CHAPTER 37
LONDON
FEBRUARY 1941
In the months following Precious’s revelation, Eva waited. Waited for Precious to make some kind of plan for her baby. Waited for the bombs to stop, for the fires and the destruction and the death to end. For Alex to release her, and for the weather to warm.
And she waited for Graham.
She hadn’t seen him since November, when he’d kissed her in the Savoy’s basement. When he’d told her they had left so much unsaid. That they’d both made mistakes and would need to forgive the unforgivable. She wanted to ask him what he’d meant, to explain. But he remained elusive, a ghost around each corner as she walked to work or headed out at night with Alex. She felt watched, and she found it oddly comforting. She continued to deliver envelopes to Chester Terrace, unsure who would tell her when to stop. And she waited.
She also worried—mostly about Precious and her unborn child, the child Precious thought might be due in April. Despite Eva’s furnishing her with pen and paper, Precious wouldn’t write to Paul to tell him about the baby. With some shame, Precious had admitted that the last time she’d seen Paul, he’d told her he was married. She didn’t want to have any further communication with him. Eva’s plan of soliciting help from his parents had evaporated, leaving her with no other option than the hope that Paul might try to contact Precious.
Christmas came and went with little remark. The weather remained dull, wet, and cold; although people were quick to say that it wasn’t quite as cold as the previous winter, snow and frost did nothing to raise a Christmas spirit or disguise the rubbled ruins that huddled like frightened children on nearly every street.
The one bright spot had been the survival of St. Paul’s during the brutal air raid on the twenty-ninth of December. The WVS had assigned Eva to tea duty for the firemen known as the St. Paul’s Watch. She’d sat in the cavernous crypt under a vaulted arch near Lord Nelson’s tomb, amid the firemen’s coats and hats, with a makeshift tea cart and tins of biscuits and pitchers of milk. She had no idea that Hitler had chosen that night for the Luftwaffe to destroy the landmark cathedral—along with what remained of the British people’s morale.
The first wave of planes came as a new shift was suiting up. The lights flickered, and the floor echoed with the impact of shells exploding nearby. Richard Kobylt, a teacher by day at Turner’s Free School for Poor Boys, held tight to his hat and looked at Eva with wide eyes. “Hitler’s angry tonight, miss. Not going to be many tea breaks for us, I’m thinking.”
And there hadn’t been. The church was hit that night by twenty-eight incendiaries, each burning ember and piece of falling ash doused by the tireless firemen, who together saved Wren’s architectural masterpiece from disaster.
At dawn, Eva climbed out of the crypt, dismayed to see daylight through the east-end wall of the cathedral, but amazed that the church seemed relatively unscathed. As she made her way back home, passing through the smoking streets that surrounded St. Paul’s, the dome of the church hung over the pinkening sky of the burning city like a phoenix. It was a miracle in a city desperate for miracles.
As the gray days progressed and her baby grew inside her, Precious became quieter and seemed to turn inward. Eva found herself missing her friend’s constant chatter and perpetual good mood; she dreaded returning home from running her daily errands, making a round of the shops clutching her ration books, to see that her friend still sat by the front window, not having moved, an untouched plate of food long since grown cold beside her.
Eva worried about Precious and her despondency, her lack of interest in everything. She was desperate to reach out to Sophia, but Sophia was mourning the loss of her daughter, stillborn during an air raid in their small basement shelter in late January.
In desperation, Eva broke down and confided in David. It was he who told her that Paul’s ship had been sent to the northern coast of Africa and sunk by a German U-boat, all souls aboard lost. He couldn’t tell her where it had happened, as that was classified, but it didn’t matter. Paul was gone and, along with him, Eva’s remaining hope of helping Precious and her unborn baby.
She’d dreaded telling Precious, but when she shared the news, Precious simply nodded, then returned to watching sleet fall from the sky.
On a particularly nasty day in February, Eva received a note from Sophia inviting her and Alex to the theater. Though no air raid interrupted the evening, Eva felt on edge, a tremor shaking the air around her. Alex seemed to be watching her closely, measuring her words. They never spoke of Georgina, or Eva’s weekly trips to Chester Terrace, or anything that wasn’t banal and mundane. Eva still retrieved books from the London Library. And each day she waited to hear from Graham. To learn she was free of Alex. As each day passed without word from Graham, she felt more and more on edge, balancing on a precipice where equal disaster waited on either side.
During the intermission, while the men retired to smoke their cigars, Sophia took Eva by the elbow and walked slowly with her toward the women’s powder room. As if anticipating the question Eva wouldn’t ask, she said, “Graham is fine. He’s working hard, as is David, and has been doing quite a bit of traveling. I don’t think either of them is getting enough sleep, but Graham is well.” She dug into her evening bag. “I have something for you. I thought you might want it.”
She gave Eva a photograph of Graham, an official one of him in his RAF uniform. The boyish grin on his face softened the severity of the photo. It was the way Eva pictured him in her mind, his head slightly tilted, his eyes full of light and humor. This was the man she loved. The man for whom she’d wait forever.
“Thank you,” Eva said, pressing it to her heart. “Thank you so much.” She opened her purse and slipped it inside, making sure it wasn’t next to the cigarette case, as if it might get soiled.
A feeling like the start of a fever crept into Eva’s throat, making her dizzy. “To forgive the unforgivable. Graham said that to me.”
Sophia gently touched Eva’s chin. “You poor dear.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia didn’t drop her gaze. “I know things that I shouldn’t. Being confined to bed above my husband’s office was quite enlightening.” She didn’t smile. “I know about Precious.”
“I didn’t want to tell you. Because . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“Because you knew it would hurt me. Here I am, a married, respectable woman with a wonderful husband who would make a wonderful father, and for some reason, we are not permitted to have children. Yet, Precious, well . . . Is she due soon?”
Eva nodded. “Yes. She thinks April. She won’t see a doctor, so she’s only guessing. She says that her mother had very quick and easy deliveries, and she isn’t afraid of childbirth, so she’s made no plans.”
Sophia studied Eva’s face, searching for something. “A woman usually knows these things. With all of my pregnancies, I knew without my doctor telling me when each of them had been conceived.” Her eyes hardened, as if she were remembering three babies, dead before they’d had a chance to live. “David says that the baby’s father was a sailor.”
“Killed in action. And Precious is reluctant to attempt contact with his family. Or her own, for that matter.”
“Has she told you much about the baby’s father?”
“I met him. Once. He was quite tall, and broad, and had very dark curly hair. That’s all I remember of him.”
Sophia nodded, her gaze still on Eva’s face. “Will you promise to call me when her pains begin? My doctor is wonderful. I’ll have him come to her, see her safely through. It’s the least I can do.”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia seemed flustered, waving her hands in front of her face. “Only that I know how difficult childbirth can be. She’ll need a good doctor.”
“Of course. That’s reassuring, although as I said, Precious believes she won’t have any trouble. Not that I have any intention of letting her find out on her own.”
Sophia leaned closer. “You will take care of her?”
“Of course. I love her like a sister. I couldn’t desert her now. Why might you think otherwise?”
Instead of answering, Sophia stepped back and smiled as David and Alex approached.
“Shall we go back in?” Alex said, offering Sophia his arm.
As Eva placed her hand on David’s elbow, she looked up to find him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.
Eva stepped out of a small basement workroom off of Oxford Street, squinting in the last bit of daylight. She and Odette had found work as seamstresses; it paid only a quarter of the money they’d made as models, but it kept them busy during the day, and Eva earned enough to buy food for her and Precious without having to use her emergency escape stash.
And she found her new job, creating clothes that were as functional as they were fashionable, oddly satisfying. Vogue magazine dictated all, and Eva found it amusing that, despite paper shortages, the magazine was still allowed to publish. Odette had said it was because the government realized Vogue’s importance in communicating messages about domesticity and consumerism to the women of Britain.
In a recent issue, the magazine had urged its readers to swap their usual tweed skirts for trousers—but only if they were under fifty years old and weighed less than ten stone. Shortly afterward, Eva and Odette found themselves stitching women’s trousers in their basement workroom, then returning home and making their own, using material ripped from clothing articles they’d once modeled.
“Eva.”
A man stopped in front of her, and at first she didn’t recognize him. She wasn’t used to seeing him in anything besides evening clothes.
“David,” she said in greeting. “What a nice surprise.”
“Would you walk with me?”
Fear-fueled heat flooded her chest. “Is Graham all right?”
“Quite.” He waited with his arm bent until she slipped her hand around it. “He asked me to deliver a message. He thought it best you not be seen with him. You’re being watched, you know.”
She nodded. Several times she thought she’d seen the hulking shape of Jiri Zeman in a crowd or walking around a corner as she went about her daily business. Yet when she’d run to catch up with him, to see if it was really him, he had somehow managed to disappear.
“Alex knows that Georgina is dead. Did he mention it to you?”
“No. And he didn’t ask me to stop delivering the envelopes.”
David frowned. “Well, then, it’s a good thing we’re ready to move forward. It’s not safe to wait any longer.”
“Not safe?”
“For you. I’m afraid Alex believes you have exhausted your usefulness.”
The heat in her chest rose in her throat. She swallowed it back. “What is Graham’s message?”
“He wants you to go to Horvath’s Café tomorrow morning. We have a plan to take care of our mutual problem.”
“Horvath’s?”
“Yes. Graham’s been known to visit there on occasion to practice his Czech. He finds listening to native speakers the best way to learn. He speaks several languages fluently, I should add—he’s better than I, certainly. It’s why he chose the Diplomatic Service.”
“He did tell me. It’s one of the few things I know about Graham.”
“Now, now, there will be plenty of time for that later.”
Her steps slowed as she contemplated his request. “What does he want me to do there?”
“You don’t need to know anything in advance. It’s safer that way.”
She looked up at him. “You and Graham aren’t really with the War Office, are you?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Of course we are.”
“You must both think I’m a traitor. And I suppose I am. I wish . . .” She paused. “I wish to be forgiven. I want to do whatever it takes for Graham to forgive me.”
David patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “There’s nothing to forgive. These are difficult times, and people find themselves in difficult situations. We do what we can to survive. I have found that acts of heroism are not always committed for unselfish reasons, but to make up for past transgressions. Not all of us are given the chance for atonement.”
Eva ducked her head to hide her face, the tears that threatened to fall. “Did Graham say anything else?”
A small smile formed on David’s lips. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s started drawing the plans for a house by the sea. He said you’d know what he meant.”
The following morning, Eva entered Horvath’s, wearing the practiced smile of an actress looking for nothing more than conversation and something to drink and eat off ration. She wore an old frock she’d once modeled at Lushtak’s to give her confidence, and she was clearheaded.
Ever since that night in the Savoy’s basement with Graham, during all the interminable waiting for something she could not name to happen, she’d been drinking less. She’d stopped drinking entirely during the day, wanting to be alert. To be ready. For what, she didn’t know.
She was relieved to find Mr. Danek at his usual table, facing the door. He worked the evening shift at the Savoy, and she had half hoped to see him. His expression didn’t change as she entered the café, as if he’d been expecting her. He signaled for a coffee as she sat down across from him.
“You’re looking well,” he said.
“Thank you.” She glanced around the room, unsure what or whom she was supposed to be looking for. Wishing that she could do more than simply look the part, that she could be strong and smart. Brave. But she was none of those things. All she knew how to do was pretend that she was. That was the one thing she was very, very good at.
Mr. Danek took a long drag on his cigarette before putting it out in the overflowing ashtray. He sat back in his chair, regarding her. “I hear the seaside is beautiful this time of year.”
She looked at him sharply. “Is it? I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Yes, you have. You’ve been thinking about going for a while.”
Eva kept her eyes on his, wishing David had given her some sort of script. “You’re right. I want to go to Dorset. To visit my mother.”
“And why haven’t you gone already?”
She looked into his calm eyes, felt a small tremor jumping in her fingertips. “Even if I knew where she was, I worry about Precious—she’ll need to come with me, but she shouldn’t travel now.” She pulled out her cigarette case. Mr. Danek’s hand fell on it, trapping it against the table’s surface.
He tapped on the Latin inscription. “‘Betray before you are betrayed.’ Have you ever wondered why he chose this for you?”
She didn’t remark how Alex’s name wasn’t spoken aloud. She swallowed. “He told me that I would one day find the words as useful as he found me to be.”
Mr. Danek picked up the case and took a cigarette, then held the case open for Eva. He spoke very quietly, as if murmuring to himself, so that Eva had to lean forward to hear. “And have you?”
She considered Mr. Danek’s new position at the Savoy, and Alex’s part in securing it and Graham’s instructions to come to Horvath’s began to make sense.
“Yes.” She swallowed. “And you, Mr. Danek—are you useful to him?”
He held smoke in his lungs for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “Not as useful as he thinks.”
She placed her hand on the cigarette case, but he stopped her, his strong fingers encircling her wrist. “Be careful, Eva. A tiger is most dangerous when he knows he is trapped.” He looked behind her at the almost-empty tables around them, his gaze settling briefly on the only other occupants of the café: a woman and a young girl having tea and sharing a sliver of the sweet Czech breakfast cake bublanina, a rare treat because of sugar rationing.
“I don’t . . .” She wanted to tell him that she didn’t understand what he was saying, that there were no tigers. But she did understand. He was wrong, though. Alex had always been dangerous. She’d just been too weak to believe she could fight back. Until the night Graham had made her almost believe she was both brave and strong enough to choose sides.
Mr. Danek spoke softly. “What would you do to be free of him?”
She’d thought of her answer many times. It never wavered. “Anything.”
“Anything,” Mr. Danek repeated. He tapped his cigarette against the ashtray, then looked at her with an unfamiliar intensity. “Whose side are you on?”
She answered without thinking. “The good side.”
A hint of a smile traced his lips. “I am happy to hear it.” He blew out small smoke rings that drifted toward the ceiling. As if he were talking about the weather, he said, “You need to pack a bag for yourself and Precious, and be ready to go at a moment’s notice. We might not have the luxury of waiting until the baby is born. Do you understand? I will find out where your mother is, and when I tell you, I want you to write her address inside your bag, somewhere not obvious, yes? Take it to your friend Sophia. She will keep it safe until you are ready to leave.”
Sophia? She didn’t let the question reach her lips. Of course Sophia. Graham’s sister. David’s wife.
She pulled the cigarette case to her side of the table, keeping her eyes down, as if it were the focus of their conversation. “How do you know you can find this information?”
“Because I have at times been useful to our friend, and he trusts me. As does Jiri. I don’t know for how much longer, however. We will need to move fast.”
“I’m ready.” She leaned forward.
“Listen carefully.” He glanced behind her before returning his attention to Eva, who nodded, exhilarated and alarmed at once.
“A week from Thursday, there will be another Blackout Ball at the Savoy. Tell Alex that you wish to go. Alex’s car has been confiscated because he was caught using rationed petrol, so you will take a taxi. That means there will be no Jiri, which is good. When Alex brings you back to your flat, invite him upstairs. To your bedroom.”
She hid her revulsion at his implication. “What if there’s an air raid?”
“Then we will make adjustments. You will need to be prepared.”
“And Precious? She’ll be in the flat. I won’t do this unless I know she’ll be safe.”
“Sophia will invite her over for dinner and will then convince her to stay in case of an air raid.”
Eva nodded, ready for his next words. “And then what?”
“You won’t need to worry about anything after that. Just get Alex upstairs. Someone will be waiting for him. David will be downstairs in a car with Precious. He will drive you to the train station, and you will take the train to Dorset. To your mother. You will be safe from Alex forever.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is. But ask yourself—can you do this thing?”
She thought of Alex’s face in the dim light inside his car, calling her Ethel. Giving her the diamond bracelet because he knew she wouldn’t say no. And she thought of Graham saying she was strong and brave. She met Mr. Danek’s eyes. “Yes. I can.”
He looked over her shoulder as the woman and the little girl stood to leave, and noisily pushed in their chairs. “Good.” Turning back to Eva, he said, “There is one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You will need a weapon to protect yourself. I have a gun for you. Meet me tomorrow morning at fifteen past six in the ruins of St. Giles Church in Cripplegate. Don’t be late. You may need to walk far, because there is so much bomb damage in the area. I will show you how to use the gun, make sure you can fire straight and not shoot yourself. Be sure you are not followed. I will try to make sure Jiri has another place to be, but our mutual friend has many associates.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’m not frightened.”
Mr. Danek’s eyes darkened. “You should be. Being brave isn’t the same as not being frightened. Being brave is feeling frightened and still doing what needs to be done.”
Eva hesitated, then stood. “When this is all over, will Graham know where to find me?”
“He’ll know. He has made you a promise, yes? To keep you safe. He is a man of his word.”
Eva felt the sting of tears at the mention of something she and Graham had shared, how he’d thought it important enough to tell someone else. But determined to be strong, she blinked them back, nodded, then left.
Outside, she paused on the sidewalk and looked over her shoulder, through the window. Mr. Danek was watching her. She almost ran inside to tell him not to, that it meant he wouldn’t see her again. But she turned instead and headed down the sidewalk, hoping that what she’d told him and Graham was true.