Wish Upon a Star (48 page)

‘Mother,’ he said, his eyes lighting up.

Her eyes turned to him. ‘Nigel.’ She had trouble with the ‘j’ sound in the middle of his name but it was plain enough for him to acknowledge. ‘Being naughty?’ she asked, and while the first word was slurred the second was clear enough.

Now it was Nigel’s turn to blush, but not with anger. He moved a chair to the other side of the bed and took his mother’s good hand. But Mrs. Venables, with her weakened left hand, gave a squeeze to Claire that she could definitely feel.

‘She’s getting much better,’ Claire said over the bed. Then she turned to Mrs. Venables. ‘Aren’t you?’ she asked. And the old woman gave her hand another squeeze and seemed to nod her head.

‘We’re arranging for physio- and speech therapy for you,’ Nigel said. ‘As soon as you’re strong enough.’ Mrs. Venables nodded again though Nigel may not have seen it as a nod. But she again squeezed Claire’s hand and Claire noticed that Nigel looked down at his own. To her complete surprise she saw his eyes get wet and then a tear trembled at the corner of one lower lid.

‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Claire said and wasn’t sure if she saw just a tremor or a nod of permission. She forced herself to continue. ‘Pretty soon I hope you’re ready to knit. And maybe you’ll bake me a sponge cake.’ She was sure she saw a smile flicker not only on the right side of Mrs. Venables’s mouth but also on the slack left side.

In the hallway she was surprised to see Leonora Atkins and the Countess. Both looked very uncertain, and it wasn’t until they saw Claire that they seemed to feel they were properly placed. ‘How is she?’ the Countess asked. ‘Leonora heard from the estate agent across the way that Mrs. Venables was ill. And I called my daughter…’

‘What’s the matter with her?’ Leonora asked. ‘I rang your number but there was no answer, and none at the shop.’ She looked at Claire’s drawn face. ‘It doesn’t look good and neither do you,’ Leonora said. ‘Everyone is anxious to know how she is.’

Claire was touched by their concern. Clearly, it wasn’t only she who realized how special Mrs. Venables was. ‘She’s had a stroke,’ Claire said and briefly explained the situation as best she could.

‘And you’re about to leave for France, aren’t you?’ Leonora asked.

Claire shook her head. ‘I can’t go now,’ she said.

‘Of course not,’ the Countess agreed and patted her hand. ‘I’ve brought some very soft sponge cake, and I could bring some soup—either for her or for you. There’s nothing like beef consommé for strengthening the blood.’

‘Actually, for a stroke I think the blood has to be thinned, but that’s neither here nor there,’ Leonora said. ‘You look ghastly, Claire. Come and have a cup of tea with us. We won’t disturb her today. I see her son’s here.’

Claire nodded and joined them in the little lounge where there was a vending machine with vile tea and packets of even more vile biscuits. There they talked, all three trying to be as cheerful as possible. When they left, the Countess pressed the bag of sponge cake into Claire’s hands. ‘I’ll call some of the other knitters,’ she promised, though Claire doubted Mrs. Venables was in good enough health to receive them. The two left, Claire gathered herself and her belongings and was all the way down the hall and to the lifts when Nigel caught up with her. ‘Are you really going back to the States?’

Claire nodded. ‘Probably. I don’t know what else to do.’

‘It will upset my mother dreadfully, especially now.’ The lift arrived and the doors opened. ‘May I accompany you?’ he asked.

Claire nodded again. He was oddly formal, and for the first time it occurred to Claire that what she had always seen as arrogance might just be social awkwardness. She herself knew plenty about that. When they got out of the lift Nigel looked around. There was nowhere to sit except the uncomfortable benches in the waiting lounge. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked. And she shook her head. What was he going to say? she wondered. Accuse her of stealing his mother’s watch or rifling her purse?

But instead he sat down across from her, his hands hanging limply from his knees and his head bowed. He started to say something but, instead of his usual incisive tone, he was mumbling. Claire didn’t catch what he said and had to interrupt him.

He looked across the empty space between them. His eyes were very, very blue like his mother’s. ‘I said that I may have been guilty of wronging you. I can’t help but blame my mother’s condition on overwork, but I don’t think you meant her any harm. She’s very fond of you and…and…I believe you’re very fond of her. I’m so grateful for the way you’ve looked after her.’ He looked away. ‘I’ve been very busy, quite distracted with my financial affairs and this combined with my worry for her might have led me to overreact.’ He looked back at her. ‘Anyway, I mean to do my best for her, but that doesn’t alter the fact that she is very, very fond of you. Do you really have to go away? I mean, just now, when she’s ill?’

With his feelings so obvious, Claire saw him more clearly than ever before. Perhaps she hadn’t been quite fair to him either. He had only been a bit too protective. She didn’t like him, but she had to admit there was something about his pale intensity that was moving. Still, she didn’t believe for one moment that he liked her. He simply needed her.

‘I won’t be leaving for New York for a few weeks yet. I’ll spend as much time as I can with your mother. Not because you asked, but because I like her so very, very much.’ Without waiting for his response, Claire rose and left the hospital.

When Claire got back to her room she was exhausted by the day’s events. She was sitting on the edge of the bed to take her shoes off when she saw two envelopes held in place by the bedside lamp. She was relieved to see one was from Abigail, but was filled with apprehension at the sight of Tina’s. She decided to save the worst for last.

Thank you for your concern. Brady is just fine, though he truly resents the Elizabethan ruff that he has to wear around his neck. It seems his hip is fine, but he might tear out the stitches if he can get at them and the cone stops that. I feel very sorry for him but very relieved that he’s going to be quite well again. The weather here has been astonishingly wet. Isn’t it London that’s supposed to get all the rain? I look at the
Herald Tribune
every day and see that you’re getting better conditions than we are. Enjoy them while they last. We haven’t had any spring at all
.

I’ve been busy because of April 15th. I’m not sure if you remember that our fiscal year closes then, though most firms consider that out of date. Anyway, bonuses are about to be distributed and I’m afraid there will be some unpleasant surprises. Young Wainwright’s envelope will be very thin, but I hope he has enough brains to be grateful that he has kept a job here at all. The dodgy stock recommendation has luckily blown over but not without a lot of blowing by Mr. Crayden and our General Council. A lot of favors were called in
.

Claire read the rest quickly. It seemed as if Mr. Wonderful did have some imperfections. She couldn’t help feeling a stab of pity for him, though however thin his bonus might be, it was certainly more than she had made in her life. Still, as a golden boy, it would be hard for him to have his reputation or performance criticized in any way.

It was only at the end of the note that Claire focused again.

By the way, the chastened Mr. Wainwright was asking about you. He had heard that I might have your address and wanted to know where you were living. I told him that if he had anything to tell you he could give me the envelope and that set him scurrying away. Just wanted you to know I’m not the only one thinking of you
.

As if in proof of that, Claire had the letter from Tina right in front of her. She put the thought of Michael Wainwright out of her mind. How or why he had inquired after her was none of her business and irrelevant. It had taken her almost two months to stop thinking of him. Quite an achievement when he had been her obsession for longer than a year. She was grateful Abigail hadn’t given him her address. It might have begun a dangerous yearn, an ongoing expectation that she might get a letter from him and then disappointment that she didn’t. And what would the point of all that be? They really had nothing to communicate to one another.

Tina, on the other hand, seemed to have quite a bit to tell her.

You were right about Michael Wainwright. He is a total asshole. He broke off his engagement, but he also screwed up here so bad that my bonus was two hundred fifty dollars. Is he fuckin’ kiddin’ me or what? Me and Marie—Marie Two—are both bat shit. Mike and Junior got into some kind of problem and the firm is really busting their nuts. But why should that affect me? Anthony says I should tell them to stick it and quit. But I don’t want to work with my mother, even though I have my cosmetology license. So I hope you’re doing well. Abigail says you’re living in an apartment in some fancy part of London. Maybe me and Tony could come visit you for our honeymoon! By the way, did you hear that your mother broke up with that scumbag, Jerry? He was banging Jessica O’Connell, the one who was two years ahead of us in high school. Can you picture that?

The rest of the letter was brief and dull, but the revelations she’d already read were enough to make Claire put it down and want more than tea to drink. Michael Wainwright and Katherine Rensselaer had also split? Somehow the uncouplings made it seem as if her world back in New York had changed dramatically.

But it really hadn’t, Claire told herself. Neither one had to do with her. Couples came and couples went but she, solitary, would go on. Even if it was back in New York.

Despite the uncertainty of her situation, Claire’s schedule was busier than it had ever been. It seemed that she spent every moment she could at the hospital and the rest helping Maudie at the Patels’. Mrs. Patel’s pregnancy was so advanced that she found it difficult to stoop or even stand for long. Claire found herself doing all of the unpacking and shelf stocking, as well as carrying and breaking down the cardboard boxes that arrived, it seemed, by the dozen every day. It was clear that business had picked up, but Mrs. Patel hadn’t offered any more money, nor did Claire expect any. The problem was that without anything coming in from her knitting work, the cash that Claire had left was quickly dwindling. It was too bad she hadn’t been able to get a refund on the Nice trip. It was clearer every day that her plan to stay on in London had been foolish and it was only a matter of time before she had to return to New York.

On Mrs. Venables’s eleventh day in hospital, Claire came home a little early from her visit to her, as she was so tired. There was a phone message waiting for her—apparently in the short time since Claire had left, Mrs. Venables had been showing sudden signs of great improvement. Claire made her way to the bedroom, barely noticing the boxes and disarray in the rest of the apartment. She sank into bed and it was only the next morning, when she emerged from her room that the significance of the confusion in the living room made an impact. Imogen had begun packing up! The tears that Claire had been holding in check for over a week finally couldn’t be restrained and she cried, loudly and very messily.

After she’d mopped up her face, bathed, dressed and forced herself to swallow some tea and toast she felt better. Then she noticed the envelope on the table. It was beside two cartons, half obscured by newspaper and tissue paper. She felt irritation. Couldn’t Im leave her mail in her own room? Claire wondered. It wouldn’t be too much to ask. But, she supposed it would. Living with a roommate, it seemed, was only slightly better than living with her mother and Jerry. Maybe someday she would have a place of her own.

She could see the letter was from Abigail, whose handwriting had already become familiar.

At last we’ve gotten some good weather and my flower boxes are thriving. I don’t know why everybody here doesn’t have flower boxes. They certainly do in London and they must be magnificent. Such a civilized feature
.

I must tell you that Michael Wainwright, who has really been through a rough few months, is quite persistent about your address. I have had to be curt with him. But I thought you should know that 1 have, reluctantly, given it to him. I think he’s feeling very sorry for himself right now, but I wouldn’t have a thing to do with him until he learns how to feel compassion for others. In his case I’m afraid that might take a few more decades, but I, of course, am pessimistic. Brady continues to recover. When I take him to the park he runs around like a puppy. The surgery has been quite miraculous. If only he were a puppy again. I cringe when I realize he’s twelve years old and that in the next few years…well, the problem with loving anything is how it eventually dies or leaves you. Best to be a Buddhist, don’t you think?

Claire couldn’t believe that Michael ever even thought of her. She wondered if Abigail was exaggerating. Perhaps he wanted her little box back. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the smooth enamel.
When this you see, remember me
. She put it down and decided not to take advice from a box.

She glanced in the mirror, ignoring her pretty knick-knacks and just ran a brush through her hair. She would take the bus to the hospital, see how Mrs. Venables was and then come back to straighten out this mess as best she could.

She opened the top drawer of her bureau and took out the envelope of five-pound notes she had stashed there. She counted them carefully, and then she counted them again. Claire shouldn’t have paid her mother back because now she couldn’t believe how little there was left. If a single ticket to New York was two hundred pounds she had only…Claire shuddered. The reality was becoming more and more clear. She would have to pack up, go back to Tottenville and figure out what kind of life—if any—she could build on that Tottering Foundation. Of course, now that Jerry was gone, her mother would welcome her, but it would be only because she was lonely and needed mortgage money. Claire was not foolish enough to believe otherwise and if, by some astonishing chance, another man appeared on Mrs. Bilsop’s horizon, Claire knew she’d be lucky to keep her room. Perhaps, in time, she could save up and get her own apartment.