The Strange Story of Linda Lee

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Unfortunately, I am; rather,’ Linda replied.

  Later, in the lounge, when the bald man with a limp came up and introduced himself, she again pretended that she found difficulty in catching what he said. After a few minutes he gave up and, with a little smile, bowed himself away to look at the television programme which was operating on a low key at the far end of the long room. Shortly afterwards the two ladies whom Linda had judged to be spinsters came up and spoke to her. By the same tactics she soon got rid of them and was able to settle to her book.

  At the far end of the street lay the entrance to Stanley Park, so next morning she went for a walk there. The park covered the whole of a great irregular, club-shaped peninsula that jutted out between English Bay, on which Beach Avenue stood, and Burrard Narrows, in the broad inland bight off which lay Vancouver harbour. The park was a thousand acres in extent and Linda thought it the loveliest she had ever seen. Near its entrance nearly every form of sport imaginable was catered for, and further on there was a large, boat-studded lake with a lovely fountain in the centre; also great areas preserved as primeval forest in which rose towering Hemlocks, Douglas Firs and Redwoods, one of the latter bearing a plaque stating that it was estimated to be two thousand years old. At the Tea House on Ferguson Point she had a light lunch, then continued to wander about in the beautiful woods for a good part of the afternoon.

  She spent the next morning in the town and in the afternoon went to see a film. The following day she again spent in the park, this time exploring the eastern side, where there were two zoos, one specially for children, and an aquarium in which there were sharks, dolphins, turtles and even a whale. There were also a miniature railway, a rose garden with one bed in which both red and yellow roses were blossoming on every bush, and another garden which had in it every tree, bush and flower mentioned in Shakespeare’s plays.

  These expeditions served to while away the days, but the meals and evenings in the lounge at the Astley were already proving tedious. An alternative was to let herself be picked up. On numerous occasions in London men had endeavoured to accost her and here, while walking in the city, several had given her more than a passing glance. But if she allowed a man to dine and wine her more than a few times he would naturally expect her to go to bed with him, and that she was not prepared to do.

  For her to get a job of any kind was out of the question, because she had no work permit, and to obtain one she would have to produce her passport to the Canadian authorities. They would then register her as Linda Lee and, by now, Interpol might be aware that Linda Lee and Linda Chatterton were one and the same person; so such a step could prove her undoing.

  To move on to another city was no solution, and Vancouver at least had museums, art galleries and other attractions which would provide her with things to occupy her for a while. But she could not escape the fact that she had saved herself from poverty only to face a bleak and lonely future.

  On her fifth morning in Vancouver, after her bath Linda sat for some minutes looking in her dressing-table mirror at the face she knew so well. The golden brown eyes with their exceptionally clear whites under the high arched eyebrows were undeniably beautiful; so was the mouth, with its full inviting underlip and perfect teeth. The oval face made an admirable setting for the features but they had been even more striking when crowned with the halo of springy curls.

  Her brown hair, with its golden lights, was now parted in the middle and hung down on either side of her face. But, after nearly a week, it had become slightly wavy and showed a distinct crinkle where it had grown a trifle above her forehead. To keep it straight it would soon need another treatment. It then occurred to her that this partial disguise was now pointless, and that to restore it to its pristine glory she need not wait for it to become naturally curly again. She could have a permanent wave.

  In consequence she spent the better part of the afternoon at one of the best hairdressers in the city; and during the long session she had ample time to again contemplate the situation in which she had landed herself. She had beauty, intelligence and plenty of money; but of what use were these to her if she must continue to lead this dreary, solitary existence? Too late she saw that she had acted like a fool. She now felt no remorse for having robbed Elsie of the jewels, as she had not done so from greed, but on a stupid impulse to which she had been driven from fear of poverty.

  If only she had had more time in which to think she would have realised that her own one hundred and eighty pounds, plus the pay from any typing job, would have enabled her to live without real hardship for several months. That would have been ample time for her to trace Eric and get in touch with him. Even had she failed in that, it was certain that within a few weeks he would have learned of Rowley’s death and written to her care of her mother, whose address she had left with Elsie. In either case his response, she felt certain, would have been immediate. He would have rescued her from poverty and with him she would have found security and happiness. Whereas, in a moment of madness she had cut herself off from him by becoming a criminal and was now faced with a miserable, joyless future.

  Chapter 10

  A Lucky Break

  Next morning, now listlessly, with not the faintest premonition that fate had in store for her a drastic new turn in her affairs, Linda once more went for a walk in the park. This time she took the main road that ran through it up to Prospect Point at its northern end.

  She had covered about half the distance when she started to cross the road to get a closer look at a rare species of tree that she had never before seen. Just there the road curved and, as she stepped out from behind a clump of tall bushes, a car came round the corner. Before she could draw back it ran past, narrowly missing her. But one of the door handles caught the handle of her bag. It was jerked from her hand and the sharp pull on it flung her sideways to the ground. Her forehead struck the exposed root of a tall tree, and she was knocked out.

  Linda remained unconscious for barely a minute. She was lying face down, with her forehead on the tree root. She heard running feet, then strong hands grasped her shoulders and turned her over. As she opened her eyes she found herself staring up into the anxious face of a brown-complexioned man with a high-bridged nose, black eyes and smartly-trimmed black hair.

  When he realised that she was not seriously injured, his big, generous mouth relaxed into a wide smile; then he exclaimed, ‘Praises be! I feared I’d smashed you up real bad.’

  Sitting up, she put a hand to her aching head. ‘No, no. I’ll be all right in a minute. And it was my fault. I shouldn’t have stepped out from behind those bushes without making certain that nothing was coming.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m at least half to blame. Shouldn’t have taken that corner so quickly in a park like this where kids are always chasing one another. I’m terribly sorry.’

  Having helped her to her feet, he turned away to collect the scattered oddments that had dropped out of her bag, while she brushed the fallen leaves and dust from her skirt. He had pulled up his car about thirty yards away. As he rejoined her, he pointed to it and said:

  ‘Least I can do is to give you a lift home, or to wherever you were going.’

  ‘I was only going for a walk, up to Prospect Point. I haven’t been that far yet.’

  ‘You a stranger here, then?’

  ‘Yes. I’m from England.’ Linda was still a little dazed and the admission slipped out before she had fully recovered her wits.

  ‘Are you now? Well, I’m a stranger in these parts too. I come from Montreal and as I’d never been out west I thought I’d take my vacation here. Friends told me this park was well worth seeing, so I was just driving around. What say I run you up to Prospect Point and we take a look at the view together?’

  Linda did not hesitate. She thought the tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired man who was smiling at her decidedly attractive. Returning his smile, she replied, ‘Why not? I’d like to do that.’

  Two minutes later they were in his Cadilla
c. As he let in the clutch, he said, ‘My name’s Big Bear Orson. What’s yours?’

  ‘Lucille Harrison. But surely your Christian name isn’t really Big Bear?’

  ‘It sure is. Thought you would have guessed from the tint of my skin and my beak of a nose that I’ve got Indian blood. The rest of my family are as white as you; but I’m a throwback. I was christened Isaiah. But I didn’t like it, so when I was a kid, and we used to play Injuns and Cowboys, I gave myself the name of a chief who was my ancestor, and somehow it’s stuck to me.’

  When they reached the Point they sat in the car for a few minutes admiring the great Lion Gate suspension bridge that spans the narrows of Burrard Inlet, and the mile-long line of wharves along the shore of North Vancouver. Then, turning his head in the other direction, he said:

  ‘That’s a coffee joint back there. You must need a little something after your fall. Let’s go over.’

  In the ladies’ room of the little restaurant Linda re-did her face. Her headache was already subsiding and she had suffered no damage except a slight abrasion on the forehead, which she was able to powder over.

  When they were seated at one of the little tables, he asked her how she liked Canada.

  ‘This part of it is lovely,’ she replied, ‘and Vancouver is a splendid city. But I wouldn’t like to live in the wheat belt or one of the smaller towns, like Calgary. The people are nice. I mean the taxi-drivers, waiters, shop assistants and so on. They couldn’t be more friendly and helpful. But the licensing laws are suitable only for children, and I find that very surprising, seeing that Canada has such strong connections with France. Even here all the signs are dual-language, and while one would have expected that in Quebec, it’s strange to find it in the far west.’

  ‘There’s no great number of French in Alberta or B.C., but plenty of French-Canadians come here from the east, and some of them speak only French. That’s why in these parts they have “Messieurs” as well as “Gents’” written up on the johns. You’re right about the liquor laws, though. Place like this ought to be a proper café.’

  Linda smiled. ‘I wish it were. I don’t usually drink anything until the evening, unless I’m lunching in a restaurant, but after my fall I could have done with something stronger than coffee.’

  ‘Fair enough, and that’s given me an idea. It’s close on midday. How say we beat it back to the city? Let me give you lunch, and everything that goes with it.’

  ‘Well, that’s very nice of you.’ Linda hesitated only so as not to appear too eager. ‘Yes, why not? I’d like to do that.’

  On their way back through the park they passed some gaily painted Indian totem poles and Big Bear told Linda that they were not just a form of idol. The eagle represented the genius of air, the wolf that of land, the whale that of the sea and the frog the link between earth and water.

  They lunched in the Timber Room at the Vancouver Hotel. Big Bear said he was staying at the hotel because it was the best in the city. Over an excellent meal he told her about himself. He was the managing director of one of the biggest advertising agencies in Canada. He enjoyed his work because it meant always being right on the ball. Constantly to produce new ideas that would boost his clients’ sales entailed a knowledge of every public activity and new trend that developed in fashion, food, entertainment and general behaviour. When he asked her what she did, she shrugged.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m just a drone.’

  At that he gave her a speculative look. She laughed and shook her head. ‘No, I’m not a poule de luxe, as the French call it. I’m quite respectable, but I’ve never earned my living.’

  He glanced at her hand. ‘It’s rare these days to meet an unmarried girl who doesn’t do some kind of job.’

  On the way from the park and while he was parking his car Linda had had sufficient time to think out what she would tell him about herself, and she said, ‘I am married—in a way. But I’ve left my husband. The last time I saw him we had a blinding row and I flung my wedding ring at him.’

  ‘Then you’re by way of getting divorced?’

  ‘Yes, but how long it will take I don’t know. We had been married only a few months, so it would be the best part of three years before we could get a decree for incompatibility; and I’ve no evidence against him or he against me, so it’s stalemate. His parents are very rich and he is dependent on them. They have never liked me, and are anxious to have me out of his life so that he can marry again. But they are old-fashioned in their views about divorce, and feel that it would be a stigma against him if he gave me grounds and became the guilty party. Their hope is that I will get tired of being on my own, so take a boy friend, and I discovered that they had engaged detectives to watch me. That meant that I couldn’t even have a drink in a man’s flat without becoming compromised. Being tailed everywhere made me feel so awful that I decided to leave England and come to Canada.’

  ‘They could employ a “private eye” to keep tags on you here.’

  Linda shook her head. ‘No. The only address they have is a bank to which my husband sends me a monthly allowance. And I’m living under another name in quite an obscure hotel not far from the park. But what about you? Are you married?’

  ‘No, no,’ he grinned. ‘I love ’em all a little bit.’

  ‘You obviously have plenty of money, so I suppose you have pleasant bachelor quarters.’

  ‘The best ever. I’ve a suite in Montreal’s Ritz-Carlton Hotel.’

  ‘That must cost you a pretty penny.’

  ‘It’s not cheap, but it pays off in the long run. Time is money in my game, and I have to do a lot of entertaining anyway. If I had an apartment I’d have to have a housekeeper, tell her what I wanted for meals, fend for myself when she had her day off, use part of my secretary’s time checking up on dozens of bills and making phone calls about one thing and another. As it is, I’m on the spot when I ask people to lunch or dinner, take my pick of a first-class menu, have myself valeted and my washing done, never have to bother with plumbers, electricians or garbage disposal, get day and night service all the week through and, at the end of it, pay for the whole shooting match with one cheque. Added to that, as a permanent resident I get special terms.’

  ‘Then you’re certainly getting value for your money,’ Linda agreed. ‘How long are you here on holiday?’

  ‘Another eight days. How long do you figure to stay?’

  ‘I’ve no plans at all at the moment.’

  ‘Then how about seeing something of each other? I’ve no friends here ’cept our Vancouver agent, Dave Kane, and his wife Judith. They’re a grand couple and have a nice home up in the Shaughnessy district. I’ve been out there twice to dinner and had them here; and Judith’s twice taken me for drives round about. But I can’t live in their pockets. What say to your taking pity on a poor, lone Redskin brave?’

  Linda laughed. ‘What nonsense. You are no more a Redskin than an Englishman would be if he had spent a few weeks sunbathing in the West Indies, and plenty of Romans had noses as big and curved as yours. But I know nobody here either, except the people in my hotel. They are dreary beyond belief, and I go out of my way to avoid them.’

  ‘Dinner tonight then, eh? We’ll dine up in the roof restaurant here. The view is quite something. I’ll run you back to your hotel now and call for you round seven o’clock. O.K.?’

  ‘That would be lovely. It will be my first evening out since I arrived in Canada. When you call for me, remember my name is Harrison.’

  ‘I sure will, Lucille, and my lucky star was certainly in the ascendant when I went driving through the park this morning.’

  Linda spent the rest of the afternoon lying on her bed, thinking about her new acquaintance. She felt that her lucky star also had been in the ascendant that day. Apart from the fact that she might have been killed or injured, the chances against her being knocked down by a youngish man—she judged Big Bear to be in his early thirties—who was not only good-looking, amusing and rich, but also on holiday
and obviously attracted to her, were thousands to one against. What fun it would be to dine with him and once more enjoy the best of everything.

  The evening proved fully up to Linda’s expectations. She had put on one of her best dresses for the occasion, and Big Bear caught his breath in admiration when he saw her. The Vancouver roof restaurant consisted of a very long bar on one side and a much wider restaurant on the other. From a window table they had a wonderful view of the lights of the city, and the cuisine proved excellent. As a main dish her host suggested Alaska crab, which she had never before eaten. It proved to be a number of giant crab legs which the waiter cracked at the table, then poured hot butter on them.

  Linda found them absolutely delicious, but was surprised that Big Bear should have ordered a Canadian white wine to drink with them, as for lunch with their tournedos he had given her an excellent French claret. As it was poured, she said:

  ‘I didn’t know that any wines were grown so far north as Canada, and I’ve been told that there is very little good wine made in the United States except in California.’

  He smiled. ‘Over lunch I tumbled to it that you were quite a connoisseur. That’s why I’d like to know what you think of this. It’s our Domain St. Martin and comes from the north side of Niagara Falls.’

  It had been well iced and she found it to resemble a fine, medium-dry Sauterne, but it had the added attraction of a faint bouquet of violets. Linda raised her well-arched eyebrows:

  ‘But it’s real nectar. Why ever don’t we have it in England?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Maybe duties and freight make it too expensive; but it’s reasonable enough here.’

  Afterwards he took her to the Gold Room, downstairs in the New Penthouse Night Club. There was a very good cabaret and she found him an excellent dancer. So much so that she completely forgot the time until she happened to glance at her watch and found it was getting on for two o’clock.

  In sudden panic she said she must go home at once, as she felt sure that a small hotel like the Astley normally closed at midnight, and she would have to knock someone up to let her in.