Excerpt from An Unlikely Spy by Rebecca Starford, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Julia? I don't believe it!"

She had aged. Of course she had; it had been nearly eight years. Still, as Julia stepped back, holding her at arm's length to look her up and down, Evelyn was shocked by the gray in her hair and the constellation of lines around her eyes and forehead.

"It's really me—ta-da!" Julia's grip was tight around Evelyn's wrists. She gave a sharp bark of laughter and let go, gesturing to Stephen. "And who is this?"

Evelyn introduced them, and Stephen, who had watched their greeting with bemusement, said, "You must join us for tea. I've not met any of Evelyn's pals—I'd love to pick your brains."

Evelyn glared at him. "Julia will surely have other plans."

"What do you think, Margaret, darling?" Julia peered down at her daughter as she removed her gloves. The young girl was eyeing up the rock cake. "Daddy won't mind if we're a few minutes late, will he?"

Margaret shed her green coat. "Daddy won't mind," she repeated solemnly as she took the seat opposite Evelyn. She was missing a front tooth.

The waitress appeared with more cups and saucers, and everyone watched her pour the tea. After she'd gone, Julia sat down and unwound her expensive silk scarf, eyes skating about the bar. She wore a red box coat that matched her lipstick; Evelyn had forgotten how striking she was.

"Are you staying here at the hotel, Evelyn?"

"No, we're—" She felt Julia's frank gaze. "We were just having a drink."

"I see."

"Then we're off to a film over on Tottenham Court Road. In fact, we had better be going, hadn't we, Stephen?" Evelyn glared at him again, desperate to communicate her agitation at this unexpected meeting.

But Stephen wasn't looking. His attention was on Julia, perhaps wondering if she held the answers to his many questions about Evelyn's past.

"Don't worry about that," he murmured. "There'll be a later showing."

"See?" Julia patted the chair beside her. "No rush."

Somehow, Evelyn managed to sit down and smile graciously around the table. She still couldn't believe it was Julia sitting across from her. Was this what it felt like to encounter a ghost?

"I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw you, Evelyn. After all these years—I had to come over and make sure." Julia laughed again. "But you haven't changed a bit. I suppose you're still at the same job, too?"

"Evelyn works in a bookshop," Stephen said, bringing out his pipe. "Foy's, on Store Street. You know it?"

"Store Street?" Julia glanced at Stephen, something flinty and appraising in her expression. "No, I don't think so. But I will remember to drop in sometime."

Evelyn wanted to shriek at Stephen to shut up. She imagined old Mrs. Foy, alone in the flat above the shop, Julia prowling about the shelves of Margery Allinghams, and she swigged a mouthful of brandy, feeling it burn down her throat.

"And how do you know one another?" Stephen scraped a match against the box and lit his pipe. "From Oxford, was it?"

"The war, actually," Julia said.

"Really?" He leaned forward. "Evelyn's always coy about her war years. So you were at the hospital, too?"

Julia's eyes slid toward Evelyn. She picked up her teacup, raised it to her lips.

"It wasn't quite like that. We moved in similar circles, that's all."

"Did you?"

Stephen turned to Evelyn, gave her shoulder a light nudge with his. He was enjoying himself; there was a smile playing over his mouth. Evelyn gripped her knees beneath the table, nails digging into her stockings. She had to disrupt the conversation, swerve it away from anything that might compromise her. She focused on Margaret, who was picking despondently at the rock cake. If Julia had a weak spot, surely it would be this child.

"I didn't know you had a daughter," Evelyn said. "She looks just like you."

The last bit of sun had come out from behind the low gray clouds, flooding the front bar in dazzling light. Julia set her teacup back down in the saucer.

Excerpted from An Unlikely Spy by Rebecca Starford. Copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Starford. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.