Free The Strange Story of Linda Lee by Dennis Wheatley

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 withRowley 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