The Librarian Spy(38)
“I know,” Peggy said when Ava’s eyes caught the top of the dress. “Just put it on.” She thrust it toward Ava and pointed down the hall.
Ava took the gown to Peggy’s neat bedroom, as resplendent in jewel tones as the living area, and slipped the garment on. The fabric was cool as it glided over her skin, a sensation she hadn’t expected to experience until after the war.
“It was bought before Japan joined the Axis,” Ava reminded herself, smoothing her hand down the front as she turned to the full-length mirror. The cut was beautiful and fit her like it had been made for her, bare shoulders and all.
Peggy squealed from the doorway. “I knew it would be perfect. Here.” She handed her a pair of long white gloves. “You can show off any skin you want so long as you have gloves.”
Ava pulled them on, and Peggy gave a low whistle. “You are dazzling.”
“Because of your exceptional skills and this gorgeous dress.”
“Because you’re a beautiful woman.”
Ava’s face went hot. Compliments always left her with an internally squirming sensation, like she needed to wriggle out of her own skin that always felt so unworthy of praise. “I don’t know...”
“Well, I do.” Peggy put her hands on her hips.
“I don’t think I take compliments well,” Ava admitted sheepishly.
“Most women don’t. We always think we’re not good enough.” She lifted her shoulder, and the resignation behind it told Ava that even gorgeous, confident, say-whatever-came-to-mind Peggy was also plagued by the same monsters as Ava.
“Do me a favor,” Peggy said. “When someone tells you that you look beautiful tonight—and they will—don’t you dare bring my name up or offer any self-deprecating remarks. You look them dead in the eye and all you say is ‘thank you.’”
James arrived in a sleek black car, wearing a suit fine enough to pass pre-ration standards with dark trousers creased sharply down the center, a fitted jacket and a starched white shirt. This look was complete with a black bow tie and a freshly shaved jaw that unhinged a few inches as she exited the building.
“You look stunning,” he said, his eyes wide.
Her cheeks burned, and it was on the tip of her tongue to admit Peggy had polished her from a dull stone into something shiny.
Instead, she met his gaze and simply said, “Thank you.”
He grinned.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she offered truthfully.
The grin grew wider.
Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger-side door for her, and she slid onto the smooth leather. He put the car into gear, and they took off, turning this way and that to navigate the streets of Lisbon. Soon the twists and turns of the city gave way to a long stretch of road and the ocean came into view, the moon glinting off distant waves like flecks of diamonds sparkling in the great, dark sea.
They didn’t stop until they came to a brilliantly lit hotel called the Palacio, golden light spilling out from large glass doors. After leaving the car with the valet, he led her into the building with its glossy marble floors and windows that stretched up the length of the walls.
The architecture was as much a work of art as the painted canvases strategically placed throughout the building. It was beautiful and elegant, and she felt terribly exposed.
She resisted pulling at her strapless décolleté and, recalling what Peggy said about the gloves, edged them a little higher up her arms. Hopefully the police didn’t have rulers for dresses, or the top of hers might result in a fine for indecency.
Music, delicate laughter, and conversation tinkled all around as finely dressed men and women chatted in the lounge area and inside the bar.
They were led to a ballroom with four large columns framing the middle of the room where the black-and-white-checkered marble tiles became a lovely pattern of circles and geometric lines. A long table was at its center, framed by chairs, its surface set with elegant gold-rimmed plates and white rose centerpieces that probably cost more than Ava made in a month.
All around them, people were engaged in light banter. Men wore dinner jackets and bow ties similar to James, while the women were like sparkling jewels amid all the black, their gowns brilliant in color, the sheen of silk as prevalent as the precious diamonds glittering on every neck, wrist and finger.
A delicate flute of bubbling champagne found its way into her hand, and the aroma of savory food wafted above the blend of costly perfumes that scented the air with flowers and musk. Ava took a sip from the slender glass and let the bubbles tickle down her throat.
Live music played at an ambient volume on one side of the room where the marble transitioned to a low-pile dark carpet and created an atmosphere that was as effervescent as the quality champagne.
It was surreal, this place where she suddenly found herself. One bathed in opulence and means, while so many in Lisbon lined up around the embassy and languished in front of cafés.
“Ah, James.” A tall, slender man approached them, his thin dark brown hair swept neatly to the side, his skin tanned a healthy gold from the beach that was only a short walk from the hotel. “Who is this lovely creature at your side?” He spoke with a heavy French accent.
“This is Miss Harper.” James indicated her first, then the man. “And this is Monsieur Blanchet.”
The man took her hand and kissed the back. “Enchanté.”