Page 126 of The Last Night in London

“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.Voguemagazine 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 realizedVogue’s importance in communicatingmessages 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.”