‘What do you do when you’re not in court?’ Claire asked just to see where the conversation would go.
‘I read a lot when I travel. I love to walk around the parks when I have time off and I like to go to places for fun and not for business.’
Claire started talking about all the books she had read and Nigel chimed in when she mentioned something he liked. Even when he didn’t like a book that she did they had an in-depth talk about their opinions.
Before Claire knew it, they were being served dinner. She kept up the discussion until they were almost ready to order dessert. When Nigel asked her impressions of London, she became even more passionate and forthcoming.
Claire began to tell him about how she found every aspect of London fascinating, endearing, odd or strangely comfortable. She talked about the antique markets, the long wooden escalators in the tubes, the dozens and dozens of strange sweets and candy bars, the food department in Marks and Spencer, the plaques on so many buildings commemorating forgotten composers or world-famous writers. ‘I don’t believe in reincarnation,’ she said, ‘but if I did I would tell you that I’d lived here before – or that I was meant to.’
Nigel smiled. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘there are parts of London that aren’t so congenial.’
Claire smiled at him. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I just haven’t been there. Or like a woman in love, I refuse to see the negative side of my beloved.’
‘Lucky man to be loved by you,’ he said and Claire blinked. Since taking her hand in the car, Nigel hadn’t displayed any particular warmth toward her, not even in his invitation to dinner. Perhaps he was merely being polite, thanking her for her care of his mother. But she remembered what Toby had said. Was it possible that Nigel fancied her?
She was struck dumb by the possibility. Then she pulled herself together and asked him a few questions about growing up. When he talked about his childhood she found that he was actually more engaging than he had ever been. His stories about school, the Welsh cottage that the family summered at, his youthful escapades and his father’s death would have been rather interesting if she wasn’t so distracted by time passing and her date with Michael getting ever-nearer.
‘Would you care for dessert?’ the waiter asked after their plates were cleared.
Claire surreptitiously looked at her watch and shook her head. It was almost nine-thirty. Nigel had picked her up in his car. She wondered if he would insist on taking her home or if she could get him to drop her at the Berkeley – only five or six blocks away. If he did, what could her excuse be?
‘Why are you going back to the States?’ Nigel asked her suddenly. ‘For a visit? Is there a problem?’
Claire shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘The problem is I can’t stay on.’ She didn’t want to bring up the shop or her employment. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty. ‘I just haven’t managed to settle in,’ she said. ‘And I have a real job waiting in New York. In fact, I’m going to see one of my co-workers after dinner. He’s in London and I may return to his firm.’
It was all a bit of a lie but Claire couldn’t see her way clear to saying anything closer to the truth than that. And, after all, she owed Nigel nothing. In fact, despite the expensive meal, the conversation about books, London and his growing up, the only thing they really had in common was their mutual concern for his mother. There wasn’t any more to it than that.
‘Ah. I see,’ Nigel said. ‘Well, perhaps we had better get going then.’ He signaled to the waiter to bring the check. ‘It’s really been most pleasant.’
Claire nodded with relief and had the novel experience of being driven by one man to meet another.
‘I’ve been thinking about everything you said,’ Michael told Claire as he leaned across the table toward her. They were, somewhat ironically, seated back in the Berkeley bar. From their corner table Claire could see over Michael’s shoulder to the stools where he and Katherine Rensselaer had sat snogging the evening she had come in from her walk. ‘You know, Claire, you’re not like anyone else,’ Michael said. ‘I can’t predict what you’ll do or say.’ He smiled. ‘That’s a good thing. I hate boredom.’
Claire knew it wasn’t true. ‘Only because we’re in a special circumstance,’ Claire said. ‘When I’m settled I’m actually a creature of habit.’
‘Just what I need. Stability. But you’re unsettling from time to time. The best of both worlds.’
If he really knew her, wouldn’t he be bored in a New York minute? The bar wasn’t crowded, at least not yet, but there was still a lot of noise and cigarette smoke. No one in the UK seemed to have heard that smoking was bad for your health. Claire was uncomfortable not only with the situation but the surroundings as well. ‘Michael, would you mind if we took a walk?’
‘Of course not,’ he said.
As she walked down the steps of the hotel, Michael at her right, she was wished good evening by the doorman. She remembered her previous stay. On that occasion she never could have imagined this one.
They walked for a little while, Michael holding her elbow. At Eaton Square they found a bench and sat down. The evening was mild with a real promise of summer around the corner. Michael took Claire’s hand. ‘You do know that I love you, don’t you?’
Claire shook her head. She didn’t know what she knew. She tried to think of Mrs Patel and her strict advice to demand tokens in behavior and goods. She remembered her father telling her ‘Words aren’t deeds.’ But those particular words, coming from Michael’s lips, gave her the inclination to melt in his arms. Luckily, he sat up straight, not giving her the chance. Then he put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.
‘For you,’ he said. Claire took the velvet case. Was this an example of Mrs Patel’s ‘goods’? ‘There’s no reason for you to trust me,’ Michael admitted. ‘Inviting you back to New York was arrogance. I realize that now. And after our night together, well … Claire, I lost you once because I was an idiot. I don’t want to lose you again. Will you marry me?’
Claire almost let her jaw drop. She never expected this. ‘Are you going to open it?’ he asked. She did, and the street light made the sapphire and diamond ring flash deep blue and white, like fireworks in a box.
‘Michael, it’s beautiful.’ She looked from the ring to his equally deep blue eyes.
‘May I put it on your finger?’ he asked.
‘I … I don’t know,’ she said. She felt as if she were in a waking dream, as if she had perhaps imagined a scene like this so often that it was coming true.
But she had never imagined it. She didn’t have the self-confidence or nerve to do it. ‘Do you really want to get married?’ she asked him. ‘We hardly know each other.’
He put his arm around her. ‘I don’t think that’s true,’ he said. ‘I know you enough to know how much I want you.’ He kissed her again, and again she couldn’t help but kiss him back. She did want him or she wanted him to want her. Oh, there was so much wanting in her life that she’d probably never catch up. But her mind raced. She couldn’t sit still. She asked if they could walk a little more. ‘Of course,’ Michael told her. ‘We can do whatever you want.’ He took her hand and they walked to Sloane Square, then along the King’s Road. She didn’t talk much. Certainly the ring and the proposal would fulfill Mrs Patel’s requirements. But did it fulfill hers? Why wasn’t she thrilled? Was she too shocked?
Michael calmly described his apartment, and how they would probably want to move on from it. He asked her when her birthday was and told her his own. ‘Would you want a big wedding? I think my mother would. Eldest son, and all.’
Claire tried to imagine her mother paying for more than a cake. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I really never thought about it.’
Michael smiled. ‘You see? Another way you’re different. Haven’t Tina and the other women been planning their weddings from the time they were sixteen?’
Claire shook her head. ‘Tina’s been plann
ing hers since she was eleven. Long before she met Anthony.’
Michael laughed. ‘Have you gotten your invitation yet?’ he asked. ‘I just got mine.’
Claire felt a surprising stab of pain. After all these years, Tina had set the date, was finally going to do it and she hadn’t even told Claire. Well, things and people change. ‘I suppose you could take me,’ Claire said. Wouldn’t that give the Maries something to talk about!
They turned and began to walk back. Michael stopped, encircled Claire in his arms and kissed her yet again. ‘Will you come back to the hotel?’ he asked. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘I think I need to go home,’ Claire told him and she wasn’t playing at Imogen’s game. ‘I’m very, very tired and, well, I need to think.’
‘Of course you do,’ Michael said. He kissed her again, then easily flagged down a cab and insisted on taking her home. He remembered her address and held her hand tightly all the way to South Ken. When they arrived he asked the cab to wait while he walked her to the door. ‘Just try the ring on,’ he said. ‘Sleep with it tonight.’
Somehow he made it sound very sexy, but Claire – to her own surprise – found that she didn’t know what she should do or even say. Then she wondered if it could possibly be the same ring he had given to Katherine Rensselaer. ‘Thank you, Michael,’ she said. ‘Let’s wait. Let me think. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow.’
SIXTY-NINE
It was still dark when the phone rang. Claire looked at the clock. It was 5:32 in the morning. Was Michael calling her already? She rose and tried to make it to the telephone in the kitchen before it rang again and woke Imogen, but she was too late. ‘It’s for you,’ Imogen called from behind her bedroom door.
Claire picked up the phone to hear Safta’s voice. ‘I think it’s time to go to hospital, Claire,’ Safta said. ‘Mummy’s having contractions. And her waters have broken. It’s time, isn’t it?’
Claire tried to clear her head. ‘Yes. Do you have the number for a mini cab?’ she asked. There would be no black taxis tooling around Camden at this time of the morning. ‘Do you have some money?’
The always-prepared Safta told her she did. ‘Call the mini cab right now. I’ll meet you at the Royal Free Hospital,’ Claire said – she had checked, some weeks back, which maternity unit was nearest to the Patels’ home.
By the time Claire threw on some clothes and arrived at the hospital, Mrs Patel had already been taken into the labor room. The children, all three of them, were huddled in the visitors’ lounge. ‘I wanted to leave them to sleep, but Maudie doesn’t have a phone and I couldn’t leave them or Mum to go get her,’ Safta explained.
‘You did the right thing,’ Claire told her. She patted Safta on the arm and chuffed Devi under the chin. She tried to do the math and figure out how long Mrs Patel had been pregnant. Was it eight months? She wasn’t sure. ‘They took Mummy on the wagon,’ Devi said.
‘It wasn’t a wagon. It was a bed with wheels,’ Fala corrected. All three, graced with large expressive eyes to begin with, now had them open so wide that enough white showed to make them look like brown spotted eggs. Claire crouched down beside the little ones.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘Mummy is going to be fine. Making a baby isn’t easy but your mummy has done it three times before.’ She looked at Devi. ‘The last time it was you.’ Devi shook his head, his silky hair flying.
‘I was the first time,’ he said.
Claire smiled, reached into her pocket and took out five pounds. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to Safta. ‘Take them to the café, get some breakfast and then come back. Do you think you can manage that?’ Safta nodded. ‘I’ll go and check on your mother.’
Claire wasn’t so sure she would be allowed to, but a maternity nurse nodded and took her into the labor room. Claire, of course, had never been in one. She vaguely remembered Fred being brought home from the hospital, but there were no babies in her life at home. Mrs Patel was lying there, her hair unplaited, sweat beading her entire face. A nurse was busy at the side of the room but Mrs Patel had her eyes closed and seemed very alone.
As Claire approached the bed Mrs Patel was taken by a contraction. She balled her hands into fists, her eyes flew open and she let out a deep frightening groan. The noise scared Claire. This, after all, was Mrs Patel, always strong and self-contained. Of course, she also contained a new life which was pushing to become its own self. Claire approached the bed. She wasn’t sure if Mrs Patel, whose eyes were turned upward, could see her. As gently as she could she put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. For a moment, while she felt the body under her hand tense and hard as mahogany, there was no other reaction. But after the contraction ended Mrs Patel turned her head.
Her wet face glistened, and the top of her gown was open. Sweat pooled between her breasts. ‘Claire?’ she asked. Her fists unclenched and she reached for Claire’s hand. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Safta called. I came over as soon as I could. Is it time for the baby? I mean, have you gone full term?’
‘It’s just a few weeks early,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘A doctor looked and she says there’s no problem.’ Then she was racked by another pain. Her hand clenched around Claire’s and Claire could feel her knuckles pressed against each other until she too felt like crying out. Mrs Patel began to pant and moaned again. It was the moaning that scared Claire. The nurse, busy all this time in the corner of the room, turned around.
‘There, there, Mum. It’s not so bad.’
‘It is!’ Mrs Patel gasped. ‘And I’m not your mum.’
The nurse paid no attention and approached the bed. She felt Mrs Patel’s stomach and looked below. ‘About two centimeters,’ she said. ‘You have a long way to go.’
Claire felt like smacking her but turned back to Mrs Patel who had loosened her hold on Claire’s hand.
‘I always forget how hard it is. But I always did this alone,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘It’s nice you’re here.’
‘But didn’t your husband come in? Wasn’t he …’
‘He was useless. And he didn’t want to see. And now he’s gone, and won’t ever see the face of his child.’ Once again her hand tightened around Claire’s but this time it wasn’t because of the pain. ‘Where are the children?’ she asked. ‘Are they very frightened? I had no time to fetch Maudie. Are the children outside?’
‘They’re getting something to eat and they’re behaving well and they’re waiting for their new little sister or brother,’ Claire assured her. ‘By the way, Devi says he was your first baby.’
Mrs Patel smiled, and despite the sweat, the circles under her eyes, and the rat’s nest her hair had become, she did look lovely. ‘He would. No fear. Safta will set him straight.’ The smile left her face and her eyes softened. ‘Thank you, Claire,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to thank you. Doing this without family, without anyone to help … it’s very hard.’ To Claire’s complete surprise tears welled in Mrs Patel’s eyes. Claire knew it had been hard for her to break from her family and to put her husband out, but she didn’t know, she couldn’t know, how very frightening it must be, even for a woman as strong as Mrs Patel. She paused and licked her lips. ‘Believe me, you must make sure of this man before you go further. You don’t want to be in a room here as I am unless you trust him and love him very much.’ Claire put one hand on Mrs Patel’s shoulder and squeezed it. Her other was in her pocket, where the little box with the big ring waited. She thought of taking it out and showing it to Mrs Patel, then thought better of it. ‘Promise me you’ll do that,’ Mrs Patel asked.
‘I promise,’ Claire told her.
‘Good. Now go to the children. Tell them not to eat too many sweets or I shall be very cross with them. And remind Devi not to be naughty. And ask them to think of a name for their new brother or sister.’
Claire nodded. ‘Fala suggested “Beckham”.’
‘I think not,’ Mrs Patel said and laughed – until another contraction hit. Claire t
ook back her hand.
‘I’ll stay with them for a little and then I’ll come right back,’ she promised.
Mrs Patel, gripped with pain, managed to nod. Claire didn’t like to leave her, but she certainly didn’t like to witness it either. Another nurse came in, moved to the side of the bed and Claire took her leave.
The better part of the next three hours had Claire shuttling back and forth between Mrs Patel and the kids. Devi fell asleep on her lap, while Fala drew and colored pictures with the crayons and paper a nurse’s aide supplied. Only Safta stayed focused on her mother and the baby. ‘It will be all right?’ she asked Claire several times. Claire assured her it would be.
And in the end it was.
Claire was allowed into the delivery room though she stood back and was more than a little frightened. But though she had seen births on television, the birth of Mrs Patel’s third daughter seemed so miraculous that Claire found herself crying.
When the baby, cleaned and wrapped in toweling, was given to Mrs Patel her face was transformed. All the pain and fatigue seemed to disappear. The baby, though small, was beautifully formed and already had eyelashes long enough to touch her cheeks. ‘She’s a beautiful little girl,’ the doctor said and smiled. ‘Have you named her?’
Mrs Patel nodded. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Her name will be Claire.’
After the children saw their mother and new sister, Claire took them home and settled them in with the help of Maudie – who she had Safta call from the hospital.
On the way back to Camden, through the cab window, Claire had watched the morning sun as it changed the colors of the horizon and the clouds. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have Michael’s baby and was repelled by the thought. He was, even now, essentially a selfish person. Though he wanted her, it was once again because he had decided on it. Would she be a different acquisition from the ones he made at Crayden Smithers? Would she be more important to him than the BMW convertible he traded in every year or so? Even if she was, how could she live the life he did?
Wish Upon a Star Page 44
