The Strange Story of Linda Lee

by Dennis Wheatley

  A few years after the war he had made an unfortunate marriage. He had learned too late that the girl was hopelessly unstable. She drank too much and then proved easy game for any man she fancied. When Eric had told her that he meant to divorce her, she had threatened to commit suicide. He had not believed her, but she had carried out her threat, after drinking nearly a bottle of whisky, by driving her car over a cliff near Beachy Head.

  All this added to the fascination he had for Linda. Not having been born until after the Second World War, none of her contemporaries had been in it and decorated for bravery; so, from the beginning, she had regarded Eric as an almost mythical figure, and endowed him with a halo. That he should have overcome his early inability to mix happily with others and turned himself into a model of self-assured light-heartedness was, she felt, an equally courageous feat of a different kind. The knowledge of his spoiled youth and tragic marriage aroused in her the motherly feelings that play so large a part in woman’s nature. These, combined with the physical attraction he had for her, resulted in his never being far from her thoughts, and she was convinced that she would never meet another man who so completely fulfilled her ideal of what a man should be.

  That second summer, on two occasions, first in June and again in August, when Eric proposed himself for the night, the dates happened to coincide with those when Rowley was going on one of his trips to Shrivenham. But he insisted that that made no difference—Eric must come just the same.

  On both occasions Linda and he sat up till the small hours, replenishing their drinks from time to time and deep in conversation. They were evenings of perfect companionship and when they said good night after their first long session together, he said:

  ‘Linda, you’re a girl in a million. Old Rowley was damn’ lucky to have met you that night on the train. You’ve made a new man of him.’

  On the second occasion he actually took her in his arms and kissed her on a small mole she had under her left ear, not passionately but very gently and reverently, as though she were something sacred. She let him do so without protest, and when she got up to her room she found that she was trembling. She now had no doubt at all that Eric was in love with her, and she had known for a long time that she was desperately in love with him.

  The happiness of that knowledge was mingled with a sadness that nothing could come of their love, for she had no intention of being unfaithful to Rowley, and felt quite certain that Eric would not make things difficult for her by trying to take advantage of the fact that she was obviously attracted to him.

  In September she and Rowley again went to Venice. It was on their fourth day there that, while swimming in the pool, he had his first heart attack. Two other men fished him out, and a doctor who happened to be present dealt with the situation. Rowley was put to bed, and Linda, seized with terrible distress and anxiety, did everything possible for him. For a week she nursed him devotedly, then he was declared fit to travel and, to her immense relief, she got him safely back to England.

  He was soon fully recovered, but from then on had to be careful not to exert himself. His doctor warned him that in future sexual intercourse might prove very dangerous to him. When Rowley told Linda this, she said at once that he must not come to her room any more.

  With considerable diffidence she took the opportunity to broach a subject that had been worrying her ever since he had had his coronary, and said:

  ‘Darling, I hate even to think of such a possibility, but if you had died in the pool, or do so from another attack, I’ll be back where I was eighteen months ago, when you took pity on me in the train. Even worse off, in fact, because apart from the terrible grief I’d feel at losing you, having been so wonderfully spoilt by you I’d be even less capable of making both ends meet in an ill-paid job, and I wouldn’t have a penny.’

  He pressed her hand. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet. For months past I have been meaning to make a new will, to ensure that you are well provided for. I’ll put it off no longer, and see to it next week. And I’m sure you know that although we can no longer sleep together I love you as fondly as ever.’

  Nevertheless by early December he felt so much like his old self that he asked her to let him. She was very loath to agree, but she had become so accustomed to enjoying his caresses that, during the past ten weeks, she had sadly missed them; so, with considerable anxiety, she gave way.

  They were both very careful not to let themselves become over-excited, and no harm resulted. But they decided that it would be wise to restrain themselves to once every few weeks.

  In February they went to the south of Spain and, after a fortnight idling in the sun, went on to Madrid, Seville, then Granada. There Rowley had his second attack. It was due to their having failed to get a taxi down in the city, so they had walked back up the long, steep hill to the Granada Palace Hotel, with its marvellous view over the valley.

  Again Linda suffered torments of anxiety, but again Rowley recovered and she got him home safely. After a few weeks he was once more as spry as ever. But now they took a firm line. Visits to Linda’s bedroom had become too great a risk, and they resigned themselves to agreeing that these should take place no more.

  March, April, May and June of 1971 went by, for Linda with a growing sense of frustration. During the first thirteen months that she had been Rowley’s mistress, in spite of his age he had, owing to his experience as a lover, not only satisfied her but, as she thought of Eric, aroused her passions to a pitch that she had never known during her brief encounters in the barn with Jim.

  Throughout the autumn that followed Rowley’s first coronary, she had sadly missed the revels in which they had indulged at least once a week. Then, from December until February, there had at least been their monthly sessions to look forward to. The two months of continence during the autumn had been bad enough; but now it was over four months since she had known the delights of being made love to.

  She was now over twenty, fully grown and strongly sexed. Every week that passed made her more unhappy about this aspect of her life, to which it now seemed she was condemned for an indefinite period. Angrily she endeavoured to put thoughts of sex out of her mind, but in bed every night, and sometimes during the day, they tormented her.

  It was on the last day of June that Eric again came to stay while Rowley was absent at Shrivenham. As on previous occasions she saw to it that they had an excellent dinner. Afterwards they sat in the cosy study, talking happily until past one o’clock in the morning. Before they went up to bed, Eric kissed her tenderly on her little mole, then playfully ruffled her hair and gave her a slap on the bottom.

  During the long evening they had had quite a lot to drink and, as she bent down to peel off her stockings, she staggered slightly. Then, having put on her nightdress, instead of getting into bed she sat on the edge of it, her mind in a turmoil.

  That Eric wanted her she had no doubt at all. And she wanted him. If Rowley had been competent she knew that, after all he had done for her, she would have resisted the temptation to be unfaithful to him; but he was not. And if she were unfaithful, he would not be hurt, for he would never know. Damn it, why not? These were the best years of her life, and she needed to be made love to; needed it desperately.

  For close on two years she had been in love with Eric. Almost from the beginning of her liaison with Rowley she had used him as a substitute for Eric, by shutting her eyes and concentrating her thoughts on him. She had not let Rowley down, for he could not possibly have known that the ardour with which she gave herself to him was inspired by the mental image of another man. No woman could have given Rowley more enjoyment than she had, and she had never shown the least interest in any other man during the times when they had been abroad together; so she had been completely fair to him.

  But now that, for his own sake, she no longer dared let him make love to her, matters were different—very different. For months past she had been tormented by the natural cravings of her body. Why should she continue to deny herself to a
man who obviously wanted her? And what bliss it would be, not merely to imagine that Eric was holding her in his arms, but to know it to be the real thing—to be able to keep her eyes open and smile up into his.

  With sudden resolution she stood up, put on her dressing gown and went out into the passage. There she paused, not from irresolution, but owing to the sudden thought that Eric might think less of her if she just walked into his room and brazenly offered herself to him. She must have some excuse, then let him make the running.

  After a moment a pretext came to her, and she walked on down to the first floor. A light was showing beneath his door. She knocked, and he called, ‘Come in.’ With her heart beating like a sledge-hammer, she entered the room.

  He was sitting up in bed, reading. Laying down the book, he said, ‘Hullo, chum. Something wrong? Not feeling dicky I hope?’

  Her mouth felt dry. With difficulty she got out the words, ‘No … no. I wanted to ask your advice. I meant to earlier this evening, but somehow I never got round to it.’

  ‘Never too late,’ he smiled, then patted the side of his bed. ‘Come and sit here and brief your Uncle Eric.’

  Sitting down on the bed, she said, ‘It’s about Rowley. Since his last attack we haven’t risked sleeping together and … ’ She paused, hoping that she had given him a good opening.

  He nodded. ‘And as a healthy young woman, you’re feeling your oats, eh?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘It has been rather frustrating. But I’m more worried about him than about myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s like this. About two months after his first attack, we did start again, limiting ourselves to once a month, and no harm came of it. Now he is fully recovered from his second attack he’s been pressing me to let him have his fun again.’

  ‘And naturally you want him to.’

  ‘Yes, but it seems such an awful risk to take.’

  ‘I agree. Personally, I don’t think you ought to.’

  Linda appeared to consider this, but she made no move to get off the bed. After a moment, she said, ‘I suppose you’re right. But it’s very hard on both of us.’

  He gave her an appraising look and nodded. A pregnant silence followed. She broke it by saying, ‘I owe so much to Rowley that I don’t want to be unfaithful to him. But having to give it up altogether … well, there are times when I can’t help thinking about it. Would you … would you think me very awful if I did it with someone else? After all, Rowley would never know.’

  ‘Not if you were careful. Is some young spark chasing you?’

  ‘No; oh no!’ She leaned forward a little, so that her dressing gown fell slightly open, giving him a glimpse of one of her breasts under her chiffon nightie. ‘But I thought perhaps …’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Well,’ she hedged. ‘I was thinking that … that if I’m as lovely as you say I am, I shouldn’t have much difficulty in finding a lover.’

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ he suddenly snapped at her. ‘You were thinking of me!’

  Leaning forward, his chin jutting out and his blue eyes blazing, he went on angrily, ‘You slut! How you have the gall to come to my room half naked and try your wiles on me passes my comprehension. Damn it, I’m Rowley’s best friend! He’s been much more than a brother to me. Is it likely that I’d take his girl behind his back? If you want it that much, find yourself a boy friend. There are plenty of guys who’d be delighted to jump into bed with you but it won’t be me. Now get to hell out of here.’

  Linda was utterly devastated by his outburst. Tears welled up into her big eyes. Giving a little, strangled cry, she slid off the bed and ran toward the door.

  In a flash he was out of bed and after her. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her back, swung her round and threw her down in the armchair. For a moment he stared down at her, then he spoke hoarsely:

  ‘I’m sorry, Linda. Of course you’re not a slut, and I should never have said you were. I should have thought you would know that I wouldn’t trompé Rowley. But I suppose a lot of fellows would have, and you must have realised for months that I’m in love with you.’

  She had buried her face in her hands and was weeping bitterly. At his last words, she looked up and sobbed. ‘I … I know. And I am with you. It … it wasn’t only … just needing a man. Although I do … desperately at times.’

  ‘You poor darling.’ He laid a hand gently on her hair. ‘How I wish to God it could be me. But it can’t. I’d never be able to look old Rowley in the face again.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand. Of course I understand. I should have realised how you would feel about us both deceiving him. I should never have come here. It was wicked of me.’

  ‘No. The devil of it is though that the damage is done now.’

  ‘But it’s not!’ She looked at him in surprise and moved to stand up. ‘You haven’t succumbed to wanting me, and I’m going back to my room.’

  ‘My dear, it is done.’ He shook his head unhappily. ‘As long as we only knew that we loved each other and kept it to ourselves, everything was “Roger”. But now we’ve told each other so, things can never be the same again. How can I possibly continue to come here, knowing that you’re mine for the asking? I simply couldn’t bear it. I’ll have to take off for some place abroad.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ The cry came from Linda’s heart. ‘Without being able to look forward to seeing you now and again, I’d be utterly miserable. And Rowley! Think of Rowley! He’d miss your visits terribly. I’d have it on my conscience that I’d broken up your friendship with him.’

  ‘I realise all that. God knows, I’ll miss you, too. But what’s the alternative? There are some emotions one can’t hide all the time. From now on, unless I bow out, just the way we look at each other will give it away to Rowley that we’re in love. And what then? First suspicion, then certainty, will eat like a cancer into his happiness. A time will come when he’ll be able to hide his feelings no longer, and he’ll charge us with it. No amount of lying on our parts would convince him that he was wrong. Then, being the generous pal he is, he will probably offer to let you go, so that you could marry me. But I couldn’t. How could I possibly rob him of the thing he cherishes more than his life?’

  ‘No,’ Linda choked out. ‘And I wouldn’t marry you even if you wanted me to. Not like that. I simply couldn’t bring myself to leave Rowley after all he’s done for me.’

  ‘Then you see why I’ll have to fade out. And soon too.’

  Linda stood up. ‘I know you are old-fashioned. You have proved that tonight by your loyalty to Rowley. But I wouldn’t have you any other way. I love you for it, and always shall.’

  As she spoke, she moved toward the door. He made no attempt to stop her. Both of them knew that to risk a last kiss would be too dangerous. Two minutes later she was back in her room. Now completely sober, chastened and drained of energy, she lay for a while reproaching herself bitterly for having made such a mess of things. Then she cried herself to sleep.

  Rowley had already made arrangements for them to go again to Venice in September, and Linda was counting the days until their departure. London was hot and oppressive. She knew that her affair with Eric was now a closed chapter of her life, so was doing her best to put him out of her mind. But the scene in his bedroom continued to haunt her, and she felt that only by getting away from the house to Venice would she be able gradually to rid herself of thoughts of him.

  In the latter half of August he rang up Rowley to say that he had been appointed to a new job and that he would be leaving the country very shortly because he was wanted at his new post urgently; so he could only manage a lunch to say good-bye.

  The meal went off quite smoothly, but when asked to what country he was going, he shook his head and replied, ‘Sorry, chums, but for the present, for security reasons, I’m not allowed to say.’

  Afterwards, fighting down tears, Linda stood on the doorstep beside Rowley and, smiling bravely, waved her love away.<
br />
  What she had told Eric about Rowley’s pressing her to let him resume sleeping with her was only partly true. During the summer he had on three occasions asked her to; but, in spite of her own cravings, she had firmly refused, and he had not pursued the matter.

  Eric’s departure for an indefinite period had left Rowley very low; so, two nights later, to cheer up both him and herself, she suggested that they went out to dinner.

  They dined well at the Connaught, sank two champagne cocktails apiece, a bottle of hock between them and topped off with liqueurs; so, when they got home at about half past eleven they were both much more cheerful and slightly mellow. Rowley suggested fetching a bottle of champagne from the fridge. Seeing the red light, Linda would not let him; but he insisted on mixing them both brandies and soda as nightcaps.

  Her foreboding proved right. Having taken a good swig at his drink, Rowley said that the evening would not be complete unless it finished up in her room. She promptly replied that they had been into the matter before, and she did not mean to change her mind. This time he would not take ‘no’ for an answer, and declared that it could not possibly do him any harm. She remained firm in her refusal and for a quarter of an hour or so they continued to wrangle. Eventually she told him that it was useless to keep on repeating himself, and went up to bed, leaving him there.

  His raising the subject and talking about it for so long had again aroused her own frustration. Striving to rid her thoughts of sex, she undressed, got into bed and put out the light; but she could not get to sleep.

  For over an hour she tossed and turned. Then she heard the door open. A moment later Rowley was leaning over her, breathing heavily. From his breath she guessed that, for the past hour, he must have remained downstairs drinking brandy. Shaking her by the shoulder, he said hoarsely:

  ‘Linda, I’ve got to. It’s six months since we did, and I … I can’t bear it any longer.’