Page 130 of The Last Night in London
Desperate now, she took off her shoes, hoisted up her skirt, and began running toward Berkeley Square, where she’d find Sophia and sanctuary, where she could ask David what to do next. She’d made it only a block before she stopped.
Precious.She had to make sure Precious had left the flat. Had to get Precious and herself to Sophia’s, where they’d be safe. She swallowed a frustrated sob, knowing she had no choice. Or no choice she could consider and live with. Without allowing doubt or regret to change her mind, Eva began running in the direction of Harley House. Her feet didn’t feel the pavement, nor did the cold permeate her fear and desperation. She’d slow to a walk when she got too tired, then start running again, imagining someone behind her, chasing her.Alex believes you have exhausted your usefulness.David’s words forced her to press on, to use the fear to run faster, harder.
The streets were damaged and dark, lit only by a half-moon, but she knew the way well, having been driven between her flat and the Savoy dozens of times. She barely had to look for the street names as she moved through Covent Garden and Fitzrovia toward Marylebone Road. It was nearly two miles, yet she made it in less than forty minutes. She stumbled up the front steps, panting, and stopped long enough to look in the drive to see if Alex or Jiri was waiting for her. She was glad when she didn’t see them, having no idea what she would do if she did.
Lungs burning, she ran up the stairs, her gown tearing as she took the steps two at a time, fumbling in her bag to extract the key without touching the cold metal of the gun.
No lamps burned as she walked into the foyer. The blackout curtains hadn’t been pulled. Eva closed them, noticing Precious’s purse lying open on the foyer table. Realizing she might need to convince Precious that they had to leave, she removed the menu with the warning scribbled on it and stuck it in Precious’s bag before latching it, leaving it ready to grab on their way out.
She straightened, the insistent tick of the mantel clock in the drawing room a reminder to hurry. Listening to her own rapid breathing, she walked through the flat, calling out Precious’s name.
She was halfway down the long corridor when she heard a whimper from behind Precious’s closed door. Eva threw it open, and facing the pitch-black room, the fear that had chased her all the way from the Savoy finally caught up to her.
“Precious?” A sickly-sweet smell coated the air, the taste of copper heavy in her mouth. It reminded Eva of discovering her mother after her father had left, the smell of blood and despair mingling so that it was impossible to distinguish which was which.
“Eva?” The voice was so weak Eva wondered if it had been her imagination. She stumbled toward the lamp that sat on the bedside table, almost knocking it over. The halo of yellow light illuminated a pale and sweating Precious, lying on the bed, nude, the bed devoid of sheets and blankets.
“It was so fast... ,” Precious began, her breath coming in shallow, feverish gasps.
Eva’s gaze slid down to the middle of the bed. What looked like a pile of bloody rags lay between Precious’s legs. A thick grayish cord connected the rags to Precious. Eva stared for one long, horrified moment before she realized what it was.
With an unnatural calm she remembered from the times she’d had to put her mother back together, times that had forced away her fear of blood, she picked up the baby. A boy. Skin slippery with blood, slowly turning blue. She turned him over and smacked him on his little bottom, as she and her friends had seen the midwife do, again and again, as they’d huddled outside cottages while their mothers gave birth.
“Cry,” she shouted at the still bundle. “Cry,” she said again, unsure what she would do if the baby didn’t. She spanked him harder, and this time a feeble sound like a trapped mouse came from the tiny body.
“What is it?” Precious asked.
“It’s a boy.” Eva looked around the room, remembering something else that needed to happen. She ran and fetched her sewing shears, remembering first to cut a ribbon from one of the sheets before she cut the cord. She tied each end with the ribbon, wrapped the rest of the sheet around the baby, and held him against her for a moment to make sure he was breathing, then placed him on Precious’s chest.
Trying to keep the panic from her voice, she asked, “Can you move? We can’t stay here.”
“I can try.” Precious’s voice was no stronger than the baby’s mewling as he rooted at her breast.
“I’m going to find a valise to put the baby in, to keep him warm, and get you dressed. David should be waiting outside. I’ll go downstairs, and he can carry you, all right? Please, don’t worry, Precious. We’re going to take care of you.” She had no idea if David was there, or what she might do if he wasn’t, but she’d cross that bridge later.
Eva didn’t wait for a response, but turned toward the armoire and pulled it open. She yanked a pair of trousers from a hanger and a folded jumper from the shelf and put them on the bedside table for Precious. Quickly, she changed her own clothes, completely unaware of what she slipped over her head.
The small valise Precious had used on her trip to nurse Graham sat at the bottom of the armoire, and Eva yanked it out, meaning to line it with towels and scarves and whatever else she could find to cushion and warm the baby.
“Don’t...”
The feeble protest didn’t reach Eva’s ears until she’d already spread the top of the valise wide. She stopped moving, her body swaying as if she’d been speeding and had just hit a wall.
Five familiar envelopes, Graham’s name on the front written in her own handwriting, lay scattered on the empty bottom. She picked them up, spots dancing in her eyes.
“Eva...” Precious’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”
Eva looked from the letters toward Precious, then back again, trying to understand. Trying to pretend that “sorry” was enough.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
Eva couldn’t look at her, could only stare at the envelopes. They were still sealed. “You didn’t mean to...” She met Precious’s eyes.
“Forgive me, Eva. Please, forgive me.”
“Forgive you...?”
Precious was babbling something, words Eva was sure she shouldhave been listening to, but the roaring in her ears made it difficult to make them out.
