‘I can’t think about that now,’ Julia hissed in low, imperious tones. ‘This won’t take long.’ Turning, she made for the door that connected the shop to their apartments above.
Mystified, he followed her, having told their staff to carry on, that they wouldn’t be long. This presumption annoyed her further.
In the hallway of their apartment, she stopped and turned to him, aware of the anxious pumping of her heart. Most of her joy and spontaneity had disappeared after the delay Simon had caused.
Quickly she related to him what Marwood had told her and waited for his reaction. It was so long coming that for a moment she really thought he still didn’t believed her. She was starting to become angry but managed to contain herself.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ she asked. ‘Benjamin confirmed that I conceived after we were married. The baby’s yours, Simon.’
It was humiliating to have to spell it out like this, and to have him looking at her as if he still didn’t believe her. Yes, she’d been a fool, she who had once condemned Stephanie for the selfsame behaviour. But Simon wasn’t above blame. Too taken up with his business and his investments to pay real attention to her he’d pushed her away from him. How could he doubt her now, when she had irrefutable proof that this baby was his?
‘Did you hear me?’ she repeated, her voice beginning to break down.
She saw him blink. It was like seeing someone coming out of a coma. ‘You mean…’
‘Yes,’ she said as he hesitated, ‘I’m two months pregnant.’
In a second his arms had folded about her and she found herself being pressed against him so tightly that it was difficult to breathe.
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry!’ he was saying. ‘So sorry, the way I’ve behaved. I don’t know what got into me to doubt…’ He was smothering her face with kisses, holding it between his two hands. ‘I’ll never ever forgive myself for the way I’ve behaved. How could I ever have…? My dearest darling!’
Happiness swept over her. And utter amazement too. The way he had behaved? She should be the one begging forgiveness. All her life she would regret the silly episode with Chester, even if it faded from his mind in time. One thing she was sure of though – she didn’t deserve a man like Simon.
As he read his Financial Times at the breakfast table, Simon became suddenly alert. ‘This looks interesting! The Stock Exchange is showing lots of activity in the new-issues market – could be a good time with this strong sterling – dollar exchange to get in while things are buoyant.’
Julia glanced up from her cornflakes. ‘Be careful, love,’ she said, almost automatically now. ‘You will think before you buy anything, won’t you?’
His wild dealings as she saw them still worried her endlessly though he seemed ever blessed by the Midas touch.
He gave her a patronizing smile. ‘You should know me by now, darling. I always take the advice of my more reliable sources, none of your bucket shop betting!’ he ended with a laugh.
Bucket shops were more like stock market bookmakers; no shares were bought or sold, punters bet on prices only. The Tories had promised to do away with them if they were returned to power in the May General Election, but they had been pipped at the post by Labour, so the bucket shops still operated.
‘I’m just worried that you might get too carried away,’ Julia said. ‘The unemployment rate is still so very high and no one knows when it will ever come down.’
‘But that doesn’t affect us,’ he said, turning back to his newspaper. ‘It’s been high for years, but business is good, shares are good, and I’m thinking of popping into my bank to have a chat with them. I’ve got my eye on one or two quite good-looking investments.’
That the economy remained in a mess didn’t seem to concern him so long as his shares were doing well. What if he did sometimes take too many chances for her liking, borrowing more and more heavily to finance this long-standing obsession with investments? His bank appeared happy enough, even eager to advance him whatever he needed, certain of its returns from which they benefited handsomely.
Nor had the fact that half the nation was living in poverty ever affected their business. They mixed with successful people like themselves, and what if Britain under this new Socialist government was still fighting for economic survival, looking to America to prop up the economy? So far it hadn’t caused Simon problems so why should it worry her? Julia sighed and gave up.
On Friday morning Simon casually unfolded his Financial Times as usual to read while eating breakfast. Teacup in one hand, he laid the paper flat on the tablecloth to scan the headlines while he drank. But the cup never reached his lips, his eyes caught in disbelief by the bold, black wording.
‘Good God!’
Julia looked up. ‘What is it, darling?’
He didn’t reply. Dropping the cup back on its saucer, he began sifting frantically through the pages, his brow creasing. Then, pushing the crumpled newspaper at her, he gabbled, ‘New York – there’s been panic selling – shares tumbled to virtually rock bottom overnight – everyone trying to offload but no one’s buying. They’re going crazy over there. They’re saying it’s chaos!’
He chewed his lip as Julia read the headlines: ‘BLACK THURSDAY! WALL STREET CRASHES!’
But by the time she looked up, Simon had recovered a little. He even gave a smile at her worried expression, ever the optimist. ‘I must phone the bank, see what they’ve got to say. The market will rally, of course. Investors will jump in, buy low and prices will shoot up again. I might get hold of some good stock before they do. That’s how it works. Buy low, sell high.’
He gave a laugh but Julia wasn’t convinced. ‘Please, darling, don’t do anything rash. You never know, something could go wrong.’
‘What could
