The following morning Claire went to the shop for seven. She had not consulted with or asked permission of either Mrs Venables or Nigel to do so but felt that some response to the loyal following they had created was necessary. She would explain to those who didn’t know about Mrs Venables’s illness, teach what she could and leave her number for women who required more help. For she could help them, at least until she left. Exactly when that would be she wasn’t sure since, although she had set a date for the wedding, Imogen had not yet announced (or probably even determined) the day she would move out. So there could be one more farewell class.
Nigel had called to tell her that Mrs Venables would be released from the hospital on Monday. It had taken a few extra days to complete her assessment, since she had begun to progress so rapidly. Apparently, though she would need assistance at first, the medical staff expected she would be able to become self-sufficient once more, or at least close enough to it so that she would require only a little bit of help – even that might not be for long. Claire was relieved not only for Mrs Venables but also for herself. Although the doctor had reassured her that the classes had not caused Mrs Venables’s illness, she had still felt guilty. But in the end, the damage was minimal.
Claire unlocked the doors early but was unprepared just the same. The first wave of women were in before nine. She helped several women increase the jumpers they were working on, helped Mrs Willis set in a shoulder, taught Charlotte and her friends to cast off and pick up for button holes, turned heels on two pairs of socks for Julie Watts and was exhausted by eleven – when the second wave hit big time. Claire carried on: picking up stitches, deciphering patterns, advising on yarns, and continued with many of the morning class’s problems straight into the afternoon, when the third wave hit, and continued past three o’clock. Then what with people picking up special orders, boxes of stock needing to be unpacked, and new purchases of both wool and needles, Claire had no time for even a tea break, much less a minute to think about Michael Wainwright.
In addition to helping with the difficulties and technical questions the women brought to her, Claire had to make apologies for the missed classes, explain about Mrs Venables’s illness, accept sympathy and break the news that the shop would close.
This was greeted in several different ways. Some women were sad and made their sadness obvious. Others seemed to maintain their English cool. But, to her surprise, more than a handful of women became angry and outraged. ‘Ridiculous,’ snapped Mrs Lyons-Hatchington. ‘Where will I come to knit? This is an excellent location. There’s no reason for Mrs Venables to shut down. She has you to manage things.’ And her friend, Mrs Cruikshank, dropped not just a stitch but the entire jumper she was working on when she heard the news. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘This has been such a satisfying endeavor. I shall not allow it.’
Claire smiled. Some of these women were so imperious, either because of their husbands’ positions or their own business or social success. They were used to getting what they wanted. Their reactions were difficult to deal with but she had handled them and, in this, Claire found two kinds of satisfaction: She herself was wanted, a useful and appreciated commodity; and, in a contrary way, she enjoyed being able to give them ‘no’ for an answer. No, Mrs Venables would not continue. No, nor would she. No, the shop would not stay open. No, she wouldn’t give lessons elsewhere – as if they would come en masse to Camden and take tea in Mrs Patel’s back room! For without a place to live, it was foolish for her to even consider continuing. Then she smiled some more, assisted everyone, expressed regrets, answered questions, wrapped packages, and at the end of the day closed the shop up.
As she put the keys in her purse, Leonora Atkins hurried up. She hadn’t been to class and Claire assumed she needed some help or some merchandise. ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve just closed up,’ Claire said. ‘But if you need something I can …’
‘I need to talk to you,’ Leonora told her. ‘Why don’t I just walk along with you? You live nearby don’t you?’ Claire nodded.
‘I know that when we talked about another knitting shop you weren’t interested. But I’ve done some research since, and I’ve come up with a good place to get some capital from. I just thought that with Mrs Venables’s situation you might be reconsidering …’
Claire shook her head. It wouldn’t be fair to Mrs Venables – it would feel like cashing in on her misfortune. And she didn’t have the emotional resources for this kind of enterprise now, anyway.
Claire must have shown some of her feelings because Leonora smiled and shook her head. ‘Of course, I didn’t really mean for you to think about it now. I know how … involved you are. But I’d hate to see someone else take advantage of a market niche. This would be so right for you. And lucrative.’ When Claire said nothing Leonora shrugged. ‘Just a thought,’ she added. ‘As a friend.’ They had come to a corner. ‘I have to go north here,’ she said as if she felt that her deal had gone south. Claire shrugged.
‘See you soon,’ Claire said and turned away.
It was only then that she had time to think about Michael Wainwright, but not much. She had to talk to Mrs Patel. Without even stopping at home to wash or change she walked to the tube to go to Mrs Patel’s. Only when she was seated on the Piccadilly Line for the long run, did she have a chance to consider Michael’s offer. It seemed like weeks since their encounter, but it was only yesterday. She had only four or five days before he left. While she had nothing to lose by seeing him again, she also had nothing to gain. A few dinners, a night or two at the Berkeley? His flirting and attention would be more than pleasant, but where would it leave her in the end? Claire wasn’t just concerned about her dignity. She remembered the long and painful process of recovering from his behavior and the emptiness it had left – an emptiness that still resonated. She certainly didn’t need that kind of pain again. But as she changed trains she remembered how his body had felt next to her own.
Only the thought of Mrs Patel soothed her. She wasn’t going there to work or fulfill an obligation today, but because she felt Mrs Patel would understand and speak to her condition in a way that no one else could. After all, she’d stood up to a man and made a life for herself.
The moment she walked into the shop she knew her instincts were right. Mrs Patel took one look at Claire’s face, finished giving change, ushered the customer out and locked the door behind Claire. ‘What is it? Has she died? But she was doing so well.’
‘No, no. Mrs Venables leaves hospital on Monday afternoon.’
‘Then what is it? You must sit down. You don’t look well.’
‘You’re the one who ought to sit down,’ Claire said, looking at Mrs Patel’s swollen ankles.
‘Oh, I’ve been sitting down all day. Maudie did everything. Never you mind. What’s up?’ Claire hesitated, but Mrs Patel was clearly going to be implacable. ‘Come on now, you’ll have to blow the gaff.’
Claire looked at her curiously.
‘Spill the peas or whatever they say,’ Mrs Patel encouraged.
Claire sat on a box and put her head in her hands. She managed to tell Mrs Patel the whole long story of Michael, ending with the conversation at the wine bar.
‘That takes the biscuit. So he’s the reason you came to London?’ Claire nodded. ‘And once you walked out you never saw him or heard from him?’ Claire nodded again. For some reason her throat had closed up. She felt ready to cry. But she was over him. She knew she was. ‘And now he’s back?’ Mrs Patel narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, he’s a clever dick. Very, very sly. It took him this long to see your virtues? Thick as a plank, isn’t he?’
Claire almost laughed, despite her tight throat. ‘You don’t understand. In New York I’m nothing. I was a clerk in an office. I really …’
‘You really underestimate the effect you have on people,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘You are not just anyone, you know.’ Claire blinked. In fact she felt that she was just anyone, but perhaps a little duller. Mrs Patel sniffed. ‘Why do you think he came back to you? For the same reason Lak kept coming back to me: because we are so good, so sure of what we do, that it’s irresistible and irritating to them because they are neither. Do you know why Lak hit me? Really?’ Claire, fascinated but horrified, shook her head. ‘He was envious. Yes, it sounds mad, but it’s true. I could do so many things that he couldn’t. He tried to convince me that I was stupid.’ Mrs Patel laughed, but it wasn’t because it was funny. ‘At first I believed him, but I came to see it was only that he was stupid. Well, not stupid perhaps, but slow. There were many things I didn’t know, but I could learn them. How could he learn when he couldn’t admit that he didn’t know everything? He had always been treated like a prince in his family. Then he came here, to London and to me. It was hard to learn that he was not so excellent, really not very important at all. I was faster, I was stronger, and I was braver. It’s a woman’s burden.’
Claire thought of Michael Wainwright. There was a certain logic to Mrs Patel’s world-view. Hadn’t Michael found out he wasn’t so special, so excellent at everything he did? And hadn’t Michael told her he admired her courage, or something like that? Claire shook her head as if it would help her to wake up.
‘Don’t you disagree with me,’ Mrs Patel said, misunderstanding Claire’s gesture. ‘I’ve been married to a lunatic. I know what I know.’ She raised her hand and waggled her finger at Claire the way she sometimes did at Devi. ‘Don’t you go on pretending you don’t know how special you are. It isn’t attractive.’ She paused, putting her hands on her belly. ‘So what will you do about this ridiculous man?’
‘I don’t know,’ Claire admitted. ‘I think it’s probably best if I don’t call him. But I am tempted to. Anyway, I thought I’d talk to you.’
Mrs Patel folded her arms with satisfaction. ‘Very good idea,’ she said. ‘But why not call him?’
Claire paused. Had Mrs Patel been listening to her whole story? ‘Because he hurt me,’ Claire admitted. ‘And because I don’t trust him.’
‘Well, in that you are wise. There is no reason to trust him. But remember, he did not really know you and everyone – especially men – makes mistakes. I don’t think it was wrong of me to give Lak another chance. But so many chances, that was dim. Of course, he was the father of my children and that is quite a different thing.’ Mrs Patel narrowed her eyes again. ‘I think here you can take the chance to be hurt, especially if you are on your guard. And there is a great deal to benefit from, if he is telling the truth.’ She sat down. ‘Now here’s something I’ll tell you. You don’t pretend his behavior didn’t happen. After Lak begged to come home the first time we both pretended. This man has hurt you, perhaps as much as Lak hurt me. So you tell him what you suspect he is. And add that if you see him he must provide assurances. He must give you tokens of good faith in behavior and goods.’
For a moment Claire thought she might have been transported to a souk in Pakistan. Good faith in behavior and goods? She pictured Michael rolling out a silk rug with a flourish and almost laughed aloud. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is you must ask him his intentions. Of course, it will be better if a male in the family would do it for you but you can do it yourself. You must ask him: does he mean to take care of you and protect you? If he does, how will he show it? You have a right to know before you make any decision.’
The logic and audacity of this made Claire’s eyes open wide. ‘Just ask him?’ she said.
‘Why not? That’s the first step. You know, for thousands of years marriages were arranged by families.’
‘But we’re not talking about …’
‘Of course you are. You aren’t talking about a brief affair are you? Or even a long one, wasting your time. You must find out his intentions. But then you must see if his behavior indicates they are sincere. He must make up for the wrong he has done you. Is he proposing marriage? He had better be.’
‘But he barely knows me,’ Claire protested.
‘He knows you well enough to travel all across the ocean to see you. And what good does knowing somebody do? You think you know somebody for twenty years and find out they’re not trustworthy. But if they tell you they will be trustworthy and they give you assurances in behavior and goods, then you can begin to trust.’
There was a mad logic to it all that fascinated Claire. ‘What goods?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps a ring, for a start. Or a place to live.’
‘Are you crazy? I should ask him for a place to live?’
‘Don’t you need one?’
Mrs Patel had gone too far. ‘But we only spent four days together,’ Claire reminded her.
‘Four hours, four days, four years, four decades. You gave yourself to him. Does this count for nothing? I don’t know that he will be able to keep his word. Choices like this are always a gamble. So, to help make your decision you must know what assurances he can provide. They cannot be easy ones. If he is rich, and you say he is, then he must give you very rich gifts. And if his family is substantial he must certainly take you to them.’
Claire shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t. Ours is a different culture,’ she said.
‘Oh, don’t pretend we are discussing yogurt,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘With men and women it is always the same. All stories are the same story. Love and honor or betrayal and disgrace. What else is there to consider?’
There was a knocking on the door. One of the regular customers stood outside pointing to his wrist.
‘Ah. It’s Mr Jepson. He must have his eggs.’ Mrs Patel sighed. She got up to open the door and patted Claire on the shoulder. ‘You think about this, missy.’
They got busy then, and there was dinner with Devi, Safta and Fala. Claire helped close up, but she did think about it all the way home.