HILLARY WAUGH
Sleep Long,
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
Prologue
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 couldn’t 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 he’d waited long enough and because he wasn’t sure, he hesitated to move. Slowly he turned his head toward the radium dial of the watch he’d 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 can’t,” 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 didn’t 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, what’s the matter? Everything’s 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. “That’s just it, it won’t 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 won’t work out?”
“Just that.” He sat down again and stared at the floor. “It’s no good. We might as well face it.”
She swung off the bed quickly and stood in front of him. “You can’t say that. It will work. I’m not going to let it not work!”
He looked up at her then and he couldn’t keep the anger entirely out of his voice. “Will you grow up? You’re not a child any more. I agreed to give it a try and we’ve tried it and it doesn’t work.”
“You agreed to try for three months. It’s not even one month.”
“I don’t need three months.”
Her voice rasped with sudden bitterness. “You didn’t need one month, I’ll 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. Let’s not fight. If you’d only do it right! If you’d tell your wife you’re 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 isn’t any good, just evenings, you coming in and going home again. This should be your home. I’m the girl you need, Johnny, not her—not your wife! We’re 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 I’m right.”
He looked at her and his eyes were cold. He said, “Can’t you know a man hates a clinging vine? Why do you have to hang on? Can’t 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. “I’m 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. I’ll give you money. I’ll come and see you if you want.”
She was losing him and she could sense it. He looked at her and didn’t see her. She was naked and he
