A New Dream

by Maggie Ford

  Still bent over their mother’s flagging body, Stephanie looked up at her sister as she came in. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Julia said, breaking off as there came a gentle rap on the parlour door. ‘Who is it?’

  Mrs Granby put her head round the door. ‘Now your visitor’s gone, I daresay you might need me to make some more tea.’ She could see from their devastated expressions that whatever news the solicitor had brought, it hadn’t been what they had been expecting. ‘I’ll have Mary bring it up.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Granby,’ Julia said. But hardly had the woman closed the door when Stephanie turned on her.

  ‘Julia! What do you mean it’s going to be all right? How can it be all right? We haven’t a bean. A few bits of savings, that won’t get us far.’

  Leaving her mother she began to pace up and down the room, tossing her long hair in frustration. ‘We’ve lost the house, everything we own, and I don’t think it covers everything Father owed anyway. Not only do we have no money but we have to pay back what he still owes all those creditors!’

  ‘Maybe we might have to go out to work,’ Julia shot at her angrily. Stephanie looked as if she had been hit between the eyes.

  ‘Go out to work? None of us has ever been expected to work! And what’s Mother to do when we’re not here? How can it be all right?’

  Julia forced herself to remain calm. ‘Chester and I will be married soon,’ she said. ‘And I shall make sure that none of my family will want for anything. He has money. His family are wealthy. He is a partner in his father’s business. He’ll understand my need to see my family settled.’

  She looked at them all one by one. Stephanie had stopped pacing. Young as she was, Virginia was alert. Even their mother had sat up a little straighter, a gleam of hope in her eyes after the despair that had been there before.

  ‘Can you see him denying my own mother a little comfort?’ Julia went on. ‘He might even agree to settle Father’s debts.’

  Her mother looked suddenly hopeful. ‘Julia, do you think so? It would be such a relief. The very thought of being thrown out of our home has made me feel quite ill.’

  Julia smiled at her in pity. ‘We mustn’t let ourselves be carried away,’ she warned. ‘I know he’ll be only too ready to help but I can’t ask too much of him until we’re married.’

  ‘But that could be ages!’ cried Stephanie crossly. ‘By that time the house will be gone and we’ll be homeless. How can you get our hopes up only to tell us it could be all for nothing?’

  It was Julia’s turn to be cross. ‘I’ve made a suggestion, the best I can think of under the circumstances. All I’m saying is that even if we can’t save this house, he might be able to arrange to find us another and keep a roof over our heads.’

  ‘It won’t be the same,’ Victoria bleated faintly, sagging a little.

  ‘It’s better than nothing!’ Julia couldn’t help sounding snappy. ‘If it helps I’ll speak to him tonight.’

  ‘And what if he feels we are using him?’ Her mother’s voice was fast becoming a whine. ‘What if he feels he cannot help? It’s as if we are going cap in hand begging for charity.’

  ‘No, Mummy, it isn’t!’ Julia began to feel annoyed. ‘I shall soon be his wife. Of course he must help.’

  ‘Or feel bound to.’

  ‘That’s silly, Mummy,’ she countered but her mother wasn’t listening, sinking back into despair.

  ‘Oh, the humiliation, having to beg for charity after all we had when your father was here.’

  Julia found herself in danger of losing her temper completely. ‘Please, Mummy, have a bit of confidence in me. I’ll speak to Chester tonight. He won’t let us down, I know he won’t. He’s bound to find somewhere suitable for us.’

  Not waiting for a reaction, she hurried from the room, already sorry to have lost her temper with her mother.

  ‘Damn, damn, and bloody damn!’ She let fly out of their hearing, the worst she could think of. ‘Hopeless, the whole damned lot of them!’

  Grabbing the telephone from the hall stand, she dialled the operator, giving Chester’s telephone number. All the time even worse swear words filled her head, words occasionally overheard from workmen she sometimes passed in the street, words she’d never normally have dreamed of uttering.

  ‘Hullo?’ The sound of Chester’s voice immediately brought a flood of relief. He would set things right. Even so, having to repeat what the solicitor had said wasn’t easy, having to bare her soul even to him.

  By the time she had finished speaking her voice was breaking as her family’s predicament hit her and she acknowledged that she was indeed asking for charity.

  Chester listened to her from beginning to end in silence. Now she waited. She waited so long for him to speak that finally she felt she had to prompt him. ‘Chester? Darling, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here.’ His voice sounded low, almost distant.

  ‘We don’t know what to do,’ she said, hating having to prompt him. ‘My mother’s in a terrible state.’

  There was another long silence. She was about to say his name once again when he spoke, a little sharply it seemed to her. ‘I’ll be there in the car in about half an hour. We can eat somewhere and talk this over.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Right!’

  That was all he said – no ‘I love you, darling’ or even ‘Don’t worry, darling, it’ll be all right’; none of the endearments she had expected from him. But then, her news must have shaken him as much as it had her.

  In a fever of trepidation she got ready. To her relief he arrived within the half hour. With his arm through hers he led her to the car, helped her in and tucked the car blanket about her knees. He drove in silence and she thought it better not to break into whatever thoughts were in his head.

  * * *

  Julia sat in her room in the dark, the slow thump of her heart deep and heavy inside her breast, almost making her feel sick.

  That evening in the tiny restaurant neither of them had been in the mood for eating. Chester had made no comment at all when she had gone over her family’s troubles once again. He had merely nodded at intervals as if mulling it all over in his mind.

  She had concluded that perhaps he needed time to think before coming to a decision on what to do without embarrassing her. She recalled feeling content with that, loving him for it.

  Going home in his car he had been silent and so had she, increasingly sure that he must have been made to feel awkward by all she had told him. When he had taken her to her door he had declined to come inside and was quite evasive when she asked why. ‘I need to think,’ was all he had said.

  She understood, except that his goodnight kiss hadn’t been as ardent as usual; a peck, nothing more, saying not to worry. But it had worried her; she was bewildered as to why he hadn’t been quicker with a solution to their problems.

  ‘I’m looking forward to Saturday,’ she had said to combat the small rush of depression. He always took her dancing where the big bands played and had taught her to tango. They regularly attended fabulous parties, went to all the big cinemas or listened to concerts and light opera. This Saturday they were going to see The Beggar’s Opera at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith. It had been so well reviewed that, to celebrate their engagement, he’d chosen the most expensive seats. It was going to be wonderful.

  But he had suddenly frowned. ‘I’m not sure about Saturday, darling,’ he’d replied. ‘I should have told you over dinner, but your plight was more important. My father and I might be attending a business meeting. It could go on until late and give us no time to get there. I’m sorry I forgot about it, but we had other things on our minds. I’ll see if I can get the tickets changed to another evening. I’ll call you tomorrow, darling.’

  Then he was getting back into his car, with no ardent embrace. He’d driven away much faster than he normally did, without the usual s
everal hand waves, in fact without even a backward glance.

  She had truly assumed that he’d had his mind on what was best to do for her in her predicament and, thus preoccupied, had forgotten their usual fond ritual. Neither had she connected his inability to take her out this Saturday with anything untoward. But slowly suspicion was growing that there might be more to his odd attitude that evening than she had imagined.

  He had called her the following day, apologizing for having had to cancel the theatre tickets, but still with no mention of what conclusion he’d come to about her family’s predicament, nor was she going to embarrass herself by asking him outright.

  ‘I shall see you on Sunday as usual?’ she’d asked. On Sundays they often took a stroll in Victoria Park if the weather was fine; if not, they might go for a spin in his car. Her question had brought a small hesitation. Finally he had said yes, probably. She could detect no trace of affection in his voice; it was almost as if he were speaking to a casual friend rather than to his fiancé.

  Sunday was a fine, sunny day. They had walked in the park, she holding his arm. She’d made herself as pretty for him as she could, wearing a calf-length summer dress in a pale blue, patterned voile with Magyar sleeves and a slightly lowered waistline that was the new season’s fashion, a parasol to match and a cream, broad-brimmed hat pulled low over her eyes until her short hair could hardly be seen. Pointed court shoes made the whole ensemble perfect. He hadn’t even remarked on how nice she looked. He had kissed her on meeting, but the kiss had been cold, his lips hard.

  ‘I’m sorry about Saturday,’ he said. ‘I know you were looking forward to the theatre, but it couldn’t be helped.’ It sounded as if he hardly cared whether it could have been helped or not.

  ‘How did your business meeting go?’ she asked.

  The non-committal shrug prompted instant concern. What if his father’s business was going the way of her father’s?

  The country still hadn’t truly recovered since the Armistice. Of course, some businesses had done well out of it, making the most of their chances, but others were struggling. Perhaps it was worry that was making him so vague.

  She’d seen the long dole queues of ex-servicemen patiently waiting for jobs that weren’t there, women widowed by war trying to exist on a pittance, with little help from the Government, their fatherless children thin and grubby and clothed in rags. They hung around street corners in the poorer parts of the East End while the well off swept by in their fine cars, just as her father might have done and Chester’s father no doubt still did. She knew she was probably equally guilty by walking past with her face averted, not knowing quite why except that she didn’t want to be drawn into their misery. But if Chester couldn’t come to her aid, she could become one of them, searching vainly for a job. The thought brought a shudder.

  ‘Is anything wrong? In your father’s business, I mean?’ she asked anxiously. If it had fallen into trouble, how could she expect to rely on him to help her family?

  ‘Not exactly,’ he replied evasively, not meeting her eyes but staring into the distance as they walked. He began to chew at his lip as if unsure of what next to say. ‘Well, to be honest,’ he continued at last in a low, uncertain tone, ‘things do seem to have temporarily run into a few difficulties lately. Nothing very much to worry about, mind you, but it needs to be thought about.’

  He fell silent for a while but as she squeezed the arm she was clinging to, he abruptly stopped walking, pulling her up sharply beside him. This time he looked at her closely.

  ‘The thing is,’ he’d said slowly, ‘both our fathers’ affairs seemed to be doing very well and they thought that once you and I were married, between them they could surmount these difficult times by amalgamating. We could have become one large company.’

  ‘Your father wasn’t exactly going broke,’ she said miserably. ‘Mine was. And we didn’t know. We had no idea.’

  ‘And nor did my father. Your father said nothing to him about that and he was shocked and upset to say the least when he discovered how things were. He feels he has been duped.’ Chester’s tone sounded as if he was accusing her as well as her father of underhandedness.

  ‘Duped!’ she had echoed, pulling away from him in shock. ‘Is that what you think too?’

  ‘It’s what my father thinks.’

  She stood glaring up at him. ‘But what do you think?’

  When he hadn’t replied, she’d rushed on, ‘And our marriage – did that come into your father’s scheme of things, our families being nicely united in this business arrangement?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he began, but she wasn’t listening.

  ‘And you’ve never actually loved me.’

  ‘Julia, I do love you!’

  ‘And you still want us to get married.’

  It was a statement but in that second she’d detected the tiniest of hesitations. She had stepped away from him, turned and run, leaving him standing there. He hadn’t come after her, and that had told her all she needed to know. He should have raced after her, caught her in his arms, covered her face with kisses and sworn undying love, but he had done none of those things.

  Now, several days later, she sat on the edge of her bed. It wasn’t yet daylight. She’d hardly slept last night, knowing what was to happen today. In her hand she held a short letter from him. It had arrived yesterday with the last post of the day. She had no need to read the words again; they were seared on her brain:

  I love you. I want to marry you, but my family are against it, and I can’t upset them at this time. We’ve a few business problems and I have to help my father get ourselves out of it. It’s just a small hiccup but I can’t think of us at the moment. Just be patient, darling. When the business is back on its feet, which it will be in a few weeks’ time, I’ll come and see you and we can pick up where we left off. In the meantime I still love you. Chester.

  Sitting there with her eyes closed, she slowly crumpled the letter into a tight ball for the sixth or seventh time and let it drop on to the carpet.

  A few weeks’ time would be too late. Yesterday, her mother had clutched a different letter, from their solicitor, telling them that today they would be moving out of this house, never to live here again.

  She opened her eyes and saw that it was dawn, daylight showing through the half-drawn damask curtains.

  She got up from the bed, went to the window and pulled them fully back. The sun was just beginning to peep above the trees and lawns of Victoria Park. She suddenly realized this would be the very last time she would ever see the view from this window of that glorious rosy blush flooding across the broad vista of the Park.

  Julia Victoria Longfield closed her eyes against the tears that sprang suddenly, tugged the curtains together again and turned away from the window.

  Five

  Julia gazed around her father’s small warehouse. She had never set foot in here before yet in a strange way felt she would miss it once it was gone.

  By rights she shouldn’t even be here. It had been locked, no doubt against any unlawful entry, but by rummaging in her father’s old bureau at home early this morning, well before the rest of the family were up, she had found a set of keys. She had some idea that coming here might help her recover from Chester’s vile letter, and give her something else to think about.

  Having got Fred their chauffeur to drive her, she now found herself wondering what she had expected to do once she was here. She felt rather like an intruder with no purpose but to nose around. It all felt so furtive, so underhanded, just like her mother’s behaviour when she had gathered her children about her to caution them against saying anything to anyone about their present situation.

  ‘You mustn’t even tell your friends,’ she’d warned. ‘I want no one to know and start talking about us and shun us as if we were pariahs.’

  ‘But they’re our friends, Mummy,’ Virginia had said, aghast. ‘We can’t just gather up our things and creep away. They’ll wonder. And when they find
out, my friends will never speak to me again. It feels like telling a lie.’

  But for once in her life her mother had been adamant. ‘I want no one to know of our downfall and that is that! We’re leaving tomorrow morning. And when any of you see your friends after that, you will just say that we moved because I could not stand to live here now your father is gone, that there are too many memories here. Do you all understand?’

  They’d all been stunned. ‘Well, I for one am not going to abide by that!’ Stephanie had said when they’d gathered in the evening out of their mother’s hearing. ‘I’m not prepared to lose my friends over this.’

  ‘Nor am I,’ Virginia had said indignantly while young James had looked downcast and said, ‘I’ve already lost mine, dragged out of school and not permitted ever to go back because we haven’t got enough money any longer.’

  It had been too late anyway last night to tell anyone and Stephanie hadn’t had the courage to go out with her friends that evening and face them as if nothing was wrong. But she was rebellious all the same. ‘I’m still going to write to each of them when we get to this place you’ve found for us, Julia.’

  ‘But it still does feel as if we’re lying, even for a short while.’ Virginia had pouted and Julia had quite agreed with her.

  But wasn’t she lying now, standing here in this empty warehouse, having crept out of her house before anyone was awake? She had merely warned Mrs Granby not to say anything while giving the woman no reason for her request.

  She gazed around the empty space. The whole area had a strange, unnerving quietness about it at this hour. Julia shivered.

  ‘It looks larger than I imagined,’ she whispered to Fred who had left the car round the back where it wouldn’t be noticed.

  ‘That’s ’cos it’s more or less empty, miss,’ he answered dejectedly. He had reason to be in low spirits. Tomorrow the car was to be taken as part of her father’s assets in order to pay off some of his debts, leaving Fred out of a job. She had not even thought to ask if he had another to go to, she was so full of misery herself.