A New Dream

by Maggie Ford

  It was ironic, Julia thought with a bitter smile as she gazed down at the baby in her arms. All her hard work trying to keep the family going after losing Father had been a waste of time. Her mother had become a miserable woman, allowing herself to age before her time, while Stephanie had got herself into this mess. Ginny had grown into a beautiful fashion model, parading herself before those chasing fashion – a lovely, kind-hearted young girl, but what sort of man would her lifestyle bring her into contact with? The thought was frightening and she vowed to try and guide Ginny, at least, away from some of the pitfalls Stephanie had encountered. She had no worries about James though. Of all of them, he had changed least, except to grow more staid, more like his father every day, a little pompous and remote.

  The baby had begun to whimper, and then squirm. From gazing at the little face, lost in thought, Julia looked up at the baby’s mother.

  ‘Perhaps you had best have her now, Stephanie.’ Even so she felt a slight reluctance to hand the child over; it felt so right to be holding her as if she were her own. She experienced a tiny pang of loss as Stephanie lifted the baby from her arms, the small weight gone, leaving Julia with a strange sensation of emptiness.

  ‘She probably needs changing,’ Stephanie said in a subdued voice.

  It was amazing how she had altered over the past couple of years. Gone was the overconfident flapper she had been before picking up with that awful Jimmy, losing the baby and going through all her troubles. Meeting Edward had been her salvation. But now he too appeared to have become part of her past, her happiness dashed again as she was left to bring up her baby alone.

  Julia had tried to talk to Edward, but it had been an impossible task to make him see that his wife, through no fault of her own, had fallen foul of a selfish brute whom she thought had loved her, who had spoken of engagement and tricked her into giving herself to him.

  She had tried so hard to make him see that it had been he himself who had lifted Stephanie out of the mire she had made for herself. She’d striven to point out that Stephanie had tried to put the sad episode behind her; that she had never again referred to her desolation after that stillbirth, so why should she want to speak of it to him? Julia had asked him to put himself in Stephanie’s shoes – prior to marrying her, would he have admitted to such a fall from grace if he thought it would wreck their lives together? In a way, meeting him had led to the only happiness she’d known. Why would she want to spoil it?

  She had pleaded with him to forgive for the sake of his child as well as his wife, pointing out the harm his attitude could do, the effect it could have on his daughter if she had to grow up torn between separate parents.

  During those six weeks since the birth and the separation from Edward Stephanie had been so ill that Julia had had to take time from her work to help with little Violet Julia, whom Stephanie had named after her sister.

  On this particular Sunday morning a knock on their apartment door forced Simon up from lounging on the settee to answer it. He came back to the lounge grinning, followed by the broad-shouldered figure of Stephanie’s husband.

  ‘It’s Edward,’ he announced unnecessarily as Stephanie leaped up the moment she saw him.

  Julia offered up a silent prayer of thanks that all her efforts had been rewarded, and then she and Simon quickly retired to the living room, taking little Violet with them, to give the couple some privacy.

  As she picked up the child, Julia again experienced that discomforting sense of broodiness. Even more discomforting was the fact that Simon didn’t seem in the least interested in the child. The question came to her, would he be interested if it were his own child – and would she ever be given the opportunity to find out?

  When finally the two people called them back in it was to say that they were both returning home this afternoon. Stephanie was very quiet; Edward’s eyes were on his wife the whole time, full of love and forgiveness. It turned out that he had not said a word to his parents about the temporary break-up. As far as they were concerned, the little family were happy.

  His tact and discretion raised him further in Julia’s eyes. Stephanie was a very lucky woman indeed and Julia found herself envying her in every way. She knew she was wrong to feel like this, but she couldn’t help it.

  Something in her own union with Simon was beginning to go horribly wrong in her mind. Lately he seemed to be evading the question of marriage completely. Maybe it was pressure of work. Or maybe it was simply that their union was going stale. She felt she was being treated far too casually these days and even their lovemaking was much less frequent than it had once been.

  She thought of those early days when life had been so easy, so full of promise and hope. Where had it all gone? And if they did marry now, would it be an anticlimax; would their marriage be stale before it had even begun?

  Having seen the happy pair with their baby downstairs to the street, where Edward had left his small car, Julia returned upstairs. Sighing, she closed the door of her luxury apartment upon her world of fashion, frustration and hard work until tomorrow morning when she must face it again.

  Twenty-Two

  Fashion was changing, and changing fast. Julia had been caught out by it, knowing that she should have kept her eye on its eccentricities instead of worrying about Stephanie’s problems.

  Without her realizing, summer was here and in a matter of weeks hemlines had begun to drop alarmingly to below the knee, waistlines slowly rising from hip to waist level again. Evening dresses were no problem, they were mostly full length and elegant. The rapid change in daywear was the problem. An even slimmer look was all the rage, with women going on murderous diets to attain ever more sticklike figures. Hair was cut even shorter, vanishing beneath head-hugging caps. And while the rich flew off to find the sun, or like the famous Dolly sisters to gamble away fortunes, the few decent days in this year’s dull and miserable British summer saw every young girl trying in vain to get a tan on a beach somewhere, wearing backless swimwear so that her backless evening dresses did not show a white line.

  While top designers had kept abreast of things, Julia was suddenly aware that she had been left behind, her creations this spring already out of date.

  ‘I’m going to have to scrap the whole lot and start again,’ she told Simon miserably. ‘At least, all my day dresses. All that work, those lovely designs, useless. Who’d want them? It’s going to cost me a fortune.’

  But already her mind was working on something that might help her keep up with the rest – day dresses, still hip-hugging and straight but falling to a wildly flared hem; another with a two-tiered one, both flared and fluted – she could use all sorts of computations. And although it wouldn’t be long before someone like Chanel or Worth got hold of the idea, she’d be first on the scene. Even so, it took money and ate into the profits from previous seasons.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Simon pacified. ‘I can get a bank loan any time I like if we need it. I don’t want to touch my investments though if I can help it. At the moment it’s a bear market but a little bird has told me it could soon be looking up quite substantially.’

  Once on the subject of investments he would go off on his own road and when Julia tried to interrupt, hardly heard her.

  ‘In a few months I shall be hoping to make a killing. So it’s a time to buy, not sell. Next year we’ll be laughing so don’t worry over a few dozen dresses.’

  It wasn’t a few dozen dresses as he put it. It was almost her entire line; all her designs had to be thrown out, and starting on new styles cost money. The big fashion houses could weather sudden changes, but while she could certainly hold up her head in this trade she was still somewhat small fry compared to some. But Simon’s eager remarks distracted her from her own problems.

  ‘No, best not to dabble in anything at the moment,’ she cautioned.

  His dealings frightened her at times. He treated the stock market as a professional gambler might treat horse racing, studying form, one eye to the best studs, kee
ping a constant ear to the ground; so he kept his eyes on the ever-changing stock market, shrugging complacently when something didn’t go so well, smiling with calm satisfaction when it did.

  Now he was talking of buying more shares while they were low and waiting for a bull market to sell at a profit. He played the stock market just as her father had but he seemed far luckier. And where her father had kept his thoughts to himself, Simon talked incessantly of his investments, like a little boy looking for adventure.

  ‘Don’t worry the bank,’ she cautioned again. ‘I can always use some of my own money that I keep by in case I need it.’ He was looking at her, smiling as a man might at a foolish little woman.

  ‘I really find it amusing, darling, the way you hide odd shekels in that box of yours,’ he chuckled. ‘What is it now, a few hundred, if that? That’ll go a long way! You should make more use of the bank, darling. After all, that’s what banks are there for.’

  She capitulated, trying to meet the slightly patronizing, if loving, smile. ‘I suppose I won’t be losing that much in scrapping my earlier designs. I can sell off the old stock to the high street shops. It’s just that I hate seeing good money drift away.’

  What she didn’t say and what she had never told him was that she had an ingrained mistrust of all banks, dating from the time her father had left his family penniless. Because of it, she’d developed her own way of saving, vowing never to be put in such a position ever again. She did bank money, of course, but more for those day-to-day transactions that business demanded. It was Simon who took charge of the greater proportion of their finances, their business having been his in the first place.

  He would go on gambling on the stock exchange and relying on banks for credit. It seemed to work and maybe her way was strange for someone in her position, but beneath the floorboards under the carpet in the corner of their spare bedroom was a small, locked metal box that was becoming ever more tightly packed with large, neatly folded bank notes, just in case something awful should happen.

  She had never told Simon how much was in there and he had never asked, merely smiling tolerantly at her strange habit. Of course, such an emergency as she feared would never arise but in a small way it gave her a feeling of security and helped to assuage the gnawing fear of a rainy day should Simon ever go the way of her father. He was too astute ever to let that happen. Nevertheless, it was better to be safe.

  * * *

  In the back room, all was chaos. Her creations were draped on hangers ready for the three models to change garments in split seconds, step into and buckle their shoes, change accessories and refresh their make-up before stepping out on to the catwalk. Out there in her modest showroom all was serene; gentle music, the quiet murmur of voices, appreciative applause from a few dozen invited buyers and a general audience.

  Julia stood behind the blue curtains watching Ginny’s measured walk, her movements leisurely and artistic, her head poised elegantly on her slender neck. At the end of the catwalk she turned confidently to retrace her footsteps, smiling gently at this person and that, no sign of hurry, no nerves; she was a confident and beautiful young woman, unafraid before all those eyes.

  There came a small burst of applause as Ginny reached the curtains to be replaced by one of the other models. Julia had worked hard for weeks to get this show together and it looked as if it was paying off. She felt exhausted but thoroughly rewarded.

  ‘Marvellous, Ginny, as always,’ she whispered as Ginny passed her.

  Giving Julia a bright smile she hurried to where Betty waited with another garment for her, ready to be pulled this way and that, in several directions at once, in order to get the dress and its accessories just right, all in seconds.

  It was an effort for Julia to tear her glance away from her sister to follow the next girl. The others too were lovely girls, tall and slender, but Ginny was the most beautiful. Sometimes the men, young and old and mostly from the fashion world, would eye her a little too long and closely for Julia s piece of mind. But Ginny hardly gave them a glance which was just as well. She seemed to have no wish to settle down, loving her life as a model, and after all she was still only twenty, wouldn’t be twenty-one until November. There was plenty of time for her to put her mind to courting, though Ginny certainly enjoyed life, going to evening parties, to Wimbledon for the tennis tournaments, to cocktail and garden parties, and often driving out into the country with a group of friends. Lately she’d taken up cycling, going miles out of London exploring country lanes and country pubs, with a group of young men and women.

  As a model she was slowly becoming well known and even had her picture in Style, one of the topmost fashion magazines, and had made scores of friends. But Julia couldn’t help feeling responsible for her youngest sister, and was anxious that her success should not go to her head.

  What if her head were suddenly turned by the wrong man? Stephanie had been caught like that, and Stephanie had been a woman of the world, or so Julia had thought. Julia could only hope that Ginny wouldn’t make the same mistake. Though if she did there was little that she, even as Ginny’s elder sister, could do about it other than keep an eye out for her and pray.

  * * *

  Everything seemed to be building up all at once as summer gave way to autumn.

  Last March James and Caroline had announced the date of their wedding, Saturday the sixth of October. With only seven weeks to go, Julia was finding it difficult to get on with her own work, having to design and make the wedding dress as well as bridesmaids’ dresses for Ginny and Caroline’s sister Amy.

  Then on Sunday Ginny brought a young man home whom she boldly introduced as Robert Middleton. ‘He’s proposed to me,’ she announced, her eyes alight with joy. ‘And I have accepted. We want to go out during the week to choose the engagement ring. You will give us your blessings, won’t you?’

  Shocked by the suddenness of the announcement, her mind frill of suspicious thoughts, Julia quickly took her sister aside. But before she could get a word in, Ginny had burst out excitedly, ‘His family live near Chingford, his father’s business is based not far away and Robert is a partner.’

  Changing tack, she said, ‘He looks a little bit older than you.’ She wanted to say he looked a lot older but hadn’t the heart. But before she could say more, Ginny was off again.

  ‘He’s older only by about eight years. That’s nothing. We met in one of those country pubs when a few of us were out cycling up that way. It was one of those places where really posh people congregate – you know, horses and hounds and cricket, that sort of thing. That was back in May and we – well – fell for each other.’

  ‘Why haven’t you told me about him before now, Ginny?’ Julia cut in. ‘You’ve known him for four months and said nothing to anyone. And four months is not long enough for two people to think of getting engaged.’

  Ginny’s happy smile turned to a frown. ‘You sound just like Mummy! You’re getting old-fashioned, like her. Why should four months be too soon for two people to know how they feel about each other? We’re in love.’

  Julia’s thoughts returned to her previous suspicions, the awful thought still in her mind. ‘Then why haven’t you said anything about him until now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ginny shrugged. ‘The time goes so quickly and there’s always so much to do. We’re mostly with lots of other people and, well, we just came together naturally. And anyway, why should I need to report to you?’

  ‘It’s not reporting, Ginny.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you now,’ she rushed on, unaware that her retort might have sounded rude.

  Julia didn’t have the heart now to ask if her sister was ‘all right’ in that way she couldn’t help wondering about. Ginny looked so happy. If she wasn’t ‘all right’, surely she’d have a guilty look about her. But she was radiant.

  It was Stephanie who announced herself once again pregnant and over the moon about it. ‘I hope it’s a boy this time. Eddie so wants a boy.’

&nbs
p; Her joy instantly resurrected all those feelings Julia had thought she’d buried in her work as she warmly congratulated her sister.

  ‘Have you told Mummy?’ she asked.

  Stephanie pulled a face. ‘Not yet. I know what she’ll say the moment I do: “I wish your poor father was with us to hear your news. To think he’d be a grandfather.” Then she’ll go into one of her miseries and say she’s feeling poorly. I’d rather leave it for a while.’

  These days their mother seemed to be continually ailing. She seemed almost to be giving up, complaining that all her children were leaving her. It was the natural course of things but she didn’t see it that way. If only she could see it not as a family diminishing but growing. She’d have so many more people popping in to see her. It was this constant lamenting about the emptiness of her life and never letting them forget their deceased father that put them off. If only she’d realize that accepting their new lives with serenity would bring them closer, that it was she who pushed them away rather than they who were staying away.

  As Stephanie said when Julia thought she should bring little Violet to see her grandmother more often: ‘What’s the point? As soon as she sees her she bursts into tears and says, if only Father had lived to see his granddaughter. Doesn’t she see that if Father had lived I might not be married and have Violet? Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s embarrassing.’

  * * *

  It would have been the perfect wedding but for the rain, thought Julia as she stood with the congregation listening to the traditional resounding strains of the Wedding March playing James and Caroline out of the church. Luckily, with no hope of snapshots in the open air, it had been arranged that photographs were to be taken at a nearby studio.