A New Dream, Maggie Ford [books to read romance txt] 📗

‘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 several 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