CHAPTER 28
LONDON
MAY 1940
Throughout the winter and early spring of 1940, Eva barely slept, floating through her days and nights like a ghost. She recalled her mother saying she felt dead on the inside the year they’d spent in the poorhouse. Eva had never understood how a person could continue to draw breath but feel as if they were dead. But she did now.
She spent her days at Lushtak’s modeling, perfecting her acting skills by portraying a woman without any cares. The work kept her busy; it seemed the prospect of war and the new rationing hadn’t yet reached Madame’s clientele. They still purchased clothes for the upcoming social seasons, including appropriate hunting outfits for Scotland in the fall. Mr. Danek would shake his head, then pocket his paycheck. One had to eat, he said.
Eva also pocketed most of her paycheck, saving larger and larger portions for her mother. She gave the money to Alex on his promise it would end up where it was intended, but he wouldn’t divulge the address. It was one more thing he held from her, another tie binding her to him. One more thing for which she had no recourse. She was completely and utterly at his mercy. And she had to trust him that he was telling her the truth. She had no other option.
On her days off, and in the evenings when Alex didn’t require her company, she worked side by side with Precious and Sophia in the Women’s Voluntary Service, serving tea to the night wardens and running the canteen at Paddington Station for soldiers and sailors.
And waiting. Waiting for bombs to fall, for shelters to be used for more than just drills.
She had not received any word from Graham, not a letter or even a message passed on through Sophia. Sophia did keep her apprised of his whereabouts and what he was doing—as much as he was able to share—but that was all. He’d been made squadron leader, was tolerating the food, and complained of being cold when up in the air for extended periods of time; would Sophia please send him extra gloves? It was impersonal, curated by Sophia, Eva was sure, in order to placate both her brother and her friend.
She longed to hear his voice, to hear him tell her even the dullest parts of his life. She dreamed of boating in Regent’s Park with him again, reciting the poetry she’d memorized for him. Eva had written a letter a day for the month of January and had Sophia promise she’d send them on. By February she stopped, clinging to what little pride she had left and not wanting Sophia to see how pathetic she was. But she still slept with the ivory dolphin in her fist, held against her heart. Not because she thought Graham might forgive her for the transgressions he knew and those he didn’t know, but to keep him safe. She could do that, at least.
As the weeks went by and Denmark, Norway, and then Belgium and the Netherlands toppled like Hitler’s dominoes, newly exiled governments settled into London. Alex became more demanding of Eva’s time, needing her to accompany him to various entertainments throughout the city.
There were no more matchboxes to retrieve. Instead Alex asked her to dig through the pockets of discarded evening jackets on the backs of chairs or to distract a man with her low décolletage while they danced so Alex could do the same. These men were nameless to her, the retrieval of odd bits of paper and other items seemingly meaningless. She knew she should care, that it wasn’t insignificant. But she was too dead inside for any of it to matter.
“I have something for you.”
They were in the backseat of his chauffeured motorcar after another interminable evening at the Suivi Club. Despite private automobiles being banned due to petrol rationing, Alex usually had his chauffeured car available to them. He pulled out a slim black velvet box, and impatiently opened it when Eva showed no inclination to do so.
A diamond bracelet sat on a bed of black velvet, the lovely gems catching the stray pieces of light in the darkened city, shimmering like an electrified snake.
“It looks expensive. Is it real?” She said it to annoy him, knowing that to question his generosity was to question his manhood.
He frowned, giving her immense satisfaction. “Of course it is. A small token to thank you for all of your good work.”
“Is that what you call this petty theft? Surely you can find a pickpocket in Piccadilly Circus who’s more skilled and who could be bought with a mere shilling.”
He pretended to consider. “Ah, yes, but a pickpocket wouldn’t be nearly as charming as you. Or have such a weakness for beautiful things.”
She hated herself then. Hated recognizing the truth as she held out her arm so he could place the bracelet on her bare wrist, leaning close so he could close the clasp. She felt the weight of the diamonds, could imagine how they’d twinkle like stars under the crystal chandeliers of the places they dined and danced. The part of her that was still Ethel Maltby wanted to raise her arm to show everyone, to prove that she was more than who she’d been. But the new Eva wanted to howl with her own disappointment that she hadn’t changed at all.
Alex looked up, meeting her eyes without drawing back. “Do you like it?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
She let him kiss her then. She kept her eyes open and didn’t push him away. But she didn’t kiss him back. He lifted his head, and she felt the unspoken question.
“I’m not a whore who can be bought.”
He sat back in his seat, straightened his cuffs. “Everyone has a price. Even you. It’s only a matter of time. Just know that I’ll be waiting. Anticipating your surrender.”
He turned to face her, his expression hidden in the shadows of the backseat. “You do know what you’re doing isn’t petty theft, yes? That this is all much more serious.”
Something in his tone made her shiver in her fur. When she didn’t respond, he settled back against his seat. “You remember Lord Merton, don’t you?”
“Of course. He was killed in a burglary.” She closed her eyes, saw the photograph in the paper. Remembered Alex’s threat about Precious or Sophia ending up like Lord Merton. How she’d told herself she didn’t understand, refusing to acknowledge an inconvenient truth.
“He was a Nazi spy. He was killed by his own countrymen for passing secrets to the enemy. Secrets hidden in a matchbox.”
Eva began trembling violently, her frozen bones crackling in her skin. She took two deep breaths, focused on keeping her voice steady. “So I was responsible?”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “In one way or another, yes.”
She was silent, searching for the right words. The right question. Knowing the answer before she voiced it. “But I gave the matchbox to you.”
Now he laughed out loud. “Yes, you did. And I made good use of it. I paid Lord Merton a good deal of money for it, too.”
She faced him, staring through the darkness, swallowing back the sob she knew he wanted to hear. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’ve paid my dues. Tell Graham what you want. I don’t care anymore. Just tell me where my mother is. She and I will find another place to live, and you will be done with me. Please, release me. Please. I can’t be a part of this.”
A slow, throaty chuckle emerged from the darkness beside her. “I’m afraid it’s too late, darling Eva. You’re already a woman without a country. That makes you the enemy to everyone. If you were to walk away, you’d meet the same fate as Lord Merton. Your friends, too, just to prove a point. Even your St. John wouldn’t be safe.”
She was light-headed, sparks of light like diamonds shooting across her eyes. “How do you live with yourself?” she asked, no longer able to keep the tremor from her voice.
He leaned closer to her, and she could feel his anger. “Because I know which side I stand on, which is always better than straddling a line. Something to remember, Eva—feigning innocence does not make you innocent.”
She turned her face to the window so he couldn’t see her tears.
When it was time to get out of the car, he turned to her again. “Listen carefully. I have a new job for you.”
She looked at him, hating him. Hating herself. “What is it?”
He smiled, knowing he’d won. “I need you to visit the London Library in St. James’s Square tomorrow morning after ten o’clock. Check out Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It will be misshelved. The location is written on the piece of paper you took from the purse of the woman seated next to you tonight. If you believe someone is watching you, come back later in the day. There will be an envelope inside. I need you to deliver the envelope to thirty-seven Chester Terrace. Slip it into the mail slot on the door, and do it at night so no one sees you. You’ll do this every Thursday, each week a different book and a different time of day, always misshelved. The pickup time and the location of the next book will be written in invisible ink on the title page of each book. You will need a heat source to read it—Jiri will show you. Destroy the page when you’ve memorized it.”
She felt the driver’s eyes on her in the rearview mirror, and a violent tremor made her jaw ache. She recalled the letters from Graham she’d given to Alex, which then had been returned to her with singe marks between the lines, and she thought she might be ill.
“And if I say no?”
The gleam of his teeth in the moonlight mocked her as he smiled. “Oh, my dear, we both know you won’t.”
The door shut, and the car pulled away. Eva stood still for a long time, watching it disappear until she could no longer hear the engine, feeling an unfamiliar weight on her arm. She looked down and saw Alex’s bracelet, the diamonds throwing back the reflected glow of a dimmed headlight like stars in the black, black night.
On a rare day off, Eva walked with Precious into the Palm Court of the Ritz Hotel to meet Sophia for tea. As always, when the two of them were together, heads turned; people stared as if they’d never seen two tall blond women together. It made Precious giggle, but Eva remained pointedly unaware of the attention. It was something she’d learned from watching Sophia and her debutante friends, the women who’d been taught proper deportment from the cradle.
Besides, she was completely and gloriously drunk. She’d found it was the only way she could face each day and the reality that Graham could have been in the midst of an air battle, that she might not see him again. At one of the dinners she’d attended at Sophia’s, an obnoxious guest had mentioned that the fatality rate for airmen in combat was fifty percent. At Sophia’s look of distress, David had asked the gentleman to leave.
She also needed to forget why she went to the London Library once a week to check out a new book. How she’d find an empty envelope between the pages and slip it through the mail slot of the house in Chester Terrace under cover of darkness.
The only way to make her self-loathing go away was to drink the endless supply of fine Scottish whisky Alex presented her with. She neither knew nor cared where or how it had been procured. When drunk, she could speak without slurring her words and could even manage walking in a relatively straight line. As could her father—up to a point. She supposed that was the one useful thing she’d inherited from him.
The opulent Palm Court, with its glass ceiling, enormous Corinthian columns, and full-grown potted palm trees, bustled and thrummed. Waiters sped to and from full tables as if a war weren’t being waged on the other side of the Channel.
Sophia stood to greet Precious and Eva, kissing them each on the cheek. She smiled warmly, pretended that she didn’t smell the whisky on Eva’s breath, and chattered through tea. But she kept rattling her cup in its saucer and adding sugar to a cup already oversweetened.
Eva caught her arm as Sophia reached for the sugar bowl for the third time. “What’s wrong? Is it David?” He’d applied for active duty more than once, but he’d failed his medical examinations twice on account of a minor heart condition that wouldn’t affect day-to-day life but exempted him from active duty. He’d been permanently assigned a desk in the War Office, which he took as an affront to his manhood. He’d already applied for yet another medical examination, just to be sure.
Sophia shook her head. “No. It’s not David.”
Eva’s blood froze. She’d been at Horvath’s just that morning with Mr. Danek. Again he’d shown her the map of Europe, the defensive Maginot Line on the French–German border that many were calling impenetrable. But with Germany’s invasion of Belgium on the tenth of May, it was entirely conceivable that the German armies could bypass the line completely by cutting through Belgium. And once they got through Belgium, France and the English Channel would be the only things standing between England and the Germans.
Despite the early hour, Eva had gone back to the flat and poured a healthy serving of whisky. She remembered what it had been like when Graham had been missing before, and that was for only a short time. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime of missing him. Of knowing she’d be given no more chances to tell him she loved him. To tell him the truth. To ask his forgiveness.
She’d fallen asleep on the couch and woken hours later to Precious telling her she needed to get ready for tea. Precious had fixed Eva’s hair and makeup and helped her dress, her hands gentle, her words consoling and free of any criticism about the empty glass on the table or the stale stench of whisky on her breath. And now, staring across the table at Graham’s sister, Eva was grateful for the alcoholic haze. “It’s Graham, then.”
A waiter appeared, bringing more tea, fussing over setting out the cakes and sandwiches, making Eva want to scream at him to stop.
Sophia waited until he left, keeping her gaze down, her voice quiet. “You’re not to know this—I heard it from David. The RAF is sending fifteen squadrons to France. It’s all a disaster, and our boys are trapped on the coast. They’ve started an evacuation.”
“But those are the foot soldiers,” Eva said quietly.
Precious put a hand on her arm. “They need air cover. To protect the men being evacuated. It’s what Graham’s been trained for. He’s ready.”
Eva turned to Precious. “How do you know that?”
Precious shared a look with Sophia before taking Eva’s hand. “Graham was on leave, a week ago.”
“Graham was here—in London?” The joy of knowing he’d been safe a week ago was quickly tempered by the fact that he’d been so close to her and hadn’t let her know.
“Yes,” Sophia said quietly. “It was only for two days. He stayed with David and me.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Eva. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know he’s hurt, too. I begged him to let me tell you, but he wouldn’t allow it.”
“I see,” Eva said, and did a remarkable job of sipping her tea and replacing the cup without rattling it in the saucer. “Did he . . . ?”
“I could tell that he wanted to ask about you,” Precious said. She chewed on her lower lip. “I went to Sophia’s to pick up a pair of her old drapes for my bedroom, and he was there. He—”
“He thought it was you,” Sophia interrupted. “Precious walked into the drawing room, and the light from the window altered the shade of her hair, and she looked so much like you. He thought it was you until she spoke. He seemed happy at first. And then . . .” She stopped, looked at Precious as if for encouragement. “He became despondent, although he didn’t tell us why.”
“And you didn’t tell me.” Eva carefully replaced her teacup on the saucer; the smell of the delicious cakes was making her nauseous.
“He asked us not to,” Precious said, her large blue eyes filling with tears. “He said he couldn’t afford to be distracted.”
“He didn’t want to . . . ,” Eva started, wishing she had the choice not to see Graham’s face every time she closed her eyes. “And he’s flying over France. Right now.”
Sophia nodded. “Somewhere over the Channel, at least. Many of the British Expeditionary Force and their allies are stranded on the coast in a place called Dunkirk. Graham’s been there for two days already to protect the British ships.” She stared at her cup of tea, grown cold, the curdling milk floating at the top. She glanced around the table, ensuring nobody could eavesdrop, before adding, “David said that the navy has requisitioned private vessels to help rescue as many men as they can. It’s all quite . . . bewildering.”
Sophia’s eyes glistened, and Eva looked away, unwilling to share that particular weakness. She stared at her empty teacup, wishing it were full of numbing whisky.
“Don’t, Eva. Drinking is not going to help.”
Eva looked into Precious’s wide, innocent eyes. “It’s all I’ve got.” The last word ended on a sob.
“We’ll get through this together. Just like we have since we first met.”
Eva nodded, but only so Precious would stop talking. Stop looking at her with pity. She hated to be pitied. She was meant to be envied.
Sophia made a small strangled sound in her throat, and the three of them turned to the entrance of the Palm Court. David stood there, dark and morose, his hat in his hands, his gaze moving about the room until it settled on their table. He greeted them somberly, kissing his wife on the cheek before pulling out the fourth chair and joining them.
“What is it, David? Is there news of Graham?” Sophia’s voice was steady, belying the trembling in her fingers.
He nodded, just once. “I’m afraid it’s not good.”
They remained seated, as if this were no more than a passing conversation. David placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Precious reached for Eva’s hand and held it tightly while Sophia looked stoically at her husband.
“This is premature, you understand,” David said quietly. “We won’t receive confirmation until tomorrow, and the public . . .” He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “The War Office will decide how much to release to the press and when to release it.”
“Please, David. What is it?” Sophia did her best to put on her brave face, but her lower lip trembled.
“Graham and two other Spitfire pilots in his squadron were in a dogfight with a Messerschmitt over the Channel last evening.” David paused, collected himself. Cleared his throat. “Witnesses saw Graham take a hit. His plane caught fire. He jettisoned the canopy in time, and his parachute was seen hitting the water. A British vessel rescued him from the burning wreckage, and he’s being transported to hospital. There has been no confirming information, but his injuries are reported to be quite severe. Queen Victoria Hospital, where he’s being sent, is the absolute best for burns. I made inquiries and have been assured there is no better place for him to recuperate.”
Sophia remained ramrod straight in her chair, the only sign of her distress the handkerchief pressed to her mouth. “Does Mother know?”
David shook his head.
“Good. Let us allow her a few more hours of peace, shall we?” She focused on the plate in front of her. “I’ll have to take the train up to Surrey so I can tell Mother in person. I don’t have enough ration coupons for petrol and besides, our chauffeur has left us for the army, so it will have to be the train,” she said matter-of-factly. “Mother won’t want Father to know. It could kill him.”
A delicate frown marred her face as she looked up at David. “I should go to Graham—he’ll need someone. They do say that patients heal sooner if surrounded by loved ones.”
David gave his wife such a tender smile that Eva had to look away. “Darling, I understand, but is that wise in your condition?”
Sophia blushed prettily, avoiding looking at her table companions. She had already lost two pregnancies, and her doctor had given her strict orders not to exert herself. She’d cut back her hours with the WVS without telling Eva why, and Eva had been too distracted to guess.
“I’ll go,” Eva said without hesitation. “I can put to use all of my good training with the WVS, wrapping wounds and such. I can be useful.” She almost bit her tongue on that last word.
Both Sophia and David looked at her with alarm. David spoke first. “That’s very generous of you, Eva, but considering . . . Well, I don’t think he’d welcome your presence right now. It might even hinder his healing.”
Sophia nodded, her face strained. “I’m afraid David’s right, Eva. I know your heart hurts as much as ours do, but we have to think about what’s best for Graham. You do understand, don’t you?”
Eva wanted to argue, to tell them that she loved him, that surely her love would be healing. But he’d been in London a week ago and hadn’t wanted to see her. If she continued to press, they would undoubtedly remind her of that, and another piece of her heart would break off, and that would surely kill her.
“Then I should go,” Precious said.
“No,” Eva said, not thinking of how it might sound, glad for the whisky to blunt the sharp edges. She shook her head to emphasize the one word, the world spinning around her. She understood why they were saying she shouldn’t be the one to go, yet she couldn’t even voice the reasons why she didn’t want Precious to go.
Precious spoke with a soothing tone, as if to a child. “Graham considers me a friend, and I’d be a familiar face. I’ve learned how to bandage wounds alongside you and Sophia, and I’m not squeamish. I might be able to help him get better sooner so that he can return to you.”
Eva had stopped shaking her head, realizing that neither Sophia nor David was going to agree on her behalf.
Precious continued. “You can fill in for me at Lushtak’s, Eva, since we wear the same size. Madame is quite patriotic and will do whatever we ask if it’s to help the war cause, right?”
Eva forced her head to nod, afraid that if she moved it more than that, it might shatter.
Sophia smiled tentatively. “That’s very generous of you, Precious, but . . .”
“I know it’s not ideal—you or Eva would be much better at this than I am. But that’s just not possible right now. Please, let me help. You have been so kind to me. Please, let me do this for you. Please.”
Her gaze moved among Sophia, David, and Eva. As if Eva had any say at all.
“We’ll have to arrange transportation and accommodation, get permission and that sort of thing . . . ,” David began.
“Which you will take care of. It’s what you do best.” Sophia smiled at her husband, softening her words. “It’s settled, then. I’ll go shopping for a few things I know he likes. . . .”
“May I?” Eva asked. “May I do that one thing so that I’m left not feeling quite so helpless?”
“Of course, dear. He likes . . .”
“Sandalwood soap.” She could smell him, the softness of his neck as she pressed her lips there. She hadn’t meant to say that right there. But she caught the scent of him, as if he were sitting at the table next to her.
David cleared his throat. “I’ll go see his man at Truefitt and Hill and pick up a few shaving things he prefers. They have the sandalwood soap Graham has used since I’ve known him.”
Eva swallowed, forcing a smile that hid how utterly and completely cut off from Graham she felt. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’m sure familiarity is just what he needs.” She pictured him in a hospital bed as Precious slathered shaving cream on his chin. Precious, not her. Her chest stung, and she wondered if she might be bleeding.
“All right, then,” Sophia said, standing while David solicitously helped her out of her chair and took her arm. “It’s settled. We’ll let you know as soon as the arrangements are made—which could be as early as tomorrow morning. Can you be ready?”
Precious nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’ll pack tonight.”
They said their good-byes, leaving Precious and Eva on the sidewalk, staring into the verdant expanse of Green Park across from the Ritz. People walked their dogs and strolled amiably as if everything were in order. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.
Precious let out a loud sob, not even trying to hide it. Eva put all of her energy into feeling scornful for the outward show of emotion, for not understanding the proper etiquette for such a situation. But was there any to begin with? She was only just realizing that if she focused on things outside of herself, she could walk quickly away from the hotel, listening to the click of her heels as they propelled her forward. Hear the sounds of the traffic. The whistle of a policeman. She was a spectator at the cinema, watching this person on the screen, watching her behave as if everything were fine.
“Eva, stop. Please.”
She turned, dry-eyed, and waited for Precious to catch up to her. Precious reached for her hands, but Eva shook her off. “We should hurry. I’m sure you’ve got washing to do. I’ll help you.”
Precious nodded, sniffling. The only handkerchief Eva had in her pocket was Graham’s, the monogrammed one he’d given to her on the day they’d met. She wouldn’t give it to Precious. She couldn’t.
The following day when David arrived in a government car to collect Precious, Eva walked down with her, cheerful and optimistic. Acting, always acting. She was getting quite good at it.
When Precious turned to hug her good-bye, Eva handed her the book of Wordsworth poetry Graham had given her. “He might enjoy this being read to him if he’s not up to reading himself yet.” Eva hesitated before pulling the ivory dolphin from her pocket. “I want you to take good care of this and bring it back. Do you understand? Let Graham know that you have it, that it will be his good-luck charm until he gets better. And tell him . . .” Her composure slipped, but just for a moment. She smiled brightly. “Tell him that I will expect him to return it to me personally when he’s back in London.”
Precious started crying again, and Eva wanted to shake her, to let her know that tears were worthless. “I’ll take good care of him for you,” Precious said. “I promise. I’ll make sure he returns to you. He does love you, Eva. I know he does.”
Eva forced a reassuring smile. “Just make sure he gets better and bring him back to me.”
Precious nodded once, then slid into the car next to David. Eva turned her back on the departing car, remembering what Precious had told her, how you should never watch a person leave because then you’d never see them again. She climbed the steps without turning around, but stood waiting at the front doors until the sound of the car’s engine had been absorbed by the thrum of the morning traffic.