by Maggie Ford
Simon shook his head in astonishment when Julia told him of her mother’s hardness. ‘We’ll have to find her a flat ourselves,’ he said.
‘But she has no job and no money for rent.’
‘Then we’ll just have to pay her rent for her,’ he said generously.
By the summer of 1925 there were more jobs to be had but Julia knew her sister. She’d never take just anything. Despite the trauma and stigma of having carried an illegitimate child, Stephanie had lost none of her self-confidence or vanity. Even while recovering her strength in the convalescent home she had continued doing her nails, making up her face and trying on her dresses. They still fitted her perfectly, her figure having returned to normal already. Her sights were set on rejoining the bright young things she had come to know and she was looking forward to the prospect of going dancing and having fun, only this time without Jimmy Waring whom she had now apparently got over.
‘I’ll soon find somebody else,’ she said brightly, full of self-assurance. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea and next time I won’t make the same mistakes again.’
She took it for granted that she’d land on her feet and she did, with Simon of course offering to find and pay for a flat for her to live in.
Julia might have thought he was being taken for a ride by her sister, but she had no time to dwell on it. She’d had enough of worrying about her family. Work was coming in too thick and fast now for her to worry about anything else.
Julia would have spent all day in her small workroom, designing and draping the results on a plaster mannequin she’d had for years, if she hadn’t had to keep up a mounting succession of meetings with shops willing to take her creations, or go looking for just the right materials for her work. She now had the services of a small factory to turn out copies of her various designs to send round the West End shops, and she was slowly making a name for herself. Simon too was well occupied with his own side of the business; he was now expert at knowing just what the public wanted in fashion jewellery.
By September their present premises were beginning to prove too small for a business that was rapidly expanding. There was no doubt that the economic situation was having an influence; there was more money around, and fashions were becoming more and more outrageous, with day and evening dresses skimpy, hems the shortest in history, hardly hiding a stocking top.
Women’s hair too was being worn almost as short as a man’s, in styles known as the shingle, the Eton crop and the bob. These were mostly hidden under deep, head-hugging cloche hats that Julia now bought in specifically to match each dress she designed. Every moment of her days and much of her evenings was taken up designing ever more exciting styles to cope with customer demand. She was creating a label to be stocked in a few West End boutiques and needed to find another cutter to help Betty. In addition she was now employing six machinists. There simply wasn’t the room to accommodate such a workforce and even Simon was getting worried.
‘We’re just going to have to find larger premises,’ he said to Julia one evening in late September as they lay together in bed before falling asleep. ‘I’m tired of living over the premises anyway. We’ve enough in the bank to expand and start living in a decent flat, somewhere we can entertain without feeling ashamed.’
These days they needed to entertain business people, maybe a client or two, but always in a fine restaurant or nightclub.
‘It would be so good to be able to bring people back for drinks, hold a party or two,’ he went on, but Julia wasn’t thinking of that.
‘What about my mother?’ she asked, sleep momentarily swept aside. ‘We can’t leave her here. I know she has James and Ginny but when they’re not here, I’m only a call away. And she’s not getting any younger.’
He put his arm around her and drew her to him. ‘We’ll find her something nice and roomy nearby and I’ll pay someone to cook and keep the place tidy.’
‘It’ll have to be very near, otherwise she might feel she’s being ostracized.’
‘I don’t see why. She was the one who threw Stephanie out, and you too, darling. She’ll still have Ginny and James living with her.’
‘One day both of them will marry and leave her.’
‘Then she’d be on her own anyway, darling. Time marches on. You can’t go on coddling her. She doesn’t appreciate it anyway; she still sees us as living in sin.’
That remark, though made lightly, started her thinking that they should again discuss when they would finally set a date for their wedding. But before she could say anything, he had laughed at his little quip and squeezed her tightly to him, kissing her, and she knew it was a moment to make love and not worry over anything else for the time being.
Twenty
‘I can’t believe this is all ours!’
Julia twisted round and round with joy, flinging wide her arms as if to embrace the huge lounge. The flat, with its two large bedrooms, fine reception room and beautifully appointed kitchen also had a lovely bathroom. No longer would they have to run across a workroom to the toilet, or use a tin bath.
‘I never dreamed years ago that we would ever live in any place like this,’ she went on.
After four months of pent-up anxiety about whether or not they could afford it, the place was finally theirs. As well as the flat, they had purchased new business premises which boasted a large showroom, an inviting reception area, a workroom and all the facilities, a separate cutting room and good-sized office where business could be done in comfort. All this had diminished her and Simon’s finances to an extent that had been terrifying. But it was done now and it was up to them to make a success of it.
She had no qualms on that score. These past four months had been productive, her worries about her family thrown aside to concentrate on her own future for a change. Compared to the well-established fashion houses, Jacques Doucet, Paul Poirot, Worth, Lucile, Callot Soeurs, she was still small fry but proud to have her creations known by the name Julia Layzell. Though she and Simon were still not married, who cared so long as a Layzell garment was the one to have?
She might never be up there with the names that were now breaking new ground, Elsa Schiaparelli, Coco Chanel or Madeleine Vionnet, but she could always dream that one day it could happen. And as she told herself, if you dream hard enough your dreams could come true.
Ceasing her gyrations, Julia threw herself into her sister Ginny’s arms while Simon looked on, amused; it wasn’t like her to show so much excitement, she was usually so calm and collected.
Julia ignored his amusement. ‘Isn’t it just wonderful?’ She was almost crying with joy and relief that the anxious months of waiting and worrying were over. ‘After all we’ve been through – now look at us.’
‘You’ve done marvellously,’ Ginny whispered so that their mother, standing nearby, wouldn’t hear and maybe make some bitter comment.
Bitterness seemed to have become ingrained in her over the years. It had sketched itself on her features, the corners of her lips drooping as she stared around the lounge with its comfortable three-piece suite, its art deco drapes, pictures and ornaments.
There was no cause today for her to be bitter; her family were all here around her. As well as Stephanie, Ginny and Julia, James was there with his young lady, Caroline. She was a demure young girl who smiled a lot but said little. The couple were set to become engaged in May when he turned twenty-one.
They were all smiling except her mother, who was surveying the room as if trying to make up her mind just how to disapprove.
‘I hope you never forget what we have all been through.’ She echoed Julia’s words as if from a distance. ‘The suffering I had to bear, losing your dear father. I only hope he’s looking down and praying you never get above yourselves with all this high life.’
Julia didn’t respond. She’d long got over worrying about her mother’s discontented outlook on life. The woman would never change. Refusing to move with the times, she still wore the long skirts and high-necked, dark blous
es worn ten years ago. Her only concession to fashion was the ubiquitous cloche hat, but even there her choice was sombre and dull, reflecting her whole attitude.
She had seldom left her old flat, scorning visits to the cinema or theatre, refusing even to go for a walk on fine days, despite all Julia’s persuasions. It was four years since her husband’s death but still she had not even gone shopping, saying she wasn’t ready to face the world; instead her groceries had been delivered. Lack of fresh air showed on her face, which was pale as chalk, the skin paper-thin, and life spent in the confines of a tiny flat was making her shoulders more rounded than they should be.
Her new three-bedroom flat was in Maddox Mews, off Maddox Street, just across from Julia’s spacious apartment. She would have more room to move about here and maybe this would help her counter some of her premature ageing.
But all she said when asked how she liked it was, ‘It’s a bit rambling after what I had to become used to when we lost our lovely house.’
No word of thanks, and Julia had given up, saying perhaps a little too sharply and unkindly, ‘Well, Mummy, if that’s the case you can always stick to one room and leave the others to Ginny and James.’
‘Virginia and James are hardly ever at home,’ had come the plaintive reply. ‘I shall feel lost in this big place all on my own.’
It was quite useless. Julia knew that Simon had splashed out much-needed money to get her mother this flat. She’d felt annoyed at her and embarrassed for him, but finally left Victoria to her own devices. The woman was totally unaware that she was slowly alienating herself from her entire family.
The next few months were too busy for Julia to worry much about her mother. James proved a stalwart, often bringing home Caroline, with whom his mother seemed taken, which was a relief. Julia was thus free to get on with her own life.
* * *
It wasn’t an easy start. All the work she and Simon put into building up their new premises, planning and overseeing the fine decor, ensuring that everything was top quality, ate into their reserves at an alarming rate. Nevertheless, Simon seemed to be happy with things as they were going.
‘I can’t wait to see it all finished,’ Julia said after yet another tiring day. ‘I just hope we haven’t been too extravagant. We’re beginning to owe the bank far too much for my liking.’
Despite their success she still carried the memory of her father’s downfall. What if it all fell apart for them as it had for him?
‘Don’t worry,’ Simon told her. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
Probably he did. She contented herself with that thought, but as the day of opening drew near with all its attendant anxieties, she felt as if the very elements were against them. February brought eighteen days no less of non-stop rain, deluge after deluge, with reports in the newspapers of terrible flooding in most of London’s suburbs.
Simon’s confidence was undiminished. ‘It’s going to be the sunniest day ever when we open,’ he announced. ‘It can only be fine after all this rain.’
But still Julia worried. She planned a grand opening in the form of a small fashion show, for which she intended to hire two models. This, her first real venture, made her heart race, her stomach queasy, and caused her sleepless nights. It was a nightmare getting together beautiful day dresses, stunning evening gowns, exciting party clothes, silk evening pyjamas, even pretty swimsuits with caps to match, all in bright oranges, shimmering blues, translucent greens and jazzy prints.
As for Simon, the days of selling cheap theatrical trinkets and bits and bobs were gone. He now concentrated on accessories to go with her creations; high-quality costume jewellery that was a far cry from what he’d begun with.
They went to great expense to advertise it all and though many of the invited buyers did attend, and the show was a complete success with plenty sold, February decided to vent the last of its foul fury on the day. The bad weather inevitably kept down the numbers and there were fewer customers than they’d hoped for. Ironically, the following day arrived with all that Simon had promised, a day of beautiful sunshine.
‘It seems the gods are against us,’ Julia moaned as they woke up to glorious sunshine on Sunday. ‘Why couldn’t yesterday have been like this?’
‘Well, as I see it,’ Simon said cheerfully, getting out of bed to gaze from the window at the quiet street below, ‘after that great ending to winter we’ll no doubt enjoy a good spring and summer. We didn’t expect to recoup everything in one day anyway! Nothing else can go wrong now.’
She hoped he was right. But just as March and April began to bring a glowing recovery, there came the General Strike in May and almost the entire country ground to a standstill. With most of her workforce out, Julia was unable to complete orders.
‘When they do finally return to work, they’ll find their cards waiting for them,’ she raged, but Simon shook his head.
‘You can’t do that. Half the country’s workers are out in support of the miners.’
These had been on strike for weeks, seeking improvements to their pitiful wages and poor working conditions. They were still out and suffering, but adamant they would not give in.
‘Thousands of ordinary workers are on strike for a good cause,’ Simon went on. ‘And if you sack your workers for joining them, you will be in the wrong. So we’re over a barrel really.’
Julia hadn’t seen it that way. Her only thoughts had been for her own business after the struggle they’d both had to get where they were.
The General Strike went on for ten days, with crowds descending angrily on any bus or train driver prepared to return to duty. Women and white-collar workers set to in order to keep coal and food supplies running, heaving postal mail bags, and risking being mobbed and in many cases actually falling foul of angry workers.
‘If this goes on much longer we could be bankrupt,’ Julia said. ‘We’ve sunk almost every penny we have into this venture. If we fail now we’ll have nothing.’
She was near to panic at the thought and Simon too, usually so calm and philosophical, was showing signs of despair. She wanted to add that they should never have let their earlier success go to their heads but that odd, beaten look on his face stopped her.
But just as she began to believe that all was lost, the strike ended as suddenly as it began. The miners fought on but the rest of the country went back to work. Julia had never felt such relief as she experienced when her own girls trooped back to their sewing machines, their pressing and their packing as if nothing had happened. She decided it was best to say as little as possible about the subject. With all this going on, it was June before the business took off, after six months of sheer panic.
Concentrating all their energies on making up for the loss of trade, they no longer saw the need to be married. There seemed to be no point to it. They were known by all their business associates as Julia and Simon Layzell. No one enquired into their precise status; all were merely pleased to be wined and dined by the Layzells and to attend exciting parties with them. Simon in particular entered enthusiastically into this new crazy life they were now living. And it was crazy.
Julia too found a quality in herself she never knew she had. Free of the responsibility of her mother and family, she found kicking over the traces great fun. She learned some of the gentler new dances, content to leave the more energetic ones like the Black Bottom and the Charleston to younger people. She knew all the current 1926 songs and the names of film and theatre stars; she even met a few of them as she mingled with high society. To her great delight, she had even been on the same dance floor as the Prince of Wales, if not quite swooning over him, then at least enjoying the sight of those women who did.
Simon was enjoying being able to buy all the newest gadgets for their smart flat. He had soon acquired the most up-to-date wireless set and a cabinet gramophone to which they would listen, either alone after dinner or with guests. Their home life had also been enhanced by the addition of a maid and a cook.
It worried h
er sometimes that he tended to spend money like water. Still haunted by the memory of her father’s downfall, she became particularly uneasy when he caught the investment bug and began gambling on the Stock Exchange. Money was coming in steadily, the business doing marvellously well, but he seemed to be making sure it went out just as fast. He had developed a love of driving and bought himself a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Soon he began talking of holidaying abroad, taking Atlantic cruises, popping down to the South of France to the casinos. Julia felt it was time to make an effort to rein him in.
‘Don’t you think we should think a little more carefully about our finances?’ she asked. ‘We should be saving more than we do, just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’ he asked, vaguely deflated by her lack of enthusiasm for his new toy and his exciting ideas.
‘In case something should happen to bring down all we’ve achieved.’
‘Now why should anything happen? We’re on top of the world.’
‘But we ought to be far better insured than we are against anything adverse that might happen. My father wasn’t. And you know what happened to us because of it. Everyone needs adequate savings.’
‘Then I shall buy some more stocks and shares,’ he said lightly and, seeing her catch at her lip in trepidation, added reassuringly, ‘the solid gold sort, if you’re worried. The worst that can happen to them is that they will yield very little.’
But she knew the big money came from the big risks, with the promise of huge gains. Her father had been seduced in this way and had either been deeply unlucky or ill advised. Whatever the truth of it, the result had been the same: he had lost everything and ruined his family. She could only hope that Simon might be shrewder and more fortunate in his dealings than ever her father was.
‘There really isn’t any need to worry,’ Simon was saying happily. ‘We are doing fine. I’m doing well on the stock market and we might even need to consider expanding the business still more.’
