The Strange Story of Linda Lee Read online

  Horrified, she realised the awful truth. She was on her way to London with barely enough money to buy herself a meal, let alone a bed.

  Chapter 2

  The Third Alternative

  Linda’s golden-brown eyes were wide with fright and apprehension. Her mouth dropped open, then she stammered, ‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ter travel first. Couldn’t I move to a second-class compartment?’

  The elderly collector shook his head. ‘First-class coaches are clearly marked, Miss. You couldn’t have failed to see the yellow line.’

  ‘But I did. I promise. I was in an awful hurry.’

  ‘That’s as may be. But you’re travelling first, and I ‘ave ter abide by the rules. One pound six shillings please.’

  Linda was almost in tears. In her ignorance she had awful visions of being sent to prison for defrauding British Railways. Miserably she burst out, ‘But I can’t pay. I haven’t got the money. I left me notecase on the dressing table.’

  The well-groomed, middle-aged man opposite her had put down his book. Taking his wallet from his pocket, he said, ‘That is the sort of thing that might happen to anyone. You must allow me to lend you the excess fare.’

  ‘That’s terrible good of you.’ Linda swallowed hard. ‘But … but I may not be able to pay you back.’

  Handing two notes to the collector, her rescuer gave a quiet laugh. ‘What refreshing honesty. It is as good as a promise that you will when you can afford to, and I’m in no hurry for the money.’

  The collector scribbled a receipt. Handing it to Linda, he closed the door and went off down the corridor. After a moment, she said, ‘Thank you, Sir. I’m that grateful. Cross me heart, I am.’

  Her companion smiled again, produced a visiting card and gave it to her. ‘There’s my name and address. When you are really in the money, you can send me a cheque.’

  The card read, Roland Frobisher, 103 Park Side West, London, N.W.I., and in the bottom right-hand corner, St. James’s. The latter puzzled her, as she had no idea that it was the name of a club. Returning his smile, she said, ‘More likely it’ll be a postal order. Only businesses and rich people has bank accounts, an’ there’s not much chance of me becoming rich all of a sudden. When I get to London I haven’t even got a job to go to.’

  ‘No doubt you’ll soon find one.’

  ‘Hope ter goodness I do! By leaving me notecase behind I’ve landed meself in an awful mess.’

  ‘Surely your—er—father or mother will post it on to you?’

  Linda shook her head and again tears came into her eyes. ‘Ma might,’ she gulped. ‘That’s if she don’t let on to Pa that I forgot it. If she does, he won’t let her. That was him you saw tryin’ to get the door open. He’s mad as hell at me. You see, I’ve run away.’

  A kindly smile again lit Frobisher’s plump face. ‘I guessed that might be the case. So you are going to the great, big, wicked city to make your fortune, eh?’

  ‘Oh, go on! You’re kidding,’ Linda retorted. ‘Dick Whittington and them sort only happen in fairy-tales. All I’m after is a chance ter lead a happier life.’

  At that moment a steward passed down the corridor, calling out, ‘First service. First service.’

  Frobisher stood up, put his book into his suitcase and said, ‘Before starting on any adventure it is always wise to have a good, sustaining meal. You must be my guest for dinner.’

  Linda hesitated only for a moment; but she had a hearty appetite and had left without cutting the sandwiches she had meant to bring with her. ‘You are nice, you really are,’ she said in a small voice, and, when he held the door open for her, preceded him to the restaurant car.

  Although Frobisher was not a tall or impressive figure, he had the quiet, self-confident manner that always begets good service. The moment the head steward caught sight of him, he hurried forward, gave them a table for two and produced both the menu and the wine list.

  ‘Sherry?’ asked Linda’s host, ‘or something with gin in it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I never touch spirits. Fact is, I hardly ever drink at all. But I’d like a sherry. It’ll cheer me up.’

  ‘A dry sherry then, and a glass of hock to follow won’t do you any harm.’ Frobisher ordered ham and eggs for himself, and Linda said she would have the set meal. Then, to encourage her to talk about herself, he said:

  ‘Now I’d better tell you a little about the kind of chap I am. I’m a scientist of sorts. I’m fortunate in having a certain amount of money and I don’t like being tied down. By keeping my freedom, I can go abroad whenever I wish. But now and again the back-room boys call me in to help on special problems, and that suits me because I’d hate to lead an entirely idle life. I’m married, but my wife is no longer living with me. I have a stepdaughter who is also married, but no children of my own. I’ve a comfortable house overlooking Regent’s Park, and I belong to a Club where I lunch fairly frequently, and another where I play bridge occasionally. So you see, although I don’t lead an exciting life, it is a very pleasant one.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Linda remarked seriously. ‘Ever so lucky. They say one half of the world don’t know how the other half lives, an’ I’m sure that’s true. A gentleman so fortunate as you just couldn’t picture the God-awful sort of life I’ve led up to now.’

  ‘Try me and see,’ he smiled.

  ‘Here goes, then. I haven’t told you me name yet. It’s Linda Lee; Pa is a market gardener. Not a grand one with acres of glass and half a dozen men workin’ for him. He’s what they call a smallholder. We’ve got three and a half acres. It’s mostly tulips. They’re our main crop, but we’ve two hothouses an’ several rows of Dutch lights. In them we grow tomatoes, lettuces and bedding plants that we can sell local before the tulips come on. Pa works the place and takes the stuff to market. The only help he has is Ma and meself. But a good part of her time goes in shopping, cooking and keeping the house decent.

  ‘When people eat vegetables and enjoy the flowers they buy they never think about the grind it is for other people to grow them. A market garden’s not like a factory, where the workers get there at eight o’clock and knock off at five. There’s no union hours and no weekends off either. Everything’s got ter be watered, mostly twice a day. While each crop is growin’, it has ter be hoed between the rows. Soon as it’s over, the ground has to be dug afresh an’ manured before the new crop’s planted. The weather must be watched all the time and someone always there to open or shut the ventilation to the houses. The plants growin’ in them must be sprayed. When they’ve finished bearing, the houses have ter be disinfected and all the pots washed so as they can be used again. It never stops, never. Diggin’, to hoein’, stakin’, tyin’-in, prunin’, waterin’, pickin’, packin’, and bunchin’ for market, day in day out, from dawn to dusk, with hardly an hour off to call your own. That’s the life I’ve led ever since I was old enough ter be taken away from school.’

  Frobisher shook his head sadly. ‘You’re right. In my time I must have spent hundreds of pounds on flowers, but the labour that goes into growing them has never once crossed my mind. You poor child. I don’t wonder you have run away.’

  ‘It weren’t so much the work that got me down,’ Linda went on. ‘Pa hardly ever let me have an evening off, because there were always bills to be sent out, keepin’ the books up-to-date, orderin’ bulbs an’ seeds, writin’ labels and other chores to be done. I didn’t have no chance to enjoy meself like other girls, and I thought meself lucky if I could get to a cinema or a village hop ‘bout once in ten days. It weren’t quite so bad when Sid was still at home, but since he ‘opped it, often I’ve been so tired nights that on floppin’ inter bed I could have slept the clock round.’

  ‘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.’

  Chapter 3

  The Transformation of Linda

  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.