Wish Upon a Star

by Olivia Goldsmith

  They talked pleasantly after that and Leonora proved to be very interested in gardening. Claire told her about the garden at the Patels’ and how well it was going. Leonora told her all about the Chelsea Flower Show and promised to get her a ticket for opening day.

  The lunch turned out to be quite enjoyable and Leonora insisted on paying. ‘After all, you consulted on my scarf. I’ll bring you what I’ve done on Saturday.’

  They parted on the Brompton Road. It was still raining, but Claire decided to walk to the knitting shop anyway.

  People were coming in and out of the shop for most of the afternoon and Mrs Venables decided to stay open late. Quite a few customers were from the class, but some were not and it seemed as many of them wanted to talk as to make purchases. Claire and Mrs Venables were kept busy listening to stories about troublesome daughters-in-law, delightful grandchildren, remembered cardigans knitted by grandmothers decades dead. Claire decided she liked many of the women but, of the ones her age, Leonora Atkins seemed the most friendly.

  Suddenly it was almost four o’clock and Claire was beginning to worry about getting to the Patels’, but when Mrs Venables offered her tea she couldn’t say no. Somehow, in this short time, she seemed to have got as addicted to it as everyone else was. As there was a lull, Mrs Venables suggested they go upstairs. ‘It’s so much more comfortable and we can hear the shop bell from there.’ Claire agreed and the two of them settled down on the couch with the teapot, biscuits and sponge cake between them.

  ‘I’m completely amazed, Claire,’ Mrs Venables told her. ‘You really are a genius. I never thought we would have a response like this no matter what you tried.’

  Claire thought of Nigel and his suspicious attitude but she forgot it when she looked into Mrs Venables’s very sincere and very blue eyes. It seemed as if every part of the woman had aged except for the lovely sky-colored irises. They chatted for a while about the orders that they would make for stock and gossiped more than a little about a few of the women who had amused them. The time flew and Claire realized that it was already a quarter past five.

  ‘I must go,’ she said.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry to have kept you so long. But we really must talk about your salary, or however we’re going to arrange the … well the money.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ Claire said. ‘I’m sure you can work it out.’

  Just then the shop bell rang. ‘I’ll run down and see who it is,’ Claire said. ‘I’m sure you want to clear these dishes. Then I’m off.’

  She ran down the stairs but stopped short when she saw Nigel Venables striding through the shop. He looked up at her with surprise and obvious disapproval. Well, she disapproved of him too. ‘What are you doing upstairs?’ he asked. ‘Is my mother all right?’

  ‘She’s just fine,’ Claire told him. ‘We had tea.’ She came downstairs and began to walk toward the door. ‘She’ll be down in a minute to close up the shop,’ she said and had her hand on the knob before his voice stopped her.

  ‘I’d like a moment of your time, Miss Bilsop,’ he said coldly.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m late,’ Claire answered just as coldly.

  ‘That won’t do,’ he said and actually put his hand on hers. ‘I want to know what you’re about.’

  ‘I’m about to leave,’ she said.

  ‘You never seem to have time for anyone except my mother,’ Nigel almost hissed. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing nor who you think you are. You come in here, give my mother ideas, overwork her, and maybe threaten her health. Why? What’s your game?’

  Claire was furious but could barely speak. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. But she tried hard to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m not playing any games,’ she hissed back. ‘I think it’s you who have some other motive. Your mother loves this store. It gives her something to do. And she’s enjoyed talking to and teaching new customers. What’s wrong with that? Should she be upstairs polishing the silver?’

  ‘So you’ve had a bit of a nose around, have you? And saw the silver.’

  Claire drew in her breath sharply. Did he think she was some kind of common thief trying to rob an old woman? But before she could say a word Mrs Venables spoke from the staircase. ‘Nigel, it’s my eyesight not my hearing that is going. Stop cross-examining Claire this minute.’

  He didn’t even turn to look at his mother. ‘I will not. None of this is good. None of this is normal. Some stranger just drops in and transforms this place. This isn’t a fairy tale.’ He turned back to Claire. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked. ‘Money? A percentage of the shop? Are you planning to find a place in my mother’s will?’

  Mrs Venables had crossed the room and now she took Nigel by the arm. ‘I’m very, very sorry,’ she said to Claire. ‘I must apologize for my son, again. It’s clear that I have brought him up badly.’ She turned to Nigel and her voice changed into something so cold and imperious that Claire was startled. ‘Nigel, go upstairs. We’ll discuss this in a moment.’

  ‘Mother, I …’

  ‘Nigel!’ There was no ignoring or arguing with that command and Nigel did leave them. Mrs Venables took Claire’s hand. ‘You must pay no attention to what he said,’ she began.

  ‘But he thinks … you know I have no …’

  ‘Of course you don’t. He’s overprotective and he’s under a lot of financial pressure. I think he counted on selling this building. And good business in the shop wasn’t part of his plan.’

  Claire felt a tear roll down her cheek and touch her nose. She wiped it away with her hand.

  ‘Here, dear. Take this,’ Mrs Venables said and handed her a handkerchief that she had withdrawn from her pocket. ‘Nigel will apologize and you must try to forgive him. He’s not always in such a strop. I can’t remember the last time I had as much fun as we have this week.’ She raised her voice so Nigel would certainly hear. ‘The fact is, I jointly own this property and even if I close the shop I have no intention of moving from my flat. He shall have to wait until I go before he gets the house.’ Then she lowered her voice. ‘I also think he fancies you,’ she said. ‘That always makes him more prickly.’

  Claire looked at the old woman. She must be mad. Nigel disliked her, possibly hated her and Claire wouldn’t call his behavior to her ‘prickly’. It was hostile and she felt almost obliged to respond in kind. But she wanted Mrs Venables to know ‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. If you want me to …’

  Then Mrs Venables patted Claire on the shoulder. ‘I want you to forget about this as best you can and come back tomorrow and help me go through the catalogs. Then I want you to help me prepare for the weekend class. Would you do that, my dear?’ Claire nodded. And Mrs Venables looked down at her wrist. ‘I’m afraid you will be late for your appointment,’ she said. ‘I feel quite responsible.’

  Remembering Mrs Patel, Claire shook her head. ‘I do have to go, though,’ she said and ran off down the street.

  When she arrived at Mrs Patel’s, the shop was busy with customers. Claire used this time to straighten up and get her thoughts together: how was she going to deliver the news to Mrs Patel that she had a new job?

  When Claire saw the last shopper leave, she made her way to the front counter where Mrs Patel was sitting on a stool.

  ‘Hello there, did you see the new cartons that need to be put away down in aisle four?’ Mrs Patel asked.

  ‘I did but I wanted to consult with you about where you wanted the products placed.’

  ‘Since when? Usually you do it on your own. Why question yourself now?’ Mrs Patel looked curiously at Claire. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know how to … I …’

  ‘Out with it, girl.’

  ‘Thank you for the lovely vase. You didn’t have to give me anything. I enjoyed working in the garden, tutoring Safta, and working with you. I actually don’t feel that I can keep it.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. You deserve to be rewarded for a job well done. I don’t want to take it back,
’ Mrs Patel said firmly.

  ‘But you don’t understand. I … I’ve been … offered a job closer to where I live.’ Claire was relieved to finally get the words out.

  Mrs Patel smiled and patted Claire’s shoulder. ‘I think, perhaps, you have found something else you may prefer to do. This knitting you told me about. It makes you money, ah? And the ride from Kensington can’t be pleasant.’

  ‘Oh, but how could I leave you now?’ Claire looked at Mrs Patel’s belly. ‘You need the help.’

  ‘I’ll find someone else to fill in for you,’ Mrs Patel assured her. At that moment the door opened and Maudie came in with her two kids in tow. ‘In fact, I thought I might hire her.’ She pointed to Maudie who, hearing what Mrs Patel had said, wore a surprised look on her face that matched Claire’s.

  ‘You want me to work for you? What will I do with the boys?’

  ‘We’ll simply have to arrange it so that you can work while the girls are at school, and then you can bring the boys here. I’m sure Devi would love the company. Then, if Claire can manage it, perhaps she could still work a few hours to cover us until we get the schedule organized.’ Mrs Patel looked over at Claire. ‘It will be good for all of us, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Claire replied with a relieved smile.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘Please say yes,’ Im begged. ‘It’ll be fun.’

  Claire never thought she’d see Imogen Faulkner pleading with her for anything. ‘It sounds lovely, Im, but I’ve had a tiring week and after today’s knitting classes I’d really like to take a hot bath, relax and read my book,’ she said.

  ‘How dreadful. I want you to meet my parents and it’s a special occasion, Claire. Please. For me?’ Claire leaned against her bedroom door and sighed. ‘Toby will be there,’ Im continued. ‘He’d be sorry to miss you.’

  Claire looked down at the floor. She hadn’t seen Toby since she had helped him in the bookstore, and she had so much to share with him about everything that had been happening lately. She looked up and grinned sheepishly. ‘Okay, I’ll go with you. Thank you.’

  Im ran over to her and hugged her. ‘Great! Now go in and get ready. We can’t be late.’

  At Imogen’s parents’ London house, dinner was a very different affair from the ones with Mrs Patel. Claire had dressed carefully for it: she wore a new black dress she had recently bought from Marks & Spencer and, with her pearls and her slimmer hips, she thought she looked quite smart. She hadn’t really seen Imogen dressed formally before – mostly she slobbed around the flat in her robe – and she hadn’t noticed in the taxi but, once Claire was shown into the opulent drawing room, she could easily see that Imogen and her friend Georgina, as well as Mrs Faulkner, wore clothes that were on a whole other level. It wasn’t the way Tina dressed when she was celebrating – no shiny textiles, no bright colors or flashy jewelry – but there was something about the fabrics and the cut of the women’s clothes that told Claire that they most likely weren’t from Marks & Spencer. She was glad to see that Toby was his usual rumpled self, but slightly dismayed by the tailored appearance of Malcolm, and the other two male guests. One, Thomas, who looked vaguely familiar, was almost overdressed in cravat and cummerbund and the other, Edward, who had come straight from work, wore a well-cut suit and one of those distinctly English shirts where the cuffs and collars were white but the shirt itself was striped.

  Edward was nice looking, with dark hair and light brown eyes. During drinks he spoke to her a bit about his job in the City, before Toby and Thomas joined the conversation.

  Mrs Faulkner approached them. ‘Do you know the geography of the house?’ she asked. Claire shook her head. ‘Well you might want to powder your nose.’ This, Claire had learned, meant ‘wash up’ so she nodded and Mrs Faulkner took her to the loo that seemed to be the only geography on offer.

  On her way back, Im was waiting for her. ‘Do you like Edward?’ she asked. And Claire nodded, though she didn’t think she did like him particularly. ‘His father is a baronet,’ Im continued. ‘Close friends of the Mountbattens. They know everyone. And Edward is a nice sort.’ She took Claire’s arm and led her back to the group. Then, as Claire realized the import of what Imogen had told her, the talk became general. It turned to Imogen’s nuptials, Claire’s classes, her forthcoming trip to Nice and the opera.

  As they spoke, Claire realized that Thomas seemed to be eyeing her in a hostile way. The idea that she knew him and simply couldn’t remember where from, gnawed at her. Then they were called into dinner, and she was seated between Toby and Edward. The dining room was as impressive as the drawing room had been, with high ceilings, silver candelabra and a mahogany dining table that – to her surprise – wasn’t covered by a cloth but instead had the delicate porcelain service and the softly glowing silver laid directly on the wood. She recoiled at the thought of spilling so much as a grain of rice on the lovely, patinated surface.

  Mr Faulkner, who was dressed almost exactly like Edward and was only a little larger and beefier, started talking about the Euro and the upcoming Wimbledon tournament and Toby took the chance to nudge Claire when their host became a bit long-winded. But, once the main course was served, it was Edward who took her attention. He asked about her home in ‘the States’, what she worked at, how she liked living with Imogen and told her about his days at Oxford with both Imogen and Toby. When he asked her what brought her to London, Claire was rather unprepared and she shrugged. ‘A man,’ she said. ‘In an airplane.’

  Edward laughed. Before he could get any further, Claire was grateful for the interruption of plates being removed and the pudding being served. She turned to Toby and hoped he might either talk about books or make another date but he had Georgina on his other side, and the two of them seemed engrossed in some gossip that Claire couldn’t follow.

  As they were finishing dessert and the accompanying sweet wine Mr Faulkner tapped his glass. ‘We’re so pleased you could all be here,’ he began. ‘My wife and I want to make an announcement.’

  Claire looked across the table at Imogen who was looking like the cat who had got the cream. She wondered what it would be like to grow up in a house like this, wear clothes like that, and go to a school like Oxford University. It clearly wasn’t enough, because Imogen was obviously working toward something higher. Claire didn’t feel envious, but she did feel very different.

  ‘We are delighted,’ Mr Faulkner went on, ‘to welcome Malcolm into our family. It seems he has the courage to want to marry Imogen.’

  ‘George,’ Mrs Faulkner chided gently. ‘I believe Malcolm is to be congratulated.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Faulkner. ‘Here, here,’ he began and murmurs of it ran around the table. Everyone lifted their glass so Claire followed. Selfishly she thought of herself, instead of the happy couple. Now Im’s engagement was official, Claire realized that the actual marriage meant she would be homeless again. She could only hope it was going to be a long engagement because she couldn’t face going back to Mrs Watson’s. Claire pushed the thought out of her mind when Toby said something witty, and Imogen and Malcolm kissed chastely. And Claire looked at Toby. She hoped that he would exchange a look with her, just to give her the slightest encouragement, but he kept his eyes on the happy couple and Claire had to be satisfied with that.

  When it was time to leave, Mr Faulkner called a mini cab for Claire. Imogen and Malcolm were spending the night with the Faulkners, and though she knew the ride back to Kensington would be expensive, Claire thought the splurge was worth it. She kissed Toby goodbye, shook hands with Thomas, and then was quite surprised when Edward offered her a ride. ‘Is it out of your way?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a bit. I have to go west anyway. It would be my pleasure,’ he insisted and called to cancel the mini cab.

  It was only as they were leaving that Claire, seeing Thomas in profile as he walked away beside Toby, remembered who he was. He had done the layout for her flyer. The computer graphics specialist that Toby had sent her to. She remembered
that he hadn’t liked her then, and he seemed not to now. But before she had time to think about it, Edward began talking about his flat on the river, his spaniel, and a pub that he knew right on the Thames that got half-submerged in a very high tide. ‘I’ll take you sometime. Give me a shout.’ He jotted down his number and gave it to Claire. Though Claire wasn’t much interested in him she smiled, nodded and took the paper. At least he wasn’t asking her where her ‘people’ came from.

  They were silent for the rest of the trip back, but Claire looked out at the city and thought about the evening. The dinner had been delicious, the rooms beautiful, the guests (with the exception of Thomas) welcoming, and she told herself how lucky she was. She had a lovely place to live, some good friends, delightful work, and quite enough money. Even if her dress hadn’t been quite up to the standard, it was a size ten. And while Toby had not asked her out, he had smiled at her often. The dinner had been a success Claire decided, and so was her life in London.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Claire found that she had a talent for stocking Mrs Venables’s store, as well as waiting on customers. She was really interested in their projects, delighted to help them with pattern selection or knotty – sometimes literally – knitting problems. And when the shop was empty of customers she never tired of chatting with Mrs Venables. They told each other stories from their past, and while Claire found Mrs Venables’s traditional English upbringing in the country the most charming of fairy tales, Mrs Venables in turn found Claire’s stories of Tottenville, Manhattan, and of Tina and her friends absolutely riveting. To her it all seemed exotic. In fact, something that the women shared was the mutual attraction they had to the exotic in one another, as well as the deep similarities. Both of them were self-effacing, both loved to read, both had a sly, unexpected sense of humor, and of course there was their passion for knitting. In very short order Claire finished her lap robe and Mrs Venables declared it a ‘treasure’. In the following Saturday’s nine o’clock class Mrs Venables insisted on displaying it across the table to the astonishment, praise and envy of the attendees.