She was so exhausted from continuous strain that, for a while, her brain refused to function further. Gradually the tension eased, and episodes from her long day began to drift through her mind. With a shudder she recalled the eyes in Rowley’s dead face staring up at her from her bed. Had that been two, three or four nights ago? No, it had been only the previous night. Barely fifteen hours had passed since he had died in her arms. It seemed impossible that so much could have happened in so short a time.
Since breakfast, just before the Spilkins arrived, she had had nothing to eat or drink, yet she was no longer really hungry. But she must keep her strength up. In a station hotel the restaurant would be open at all hours. She would go downstairs and have a meal. Better not, though. She must show herself in public as little as possible. Heaving herself to her feet, she rang for the floor waiter.
When he arrived with the menu, she ordered a grilled sole, pineapple with Kirsch and a bottle of Rowley’s favourite champagne—Louis Roederer Crystal. Almost imperceptibly the waiter raised his eyebrows:
‘A whole bottle, Madam?’
She had felt that she needed more than a pint, so she nodded. Too late she realised that she had been rash. The man would remember a single woman ordering a quart, and the most expensive wine on the list at that.
As he had said the sole would take half an hour, when he had gone she locked the door, unpacked her things, undressed and had a bath. When he returned she was in her dressing gown, but she had tidied her hair and was considerably freshened up. He seemed to take an age laying the small table, transferring the dishes from the trolley, and opening the wine. She tipped him, but not too lavishly, and, immediately he had bowed himself out, she drank her first glass of champagne straight off. With the sole she had another glass, and after the pineapple a third. By then she was feeling slightly light-headed.
Lighting a cigarette, she rang for the waiter to clear away and carried the last glass of champagne over to the bedside table. As he wheeled out the trolley, she hung the Do Not Disturb notice outside the door, locked it and, although it was still full daylight, drew the curtains.
Having stowed the precious brief-case under the bed, she got between the sheets, drank the rest of the wine and lay back on the pillows. As always happened when she got a little tight, she was filled with goodwill toward all the world. It had been an extraordinary day, but a marvellously successful one. Under the bed she had a fortune. If only her luck held. But why shouldn’t it? Filled with optimism, she drifted off to sleep.
Linda had been awake for the whole of the preceding day and night, so it was close on thirty-five hours since she had slept. In consequence she slept the clock round, but it was still early when she woke. Dimly, by the light coming between the curtains, she saw the furniture of the room. For a moment she wondered where she was. Then the horror of Rowley’s death and all that had followed it flooded back to her.
At the realisation of what she had done, remorse and fear gripped her. She had stolen twenty-five thousand pounds’ worth of jewels. She must have been mad. How could she possibly have allowed herself to do such a thing? Never in her life before had she stolen even as much as a postage stamp. Now, overnight, she had become a criminal. Within a few hours the police would be after her. If they caught her Elsie would show no mercy. She visualised herself being tried and found guilty. Rowley’s friends—who had been hers too—would come to the court out of curiosity and witness her shame.
Forcing such thoughts from her mind, she managed to fight down her sense of guilt and look on the brighter side. She had covered her tracks so efficiently that no-one could possibly trace her. She had her ticket for Canada. She had enough money in cash to keep her comfortably for a long while. All the odds were that the safe had not yet been opened. She had only to get through the next eight hours and she would be out of the country.
She remembered then that she had arranged with Elsie to return and pack her belongings that morning. But, as there was just a chance that the robbery had been discovered, she dared not. To have to leave behind all her lovely clothes and, above all, the mink coat that Rowley had given her the previous Christmas, was infuriating. What a fool she had been not to have taken it with her. As it was still summer and she had left in such a hurry, to get it out of its bag and put it on had not occurred to her.
Ever since she had forgotten her brief-case and left it at Cabouchon’s the previous afternoon she had been worried by the possibility that she might again forget it somewhere, or have it stolen from her and again find herself nearly penniless. It was for this reason that she had bought the satin pouch.
Getting out of bed, she threaded the satin belt through the flap of the pouch, then adjusted the belt round her waist so that the pouch hung down just below her pubic hair, then she put into it the Swiss francs and ten of the ‘tenners’ she had drawn from her bank. Satisfied that being so flat it would not show under her dress, she washed her teeth, put on her dressing gown, unlocked the door and telephoned down for breakfast.
By the time she had eaten it, had her bath and dressed, it was half past eight. As she was wondering how she could pass the morning, an inspiration came to her. Taking the brief-case, she went down in the lift and to the manager’s office. There, loath as she was to part with the jewels, she asked for it to be put in the safe. It was taken away and she was given a receipt for it.
Walking through to the station, she mingled with the hundreds of men and women who had just come off the trains from the suburbs, and were hurrying to their offices. Many of them, doubtless going to uncongenial jobs, looked peaky and worried. Pity for them mingled in her mind with the thought of the good fortune that would be her own lot if all went well; for it struck her that, had she not stolen the jewels, she would have become one of them, perhaps for life.
At a bookstall she bought a copy of The Times, and quickly looked down the deaths reported. Rowley’s was not among them, so evidently Arthur had not been in time the previous day to get it in. A glance at the big clock told her that it was still only ten minutes to nine. She would have to wait until nine o’clock at least before she could put through the telephone call she had been inspired to make. Sitting on a bench she tried to read the main news in the paper, but found that she could not concentrate. Impatiently she watched the clock until five past nine, then she went into a telephone booth and rang up Chubb’s.
Having told the man who answered that she was Mr. Frobisher’s secretary, she asked, ‘When are you going to send a man to open his safe?’
‘Hold the line a minute,’ replied the man. After several minutes, he came back and said, ‘We received a call from you yesterday, Madam, but as you were informed then, only a specialist can open one of our safes without knowing the combination. Our man has several calls to make today; but he may get round to you by this afternoon.’
Linda smiled seraphically. She was still in the clear, at least until after lunch. A man waiting his turn to go into the next box thought she had smiled at him. He returned the smile rather weakly; then, as she stepped out of her box; plucked up the courage to raise his hat and say, ‘I felt sure we had met before. How nice…’
Staring at him in blank surprise, she turned and walked quickly away.
Outside the station she got a taxi. Instead of telling the man to drive her to Park Side West, she told him to take her to Selfridges. There, as at Harrods, she could sign on Rowley’s account and she could not get all her things into the four suitcases she owned. At the store, she bought two of the most expensive air-travel cases they stocked and, as she signed for them, laughed to herself at the thought that, later, Elsie would again have to pay.
When she arrived in another taxi at Park Side West, Bella let her in. The small, stout Italian woman was evidently aware of the way Linda had been treated for, in a low voice but volubly, she began to express her sympathy.
Linda told her that she was going back to her old home for a while and then would have no great difficulty in finding a jo
b; so she was not to worry.
At that moment Elsie came out of the study. Her little piggy eyes were hard and accusing. Fear suddenly gripped Linda. From that baleful glance she felt certain that Elsie knew. Something unexpected had happened. Somehow she had been found out. Perhaps, after all, Mr. Bendon had telephoned, or Mr. Coxon called up to congratulate Rowley on having become engaged to her. She had been mad to risk coming back. Elsie would shout for Arthur. Between them they would hang on to her, push her into a room and lock her up there until the police came. Panic seized her. She must get out before they could make her a prisoner. Even a call to 999 would not bring the police on the scene in less than ten minutes. She would still have a chance if she ran for it.
She gave a quick look over her shoulder. The front door was closed. She was impeded by the two suitcases she was carrying and Bella blocked the narrow passage between her and the door. Elsie’s voice came, bleak and sarcastic, but not in denunciation.
‘So you’ve come for your loot. When you’ve packed, let Stefano know, and he’ll get you a taxi.’
In her relief, Linda nearly gave vent to hysterical laughter. It was only her guilty conscience that had led her to imagine that Elsie was about to accuse her. She was wildly tempted to shout back, ‘You mean, sanctimonious bitch! I’ve got most of it already.’
Instead, controlling herself, she muttered, ‘Thanks. Yes … yes, I will.’ Then, refusing Bella’s offer of help, she carried the two suitcases upstairs.
Habitually she was careful about her clothes, but now her one thought was to get out of the house as quickly as she could. Frantically, she emptied drawers and cupboards, folded the clothes with little thought about creases, forcing them down into her four cases and the two new ones until none of the six would hold any more. There were still quite a number of things over, but she would give those to Bella.
The job had taken her half an hour. As soon as she had finished, she went to the top of the stairs and shouted for the Luchenis. They both came up. Stefano now said how grieved he was for her, and how much they would miss her. Bella thanked her for the clothes, but was near to tears and completely broke down when Linda kissed her.
Between them they carried the suitcases down to the hall. While Stefano was telephoning for a taxi Elsie again came out of the drawing-room and asked, ‘Where do you wish me to forward any letters that come for you?’
Taken by surprise, Linda hesitated a moment, then she said, ‘To my aunt’s place, please. She lives in Lincolnshire, and I shall be staying with her for a while.’ Taking her diary from her bag, she wrote her mother’s address on one of the blank leaves and gave it to Elsie. It was the only address she could think of from which letters could be forwarded to her if she asked for them, and she felt sure that Eric would write to her when he heard about Rowley’s death. For the moment she had forgotten that when he did hear he would also learn that she had stolen the jewels, be horrified, and not wish to have anything more to do with her.
By five minutes past ten she was in a taxi. For Elsie’s benefit she told the man to take her to Liverpool Street Station. When they arrived she had a porter put her cases into the left-luggage office. As soon as his back was turned she got another porter to get her luggage out again and took another taxi back to Victoria.
The morning’s effort had played havoc with her nerves again and, as the day was warm, she was perspiring in the mink coat she had had to wear. Going up to her room, she ordered a pint of champagne.
As she gratefully drank the iced wine, she reviewed her situation. Everything had gone well—extraordinarily well. She had now only one more hurdle to take—getting away from Heathrow that afternoon. If the man from Chubb’s did arrive earlier than expected, Elsie would not lose a moment in informing the police about the jewels. The description of the suspected thief would be sent out immediately, and the airport police would be scrutinising every passenger.
Linda’s passport had been secured for her by Eric, as his position enabled him to get one for her without any references, other than his own, and he had had it made out in her real name, Linda Lee. That was now most fortunate, as the police would be looking for a girl carrying one in the name of Linda Chatterton.
But what was not so fortunate was Linda’s outstanding, tall figure and good looks. Her description coupled with her first name, Linda, and the initials L.C. on her suitcases, might lead to her being detained, and prove her undoing. Could she disguise herself in any way? Yes, to some extent. She could shave off the corners of her eyebrows, lipstick her mouth into a squarer shape and do something about her hair.
At first she thought of having it dyed, then a better idea came to her. She had read in a women’s magazine that just as a permanent wave could make straight hair curly so a reversal of the process could make curly hair straight, and that in the United States coloured women frequently resorted to this method of giving themselves a less negroid appearance. No passport officer would question a girl having changed her hair style, yet if she could flatten out her halo of wavy hair, it would make a big difference to the description of her that might be issued.
But had she time? Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was a quarter past eleven. The aircraft took off at five minutes past two, but she was due to report at the Cromwell Road Terminal at twelve-twenty. By taking a taxi instead of the bus, she could save half an hour. As long as she got there in time to catch the plane, that was all that mattered. The less time she spent waiting at the airport, the less chance there would be of her being spotted. If she hurried, she might just do it.
Running into the bathroom, she doctored her face, then shoved her things into the suitcase she had brought with her the previous night. Downstairs, as she enquired for the nearest hairdresser’s, a clock struck the half-hour; but her luck was still in. There was one in the basement. Again fortune favoured her, the solitary hairdresser was sitting doing nothing. Producing two pounds from her bag, she said:
‘I have to catch an aircraft at two o’clock, so I haven’t much time to spare. But I’ve just had an idea. I want to give my husband a surprise when he meets me at the other end; so I want you to take all the kinks out of my hair, then I’ll be able to wear it hanging down over my shoulders.’
The man grinned at her. ‘Very well, lady. To make it really straight will take a bit of time, but I’ll do the best I can.’
Systematically he adjusted the apparatus and went to work. Linda thought he would never be done. But by twenty-five past twelve, he had finished; she paid him and gave him the handsome tip.
Dashing up to the ground floor, she asked for her luggage to be brought down, paid her bill and retrieved the precious brief-case. To her fury another quarter of an hour went by before her luggage appeared in the hall. One of the suitcases she had collected that morning was missing. The porter went back upstairs. He was away ten minutes. She had just made up her mind that she must abandon the missing case when he returned with it. By the time all her things had been loaded on to a taxi it was five past one. She promised the man double fare if he could get her to Heathrow by a quarter to two. As he snapped down his flag, he replied laconically:
‘Depends on the state of the traffic; but I doubt it.’
Her heart sank. If she missed the plane, it would be all up with her. Within two or three hours the police would be circulating her description. She would not dare attempt to get on another plane the next day. Where could she go into hiding? Within a week or two, some sharp-eyed policeman would recognise her from the photographs of wanted people that they pinned up in all police stations. Arrest would follow, the shame of a trial, then prison. She could now only hope against hope.
The drive seemed interminable. It seemed that every light was against them. Just past South Kensington Station a lorry was delivering coal, so narrowed the way to single-line traffic. In Barons Court, opposite the old playing fields of St. Paul’s School, the road was up for a hundred yards—single line again, so another delay. Fidgeting in her seat, Lin
da thought they would never make it, but at last they were out on the broad motor-way and the driver got her to the airport by ten minutes to two.
She paid him double fare, her luggage was piled on a trolley. Glancing at the cases, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten to label them. But at the desk everyone was most helpful. Her ticket was checked, the luggage labelled and weighed. To her distress she had to pay out seventy-two pounds seventy-five pence excess, but it was no time to worry about the amount. She dared not ask them to take a cheque, as she would have had to sign it Chatterton. Hurriedly fumbling under her skirt she produced the money from her pochette. Her well-tipped porter ran alongside her to show her the right barrier.
Holding her breath, she gave her passport to the immigration official. He only glanced at it, waved her through and said, ‘You’ll have to hurry, Miss. The aircraft is just about due to take off.’
Clutching her handbag in one hand and the briefcase in the other, she raced down the long, enclosed passage, with its side-ports for boarding. At last she reached the one with a sign up reading AC.853, and turned into it. Breathlessly she boarded the plane. The steward gave her a quick grin and closed the door behind her. A hostess led her to her seat. She had only just taken it when the plane began to taxi out. After going no more than a hundred yards, it stopped. She seemed to freeze where she sat. The police had caught up with her after all! With closed eyes, for five minutes she sat in mental agony. Then the aircraft began to move again, and she realised that the delay had been caused by putting her luggage on board.
Lying back, she closed her eyes and breathed again. She had made it. She was still free and they were off. She had crossed the last hurdle, and got away with a fortune.
The hostess made the usual speech over the loudspeaker to the passengers. The aircraft reached the end of the runway and halted. Its jets roared. Linda thought complacently, ‘They may have opened that accursed safe by now. Anyway they will have within an hour or two. When Elsie finds it empty she’ll telephone Cabouchon’s, on the off chance that Rowley had placed the jewels with them for safe-keeping. They will tell her at once about my having sold them the two rings. So she’ll know then, without a doubt, that it was I who cleared the safe before I left. But they can’t get me now. It’s too late. So what the hell do I care?’
The Strange Story of Linda Lee Page 11