The Strange Story of Linda Lee (20 page)

The hotel formed a block in itself. Behind it there was a narrow alley in which were the service entrances. As Linda was passing one end of the alley, she noticed that it was almost blocked by a big waste-disposal van.
Standing behind the van, with an empty trash can over his shoulder, was a tall, sour-faced man. He was no more than six feet from Linda, and she happened to glance at him. Instantly she recognised him. He was her brother Sid.

At the same instant his pale eyes boggled. He dropped the trash can and exclaimed, ‘Swelp me Gawd! If it ain’t our Linda!’

In a matter of seconds several thoughts raced through Linda’s mind. So this was the fine job with the Municipality of Montreal that Sid had said he had got in a letter to Ma—a dustman! What ghastly luck to have run into him like this. How ashamed she would have been if Big Bear had been with her. Must she acknowledge him? If she did, it was certain that he would make a nuisance of himself. Why should she? She owed him nothing. In the old days, before he had stolen the money to go off to Canada, he had followed Pa’s example and often bullied her. Many a time when she was only a kid at school, he had made her do dirty jobs he should have done himself.

The blood had drained from her face. But her eyes flickered only for an instant before she turned them away. Exerting all her will-power, she kept her expression unchanged and walked on without increasing her pace.

‘Linda!’ cried the man, hurrying after her. ‘Yer can’t not know me, yer brother Sid.’

She turned round then, stared at him and said coldly, ‘I thought you were calling out to that woman who just went past. Why you should imagine that I am your sister I cannot think.’

‘You are,’ he insisted, walking beside her as she
moved on. ‘You’re Linda Lee or I’m a Dutchman.’

‘I am not,’ she snapped. ‘My name is Harrison, and I never had a brother. Be good enough to go back to your work.’

‘Stop foxing, Linda,’ he said, angrily now. ‘For all yer fine clothes an’ hoity-toity airs, I’d know you anywheres.’

By then they had reached the corner. Halting, she faced him, drew a quick breath, then declared firmly, ‘I may resemble your sister, but I am not. Now if you pester me any further I’ll call a policeman.’

To her intense relief that silenced him. She covered the fifty paces to the entrance of the hotel and did not look back until the porter touched his cap and gently pushed the revolving door for her. From that one swift glance she had seen that Sid was still standing on the corner, staring after her, with an expression of puzzled anger.

Although she had had plenty to drink at lunch, the shock had so shaken her that, as soon as she was upstairs in Big Bear’s sitting-room, she poured herself a stiff brandy and soda. When she had taken a big gulp she sat down with the glass in her hand and stared out of the window.

Again her thoughts were racing. Had she got rid of Sid for good, or would he make an attempt to force himself on her? For a month now, Linda Chatterton’s name must have been on Interpol’s list of wanted criminals, and no doubt, by questioning the Lucheni couple, they had learned soon after she had got away from England that Linda Chatterton had come to Park Side West as Linda Lee. She had therefore been doubly right in refusing to recognise Sid, and so give away her alias as Lucille Harrison. If he did succeed in seeing her
again, she must stick it out and swear black and blue that she was not his sister.

On further consideration she persuaded herself that he was unlikely to try. All he could have heard about her from Ma was that she had gone to London and got a job as a companion, presumably to an old lady. Had that really been the case, although she might have improved herself from the down-at-heel teenager she had been when he last saw her, it was most improbable that she would have acquired an impeccable, upper-class accent and become an elegantly-dressed woman wearing expensive furs and jewels. She might, of course, have married. But the odds would be long against an old lady’s companion meeting the sort of man who could afford to give his wife a mink coat and take her travelling de luxe in Canada. She had grown a lot and was now a mature woman, six feet in height. Only her face had remained unchanged. Surely, after the firmness with which she had denied her true identity, he could not continue to believe that the lady he had accosted was the same person whom he had known as a schoolgirl?

Through the rest of the afternoon she continued to be upset and worried; but that evening Big Bear was giving a party to celebrate the silver wedding of one of his best customers, and that took her mind off the matter. Nevertheless, on the Saturday morning she decided not to go out, in case Sid was lurking somewhere in the neighbourhood of the hotel on the chance of being able to confront her again. That afternoon Big Bear took her to the Blue Bonnets race-course, where she had the good luck to back three winners. As he worked so hard all the week, he liked to do nothing on Sundays, and they spent the whole day in dressing gowns up in his suite.

Although she had her own bedroom further along the corridor, she had at first feared there might be embarrassing complaints owing to his making no attempt to conceal the fact that they were living together; but his lavish tips ensured that the staff continued to treat her with respect; and luxury hotels do not usually regard themselves as responsible for the morals of their best customers, provided that in public their behaviour is discreet. Her Sundays in Montreal, when she had Big Bear to herself, had therefore been among her happiest days; and by Monday morning she had almost forgotten her encounter with Sid.

It was recalled to her most unpleasantly when the
femme de chambre
brought in her breakfast tray. There was a letter on it. No-one she had met in Montreal was likely to write to her and, although she did not recognise the writing, the sight of the untidy scrawl and cheap paper made her sit up with a jerk. Ripping open the envelope, she saw at a glance that her worst fears were realised. Although it was addressed to Mrs. Harrison, it began
Dear Linda
, and went on:

For all your new finery it isn’t no good you pretending you’re not who you are. Just as you walked off from me on Friday with your head in the air I catched sight of that little mole you got behind your ear. Identified you as good as a set of fingerprints it did. But I didn’t chase you because I don’t want to make no trouble. Saturday I got the lowdown though a pal of mine what is one of the hotel cleaners. You’ve struck it lucky and no mistake. Nearer the mark though to say you’ve learnt to lay on your back and open them fine legs of yours to the right kind of gent. No sleezy back rooms for you, old girl, eh? Mrs. Harrison, with her own fine bedroom. Living respectable, I don’t think. Whole staff knows you’re the fancy bird for mister moneybags Orson along the corridor
.

Well, ducks, that’s all right by me. Good luck to you I say. If he thinks you are the daughter of a Duke, I’m not telling him different. But it ain’t right to high hat your own brother. Blood’s thicker than water, ain’t it? All I want is a friendly chat about old times. That won’t cost you nothing and we’ll meet in a place where poor old Sid won’t disgrace you. Wear me best suit I will and we’ll have a cuppa in Marcel’s café on the Rue Notre-Dame. It’s a decent middle-class joint and only Frenchies go there. I’ll be waiting for you at five o’clock. If you’re tied up Monday I’ll be there again same time Tuesday. Looking forward to seeing you, lovie. Your affec. brother, Sid
.

Linda’s hand was shaking, and she had skimmed through the letter, so absorbed only the main points. Re-reading it carefully, she tried to assess what really lay in the writer’s mind. Although that damnable little mole behind her left ear had given her away, he had not followed her into the hotel and made a scene. He had found out that Big Bear was her lover, but said that he had no intention of embarrassing her with him. All he asked for was a chat about old times. Although they had never had any affection for each other they had, after all, been brought up together; so the request did not seem unreasonable, particularly as he had spent the past six years as an exile.

Although she was most loath to meet him, she realised that if she refused his request he might change his mind about not making trouble. Big Bear was quite capable of throwing him downstairs and, no doubt, would think no worse of her for having been told that she came of a poor family. But that might not be the end of the matter. It would come out that she was, or anyway had been, Linda Lee, and that might lead to her ending up in prison.

Clearly she must see Sid and the sooner she got it over
the better. Although he had not asked for money she thought it certain that he would expect her to give him some, and she decided that it would be better to do so freely, otherwise there was the unpleasant possibility that he might resort to blackmail. So that afternoon, when she made her way to the Café Marcel, dressed in a skirt, high-necked sweater, and wearing a cloth coat instead of her mink, she had in her bag an envelope with two one-hundred-dollar bills in it.

The place was half-empty and Sid was sitting at a table at the far end of the room. He did not get up as she approached him, but gave her a cheerful wave and said, ‘Well, ducks, nice to see yer. Take a pew and tell us how you come to strike so lucky.’

He was now dressed in a shiny blue suit, a pale yellow shirt and a flamboyant tie that had evidently seen a considerable amount of wear. Although only six years her senior he looked a lot older than twenty-six, and reminded her uncomfortably of her father. He had the same mop of coarse black hair and pale, slightly protruding eyes. His face was lean, and his mouth bitter. Obviously fate had not been very kind to Sid.

She waited until he had ordered tea and cakes for them both, then shrugged and, in an endeavour to keep the conversation on a light note, said, ‘It’s the old story—just like the song. “
She was poor but she was honest victim of a rich man’s crime. ‘Twas the Squire’s cruel passion robbed her of her honest nime. Then she went right up to London for to hide her grief and shime. There she met another Squire, an’ she lorst ’er nime again.
”’

Sid’s thin lips broke into a grin. ‘Ma writes me now and then. Over two years ago she wrote me that yer’d hooked it on yer own to London and got a job as companion to a rich old woman.’

‘I never told her that; she just jumped to that conclusion—as I meant her to. Actually it was with a very nice middle-aged man who picked me up on the train. He died some months ago, and left me enough money to travel. I thought I’d like to see Canada, and after I’d been here for a while I met Mr. Orson. As I am free, and liked him very much, I saw no reason why I should not “lose my name again”.’

‘Gawd; if only I could lose my name for the pickin’s you’re gettin’. ‘E‘s the big shot in advertising in these parts, ain’t ‘e?’

‘Yes. But that’s enough about me. How have you been doing, Sid? I heard from Ma a long time ago that you’d married and had two children.’

‘Yes, that’s right. An’ more bloody fool me. With that lot to feed and clothe, what chance has a feller got to save enough to set up for ’isself or buy a share in a promisin’ little business? Bein’ a refuse collector, as the sods who pay me call it, is one hell of a life; but I don’t see no way ter get nothing better.’

Linda nodded, and produced the envelope from her bag. ‘You’ve had rotten luck, Sid. Now, look. My old friend did not leave me a fortune, only just enough to see something of the world in a modest way. And I wouldn’t be staying at the Ritz-Carlton if it were not for Mr. Orson. But, believe me or not as you like, he doesn’t give me any money, because we are really very fond of each other, and that would spoil our relationship. All he does is to buy me presents and pay my bill at the hotel. I refused to recognise you the other day because, to be honest, I didn’t want it known that my brother was a dustman. But I felt very sorry for you. So I went to the Bank of Montreal this morning and used my letter of credit to get these two hundred dollars for you.’

‘Strewth, Lindy! he exclaimed. ‘You’re a real brick, you are. I’m ever so grateful. Why, with that I’ll be able to buy meself a motor bike an’ sidecar, an’ take my old woman an’ the kids out for runs in the country when it comes spring again.’

As he eagerly pocketed the money, she asked if he had heard from their mother lately.

He nodded. ‘’Bout a coupla months ago. Things ain’t no better than they was when we lived at ’ome. Pa’s as big a slave-driver as ever, and ’as a skinful regular Saturday nights. The old girl is still sore about yer goin’ off on yer own an’ never even droppin’ ’er a line. But she did say in one of ’er letters as ’ow you send ’er a few quid to help out now an’ then. That’s decent of yer, Lindy. You always was a good kid. ’Fraid I didn’t make things any too easy fer yer. But you must blame Pa fer that. He used to work me something chronic, an’ at times I got so mad I used ter take it out on yer.’

For a while they talked of the way they had slaved in the market garden, and of people they had known in the neighbourhood. Then Linda stubbed out her cigarette and said, ‘Well, it’s nice to have had our chat, Sid, but I must be getting back now.’

As he produced some loose change to pay the bill, he gave her an earnest look, and spoke in a humble voice. ‘Lindy, it’s darned good of yer to give me this money; but there’s just one other thing I wish you’d do. I’d like yer to meet my missis an’ the kids. ’Ow about coming along one evening and having a bite of supper?’

Imperceptibly Linda stiffened. ‘No, Sid. I don’t think that would be a good idea. We’ve agreed that it is better that we should go our separate ways.’

‘Oh, come on na. Don’t yer want to see yer little nieces? It would make ’em no end proud to know that
their auntie is a fine lady like you, and put my stock up with Doris inter the bargain.’

The last thing that Linda wanted to do was to meet Sid’s family, and she shook her head. ‘No, really. If you introduce me to your wife, she will probably ask me to come again, and expect me to take the children to a movie, or something.’