The Strange Story of Linda Lee (3 page)

‘Who was Sid?’

‘My brother. Sid’s six years older than me. He chucked his hand in a bit over five years ago. My! You should have seen the row there was when one evening
after supper he told Pa what he could do with his something tulips. And that he was going ter emigrate to Canada. There’d have been a stand-up fight if Ma hadn’t snatched up a broom and threatened to bash whichever of them started it. How Sid had ever managed ter save enough fer his fare none of us could think. Not till afterwards. Then it came out. He’d collected some of the market-garden accounts owing to Pa, on the q.t. I suppose that’s why he never let us know what become of him. He cleared out next day and not a word have we heard from him since.’

‘From what you’ve told me of your father, one can hardly blame your brother. But about yourself. What sort of job do you hope to get in London?’

‘I’d like to be a secretary, a private secretary to a gentleman like you. That would be much nicer than workin’ in some office.’

‘You can type and take shorthand then?’ Frobisher asked with surprise.

‘I can type. I typed all our accounts and business letters. Can’t do shorthand, though. I meant to take a course.’

Frobisher looked a little dubious. ‘To get a really pleasant private post one needs quite a bit more than being just a shorthand typist. I think you’ll find that you will have to do a year or two in an office first.’

Tears came to Linda’s eyes. ‘I said I
meant
to take a course. But… but how can I, now I’ve lost me money?’

‘Surely you can borrow enough from relatives or friends with whom you are going to stay?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not. I don’t know no-one in London.’

‘Good Lord alive!’ Frobisher exclaimed. ‘What on
earth do you mean to do, then? How can you possibly get along with not a soul to turn to and only the few shillings in your purse?’

‘You’re askin’! Heaven knows, I don’t. Leavin’ that thirty quid was cruel luck. Still, I’ll manage somehow. On all the big stations there’s always do-gooders who look after people in trouble; so I bin told. Maybe they’d get me a bed fer the night at a welfare centre. Come morning I’ll find a Labour Exchange an’ take the first job that offers.’

‘But you wouldn’t be paid till the end of the week. How could you live in the meantime?’

‘I’ve got a little brooch what my grandmother left me. I could pawn that and my wrist watch for a few quid.’

Frobisher shook his head. ‘My dear girl, I don’t think you realise what you would be up against. You would find being alone in London and living on a shoestring even worse than the life you have been leading with your parents. I know it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but I really think it would be best for you to go back to them. I’ll let you have some more money so that you can get a room in a respectable hotel for the night and buy a return ticket tomorrow.’

‘No, thanks all the same. You’re kind, you are. I never met anyone so kind before. I’m not goin’ back, though. Pa would give me a real belting. But it’s not just my backside. If I crawled back now, I’d lose me self-respect.’

They had finished dinner. Taking a long cigar from his case, Frobisher lit it, exhaled the first draw of fragrant smoke, then said:

‘Big cities are very cruel places to people who have no friends in them. You will have to take a job that
you’ll probably dislike, and the rates of pay are based on the fact that most young women either live at home or share a flat with several others. On your own, you’ll find it difficult to make both ends meet. You won’t be able to afford anything better than a back room in a third-rate boarding house, and the ill-cooked food they dish up in such places. You’re going to hate that after the plentiful, honest country fare you must have been used to at home. You’ll have little money to spare for cinemas or jaunts into the country on Sundays; and when winter comes, you will have to choose whether you save your shillings to keep yourself decently clothed or to push into the gas meter in your room to keep yourself from shivering under scanty bedclothes. I suggest that you postpone a decision till tomorrow. I’ll give you the money for a couple of nights at a hotel and my phone number. Then, when you’ve thought it over, you can ring me up; and, if you’ve decided to go home, I’ll send you the cash for your ticket.’

Linda tossed off the last of her hock, and set the glass down with a thump. ‘No!’ she said firmly. ‘You may be right about me jumpin’ out of the fryin’ pan into the fire. But me mind’s made up. So ’elp me God, I’ll never handle a spade, a hoe or a trowel again. I’d rather throw meself into the Thames.’

Frobisher took another long pull on his cigar. Then he looked straight into her eyes and said with a quiet smile, ‘There is another alternative. As I have told you, I have a very pleasant house. You could come and live there with me.’

Linda stared at the smallish, rather plump man sitting opposite her. ‘Come and live with you?’ she repeated.

He nodded. ‘That is what I said. And, of course, I would provide the money for you to take a secretarial course. Then, if you did well enough, you wouldn’t have to take just any job that offered. You could bide your time until something that really appealed to you turned up.’

‘But … but,’ she stammered. ‘You tol’ me that though you’re married, your wife isn’t livin’ with you.’

‘That’s so. We used to have a country cottage down near Haslemere. One night, about two years ago, she had a terrible motoring accident. At the time I was up at Harwell, the nuclear experimental station near Oxford, so I was not with her. She had been out to dinner with some neighbours. Celia had always liked her tipple, and I fear the truth is that she had had one over the odds. Anyhow, poor woman, coming out of a lane to turn on to the high road, she was careless and ran full tilt into a lorry. As she had forgotten to fasten her seat belt, her head went clean through the windscreen. Her skull was so badly fractured that she was lucky to escape with her life. Or perhaps, in one way, it would have been better if she had died. She was
trepanned and, of course, everything possible was done for her; but her brain was so badly injured that she went out of her mind. Ever since, she’s been well cared for in a mental home; but there’s been no improvement in her condition, and the doctors say now that there never will be.’

‘Cor! What an awful thing ter happen.’

‘Yes. Of course, she doesn’t remember anything about it, or about our marriage. As soon as she was physically well enough, I tried to tell her, but she couldn’t take it in. Life as she knew it before the accident is a complete blank to her, and nothing now remains in her mind for very long. When I go to see her, after a few minutes she recognizes me as an occasional visitor and, for some strange reason, she believes I am her uncle. You see, her mind has become again that of a little child. Physically now she’s very well, and she seems quite happy playing the childish games her nurse provides for her.’

Frobisher paused for a minute, then went on: ‘Apart from the pain she suffered after the operations it hit me worse than it did her. She was a wonderful companion: gay,
chic
, attractive. I was devoted to her; so for months afterwards I missed her terribly. I still do.’

‘Is that why you want me ter come an’ live with you?’

‘I suppose subconsciously that is what prompted me to suggest it. Of course, I have my Clubs, and now and then I have friends to dinner or go out to them. But, at times, living alone can be very depressing.’

Linda shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer; but I don’t think I could. I know that these days most girls are willin’ ter sleep with any fellow who comes along. That is, after they’ve been about with him a bit. And, well… no offence meant, but you’re old enough ter
be my father. So if I did, in a way I’d be acting like a tart, wouldn’t I?’

‘Oh, bless you!’ Frobisher suddenly sat back and laughed. ‘I must have put my suggestion very badly for you to get that idea. It never entered my head. I wouldn’t lay a finger on you, I assure you.’

‘You … you really mean that?’ Linda stared at him doubtfully. ‘You really mean you’d give me a home and not expect me to act as though I was your missus?’

‘Yes. I ask nothing except your company. To have a young person living in my house would make a new life for me; so really you would be doing me a favour.’

Linda still looked a little dubious. ‘It’s all very well for you ter say that; but how do I know that I can trust you? You may be middle-aged, but you’re no old dodderer. How do I know that when you get me all alone in that house of yours, you won’t start something?’

He laughed again. ‘I promise you your suspicions are quite unjustified. Since I’ve told you so much about myself, I won’t disguise from you the fact that, at times, I still enjoy jumping into bed with a pretty girl. In fact I spend the night with one now and again. But, honestly, I’m not the sort of man who would take advantage of a girl in your situation. Perhaps, too, I ought to have mentioned that I have an Italian couple living in; so you could scream for help if I attempted to molest you.’

‘Molest?’ Linda laughed suddenly. ‘What a funny way of putting it. And you’ve made me feel a bit badly now about doubtin’ you. But at first I just couldn’t believe you was on the level and really meant to act so decent to me.’

‘It’s a deal then?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. And thank you, Mr. Frobisher. Or
would you rather, now, that I called you Mr. Roland?’

‘My friends call me Rowley, so I’d like you to drop the Mister and call me that. Now, how about a liqueur to drink to our arrangement? Or would that revive your suspicions and give you the idea that I’m trying to make you tight in order to seduce you?’

‘Seein’ I’m not used to drinking, I didn’t ought to have any more. But just to show I do trust you now, I will. And I’ve never had a liqueur, so I’d love ter try one.’

He ordered a Cointreau for her and a brandy for himself. When they returned to their carriage, her eyes were shining and she felt a little unsteady on her feet, but cheerfully confident that, by a miracle, an exciting future now lay ahead of her.

At Liverpool Street they took a taxi for the long drive up to Regent’s Park. As it ran through the well-lit streets of the almost deserted city, he pointed out to her the Mansion House, the Bank of England and St. Paul’s and, later, the B.B.C. building. She was thrilled by her first sight of the capital and, never having been in a city larger than Lincoln, she was amazed at the size of the mansions and blocks of flats in Portland Place.

When they reached Park Side West, Linda found that the terrace of pleasant, early-Victorian houses overlooked the south side of Regent’s Park. Rowley let himself in with his key, but also rang the bell, which brought his Italian couple up from the basement. He simply said to them, ‘This is Miss Lee. She will be staying with us for a while. I am sure you will make her comfortable.’ But he proffered no particulars about her or explanation of her visit.

The couple were middle-aged: the woman short, plump and dark, the man tall, wavy-haired and with a
slight cast in his left eye. As they studied Linda with polite interest Rowley smiled at them and said to her, ‘Bella and Stefano Lucheni have been with me for eight years. She is an excellent cook, and he is a most willing fellow.’

Picking up Linda’s suitcase, he added, ‘Stefano will take up my cases, but I will take yours, and we’ll go straight up to your room, as after your long day you must be very tired.’

On the second floor, he threw open a door, switched on the lights and ushered her into a room with twin beds. Dumping her suitcase on a chair, he turned on the electric fire, although it was not a cold night, then opened another door on the far side of the beds and said:

‘Here is your bathroom. Mine is on the first floor, so this is your private domain. I do hope you will be happy here.’ Turning, he smiled. ‘Get to bed now, my dear, and we’ll talk about your future in the morning.’

Linda returned his smile and wished him good night. As he closed the door behind him, she looked round the room, but took in only the fact that it was the sort of room she had seen only on television and never before been in. She was a little tight and suddenly felt desperately tired. Getting out of her clothes, she let them fall to the floor, undid her suitcase only to get out a nightdress, went to the bathroom, then wriggled into the nearer bed, and switched off the light. After her own thin mattress, the one on which she stretched out her long limbs was unbelievably soft and comfortable. Two minutes later she was sound asleep.

When she woke, sunshine was coming through a chink in the curtains. For a moment, finding herself in a strange bed in a strange room, she thought she must be
dreaming. Then the events of the previous evening came back to her.

Getting out of bed, she drew back the curtains, fingering the rich brocade with awe, then looked round the room. The furniture was not a suite, as she had expected it to be, but individual pieces, mostly mahogany, and obviously old. On the dressing table there was a large, gilt-framed mirror; on a small desk pens, ink, writing paper and cigarettes; on the mantelpiece an ormolu and tortoiseshell clock, and some lovely pieces of china.

Next she explored the bathroom. Into her mind came the one at home: the stained walls and faded curtain, the old iron bath with splayed feet from which the paint had long since peeled, and the two lines of assorted washing that always hung over it. By comparison this was palatial. It had a low, blue china bath, tiles with coloured fish on them, gleaming glass shelves on which stood a powder bowl, bath salts and scent. The bath towel on a hot rail was blue, to match the bath, and huge; there were others of fine linen. And Rowley—yes, he’d said to call him Rowley—had told her that she could have it all to herself.

Returning to the bedroom, she began to unpack her things and, suddenly becoming conscious of their cheapness, wondered unhappily what the Italian servants would say to each other about them. She had barely finished when there came a soft knock on the door. Thinking that it might be Frobisher, before calling ‘Come in’, she scrambled quickly back into bed and drew the bedclothes up to her chin.