Wish Upon a Star (43 page)

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.

‘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 afraid 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?’

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?’