Hillary Waugh - Sleep Long, My Love

My Love

LONDON

VICTOR GOLLANCZ LTD

Copyright 1959 by Hillary Waugh

First published 1960

Reissued 1976

ISBN 0 575 02159 4

All the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental

Printed in Great Britain by

Lowe & Brydone Printers Limited, Thetford, Norfolk

It was ink black in the back bedroom of the little house, black and suffocatingly warm. With the shades down, the windows closed, and the heat up, he could feel the room pressing in on him, holding him, smothering him like a womb.

He couldnt see the naked girl in the bed beside him, but he could feel her, feel her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her body against his. He stared up into the blackness, his right arm lightly around her, and wondered if she were asleep. He wondered if hed waited long enough and because he wasnt sure, he hesitated to move. Slowly he turned his head toward the radium dial of the watch hed set on the bedside table. He moved carefully, holding the rest of his body still, but his hair rustled on the pillow.

The woman raised her head. Stay the night, Johnny, she whispered.

He turned back and stared again at the warm close darkness above. You know I cant, he answered woodenly.

She struggled to one elbow and leaned over him. He could feel her warm breath in his face. Come on, Johnny, she murmured. The hell with anything else. What do you care?

He pushed her aside firmly and sat up. He reached for his cigarettes and she came up too, throwing the covers back. He fumbled in the darkness, put a cigarette in his mouth and flicked his lighter. Her voluptuous body glowed pale orange in the flickering light, but he didnt look at her. He snapped the lighter shut, inhaled deeply, and blew out the smoke harshly. He swung his bare legs over the side and sat with his back to her. She moved in against him, one hand around his waist, the other on his shoulder, her head close to his. Johnny, whats the matter? Everythings going to work out fine. She rubbed a finger lovingly over the mole on his right shoulder blade and he hated it. He wanted to lash out at her, to hit her, to make her stop, but he was careful to give no sign. Instead, he stood up and moved away from the bed. Thats just it, it wont work out, he said harshly.

He heard the springs creak and then she snapped on the table lamp at the other side. The room leaped into garish light, the black drawn shades, the chipped bureau, the tarnished silver-plate brush with her loose hairs in it, the messy bed, and the two wobbly bed tables. On the sheets her body looked large and ponderous in the glare. It had been a luscious body eight years before and it still was eye-catching now. She was a little heavier, a little fuller, but well proportioned. It was an admirable body for a thirty-year-old woman and there was a time when he had enjoyed seeing it, but that was before he came in conflict with her personality. Now her personality colored everything. Now it made her repulsive and he only wanted darkness.

Turn off that light, he said, whirling on her so angrily that she obeyed almost by reflex. He took one more deep, fretting drag on the cigarette and the lamp snapped on again, this time to stay. She came across the bed, raising herself to her knees and putting her hands on her hips. There was a touch of fear in her voice. What do you mean it wont work out?

Just that. He sat down again and stared at the floor. Its no good. We might as well face it.

She swung off the bed quickly and stood in front of him. You cant say that. It will work. Im not going to let it not work!

He looked up at her then and he couldnt keep the anger entirely out of his voice. Will you grow up? Youre not a child any more. I agreed to give it a try and weve tried it and it doesnt work.

You agreed to try for three months. Its not even one month.

I dont need three months.

Her voice rasped with sudden bitterness. You didnt need one month, Ill bet. You had no intention of giving us a chance when you started. Your mind was made up before you began. She dropped to her knees then and put her hands on his arms. Johnny, Johnny, please. Lets not fight. If youd only do it right! If youd tell your wife youre going on a trip and come stay with me, so we could really live together, so I could cook for you and keep house for you, so I could show you how much you need me! This isnt any good, just evenings, you coming in and going home again. This should be your home. Im the girl you need, Johnny, not hernot your wife! Were the same kind of people. You know we are. She ducked her head to see into his lowered face. Look at me, Johnny. Tell me you know Im right.

He looked at her and his eyes were cold. He said, Cant you know a man hates a clinging vine? Why do you have to hang on? Cant you tell when something is over?

She sank back slowly, sitting on her ankles, dropping her hands to her lap. She met his eyes squarely, ignoring their look. Im not going to let you go, Johnny.

His mouth tightened. What do you want out of me? Is it money? I know you quit your job. Ill give you money. Ill come and see you if you want.

She was losing him and she could sense it. He looked at her and didnt see her. She was naked and he didnt notice. She bit her lip and watched him puff jerkily on his cigarette. When he turned for the ash tray, she spoke. Ill tell you what I want, she said evenly. I want a father for my baby.

He started. Your baby?

She nodded. I didnt want to tell you. I didnt want to hold it over you. But you forced me. Youre going to have to marry me, Johnny.

He reached numbly and mashed out his cigarette, then hunched over, staring again at the floor. He heard her move, but he didnt look up. She came beside him on the bed, pressing against him, her face close to his ear, her hands stroking his shoulders. Its all right, Johnny, she whispered. You can get your divorce in Reno and Ill go out with you. Ill make you happy, Johnny. You see if I dont

She kept on talking, but he had stopped listening. He had hoped against hope he would be able to discourage her. He had thought perhaps this month together would make her want to break it off. He had hoped there would be some other way to get her out of his life, but the baby queered it all.

Now he knew he would have to kill her.

Since it was vacation and he didnt have to drop his two little girls off at school, Raymond Watly, thirty-five-year-old real estate agent, didnt leave his home in Ashmun until eight-forty and didnt arrive at the Restlin Real Estate office in Stockford, Connecticut, until ten minutes of nine. The office, on Farnsworth Street, occupied the left half of the first floor of an old frame house. There was a plate-glass window with the name in gold letters, balanced by a matching window to a law office. A recessed door between opened into a dingy through hall from which both offices could be reached.

Mr. Watly, as was his custom, turned into the dirt drive beside the house and parked near the tumbledown shed in back. He entered the hall through the rear door and strode over the creaky planking to the office entrance, taking out his keys and whistling a time. When he got there, he didnt put the key in the lock, but stopped and looked. The frosted pane in the door was broken. There was a hole in the glass as if someone had put a fist through it close to the knob. Cracks ran from the hole across the rest of the glass and, inside the office, fragments lay on the floor. Mr. Watly tested the door, but it was locked. He reached a gloved hand through the hole and saw he could turn the inside knob, but he withdrew his hand without touching it. He now used the key to let himself in, closing the door gently, touching only the frame. A quick look around showed him that the safe was intact and nothing seemed out of place, but the broken window was enough for Mr. Watly. He picked up the desk phone and dialed his boss, catching Mr. Restlin about to leave his home. He said, Frank. Youd better get down here right away. It looks like somebodys broken in.