Claire saw the opportunity and she took it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like to inquire about that excursion to Nice.’
‘Oh, that’s very well-priced. It’s not for first class, though. I’m afraid a first class round trip would be much dearer.’
‘I don’t need first class,’ Claire said. ‘I’d like to go to Nice …’ She tried to quickly compute something slightly believable. ‘When does the offer end?’
‘Just let me check for a moment,’ Mrs Brackett said. She looked down at her computer console and then walked over to the agent at the first class ticket desk. Claire held her breath, then reminded herself that she had to keep breathing. She watched the two women chat casually about her future. She actually crossed her fingers.
Mrs Brackett walked briskly back to her station. ‘I’m afraid there’ll be a surcharge for exchanging a single,’ she said. ‘It will be an extra fifty pounds.’
Claire thought about the huge amount the ticket had cost and the small percentage that this would deduct from the balance. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, and felt as if she was a con-artist cashing a forged check. But, after all, the ticket was hers, wasn’t it? It had her name on it. And neither Michael Wainwright nor Abigail Samuels nor anyone else from Crayden Smithers had contacted her. Obviously, the ticket hadn’t been cancelled and Claire was sure they could have done so if they wanted to. Of course, Tina might have been told to and forgotten, but whether or not that was true, Claire was going to simply be grateful.
Mrs Brackett lowered her voice. ‘A bit of advice to you. If you’re going to Nice this time of year look out your woolies. We lower the price because it can be cold in the south of France.’ Claire thanked her and waited while they issued the new ticket.
In less than ten minutes Claire was back on Regent Street with a round-trip ticket to Nice and a check for more than three thousand pounds in her pocket. She didn’t have a bank account, but she was sure she could ask Toby, Mrs Patel or even Mrs Venables to pay it into theirs and cash it for her. It wasn’t as if she needed the money immediately – she just had to send two thousand dollars to her mother to be free of that debt forever.
As she got into the underground and took her seat she nervously checked again that the blue slip of paper and the gaily-colored folder with her new tickets were still in her purse. She was lucky. At that time of day there were many empty seats and she got the one she preferred; facing forward and against the window. It was silly, since there was nothing to see out the windows but she felt happiest and most secure there. She stared out at the gray murk of the underground tunnel streaming by. She would be able to pay off her mother and she would have some money left over – at least three months’ rent and maybe more. More importantly, she would owe nothing to anyone.
Claire had never felt as if she were a proud person; if she were, she certainly wouldn’t have let Tina treat her as a lackey or allowed her mother to displace her the way she had. But perhaps she had always been proud and perhaps their behavior had always rankled – she simply hadn’t had an option back then or hadn’t had the courage to find one. As she looked out at the tunnel whizzing by, interrupted only by bright posters at the stations, she thought how she had let her life – up to now – whiz by as gray as the tunnels were. When they stopped at a station in front of an enormous ad for BT, she thought of the smaller poster of Nice. She was not only going to pay back her mother, but she was going to have another adventure! The fact that she spoke no French and knew no one there made her slightly nervous (after all, she had been brought to London and shown around by Michael) but surely she could do this on her own. And, it was only four days. She decided she would ask Toby for any novels he had, set in Nice, and perhaps buy a travel guide as well. She was proud of all she had accomplished that day; having the nerve to return the ticket, the ‘exchange’ she had created, the spontaneous trip to Nice, and the check in her purse.
When she got off the train she passed a flower stand and paused. She would buy a bouquet for Mrs Venables and a smaller one to put in her darling vase from Mrs Patel. In fact, she would buy flowers for Imogen as well.
Laden down with lilies, roses, statice, fragrant stock and lilac, she went home. She filled two vases, wrote a thank-you note to Imogen for coming to her class, admired her room with its exquisite vase filled with pretty pink roses and ferns and headed back out to Knitting Kitting.
When she got to the door of the shop she was pleased to see three women customers inside. She entered and everyone, including Mrs Venables, looked over at her.
‘What absolutely lovely flowers,’ a woman whom Claire did not recognize said.
‘Oh, I adore early syringa,’ a bossy-sounding woman she identified as Mrs Lyons-Hatchington said and smiled at Claire as if she liked her. ‘While you’re here,’ she added, ‘can I use this cotton instead of the wool yarn? Does it make a difference?’
‘Well, it depends on what you’re making,’ Claire said. ‘Cotton is lovely and very flexible, but it tends to split more easily when you push the needle into it instead of around it.’
‘Well, I was thinking of a summer jumper but I …’ Claire gently led Mrs Lyons-Hatchington to a decision then she walked over to Mrs Venables at the counter. The third woman was standing beside it and Mrs Venables was wrapping up what looked like a large order. When she raised her head her blue eyes opened wide at the bouquet Claire held.
‘Oh, my dear!’ she said. ‘Those are quite astonishing. Aren’t you lucky.’
Claire nodded. ‘But not because of these,’ she said. ‘These are for you.’
‘My word,’ Mrs Venables said. She stood for a moment staring at the blooms. Before her customer could get impatient, Claire handed the wrapped flowers over and quickly packaged up the purchase. She thought she recognized the middle-aged blond woman from Mrs Venables’s class but couldn’t be sure and simply smiled.
‘Enjoy your wool,’ she said.
‘Oh, I will. I also want to thank you for starting these classes. I love getting out and meeting people and the two of you work so well together. I never expected knitting to be so relaxing and fulfilling but to take a ball of wool and turn it into something useful is – well, it’s like spinning straw into gold.’
‘That’s lovely that you feel that way and thank you for the compliment,’ Mrs Venables said.
Claire, not knowing how to react to the praise, turned to Mrs Venables. ‘Shall I go upstairs and get a vase?’ she asked.
‘No, dear, I can do it.’ Mrs Venables looked at the flowers. ‘These are quite magnificent. You really shouldn’t have, you know.’ She pursed her mouth and puckered her eyes in a mask of mock sternness. ‘You don’t want to go spending all the profits, especially before we’ve made them.’ Then she laughed. ‘I do sound like Nigel, don’t I?’
Then, as if his name had conjured him up, Nigel Venables walked into the shop, holding open the door for the last customer to leave. Claire looked away from the door and over to his mother. ‘Shall I get you a vase?’ she asked. ‘It will save you a trip.’
‘Certainly.’ Then Mrs Venables turned to her son. ‘Well, Nigel, what a very pleasant surprise. Are you here for a visit or are you thinking about buying some knitting goods? I’m afraid stock is pretty low and we don’t have a great deal ready to hand but I could always do a special order.’
As she turned to go up the stairs Claire hid her smile but not as well as Mrs Venables had. She didn’t want to linger in the lovely apartment. She was quite sure Mrs Venables trusted her, and almost equally sure that Nigel did not. She saw a ceramic jar on a table and picking it up, filled it with tepid water as quickly as she could. She wiped it carefully with a dishtowel and carried it before her, being sure not to spill even a drop on the Persian rugs or polished wood floors. As she came down the stairs she heard Nigel’s voice. She stopped.
‘Because I simply don’t. She comes from nowhere. Starts this up, bribes you with flowers –’
‘Nigel, there’s no bribery going
on. And keep your voice down. She’s done a very clever thing and she’s a very clever girl and –’
‘Mother, you must be careful! You’re much too trusting and we really don’t know anything about her, do we?’
Claire flushed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so cold to him when he had begun to ‘interview’ her over coffee. But she wasn’t used to people being suspicious of her. She meant no harm. Why should he think she did? She cleared her throat and took the next step with more noise to be sure she could be heard.
When she got down to the shop floor another woman rushed in, ending for the moment Nigel’s lecture. It was Leonora Atkins. With a sigh of relief Claire watched Nigel leave the store, but not before he turned and gave her what Tina would have called ‘the once over’.
‘I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,’ Leonora said to Mrs Venables.
‘No, no. It’s only my son, Nigel. Nothing that couldn’t wait till later,’ she reassured her.
Claire approached the two women and set the vase on the counter. ‘Nice of you to stop by, Leonora.’ She arranged the flowers and put them to the side. ‘How have you been?’
‘A little frustrated. I think my stitches are twisted and I was hoping to get some help. I have thirty minutes left of my lunch break. Can one of you take a look?’ Leonora took out her needles and laid them on the counter.
‘You can handle this, dear,’ Mrs Venables said to Claire. ‘I have to take care of some papers.’
‘Certainly,’ Claire replied as she picked up the jumbled piece of wool. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’ She studied the rows and started to explain what Leonora had done wrong. She could see the look of confusion on the other woman’s face. ‘Do you think you can manage this on your own?’
‘Actually, I really have to get to work. Do you have any time tomorrow around lunchtime? That way I can pay closer attention to what you’re explaining and try to work up a few rows with you right there?’
Claire mentally ran through her schedule. ‘Mrs Venables, can you spare me tomorrow for about an hour?’ she asked in a raised voice so Mrs Venables was sure to hear her.
Her employer looked up from her papers. ‘That would be fine. Take as much time as you need, dear.’
Claire nodded and turned back to Leonora. ‘Sure. Just write down the address for me and I’ll meet you then.’
‘Great.’ Leonora searched her bag for a paper and pen and left the information with Claire. ‘This is perfect. Thanks for this,’ she said and packed up her needles and wool. ‘See you later, Mrs Venables.’ She waved and left the shop.
‘My, my,’ Mrs Venables said to Claire. ‘You’re a popular girl, aren’t you? Don’t you have a meeting with the Countess too?’
‘Yes, I do. I hope you don’t mind that I’m helping the ladies when it’s not a scheduled lesson. If you’d prefer me not to, I’d understand. We’re supposed to be in this venture together.’
‘Claire, my dear, I don’t mind at all.’ Mrs Venables walked over to Claire at the counter. ‘In fact I think it’s absolutely wonderful that you’re getting out more and meeting different people. It’s good for you.’ She smiled and took Claire’s hand in hers. ‘You’re a very special girl, Claire,’ she said, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Claire left the shop feeling another surge of pride in herself. She was working two jobs, she was making friends with some of the women from the knitting classes, and now she was on her way to see the Countess of Kensington and perhaps Lady Ann Fenwick.
When she arrived at the Countess’s house she was impressed with how calm she felt. If Tina had been with her she’d have been all jittery and talking a mile a minute about meeting someone of such stature. Claire had to smile at the thought. She pressed the buzzer and, before her finger was completely off the button, the door opened.
‘Miss Bilsop, please come in,’ said the formally dressed gentleman. He helped Claire out of her coat and hung it in the closet. ‘The Countess is waiting for you in the drawing room.’ He led the way to a large carved door with shiny brass doorknobs. The door was opened and Claire was escorted into the room. ‘Countess, Miss Bilsop.’
The Countess, looking frail, was sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. ‘Claire, thank you so much for coming. That will be all, William.’ The gentleman bent slightly and quietly exited the room. ‘I’m sorry Ann couldn’t be here but she had a business meeting she couldn’t get out of.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Claire answered. ‘I’m sorry you missed Saturday’s class. Are you feeling any better?’
‘Yes, I’m coming round. I expect to be out and about soon. How is Mrs Venables faring?’
‘Just beautifully. She’s a lovely lady and she just adores teaching the classes.’
‘It’s a wonderful thing, this knitting.’ The Countess reached down to the floor and produced a small bag. ‘I’ve been busy as a bee on this. How does it look? Come and sit next to me and tell me what you think.’
Claire sat and carefully examined the piece of knitting. ‘You’ve done a good job for the most part. I see a couple of twisted stitches and, based on the shape of the edges, it looks like you have a habit of knitting two together and then gaining a stitch a couple of rows later. That gives the edges a wavy look.’
‘Oh, dear me. Do I have to take it all out?’
‘I won’t worry too much since this is just a practice piece. But if you were doing something major, then yes, you’d have to I’m afraid. It’s important for you to notice when you’ve made a mistake.’
Claire spent quite a bit of time pointing out the errors that the Countess had made, showed her what she had missed in last week’s class and took the time to instruct her in a few other stitches, just in case she didn’t make the next class.
Claire had assumed that having a title would mean that one’s lifestyle would be extravagant and glamorous. But she felt as if she were with any elderly woman that she knew in Tottenville. When she finished up with the Countess, Claire left regards to Lady Ann and hoped that the two of them would be able to go to the class this Saturday.
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ the Countess reassured her.
FIFTY-FIVE
‘I can’t believe that you went to visit the Countess and didn’t let me know,’ Imogen called in to Claire.
Claire was finishing up in front of the bathroom mirror, preparing for lunch with Leonora. April had come to London, Easter had passed, and the weather had warmed up, but then the rain had descended. Im had caught a bad head-cold and was spreading her usual manuscripts and also lots of wet tissues around the flat. She was also spreading some ill-will; her cold was making her cranky.
‘And now a lunch,’ Im said. ‘Is there a new man in your life?’
Claire was almost afraid to mention Leonora Atkins. She had no idea whether or not Leonora had a place in Im’s social landscape or what that place would be. ‘It’s just a girl I know,’ Claire said.
‘Oh. An American?’ Im asked, her interest obviously waning.
Claire emerged from the bathroom, gathered her bag and her raincoat and shook her head. But Im’s own head was bent over her work so, with a cheery bye-bye, Claire escaped into the rain.
She was drenched by the time she reached the restaurant on Brompton Road. Leonora was already there, wearing a gray suit and a white T-shirt. For a moment Claire thought of Katherine Rensselaer, but the moment Leonora smiled and took out her knitting, the unpleasant image dissolved.
‘So, tell me what I’ve done wrong,’ Leonora said, and showed her work-in-progress to Claire.
Claire picked up the beige muffler and looked at it. ‘You’re out of sequence.’ She pointed out the spot. ‘It started here,’ she said. ‘You should have purled only once and you purled twice. It threw off the rest of the row.’
‘Is the only solution to rip out the rest?’
‘Yep,’ Claire said. ‘All the way back to the mistake.’
‘I was af
raid so,’ Leonora said. Looking at Leonora’s clothes, her purse, her designer leather knitting bag and her perfect haircut, Claire knew this was not a woman who would leave a mistake in her work. ‘Oh, well,’ Leonora said and stowed the knitting away. She picked up the menu. ‘I recommend the steak au poivre, but you might be vegetarian.’ Claire assured her she was not and they both ordered the steak.
Then came the usual questions: Where are you from, what brings you here, what did you do before? Claire was relieved, though, that Leonora didn’t ask where her ‘people’ came from.
‘What did you do on Wall Street?’ Leonora asked as they cut into their steaks.
‘Nothing important.’
‘Well, I work in the City. I specialize in retail – I mean I follow the stocks on things like The Body Shop and Benneton. Anyway, it occurred to me that knitting is hot. I Googled it on the Internet and it seems as if everyone’s interested. Did you ever think of opening a shop of your own?’
Claire shook her head.
‘It might make a good business and expand into a chain – I mean, it wouldn’t become Sainsbury’s, but I could see some fast growth.’
Claire put down her knife and looked at Leonora. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about it,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve never run a store and I have no money to start one.’ She wasn’t sure if Leonora was offering to help in that department, but she was certain it wasn’t the right thing to do, anyway. ‘I work with Mrs Venables. I want to carry on working there.’
‘Loyalty is good,’ Leonora said. ‘But thinking big might be better.’
Claire looked at her very directly. ‘I’ve been thinking small,’ she smiled. ‘Small seems to suit me.’
Leonora shrugged. ‘It was just an idea,’ she said lightly. ‘Probably not a very good one,’ she added. ‘How do you like your lunch?’
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