CHAPTER 27
LONDON
DECEMBER 30, 1939
Eva nearly skipped down the steps of her building on her way to work at Lushtak’s. The air stung with an icy chill, but the sun was shining, Graham was coming home on leave, and she hadn’t seen Alex since that night at the Savoy when he’d told her she’d passed the test.
He’d sent a note informing her that her mother had been moved and was using the name Eva had given to Alex. Inside the same envelope had been a letter attesting that her father had indeed been released from prison.
Eva hoped this meant that she was done with Alex, that she had returned a favor and their accounts were perhaps settled.
A horn blew, startling her and making her turn. When she recognized Alex’s car, Jiri Zeman behind the wheel, pulling up beside her, she froze inside her wool coat. She considered ignoring it and running, but that was stupid; there was no place she could run where Alex couldn’t find her.
The door opened. “Good morning, Eva,” Alex called from the backseat. “It’s cold—get in, and we’ll drive you to work. You have a ten o’clock showing, yes?”
It bothered her that he should know that, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. With only a brief hesitation, she got inside the car, turning her face away as Alex reached across her to close the door.
“You’re looking lovelier than usual, Eva. You must have good news.”
She kept her face still as she looked out the window. She had no doubts that he’d taken Graham’s letter from her purse and knew that Graham would be coming home soon.
“I have news, too.” He placed the morning’s Times on her lap, crisp and ironed by some nameless maid so that the print wouldn’t smudge onto his fingers. “Page five, first column on the left. I think you might find it interesting.”
When she didn’t move, he plucked the paper off of her lap and began turning the pages. With great fanfare, he found the proper one, then folded the paper in quarters to make it easier for her to read. “There you are. I believe you’ll recognize the gentleman in the photograph.”
Curious, Eva bent her head—and froze. It was the man she’d danced with at the Savoy, the one who’d given her a matchbox after she’d asked him where he bought his cheeses. She read the headline.
Lord Merton, MP, found dead in hotel room from apparent botched robbery
“That’s horrible. Why are you showing me this?”
“Because you need to know.”
She looked up, saw Jiri looking at her in the rearview mirror, that familiar smirk on his face. The bile rose in her throat. “Was this about the matchbox?”
“More or less. Lord Merton made the mistake of confiding to the wrong person that he’d been paid a large sum of money for handing over government information. They killed him because of it.”
She looked down at the photograph, remembering how Lord Merton had tried very hard to avoid staring at her cleavage while they were dancing. She felt a pang of regret—a sorrow that she hadn’t known him well enough to grieve his passing.
She shook her head. “They . . . ?”
Alex grabbed her arm, making her wince. Eva tried to pull away. “Let go—you’re hurting me.”
He squeezed tighter, leaning close so that she could feel his breath hot on her face. “That is what happens to people who can’t follow the rules. Such as talking about things they shouldn’t to people they shouldn’t trust.” Alex’s grip tightened. “And not sharing letters when one has been asked to do so. This is a dangerous game, Eva. Don’t think you can make up your own rules. Just do as you’re told.”
He let go of her, and she rubbed her arm, staring at him. Her lungs felt frozen, making it hard to breathe, to think.
Without looking at her, he said, “Just do as you’re told, and don’t talk to anyone about anything you discuss with me or that I ask you to do—not anyone. And don’t think you can withhold information or a letter from St. John from me. Because I will find out. There are worse things than your secret being revealed, Eva. That would be the lesser punishment, believe me. Let’s not forget that I know where your mother lives. And I wouldn’t like to see Precious or Sophia suffering the same fate as the unfortunate Lord Merton. The ax swings both ways.”
He turned to her and smiled the smile of a fox circling a chicken coop. “Now do you understand, my dear Eva?”
Eva thought she might throw up. Or faint. But she wouldn’t. She never wanted to give Alex the satisfaction of knowing he’d frightened her. She swallowed the bile that had risen in the back of her throat. “Yes. I understand,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice calm.
The car stopped at the curb in front of the House of Lushtak. Jiri stepped out to open her door. Eva quickly moved to the edge of the seat, eager to get away from Alex. But he grabbed her hand, pulling her back.
“One more thing. Be careful, Ethel. Your accent slips when you’re frightened.”
She yanked her hand out of his grasp and started across the sidewalk.
“I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve,” he called after her. “We’re going to a party.”
Eva knew she couldn’t say no. The photograph of Lord Merton and Alex’s threats danced in her head. Without acknowledging that she’d heard, she hurried across the sidewalk, nearly colliding with Freya in her rush to get inside and shut out the rest of the world.
DECEMBER 31, 1939
Eva stared at her face in the mirror, at her reddened and swollen eyes, the pallor of her skin, which couldn’t be disguised by pancake makeup or rouge. Precious stood behind her, twisting and curling Eva’s hair into an elaborate evening style.
The newspaper, its war news almost two weeks old, lay faceup on the dressing table, the bold headlines shouting at her with each glance.
RAF SUFFERS HEAVY LOSSES, 12 ENEMY PLANES SHOT DOWN
The first major air battle had taken place on the same day Eva had read Graham’s letter, the eighteenth, on the North Sea at the mouth of the Elbe River in some godforsaken German port called Heligoland Bight. It had been Sophia who’d told her. She’d rushed to Eva’s flat wearing her nightclothes under her fur coat. David, working in administration at the War Office, had come home, reassuring Sophia that despite the losses, some of the bomber crews had managed to return to England.
Eva had sat on the sofa with Sophia, holding her hand, a glimmer of hope spreading as she recalled something Graham had said. “But Graham isn’t a bomber pilot. He flies Spitfires and other fighters. There must be some mistake. . . .”
Sophia had shaken her head. Keeping her head down and speaking quietly, she said, “This is in strictest confidence, you understand. David told me. It appears that Graham volunteered for a mission. A secret mission involving the bombing, something to do with advance reconnaissance. He may have run out of fuel before he made it back.” She choked, squeezed Eva’s hand harder. “David says they believe he may have crashed into the sea. They found the wreckage of his plane, but they’re still searching for him. Because this was a covert operation, the information has been weak at best and will have been intentionally delayed. Even though David is in the War Office, this operation was out of his jurisdiction, so to speak.”
“So there’s still hope,” Eva said, wishing her head would agree with her heart, with the sure knowledge that Graham was still alive.
Sophia nodded, then swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “Until we hear differently, we can assume that he has been picked up by one of our allies and that he is safe. David will let us know as soon as there is confirmation.”
Eva, Precious, and Sophia had huddled together and wept, clinging to that one hope, emptying the vodka from the decanter before starting on the as-yet-untouched Scottish whisky Alex had given Eva. In that moment, Eva hadn’t cared where the alcohol was from. She wanted only to numb herself. To be rendered senseless until the moment Graham walked through the door and put his arms around her.
But Sophia had eventually left, and then Precious reluctantly returned to Lushtak’s, agreeing to tell Madame that Eva was ill. And Precious had made Eva promise that if she heard news, any news, she would let her know immediately. Believing she wasn’t alone in her grief and anxiety brought Eva some comfort, at least until she closed her eyes and the images of broken pieces of a plane floating in the water made her heart bleed again.
Now Precious dropped a golden lock of Eva’s hair from the curling tong so that it bounced against her neck. “I don’t know why you’re going out tonight, Eva. Alex knows that Graham is missing—surely he’d understand if you said you’d rather stay home?”
Eva didn’t miss the note of disapproval in her friend’s voice. It had been there ever since the night when Alex kissed her and gave her the mink coat. Eva wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened, because she couldn’t explain the reason for it. Nor could she explain why she continued to see Alex, to meet his friends, to go out dancing with him. She had become her lie; and to unravel it now would leave only empty air at its center, erasing Eva Harlow as if she’d never existed.
So Eva tried desperately to smile, looking instead like a grimacing clown, all red lips against white skin. “It makes me feel better—to be around happy people. And it’s New Year’s Eve. You should come, too.” She heard the desperation in her voice. She didn’t want to be alone with Alex. Precious, with her incessant chatter and drawling accent, was the buffer Eva needed.
Precious pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Well, it’s not right. It’s not right at all. Graham could be hurt, and you’re out there dancing with another man.” Her accent was always more pronounced when she was agitated.
“Stop it!” Eva hardly recognized the harshness in her voice. It was the sort of voice her father had used when he roared at her and her mother after a bout of drinking and heavy losses. But the lack of sleep, the nightmares when she did finally close her eyes, and the constant worry had all shot holes in the social niceties she’d worked so hard to attain.
She stood, pulling out the curl that Precious had been wrapping around her finger. “It’s not any of your concern. Graham’s mine to worry about, Precious. Not yours. Mine.” She jabbed her finger into her own chest, scratching the skin.
They stood staring at each other in shock, the angry words seeming to remain in the room like an echo. Eva dropped her hand, the fire of her anger extinguished by the hurt look on Precious’s face.
“I’m so sorry . . . ,” she began, but Precious was already retreating, shaking her head.
“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t intrude. Worrying grabs people in different ways, and I understand. I really do. I just wish . . .”
The buzzer rang, and Precious threw up her hands. “He’s here, and I’m not quite done with your hair. I say we make him wait while we take our little ol’ time about it.”
Eva managed a real smile. “Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes. She felt Precious tug on her hair and begin to wrap it around her finger again. She dressed carefully in the sequined gown with the open back she’d borrowed from Precious. If she pretended she was dressing for Graham, Eva had found, she could get through the evening. It was her private act of revenge against Alex. At least until she figured out a more permanent solution.
Atop the dress, she wore a white fox fur cape; Alex had sent it over with a note instructing her to wear it that evening. It was one of several furs she’d been forced to accept. To alleviate her guilt over the expensive gifts, Eva had offered them to Precious to wear, but her friend always deferred to her own wool coats, as if the furs were tainted, which, Eva knew, they were.
As Alex handed her into his car, she affected a bored tone. “And where are we headed tonight?”
He waited until he’d joined her in the rear seat before answering. “To the Embassy Club on Bond Street. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A woman, Georgina Simmonds, formerly Sedlak. We are old friends—our uncles on our fathers’ side were close school friends in Munich, and our mothers are both British, so we have a lot in common. Georgina and I grew up together in Prague. Our families always wanted us to make a match, but she fell in love with a fellow Harrovian, and I was left to lick my wounds and remain eternally single.”
“Is Georgina also a thief? The kind who digs through another lady’s purse while she’s dancing, and removes precious items?”
He didn’t even blink. “Perhaps a lady shouldn’t be offended when it is she who breaches a verbal contract to share certain documents.”
The fox cape at her throat seemed to suffocate her, the weight of it like dirt on a coffin. “As soon as the clock strikes midnight, I want to leave.”
“Fair enough. Just be nice to Georgina and dance with whoever asks, and I will take you home as soon as the last bell tolls. But there are several gentlemen I want you to be particularly friendly with. Do you understand? I need you to be amiable, to let them know you’re someone they can trust. Someone they can confide in. War makes strange bedfellows, I find. Everyone joggling for position, trying to be the one on top.”
She felt his gaze on her, and abruptly turned her head.
New Year’s revelers flooded the streets of the capital long past midnight, and Eva didn’t return to the flat until nearly half past two, exhausted and drunk, her feet blistered and sore from dancing with men who held her with too much familiarity and spoke in languages she couldn’t understand. She’d met Georgina, an attractive brunette who smiled and laughed and conversed like the rest of Alex’s friends, except Eva couldn’t help but feel as if she was also being judged. Georgina’s flat dark eyes followed Eva as she moved on the dance floor, her expression one of consideration, as if judging a match of skills.
As usual, Alex escorted her to the door of her flat, kissing her hand in farewell. She turned away to open her door, then swung around again. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring it up, to make him believe she cared enough to inquire. But she needed to know. “You haven’t mentioned my mother. Is she safe?”
“She is. And quite happy, I might add. She wants to see you so she can thank you for saving her from your father. You’ve seen the corroboration that he was released from jail, so you know I can be trusted.”
“Trust you? Are you mad?”
He was suddenly very serious. “No, my dear. Simply a realist.” He gave her an appraising look. “And you forgot to cover this.” He reached out a finger and touched the small crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck.
She recoiled as if he’d burned her.
“I prefer perfection.” He took her hand, kissed it again, then left, taking the lift this time.
It took Eva several tries to get her key in; she finally succeeded on the fourth try. The door swung open and she stumbled inside, kicked off her shoes, and began to undo the clasp on the fox fur cape.
Then she stopped. All the lights were on in the flat, and music from the gramophone came from the drawing room. She recognized the song, remembering it from when she and Graham had danced at Sophia’s wedding at Hovenden Hall. “Begin the Beguine.”
But it wasn’t the lights or the music that seemed to sober her. It was the scent. Of cold wool and sandalwood soap. Graham. Eva ran into the drawing room, stumbling once and almost falling before catching herself on a club chair.
Precious stood alone in the room, swaying to the music. Through the alcohol haze, Eva noticed that she wore a silver evening gown that fit her curves like a second skin. The mink coat lay on the sofa as if carelessly discarded, not in the wardrobe where Eva knew she’d left it.
She blinked. “Where’s Graham?”
Precious stopped swaying and lifted the needle off the record. “He was here. He had only a few hours, and he wanted to see you. To let you know that he’s all right.”
“But . . .” Eva couldn’t form the words she wanted to say.
“Graham wanted to celebrate the New Year, so he asked me to get dressed and pour the champagne. David and Sophia apparently stockpiled a whole bunch of it.” She offered a wobbly smile. “He said it might be his last New Year’s, so he wanted to do it in style. I borrowed your mink—I hope you don’t mind.” She attempted another smile, but it failed quickly. “He wanted you, Eva. He did. I just happened to be available.”
It was then that Eva noticed the bottle of champagne on the console table, the two empty champagne glasses, the lipstick mark on one of them.
“He was here.” The relief removed the bones from Eva’s legs, and she collapsed on the sofa. “He’s alive.”
Precious sat down next to her, grabbed her hands. “Yes, Eva. Sophia didn’t find out until yesterday, and she didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But isn’t that the best news? He parachuted into the water and was picked up by a Danish fishing boat. David believes the mission was compromised, that the Germans were somehow alerted and expecting them. The Danish had to hide Graham until they could get him back to England. They weren’t allowed to broadcast his name or confirm he’d survived until he reached British soil.”
Eva nodded, her heart constricting in her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. “Did you tell him where I was?”
Precious’s smooth brow furrowed. “He guessed. But I told him you didn’t want to go.”
Eva wanted to laugh at the earnestness in Precious’s face, but she was so very numb. “Is he coming back?”
Precious shook her head. “He said he might not have leave for some time.”
A sob escaped from Eva’s throat. Precious put an arm around her shoulders. “He dropped something on the way out. I think it might have been meant for your Christmas gift.”
Eva thought of the gold cuff links she’d bought Graham at Selfridges, how she’d saved her money to get him something special. They were shaped like dolphins, and she’d known they’d be perfect. But they were still in her wardrobe, wrapped and beribboned, waiting. “He did?”
Precious stood. “It wasn’t wrapped, so I can’t be sure it was meant as a gift—but it definitely seems like a present to me.”
Eva’s eyes stung as she remembered the day in the park when Graham had given her the ivory dolphin, and she’d told him how she felt about surprises.
Gently, Precious placed the object in Eva’s outstretched palm. A small brooch in the shape of an airman’s winged patch, sparkling with pavé diamonds and the letters “RAF” across the top in red stones. Eva looked at it and wanted to cry.
“It’s lovely. I wish he knew that I loved it.”
Precious chewed on her lip. “He . . .” She stopped.
“He what?”
“He asked me about the mink—where it had come from. He guessed it was from Alex. It was pointless to lie. He wouldn’t have believed me.”
Eva began to shake. “And what did he say?”
“He said . . .” Precious closed her eyes, as if she wanted to make sure she remembered correctly. “He said for you to give his regards to Alex. That he hoped you’d be happy together.”
Eva stood abruptly, her head swimming. “I’ve got to go to him. To explain. Where did he go?”
Precious shook her head, her eyes pooling with tears. “They’re moving him to a new air base. He said he wasn’t sure where.”
“And then he left? He didn’t say anything else?”
“Just . . .” Precious swallowed, lowering her head so the light of the chandelier turned the tips of her hair to gold.
“Just what?”
“I didn’t understand it. Something about . . .” Her brow furrowed. “Something about a house by the sea being only a silly dream. I wanted to ask him what he meant so I could tell you, but he didn’t wait.”
Eva felt the room begin to sway and spin along with her heart and her head. Soundlessly, she slipped to the sofa, the brooch clutched tightly in her hand, cutting into the skin until she bled.