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

tip Chester left, though manners forbade him to handle it except to bear it away on its plate as if it had nothing to do with him.

Emerging from the quiet, cool air of the Ritz into the thin sunshine of late March they were instantly assaulted by traffic noise along Piccadilly. A few yards on they turned left in the direction of Green Park.

Chester had already tucked her arm through his in the most natural way, leaving her feeling somewhat disconcerted and wondering why she hadn’t withdrawn her arm immediately as she should have done.

Twenty-Five

‘I have to go out for an hour or so, Simon. I’m seeing a buyer. I’ll be back in time for lunch, OK?’

Simon glanced up from looking over a new consignment of costume jewellery made up from his most recent designs. He shook his head with a mild gesture of remonstration. ‘I’m sure you’re working too hard, darling. Don’t overdo things. Let the buyers come to us.’

Julia felt a flush of guilt touch her cheeks and tried not to admit to the fact that she was being just a little dishonest. But what was so wrong in having coffee with an old friend now and again? She was only seeing Chester casually once a fortnight. What was wrong was not having mentioned it to Simon, turning it into something furtive. Worse, she’d begun to look forward to seeing Chester. She knew she should have spoken out at the beginning. After all, Chester was an old friend. But to mention their meetings now after two months would only make them sound suspicious.

‘That’s how it goes,’ she lied as cheerily as she could. ‘See you for lunch then, darling,’ and hurried off before he could say any more, in her hurry failing to see the puzzled frown that touched his brow.

Simon stood staring at the door for some time after she had gone. She was impeccably dressed, as always, especially whenever she went to meet a buyer or anyone who might benefit the business. It was expected. He did the same: his shoes shone fit to see his reflection in, his suit brushed, shirt crisp, trousers well pressed, his tie exactly the right shade. Finally Julia would brush his trilby before he put it on.

So he was not surprised that she was dressed stunningly. What baffled him was the high colour that touched her cheeks these days when she hurried off to meet someone. She was not normally a nervous person.

A frantic ringing of the doorbell to their apartment awoke Julia. It was dark. She shook Simon awake. ‘What… what… is it?’ he stammered, hardly yet awake.

‘Someone’s hanging on our doorbell!’ Julia shouted in his ear and fumbled for the bedside table lamp. She switched it on and glanced at the alarm clock. ‘It’s two thirty in the morning!’

It was Wednesday. They’d gone to bed early the night before so as to be ready for another exacting day packing buyers’ selections to be made up at the factory they used – so many numbers per order and several orders coming in regularly over the weeks.

Simon sat up as the ringing continued, spasmodic and frantic.

‘Some drunk?’ Julia queried.

‘I shouldn’t think so. But it sounds urgent.’

She watched him slip out of bed, struggle into a dressing gown and slippers and make for the window that overlooked the Mews and the front door. He wrenched up the sash to lean out and she heard him call down. A female voice, high-pitched and frenzied, answered.

He withdrew his head and made for the bedroom door, calling back to her as he flung it open, ‘It’s Virginia. She says it’s an emergency – your mother.’

In one leap, Julia was out of bed and following him. By the time she was down he was already at the front door, had unlocked and opened it. Ginny almost fell into his arms.

‘It’s Mummy! I think she’s having a fit or a heart attack! I don’t know what to do. Her skin’s gone all sweaty and her eyes are rolling up into her head. She’s as white as a sheet.’

‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ said Simon, handing the trembling girl over to Julia and running upstairs for the phone.

Ginny was dragging her outside. ‘I’ve got to get back to her. Come with me, Julia. I don’t want be alone with her.’ She was crying. All Julia had on was a thin silk nightdress but it was a warm night and Ginny needed her.

They sat in the hospital waiting room as dawn broke, slowly and begrudgingly brightening to a splendid sun whose light was dulled for them by the smoke-begrimed windows. Even in the warmth of May backstreet families still cooked on open kitchen grates.

Finally a grave-faced doctor came into the waiting room to speak to them. Faces strained, wearied by lack of sleep, they looked up at him in hope. The sight of his expression dashed that hope even before he spoke.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but Ginny had already begun to weep silently. ‘We did everything possible,’ he went on, looking at the other two after a brief glance towards the younger girl.

Julia and Simon had stood up at his entrance. Now Julia nodded and said stiffly, ‘Thank you.’ Why was she thanking him? Yet she repeated her words. ‘Thank you anyway.’

She hardly heard the information they were being given as she took Ginny to her; Ginny, the only one in the end who had truly given her time to their mother, and who, she supposed, had loved her far more than the rest of them.

Poor girl, she thought as they made their way home. In August she and Robert were getting married. It was to be a big wedding, and there were only a few things still left to do. The dresses were made, the cake and carriages ordered, the church and hotel booked. How would Ginny get through it now? Without her mother there, how could it ever be what it was meant to