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 Barclays 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.
Claire explained her project as the elderly woman nodded her approval, then began to write up the sale. She did it by hand, in a little receipt book with a carbon. Claire hadn’t seen one like it in years, not even in the old stores in Tottenville.
‘Very ambitious of you, my dear. You must promise to show it to me if you finish it while you’re in London.’
‘Oh, I’ll finish it here,’ Claire said with assurance. ‘I just live around the corner now.’
‘So we are neighbors. How delightful.’ The old woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Caroline Venables,’ she said. ‘And it’s very nice to see you again.’
‘Nice to see you. I’m Claire Bilsop.’
Mrs Venables looked at Claire’s gloves. ‘Well, I can see that somebody taught you how to knit properly. You can’t imagine how much slipshod work I see here. It’s actually quite distressing. I’ve sometimes offered to take up dropped stitches and people have told me they haven’t the time.’ She shook her head.
Though she didn’t want to be late for Mrs Patel, Claire knew she had to ask her question now. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I wondered if you might … well, if you needed …’ she paused. ‘Would you be interested in someone to help out here at the shop?’
Mrs Venables laughed, but in a gentle, almost embarrassed way. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘If only. The truth is, my dear, I barely have enough custom to keep the doors open. My son owns the shop, you see, and charges me almost nothing to rent it. He’s always quite eager for me to shut it down. I suppose he’s humoring me.’
Claire tried not to let her disappointment show. Normally this would be enough to truly daunt her but she’d had such a delightful day that, for once, she had courage to continue in the face of adversity. ‘It’s a pity about the business,’ she said. ‘But I noticed you do only half a day on Saturday and you close early in the week. With most women working during the day …’
‘Ah, but I couldn’t do more. I’m not really young, you know.’ Mrs Venables smiled. ‘I need a nap at noon and I close at four.’
‘That’s when I could help out,’ Claire said, trying to sound relaxed rather than desperate.
‘But I couldn’t pay you.’
‘Oh, that wouldn’t matter. Not at first.’
‘Or at last, I’m afraid. I simply don’t do enough business, you see.’
‘You know,’ Claire said, ‘I think there’s a way to attract quite a few more customers. Have you advertised?’
Mrs Venables laughed again. ‘Oh, my dear. You are hardly talking to a businesswoman. I wouldn’t know where to begin. And I wouldn’t even like to consider the costs. And knitting seems to have gone out of favor. You know, young women today all go out to work. They have no time for homey practices.’ Claire considered this. ‘Anyway, my dear, I would love the company and the help but you see it simply isn’t practical.’
Claire nodded. Before she had a chance to be disappointed she remembered the time. ‘Well, I must go. I do have a job.’
‘Very well, but do drop in again. I’m longing to see how the throw progresses.’
Claire nodded. She wanted to prove to Mrs Venables that young women – anyone for that matter – could take the time to participate in ‘homey practices’.