The Last Night in London Karen White (books for students to read txt) 📖

will say it’s been useful in my travels.” I opened up the translation app and pointed my camera at the words, waiting for the miracle of modern technology to do its work.

Then I stared at the screen for a long moment before Arabella moved to stand next to me.

I forced the words out of my tightening throat. “It says, ‘You’re in danger. Run.’”

Our eyes met before we both turned toward a sound in the doorway. Precious was there, in one of her peach-colored lounge sets, her face the color of the walls. She seemed to melt where she stood, her legs collapsing under her. I caught her before she hit the floor, a name on her lips as she fell. Alex.

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