s approving gaze, and she turned away without acknowledgment. Then, as the praline ices and coffee were served, she pleaded a headache and asked to be taken home.
When the driver pulled up to the curb in front of her building, she handed Alex the matchbox, which he took without comment. “I’ve done what you asked,” Eva said. “Now tell me about my parents.”
“Allow me first to escort you upstairs, to see that you are safely home.”
Reluctantly, she led him through the checkerboard-floored foyer and into the lift. As soon as he slid open the gate, she stepped into the hallway and turned around. “Thank you for the lovely evening. I can see my way from here. I’m tired and would appreciate you telling me what you promised.” Remembering the mink coat, she slid it off and handed it to him. “And thank you for this—it kept me quite warm.”
As if he couldn’t tell that she wanted to be free of him, he ignored her outstretched arm, stepped out of the lift, and closed the gate and the outer door. “It looks lovely on you, Eva, and I know you enjoyed wearing it. So please, keep it with my compliments.”
She didn’t relent, keeping her arm outstretched, her shoulder hurting from the coat’s weight. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t accept such a gift. It’s far too expensive and not at all appropriate.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that.” He took the coat, studying it. A smile crossed his lips. “Do you hear much from your mother, Eva?” His expression and tone made him seem genuinely interested. As if he didn’t already know the answer.
“I hear nothing from her.” She lifted her chin to show that she wasn’t embarrassed. “She doesn’t know how to read or write.”
“Ah, yes. And your father?”
“You know very well that he was illiterate, too. And I haven’t seen him since I was a little girl.”
“Poor little fatherless Ethel. Is it good news, then, that he’s been visiting your mother?”
Eva froze, the food and drink she’d consumed over the evening threatening to come back up. She remembered her mother’s arm, crooked where it had been broken more than once and not set properly; her jagged nose, which made it hard for her to breathe; the way her fingers and arm hurt in the cold because of her mangled bones. Remembered, too, her mother’s bleeding and bruised face after she’d tried to prevent her husband from taking her wages and spending them at the local pub on drink and gambling. Recalled the way her mother protected her from her father’s fists more than once by taking the blows herself.
“He’s dead.”
“I assure you, he’s quite alive. He’s been in prison for so long that you and your mother were most likely happy to assume he was no longer living, but he is, and he’s been released. If he’d succeeded in killing the man he assaulted with a bottle of gin instead of simply maiming him, he’d still be in prison. Alas, both survived. I was going to suggest that you write your mother when you send her money and tell her she should move where he can’t find her. But if she can’t read . . .”
“How do you know all this?” The words rushed out of Eva’s mouth. She was going to be ill.
His smile disappeared. “Eva, I’m very disappointed in you. I make it my business to know things. And as I’ve mentioned, Mr. Zeman is very helpful in finding out what people would prefer remained hidden. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Eva desperately began to think about how much more money she could afford to send to her mother, about how to make her move yet again.
“You’re lying,” she said, proud that she kept her voice steady.
“I assure you I’m not. Your mother lives near Muker, yes? In Angram. And your father loves his ale but has a special weakness for gambling. He’s good at darts, isn’t he? When you were a little girl, he won a lot of money in a tournament and spent it all on drink. It was an argument at that very pub about his unconventional rules that got him locked up. And your father went right back to that pub the day he was released from prison.” Alex smiled kindly. “You see, Eva, I’m telling the truth.”
Her breath was coming in shallow gasps, and she thought she might faint. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think I have a solution. We can move your mother here, to live with you and Precious. Surely your father wouldn’t think to look for her in London. Then you could take care of her. I know St. John would enjoy meeting her. Perhaps inviting her to tea with his mother?”
His mock seriousness was worse than if he’d laughed in her face. Eva tasted bile in her throat.
How could this be happening to her carefully constructed world? It was like watching two trains on the same track heading toward a certain devastating collision. She wanted her mother to be safe and well. That was why she sent money each month. But her mother couldn’t come here. She couldn’t. And the guilt of that last thought made Eva’s knees crumple.
Alex grabbed her elbows, catching her before she fell. She was shivering, as if she were outside in the cold without any clothes. He settled the fur coat around her shoulders, then pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against the lapels of his coat. He patted her back and uttered consoling words as if she were a small child. “There, there, Eva. I have another idea that you might find more palatable.”
She wanted to lift her head, to step away from his embrace, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength. “What?” she whispered.
“I own a little country cottage in Dorset, in the seaside town of Bournemouth—won it playing cards, I’m afraid. I’ve never seen it—apparently, it’s where the former owner kept his mistress, so it’s nicely appointed although quite small. I could set your mother up there, put it about that she’s a military widow with a new name. Perhaps Harlow, since it’s worked so well for you? Or is that too obvious a connection? I’m sure you’ll think of something, and your mother will be too grateful to care. She could retire from washing other people’s clothes.”
“Why would you do that?” Eva whispered, unwilling to look up into his face. “I could never pay you back.”
“Oh, my sweet Eva. I wouldn’t ask you to pay me back in kind.”
“It’s so I’ll feel beholden to you so that I can be useful in some way.”
“You’re very clever, Eva. You passed the test tonight, 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.