Wish Upon a Star (33 page)

‘Safta! This is wonderful! Did you do this yourself?’ Safta nodded. ‘It’s a perfect carnation,’ Claire told her.

‘I have to keep moving plants,’ Safta explained. ‘There’s only the one window and they don’t get enough light. I have a rotation system.’

Claire looked at the windowsill and beyond to the desolate little plot behind the shop. A thought began to form but just then the kettle began to whistle.

‘I better make the tea,’ Safta said.

‘Biscuit! Biscuit!’ Devi cried.

‘And I better bring some to your mom,’ Claire said. But the two of them exchanged a look of understanding.

But the friendship with Mrs. Patel was about to be damaged. ‘I’ve had a stroke of luck,’ Claire told Mrs. Patel. ‘I found a new place.’

Mrs. Patel smiled. ‘That must be a pleasure. If you’re living in the same spot as that Maudie it must be tatty. Did someone see the note we posted?’

Claire shook her head. ‘It was another friend. He helped me get a room. It’s really lovely. Small, but clean and sunny and I only have to share the bathroom with the woman who lives in the flat.’

‘How close is it?’ Mrs. Patel asked as she sipped her tea, her hand on her belly.

‘Oh. Quite far away from here.’

‘That’s too bad. I hope it isn’t inconvenient.’

‘Oh, I can manage the underground,’ Claire said airily. ‘I’m hoping to move right in.’

‘Move right out, more likely,’ Mrs. Patel murmured, but Claire didn’t hear her.

Claire didn’t have much to pack and certainly wouldn’t mind telling Mrs. Watson that she was leaving. Her only problems were her lack of money and the question of traveling from Kensington to Mrs. Patel’s. If she did, it would eat up more than four pounds of her ‘salary’ each day. If she didn’t she was without any income at all.

Sitting on the bed the next morning, she counted out her cash. She would have to give Imogen three hundred pounds in advance, and although that was a lot of money she counted herself lucky. It was a cheap rent, a lovely room, a chance to make a new friend and apparently she didn’t have to give a month’s security.

She’d also have to buy curtains, blankets, sheets and towels. Though it was an extra expense, the idea actually thrilled her. She’d never done it before. She didn’t suppose they had Bed, Bath and Beyond in London. She wondered where she would go and she decided that she’d also buy herself an electric kettle, a teapot and cups to match. Of course, all this wouldn’t leave much of her fund. She wondered if there was someplace else she could get work and it occurred to her again that the old woman at the knitting store might need part-time help, even just to dust, though she wouldn’t make much at that either. She sighed. Writing to her mother and asking for money would be useless at any time and especially so now when she had actually charged things on her mother’s card. Claire sat for a while, trying to think of what else she could do. Just then there was a tiny noise at the door. Claire turned in time to see the edges of two envelopes being pushed through. She got up and almost ran to them.

Both had the return address of Crayden Smithers. She recognized Tina’s handwriting immediately, but the address was typed on the other. She tore Tina’s open.

Claire. I don’t know who you think you are. Ever since Michael Wainwright asked you out you’ve been acting snootier than usual. What’s the matter? Couldn’t you come back and face me once he dumped you? Who do you know in London? Like you might know somebody
.

Everybody is asking me where you are. And I tell them I’m not your mother. Marie Two said she thought you were pregnant, but I know you weren’t when you left. Ha, ha
.

I think it takes a lot of nerve to take other people’s money and just disappear like you were the Who Deanie or something. You couldn’t even afford to go to Atlantic City
.

For your information, Mr. Wonderful is back to his old tricks. Now he’s not just going out with Ms. Rensselaer but he started up with some new one who owns a fancy art gallery. I’m making reservations for them all over town. Are you dating anyone yet? Yeah, right
.

Your mother called me twice. She says you wrote her too. Fine. Like she’s your best friend too. Anthony says I shouldn’t care because you’re just selfish but I guess I have too much heart to be like that. Too bad you don’t
.

Your ex-friend Tina

Claire stood with the letter in her hand. She had to read it through a second time before she began to understand what she was looking at. For a little while she couldn’t understand it—not at all. What had she done to make Tina so angry? Had there been any slight before she left? Had Michael said something to Tina? She tried to think, but she knew she had left on good terms and couldn’t think of a single thing that Michael might say that would affect Tina in any way. That was when she had realized what she had done wrong: she’d done something adventurous.

She read the letter again and became more sure with every line she went through. People in families, and even in friendships, played certain roles. Her role with Tina was that of a sidekick; someone played by Joan Cusack in a movie. Tina played the lead, of course. Tina had a flamboyant family, an active social life, a fiancé, and marriage plans. Claire had to listen. She couldn’t remember any movie where, halfway through, the second banana runs off to Europe. Tina was outraged. Claire had deviated from the script. It left Tina with no part. So, if she couldn’t be the sidekick, so Tina could stay the heroine, she would have to be a victim. The fact was that Tina loved movies about victims—beaten wives, abused children, raped teenagers, all of it played well. Claire couldn’t bear to read the letter again. She folded it, put it back in the envelope and hid it in her pocket.

She looked at the other envelope with misgivings. Had Joan gotten her address and decided to send her an insulting note that fired her? Whatever. Claire shrugged and tore the envelope open.

Dear Claire
,

Thank you for your card. I’ve needed a photo of the Queen Mother for some time. How exciting! You are having what sounds like the beginning of a lovely adventure. How I envy you
.

Good for you. My suggestion (not advice, I never give advice) would be to resign and stay on as long as you can. I took the liberty of checking in with personnel and found that you are owed quite a lot of overtime. Over eleven hundred dollars’ worth, it appears. I thought it might come in handy, and I enclose it. If you have any trouble cashing this check, please call collect. All banks should honor it, and if they don’t Mr. Crayden will want to know why
.

As they say in London, ‘Jobs are thick on the ground.’ You are resourceful and can always pick one up if you have to. And we are moving ahead with some plans to open a branch in London. Who knows? Perhaps there’s a job for both of us there. With hopes I don’t see you too soon
,

Abigail Samuels

As Claire picked the note up in disbelief, a check fluttered out onto the floor. She picked it up and found it was very close to twelve hundred dollars. Claire was certain that she’d been paid for any overtime she’d ever done. She didn’t know what Abigail had done and didn’t really want to think about it in detail. She just looked at the Crayden Smithers check in front of her and hoped that Abigail hadn’t embezzled the money, though she supposed that embezzlers didn’t bother with such small amounts—small amounts, that is, to people like Michael Wainwright. Claire stared at the check and saw her own future in it: a lovely room, soft sheets, fluffy towels and new friends.

By late morning Claire had said goodbye to Maudie, who promised to bring any mail that came in to Mrs. Watson to her at Mrs. Patel’s, and had been to thank Toby for introducing her to Imogen. Her reward, aside from the visit itself, was his promise to visit her as soon as she was settled. She consulted her list. The next items were cashing her check and shopping for the sheets and towels. Toby had advised her to stay out of Harrods and Selfridges and to go to ‘Marks and Sparks’ or BHS.

Claire walked up Regent Street and took the time to wonder at Liberty’s lovely Tudor-style building. When she got to Oxford Street she turned left at the busy intersection and enjoyed the sophisticated feeling of not being a tourist and instead being a shopper for her ‘flat in South Ken’. First she cashed the check at a branch of Barclay’s bank, then turned back to cross Regent Street again.

When she got to Marks and Spencer she was at first overwhelmed. She found the linen department and spent a long time looking. In the end she decided on a lilac and gray pattern of flowers set on a white ground. It would, she thought, go with the room as well as with the rug and there were matching curtains! She bought two fitted sheets, two top sheets and four pillowcases—quite a splurge when she saw the cost of them. Then, of course, she realized she would need pillows and bought two of the cheapest she could find. She also bought a white cotton blanket and then went for a late lunch in the café. That was when she remembered about the kettle.

A shop assistant directed her to John Lewis where she saw one that, compared to some of the others, looked like a miniature. It was white with a pattern of green vines in a celery color. Small lavender flowers were dotted among the vines. Thrilled, she knew it was meant for her.

At the very last, she went to John Lewis’s china department. She looked and looked, falling in love with a pattern and switching her affection to another. But her bags were already bulky and tedious to carry, and when she realized that all of the cups, saucers and teapots that she liked were not inexpensive she looked at all her purchases and began to be concerned about the amount of money she had spent. So, instead of buying china she allowed herself a final splurge on a taxi.

She gave her destination to the driver. ‘A Yank are you?’ he asked in a friendly way. She nodded. ‘Where are you from then?’ When she told him New York he became very chatty indeed. ‘Love the place,’ he said. ‘Went with me wife two years ago. Couldn’t believe the pace. It wasn’t like Orlando.’

‘Have you been to Florida?’ she asked.

‘Oh, sure. Made that trip twice with the kids. So, what are you doing in Camden? The market isn’t really at its best today, you know. And it looks like you’ve done plenty of shopping already.’ He laughed.

‘It’s not for shopping,’ she said. ‘I live there, but I’m moving.’ She said it proudly, and he seemed to accept it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘So, where are you moving to?’

‘South Kensington,’ she told him and named the street.

‘Hey, moving up in the world,’ he said. ‘Will you need help to move your things then? I can give you my mobile number.’

It was a good idea. She hadn’t thought about how she was going to get her luggage and her new purchases over to the new flat. ‘That would be great,’ she told him. And when they arrived at Mrs. Watson’s she paused before she paid him. Why not do it now she thought? It wasn’t as if she owed Mrs. Watson money—the woman wouldn’t allow that to happen—and she certainly didn’t have to bid her goodbye. Though she never would have considered leaving anything in a New York taxi, she looked at the driver’s friendly face and decided to chance it. ‘Could you wait for me?’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m leaving my shopping. I only have a few more things to get.’

He shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

She left her purchases in the backseat and ran up the stairs. In less than five minutes she was back, a bit breathless but with all of her worldly goods. She was delighted with her stealth, and hoped that Mrs. Watson would at least wonder where she had gone off to, though the woman would probably only think about who might provide her next eighteen or twenty pounds, depending on how many baths they required.

The ride to Imogen’s took a while, but Claire told herself this wasn’t the time to look at the meter. Instead she looked out the window and tried to mentally follow the route without opening her map. She watched the people walking their dogs and waiting for buses. She felt very regal in the taxi and realized it wouldn’t take her long to get used to a luxury like this one. Oh well. She reminded herself there wouldn’t be any need for taxis in the near future.

She was almost disappointed when they got to Imogen’s, but then the excitement hit her again. Giving up another of her twenty-pound notes, she over-tipped madly, and carefully maneuvered herself and all her purchases up the stairs to her new home.

She didn’t have time to unpack. She had to go right back to Camden for her job, but despite all the shopping she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. She left a note with the three hundred pounds on Imogen’s sideboard and ran out the door humming. As she made her way to the tube station it seemed to her that she must be the happiest person in all of London.

But walking by the knitting shop she decided she had enough time to go in. There was something she wanted to ask. Also, having finished the second glove, she had no knitting project and she needed more wool so she opened the door to the shop without a tremble. The room was empty of customers but the woman looked up at the sound of the bell. ‘Oh. Hello, my dear. Finished with the gloves, are you?’

Claire smiled. She made her way to the counter. ‘Yes.’ She held up her hands warmly encased in them, then took them off and laid them on the counter for the woman’s inspection.

‘Oh. Lovely.’

‘I thought I’d try a lap robe next.’

‘Really?’

Claire thought of the little chintz-covered chair in the lavender room. An afghan made of lavender and celery baby wool would be beautiful as well as practical. For a moment she imagined exactly how it would feel to sit in the chair and work the wool between her fingers. ‘You have inspired me,’ she said. She took down some beautiful merino wool and counted the skeins. There were six skeins of lavender but only five of the celery. She decided she would do stripes, with a lavender border. For the lavender she’d use a size two needle; for the celery she’d use a four. The work would be intricate, but she would enjoy it and the throw would be beautiful and subtly textured when she was finished. And she wouldn’t have to buy yarn again for quite a while.