The Strange Story of Linda Lee Page 3

  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.

  But it was Bella, carrying a heavily-loaded tray. As she set it down, she said, ‘Good morning, Miss. Mr. Frobisher, ’e say you was used to ‘ave breakfas’ early, so I bring it at eight o’clock, not nine like other visitor. ’E say, too, please to join ’im in ’is study, back of ’ouse on ground floor at eleven o’clock.’

  Again Linda thought she must be dreaming. Never before, except when ill with childish ailments, had she had breakfast brought to her in bed. It was an undreamed-of luxury. The moment Bella had left the room, Linda examined the things on the tray with delight. Under a cover there were fried bacon and eggs, hot toast concealed in a napkin; the teapot was encased in quilted satin, flanked by dishes of marmalade and butter, and a big goblet filled with slices of orange and grapefruit. Enjoying every morsel, she demolished the lot.

  The bathroom provided another treat. Instead of the trickle that came from the rusty geezer at home, gallons of hot water gushed from the tap. She made lavish use of the bath salts and luxuriated in the warm water for a good twenty minutes. Having dried herself on the huge towel, she powdered and scented herself, then spent a long time trying to improve the appearance of her hands and nails.

  At eleven o’clock, having made herself as attractive as she could, she went downstairs to the library. It was a comfortable, book-lined room, looking out on to a small, well-kept garden. Rowley was working at his desk in an open-necked shirt, over which he had on a loose, silk jacket caught in by a sash round the waist. She had knocked on the door, and he had called, ‘Come in.’ As she entered the room, he pushed aside his papers, swivelled round in his chair, smiled at her and said:

  ‘When you are living in a house, knock on bedroom doors, but never that of a living-room.’

  A little surprised by this greeting, she returned his smile and replied, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

  Waving her to a chair, he asked her how she had slept and when she had replied, ‘Like a top, thanks,’ he went on:

  ‘My dear, from your background, I imagine there are a great many things you don’t know. But if you really want to become a private secretary to a man of some importance you will have to learn many things in addition to typing and shorthand. How did you do at school?’

  ‘Not too good,’ she admitted. ‘From the time I was a kid Pa made me do odd jobs evenings and weekends, so I was always gettin’ bad marks for me prep. Then, as soon as I was old enough to work full time, he took me away from school, so I never had no chance to study for A Levels.’

  ‘Have you ever read any serious books?’

  ‘I like reading, but I didn’t get much time for it. Only authors I ever read are them what writes lovely romances.’

  ‘I imagine you have never been out of England; but where did you go for your holidays?’

  Linda gave a bitter little laugh. ‘People what run market gardens don’t go for holidays. Even a couple of days away could mean losin’ a crop.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Now, we’ll just see how well equipped you are with general knowledge. Where is Montevideo?’

  ‘Italy,’ Linda hazarded.

  Rowley shook his head. ‘You’re guessing. It’s in South America, the capital of Uruguay. Who did the Finns fight in the Second World War?’

  ‘How should I know? I wasn’t even born then.’

  ‘No. Perhaps that was unfair. How far off is the moon?’

  ‘Millions of miles.’

  ‘No, only two hundred and forty thousand. Have you ever read any books by Thackeray, Dickens or Scott?’

  ‘Yes, Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities. We took it for literature one term at school.’

  ‘What else did he write?’

  ‘ ’Fraid I don’t know.’

  ‘How many dollars can you get for a pound?’

  ‘Four, I think.’

  ‘You are guessing again. Where does the extra day in Leap Years fall?’

  ‘I’ve never thought about that.’

  ‘What colours make up green?’

  She smiled. ‘Come orf it. Green’s a colour in itself.’

  ‘No. There are only three primary colours: red, blue and yellow. Green is a mixture of the last two. What king succeeded Queen Elizabeth I?’

  ‘Henry VIII.’

  ‘Wrong again. He was her father. Who wrote the Ninth Symphony?’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘What was the date of Waterloo?’

  ‘That was whe
re Wellington defeated Napoleon, but I’ve forgotten the year.’

  ‘Well, here’s a simple one. Who was Prime Minister before Harold Wilson?’

  ‘Mr. Macmillan.’

  ‘No, Alec Douglas-Home.’ Rowley sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you are not exactly up to running for academic honours. As I thought probable, if you’re ever to make anything of yourself, I’ll have to send you back to school.’

  Linda was almost in tears at the ignorance she had been forced to display. ‘School!’ she echoed miserably. ‘Oh, have a heart! Not at my age, please.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be school as you remember it, but a series of night classes. As you did your father’s accounts, we can assume that you have enough knowledge of elementary maths to get by. But you must take courses in history, literature and geography, in addition to attending a secretarial college in the daytime. I think, too, we must improve you in various other ways that will make you more socially acceptable.’

  Linda-bridled. ‘You mean I’m not good enough for people like you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he replied with disarming frankness. ‘You don’t speak with a Cockney accent, but some elocution lessons would do you no harm, and there are certain expressions that upper-class people rarely use. For example, they usually refer to their parents as “my father and mother” not as “Pa and Ma”.’

  ‘So you think me common.’ Linda tossed her head resentfully. ‘Well, maybe I am. That’s going ter make it awkward for you when your smart friends come to the house. Be best I think if I went to live with me own sort in cheap lodgings.’

  Ignoring her last remark, he replied, ‘You are right again. It would be embarrassing for both you and my friends if I introduced you to them. The great Duke of Wellington’s dictum, Never explain, was a very sound one. To the servants I don’t need to, and I have no intention of hatching up some cock-and-bull story to account to my friends for your presence. For the time being, at least, you will not meet them. I don’t entertain a great deal, but when I do your meals will be brought to you here, in this room.’

  ‘Why not tell the truth about me? It does you credit, and there wouldn’t be no awkwardness on either side.’

  Rowley shook his head. ‘No, my dear. You must be aware that you are a very lovely girl. They would at once assume that I had made it all up about our meeting on the train, and my having rescued you from a life of poverty and peril on your own in London. They’d think I have installed you here as my mistress. In due course you are certain to meet a pleasant young man who will want to marry you and you him; but he might think twice about it if someone told him that I was your lover.’

  ‘I see. Yes. That’s very considerate of you.’

  ‘No. It is just sound planning for my own selfish ends. For all practical purposes, I am adopting you. That is, if you agree to stay on my terms. If not, you can leave as soon as you have found a job and I’ll give you enough money to see you through for a month or two. But, if you do stay, I want to make you a ward that I can be proud of, and one who will repay me by sincere affection. Now, which is it to be?’

  Linda did not hesitate. ‘You bet I’ll stay. I’d be crazy not to. And thanks; thanks ever so.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad. Then I must tell you about the running of the house. The Luchenis—Stefano and Bella—had already been with us for over six years when my wife had her accident, so they had only to carry on as they had before it happened. However, they naturally have their limitations. I have no sisters or other close relatives, but Celia had a daughter by a previous marriage. Her name is Elsie Spilkin. She and her husband Arthur, who is a lawyer, live at Haslemere. Naturally, after the accident it was to Elsie that I turned, and I gratefully accepted her offer to take charge here. She comes up only on Tuesdays, arranges with Bella my meals for the week and deals with anything else that requires attention. Most Tuesdays her husband joins her in the evening and they stay on for dinner.

  ‘Elsie is a good, conscientious girl—or woman, I should say, as she is now just over thirty. But she is old-fashioned in some ways: very strait-laced and a pillar of her local church. For that reason I am particularly anxious that, for the present, she should not know that you are living here. To avoid that, on Tuesdays I want you to have your dinner, as well as lunch, out and go to the cinema or something; so that you don’t come home before ten o’clock. They always leave before ten; so, if you do as I suggest, there will be no chance of your running into her.’

  ‘How about Bella and Stefano, though?’ Linda enquired. ‘Surely they’ll let on ’bout me being here?’

  ‘I shall use the infallible method of the carrot and the stick with them. I’ll put their wages up two pounds a week for doing your room, cleaning your shoes and doing the odd bit of washing and ironing for you and…’

  ‘Fer me?’ Linda’s big eyes popped. ‘D’you really mean Bella’s going to act like a maid ter me?’

  ‘Certainly. She has ample time, and I want you to spend as much of yours as possible on your studies. I shall also warn them gently but firmly that, should Elsie learn that you are living here, they will find themselves looking for another job. On Tuesdays, when Bella has done your room, she will lock the door and bring the key to me. Then, should Elsie take it into her head to go upstairs to see that the rooms are clean and tidy, I shall tell her I am storing some of my papers there, and she knows that much of my work is highly secret.

  ‘The only other person who comes here regularly is a Miss Adams. She works for a secretarial agency and comes to me three mornings a week: Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. She would be here this morning, but I phoned and put her off. I have a typewriter here on which she does my letters, and she takes away with her to type in her office the essays I write for scientific magazines and other non-secret documents. She also does the household accounts for me. But we needn’t bother about her, because when she is here you will be out.’

  During the next few days they worked out Linda’s curriculum. Rowley arranged for her to go to a secretarial college, to attend evening courses at the Polytechnic, to have elocution lessons, and also took her shopping to buy a by no means extravagant but much superior wardrobe to the scanty one she had brought with her.

  Very soon Linda had settled into her new and happy life. Two days after arriving in London she wrote to her mother to say that she was safe and well, but giving no address. Then she put all thoughts of her former harsh existence out of her mind. She revelled in her new comfort, smarter clothes and the good dinners which, most nights of the week, she took with Rowley. The better he got to know her, the more reason he had to congratulate himself on having befriended her. His gloomy loneliness was a thing of the past, for she proved a most cheerful companion and, when at home, was always singing about the house. Out of the allowance he made her she often bought him little presents, and took over from Bella various odd jobs such as doing the flowers.

  The servants had been her only worry. It was not that she minded what they might suppose her relationship to Rowley to be, but she was acutely conscious that they must regard her as a lower-class girl, so resent having to wait on her. But Linda was shrewd as well as kind. She had noticed that there were never any flowers in the kitchen. So, out of the first week’s allowance that Rowley made her, she bought a bunch of roses and took them down to Bella. She also bought a bottle of Italian wine for Stefano, and told them that she meant to do so every week. They were surprised and effusive in their thanks. From then on they were all smiles and could not do enough for her.

  At first, after the quiet of the open country in which she had always lived, she was a little frightened of the congested traffic of the London streets, the crowded pavements and the ceaseless noise; but she soon got used to them and could find her way about the West End.

  While attending her various classes, she made many acquaintances, but no friends, because she became so utterly absorbed in her work. Several of the men students asked her to go to the cinema or have meals with them
; but, although she thought two of them quite attractive, she refused all invitations in order to have more time for her books, and she always took something with her to study while she lunched at a nearby café. She found shorthand much more difficult than she had expected, and the knack of it seemed to elude her, but in all other subjects she made rapid progress and, being determined above all to learn to speak like a lady, she never tired of practising the cultivation of her normally pleasant, slightly husky voice.

  On Saturdays or Sundays she and Rowley often went on expeditions. He did not keep a car, but hired one whenever he was going any distance, or out for the evening. They drove out to Kew, Richmond, Greenwich and sometimes down into the country to lunch at a Thames-side inn. At other times he took her to the Tower of London, St. Paul’s, the Zoo, museums and picture galleries. She was fascinated by it all, and proved a quick learner; so it was a great joy to him to take her to these places and tell her about art and history. On her free evenings she avidly devoured the good novels that Rowley suggested she should read.

  June and July went by and, by the end of the latter month, her mind and personality had developed out of all recognition. During the three months that she had lived in Rowley’s house, on eleven occasions he had spent a night away from home at the scientific development centre at Shrivenham; or, as she suspected, perhaps with his girl friend. As she had always welcomed him joyously on his return he was greatly surprised when he got back from one of these absences early in August to find her gloomy and depressed.

  After they had dined he asked her gently what was troubling her, upon which she suddenly burst into tears. Getting up, he came round the table, patted her on the shoulder and said: