Claire left the hotel the next morning feeling exhilarated. The sex with Michael had been wonderful – if anything better than she remembered. Perhaps it had been better than before. After all, now that Michael was a supplicant he had to prove himself to her. When Mrs Patel had talked about ‘tokens of behavior’ Claire didn’t think she meant that sort of behavior. But it really was part of the picture. Claire would not let herself be seduced by sex alone, but it was an important part of any relationship and Michael’s passion was mixed with what seemed like enormous tenderness and gratitude.
As she got on the underground Claire realized there had been two more reasons to sleep with Michael: because she hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time, and because it would further remind Michael of exactly what was at stake. As she took a seat in the train she smiled again. The sex had been so very, very satisfying and this time as she walked down the hotel hall she felt that it would be impossible for Michael to put her out of his mind.
The problem was that it began to seem equally impossible for her to put him out of her mind. Of course, she had taken that into consideration as the risk of sleeping with him. But somehow she hadn’t thought her longing to be loved would kick in quite so strongly. Life is dangerous if one takes risks. It is meaningless if one doesn’t.
In front of her was the painful process of leaving London, one way or another. Back at the flat she began, with a sigh, to pack up her belongings. Imogen had decided she would be leaving at the end of the month and Claire wanted to be sure she was out long before it was necessary. As she folded some of her clothes Michael’s face, his brow furrowed with longing, his voice insistent and hungry, came back to her. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Being truly wanted was so novel that it had a special thrill. Of course Edward wanted her, but that had seemed such a detached feeling with no passion at all, that she could hardly count it. The novelty of being wanted by somebody that she wanted back was something very special and it was the first time in her life Claire had experienced it.
She stopped her packing and looked out the window at the gardens. She would regret losing the view. How could she live without the civilizing influence of flower boxes, blooming parks, potted topiaries and front and back gardens everywhere? New York – even Michael’s luxurious apartment – could not compare.
But one thing she determined: she would not go with Michael because her other choices were unpleasant ones. She wouldn’t take the easy way out. It wouldn’t be easy because in the past months she had somehow gained a lot more pride than she once had. Even if she had failed to find a permanent home here, she had made a good effort and with only slightly better luck might have succeeded. If she had to return to New York – and it looked certain that she would have to – regardless of what happened with Michael she would not live with her mother. She might have to temporarily, of course, but she would make it only temporarily. And she wouldn’t keep living in Tottenville either. If she had found a place and a roommate in London she could find one in New York. And she would do it. If it couldn’t be in Manhattan, it would be somewhere else. But it would be her own place and it would be somewhere she felt comfortable and at peace.
She looked around her pretty room. Of course she couldn’t expect it to be this lovely. Claire felt a stab – a real physical pain – in her chest at the thought of leaving. In New York, somehow, she’d just felt like a lonely person in an indistinguishable crowd. Here she felt as if each person – though unknown to her – was separate and unique, that if she only spoke to them she would find a potential friend, an interesting story, or an eccentric passion. She knew she was probably wrong, that her prejudice was only that. New York would no doubt be full of as many stories, friends, and eccentrics if she’d only try. But London had been so very good to her – and for her – that having to leave was a reality too painful to contemplate at the moment.
She thought of the first evening she had expected to have dinner with Michael and the hundred dollars he had given her instead. And given to her in front of witnesses. The vast change in her position since then made her smile, but it was a rueful one. The humiliation and disappointment were still there. And always would be, though this reversal was especially pleasant to contemplate. Claire wasn’t spiteful and did not want to inflict any pain on Michael or anyone else but she was human. And there was …
Nigel! There was Nigel. She had forgotten all about her dinner date with him. She couldn’t believe it. Her hands actually began to shake. Mrs Venables had been such a good friend to her and, even if Nigel had been rude and even hostile at first, their relations had become so cordial that the thought of standing him up, blowing him off without even a phone call, upset her deeply. Only those who had been forgotten can understand the deep pain of it and she had forgotten Nigel altogether.
She dropped the sheet she had been folding and ran to the phone. Then she had to run back to her bedroom and search for his numbers. She only got his machine at the office, another at his flat, and no answer on his mobile. Perhaps he was looking at her number and refusing, out of pride, to answer it. She called the other two numbers and left long apologies, explaining how exhausted she was and how she had fallen asleep. She only felt a little bit guilty about the lie, since telling him the truth would have been impossibly hurtful. She also left an invitation to dinner, her treat as a token of apology.
She didn’t want to think about any pain she’d caused Nigel but she couldn’t stop thinking about pain she might feel in dealing with Michael. Thinking that her future was in his hands and that she would have to make the difficult judgment about whether or not he was trustworthy just upset her. Instead she kept returning to the feeling she had had when his arms were around her and how his voice in her ear had been almost unbearably thrilling. Claire shook her head as if she could shake out unwanted thoughts. Sleeping with Michael, she realized, had probably been a mistake. But how could she make a rational decision if she didn’t? And how could she be rational now that she had? All of her confidence from the morning seemed to leak away, leaving her, once again, insecure and more than a little frightened. Michael had had so many women that there was no reason for her to think that sex with her would make her more special in his eyes. Probably it had done the opposite. And though it had been wonderful, wasn’t giving it up – if she did – going to leave her feeling hungry and unsatisfied? Yet if she made her decision because of the passion she’d felt wouldn’t she regret … oh, it was all so confusing and disturbing.
Claire shook her head again. She would have to keep herself busy or she would go crazy. These thoughts were not going to help her. Right now she had to wait and see what ‘tokens in behavior and goods’ Michael came up with. Of course, there was always the possibility that he would come up with nothing; that she would never hear from him again. Perhaps, once again, she’d been a quick conquest, a diversion. The thought of that was too much to contemplate and, with a determination she did not feel, Claire gathered her purse and sweater, took an umbrella and left to do her tasks of the day.
She had promised to see Lady Ann. And after missing her appointment with Nigel she wasn’t going to miss any more. On her way to the meeting she tried to think what might be the reason for the invitation. She couldn’t imagine that Lady Ann wanted her to look at her knitting. Perhaps her mother had a difficulty. At any rate, she took the tube to Bond Street and walked along South Molton Street until she found the right address. It was an office, not a flat, and she took the lift to the third floor as Lady Ann had directed her to. When she arrived the office was bustling. And Lady Ann seemed to be the person in charge of all of the activity. It was her name on the door and in bold letters over the back of the reception desk.
After a few moments Ann Fenwick appeared and greeted her warmly. ‘Why don’t we go into my office,’ she asked. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps coffee?’ Claire declined both. They walked down a long hall, also filled with busy workers, to Lady Ann’s office. Claire was surprised to find it was decorated with chintz and floral wallpaper – very homey. She took a seat on the sofa and Lady Ann sat in a well-worn chair to her right. ‘Awfully bad news about Mrs Venables,’ she said. ‘My mother was very upset; you know, they’re about the same age. She hates to think of herself incapacitated.’
‘Actually, it isn’t as bad as they first thought,’ Claire said. ‘Tell your mother Mrs Venables is already home and talking. With a little more therapy she’ll probably be able to live on her own.’
‘But that’s wonderful!’ Lady Ann said. ‘So she will keep the shop open.’
‘I don’t know yet.’ Claire explained about Mrs Venables’s weakness, Nigel’s concerns and the fact that the building was up for sale.
‘Well,’ Lady Ann continued. ‘Would you go on and work in another knitting shop? Because, you see, my mother has got very fond not only of the classes but also of being there with other women. Before you started them she barely went out. Now she looks forward to them.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m going back to the States soon. But in the meantime I could certainly go over to your mother’s again. Quite a few of the women wanted more help. Since she’s just a few doors away, we might be able to arrange a little party. Let everyone get together at least once more. That is if you don’t think it would be too much for your mother to manage.’
‘I think it’s brilliant! Mummy would love it. She hasn’t entertained in so long. I’ll call her and set it up. Will you come? Will you bring a few of the younger women too? Mummy does like to see them.’
Claire agreed and gave Ann Imogen’s number. ‘Though I’ll be moving soon,’ Claire warned.
‘You know, it’s very silly that we can’t continue this. So many women are interested. And all ages and backgrounds. I looked it up on the Internet and there are dozens of sites. It’s the thing in the States right now. Do you know there’s a café in Los Angeles where movie stars gather to compare their stocking stitch? You know, most trends move from your west coast to the east coast and then on to us.’
Claire didn’t know and she didn’t particularly like the idea. Second-hand American trends didn’t seem right for London. But she had to agree that knitting was popular here. However, Ann seemed to be looking at her curiously, as though assessing her, so she decided it would be wise to say nothing.
Claire left and stopped in at Toby’s. She had to tell him about her plans to return to New York, though she didn’t want to. ‘Hard cheese!’ he said after she’d explained. ‘Dreadful! You simply can’t leave just because the old woman fell ill. And Imogen, self-involved as she is, would never forgive herself if she found out that putting you out on the street had sent you back to Hooterville, or whatever it is.’
‘Tottenville,’ Claire corrected.
‘Right.’ Toby paused. ‘Do you know, Claire, I was reading a history of New York. And your name – it’s spelled B-i-l-s-o-p?’ Claire nodded. ‘Your name was very prominent.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, apparently the Bilsops are a very old family. They received a royal land grant. They were – well, you were – among the first British settlers. Your ancestor was given a good part of the island.’
Claire was what the English called ‘gobsmacked’. But what did it really matter? Her dad had been a failure and if some of his stories about ‘the Bilsop name’ had a basis in truth, there certainly wasn’t any money or visible ‘breeding’. Oh, these English and their pedigrees. ‘My father used to talk about the family,’ she said. ‘But we never paid much attention. I thought it was a way of making his past sound better than his present.’
‘That may be so,’ Toby told her. ‘But I think he was accurate about your past. Here.’ He went to the lowboy and pulled out a green volume. ‘Let me give you this. I’ve marked the place. Take a look at it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. She thought of her small but precious collection of books. Well, perhaps she could add to them in New York but it would never be the same. ‘You’ve been so very kind,’ she told him.
He smiled at her. ‘And so have you,’ he said. ‘Now, can you stay for tea?’
Claire was very tempted but, ‘I must go,’ she told him. ‘I promised I’d look in on Mrs Venables.’
‘Aah. Well, do give my regards to that dishy son of hers.’
‘Dishy? Do you really think so?’ She told Toby about the ride back from the hospital, the handholding and the (forgotten) invitation to dinner.
‘Ah. You see? He fancies you.’
‘Nigel? You’re mad.’ But all at once she remembered Mrs Venables saying much the same thing. Silly. Totally silly. ‘He’ll be only too happy to take me to the airport and see me off.’
‘I think not.’ But Claire wasn’t listening. Talking of the airport made the idea of leaving hit her hard. She tried not to let Toby see her react. Instead, she turned to go.
‘I must be off,’ she said.
‘Don’t forget your book,’ Toby reminded her. He walked her to the door and kissed her on either cheek. She left, fighting the tears in her eyes. Toby watched her from his window and murmured to himself, ‘If he doesn’t fancy you, he’s a fool.’
Claire got off the tube in South Kensington and wished that she could go home, just lie down and pull the covers over her head. Between the trains and the sharing of her news with Toby, she was exhausted. Somehow, telling her news made it a reality.
Well, if she couldn’t nap perhaps she could drink. She decided she would stop in the wine bar before she went to Mrs Venables, just to revive herself. After all, what did the cost of a three-pound glass of wine matter when she was going back? She told herself she deserved a little splurge, entered and took a seat near the window.
But it was a mistake. From where she sat she could see on one side the shop – soon to be empty – and on the other side the empty table where she and Michael had been together. Thoughts of him again flooded her mind and heated her body. This was the very thing her busy schedule had prevented her from doing. If she hadn’t already ordered a glass of Pommard, she would have jumped up and crossed the street. But the wine came and she drank it, lingering over the memory of her dinner with Michael, his declaration, the things he had told her and, of course, their night at the Berkeley. She couldn’t help but indulge herself a little. He was a dream. Truly Mr Wonderful. But did he love her? Could she trust him? And did she love him as he was?
Claire finished her wine, trying to think as deeply as she could to answer those questions. She had just emptied her glass when she saw Nigel Venables walking into his mother’s shop. She sighed. She had indulged herself too long and her punishment was that she would have to see Nigel now, after she’d stood him up. She only hoped Toby’s surmise was dead wrong. It was odd: she had avoided him at first because he disliked her. Now she wanted to avoid him because she was afraid he didn’t.
Claire paid up, left an overly generous tip then dodged the traffic to get to Knitting Kitting. To her surprise the shop door wasn’t locked. Very careless since neither Mrs Venables nor Nigel was about. She was about to call up the stairs when she heard their voices.
‘Mother, you really don’t have a choice. You can’t possibly keep the shop open.’
‘Not for long, without Claire’s help I …’
‘But Claire is leaving, Mother.’
‘Let me talk to her and maybe she can be persuaded. There are people who want to learn. Customers who still need service. People have placed orders that have come in …’
‘Damn them. Mother, they’re only playing with some colored string. We’re not talking about national security. If they have paid you we can simply return the money.’
Claire winced. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this, but didn’t know quite what to do. Perhaps if she went back to the door she could ring the bell again and they would hear her. But before she could move she heard Mrs Venables speaking in a voice that she could barely recognize. She sounded tougher and more imperious than any of the imperious women in their classes.
‘How dare you speak to me, your mother, that way? We are not talking about “a bit of colored string”. We are talking about an ancient craft that turns your piece of string into, at the very least, a useful article. And occasionally into a work of art. I wonder how many centuries women have been knitting pullovers for their fisherman husbands or socks for their farming family only to be told that they were only playing with bits of string.’
‘Mother, I didn’t mean to …’
‘I don’t care what you meant! Though I think I know perfectly well what you did mean. But let me tell you what I mean. Women come here as an outlet for their creativity. Knitting relaxes them and gives them a sense of purpose. And it challenges them. The magic of their hands transforms nothing into something. Lately there have been some customers who badly need to turn nothing into something.’ She paused and her voice dropped so Claire could barely hear it. ‘Maybe we all do,’ she said.
‘Mother, I meant no disrespect …’
‘You may not have meant it but you certainly showed it.’
‘I’m very sorry. Getting upset isn’t good for you. Just relax. I’ll go and … well, I’ll call in later.’
Claire heard Nigel’s footsteps and jumped. If she were caught here he would know that she had overheard his mother reading him the Riot Act. She skipped across the shop, opened the door and closed it then walked, as loudly as she could, across the floor and called up the stairs. She heard Nigel coming down the stairs as Mrs Venables called out. ‘Is that you, Claire? Please come up.’
So, pretending she’d heard nothing, Claire began to climb the stairs. Nigel was on the landing. ‘Hello,’ she said as he attempted to pass her.
‘Hello,’ he mumbled and seemed to be about to continue past her.
‘Did you get my messages?’ she asked. He shook his head. ‘I called your office and your house. I couldn’t get you on your mobile.’ She gave him her lame excuse about their missed dinner date and his face seemed to soften.
‘Oh. I … I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a moment to get my messages.’
‘Well, I asked you to dinner instead. Do you think you could make time? I’d like to take you out to make up for my rudeness.’ She thought of what she had overheard and decided to ignore it. ‘Would you please?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘How about tonight?’ She hoped Michael – if he did call – wouldn’t ask her out for this evening, but she’d have to take that risk.
‘That would be just fine,’ Nigel said, his face lighting up. ‘Why don’t I pick you up around eight?’
She agreed. ‘And now I’ll just go up for a quick visit,’ she told him.
‘See you later then,’ Nigel told her and was off.
‘Hello, my dear,’ Mrs Venables said when Claire reached the upstairs flat. Her color looked good, and though the left side of her face still had some slightly visible slackness she stood up to greet Claire. ‘How nice to see you,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid Nigel and I were having a dust-up, so please accept my apologies on his behalf.’
‘That’s all right,’ Claire said. Somehow, overhearing Mrs Venables in such a temper assured Claire that the older woman would make a complete recovery. She smiled at her friend. ‘Would you like me to make some tea?’ she asked. ‘I have some things I need to discuss with you. Most important is the fact I have to go back to the States.’