by Maggie Ford
* * *
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 go wrong?’ he laughed again, seeing a chance in this for himself. ‘What will happen is that the big bankers will have to step in and prop up the market and everything will recover. Now’s the time to jump in.’
‘But there has to be a cause for such a sudden collapse,’ she said but he was already making for the phone. He returned straight-faced.
‘They told me to hang on for a bit to see how things proceed. I think they’re being a bit too overcautious. This is the time to buy. They can be fools at times!’
He seemed to have no qualms at all, but an awful feeling had begun to develop deep in Julia’s stomach. Her father had been optimistic too though he had always kept his dealings secret, hoping desperately for the luck that always seemed to evade him. Simon, however, enjoyed the exhilaration of making money. Only last week he had borrowed hugely on a good tip and was even now waiting to see that investment reap dividends.
In all these years he’d never suffered any serious setbacks. There had been a few minor ones but he’d always bounced back, usually doubling his investments, and Julia had to admit they might not have made such a success of their business if it hadn’t been buoyed up by some timely selling of shares. Yet she couldn’t help the fear that nothing lasts and that a day might come when things could go badly wrong. She didn’t like the feeling of dread that was now churning in the pit of her stomach. Was this the day?
To her relief, despite calling his bank fools, he controlled the impulse to buy even more shares while they were low. Julia then began to wonder if she might be to blame for his caution. What if they shot up again and he’d missed out? How would she feel watching his disappointment?
The evening papers proved she’d been right to advise caution. Each one carried accounts of a continuing unprecedented wave of fear and panic-selling as almost thirteen million shares changed hands on the New York Stock Exchange. Wall Street witnessed dazed brokers having to deal with terrified investors who were ordering them to sell at any price. At the peak of the panic, buyers were simply non-existent, with reports of the market in fact having ceased to function, stocks being dumped overboard for whatever they could bring.
As Simon read, Julia could see his face blenching. ‘It’ll right itself,’ he gasped, but she knew, and felt he did too, that it was wishful thinking.
Later edition papers continued telling of shocking collapses in value so that by eleven thirty New York time, the bottom had dropped out of the market, with police trying to control hysterical crowds in the streets. The tiniest rumour of intervention would send prices back up only to drop still further minutes later. Small investors were besieging the banks, clamouring to withdraw their money before they lost everything. Simon began thinking of his own hefty shares.
‘If mine ever dropped like that we could be in deep trouble,’ he kept saying. He had borrowed heavily throughout the last few years and if the banks called in their money, they would indeed be in trouble.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the panic died. Investors were told that it had been the fault of the ticker-tape system’s technical inadequacy to deal with such a massive volume of trading and that the big bankers had agreed to prop up the market with their own money.
As the US market began to rise, Julia felt herself able to breathe again and Simon even recovered his composure enough to feel more than a little disgruntled.
‘I said I should have bought while I had the chance. I said the bank is a fool! I should have taken no notice of their stupid warnings and bought!’
He was soon to change his mind. On Monday the first shock waves from Wall Street hit the London Stock Exchange. Almost hysterically Simon telephoned his bank to be told the best thing would be to sell whatever he could and take whatever he could get.
‘I can’t!’ he gasped at Julia. ‘Not at the price they are now.’
‘You must. You said yourself the bank knows best. If you don’t…’
She let her words fail on the unthinkable. Much of their business had come more and more to depend on income from his dabbling, as she often jokingly called it, in the share market.
It was their hard work too that provided for the major part of their comfortable lifestyle, but without his shares they might never have been able to survive in the cut-throat fashion world. They might have fallen by the wayside long ago to remain just a small boutique. She recognized that fact now, despite her fears that Simon often seemed far too rash. She’d never been tempted to have a go herself despite his urging her to. She knew where her money was safest; maybe not earning dividends or making interest, but safe nevertheless. Her father’s failures were still implanted in her memory after all these years. Now it seemed as if failure was about to come knocking at their own door.
The familiar saying popped into her mind: ‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’ She turned away from the thought. Simon was no fool; a risk-taker maybe, but he had always managed to be ahead of the game.
Their partnership had been successful and they had done well. She had to remember that as she felt for him in the worst moments of his life, watching as he sat with his ear practically glued to the wireless for news as it continued to filter through.
Twenty-Nine
The London Stock Exchange was displaying little of the panic that had descended on New York, with every stock exchange across America having closed. The most London was saying with typical British understatement was that the market here was very unsettled!
‘Even so, I’m phoning to see what my bank has to say,’ said Simon.
Julia stood anxiously beside him as he spoke into the phone, watching as he grew alarmed at what he was hearing. She saw him pale, caught his horrified whisper, ‘Sell’; started as his voice rose to a near shriek.
‘Yes, sell! For Christs sake, sell!’
When the person on the other end of the phone spoke again, apparently asking him to confirm his request, he repeated even louder, ‘Sell, damn it! Sell for what you can get!’
What Julia didn’t realize until later was that shares across the board were falling even as he was speaking. Even in the minute it took for them to ask for confirmation of his request and for him to repeat it, shares had fallen still further, things were moving that fast.
Several minutes later, Simon having paced the lounge continuously during that lull, waving his hand dismissively at her when she tried to say anything, the phone rang. Simon almost leaped at it, yanking the earpiece off its hook and making the stand shudder.
‘Yes?’
He listened intently, his expression unreadable, every now and again saying, ‘Yes’ and ‘I see’, his tone droppin
g. Finally he replaced the receiver, his face chalk-white. He looked bleakly across at Julia.
‘It’s all gone. I’m down tens of thousands and it’s still dropping.’
‘Oh, Simon,’ was all she could say but he seemed not to hear her.
‘The bank advised me to get rid of everything while I could, but they’re worthless. I’ve been wiped out!’ His voice had dropped to a whisper.
‘I’ve nothing left. It’s like a nightmare! How could it happen?’
His voice broke. Julia had never seen him as he was now, his expression completely stark, his eyes reddening, his lips palsied. Her heart almost breaking for him, she ran to take him in her arms and hold him, her own sobs stifling any words she might have spoken, had there been any to speak.
* * *
With the market continuing on its downward slide Julia came slowly to the conclusion that it was now up to her to try and pull things together. But could she? She remembered how she had helped her family back on to its feet. She’d been at her wits’ end then. Now she was going to have to go through it all again, this time with the man she loved more than anyone else in this world.
But there had been more fearful news. Hardly had the bank sold him out, as he saw it, than they called him in for a talk the next day. He had hardly slept all night and looked thoroughly drained. When he returned from his interview he resembled a dead man. Julia was reminded of her mother’s shocked and dazed expression when her father died.
‘They said how sorry they are, and that there are thousands of others like me, but they’ll no longer be able extend credit to even their most valued customers. It seems banks are in as much trouble as anyone, they’re down by millions.’ Despite his expression his voice was steady. ‘Our only course now,’ he went on, ‘is to sell all we can of the business.’
‘Simon, we can’t. This is our life, our only livelihood. We’ve worked so hard. There has to be another way.’
Devastated, she wanted to tell him that this wasn’t the end of the world, that somehow things would get better. In America it was being reported that some people had committed suicide because of the Crash, having lost everything. That was not going to happen to him. They hadn’t lost everything. They still had their business. They would limp on, somehow.
But there were overheads to consider and Simon was not slow in pointing them out. ‘There’s rental, the cost of keeping up our stock, paying our staff, the factory, the warehouse, they all want paying. Stationery, postage, lighting, heating, that exhibition you were planning. We were off to Paris, remember?’
With that he walked away, leaving her to mull over what he’d listed. He was wrong, she thought. They would make a go of things, if only on a more modest scale. But in his present frame of mind there was no talking to him. He had lost all interest in the business, leaving her to rack her brains as to how to cope. Over the following week he seemed to sink lower and lower. He was hardly sleeping, had let his work fall away and was constantly on the telephone looking for the slightest glimmer of hope of recouping his losses. It was all useless.
The second of November saw a little of the hysteria fade from Wall Street but the damage had been done. As autumn moved forward businesses and even industry reflected how serious things had become. Workers were being laid off by the thousand, unemployment was suddenly burgeoning again. With people watching the pennies the last thing they were looking for was frivolous clothing and dress shops were going to the wall. Julia too found herself struggling, seeing fewer and fewer orders coming in, the telephone ceasing to ring, buyers seeming to disappear. Even the wealthy, on whom the fashion industry relied, were being careful with their money. Many of them had been hit hard by the Crash, seeing their investments go up in smoke. According to the newspapers the world was falling into decline. Only France it seemed was still apparently thriving, a law unto itself. But that had not helped the London fashion trade to recover.
As they moved towards Christmas Julia felt that her world was slowly falling apart. So many times she was tempted to resort to the metal box she had hidden away under the floorboards of her bedroom. But she told herself that there was still hope; there was no need yet to use those savings. Even so the Slump, as it was beginning to be called, was beginning to bite as the world fell into the grip of depression.
‘It’s all newspaper talk!’ Ginny said when she came to visit. ‘The world will recover. The countries’ governments will see to that.’
‘How are you both managing?’ Julia asked, looking from Ginny to Robert.
He smiled and tilted his head. ‘We’re just about holding up. We’ll be OK if we can ride this out.’
‘And James still has his bank position,’ Ginny cut in.
‘Yes, thank goodness,’ said Julia, then asked about Stephanie.
Ginny let out a wry laugh. ‘You know Stephanie. She always lands on her feet somehow. I think they’re all right. She should get in touch with you more after all you’ve done for her, for all of us. But Stephanie has only ever been interested in Stephanie.’ To which Julia had to agree.
Around the end of November a tiny light was seen on the horizon as the US Government promised action to lift the world out of the decline. At home the Labour Government announced a forty-two-million-pound public works programme, hoping to lighten the situation. This initiative was seen as too little too late by sceptics, but it was encouraging all the same. Simon brightened for the first time since the disaster.
‘I knew something would be done,’ he said to Julia. ‘I think we’re probably going to make it. If we can just get over the next couple of months we’ll be back on track – a good start for this little one.’ He patted her midriff, which was already thickening slightly. It was the more noticeable as she had always been so slim. She laughed happily; it was good to have him acknowledging the baby. Catching his hand, she held it there and he bent to kiss her. It was so good to have him like this, to see him looking a little brighter. For his sake she hoped he was right about a better future for their child to be born into.
* * *
For all the Government’s promise about its public works programme, the New Year came and went with unemployment still rising.
‘We’re going to have to lay off most of our people,’ Julia told Simon in January. ‘And that might have to include Betty.’
Simon looked shocked. ‘Surely we can’t do that.’
‘If we want to keep afloat, we’ve no option.’ It would be one of the most painful things she had ever had to do. ‘If we don’t cut back somehow, we’ll be facing bankruptcy in a few months.’
Simon could only agree miserably. But it was becoming a downward spiral.
Julia had kept quiet about her own savings in case he thought to try and increase them by further investments. But even if she used them, there wouldn’t be enough to keep them in business.
‘How are we going to manage without machinists or cutters?’ he asked.
‘I’ll have to go back to doing much of the work myself.’
‘You can’t. Not in your condition.’
She gave a small laugh. ‘There are months of work left in me yet.’
‘Even so, where are you going to get samples made up in bulk?’ There were no factory outlets now as they had little money to pay them. She was down to using any means to induce shops to take her creations. Often she was turned away with apologies; shops too were finding it hard going. She knew she had to try or go under, but even she was losing heart. The cash she’d stowed away over the years would not be enough to keep them going for many months. Banks had long since been scared off lending money and Simon’s jewellery side of the business was almost non-existent now.
‘At least you can do the books,’ she had joked. They had been forced to dispense with their accountant a while ago to try and save some costs.
‘What books?’ he had joked in return, though it no longer seemed a joke.
She kept wondering how she would manage when she grew near her time, trying t
o bend and stretch to cut out patterns, her stomach impeding her. What then? Would she have the will to carry on?
And when the baby was born? What a world to bring a child into. They owed the bank thousands. If in the end they couldn’t pay, unable even to afford to rent out this place, they’d be forced to sell up. What would they get for a business in this financial climate? Whatever they realized, the bank would take all that was owed to them first. She and Simon would be finished. There was no place for sentiment in business.
Thirty
The New York Stock Exchange had lost over ten billion dollars. The richest country in the world had seen its lovely bubble burst. The dreams of big spenders were gone. The poor of America could only see themselves getting poorer as big businesses tightened their belts.
It was the same in Britain. Like so many others, Layzell Creations owed the bank thousands. Despite having once been a good customer, Simon found that his bank was in no position to offer kindness. Like many other private and public companies, it was feeling the draught. Simon was left fighting a losing battle.
‘If we do go bust,’ he said gloomily as spring brought less and less sign of their business ever getting back on its feet, ‘they’ll surely call in their loans. And then we’ll have had it.’
‘Something might turn up,’ Julia said desperately. ‘All we need is one good fashion show. I could organize one.’
‘And who will come to see it? Even the big fashion houses are starting to feel the pinch. What chance has a small establishment like ours?’
‘Just one small show might keep us going a bit longer,’ she said stubbornly but he shook his head.
‘It could be years before this country recovers, not to say the world. People think we had bad unemployment in the twenties. You just wait. This new decade will make all that seem like a tea dance!’
