Wish Upon a Star. Olivia Goldsmith

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СКАЧАТЬ Discreetly written in the sand was a message Bathing costumes on two. Claire had to stop and wonder what it meant.

      She immediately realized there would be no problem in converting her money into sterling. There seemed to be little offices to change currency everywhere. The sign at the one she went into had little flags of every country with two columns beside each that were headed We Buy and We Sell. She changed a hundred dollars, feeling very sophisticated. She could do this, and all by herself.

      At the next corner she found Sloane Street and a bus stop. She wasn’t sure why – perhaps it was because she was so used to her long ferry trips every morning – but she felt as if she’d be safer and more comfortable on a bus. The sign explained not only the numbers and times but also which buses ran at night. There was a vast choice – it was a busy corner – but it didn’t really matter to Claire which direction she went in. The first bus that came along was a twenty-two and, to her delight, it was a red double-decker. First, a wave of people got off the wide platform at the back then people beside her began to board and following them, she did too. Right in front of her was a small spiral staircase to the upper level. She began to climb up it then the bus lurched and she nearly fell down it. She grabbed at the railing and as the vehicle moved into the flow of traffic she climbed to the top.

      She wasn’t sure why, but on top the bus was virtually empty. Later she would learn that she was traveling in the opposite direction to most commuters, out to Putney where people lived and traveled into the center to work. Unconscious of that she simply smiled at the opportunity literally before her – the front seats on both sides of the bus were available. She almost ran down the center aisle and nearly fell again when the bus pulled to an abrupt stop. But once she was in her seat she was thrilled. It seemed as if the bus had no motor: she was looking straight out at the traffic and the people who moved like powerful tides in front of her. And to each side were shop windows and above them glimpses into apartments with window boxes, terraces and a world’s variety of curtains, blinds and shades.

      Sloane Street was long, but at the end of it she was settled enough to enjoy looking down on Sloane Square and finding it on her map. King’s Road seemed a bazaar of delights: clothing shops, cafés, restaurants, pubs (which looked so much more inviting than bars back home did) and a swiftly moving stream of pedestrians.

      She had a few pages for notes at the back of the guidebook and began taking some. There was a stop called ‘World’s End’ which seemed, actually, to be in the middle of everything.

      When the conductor got to her she apologized. ‘I don’t have a token,’ she told him. ‘Or a Travelcard.’

      ‘It’s all right, luv. You c’n buy a ticket right ‘ere from me. Where’d you get on, then?’

      ‘Sloane Street up near Knightsbridge. Is there a bridge?’

      He laughed, showing a gap between his front teeth. ‘That’s a good one,’ he said but Claire had no idea what was funny. ‘Where you gettin’ off?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, I’d like to go to the end of the line,’ she told him.

      ‘Putney Bridge. You’ll see a bridge there, me girl.’

      ‘But I’d like to stay on and come back.’

      ‘I’m afraid I can’t ‘elp you with that part. You’ll ‘ave to get off and get right on again. Regulations.’

      She nodded. ‘But will the bus go back?’ she asked, nervous that she might be stranded.

      ‘If not this one then another,’ he told her. ‘There’ll be a queue of them lined up, like as not. Fag break for the drivers.’

      She blinked but asked no questions.

      ‘It’ll be one pound,’ he told her. She rummaged through her change purse and remembered the chunky golden coins. She handed him one and he returned a ticket that he cranked out of a machine strapped around his waist. ‘‘Old onto that, luv,’ he told her. ‘They’re makin’ us redundant, they are, and it will all be computer cards. You’ve got an antique of the future,’ he said and laughed. ‘I guess that’s what I am.’ He laughed again, turned and made his way down the aisle of the bus from handgrip to handgrip without even a lurch.

      Claire looked out of the windows, fascinated. Everything, even the rare graffiti had charm, at least to her. When they turned a corner and she saw a pub with the sign outside declaring it the ‘Slug and Lettuce’ her delight was, even to her, almost unreasonable. Why it should make her so happy didn’t matter. Though if she had thought of it, Claire might have ascribed it to the general glow she had because of her pleasure in Michael. But there are places that can be found by each of us, places we may have never been or never thought of that, in themselves, hold a mysterious key to our happiness.

       FIFTEEN

      Early that evening Claire stared at the hotel closet in complete confusion.

      She had had a wonderful day so far. After the bus reached Putney Bridge she had walked over the bridge to Putney itself and explored that pleasant, residential area and its exotic – to her – stores. Then she had bought a sandwich at an Italian deli – this time, just like the ones at home – and eaten it on a bench in a pretty park back on the north side of the river. She decided to return to the hotel on foot, and found her way via the Fulham Road, where she was delighted by the windows and windows of antiques – all set as if they were tiny rooms. A diner table and chairs illuminated by a chandelier, a royal-blue sofa with golden sphinxes for arms and legs and two chairs flanking it. Best of all was a four-poster bed with enough purple hangings to drape a church.

      She had hurried back to be in good time to get ready for her dinner date with Michael, but now here she was, with no idea where they were going and, even if she had, she wouldn’t know what they wore there.

      Of course, she didn’t have a wide choice. She could wear the skirt along with her expensive silk blouse but perhaps a skirt wasn’t formal enough. She decided to put off making the decision and instead did her hair, remembered Tina’s advice to her and put on a little extra mascara, struggled into a pair of navy control top pantyhose and had just got the blouse and skirt on when she heard Michael in the living room. She snatched up her earrings and walked to the door. He was going through some papers at the desk and even as he stood there a fax came rattling through. But once the noise abated he looked up.

      ‘Wow. You look good enough to eat,’ he said. She felt a flush start at her chest and move to the roots of her hair. Now he’d looked back down at the fax. ‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘How about you?’

      ‘I could eat,’ she said.

      ‘Great. Feel like Chinese? But Chinese like you’ve never had before.’

      ‘How about English food, I mean, we are in London?’

      He laughed. ‘You must be joking,’ he said. ‘Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding? I don’t think so. Simpson’s is fine once but that trolley gets old fast.’

      She didn’t like to ask what he meant. ‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ she said.

      He nodded, looked at the fax again and picked up the phone. ‘Can you confirm my booking at Mr Chow’s?’ he asked. ‘Seven-thirty. We’re eating unfashionably early.’ He hung up the phone and СКАЧАТЬ