The Strange Story of Linda Lee Page 9

  Temporarily Linda had forgotten that they believed her to be Eric Dutton’s niece and Colonel Chatterton’s daughter. Taken completely by surprise she was at a loss how to reply. To hide her expression and gain a few moments in which to think, she buried her face in her hands. Her mind worked swiftly. While they stared at her in silence for a full minute, she thought up a story, gave a muffled sob, then took her hands from her face and said:

  ‘I thought you knew. Daddy died last winter. When … when Rowley and I were in Spain. No-one suspected it until he was dead, but he had behaved very badly. Racing was an obsession with him. He ruined himself backing horses. The place was mortgaged up to the hilt, and had to be sold. My poor mother was left terribly badly off. She went to Spain to live with a friend, because it’s so much cheaper there and … and she couldn’t possibly afford to support me.’

  The Spilkins swallowed this tissue of lies, and both of them expressed conventional sympathy for Linda’s ‘mother’. Guilty as Linda felt at having slandered the Colonel, she also felt that having done so had improved her own case; so, with all the pathos she could muster, she went on:

  ‘Yes, it was too awful. And I’m left high and dry. Really, it isn’t fair. I haven’t a bean, and life with Rowley has completely unfitted me for the only sort of jobs that I’m capable of doing.’ She turned to Elsie. ‘Rowley was rich. You must have come into a fortune. Couldn’t you possibly spare me a few hundred a year, to ante up the miserable sort of wage I’ll be earning?’

  ‘I could, but I see no reason why I should. Most girls would count themselves lucky to have led the sort of life you’ve had for the past two and a half years: travelling, staying in luxury hotels and dining in the best restaurants. It is obvious from the way you dress, too, that Rowley must have paid you very handsomely for your services—far more than is earned by an ordinary secretary. If you had really worked to make a career for yourself from the beginning, you would be qualified to take a well-paid job by now. That you elected instead to batten on Rowley is not my affair. Your job here, like any other, has come to an end; that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Of course I’ve had a good time,’ Linda admitted. ‘But it was Rowley’s wish that I should, and I was very much more than a secretary. I didn’t only run the house and keep his papers in order. He owed his happiness these last years to me, and I looked after him like a mother.’

  ‘A mother indeed!’ Elsie snapped. ‘I’ve never heard it called that before. I’m not quite such a fool as to suppose that my stepfather treated you as he did, letting you wear his family jewels and buying you expensive presents like your mink coat, because you “mothered” him.’

  Her words dashed Linda’s last hopes of assistance. She had thought that if the myth that had been built up about her position in the household was accepted by Elsie, there was just a chance that she might do something for her; but since she realised the true situation she would not part with a penny.

  Linda’s blue eyes flashed and she declared angrily, ‘Very well, then! I was his mistress! So what?’

  ‘So you admit it,’ Elsie retorted. ‘Irreligious as you are, no doubt you’ve heard of “the wages of sin”. I consider that by being deprived of your jam and having to live on bread and scrape in the future you are getting off lightly.’

  ‘You sanctimonious prude!’ Linda cried.

  Elsie gave an unpleasant little laugh. ‘Hard words break no bones, my dear. I was wrong just now, though. With your looks you don’t need to look for a job. You can get plenty of jam simply by becoming a professional. You won’t have to walk the streets for long.’

  Infuriated by the insult, Linda jumped to her feet, turned toward the door and flung over her shoulder, ‘If I don’t leave this room, I’ll hit you.’

  ‘You can get out of the house, too,’ Elsie retorted. ‘And the sooner the better. You can stay overnight if you like, to pack your things. But not in your room. Except for Rowley’s, it’s the only room in the house which has two beds, so I want it for myself and Arthur.’

  Linda thought swiftly. There could be no question of returning the jewels now, and she must endeavour, somehow, to dispose of them before their loss was discovered. Every moment was precious. Pausing in the doorway, she said bitterly:

  ‘I wouldn’t a sleep in the same house with you if you paid me. I’ll go right away and get myself a room at an hotel. But I’ll have to collect my clothes. I’ll come for them tomorrow.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea,’ Elsie agreed briskly, as, slamming the door behind her, Linda ran upstairs.

  Within ten minutes she had crammed into a suitcase all she would need for the night. Then, with the bag containing the jewels hanging from her free arm, she carried them downstairs. As she reached the first-floor landing, Arthur called to her from the library:

  ‘Linda. Would you come here for a moment, please?’

  Setting down the suitcase, she joined him and, her eyes hard, asked, ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘The safe,’ he said, a little unhappily. ‘Are you sure that you don’t know the combination? I mean, perhaps you misunderstood Elsie when she asked you about it a little time ago.’

  Linda shook her head. ‘As I told you, Rowley kept his secret papers in it, and he never told anyone the combination. I’m sure it wasn’t because he didn’t trust me, but out of habit I suppose.’

  ‘But, er … Linda. The jewels will be in it, too. You have often worn some of them. Surely he didn’t get them out himself each time for you?’

  Linda felt herself colouring and had difficulty in keeping her voice steady. ‘He did. He always chose what he wished me to wear, according to where we were going or if it was for a dinner party here, and locked them away again afterwards.’

  ‘I see. Well, in that case we’ll have to send for a man from Chubb’s to open it. I’ll get on the telephone to them now.’ Arthur paused for a moment, then added:

  ‘I’m sorry about all this, Linda. But please don’t think too hardly about Elsie. Before you came Rowley relied on her for so many things and, having no children of his own, used to make quite a fuss of her. Not unnaturally, she was jealous of all the things he did for you, and the sight of you wearing the jewels her mother used to wear made her furious.’

  Raising a faint smile, Linda said, ‘It’s true that she has no cause to love me, although I’ve always done my best to be nice to her. Anyhow, thanks for your sympathy.’

  Turning on her heel, she collected her suitcase and went out into the hall. Every moment she expected Elsie to emerge from one of the rooms to challenge her about the contents of her handbag. With her heart in her mouth, she tiptoed along to the front door and let herself out.

  With a sigh of relief she ran down the steps and set off at a quick walk, looking for a taxi. She had got away with it. Elsie could not stop and challenge her now. But, by this time, Arthur was ringing up Chubb’s. It was only just on midday, so they might send a man that afternoon.

  She was now a thief, a criminal. She was still free, but how long would she be able to keep her freedom? Within twenty-four hours, perhaps less, the police would be after her.

  Chapter 8

  On the Run

  In the Euston Road Linda picked up a taxi. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the driver to take her to a small, respectable hotel. Just in time it flashed upon her that, as soon as the police were asked to trace her, her description would be circulated to all taxi garages. The man might well remember her and supply the name of the hotel to which he had taken her. After a moment’s thought it struck her that first things should come first and, Bond Street being her all-important objective, she told him to drive her to the Westbury.

  Rowley had taken her to dine at several of London’s best hotels, but never there; so there was no risk of her being recognised. As the commissionaire took her suitcase, she told him that she wanted to leave it in the cloakroom while she did some shopping, tipped him well but not extravagantly and put the cloakroom ticket in her
purse.

  It was only a minute’s walk round the corner to Cabouchon’s. She had been into the famous jeweller’s on a number of occasions. Twice Rowley had agreed to her having the stones of old-fashioned pieces reset in a more modern style, twice she had had the pearls of the smaller necklace restrung, and once a stone in an earring had been lost and had had to be replaced.

  From the first she had realised that she could not possibly hope to dispose of all the jewels in one transaction and, whenever she had had a moment, had been badgering her wits about how to turn even a few of them into ready money. But on the way down in the taxi inspiration had come to her and, on entering the shop, she knew exactly how she meant to proceed.

  Looking round, she was glad to see that the nice old gentleman who usually looked after her was behind his counter. Greeting him with her sunniest smile, she said, ‘I’ve wonderful news, Mr. Smithers. I’m going to be married.’

  He returned her smile. ‘Indeed, Miss Chatterton. Your fiancé is to be congratulated. May I enquire…’

  ‘Oh, to Mr. Frobisher. I expect you know that Mrs. Frobisher has been—er—in a home for a long time past. She died quite suddenly, on Sunday. I felt that we really ought to wait, but Mr. Frobisher wouldn’t hear of it, so we are being married by special licence on Friday.’

  Mr. Smithers smiled again. ‘How exciting for you. I hope you will be very happy.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure we shall. Now I must tell you what I’ve come to see you about. Mr. Frobisher has given me a most wonderful wedding present: his mother’s jewels. Not the very valuable pieces that are in Harrods’ safe deposit. He promised his wife that he would leave those to her daughter, Mrs. Spilkin, but all the lesser pieces that we keep at home, and he’s let me wear during the past two years.’

  ‘I see. And in what way can I be of help to you?’

  ‘I want to sell one or two of them. Not for money to spend on myself, of course. It is to buy Mr. Frobisher a really nice wedding present. He loves Georgian furniture, but he has never bothered to get himself a genuine desk, and I’ve seen just the very thing in Partridge’s. It’s Regency, and the price is five hundred and twenty guineas. I couldn’t possibly afford such a sum, and I had this wonderful idea of parting with some of the rings. There are more of them than I shall ever want to wear, and some of them are not particularly beautiful. The diamond cluster, for example, and the marquise ring—that’s very old-fashioned.’

  In the taxi Linda had sorted out her haul and put two of the rings into a separate compartment of her bag. She now produced them and laid them on the counter.

  Mr. Smithers screwed his magnifying glass into his eye and examined the rings in turn. But only cursorily, as he had revalued them only the previous year, to bring Rowley’s insurance on the jewels up to date; so he already knew approximately what they were worth.

  ‘I think we could give you three-fifty on the cluster,’ he said, ‘and two-twenty on the marquise. That would leave you twenty-four pounds in hand.’

  Linda was tempted to jump at the offer; but she knew that the rings were worth considerably more, so felt bound to say, ‘That is more than I need, but surely it’s not a very good price. And wouldn’t there be about fifty over?’

  Mr Smithers smiled his benign smile. ‘No, Madam. You spoke of the price of the desk in guineas, and I was quoting for the rings in pounds.’

  ‘I see. Well, could you make it guineas?’

  Turning the rings over with his long fingers, Mr. Smithers considered for a moment, then he said, ‘I think I could, Madam, if you were willing to spend the extra fifty with us. The desk will be a most handsome gift, but perhaps you might also like to make Mr. Frobisher a more personal present, something he could wear?’

  Linda would have much preferred the extra fifty pounds, but she had yet to get over the really big fence of asking the jeweller, without arousing suspicion, to pay her on the spot; so she agreed to his idea and said she would like to spend the extra money on a pair of cuff-links.

  Compelling herself not to hurry over her choice, she selected a pair of white gold and mother of pearl, with tiny sapphires in the centre. Picking up the links, Mr. Smithers said, ‘No doubt you would like to take these with you, Madam. I’ll find a case for them and pack them up. Our cashier will post the cheque on to you.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Linda exclaimed, having expected this. ‘That would never do. As I told you, we’re being married on Friday and we leave for the Continent that afternoon. It would spoil everything if the desk was not delivered until we got back. I want to give it to Mr. Frobisher tomorrow, Thursday. And, as I’ve never bought anything from Partridge’s, I can’t ask them to send it unless I give them my cheque; so I must have one from you to pay into my bank this afternoon.’

  ‘I see; I see.’ Mr Smithers suddenly became thoughtful. ‘Yes, I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, Madam, I will try and arrange matters.’

  To Linda those few minutes seemed never-ending. She was gripped with the awful fear that Mr. Smithers would ring up Rowley to get confirmation that the transaction was in order. Then, when he learned that Rowley was dead, the fat would be in the fire with a vengeance. Having made his first call, Mr. Smithers would then make another—to the police.

  The temptation to cut and run while the going was good was almost irresistible. Yet, so far, things could not have gone better. Her story that she was about to marry Rowley and that he had given her the jewels was perfectly plausible. There was no reason whatever why they should suspect her; whereas, if she tried to sell the jewels anywhere else it was certain that she would be asked all sorts of questions and required to supply evidence that they were her property—which she could not possibly do.

  No. She must sit tight. Her whole future was at stake. This was her one and only chance of getting hold of enough money to leave the country and have enough to live on until she could sell some of the other jewels. If she abandoned it at this last moment, her entire plan collapsed. There would be no alternative but to throw in her hand. If she returned the jewels at once, no charge would be brought against her. But she would have condemned herself to hardship and misery.

  Taking a cigarette from her case, she lit and pulled upon it avidly, while keeping her eyes riveted on the glass-panelled door at the back of the shop, through which Mr. Smithers had gone. At last he reappeared. He held something in his hand; but it was not a cheque. Her heart sank.

  He laid the thing he had been carrying on the counter. It was the pair of links, now done up in a neat parcel. Then he said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Madam, but there has been a slight difficulty.’

  ‘What! You … you can’t let me have a cheque?’ Linda stammered.

  ‘Not for the moment, Madam. You see.…’

  ‘But why? Why not?’ She could not keep a quiver out of her voice. ‘It … it’s very disappointing. I was counting on it. Surely you can arrange something?’

  ‘Please, Madam.’ Mr. Smithers sought to reassure her. ‘There is no cause for your distress. It is simply that all our cheques have to be signed by two partners. There is only one here at the moment. The others have gone out to lunch.’

  Looking down to hide her intense relief, Linda stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Oh, I see. Yes, of course I understand. When will one of them be back?’

  ‘If you look in about three o’clock, Madam, I’ll have the cheque ready for you.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much. I’ll do that.’ She gave Mr. Smithers a bright smile, put the links in her bag and turned away. He hurried round the counter to open the door for her, and bowed her out into Bond Street.

  She was still free, and unsuspected. But she had not got the money.

  The moment she had left Park Side West she had temporarily put aside her bitterness against Elsie for the more urgent matter of thinking up this plausible story by which she might turn some of the jewels into money. While doing so, it had come into her quick mind that, now she was fully committed, she might as well
be hung for a sheep as a lamb. So, on leaving Cabouchon’s, she took a taxi down to Harrods.

  There she went first to the leather department and bought a brief-case, which would easily hold all the jewels and could be locked. As it was an expensive item, she had to wait some time while they checked her signature, but putting it down to the joint account that she ran with Rowley tickled her sense of humour, as Elsie would now have to pay for it.

  She then went down to the safe deposit in the basement. As she rang the bell outside the iron-barred gate, she felt no qualms of apprehension, as Harrods could not possibly yet know that Rowley was dead. She had been down there before, several times, to take out or return some of the more valuable pieces, as Rowley had liked her to wear fine jewels when he took her to City dinners, receptions given by the Royal Society and similar functions. Her Junoesque good looks had registered with the young man who unlocked the gate, and he greeted her with a smiling ‘Good morning’.

  At the reception desk she gave the password, ‘To Hell with Harold’, that Rowley had chosen some years before, and handed over the key to his locker. The attendant fetched the box, put it on the wide shelf of one of the booths and closed the door behind her. With the smaller key she unlocked the box, then transferred the leather cases in it to the brief-case. Beneath them, at the bottom of the box, there was a long, fat envelope.

  As she saw it, her heart gave a bound of joy. She had forgotten it was there, but knew what it contained. Like many people who were law-abiding in other respects, Rowley had resented being dictated to by the Labour Government on how he should spend his money. In those days, holiday-makers had been restricted to taking thirty pounds out of the country, and when abroad he normally spent that amount in a couple of days. In consequence, he had acquired a fat wad of Swiss francs, and whenever he left England used to take several hundred pounds’ worth with him. Since the restriction had been lifted, four years previously, he had had no need to draw on this nest-egg.