Page 15 of The Last Night in London
“Really, Graham,” Mrs. St. John said. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not meant to be worn traipsing through the fields.”
Eva stood still and placed her hands on her hips, seemingly showing off the trim waistline and the delicate sleeves but actually trying to stop her legs from acting like rubber. She had to walk out of the room without making a fool of herself. She dared not glance at the man again, but kept smiling at the two women as she pivoted her hips from side to side.
“Naturally,” the man said.
Graham.Finally, Eva had a name to go with her fantasy. She stole a glance at him over her shoulder and flushed again when she realized he hadn’t dropped his gaze.
“Still,” he continued, looking directly at Eva, “I think it’s absolutely stunning.”
It seemed as if he wasn’t speaking about the gown at all. Eva felt as if she were standing completely naked, open for all scrutiny. Without waiting for the nod from Madame Lushtak, she turned awayfrom the small group and, taking deliberate, slow steps, made her way to the showroom door without stumbling. She closed the door and leaned against it, panting as if she’d just run a great distance.
Graham.His name wasGraham. She felt giddy and weak and worried all at the same time—three emotions she couldn’t explain. Was he the fiancé? The thought nearly made her sick.
“You were magnificent,” Precious said. “Just magnificent. And did you see that man? He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you!”
Eva nodded. “But I think he might be the fiancé.”
Precious tucked her chin. “I sure hope not, because that man had eyes for nobody but you. No other girl would stand a chance—if I were a betting girl, I’d bet on you for sure.”
Her friend’s appearance and reassuring words quieted the fluttering in her stomach. Mrs. Ratcliffe appeared and took Eva’s arm. “Hurry, girl. There’s no time for dallying. Mrs. St. John doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Eva nodded, and she and Precious followed her back to the fitting room. Mrs. Williams was pressing the pleated skirt of a cream silk and linen street frock with a tucked bolero section at the front and a scalloped border and collar.
“Hurry, hurry,” Mrs. Ratcliffe shrilled, unpinning the dress while Eva was still walking.
“There’s a man in the showroom,” Eva began.
“There are usually men in the showroom,” Mrs. Ratcliffe said brusquely. “Many of our ladies require the opinions of gentlemen before they make a purchase.”
“Is he Miss St. John’s fiancé, then?” Eva didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she needed to know. She held her arms out so one outfit could be removed and the other put over her head. It fit almost perfectly; after one small stitch to the waist, she was ready to return to the showroom, whereGrahamwas waiting.
Mrs. Ratcliffe huffed as she roughly adjusted the shoulders. “That is none of your concern. Come now. They’re waiting.”
Precious touched up Eva’s makeup, and Mrs. Williams gave her asympathetic smile as Mrs. Ratcliffe whisked Eva back to the showroom. But Eva felt different this time. When she’d seen herself in the full-length mirror, she hadn’t recognized herself. The woman staring back at her had been poised. Sophisticated. Beautiful. A world apart from the Ethel Maltby who’d boarded a train in Yorkshire with only three shillings and a suitcase full of hope.
“You look finer than a frog’s hair split four ways, so act like you own the place,” Precious whispered loudly, giving Eva confidence and making her smile.
When the showroom door opened this time, she was ready. She was Myrna Loy, Bette Davis, and Jean Harlow all at once. Ethel Maltby had begun to fade, replaced by an exquisite creature named Eva who’d always remember this day as the day she’d truly been born.
She strutted across the room, smiling at Madame Lushtak, her pace slowing when she reached the sofas and chairs. Mrs. St. John still sat with her back ramrod straight, her daughter smiling from the seat next to her. But the chair where Graham had sat was empty, the cigarette stub smoldering in the ashtray.
Eva pushed her disappointment aside, feeling foolish for having imagined he’d exhibited any interest in her at all. She threw all of her energy into modeling the remaining outfits, making sure to highlight the silk linings of the coats, the functional pockets on the skirts.
When she returned to the fitting room for the final time, her feet screaming and her back aching, Mrs. Ratcliffe actually smiled at her. Mrs. St. John and her daughter had ordered all five outfits that Eva had modeled for them, she said.
After Mrs. Ratcliffe left, Precious descended on Eva in a flurry. “Did you get his name? Did you find out where he’s going?”
Eva shook her head. “Maybe he’ll come back.” Her smile slipped.
Precious hugged her. “He will. Trust me. I’ve got to go now—Ronald is waiting. I’ll see you back at the flat.”
“Thanks for all your help. You’re a good friend. I’d have been too nervous to walk straight without you.”
Precious hugged her again. “I don’t believe that for a second.” She winked, then left.
Mrs. Williams helped Eva dress, pursing her lips as she slipped Eva’s simple frock over her head. She tutted when Eva retrieved her wool coat, and said, “Is that all you have to wear? You’ll catch your death.”
“I’ll be fine—I’m on the bus most of the way.”
