Wish Upon a Star (53 page)

She looked at him and trembled. If he simply bent forward now and kissed her, could she go on in this calm way? Or would she stand up like a mesmerized rabbit and follow him to his room—or any other place else he wanted to take her? He was so handsome, so perfect, that even with him sitting just across from her telling her how he cared so much for her, Claire found it impossible to really believe. Was that because it wasn’t true or because she couldn’t accept the idea?

Once again, she thought of Mrs. Patel. It was insane, but the only way she could begin to judge him was using Mrs. Patel’s method. Imogen’s strategies only went so far. ‘Michael, I’m a surprisingly serious person. I’m not really good at dating or social events or office politics. I used to think it was a flaw of mine but now that I’ve found another way to live, I just accept it. It’s the way I am.’ She shrugged. ‘If we ever were together I’d be useless to you in your career. I’m not good at parties.’

‘That’s not what I’m looking for,’ Michael said.

‘So, what exactly are you looking for?’

‘You. Just you.’

If she was the butter in the little pot on the table she’d have melted, but she steeled herself. ‘I’m afraid that’s not enough information. I really can’t afford to get involved with you unless…’ she took a deep breath. ‘The fact is, unlike you, I have no family to watch out for me. My dad is dead. My mom isn’t really…well, she isn’t really very involved. So I’ve had to make my way alone and…’ she knew she was stammering. Mrs. Patel would expect her to be stronger than this. But she felt even more awkward than she had imagined she would. Before she could begin again Michael interrupted.

‘I know about our social backgrounds and the differences there, but I don’t care.’

She bridled. ‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘The point is I have to ask you what your intentions are.’ She blushed. This certainly wasn’t following Imogen’s rules.

‘My intentions?’ Michael repeated then paused. ‘My intentions are to ask you to come back to New York and to live with me. Isn’t that clear? I didn’t come all the way to London or wait all this time in my hotel room just to ask you out for dinner.’

Claire literally dropped her fork. Michael was inviting her to live with him? As far as she knew he had never done that with any of the women he had dated. Still, she didn’t think it measured up to Mrs. Patel’s tokens of good faith. She didn’t know what ‘behavior and goods’ she should expect or ask for but she would have to come up with something. Or, better yet, let him come up with something. ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough,’ she said. ‘To take the chance of leaving here, moving in with you, and not knowing when you’d change your mind or how it would end…Well, I know that’s standard for relationships today, but we both agreed that I’m not like a lot of other girls.’ Right now she felt as if she were a silly, useless combination of Mrs. Patel’s stern straightforwardness and Imogen’s strategizing, neither of which were her style. She sighed. She wasn’t really being herself, and she wasn’t good at pretending to be anyone she wasn’t. But the advice of both women had merit and she had never, in her limited experience, had any real success with men. If she were as brave, as spontaneous as Michael seemed to think she was, what would she do? It was an interesting thought. Claire had so rarely acted spontaneously, especially with men, that she had no history to draw upon. But, she thought, what would she really like to do?

Then she got an idea.

She leaned forward and she took his hand. ‘I’d like you to come up with some way, in your behavior and…well, and some tangible things to show you’re ready for a real commitment. And in the meantime, I’d really like you to invite me up to your suite.’

Michael opened his eyes wide. ‘You mean to…’

With perfect confidence, Claire smiled. ‘I like you very much that way,’ Claire said. ‘Making love with you was, well, it was unforgettable.’

‘So you’ll…you’ll come back to New York with me?’

Claire looked at him as calmly as she could. ‘No matter what happens I don’t see why we shouldn’t at least…’ she paused. ‘Repeat history.’ She smiled seductively. ‘I know this great hotel that has a giant bathtub, a soft bed and silky linens. What do you say?’

Claire left the hotel the next morning feeling exhilarated. The sex with Michael had been wonderful—if anything better than she remembered. Perhaps it had been better than before. After all, now that Michael was a supplicant he had to prove himself to her. When Mrs. Patel had talked about ‘tokens of behavior’ Claire didn’t think she meant
that
sort of behavior. But it really was part of the picture. Claire would not let herself be seduced by sex alone, but it was an important part of any relationship and Michael’s passion was mixed with what seemed like enormous tenderness and gratitude.

As she got on the underground Claire realized there had been two more reasons to sleep with Michael: because she hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time, and because it would further remind Michael of exactly what was at stake. As she took a seat in the train she smiled again. The sex had been so very, very satisfying and this time as she walked down the hotel hall she felt that it would be impossible for Michael to put her out of his mind.

The problem was that it began to seem equally impossible for her to put him out of
her
mind. Of course, she had taken that into consideration as the risk of sleeping with him. But somehow she hadn’t thought her longing to be loved would kick in quite so strongly. Life is dangerous if one takes risks. It is meaningless if one doesn’t.

In front of her was the painful process of leaving London, one way or another. Back at the flat she began, with a sigh, to pack up her belongings. Imogen had decided she would be leaving at the end of the month and Claire wanted to be sure she was out long before it was necessary. As she folded some of her clothes Michael’s face, his brow furrowed with longing, his voice insistent and hungry, came back to her. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Being truly wanted was so novel that it had a special thrill. Of course Edward wanted her, but that had seemed such a detached feeling with no passion at all, that she could hardly count it. The novelty of being wanted by somebody that she wanted back was something very special and it was the first time in her life Claire had experienced it.

She stopped her packing and looked out the window at the gardens. She would regret losing the view. How could she live without the civilizing influence of flower boxes, blooming parks, potted topiaries and front and back gardens everywhere? New York—even Michael’s luxurious apartment—could not compare.

But one thing she determined: she would not go with Michael because her other choices were unpleasant ones. She wouldn’t take the easy way out. It wouldn’t be easy because in the past months she had somehow gained a lot more pride than she once had. Even if she had failed to find a permanent home here, she had made a good effort and with only slightly better luck might have succeeded. If she had to return to New York—and it looked certain that she would have to—regardless of what happened with Michael she would not live with her mother. She might have to temporarily, of course, but she would make it only temporarily. And she wouldn’t keep living in Tottenville either. If she had found a place and a roommate in London she could find one in New York. And she would do it. If it couldn’t be in Manhattan, it would be somewhere else. But it would be her own place and it would be somewhere she felt comfortable and at peace.

She looked around her pretty room. Of course she couldn’t expect it to be this lovely. Claire felt a stab—a real physical pain—in her chest at the thought of leaving. In New York, somehow, she’d just felt like a lonely person in an indistinguishable crowd. Here she felt as if each person—though unknown to her—was separate and unique, that if she only spoke to them she would find a potential friend, an interesting story, or an eccentric passion. She knew she was probably wrong, that her prejudice was only that. New York would no doubt be full of as many stories, friends, and eccentrics if she’d only try. But London had been so very good to her—and for her—that having to leave was a reality too painful to contemplate at the moment.

She thought of the first evening she had expected to have dinner with Michael and the hundred dollars he had given her instead. And given to her in front of witnesses. The vast change in her position since then made her smile, but it was a rueful one. The humiliation and disappointment were still there. And always would be, though this reversal was especially pleasant to contemplate. Claire wasn’t spiteful and did not want to inflict any pain on Michael or anyone else but she was human. And there was…

Nigel! There was Nigel. She had forgotten all about her dinner date with him. She couldn’t believe it. Her hands actually began to shake. Mrs. Venables had been such a good friend to her and, even if Nigel had been rude and even hostile at first, their relations had become so cordial that the thought of standing him up, blowing him off without even a phone call, upset her deeply. Only those who had been forgotten can understand the deep pain of it and she had forgotten Nigel altogether.

She dropped the sheet she had been folding and ran to the phone. Then she had to run back to her bedroom and search for his numbers. She only got his machine at the office, another at his flat, and no answer on his mobile. Perhaps he was looking at her number and refusing, out of pride, to answer it. She called the other two numbers and left long apologies, explaining how exhausted she was and how she had fallen asleep. She only felt a little bit guilty about the lie, since telling him the truth would have been impossibly hurtful. She also left an invitation to dinner, her treat as a token of apology.

She didn’t want to think about any pain she’d caused Nigel but she couldn’t stop thinking about pain she might feel in dealing with Michael. Thinking that her future was in his hands and that she would have to make the difficult judgment about whether or not he was trustworthy just upset her. Instead she kept returning to the feeling she had had when his arms were around her and how his voice in her ear had been almost unbearably thrilling. Claire shook her head as if she could shake out unwanted thoughts. Sleeping with Michael, she realized, had probably been a mistake. But how could she make a rational decision if she didn’t? And how could she be rational now that she had? All of her confidence from the morning seemed to leak away, leaving her, once again, insecure and more than a little frightened. Michael had had so many women that there was no reason for her to think that sex with her would make her more special in his eyes. Probably it had done the opposite. And though it had been wonderful, wasn’t giving it up—if she did—going to leave her feeling hungry and unsatisfied? Yet if she made her decision because of the passion she’d felt wouldn’t she regret…oh, it was all so confusing and disturbing.

Claire shook her head again. She would have to keep herself busy or she would go crazy. These thoughts were not going to help her. Right now she had to wait and see what ‘tokens in behavior and goods’ Michael came up with. Of course, there was always the possibility that he would come up with nothing; that she would never hear from him again. Perhaps, once again, she’d been a quick conquest, a diversion. The thought of that was too much to contemplate and, with a determination she did not feel, Claire gathered her purse and sweater, took an umbrella and left to do her tasks of the day.

She had promised to see Lady Ann. And after missing her appointment with Nigel she wasn’t going to miss any more. On her way to the meeting she tried to think what might be the reason for the invitation. She couldn’t imagine that Lady Ann wanted her to look at her knitting. Perhaps her mother had a difficulty. At any rate, she took the tube to Bond Street and walked along South Molton Street until she found the right address. It was an office, not a flat, and she took the lift to the third floor as Lady Ann had directed her to. When she arrived the office was bustling. And Lady Ann seemed to be the person in charge of all of the activity. It was her name on the door and in bold letters over the back of the reception desk.

After a few moments Ann Fenwick appeared and greeted her warmly. ‘Why don’t we go into my office,’ she asked. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps coffee?’ Claire declined both. They walked down a long hall, also filled with busy workers, to Lady Ann’s office. Claire was surprised to find it was decorated with chintz and floral wallpaper—very homey. She took a seat on the sofa and Lady Ann sat in a well-worn chair to her right. ‘Awfully bad news about Mrs. Venables,’ she said. ‘My mother was very upset; you know, they’re about the same age. She hates to think of herself incapacitated.’

‘Actually, it isn’t as bad as they first thought,’ Claire said. ‘Tell your mother Mrs. Venables is already home and talking. With a little more therapy she’ll probably be able to live on her own.’

‘But that’s wonderful!’ Lady Ann said. ‘So she will keep the shop open.’

‘I don’t know yet.’ Claire explained about Mrs. Venables’s weakness, Nigel’s concerns and the fact that the building was up for sale.

‘Well,’ Lady Ann continued. ‘Would you go on and work in another knitting shop? Because, you see, my mother has got very fond not only of the classes but also of being there with other women. Before you started them she barely went out. Now she looks forward to them.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m going back to the States soon. But in the meantime I could certainly go over to your mother’s again. Quite a few of the women wanted more help. Since she’s just a few doors away, we might be able to arrange a little party. Let everyone get together at least once more. That is if you don’t think it would be too much for your mother to manage.’

‘I think it’s brilliant! Mummy would love it. She hasn’t entertained in so long. I’ll call her and set it up. Will you come? Will you bring a few of the younger women too? Mummy does like to see them.’

Claire agreed and gave Ann Imogen’s number. ‘Though I’ll be moving soon,’ Claire warned.

‘You know, it’s very silly that we can’t continue this. So many women are interested. And all ages and backgrounds. I looked it up on the Internet and there are dozens of sites. It’s the thing in the States right now. Do you know there’s a café in Los Angeles where movie stars gather to compare their stocking stitch? You know, most trends move from your west coast to the east coast and then on to us.’