‘This is Nigel Venables,’ his voice said coolly. ‘I am not able to take your call. If you leave your number I will call you back.’
Claire waited for the beep. ‘I’m here with your mother. She’s ill. I’ve called for an ambulance. They should be here any moment – at least I hope so. I don’t know where we’ll take her but I will go to the hospital and call you again from there. If you get this message please call your mother’s number right away.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s now ten oh nine in the morning,’ she added. Not knowing what else to do she put the phone back on its cradle and sat down on the floor beside Mrs Venables. Once again she picked up her hand. ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she said. ‘We’re taking you to the hospital and Nigel will be there in just a little while.’
FIFTY-NINE
But Nigel wasn’t there, nor was he at home to answer his calls. When the ambulance arrived Claire ran across to tell Mr Jackson where they were going. Mrs Venables was taken to the Chelsea and Westminster and Claire stayed beside her every moment except when she was physically examined.
The nurses were kinder, it seemed, than the ones in the States and the doctors a bit more formal. Dr Winters, the first physician to examine Mrs Venables, took Claire aside almost immediately. ‘I can’t say for certain without a few neurological tests, but it would appear to be a stroke. And a rather serious one. Were you with her when she was taken ill?’ Claire shook her head. She explained that she had arrived and found Mrs Venables on the floor.
‘A shame, really,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s hard to know how long ago it happened and with a stroke recovery is based very much on timing – how quickly we can begin to treat the patient. She lives alone, then?’
‘Yes. I work for her.’
‘A paid companion?’
‘No. No, in her shop. I work for her in the store that she owns.’
‘So, until you found her today she was quite active? No indication of neurological impairment?’
Claire wasn’t sure what an indication would be and certainly Mrs Venables had seemed normal in every way except for her arthritic knees. ‘I think she was normal; I mean normal for a woman her age.’
‘No confusion? No weakness in her hands? No dragging of one foot or the other?’
Claire shook her head. ‘She was fine,’ she said with more conviction. ‘Certainly her hands were fine. She knits. She runs a knitting store.’
‘Well, her hands aren’t fine now. At least her left one isn’t.’
‘But is this only temporary?’ Claire asked anxiously. There was a bustle down the hall and several nurses and a doctor pulled aside a screen. Claire hoped she wouldn’t see that happening at Mrs Venables’s bedside.
‘Hard to say. Let’s wait for the test results and an examination by the neurologist. Has she any relatives?’
‘Yes. Her son.’ Claire felt herself flush with annoyance. ‘I haven’t been able to reach him yet.’
‘Well, when you do, let him know that he should come straight away.’ The doctor turned and walked down the hall, leaving Claire to return to Mrs Venables’s side. She sat there, holding her hand and talking to her for most of the day. She left her position only when the doctors came in or orderlies wheeled the old woman away for tests. Then Claire grabbed a sandwich and a cup of tea, also purchasing a phone card that she used over and over to try to reach Nigel.
By five o’clock that evening both Mrs Venables and Claire were exhausted. Mrs Venables closed both of her eyes – to Claire’s relief since she no longer had to be distracted by the floating eye. Claire wished that she could lie down as well, but where? There was a lounge for visitors and perhaps she could lie down there on the battered sofa, but she hated the idea of Mrs Venables waking up in a strange room alone.
It was only when she was at the phone, trying Nigel yet again that she thought of Toby. She felt embarrassed at the thoughts she had had about him until she was rudely awakened by Imogen’s announcement of his sexual preference. But she couldn’t take the time now to worry about that. Claire needed some help and she knew she could depend on him.
‘You’re all alone,’ he said after she explained the situation. ‘Well, where’s that bloody son of hers?’ She had told Toby on a previous occasion about her difficulties with Nigel.
‘For all I know he’s on holiday in China,’ she said and thought briefly of her own ticket to Nice booked for this Saturday. She had organized the time off with Mrs Venables, but of course she couldn’t think of going now. ‘I just don’t know where he is or how to contact him. He usually carries his mobile with him.’
‘Well, you’ve been brilliantly resourceful and loyal,’ Toby said. ‘I’ll ring up Imogen, have her give me a change of clothes for you and come right over. Have you eaten?’
‘I had a sandwich,’ Claire told him.
‘Well, it must have been vile hospital food. When Thomas was in hospital I catered. Shall I bring you some smoked salmon? I will,’ he told her, without waiting for her reply.
‘Thank you. But don’t make any special trips.’ She looked around at the people bustling by. ‘I better get back to her room,’ she said. She gave Toby the ward’s number and quickly climbed the stairs and made her way back to the sleeping Mrs Venables. She sat there for more than an hour and several times she fell into a doze, but woke up with a start each time, straining to be sure that Mrs Venables was still breathing.
It was a little easier when Toby arrived. He brought flowers, a few sandwiches, hot tea in a thermos and, of course, several books as well as a change of clothes. ‘You poor dear,’ he said and gave her a warm look. ‘Don’t thank me for the flowers. Imogen insisted. She said she’d come in tomorrow.’
Claire washed, changed into a fresh pair of slacks and a sweater, then took up her vigil again. ‘Look what else I brought you,’ Toby said and triumphantly pulled out a bag that held her knitting. Claire took a deep breath and felt tremendous relief. She could bear to sit beside Mrs Venables, listening to her labored breathing, if she had something like this to do.
‘Toby, I’ll never be able to thank you.’ She was so glad that their friendship seemed to be the same and felt a strong rush of affection for him. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so difficult for her to adjust to her new knowledge of him.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said as he poured her out a cup of tea. ‘You already have.’
A little later, a nurse offered to sit with Mrs Venables so Claire could rest. Claire kissed Toby goodbye and lay down on the scruffy sofa.
It seemed as if she had been sleeping for only a moment when the nurse shook her awake. ‘He’s here,’ she said. ‘Mrs Venables’s son.’
Nigel was at his mother’s bedside, her limp hand between his two, his face almost as pale as hers. He looked up at Claire and she thought his eyes were glassy with tears. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up; his beautifully tailored jacket was thrown carelessly on the windowsill. ‘They think your mother has had a stroke,’ she said as calmly as she could manage. ‘I found her on the floor early this morning. I don’t know how long she was lying there or when she got sick.’
‘I only just got the message. I left my mobile in a taxi this morning … on the way to Bristol … Jackson got me. I was in court in Bristol,’ he said, managing to sound both defensive and accusatory. ‘Why didn’t you call my office? I could have been here hours and hours ago.’
Claire moved closer to the bed. She lowered her voice, but couldn’t hide the pent-up frustration. ‘Because I didn’t have your office number. Neither does your mother, or if she does, she didn’t write it down with your other numbers. Believe me I tried to get you. I know all of your numbers by heart. You have a dozen messages on the one line that takes them, and I must have called your other phone thirty times today.’ Claire looked at him. ‘Do you think I was comfortable with this kind of responsibility? Don’t you think I was frantic to reach you?’ Nigel’s concern for his mother was clearly clouded by his su
spicion of Claire – and perhaps his guilt. She felt he was telling her that she had done something wrong. ‘I’m sorry if you don’t approve of how I handled this but I am really not practiced in dealing with severe medical emergencies either in New York or London. I’ve been with your mother since ten o’clock this morning. That makes it fourteen hours. And I made sure she had tests and saw the doctor, and I didn’t let go of her hand, unless someone else was beside her when I went to the toilet or took a nap. She was never left alone.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Nigel shook his head and rubbed his eyes, which were red with tiredness and grief. ‘It’s just I hardly know you and …’
‘I’m Claire Bilsop from Tottenville New York,’ she interrupted. ‘Now I live in London, work for your mother, and I may be the person who saved her life.’ She picked up her bag and turned. ‘The neurologist still hasn’t come by with her test results. They think she had a severe stroke and I guess he’ll confirm that. You should know that she doesn’t seem to be able to speak and she can’t focus her left eye. Now I’m going home.’ She sighed and, seeing how upset he seemed, took a piece of paper from her purse and scribbled Imogen’s number on it. She said more gently, ‘I don’t have a cell phone but I’m giving you my roommate’s number in case you want to call. I’ll come back tomorrow if you don’t mind.’ She dropped the paper on the bed, turned and walked out the door.
SIXTY
Exhausted as she was, Claire had trouble sleeping that night. The vision of Mrs Venables prone on the carpet kept flashing each time she closed her eyes and began to drift into sleep. Lying there, on her narrow bed in the dark, she began to think of her own future. When she was old, who would be there for her? Certainly no one from her family. Her mother had Jerry, Tina had Anthony, Imogen had Malcolm, Toby had Thomas and, it seemed, Michael Wainwright would have Katherine Rensselaer. They also had sisters and brothers and children and aunts and uncles and god knows how many cousins. After an hour or two in the dark, Claire didn’t know if she felt more sorry for poor Mrs Venables or for herself.
But in time, as she thought about it, she realized that marriage and children didn’t keep you safe from being left alone, unconscious on the floor. Mrs Venables’s husband had died two decades ago and Nigel, her only child, was obviously not infallible. But what son was? Fred was somewhere in Germany and after his hitch in the Army, who knew? Fred going back and living near their mother in Tottenville seemed unlikely.
By four in the morning, the hour of the wolf, Claire’s thoughts had become almost unbearable. All of the fun, laughter, wisdom and humanity of Mrs Venables might have been wiped out forever in the cloudy moments before her fall. She might never hear another word from Mrs Venables’s mouth. And what would Claire do now? Without being selfish – at least she hoped she wasn’t being selfish – she realized that she might have no job and, aside from the money left from her first class ticket, no financial resources. How would she get another job? And if she did, how could she manage to be paid when she wasn’t even supposed to be working in England without the correct visa? Even if Mrs Patel offered to take her back, she couldn’t make enough to live on and, anyway, she wouldn’t take the job away from Maudie.
The birds in the garden had begun to twitter and the window was just beginning to lighten before Claire fell asleep. When she woke it was nearly ten and she heard Imogen moving about in the living room, chatting on the phone in an even cheerier than usual voice. Claire rubbed her eyes, went to the bureau and looked at her face. She was very pale, except for her bloodshot and puffy eyes. Looking away from the mirror she saw the beautiful vase and the wonderful box that sat next to it. In the light of day, things – except for her – didn’t look as bad. She had already begun to collect adventures and friends. A small pile of books, the places she’d been to, the people she’d met, these gifts all represented the more authentic life that she had lived in the last few months than she had been living for the previous decade.
Perhaps it was the case for her as for Mrs Venables and Toby and Mrs Patel; one collected experiences – both good and bad. As long as they were real, as long as your heart was involved, you used your life in a way that enriched you and meant you were never truly alone. You were filled with the experiences and the love you had collected and exchanged over the years. Claire used that thought to comfort herself when she pictured poor Mrs Venables, stuck in hospital almost unconscious. Perhaps when she was lying there she could remember all of the wonderful things she had done with her husband, all of the places she had seen, all of the little bits of china, and the paintings and the furniture that they had lovingly collected. Perhaps she remembered raising Nigel, the fun she had had with him as a toddler and a young schoolboy, and the pride she must have felt in him as he grew.
Claire shrugged herself into her dressing gown, wiped at her eyes and emerged from her room into the kitchen. Imogen was just putting the phone down. ‘Hello,’ she said in that distinctive intonation that she, Toby and all their friends used. ‘So, you finally learned to sleep in?’ Claire nodded and decided not to begin with a long recitation of yesterday’s trouble. Imogen, no doubt, was getting ready for work and already late. ‘Have you heard the news?’ Imogen asked.
Claire nodded, confused. Of course she had heard the news. She’d asked Toby to call Imogen with it.
‘Coffee?’ Imogen asked and waved toward the pot. Claire shook her head. She’d actually come to prefer tea. ‘Toby told you, huh? I should have known he couldn’t keep his cakehole shut. He loves a wedding, that boy.’
‘A wedding?’ Claire asked, and then realized they had been talking at cross purposes. Imogen must – as usual – be talking about herself and that meant that she and Malcolm had finally … ‘Have you and Malcolm set a date?’
‘We’re getting married in two months. Can you believe it? He’s been transferred to Hong Kong – just for a year, but still – and, well you can imagine. My mother is in complete raptures, but hasn’t any idea how she’ll get the wedding breakfast pulled together in time. Malcolm’s mother, of course, is disappointed.’ Imogen sniffed, then smiled again. ‘But of course his father adores me. And she’ll come around in time, especially once I give her a grandchild.’
Claire filled the kettle and plugged it in. She knew she should feel delighted for Imogen, though the good news seemed completely separate and boxed away from Mrs Venables’s illness. ‘Well, congratulations,’ Claire said and gave Imogen a hug. ‘Malcolm adores you and I know you’ll be absolutely beautiful as a bride.’
Imogen hugged her back. ‘You will be a bridesmaid, won’t you?’
Claire was truly touched. She knew that she was not really a part of Imogen’s world, but this gesture was unexpected and very, very kind. ‘I’d love to,’ Claire told her. ‘I’ll have to start knitting you something extraordinary as a wedding gift.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Imogen asked. ‘Once I have my color schemes worked out could I tell you what I’ve decided?’ Claire nodded and smiled. That was Imogen. She had probably planned on a bedspread before she even told Claire her news. ‘Of course, we’re going to move. Malcolm’s father owns a few houses in St John’s Wood. Two have been divided into flats but one is still untouched and, as luck would have it, their tenants’ lease will run out next year. Malcolm pointed out to his father it would make a perfect new home and we’d pay for the refurbishment.’
Claire looked around the flat. ‘So you’ll be leaving,’ she said, realizing the implication this had for her all at once.
‘Well, of course I’ll go with Malcolm to Hong Kong after the wedding. We’ll probably honeymoon in Bali first. And then, after I come back, we’ll do up the house.’ She stopped. A tiny line appeared between her brows but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured Claire. ‘You can stay here. I’ll put a word in with my uncle.’
The kettle began to boil and Claire took down her cup and saucer. They rattled as she carried them to the kettle – she was so
upset, her hands were actually shaking. There was no way she could afford the rent on the entire flat, even though Imogen had told her she had a good deal. It must be a thousand pounds a month – way beyond anything Claire could afford. And anyone who could pay that much wouldn’t want a roommate. Claire, her back to Imogen, tried to fill her cup but spilled the boiling water on the saucer and counter. She put the kettle down, much harder than she had meant to and got control of her face if not her feelings. She turned back to Imogen. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s a very kind offer. And I’m very happy for you. It all sounds so exciting.’
Imogen nodded then looked at the time. ‘Oh my god. I’m going to be dreadfully late. I’ll have to give notice at work, too. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?’
Claire shook her head. Of course she didn’t mind. It was Imogen’s flat. It always had been and now that it wasn’t, it would not be Claire’s either. While Imogen bathed, Claire managed to mop up her saucer and get her cup of tea into her room. Well, it wouldn’t be her room for long. The news about Toby had been a blow, Mrs Venables’s illness had been far worse, but, added to those, the news about losing this room, this little home, seemed insupportable. She felt tears rising in her already-painful eyes.
Wish Upon a Star Page 37
