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Authors: Dennis Wheatley
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became hers too, and now and then she went shopping or to a cinema with their wives.
The only jarring note in their existence was Tuesday nights when the Spilkins still always came to dinner. As Elsie had lived in the house most of the years while she had been growing up, Rowley still behaved like a father to her. For his sake Linda endeavoured to get closer to her, but in vain. They had nothing whatever in common; Linda was a born enjoyer, Elsie a dyed-in-the-wool do-gooder. Her husband was obviously subservient to her and eagerly endorsed all her opinions.
Eric continued to come to the house on average about twice a month, to dine and sleep. Sometimes there were other people dining, but more frequentlyRowley and Linda were alone with him. Owing to these evenings, when the two men talked of old times, she had long since come to know all about Eric’s past.
She learned from Rowley that Eric had lost his parents tragically while still in his teens. They had both been burned to death in a fire and he had no other relative than the sister whose daughter Linda was supposed to be. The shock of his parents’ death had caused him to have fits of depression, to become introspective and unable to make friends easily. It was on account of his being such a lonely young man that Rowley had taken him under his wing and acted as an affectionate older brother to him.
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
The only jarring note in their existence was Tuesday nights when the Spilkins still always came to dinner. As Elsie had lived in the house most of the years while she had been growing up, Rowley still behaved like a father to her. For his sake Linda endeavoured to get closer to her, but in vain. They had nothing whatever in common; Linda was a born enjoyer, Elsie a dyed-in-the-wool do-gooder. Her husband was obviously subservient to her and eagerly endorsed all her opinions.
Eric continued to come to the house on average about twice a month, to dine and sleep. Sometimes there were other people dining, but more frequentlyRowley and Linda were alone with him. Owing to these evenings, when the two men talked of old times, she had long since come to know all about Eric’s past.
She learned from Rowley that Eric had lost his parents tragically while still in his teens. They had both been burned to death in a fire and he had no other relative than the sister whose daughter Linda was supposed to be. The shock of his parents’ death had caused him to have fits of depression, to become introspective and unable to make friends easily. It was on account of his being such a lonely young man that Rowley had taken him under his wing and acted as an affectionate older brother to him.
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
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