The Sleep Room Read Free Page A

began to lift and Mr Hartley was able to drive faster. A mile or so further on, the road became uneven and I had to press my palm against the dashboard so as to prevent myself from being thrown around. We passed between two square columns and I saw a cluster of faint lights ahead.
    ‘Wyldehope,’ said Hartley.
    As we drew closer I realized that I was not looking at one building, but several – a central block flanked by outhouses. The car ground to a halt beside a stone porch, and when I got out, I took a few steps backwards to get a better look at my new home. It was too dark to see very much detail, but I was able to discern mullioned windows, mock battlements and a tower. A background noise was impinging on my awareness, and when I gave it my full attention, I realized that I was listening to the sea.
    ‘This way, please,’ said Mr Hartley. He was standing in front of the car with my suitcase.
    We walked to the porch and the caretaker produced a bunch of keys from his coat pocket. He unlocked the door and we entered a spacious but dimly lit vestibule. It was decorated with wallpaper that I supposed must be Victorian – gloomy maroon stripes enlivened by a floral motif of faded gold. A suit of armour, evidently unpolished for centuries, stood guard by the stairs. I followed Mr Hartley up to the first-floor landing, where we passed beneath a stag’s head with glassy black eyes. When we reached the second-floor landing, Mr Hartley unlocked another door, switched on a light, and invited me to enter a wide hallway which had rooms adjoining it on both sides. He handed me a key. ‘You only need the one, sir. None of the other rooms on the second floor are occupied.’ I was shown a bedroom, a study, a small kitchen and a bathroom. The furniture was solid and functional, except for an antique writing bureau which was elegant and beautifully crafted. I imagined myself seated at it, writing a monograph.
    ‘Would you like your breakfast brought up, sir?’ asked the caretaker. ‘Or would you prefer to join the nurses in the staff canteen?’
    ‘If it isn’t any trouble, I think I’d like to eat here.’
    ‘I’ll tell Mrs Hartley. Seven o’clock suit you?’
    ‘That would be very good.’
    ‘Oh, I almost forgot – Dr Maitland called. He’ll be arriving tomorrow at ten thirty. I think you were expecting to see him a little earlier.’ Mr Hartley put the keys back in his pocket. ‘Well, I think that’s it, sir.’
    I wanted a cup of tea, but dared not ask. ‘Thank you so much. And thank you for collecting me from the station. That was most kind of you.’
    The caretaker appeared indifferent to my gratitude and said, rather brusquely, ‘Goodnight, sir.’
    I locked the door to the landing and set about unpacking my suitcase. After hanging my shirts in the wardrobe, I filled a few drawers with the remainder of my clothes and distributed the rest of my possessions (mostly books and documents) in the study.
    When I had finished, I walked down to the bathroom, where I washed my face and brushed my teeth. The sink was deep and its surface broken by fine cracks. Each of the taps had a circular enamel medallion at its centre, on which black letters spelled out the words ‘hot’ and ‘cold’. Raising my head, I looked at my reflection. I placed a finger under one of my eyes and dragged the loose skin downwards, exposing a crescent of pale, pink flesh.
    There was a sound – a familiar sound – a sigh, and it seemed to come from just behind me.
    I stared into the mirror, registering the emptiness of the bathroom.
    That someone might be lurking in the hallway seemed very unlikely. I had heard no approaching footsteps, only the curious, breathy exhalation. Nevertheless, I found myself checking, and even peered into a few of the adjacent rooms to make sure that I was truly alone.
    The tap was still running, and I was about to go back to the sink in order to turn it off, when an obscure intuition made me hesitate. I was