‘I asked for his objection. Was the question whether I have the strength to run the shop?’ She looked at the group around her. Then she looked directly at Claire. ‘I told him I didn’t know, but I was sure Claire was very willing to become my partner.’ She gave Claire a full-faced smile and patted her hand. The other women murmured approvingly. ‘He said working wasn’t the best thing for me. And I told him that sitting upstairs with nothing to do but watch the dust gather and the silver tarnish wasn’t therapeutic either.’
‘Good for you,’ the Countess agreed.
‘Didn’t he try to cause a fuss then? I know my son would,’ Mrs Cruikshank put in.
‘Well, naturally.’ Mrs Venables straightened up her head and put her hands on her hips. ‘“But Mother … ”‘ she said in a fairly good Nigel imitation. The older women laughed, but Claire’s head was too filled with excitement to join them. ‘I was afraid that he needed to sell the building to organize his business affairs.’ She lowered her voice and spoke only to Claire. ‘I didn’t want to have to remind him that the building was mine actually, not his.’
Mrs Cruikshank nodded her head. ‘If I buy so much as a pair of needles they act as if I’m squandering their inheritance.’
‘Well, luckily Nigel told me he didn’t need any help with his business affairs. I apologized and, to tell you the truth, I was quite relieved.’
‘So the shop will stay open,’ the Countess said, her face wreathed in a smile.
‘Well, that will depend on Claire. If she’ll take me on as a partner and take over the management. I promised Nigel I’d only work three afternoons a week.’
‘That seems reasonable,’ Mrs Cruikshank said. ‘And Claire is a good girl.’ She patted Claire’s arm. ‘If only my son had married someone like you,’ she said.
Claire could hardly believe it. To inherit money, a house, and be offered a partnership all in one day? To find out that the shop would stay open, that she would have a job doing what she loved and that people were actually grateful to her for doing it was too much. Then, ‘Of course, there are some difficulties,’ Mrs Venables said, and Claire’s heart dropped. She should have known. ‘For one thing,’ Mrs Venables continued, ‘she’ll have to agree to take a good deal more money. And for another she’ll probably have to accept a flat upstairs in lieu of some compensation.’ She looked at Claire apologetically. ‘Until the cash flow, or something like that, improves. And Nigel said he’d feel so much better if he knew you were within shouting distance.’ She looked at the women. ‘But of course, Claire might not want to be saddled with me.’
A flat! And in this neighborhood, in this very building! Mrs Venables’s place on the parlor floor was very beautiful. Claire couldn’t even imagine what another flat in the building would look like but … the possibilities of investing in the shop or renting bigger space to enlarge Knitting Kitting’s inventory, having weekday evening classes or bigger weekend classes. Then there was redecorating the flat. Choosing new paint colors for the walls, new rugs to go on the beautiful wood floors, putting up new curtains and draperies, the list was endless.
‘So, would you consider it, Claire?’
Then Claire remembered Mrs Patel and the baby. She had promised to help take care of the grocery and help out with the kids. But couldn’t she manage to do that and the shop? Especially if she got more of Maudie’s help? ‘It may take me a little while to organize it,’ Claire said. ‘But I would be so very happy, so grateful …’
‘Well, we’ll sort that all out later, shall we?’ Mrs Venables asked.
Just then the door opened and Lady Ann came in.
SEVENTY-ONE
Lady Ann kissed her mother, gave the other women a brief hello and then focused on Claire. ‘Imogen told me you would still be here,’ she said. ‘I need you to come back to your flat.’
Surprised and curious on this day of surprises, Claire allowed Lady Ann to take her by the arm and lead her back to Imogen’s. There Imogen had three glasses of wine and a large salad set out. ‘Some lunch?’ she asked Claire brightly as if she always prepared little meals.
Claire knew something very strange was happening. Of course, Imogen would be eager to impress Lady Ann, but when did they make this date? And why was she invited? Claire sat down on the sofa and Ann took the other seat. ‘The thing is, Claire,’ Imogen began, ‘the thing is Lady Ann and I have discussed a book about knitting. We’ve been all around the houses on this and we think you would be the perfect person to write it.’
‘Write a book?’ Claire said. ‘I can’t write a book!’
‘Well, that didn’t stop Naomi Campbell or Ivana Trump, did it?’ Ann asked and laughed.
‘I’ve been a twit not to see it myself,’ Im said. ‘Ann laid it all out for me. It’s brilliant!’
‘Claire, you’re young and attractive and you know about knitting and I could get you a lot of media coverage,’ Ann said. ‘We always like stories about Americans who prefer the UK to the States. It helps with our inferiority complex.’
‘But …’ Claire began to protest.
‘Okay,’ Imogen said. ‘Here’s how it would happen: I get you an editor to work with you, and you put together a book of simple patterns. We quote some celebrities and talk about the soothing contemplative aspect of knitting. You know, knitting as a kind of Zen meditation. Then you do the telly and tour.’
‘Tour where?’ Claire said.
‘Oh, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh.’ She and Ann laughed. ‘I think I can get you a good advance,’ Im continued. ‘Not spectacular, but five-figures. And if it works we could do a series of books.’
‘Oh, it’ll work,’ Ann said. ‘I listen all day to people chuntering on and on. Do you have any idea of how many editors at the women’s magazines owe me favors? Anyway, the truth is I already put out a punchy press release and the rags seem quite excited.’
Again, both women laughed. But Claire simply couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘I write a book and you pay me?’
‘Yes. And then we go around the country – well you do – and you sign a lot of copies and you show people how to knit. What do you say?’
Claire said yes.
Nigel showed Claire the apartment the next day. ‘I’d be very grateful if you’d be prepared to stay here,’ Nigel said. ‘So would Mother.’
Claire looked around. It was a little smaller than Mrs Venables’s flat, but it had a large living room with a fireplace on one side and doors out to a little balcony on the other. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, and – to Claire’s amazement and delight – a small box room. ‘I’m afraid the closet space probably isn’t what you’re used to,’ Nigel said as if he were some apologetic estate agent. ‘But I can have one built in along that wall. And of course I’ll replace the curtains. You can pick whatever kind you like.’
Claire turned to him, the glory of all that she was seeing reflected in her eyes. But, she realized, Nigel must be humiliated by this. ‘Nigel, I’m very sorry if you …’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should apologize. I was very foolish. And prejudiced. I hope you just ignored me. I don’t know what I or my mother would have done without your help.’
Claire flushed. ‘Oh, it would have been …’
‘It would have been a fiasco.’ He looked around. ‘So, I’ll have it painted, shall I? Magnolia?’ Before she could answer he had turned back to her. ‘The view of the back garden is very nice. Come and see it.’
They went into the empty bedroom and peered out of the window. ‘It’s more than a bit overgrown,’ Nigel said. ‘Mother used to love to keep it up but the gardener is lax.’
‘Could I work on it?’
‘Of course. If you like.’
Claire turned to him. ‘Oh, I’d love to!’
Perhaps it was her enthusiasm, or the way the light played on the side of her face. Perhaps it was because he had been longing to do it for quite some time. But for whatever reason, Nigel Venables took Claire in his arms and, t
o her complete surprise, kissed her. To her even greater surprise he kissed her long and well.
SEVENTY-TWO
You might believe that Claire lived happily ever after. Of course, nobody ever does but if you’d like to believe that Claire was the exception, you’re free to do it. The flat was lovely and furnished with family pieces from Claire’s Aunt Gertrude, as well as the antiques that Claire bought.
You’re free to imagine Claire, working away at her book in the box room that she turned into an office. You might also believe that Claire’s book was a big success, and that she not only went on a national tour, signing copies in bookstores, knitting shops, and ladies’ clubs all around the country, but that it was also a success in Canada and the United States. And that Leonora Atkins convinced Claire and Nigel to open knitting shops across the UK and that they prospered.
You might choose to believe that Mrs Venables lived a long time and stayed well until the very end, when she died at home, in her own bed, holding Claire’s hand on one side and Nigel’s on the other. You may also believe that Nigel and Claire wound up married to one another and that it was a good match, built on mutual respect, shared interests and more than a moderate amount of lust. Both the marriage and their daughter had made Mrs Venables’s last years particularly happy, and she did knit a layette for her grandchild.
Whether Claire ever went back to New York, served as maid-of-honor at Tina’s wedding and made a kind of peace with her mother are, again, choices you might want to make. Along with the belief that much later Safta got her degree from Cambridge, Mrs Patel remarried and that Claire finally made it to Nice. In fact, you might feel that everything came to a fairy tale ending all because someone made a wish upon a star.
Choose that if you will, but all novels are, in a sense, fairy tales. They are pulled from the air and create the magical illusion that the characters you read about are real, are living and the lives that are described have happened. The novelist imagines and conjures but, when the narration ends, has no more idea of what happens to the characters than you, the reader, does. Fiction is so often preferable to life because, sadly, only in fiction can you write the magical incantation at the end: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’
Acknowledgements
Sadly, Olivia Goldsmith died after completing Wish Upon A Star. Her close friend and assistant Nan Robinson remembers her:
At the time we met, Olivia lived in a historical Vermont stone house that she had renovated. She frequented a small diner in town. It was through her waitress, Etta Kennett, that Olivia and I came to work together. She asked Etta if she knew of anyone who could help with typing. Etta responded, ‘I know a little girl who always has a laptop with her and works on manuscripts when she isn’t driving a school bus.’ With that, Olivia left a diner napkin that had her name and number on it with Etta.
When Etta gave me the napkin, I was so excited by the possibility of actually being able to give my opinion on a writer’s work I called and made an appointment to meet Olivia a few weeks after she had returned from the book tour for First Wives Club, her huge bestseller. She told me about her work, what she expected and then sent me up to her office to ‘fool around with the Mac’. When I went back downstairs to let her know I was finished, she handed me a copy of her book along with the manuscript for her second. ‘Learn my style by reading and then make any comments you’d like on Flavor.’ That’s how we started working together.
The winter of ’93 brought an offer from HarperCollins U.S. for a worldwide three-book deal. Olivia and I were on our usual morning beach walk in Hollywood, Florida. Olivia said she wouldn’t do the deal without me. My response: ‘Well, it seems like a fun thing to do.’ She laughed. Obviously, I don’t know how to count, do I? Wish Upon A Star is her eleventh novel.
Olivia was a strong believer in: ‘Have pen will travel.’ So we did. Paris twice, Italy three times, England at least six times, India, Wyoming, a road trip of the California coast, not to mention other places within the United States while on book tour, and for speeches and public appearances. When we weren’t traveling the reward system worked for us best: hot fudge sundaes or shopping at designer outlets. As for our adventures in Hollywood – that’s a whole other fairy tale. I can say that Olivia was proud to see her ‘words turned into flesh’ with the movie The First Wives Club. Having it hailed a phenomenon was a definite bonus.
As if book writing wasn’t enough construction, Olivia also loved to remodel. She worked on her stone house; a classic six co-op; a three-story townhouse; two lofts and a cottage but her most challenging endeavor was Beaver Hall – a Georgian mansion on the Hudson River in upstate New York.
For more serious realities I have to thank her for being there when I became seriously ill four years ago before being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
I haven’t even made a dent in thanking Olivia for all the impact she’s made on my life and continues to make. If life could mimic fairy tales then I would wish upon a star for my best friend to come back so I could ‘live happily ever after’.
I hope you enjoy Wish Upon A Star – Olivia had a love affair with London and this is a fitting tribute to it.
Nan Robinson
By the same author
The First Wives Club
Flavor of the Month
Fashionably Late
Simple Isn’t Easy
Bestseller
Marrying Mom
The Switch
Young Wives
Bad Boy
Insiders
Uptown Girl
Copyright
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FIRST EDITION
First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2004
Copyright © Olivia Goldsmith 2004
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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