Wish Upon a Star (36 page)

‘Outstanding! And you’re probably right about the traveling,’ he agreed. ‘And they have more money to spend in Kensington. Good business sense you’ve got.’ He looked wistfully around the store. ‘Wish I had a bit.’

Claire had wondered how he stayed in business, but Imogen’s assurance that he had an inheritance comforted her. ‘Where could I get photocopies made?’ she said.

Toby took another look at the flyer. ‘Hmm. You don’t want this to go off like a damp squib. You know,’ he continued, ‘I have a friend on Shaftesbury Avenue. He’s quite artistic and runs a typesetting and paste-up shop. Why don’t you take it around to him? He’ll do it, although he’ll act as if it’s nothing but agro. He might just do something with the text as well—you know, improve on your handwriting a bit. Then he could print them from his computer.’

‘I’d love that,’ Claire said, ‘but I really can’t pay for…’

‘Oh, he won’t charge you. He’s…an old friend. I’ll call him now. And speaking of calling, you ought to have a phone number on this. People might want to ask questions, you know.’

Claire shrugged. He was right, but ‘I don’t have a phone. I’m not sure Imogen would like me to use her number, and the knitting shop doesn’t seem to have a phone although there is a number over the door.’

‘Ridiculous! I’m a Luddite, but even
I
have a landline and a mobile. Though there have been times when, according to British Telecom, I ceased to exist.’ She raised her brows. ‘I know it sounds rather existential but it’s actually financial,’ Toby went on. ‘It’s what they say when they cut your service. We had a little dust-up over the bill. But things are fine now. I’ll tell you what, you can put in my shop’s number and if anyone calls I’ll take the message for you.’

Before she could thank him he had scrawled some figures across the bottom of the sheet, lifted his own phone and punched in a number. ‘Hello, Thomas, dear? I’m sending a friend over. No, not that kind. Her name is Claire and she needs a few moments of your time. Yes, yes, I know. Like I’ve never helped you. By the way, can you make it?’

Claire was watching from the corner of her eye, and she thought she saw Toby’s usually cheerful face close up. Perhaps he was asking too much of his friend. She hated him to call in a favor on her account.

He didn’t seem to like Thomas’s answer. ‘Fine. No trouble. No, I have someone else lined up, anyway.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So, I’ll send Claire over. Right.’ He hung up the receiver, put a smile on his face and tilted his head. ‘That’s all fixed up, then. He’s on Shaftesbury Avenue—Piccadilly Circus tube.’

‘Toby, I don’t know how to thank you,’ Claire said. ‘You’ve done so much for me. I’d like somehow to…’

‘Then you’ll go to the opera with me tomorrow.
Lucia
. One of my favorites. What do you say?’

Claire had never been to the opera, she had to work in the evenings, and she had no idea who Lucia was, but she said yes, of course. And when she did she felt another flash of joy, as strong as the one she had had in the morning. Toby was asking her out! And even if she found she didn’t like opera, and she knew that nothing would come of it anyway, she couldn’t stop the hope that sprang up. Because she was almost speechless at the unexpected pleasure, all she could manage to say was, ‘What time?’

‘Curtain’s up at eight. Why don’t you meet me here at six? I know that’s ungallant of me, but I do need to close up shop and then we could tube to Covent Garden together.’

She agreed of course, paid for the Pym book and then wanted to linger, to ask him a little about the opera and even perhaps to get a book about it. But she realized that if she was to go to Thomas’s and get to work, she simply didn’t have the time. ‘Well, thank you,’ she told him. ‘Thanks so much for everything. I’d better be off.’

Toby nodded. He stood up and scribbled an address on a piece of scrap paper. ‘Thomas is on the third floor,’ he said. ‘At times he’s a total bitch but tell him I’ll smack him if he isn’t nice to you.’

She giggled, took the address and ran.

On the Saturday of her date with Toby, Claire spent the morning and early afternoon working at Mrs. Patel’s and tutoring Safta so that she could have the evening off. She didn’t notice the troubled expression on Mrs. Patel’s face when she asked for the change in schedule.

As well as helping both of the Patel girls with their homework, she started clearing some of the rubbish from the back garden, before she left to take the tube home. Though she was tired, she took the time to put up more of her signs. Thomas, not quite bitchy, not quite cooperative, and without looking at her much either, had done a beautiful job and had printed out fifty copies on a variety of colored papers. As Claire tied them with the contrasting yarn to lamp posts, fence palings and tree trunks she was impressed with the bright spot of color each one made. She covered several blocks in the neighborhood and, when she had gotten half of them up, she stopped, feeling she had done more than enough for one day. She couldn’t resist, however, leaving a few on her own street. When she got to the front door of the flat she turned around and had to smile. She had been a modern day Hansel and Gretel, but instead of bread crumbs she had left a trail of papers and bows. She wasn’t sure if they would get a single inquiry, or if anyone would actually show up, but she decided that, even if they didn’t, she was glad she had tried.

She turned her key in the lock and ran lightly up the staircase to the little haven at the top of the house. As she shrugged out of her coat, Im’s voice floated out from the bedroom. ‘Hello, hello. What have you been up to?’

Claire was too shy, too afraid of failure to mention the flyers. ‘I’m going to the opera with Toby,’ she said as she went to the hall closet to pull out her clothes for the evening.

‘Oh, really?’ Im said, both her voice and her eyebrows raised. She watched Claire, who wanted to be rested for her visit to Covent Garden. But Im kept her chatter up and Claire listened to her talk about Malcolm and their plans. It wasn’t that different from listening to Tina’s constant monologue but the accent was far more pleasant.

She made herself a cup of tea, ran water for her bath and wondered why she didn’t feel quite the same sort of anticipation about going out with Toby as she had with Michael. She told herself not to be foolish. She was going out to the opera—something she had never done—with a man she liked and admired. If she didn’t feel that total suffusion of love that she had with Michael, it was because it would be inappropriate. She didn’t really know Toby, she’d never kissed him, and she had no idea how he felt about her.

Of course, she thought, as she soaked in the hot water, she had known that Michael didn’t share her passion, yet she had felt for him. Love didn’t seem to be something you could control. It was or it wasn’t. She had done her best to forget her feelings for Michael but now, because of this new opportunity with a man she supposed, they had come flooding back, reminding her how dangerous they could be. Well, she wasn’t confused about Toby. He was no ladies’ man, and he was charming and intelligent and generous. He may have simply asked her out because he had a spare ticket. This time she would take things very slowly and expect very little.

She arrived at the bookstore in plenty of time. She wore her navy-blue dress and her pearls. It wasn’t an exciting ensemble but Toby seemed to eye her approvingly. ‘Ah, here you are.’ He turned back to two older women who were both holding carrier bags and watching him intently. ‘I’m afraid I can’t take them off your hands,’ he said. ‘I’m really having trouble selling the stock I’ve got.’

Claire watched as the women’s shoulders drooped. They began to repack books into their bags. She felt sorry for them—they were obviously desperate to make a few pounds—and apparently so did Toby.

‘Wait a minute. Here we go,’ he said, picking a volume up. ‘I’ve got a customer for this one.’ The two women brightened immediately. ‘Would you take ten pounds for it?’ Toby asked. They chimed their assent together and the business was quickly completed. Once they were out of the shop, Toby sighed. ‘I’m too soft by half. I should be underwritten by the local council,’ he said, confirming Claire’s suspicion that he had absolutely no one willing to buy the book he’d just purchased. ‘Well, do unto others,’ he said. ‘Now if only someone would do this to me I could afford better seats at the opera.’ He smiled at her. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I inherited the box from my uncle. Quite good location. Dress circle. But it rather puts a burden on me. Can’t give it up, can’t afford to keep it.’

‘Oh, perhaps I should pay…’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Toby said, took her arm and escorted her from the shop.

Lucia di Lammermoor was going crazy. Her brother Enrico—worse than Fred—had tricked her into confiding her love for Edgardo. Then he’d married her to Arturo. She had just discovered the horrible ruse and now, drenched in blood, she had not only murdered Arturo in reaction, but she was mourning the loss of Edgardo, and the love she could have had for a lifetime.

Unlikely as the plot might be, Claire leaned forward breathless and watched Lucia go mad. Her voice was the most beautiful sound Claire had ever heard, and though she couldn’t understand the Italian she knew all of the feelings that Lucia expressed. Her voice dipped and soared and Claire felt herself begin to sob at the tragedy of what poor, innocent Lucia had been robbed of. It was the third act, and though Claire didn’t know that it had been a famous classic almost from the time it was written, she felt its power grip her. She clutched the balustrade and wept unselfconsciously until Toby handed her a clean folded handkerchief. Only then was she recalled to herself. Lucia wasn’t singing to her, nor had she lost Edgardo.
Her
Edgardo, Mr. Wonderful, had never loved her, and she wasn’t important enough to be tricked into marrying someone else. Embarrassed at her reaction, she mopped up her face and tried to calm herself before they left the theater.

‘I didn’t know you were such an opera buff,’ Toby commented when she had managed to quiet herself. ‘Elizabeth Futral was wonderful. Did you ever hear her in the States?’ Claire just shook her head. She didn’t feel like explaining that she had never seen an opera, that she’d never even heard of Elizabeth Futral, and that she had confused some of Lucia’s feelings with her own. She looked down at Toby’s handkerchief and realized she couldn’t return it to him in its present condition. She stuffed it into her purse and gave him a watery smile. He smiled back. ‘I actually prefer the stalls to the dress circle.’ He looked away, letting her gather herself. ‘The drop-scene was good, don’t you think? Back in my student days I used to sit in the gods but since Uncle dropped off the hooks I’ve moved down in the world.’ He took her arm. ‘Here, you can have this, too,’ he said as he handed her the program for the opera.

‘Oh, no. You can keep it.’

‘I have enough of them already. Consider this your first of many. Now, come, my little chicken,’ he said, ‘I know a delightful
boite
where I can ply you with wine and a savory until you feel yourself.’

Claire recovered long before they reached the restaurant. Toby put his arm through hers and patted her hand. Oh, she was beginning to like him so very much. He must like her. Once at the ‘
boite
’, Toby talked about his student days at Oxford before he had been ‘sent down’—which seemed to be English for expelled. ‘So. Now on the gossip. What do you think of Our Im?’

‘I like her.’

‘As do we. Did she hit you with the second cousin to the Queen bit?’ Claire nodded. Toby laughed. ‘We all make bets on how long it will take her in any conversation before she mentions it. Six minutes has been her record. Can’t think what they have in common. Im’s dad can be a bit toffee-nosed but he’s not such a climber. And her mother’s pretty down to earth—in fact he seems to get tired of the old bird. They’re certainly no Antony and Cleopatra.’ Toby shook his head. ‘The only thing the two of them seem dead keen on are loose covers, loose-boxes and loose waterproofs.’ Before Claire could ask what any of those were, Toby continued. ‘Have you met Malcolm?’ Claire shook her head. ‘He’s a bit wet, but I suppose rattle-brained Im could do worse.’

Claire wondered if she would ever meet Malcolm—Im only seemed to have him over when Claire was at work. But what did it matter to Claire? She was grateful to be living there—Im wasn’t obliged to introduce her to her friends. ‘She’s lovely,’ Claire said, loyal to her generous roommate.

‘Yes, but what does it all mean? She’ll just marry and breed and her children will marry and breed and so on and so on.’

Claire shrugged, ‘Well, isn’t that what everyone does?’ she asked. Didn’t Toby ever plan to ‘marry and breed’, as he put it.

Toby looked over the top of his glasses at her. ‘Not quite everyone, my dear,’ he said. ‘Let’s share a pudding, shall we? Afters is always the best part of the meal.’ Claire knew by now that pudding was the generic for dessert. She supposed ‘afters’ meant the same. ‘Shall we be naughty and have sticky toffee pudding?’ Toby proposed.

Claire admitted she’d never tried it. ‘Pure ambrosia,’ Toby assured her. ‘Of course, I always like the opportunity to ask for spotted dick but I don’t really enjoy it.’ The waiter appeared, Toby asked for the toffee pudding and ordered a dessert wine. ‘Simply because you need to keep up your strength,’ he told her with a grin.

The ‘afters’ was the best thing she had ever had and Claire tried not to eat more than her share. They were just finishing and Toby was paying the bill when he turned to her, his glasses slightly askew and his hair tousled. ‘I completely forgot. My charity in the bookstore and your reaction to Lucia put it out of my mind. But I’ve had a call about your classes.’

For a moment Claire didn’t know what he was talking about. She was a little fuzzy from the opera, her feelings for Toby, and the drink. But she thought she had heard good news. ‘A call?’

‘Yes. Some woman wanted to register. I had no idea what to do so I faked it. I told her she didn’t need to do anything but give me her name. Was that right? Shall I take you home?’ he continued, not realizing the importance of the news he had just given her.