Page 38 of The Last Night in London

“Madison?”

Confused, I opened my eyes and stared up at the porcelain ceiling fixture, trying to remember who called me by my full name. Something rough stuck to my face. When I turned my head, I realized it was the tulle underskirt of the yellow sundress I’d been writing about.

“Madison?”

I couldn’t tell if the voice was annoyed or amused, but it was definitely Colin’s. My eyes popped open to see Colin standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed as he watched me. I sat up, realizing I’d fallen asleep on top of a pile of Precious’s clothes, my laptop still on but with its top sprawled open like a mouth, my screen saver scrolling through my album of family photos.

“Yes—I’m awake.” I quickly slammed my laptop shut. “Sorry—the jet lag is killing me.” I looked at him. “Weren’t you going into the office?”

“I did. But that was five hours ago. Precious is waiting for us to have tea with her and chat.”

“Right,” I said, scrambling to get off the bed, hoping I hadn’t caused any permanent damage to any of the dresses. I held up the sundress. “I love this one—I need to ask her about it and see if we can include it in the exhibition.” I stood, swaying a bit from rising too quickly, and Colin grabbed my arm. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just a little light-headed.” I waved my hand at him. “Go on—I’ll be right there.”

I took a few minutes to brush my hair and teeth and grabbed my notepad and Precious’s sundress. I found Colin looking at one of the framed photos along the corridor, his hands clasped behind his back as if he were in a museum. I stopped next to him and recognized the old wedding photo, the young soldier and his bride.

“Those are my father’s parents,” he said without looking at me. “David and Sophia.”

“They’re very much in love,” I said.

He turned to me. “It’s their wedding day. I would assume that would be the norm.”

“Not necessarily. But these two—you can tell it’s legit.” I pointed to the groom’s head. “Look how he’s leaning into her.” I tapped on the glass, where her hand rested in the crook of his arm. “And see how she’s pulling him toward her. Definitely true love.”

I leaned in to get a better look at the groom and frowned. “Didn’t Arabella say that Precious thinks you look like your grandfather?”

“Yes,” Colin said slowly, considering the picture. “Although I must say, I’ve never seen it.”

“I don’t, either,” I agreed. “Not like that man in the photo we found in Sophia’s papers.”

“The one you think is hot.”

I avoided his gaze. “I was just saying that to be nice.” I slung the dress over my forearm and lifted the frame from the wall. “It looks like this is part of a larger photo—there is definitely a woman standing next to the bride.”

I tapped on the side of a turned head, glossy light-colored hair twisted up in an elegant style under a small hat. After flipping the photo over, I began to remove the backing.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it. But we know Sophia and Eva were friends. If this is a larger photo of the wedding party, maybe Eva is in it.”

“But how will that help us find her?” Colin held out his hands for the discarded frame and backing as I carefully separated the glass from the photograph, excited to see part of the picture that had been folded under, inside the frame.

“It won’t, but how awesome would it be if we find Eva and we’re able to document the two friends before and after?”

“Ah,” Colin said. “So there’s a method to your madness.”

“Always.” I held up the photograph, trying to decipher what I was seeing. “Hmm.”

Colin looked over my shoulder. “I’ve seen many photos of Nana from her younger years, and that’s definitely her.” He indicated the woman whose face was half-turned from the viewer, smiling at the person standing next to her—a person who, judging by the jagged edge, had been torn from the photo. Even though Precious’s full face wasn’t visible, it was still a beautiful photograph of her, showing off her long neck and perfect profile, the porcelain skin.

As if reading my mind, Colin said, “That’s probably why she didn’t tear it off completely. She can be a bit vain. Don’t tell her I said that.” He ran his finger along the jagged edge. “But why tear it at all?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” A satin-clad woman’s shoe and slender ankle were all that was visible of the unknown person.

“Let’s ask her,” I said, bringing the frame and photo with me as I walked slowly, checking to see if any of the other framed photographs appeared to have been folded over. The photographs were mostly of Precious posing on catwalks or on fashion magazine covers, including several fromVogue Paris. Other than the one of her exiting the car, there weren’t photographs of any man except for Colin’sgrandfather David in his wedding photo, and of Colin at varying ages.

“You have cute knees,” I said, stopping in front of a young Colin wearing a schoolboy uniform of knee socks, shorts, navy blue jacket, and plaid tie.

“I’m glad you approve.”