Wish Upon a Star (54 page)

Claire didn’t know and she didn’t particularly like the idea. Second-hand American trends didn’t seem right for London. But she had to agree that knitting was popular here. However, Ann seemed to be looking at her curiously, as though assessing her, so she decided it would be wise to say nothing.

Claire left and stopped in at Toby’s. She had to tell him about her plans to return to New York, though she didn’t want to. ‘Hard cheese!’ he said after she’d explained. ‘Dreadful! You simply can’t leave just because the old woman fell ill. And Imogen, self-involved as she is, would never forgive herself if she found out that putting you out on the street had sent you back to Hooterville, or whatever it is.’

‘Tottenville,’ Claire corrected.

‘Right.’ Toby paused. ‘Do you know, Claire, I was reading a history of New York. And your name—it’s spelled B-i-l-s-o-p?’ Claire nodded. ‘Your name was very prominent.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, apparently the Bilsops are a very old family. They received a royal land grant. They were—well,
you
were—among the first British settlers. Your ancestor was given a good part of the island.’

Claire was what the English called ‘gobsmacked’. But what did it really matter? Her dad had been a failure and if some of his stories about ‘the Bilsop name’ had a basis in truth, there certainly wasn’t any money or visible ‘breeding’. Oh, these English and their pedigrees. ‘My father used to talk about the family,’ she said. ‘But we never paid much attention. I thought it was a way of making his past sound better than his present.’

‘That may be so,’ Toby told her. ‘But I think he was accurate about your past. Here.’ He went to the lowboy and pulled out a green volume. ‘Let me give you this. I’ve marked the place. Take a look at it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She thought of her small but precious collection of books. Well, perhaps she could add to them in New York but it would never be the same. ‘You’ve been so very kind,’ she told him.

He smiled at her. ‘And so have you,’ he said. ‘Now, can you stay for tea?’

Claire was very tempted but, ‘I must go,’ she told him. ‘I promised I’d look in on Mrs. Venables.’

‘Aah. Well, do give my regards to that dishy son of hers.’

‘Dishy? Do you really think so?’ She told Toby about the ride back from the hospital, the handholding and the (forgotten) invitation to dinner.

‘Ah. You see? He fancies you.’

‘Nigel? You’re mad.’ But all at once she remembered Mrs. Venables saying much the same thing. Silly. Totally silly. ‘He’ll be only too happy to take me to the airport and see me off.’

‘I think not.’ But Claire wasn’t listening. Talking of the airport made the idea of leaving hit her hard. She tried not to let Toby see her react. Instead, she turned to go.

‘I must be off,’ she said.

‘Don’t forget your book,’ Toby reminded her. He walked her to the door and kissed her on either cheek. She left, fighting the tears in her eyes. Toby watched her from his window and murmured to himself, ‘If he doesn’t fancy you, he’s a fool.’

Claire got off the tube in South Kensington and wished that she could go home, just lie down and pull the covers over her head. Between the trains and the sharing of her news with Toby, she was exhausted. Somehow, telling her news made it a reality.

Well, if she couldn’t nap perhaps she could drink. She decided she would stop in the wine bar before she went to Mrs. Venables, just to revive herself. After all, what did the cost of a three-pound glass of wine matter when she was going back? She told herself she deserved a little splurge, entered and took a seat near the window.

But it was a mistake. From where she sat she could see on one side the shop—soon to be empty—and on the other side the empty table where she and Michael had been together. Thoughts of him again flooded her mind and heated her body. This was the very thing her busy schedule had prevented her from doing. If she hadn’t already ordered a glass of Pommard, she would have jumped up and crossed the street. But the wine came and she drank it, lingering over the memory of her dinner with Michael, his declaration, the things he had told her and, of course, their night at the Berkeley. She couldn’t help but indulge herself a little. He was a dream. Truly Mr. Wonderful. But did he love her? Could she trust him? And did she love him as he was?

Claire finished her wine, trying to think as deeply as she could to answer those questions. She had just emptied her glass when she saw Nigel Venables walking into his mother’s shop. She sighed. She had indulged herself too long and her punishment was that she would have to see Nigel now, after she’d stood him up. She only hoped Toby’s surmise was dead wrong. It was odd: she had avoided him at first because he disliked her. Now she wanted to avoid him because she was afraid he didn’t.

Claire paid up, left an overly generous tip then dodged the traffic to get to Knitting Kitting. To her surprise the shop door wasn’t locked. Very careless since neither Mrs. Venables nor Nigel was about. She was about to call up the stairs when she heard their voices.

‘Mother, you really don’t have a choice. You can’t possibly keep the shop open.’

‘Not for long, without Claire’s help I…’

‘But Claire is leaving, Mother.’

‘Let me talk to her and maybe she can be persuaded. There are people who want to learn. Customers who still need service. People have placed orders that have come in…’

‘Damn them. Mother, they’re only playing with some colored string. We’re not talking about national security. If they have paid you we can simply return the money.’

Claire winced. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this, but didn’t know quite what to do. Perhaps if she went back to the door she could ring the bell again and they would hear her. But before she could move she heard Mrs. Venables speaking in a voice that she could barely recognize. She sounded tougher and more imperious than any of the imperious women in their classes.

‘How dare you speak to me, your mother, that way? We are not talking about “a bit of colored string”. We are talking about an ancient craft that turns your piece of string into, at the very least, a useful article. And occasionally into a work of art. I wonder how many centuries women have been knitting pullovers for their fisherman husbands or socks for their farming family only to be told that they were only playing with bits of string.’

‘Mother, I didn’t mean to…’

‘I don’t care what you meant! Though I think I know perfectly well what you did mean. But let me tell you what I mean. Women come here as an outlet for their creativity. Knitting relaxes them and gives them a sense of purpose. And it challenges them. The magic of their hands transforms nothing into something. Lately there have been some customers who badly need to turn nothing into something.’ She paused and her voice dropped so Claire could barely hear it. ‘ Maybe we all do,’ she said.

‘Mother, I meant no disrespect…’

‘You may not have meant it but you certainly showed it.’

‘I’m very sorry. Getting upset isn’t good for you. Just relax. I’ll go and…well, I’ll call in later.’

Claire heard Nigel’s footsteps and jumped. If she were caught here he would know that she had overheard his mother reading him the Riot Act. She skipped across the shop, opened the door and closed it then walked, as loudly as she could, across the floor and called up the stairs. She heard Nigel coming down the stairs as Mrs. Venables called out. ‘Is that you, Claire? Please come up.’

So, pretending she’d heard nothing, Claire began to climb the stairs. Nigel was on the landing. ‘Hello,’ she said as he attempted to pass her.

‘Hello,’ he mumbled and seemed to be about to continue past her.

‘Did you get my messages?’ she asked. He shook his head. ‘I called your office and your house. I couldn’t get you on your mobile.’ She gave him her lame excuse about their missed dinner date and his face seemed to soften.

‘Oh. I…I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a moment to get my messages.’

‘Well, I asked you to dinner instead. Do you think you could make time? I’d like to take you out to make up for my rudeness.’ She thought of what she had overheard and decided to ignore it. ‘Would you please?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘How about tonight?’ She hoped Michael—if he did call—wouldn’t ask her out for this evening, but she’d have to take that risk.

‘That would be just fine,’ Nigel said, his face lighting up. ‘Why don’t I pick you up around eight?’

She agreed. ‘And now I’ll just go up for a quick visit,’ she told him.

‘See you later then,’ Nigel told her and was off.

‘Hello, my dear,’ Mrs. Venables said when Claire reached the upstairs flat. Her color looked good, and though the left side of her face still had some slightly visible slackness she stood up to greet Claire. ‘How nice to see you,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid Nigel and I were having a dust-up, so please accept my apologies on his behalf.’

‘That’s all right,’ Claire said. Somehow, overhearing Mrs. Venables in such a temper assured Claire that the older woman would make a complete recovery. She smiled at her friend. ‘Would you like me to make some tea?’ she asked. ‘I have some things I need to discuss with you. Most important is the fact I have to go back to the States.’

Claire’s great relief, that afternoon Michael called her and asked her out for dinner that evening. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him. ‘I’m booked.’

‘But I must see you,’ Michael said. ‘Tonight. I’m leaving London soon.’

Claire knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t cancel on Nigel again. ‘I must go out but maybe after…’

‘How long will your dinner last?’

‘Not past ten,’ she said, wondering what she and Nigel could possibly talk about for two hours.

‘Well, could I meet you for a drink then?’

Claire blushed and was grateful Michael couldn’t see it. Was he simply hoping for another sleep-over? Not that she didn’t long for his body, but she certainly didn’t want to be used, or appear easy.

‘Please don’t make me beg,’ Michael said. ‘This is important to both of us.’

Of course Claire agreed. But she found that dressing for dinner with Nigel and drinks with Michael presented more than a little problem. She couldn’t wear her wild cerise outfit again, so she put on the navy-blue bridesmaid dress. But she hadn’t worn it since Michael left and it was now far too big for her. She took the belt off the cerise dress, buckled it around her waist, then pulled the blue dress up so that it was quite short and the top bloused over the belt. She thought it didn’t look too bad with her new shoes. Anyway, it would have to do.

She was almost ready to leave when Imogen walked in. ‘Going out?’ Imogen asked.

Claire explained she was going to meet Nigel, then Michael.

‘In that?’ Imogen asked. ‘Are you mad? You’ve got to look swish tonight.’

Claire shrugged. ‘I don’t have anything else.’

‘Well, I do. Come on.’ Imogen went into her bedroom, dropped her purse on the bed and threw open her closet doors. ‘Looks a bit like a jumble sale in here. Let’s see. You’re not as tall as I am so we’ll need something kind of short.’ Claire stood in the middle of the room, grateful but embarrassed. In Imogen’s full-length mirror she saw that even ‘improved’ the dress wouldn’t do at all.

‘Oh. Just the thing,’ Imogen said and emerged from her closet with a black skirt. ‘Have you got a sexy blouse?’ she asked. ‘Something that shows a little cleavage?’

‘I only have a little cleavage,’ Claire said and smiled her thanks.

‘Hold on,’ Imogen said. ‘I may have just the thing.’ She pulled out a blue shirt with deep V-neckline. ‘It doesn’t suit me at all and it cost the earth. But keep it if it looks good on you.’

Claire went back to her room and changed. Then—at Imogen’s insistence—came back into her room. ‘Yes, that’s just right. And I have some blue earrings I must have been mad to buy.’ Im took out two chunky objects that looked like blue and pink pearls glued together in mounds, with twinkling rhinestones stuck into the corners between the pearls.

‘Oh no,’ Claire protested.

‘Just try them on.’

Reluctantly Claire did and, to her surprise, they looked good.

‘Rather marvelous, eh?’ Imogen asked. ‘Now, do you have a pink lipstick?’ Claire shook her head. When had Imogen become such a soul of generosity?

The possible reason came out as Im rummaged in her purse. ‘I spoke to Toby today. He said you might be going back to New York. And he mentioned your family’s land grant. Fancy the king giving you an island. I’d rather like that. Perhaps Mustique.’ She pulled out a lipstick tube, ‘Try this.’ Claire smiled at Im’s new generosity but put the lipstick on and had to admit that with the earrings and the blouse, the lipstick was the perfect touch. ‘Now that’s a get-up that will make a man regret he’s ever been caddish to you. How’s it going?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Claire admitted.

‘But you are being cagey?’

‘Well, I think I’d call it stand-offish.’ Then she thought of the night at the hotel and wasn’t sure if she’d told the truth.

‘Great!’ Imogen said. ‘Nothing like a little coolness to heat things up.’

Claire almost laughed. Heating things up was the last thing she needed. But, she reminded herself, the ball was in Michael’s court and she had very little to do but to see what was on offer.

‘Well, good luck,’ Imogen said and hugged her.

Nigel picked her up five minutes early but Claire was ready. He took her to a small, elegant restaurant just south of Cadogan Square. Though it was
luxe
and chic Claire was so involved with her thoughts about Michael that she found it difficult to appreciate. It was almost impossible to focus on Nigel, sitting, somewhat stiffly, across from her. They ordered and Claire waited, but Nigel, seemingly, had nothing to say. So Claire told him about her visit with his mother. ‘Her progress has been amazing, hasn’t it?’

‘She’s a game old bird,’ Nigel agreed and smiled. Using slang like that to describe his mother was clearly a joke, though a mild one. In the soft lights of the restaurant he looked his best. If he wasn’t such a stick, so awkward and intense, he would be an attractive man. Claire wondered for the first time if there was a woman in his life. Or perhaps it was a Toby situation.