A New Dream by Maggie Ford (world of reading .TXT) 📕

incapable of sewing two pieces of cloth together she had now developed a talent for design, sketching away with surprising results. With Betty left to the cutting and overseeing of the sewing, they made a perfect team.

They had sectioned off the shop so that one side held Simon’s fashion jewellery, intended for stage costumes but no longer cheap and cheerful. Instead were long strings of cultured pearls; slave bangles of silver or rolled gold; shoulder and corsage brooches, still paste jewellery but of much better quality; long diamanté or cultured pearl earrings, also of superior quality. He now sold stage make-up as well, and his counter was always busy.

Julia’s side of the shop displayed beautiful silks, satins, crêpe de Chine and other lovely material, arranged on shelves and in cubicles or tastefully draped on one or two mannequins. The back room, now a modern fashion showroom with curtained fitting rooms, had soft grey carpet, art deco mirrors, lacquer-red and black cube design window drapes hiding the back yard, a glass show cabinet with a glass fountain, and a low-backed, comfortable, red and black sofa with several matching chairs, making it a quiet and peaceful place for customers.

The floor above now housed a workroom, stockroom, office, staff room and toilet. They’d considered subletting to help pay off the bank loan but there was no need now. Here too Julia did her design work. Part of the stockroom had been partitioned off for Simon’s living quarters, a small bedroom and a living room. Though she was still living upstairs with her family, Julia would have her lunch with him though dinner was always taken with the family.

If she and Simon were going out somewhere in the evening, perhaps to a show or a cinema, they’d have dinner out. Simon had suggested some time ago that she could come down to his quarters occasionally to enjoy an evening listening to dance music on the wireless set he had just bought. Wirelesses were now all the rage.

When she had broached the subject with her mother, Victoria had been shocked at the idea of her spending whole evenings downstairs with Simon.

‘Oh, Julia!’ she had gasped in tones of such horror that Julia had not pursued the matter.

It was best not to rock the boat. After all, a whole summer had gone by – where it had gone she hardly knew – and Simon had so far not spoken of marriage or even engagement. Perhaps, she thought, it was because of the pressure they had been under to get the shop up and running. Yet she knew he loved her.

‘You an’ Mr Layzell be goin’ out tonight?’ Betty’s voice broke through Julia’s thoughts. ‘Only, if you are, I shan’t work late if that’s orright.’

Julia came to herself with a start. Betty had a tiny one-roomed flat above a solicitor’s a few doors away.

‘Only I got a bit of a backache what’s gettin’ me down a bit.’

Julia made herself concentrate. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Betty! Do you want to go now?’

‘No, that’s orright, I’ll finish at me usual time then go and ’ave a good lie down.’ She would often stay late if there was a rush on. ‘Sooner ’ere than be in me flat all on me own,’ she’d say, though she did go off to a working women’s social club quite often with a few friends she’d made.

‘That’s fine, Betty. And I hope you feel better in the morning.’

‘Yes, of course,’ was the cheerful retort, leaving Julia wondering as she left Betty to it, if she’d be as cheerful if she’d lost a husband in the war. How would she feel if anything were to happen to Simon? God forbid! Her mother had taken their father’s death very hard and still suffered. How would she have coped if Chester had died when she’d still been in love with him? She hadn’t thought about him for a long time, but every now and again she was reminded of the humiliation of being cast aside; a vague echo not of love or loss but of resentment.

Julia turned her mind quickly to thoughts of tonight. She and Simon were going to the new Tivoli in the Strand, which was being called a super-cinema. But it wasn’t the film Julia was thinking about, it was arriving back here, saying goodnight to Simon and having to go upstairs to her family’s quarters.

It was an effort of will not to stay, not to linger over a nightcap in his room. He’d never take advantage of her, she knew that. No, she was afraid of herself; of her own needs overpowering her; of the consequences of giving themselves up to each other. If she were to conceive a child she knew he would marry her, but it would be a marriage tainted.

Often, as he kissed her goodnight, she’d remember the one and only time they had thrown caution to the wind on that hard little bed in the back of his old shop. It had caused such awkwardness between them afterwards she could still feel it. She was sure he felt it too since he had never let it happen again. Yet she often wondered if he ached for her quite as much as she did for him.

Unable to bring herself to ask him such a question outright, she had to remain content with ardent kisses, almost desperate embraces, before she would break away, saying that she must go upstairs. At that he would give her the dismal nod of agreement she hated. If only just once he’d take the initiative and say, ‘Don’t go,’ she would stay like a shot. But he never did.

She told herself it was the constant string of worries that had spoiled any repetition of that one loving night: their minds concentrated on trying to make a go of the old shop; the dismay of realizing the lease wouldn’t be renewed; the desperate search for other premises; the effort involved to get the new shop up and running;