laundry out, eat in restaurants...â
But Joy was adamant. She had grown up with staff, many of whom had been kinder to her than her own parents, and it was a rite of passage that she employ staff of her own.
They compromised and Frank found Jones a fully functioning separate servantsâ apartment, with three rooms and a kitchen and bathroom, in their building.
Jones quickly grew fond of Joy. She had a sense of taste and style way beyond her years. She had created a home of such modern elegance that it was a delight to manage, and while her husband was almost embarrassed to give him instruction, Jonesâ discretion and loyalty soon won him over and Jones learned to respect the honest, charismatic Irishman.
The same could not be said for his in-laws. Ruth Rogerson remained sceptical about her only daughterâs choice of partner. It wasnât just that Frank was ânew moneyâ and that he appeared to have no family, rich or poor. Her lack of approval was instinctive, based on a motherâs mistrust. Finding herself widowed, less than a year into her daughterâs marriage, Ruth transferred her assets into jewellery and gems, which she put in the bank, to be released only to Joy on her death. It was not a moment too soon, for a heart attack claimed her, too, within months.
At her motherâs graveside, Joy gripped Frankâs arm and wished she could crawl inside his cashmere coat and stay there forever, safe and warm in the shelter of her husbandâs love. At the reading of her will the lawyer revealed that the jewels were to be kept safe âin case my daughter ever needs themâ, which they both knew meant, if she decided to divorce Frank.
Joy did not stop to grieve for her parents. Instead she focused even more intensely on her marriage and Frank. For their first anniversary she booked a romantic trip to Ireland, hoping to learn more about her husbandâs background. But it ended up being a disaster. They stayed first at The Shelbourne in Dublin for two days. The hotel was nice enough but Joy found the weather inclement and the city frankly rather dull. Frank remained elusive about his family and Joy was left believing that he was ashamed of them. Joy herself was ashamed of how her parents had behaved towards him and of her own inability to protect him, so she did not push the point. With nobody to see and no social engagements to attend they had pointlessly wandered the dreary streets, with Frank becoming increasingly mournful and ill-tempered.
Eventually she whisked him over to London and then to her spiritual home. Paris, with all its galleries and ateliers and nightclubs, was where Joy felt truly at home. They drank champagne and ate oysters and together they went to Chanelâs salon and bought her a magnificent gown with a marabou train. Frank allowed himself to get caught up in his young wifeâs joie de vivre but nonetheless, the miserable trip to Ireland had cast a small shadow. On the way home, as they ate dinner together in the first class lounge of the aeroplane, Joy was making plans to return to Paris for the following seasonâs shows when Frank said, âI donât think you ought to travel for a while, Joy. I think perhaps it would be better if you rested.â
They both knew what he was trying to say, although it was not something either could openly express. Both had hoped that she would return from their holiday pregnant but she began to bleed on the plane. As she walked up the aisle from the ladiesâ room she gave Frank the almost imperceptible blink of disappointment that had become their shorthand for ânoâ.
She knew her husband was desperate for a child and Joy wanted to give him one. She knew their marriage would never be complete without that. Although, at twenty-two, Joy had no great maternal instincts herself, this did not temper her frustration and disappointment at her failure to conceive for her husband.
As each month
But Joy was adamant. She had grown up with staff, many of whom had been kinder to her than her own parents, and it was a rite of passage that she employ staff of her own.
They compromised and Frank found Jones a fully functioning separate servantsâ apartment, with three rooms and a kitchen and bathroom, in their building.
Jones quickly grew fond of Joy. She had a sense of taste and style way beyond her years. She had created a home of such modern elegance that it was a delight to manage, and while her husband was almost embarrassed to give him instruction, Jonesâ discretion and loyalty soon won him over and Jones learned to respect the honest, charismatic Irishman.
The same could not be said for his in-laws. Ruth Rogerson remained sceptical about her only daughterâs choice of partner. It wasnât just that Frank was ânew moneyâ and that he appeared to have no family, rich or poor. Her lack of approval was instinctive, based on a motherâs mistrust. Finding herself widowed, less than a year into her daughterâs marriage, Ruth transferred her assets into jewellery and gems, which she put in the bank, to be released only to Joy on her death. It was not a moment too soon, for a heart attack claimed her, too, within months.
At her motherâs graveside, Joy gripped Frankâs arm and wished she could crawl inside his cashmere coat and stay there forever, safe and warm in the shelter of her husbandâs love. At the reading of her will the lawyer revealed that the jewels were to be kept safe âin case my daughter ever needs themâ, which they both knew meant, if she decided to divorce Frank.
Joy did not stop to grieve for her parents. Instead she focused even more intensely on her marriage and Frank. For their first anniversary she booked a romantic trip to Ireland, hoping to learn more about her husbandâs background. But it ended up being a disaster. They stayed first at The Shelbourne in Dublin for two days. The hotel was nice enough but Joy found the weather inclement and the city frankly rather dull. Frank remained elusive about his family and Joy was left believing that he was ashamed of them. Joy herself was ashamed of how her parents had behaved towards him and of her own inability to protect him, so she did not push the point. With nobody to see and no social engagements to attend they had pointlessly wandered the dreary streets, with Frank becoming increasingly mournful and ill-tempered.
Eventually she whisked him over to London and then to her spiritual home. Paris, with all its galleries and ateliers and nightclubs, was where Joy felt truly at home. They drank champagne and ate oysters and together they went to Chanelâs salon and bought her a magnificent gown with a marabou train. Frank allowed himself to get caught up in his young wifeâs joie de vivre but nonetheless, the miserable trip to Ireland had cast a small shadow. On the way home, as they ate dinner together in the first class lounge of the aeroplane, Joy was making plans to return to Paris for the following seasonâs shows when Frank said, âI donât think you ought to travel for a while, Joy. I think perhaps it would be better if you rested.â
They both knew what he was trying to say, although it was not something either could openly express. Both had hoped that she would return from their holiday pregnant but she began to bleed on the plane. As she walked up the aisle from the ladiesâ room she gave Frank the almost imperceptible blink of disappointment that had become their shorthand for ânoâ.
She knew her husband was desperate for a child and Joy wanted to give him one. She knew their marriage would never be complete without that. Although, at twenty-two, Joy had no great maternal instincts herself, this did not temper her frustration and disappointment at her failure to conceive for her husband.
As each month
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