‘It’s not for shopping,’ she said. ‘I live there, but I’m moving.’ She said it proudly, and he seemed to accept it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘So, where are you moving to?’
‘South Kensington,’ she told him and named the street.
‘Hey, moving up in the world,’ he said. ‘Will you need help to move your things then? I can give you my mobile number.’
It was a good idea. She hadn’t thought about how she was going to get her luggage and her new purchases over to the new flat. ‘That would be great,’ she told him. And when they arrived at Mrs Watson’s she paused before she paid him. Why not do it now she thought? It wasn’t as if she owed Mrs Watson money – the woman wouldn’t allow that to happen – and she certainly didn’t have to bid her goodbye. Though she never would have considered leaving anything in a New York taxi, she looked at the driver’s friendly face and decided to chance it. ‘Could you wait for me?’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m leaving my shopping. I only have a few more things to get.’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he asked.
She left her purchases in the backseat and ran up the stairs. In less than five minutes she was back, a bit breathless but with all of her worldly goods. She was delighted with her stealth, and hoped that Mrs Watson would at least wonder where she had gone off to, though the woman would probably only think about who might provide her next eighteen or twenty pounds, depending on how many baths they required.
The ride to Imogen’s took a while, but Claire told herself this wasn’t the time to look at the meter. Instead she looked out the window and tried to mentally follow the route without opening her map. She watched the people walking their dogs and waiting for buses. She felt very regal in the taxi and realized it wouldn’t take her long to get used to a luxury like this one. Oh well. She reminded herself there wouldn’t be any need for taxis in the near future.
She was almost disappointed when they got to Imogen’s, but then the excitement hit her again. Giving up another of her twenty-pound notes, she over-tipped madly, and carefully maneuvered herself and all her purchases up the stairs to her new home.
She didn’t have time to unpack. She had to go right back to Camden for her job, but despite all the shopping she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. She left a note with the three hundred pounds on Imogen’s sideboard and ran out the door humming. As she made her way to the tube station it seemed to her that she must be the happiest person in all of London.
But walking by the knitting shop she decided she had enough time to go in. There was something she wanted to ask. Also, having finished the second glove, she had no knitting project and she needed more wool so she opened the door to the shop without a tremble. The room was empty of customers but the woman looked up at the sound of the bell. ‘Oh. Hello, my dear. Finished with the gloves, are you?’
Claire smiled. She made her way to the counter. ‘Yes.’ She held up her hands warmly encased in them, then took them off and laid them on the counter for the woman’s inspection.
‘Oh. Lovely.’
‘I thought I’d try a lap robe next.’
‘Really?’
Claire thought of the little chintz-covered chair in the lavender room. An afghan made of lavender and celery baby wool would be beautiful as well as practical. For a moment she imagined exactly how it would feel to sit in the chair and work the wool between her fingers. ‘You have inspired me,’ she said. She took down some beautiful merino wool and counted the skeins. There were six skeins of lavender but only five of the celery. She decided she would do stripes, with a lavender border. For the lavender she’d use a size two needle; for the celery she’d use a four. The work would be intricate, but she would enjoy it and the throw would be beautiful and subtly textured when she was finished. And she wouldn’t have to buy yarn again for quite a while.
Claire explained her project as the elderly woman nodded her approval, then began to write up the sale. She did it by hand, in a little receipt book with a carbon. Claire hadn’t seen one like it in years, not even in the old stores in Tottenville.
‘Very ambitious of you, my dear. You must promise to show it to me if you finish it while you’re in London.’
‘Oh, I’ll finish it here,’ Claire said with assurance. ‘I just live around the corner now.’
‘So we are neighbors. How delightful.’ The old woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Caroline Venables,’ she said. ‘And it’s very nice to see you again.’
‘Nice to see you. I’m Claire Bilsop.’
Mrs Venables looked at Claire’s gloves. ‘Well, I can see that somebody taught you how to knit properly. You can’t imagine how much slipshod work I see here. It’s actually quite distressing. I’ve sometimes offered to take up dropped stitches and people have told me they haven’t the time.’ She shook her head.
Though she didn’t want to be late for Mrs Patel, Claire knew she had to ask her question now. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I wondered if you might … well, if you needed …’ she paused. ‘Would you be interested in someone to help out here at the shop?’
Mrs Venables laughed, but in a gentle, almost embarrassed way. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘If only. The truth is, my dear, I barely have enough custom to keep the doors open. My son owns the shop, you see, and charges me almost nothing to rent it. He’s always quite eager for me to shut it down. I suppose he’s humoring me.’
Claire tried not to let her disappointment show. Normally this would be enough to truly daunt her but she’d had such a delightful day that, for once, she had courage to continue in the face of adversity. ‘It’s a pity about the business,’ she said. ‘But I noticed you do only half a day on Saturday and you close early in the week. With most women working during the day …’
‘Ah, but I couldn’t do more. I’m not really young, you know.’ Mrs Venables smiled. ‘I need a nap at noon and I close at four.’
‘That’s when I could help out,’ Claire said, trying to sound relaxed rather than desperate.
‘But I couldn’t pay you.’
‘Oh, that wouldn’t matter. Not at first.’
‘Or at last, I’m afraid. I simply don’t do enough business, you see.’
‘You know,’ Claire said, ‘I think there’s a way to attract quite a few more customers. Have you advertised?’
Mrs Venables laughed again. ‘Oh, my dear. You are hardly talking to a businesswoman. I wouldn’t know where to begin. And I wouldn’t even like to consider the costs. And knitting seems to have gone out of favor. You know, young women today all go out to work. They have no time for homey practices.’ Claire considered this. ‘Anyway, my dear, I would love the company and the help but you see it simply isn’t practical.’
Claire nodded. Before she had a chance to be disappointed she remembered the time. ‘Well, I must go. I do have a job.’
‘Very well, but do drop in again. I’m longing to see how the throw progresses.’
Claire nodded. She wanted to prove to Mrs Venables that young women – anyone for that matter – could take the time to participate in ‘homey practices’.
FORTY-THREE
Claire woke Wednesday in her new room for the first time. The sun was pouring in. She hadn’t returned home last night until very late – she had tutored Safta and then, on the way home, had made the wrong connection and gone north instead of south at her transfers. But this morning she was up early and would have the whole day to organize her new home.
There was a knock on the door and Imogen popped her head in. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘You’re here. Like a cup of tea? I’m just making one.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Claire told her. ‘I mean if it’s no trouble. You don’t have to wait on me.’
Imogen laughed. ‘Wait on you? Don’t worry, not likely. I’m such a slut I’ll probably leave you with the washing up.’ She returned in a couple of minutes and gave a steaming mug to Claire. ‘I’m off,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see my parents tonight
and I’ll stay over. You know where everything is?’ Claire nodded. ‘See you, then,’ she said and disappeared.
Lying in bed, Claire regarded her shopping bags through the steam of the tea. They seemed like presents waiting for her on Christmas morning. Of course, she knew what was inside them but the lack of surprise was more than made up for by the tremendous pleasure she had knowing that she was actually going to like the contents. In Christmases past, she had been almost certain not to.
The day was, with the exception of her time with Mr Wonderful, the most pleasant she had ever known. Before she did anything else she unpacked the cleaning things she had brought from Mrs Patel’s. She shampooed the rug, wiped down the woodwork, opened the windows and carefully wiped the inside of the drawers, then lined them with scented lavender paper. When she was done she was delighted with the neat sparkling room that she could hardly believe was hers. She made herself another cup of tea and sat for a few minutes admiring her handiwork, before moving on to scrub the shared bathroom.
She went out shopping, bought a sandwich, needles and thread, scissors, and some ‘loo paper’ and a couple of candles. She also bought a bunch of lilies which she arranged in a borrowed jug on the bureau. Only then did she unpack. She hung up a set of towels in the bathroom and put the spares in one drawer under the bed and the extra sheets in the other. Her shoes and hanging clothes she put neatly in the hall closet. Her sweaters, nightgown and underwear went into the drawer. She even had a drawer left over for her knitting supplies and the extra skeins of wool.
She took out the precious little box Michael had given her and put it on the stand. When this you see, remember me. She sighed. She never thought she would have such a pretty little antique nor did she ever think she would be putting it in a room like this one – a room that was now hers. She slid her fingers across the top and could feel the slightly raised surface where the inscription lay.
She wondered how many people before her had been given the box and whether any of them had received it from men who loved them. Once again, she thought of Michael and the golden hours she had spent with him. Then she looked at the pretty stand and the reflection of the box in the mirror. What would be nice, she thought, would be a little pink or blue vase beside it with some flowers. She knew she couldn’t afford the kind of antiques that she and Michael had seen. But surely somewhere she could find an inexpensive but pretty little vase.
She ate the sandwich she had purchased and spent the afternoon altering the curtains for the windows. It took quite a while but the results were worth it. Her room seemed a perfect little haven.
Looking out the back window onto the garden she felt a flood of happiness so exquisite that it was hard to contain. Everything was so pretty and so restful. She could hardly believe that it was hers and that she had wound up not just comfortable but luxuriously so. She had never enjoyed her old bedroom in this way.
Sitting there in her reverie she almost forgot to leave enough time to get to Mrs Patel’s. She had to run both to the underground in Kensington and then from Camden station. But she got there in time and was so excited by her day that she had to tell it all to Mrs Patel.
‘Kensington. That’s a very good area indeed.’
‘Oh, it’s lovely. There are flowers everywhere and gardens at the back. In fact, my room overlooks a garden.’
‘Well, I have a garden at the back as well.’
Claire thought of the space behind the building and almost smiled until she looked over from the carton she was unpacking and saw the expression on Mrs Patel’s face. ‘Yes, you do,’ she said. ‘But the people in Kensington seem to do so much with their gardens. Of course, they’ve got plenty of time and money.’
‘If I had the time I could do quite a bit more,’ Mrs Patel said defensively. That gave Claire the opening she had hoped for.
‘Would you like me to make you a bit of a garden? I used to help my dad with ours when I was growing up so I know something about it.’ She looked nervously at Mrs Patel and continued. ‘I wouldn’t want to get paid,’ Claire hurried to explain. ‘I would really enjoy it.’ She thought she saw a flicker of the old distrust in Mrs Patel’s dark eyes.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Mrs Patel told her. ‘It’s not something I need, but it might be nice for the children. Still, it would be bound to cost money.’
‘Not too much and the children could help. It will be good for them, the outdoors. And it’s nice exercise.’
‘How much would it cost?’ ‘Mrs Patel asked. ‘I mean for the plants and such.’
‘I don’t know,’ Claire told her truthfully. ‘Why don’t I do a little research and see if I can find out.’
‘Well, I’m not just handing over a packet of money,’ Mrs Patel said.
‘Of course not,’ Claire agreed. If it wasn’t for Mrs Patel she would have left for the States a long time ago. But sometimes the woman seemed unnecessarily difficult.
A customer came in and Mrs Patel went off to deal with business. While Claire swept up she had the time to reflect that, after all, she was happier telling Mrs Patel all about the flat than she would have been telling Tina.
As they closed up that night Claire could feel Mrs Patel looking over at her. Each time she turned around Mrs Patel’s dark head turned away but that didn’t fool Claire. Mrs Patel had something other than gardening on her mind. But she said nothing. A little after ten, when Claire was ready to leave, Mrs Patel handed her not only her twenty-pound note but another bill. It was ten pounds.
‘For plants?’ Claire asked.
Mrs Patel shook her head and looked away. ‘For you,’ she said. ‘Safta has done quite well in maths. I hope you have the time to continue helping her.’
‘Oh, Mrs Patel. I love to be with Safta. You don’t have to pay me extra for that.’
‘I certainly don’t,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘It is only for the extra time you work here.’ Then she briskly turned back to the till. ‘Business is picking up a bit,’ she said. ‘And –’ she patted her stomach – ‘it isn’t getting any easier for me.’
‘Of course not. Is there anything else I can do?’
‘You can go home to Kensington,’ Mrs Patel sniffed.
Claire smiled but was careful not to let Mrs Patel see it. Though she didn’t let it show, she felt jubilant, triumphant. It wasn’t just that she could now pay for her commute back to Camden, and have five pounds left over. It was that Mrs Patel valued her whether she was willing to admit it or not.
There was now only one thing on her list that remained to be done. Before she left Mrs Patel that night she asked for an envelope and a sheet of paper. She also bought a stamp. When she got off the train back at her new neighborhood she walked slowly, composing carefully in her mind the letter she was about to write. She also felt ridiculously superstitious and so, instead of waiting until she got home, she stopped in one of the cafés that lined the avenue. She bought a decaf cappuccino and then, feeling that she had ‘rented’ the table with the price of the coffee, she began to write.
Dear Tina,
Thank you for your letter. It was nice to get news of you and I’m glad all is well in New York.
I have managed to find a part-time job and that is going to allow me to stay on in London for at least a little while longer. I am sending in my resignation to Crayden Smithers and I wanted you to be the first to know. I am grateful that you helped me get the job and for all your help before and after.
I also wanted to return the money that you and the girls were so kind to collect. I’m sure that you’ll see that everybody gets theirs along with my thanks for their generosity. I’m doing fine and I won’t need any more help.
Here Claire paused and read over what she had already written. It seemed formal and overly polite, but it was the best she could do and, in some ways, she thought it was just as harsh as any insult because it was cold. And she didn’t want to be out-and-out mean – she was grateful to Tina and didn’t know what she would have done at times if Tina had no
t helped her. For one thing, she never would have met Mr Wonderful and for another she wouldn’t be in London right now. For that alone she felt as if she couldn’t be anywhere as mean in her note as Tina had been to her.
She drank the rest of her coffee and thought about what had to come next.
I’m very sorry if I have made you angry. Our friendship like all friendships had its down side but I am really grieved to find that you are so angry with me. I promise you that anything I did that hurt or upset you was quite accidental. I hope you believe this.
I have decided to stay on as long as I can here in London. I have been lucky and found a roommate with a very nice apartment. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Best of luck to you and Anthony.
Once again, she hesitated. Tina’s pissy tone almost demanded an equally nasty response but she wasn’t going to do it. She couldn’t however sign the note ‘love’. Instead she simply told the truth.
I am not sure what my new postal code (that’s what they call zip codes here) will be so it’s useless to send on my address. There are so many streets with the same name that unless you have a map and know what neighborhood you’re going to it is hard to find anything. I’ll write when I get more organized.
The last line was a lie. Claire knew she wouldn’t write to Tina again and though it made her sad, it made her sad in a rather distant way. Somehow, right or wrong, it seemed as if she and Tina had never been friends, not true friends. They had instead some sort of agreement to stick together. Claire had to admit that, on her part, she probably did it because she had no other choice. She wasn’t as sure about Tina’s motivation. Perhaps it was because Tina really did like her. But it might have been because Tina could feel superior to Claire. Claire decided it was best not to think too much about it and smiled as she thought, instead, about Mrs Patel, Toby, and Imogen. All of them might turn out to be good friends and, if they did, what a wealth of different experiences her friends would represent. Very different from a shared Tottenville childhood and dead-end jobs which seemed in retrospect to be all that she shared with Tina.
Wish Upon a Star Page 27
