Wish Upon a Star (52 page)

‘Ah, of course. You are an angel. Well, I’ll just drop you home.’

That night as she tried to sleep, Edward’s comment came back to her again and again. It echoed Michael’s calling her that, his voice so full of tenderness it was still hard to disbelieve its sincerity. She could almost hear him. After an hour of tossing she got up, went to the phone and dialed the Berkeley.

When Claire came out of her room on Tuesday morning Imogen was up and lounging in her pajamas. ‘No work?’ Claire asked.

‘All work and no shopping makes Imogen a hostile girl,’ Im announced. ‘Anyway, I have to put together something roughly like a trousseau before Mother takes me shopping next weekend—you know what a fiasco
that
will be.’ Claire had to nod. Shopping with her own mother created fiasco after fiasco, though she was sure that, unlike her own mother, Mrs. Faulkner would never try to press a Wonderbra on Imogen. ‘I’ve made a pot of tea,’ Imogen told her. ‘Oh, do sit down. Tell me what Edward said to you? He’s quite besotted. Do you really not like him? Malcolm tells me he’s got absolutely tons of cash stashed away in Jersey and the Caymans.’

Claire laughed and shook her head. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down beside her friend. ‘Immy,’ she said, using the diminutive that Malcolm and her family used but Claire had never yet dared. ‘I’m going to have to go back to New York. I’m afraid I won’t be able to take the flat.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Is everything all right at home?’

For a moment Claire longed to tell her that everything at home was all wrong. But what was the point? ‘Nobody’s ill. It isn’t like that. I just…well, I don’t have a real job anymore and I really can’t get one without papers. I won’t be able to get those, which means I can’t afford the flat, even though I love it.’ Claire felt her lips tremble, but she’d cover it. ‘I’ll just have to go back,’ she said.

Her effort was wasted. Imogen, of course, didn’t notice how upset she was and instead thought of the impact the news had on her. ‘But I wanted you to come to my wedding,’ she said. ‘And are you sure there isn’t, well, someone back home you miss? Some man.’

Claire shook her head. Recovered her composure and smiled. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘the man I rather fancy is here in London. I’m having dinner with him tonight.’

‘Oh! Aren’t you sly? I knew there had to be someone. So? When do I get to meet him? Are you going back to the States with him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she told Imogen and then, because she simply couldn’t help it, her whole history with Michael Wainwright poured out. By the time she finished telling about the meeting in the wine bar, Imogen was completely entranced.

‘I’d be cheesed off, 1 can tell you. But it does sound so romantic,’ she said. ‘I could sell it as a novel in a minute. So, what are you going to do?’

‘That’s just it,’ Claire admitted. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Well,’ Imogen said, ‘I certainly do. You’re obviously mad about him and he’s come all this way because he’s mad about you.’

Claire shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure,’ she said. ‘He might just be here on business and have decided to look me up. He plays well with others but he’s no good on his own. And he’s just dumped his fiancée—or she dumped him. He might only be rebounding.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’ Imogen launched into the story of how she ‘pulled’ Malcolm, and a few of the blokes she had gone out with before. ‘It’s rather a game, Claire,’ she summed up. ‘It’s too bad, but you have to play it. Once you make them think that you have better things to do, they come back and just want to sit on your lap and purr. Look at Edward. A dozen women have tried for him. You show no interest and you could reel him in.’

Claire shook her head again but Im continued. ‘If you want this Michael it’s your best chance. You know how it is with a cat: they only come to you when you’re reading the paper and then they lie all over it, begging for your attention. It seems you’ve read the paper long enough and now he’s begging for your attention.’

‘Oh, I don’t want anyone on those terms,’ Claire protested. ‘Anyway, once I do pay attention he’s likely to…’ she thought of the English term. ‘He’s likely to just piss off and, well, I’ll be…’

‘You’re not going to let that happen. Not if you want him. All you have to do is play hard to get. For god’s sake, meet him in the bar but be there with another man. Tell you what, I’ll let you borrow Malcolm. That’ll fox him good and proper. And then you introduce them and excuse yourself.’

So that’s exactly what she did.

‘The lady would like the sole and I’ll have the prawns,’ Michael told the waiter. He looked across the table at Claire. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a starter?’ Claire shook her head and smoothed the lap of her dress. She and Imogen had gone to Harvey Nichols and spent the entire morning shopping for something for Claire to wear to dinner. They had decided, at last, on a simple Anna Sui, in a shocking cerise with a pattern of leaves. Then she bought heels—very high ones—in the same insane color. And Imogen had bought her a pair of earrings that were far too sparkly but, Claire had to admit, were perfect for Vong’s.

She had visited Mrs. Venables after she got back from her shopping with Im and then raced home to put on her new finery.

The restaurant was just around the corner from the hotel and very busy. Claire, surprised to find she was now a perfect size ten, almost felt at home in her new clothes but wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the menu or the food. She simply wanted to look at Michael and to watch him drink her in.

When they had met in the Berkeley’s bar she had watched him react, both to her looks and to Malcolm, who seemed to enjoy playing his role. After Claire had kissed Malcolm goodbye and sent him off to have dinner with Imogen, Michael had taken her arm almost possessively. And she knew she must look good because when they got to Vong’s she had been fussed over by the maître d’ as if she was somebody. Clothes might not make the man, but they certainly help a woman, she thought. The unfairness of life had never been lost on her but today, with a new lipstick, a lot of mascara and the perfect outfit, she felt as if the score might be evened up a bit.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Michael asked. ‘I won’t be an ass and assume that I know. It seems that there are a lot of things I assumed about you, all of them wrong.’ His eyes flicked over her.

Claire merely smiled. ‘Would you mind a Chardonnay?’ she asked. ‘We’re both having fish.’ It was the only white wine she knew but it sounded knowledgeable and Michael seemed only too happy to comply.

There was an awkward pause while they waited for service. Claire, thinking of the advice from both Mrs. Patel and Imogen, tried hard not to break the silence or make it easy for Michael. After all, why should she? He certainly hadn’t made it easy for her.

‘Well, what have you been doing?’ Michael asked. She dared to look at him. Handsome devil. But he did seem somehow, just a little less…smooth? Secure? ‘Are you working over here? And who was that Malcolm?’

Claire looked down to hide her smile of pleasure and the cerise of her lap gave her confidence. ‘I’ve actually found work I really like.’ She told him a little bit about the shop, the classes, and Mrs. Venables. ‘The nicest part is how much I enjoy it. It doesn’t really feel like work. I like the teaching, selecting the stock, putting out the wools. It’s all fun.’ She made it a point
not
to tell him that the shop was going to close. She talked for a little while about some of the more interesting customers and how she had started the classes.

‘Ingenious,’ Michael said. ‘I’m always reading about young socialites going to hen parties where they crochet or something. Knitting seems to be the “it” thing, the book circles of the new millennium. You hopped on a hot trend.’

Claire shrugged. ‘I’ve been knitting since I was a kid,’ she said. She couldn’t help looking at him again. His skin had a wonderful color—darker than pale but lighter than one of those permanent suntans. Despite any setback in love or business, he seemed to have a healthy glow, and his hair had the shine of a well-cared-for pet. He actually looked more handsome than ever with that slightly anxious look in his eyes. Sternly, she told herself not to appreciate these things, though she couldn’t deny to herself that they moved her. She looked down at his hand—near hers on the table. She remembered how it had felt on her body. Then she thought of Mrs. Patel’s advice.

While they ate dinner she asked him about Crayden Smithers. He filled her in very generally. No mention of the problems that Abigail had written of. She managed to finish her fish before she asked, in a voice as neutral as she could manage, ‘And how is Katherine Rensselaer?’

He had the good grace to flush a bit. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘We don’t see each other now.’

They ordered dessert, though Claire was feeling a little bit sick to her stomach. It wasn’t until the profiteroles arrived that Michael addressed the real reason they were there.

He leaned forward and tried to take her hand, but she gently pulled it back. ‘Look, Claire. I’m sure you despise me. But even if you never speak to me again I want to thank you for giving me this chance to talk with you. I’ve already told you that I know I made a mistake and that I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re so…individualistic. You’re not like anyone else I know.’

Claire shrugged. ‘I’m sure you haven’t met anyone like me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you move in Staten Island circles.’

‘Come on, Claire. That isn’t fair. I know Tina and I’ve met plenty of her friends. I’m not saying anything against her, but I am saying that you’re nothing like her and my guess is you’re not much like any of the other girls you grew up with. The fact is, Claire, you are a very special person.’

Claire thought of the conversation she had had with Mrs. Patel. Could she be right? She reminded herself that Michael might say this to every one of the women he went out with. After all, every woman wanted to be special, and being special in Michael Wainwright’s eyes would make you very special indeed. But, ‘Thank you, Michael,’ she said. And she meant it. Even if she was just another girl that Michael pursued, she still felt somewhat honored, if only to be a notch on his belt. As long as she didn’t let him get under her skin, she told herself, she would be just fine.

And then Claire asked the question that all women want an answer to, an answer most men are so inadequate at giving. ‘What is it about me that’s so…well, that makes you think I’m special?’

Michael didn’t even pause. ‘Your courage. You gave yourself to me. I know that now, and you didn’t hold back. Then you walked away to start a new life without any safety net. And look at the work and the people you’ve already found. I’ve been back and forth to London for two decades but in two months you seem to have made more friends and done more authentic things than I…’ he paused. ‘You’re generous, Claire. You’re not like most of the people I know, always selfish, always playing the angles.’

He looked down at his untouched pudding. ‘I want to tell you something else,’ he said. ‘I spoke with Abigail Samuels.’

Claire blinked. She tried to remember exactly what she’d written to Abigail about her feelings for Michael and for a moment she panicked. But Abigail was her friend, she reminded herself. Surprised to hear this new development she was also interested. ‘About what?’ Claire asked.

‘About you. When I asked for your address, well, it wasn’t altogether pleasant.’ Claire allowed herself to smile. She imagined that a conversation with Abigail could be very unpleasant indeed. ‘Anyway,’ Michael said and flashed her a bit of his old grin, ‘she read me the riot act. She told me what kind of idiot I am and she had it pretty accurate.’

His grin dissolved and he looked away. For a moment Claire felt sorry for him. Abigail would not have minced words. ‘Anyway, she wouldn’t give me your address until I promised her that I was serious about you. And even then I could tell she wasn’t crazy about doing it.’ He shrugged and looked back at Claire. ‘I know I haven’t behaved well, and I’ve been spoiled all my life. But the fact is, Claire, I’ve had a lot of time to think. This tough financial climate and my…well, my poor performance, made me feel for the first time as if I was…vulnerable. No one can keep a winning streak running forever. I don’t want to go Buddhist on you, but even if you’re young and healthy and successful, in the end you’re going to lose everything. Death evens things out. And I don’t want to go through life or face my death without somebody beside me that I can trust and love. I know I haven’t been worthy of trust, but I swear that I can be trusted now. You know how well I focus on work when I want to. Well, now I’d like to focus on something else. At least part of the time. I’d like to focus on being with you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Would you consider going back to New York with me?’

The offer wasn’t something Claire was prepared for. She expected he would, perhaps, apologize some more and then…well, maybe want her to sleep with him. Maybe even ask her away for a weekend—one of his favorite strategies. But not that he would want her to go back to New York with him. What did that mean?

‘I know you’ve been making a life here,’ he said. ‘I saw you in the shop. Of course, I didn’t know that you were working there but, well, despite your friends, that Malcolm or whoever you’re seeing, do you think that you might want to come back?’

Claire thought of the reality she was facing. In a way it was completely unfair to let Michael think she’d been successful. But she wasn’t exactly lying, she told herself. Imogen would definitely approve. He was assuming things and she simply wasn’t correcting him. It was time, she decided, for her to speak.

‘Michael, I don’t want you to believe that I haven’t thought about you. I’ve thought about you very often. But I knew, even before I saw you in the bar with Katherine, that you didn’t take me seriously and you never would.’

He began to speak but she put up a hand and he stopped himself. ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she said. ‘In fact, I owe you a great deal. I never would have gotten here to London if not for you. And this trip has meant a tremendous amount to me. I have changed my life. You’re right about that. But you were the catalyst and I’ll always be grateful.’