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

She felt relieved that she didn’t have to lie. “No.”

“Ah,” he said, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again before dropping it on the ground and crushing it with his shoe.

“Graham,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Please.” Please come back to me. Please love me again. Please don’t leave me. She didn’t say any of those things, just let the single word float in the dark air between them before crashing to the ground.

“You should go home,” he said, his words gentle as if he knew how harsh they would seem to her. “We shouldn’t be seen together. I’ll stay a block behind you to make sure you get back safely.”

She took a step closer instead, felt his breath on her face. Lacing her fingers around his neck, she pulled him to her. He didn’t resist, that simple action letting her know that he hadn’t forgotten, either. His arms went around her, pressing her body against his, his lips hot and demanding as they claimed her mouth. She wanted to go back to their secret tunnel, to the place where they’d committed their love to each other, but instead Graham abruptly stepped back, his arms holding her for a moment longer before they fell away. His breath came fast, and she imagined the small clouds of his exhalations rising above him in the cold air.

“You should go. London is a dangerous place at night. You never know who might be lurking in the dark.”

Hurt and confused, she turned and began walking in the direction from which she’d come. All the way back to Harley House, she heard the uneven tread of his footsteps and the tap of his cane behind her.

As she entered her flat, his kiss lingered on her lips, the feel of his body on her fingertips. She replayed their conversation over and over, recalling that he’d asked her if she knew who lived at number thirty-seven. She hadn’t lied, told him that she didn’t know. But it was clear that he did. She felt she’d been tested and somehow failed.

Precious’s room was silent as Eva tiptoed past her door, and closed her own gently behind her. She reached for the bottle on her bed stand and unscrewed the top, eager to reach her own blackout where she couldn’t remember Graham’s kisses or see his face. Or wonder why he would have already known who lived at number thirty-seven Chester Terrace.

CHAPTER 34

LONDON

MAY 2019

The taxi drove me into the heart of Chelsea and the tidy residential square of Cadogan Gardens. Tall redbrick mansions clustered together like old men overlooking the private garden in the center, the crisp white moldings on the top window arches of each building rising like lifted eyebrows.

I’d been here a few times with Arabella while we were at Oxford, for tame parties Colin hosted while his parents were away at their home in Surrey. Their town house had not been subdivided into flats, like many of their neighbors’, although Colin’s parents did rent the basement apartment. According to Arabella, Colin acted as property manager to justify his parents’ refusing to accept any rent payment from him.

As we pulled up to the central house on the east side of the square, yellow sun stroked the wrought iron fencing, lending a glancing blow to the sienna bricks of the houses and camouflaging them with coral. Colin met me at the taxi, insisting not only on paying the driver but on carrying my backpack inside. I allowed him, not exactly sure why. It might have had something to do with the way his damp hair curled around the collar of his shirt, and the way his blue eyes smiled in tandem with his mouth. I didn’t want to stick around the taxi being forced to look at all that, so I headed up the front steps and opened the door.

George greeted me with his usual unbridled enthusiasm, which made up for Oscar’s continued antagonism. My phone vibrated, silenced now, as I was unwilling to discover what other ringtones my brother had gifted me with—and I wasn’t surprised to see it was Aunt Cassie. No one else would have been up at three o’clock in the morning.

I answered just as Colin came through the door and George began barking in greeting, as if he hadn’t seen Colin in a month. “Good morning, Aunt Cassie. I’m in the middle of something—can I call you back later?”

“Sure,” she said, and disconnected.

I’d started to put my phone away when a text appeared on my screen. Who’s barking?

That’s George, Colin’s dog. He likes me.

Good to know. Is it getting serious?

I responded with an eye-roll emoji. I was talking about the dog.

It’s a good sign if Colin’s dog likes you, though.

Oscar—who belongs to Precious’s nurse—hates me.

She didn’t respond right away, so I made to put my phone in the back pocket of my new pants—before I realized that my new pants didn’t have pockets. “Ugh,” I said. “This is why I wear jeans, as I tried to explain to Arabella before she made me buy these.”

Colin shut the door and gave George a stern look; the dog immediately stopped barking and sat at attention. “I would have thought you’d realize by now that my cousin doesn’t recognize the word ‘no.’ We’re somehow both here helping with her work project, aren’t we?”

“Good point.” I gave up searching for a pocket and resigned myself to holding my phone. “Dining room or library?”

“Upstairs, actually. I have a work space in front of a large picture window that faces the gardens. There’s far more light.”

“Sure.” I frowned down at my phone as it vibrated.

That’s odd about Oscar. Dogs usually love you. Maybe he’s jealous of Colin’s feelings for you.

That’s ridiculous. We’re just trying to do a job. Speaking of which . . .

I didn’t get to finish; Aunt Cassie sent me another text right away. Trust me. Dogs are good