He seemed to be totally against him and she couldn’t understand why. Even now she couldn’t believe how a person’s opinion could change so drastically, as if Ronald was his worst enemy and yet the Fosters hadn’t lain eyes on him for three years other than on a couple of occasions attending one of her parties.
‘What have you got against him?’ she challenged now. For answer, he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug.
‘I haven’t seen enough of him recently to have anything against him. I’m just saying you should be cautious about using your own money buying shares for others. It’s different taking risks on our own behalf, but with others…’
He let his voice die away, leaving her feeling uneasy. In the end she decided that in this particular case she would use another financial adviser – far less embarrassing – less hassle.
Twenty-Eight
Ronnie was becoming impatient. ‘Why are we waiting so long? They’re making a nice profit. Shouldn’t we be cashing in on them? I hate it, still having to rely on you to buy me everything.’
‘You have to learn to be patient,’ she told him. ‘You’ve only had them for three months. Give it time.’
They were lying in each other’s arms this morning, having made love with no need to get up until midday after a late night at a party.
It was September. By her estimation another couple of months would see his investment rise at least another quarter of its worth. George Foster had said so.
‘If I were you I should sell then. By what you tell me, you don’t want that young man to get too carried away,’ he’d advised darkly, going on to say, ‘I have it on good authority that they could drop a little round about autumn. If you want to, and feel sure of him, you can buy in again.’
But he was chafing at the bit, anxious she imagined to have his own money in his pocket. It was that which worried her. Until now he’d relied on her but what if he were to make a killing; no longer needing her? He could walk out of her life, leaving her alone again. If that happened, what would she do? But surely he’d never do that. He was so lovely, so grateful to her, at every turn showing his gratitude. And he loved her.
‘According to you, I only had to wait a few weeks,’ he said, his tone somewhat sharper than she’d have liked, or was it just her imagination?
‘Sometimes, yes,’ she told him as evenly as she could. ‘But you have to learn to bide your time. It will come.’
She was biding hers too, closely watching a buoyant market that had risen at a fine pace throughout the summer, instinct telling her to wait – that next month, as they began to reach their threshold, would be the time to sell.
‘When it does,’ she told Ronald, ‘we can talk about whether or not you want to sell. Just bide your time. Patience – you need to be patient.’
‘And if they drop, suddenly, before I can do that?’
‘Trust me, darling. Give it one more month. You’ll see.’
‘What if the company suddenly goes bust and the price suddenly drops without warning?’
‘The company’s doing well. Why should it suddenly drop?’ But his words seemed to hold a prophetic ring to them, causing the tiniest of shivers to run through her veins, a feeling which she hurriedly shook off.
‘You have to trust me,’ she said again emphatically. ‘You wait, my love, things will start moving around autumn. It often does and you’ll be pleased that you bided your time. We’ll both be pleased.’
Now it was October and he was again beginning to fret. ‘It’ll be Christmas soon,’ he remarked this Thursday as they sat at home over a welcome cup of tea and slice of cake after having been out shopping all afternoon. She loved having him with her when she bought things. He had a good eye for fashion and it was so nice having a second opinion from someone she trusted.
Most women were either tight-lipped, perhaps trying to hide their jealousy at the money she spent on the latest fashions, or they would be all over her, saying: ‘Oh, my dear, that looks simply wonderful on you!’ no matter how dubious she felt about the garment. Ronnie she could trust. But time was passing. Christmas was rushing towards them and she needed to find something really beautiful and special for the festive season. As always, her Christmas Eve party would be the biggest and best in London if she had any say in it.
‘Investors all need money for Christmas,’ he was saying. ‘Won’t there be a rush to cash in? The market could drop and I won’t make as much as I’d hoped. Maybe we should do something about it now before it’s too late.’
She was about to remind him of patience, that she had her eye on the market and to give it just a couple more weeks and then they’d be laughing, when the phone rang. Casually she got up to answer it. It was Foster. His voice was high and panicky.
‘Madeleine – have you got the wireless on?’
‘No. Why?’
‘The New York stock market – it’s chaos over there!’
Her mind went immediately to some spectacular bull market, prices escalating like some wildfire, and her heart soared. Some of her shares were connected with the market there. She had been drawn to that market when James had taken her to New York and they’d both spent a little time off from sightseeing to dabble. Now George Foster sounded beside himself and her thoughts instantly flew to what marvellous
