When her wristwatch showed eleven, she went in search of Alex. Not until she’d finished making her rounds and inquiring about acquaintances with no success did the panic overwhelm her, making her knees fail her. She staggered, caught herself on the wall. Forced herself to swallow her fear. Tried to clear her head.
A tap on her shoulder made her jump. A dark-haired woman stood behind her, holding out Eva’s purse, the box purse that Precious had given her. It took Eva a moment to realize she was the woman in the red dress who had danced with Graham that night at the Dorchester.
“You left this in the cloakroom. A mutual friend said you might need it.”
“A friend? Is Graham here?”
The woman pretended she hadn’t heard her, backing away until she was absorbed by the crowd. Eva looked at the purse, remembered checking it alongside her fur stole. Remembered, too, the time she and Graham had been alone together in the cloakroom and he’d told her she should be careful, that people were searching through pockets and purses there.
Walking deliberately, she made her way toward the stairs, remembering to smile and nod. The lobby was nearly deserted, most revelers still in the basement. The coat check man stood with his back to her, and Eva quickly ducked around the corner, out of sight. She wasn’t sure why. She was sure only that something was terribly, horribly wrong.
In an empty alcove, she opened the purse, her fingers trembling so that it took three tries. She stared inside, certain the purse couldn’t be hers. Yet she recognized her lipstick. Her compact. The white ivory dolphin she always carried, along with the pin, carefully wrapped in Graham’s handkerchief. The small key to her flat.
And nestled against the side lay the pistol Mr. Danek had shown her how to use in the ruins of a church. He had kept it, promising to make sure she’d have it when she needed it. It was small, small enough that it fit in her hand, and easy to use. But accurate only if one stood very close to the target.
Eva trembled, wondering why she might have need of it now.
Next to the pistol lay a folded cocktail menu. Eva pulled it out, skipping over the printed items, studying the handwriting. Jsi v nebezpečí. Utíkej! It was written in Czech. Between Mr. Danek and Alex, she’d learned enough of the language to understand it, although she could read Czech better than she could speak it. That was what Mr. Danek had said, and that was why he would have written this message to her in Czech so not just anyone could open her purse and read it.
Except for Alex, of course. And she suspected he already knew.
Eva focused on holding the menu still, studying the words, trying to think. The blood thundered in her ears. She slowly translated the third and fourth words, and when she said them out loud, she started to shake. Danger. Run.
Somehow, she managed to shove the menu back into the purse. Knowing she shouldn’t request her stole or enter the lobby at all, she exited through a side door and walked two blocks before trying to summon a taxi away from the hotel. After ten minutes without a single taxi driving by, she gave up.
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,
