Sleepwalker Page #4

a whole bottle of port on his own?

"No", he said,

"I didn't drink it on my own.

"I had the help of a bottle of Madeira."

Hey. Damn cheek.

Damn! Not again!

Oh, just the bulb, thank God!

I'll get some wood.

Drink, anyone?

We're leaving. Now!

- Richard, we promised!

- You promised!

Oh, no. You agreed, remember?

Marion asked you, didn't she?

Specifically, as I recall.

- What's that supposed to mean?

- Look...

...I spent a long time in hospital

when you were away.

If it hadn't been for Marion...

She was very good to me.

She was a friend, and I promised.

Now, we can leave in the morning.

We will. I want to.

One night in this place!

God knows how those two stick it!

It's convenient.

It was left to them.

- And they fight like cat and dog.

- Well, don't they always?

- What?

- Brother and sister, fight. I know I did.

Brother and sister?

God! Ha! I can't believe it!

Look, I'm going to give Marion a hand.

My God, Marion!

I had no idea!

You must let me do something.

It's terrible.

It's quite terrible.

Poor Marion!

Let Alex do it.

It's his bloody fault.

It's all his bloody fault.

Poor Alex!

Bastard!

Bottoms up!

Quite!

Come in, Angela.

And, er... what's all that in there?

Von Kleist's stuff of Alex's.

German dramatist.

Death, rot, misery.

Right up his street.

The corpse of Monsieur Valdemar.

- Do you know that story?

- No.

- No.

- Jolly funny.

Edgar Allan Poe.

They keep someone alive

by hypnotising him...

...just before he conks out.

Stays that way for months.

Then they think better of it.

- What happens?

- He decomposes, darling.

Right before their eyes.

A loathsome mass

of detestable putridity.

Just like life, really.

- Let's have another drink.

- Marion.

I keep thinking...

what you said at dinner about Alex.

Oh, forget it.

No, Marion.

Can't you do something?

See a specialist or someone?

Oh, but we did!

It was fascinating!

I was just telling Angela, darling,

...about our little business

with the psychiatrist.

Marion.

Have another drink, Alex.

Ever such a helpful man,

the psychiatrist.

Deep-rooted trauma, he said.

All the result

of a deeply insecure childhood.

And that was bloody Alex.

Well, he never got round to me.

Would have been twice the price.

Still...

It's not all a bed of thorns, is it?

You are a b*tch!

And you're the dog.

You're the dog.

And you can piss off!

You're just a guest in this house,

remember?

Well, that's a matter

for some debate.

God, I hope there's a lock

on his bedroom door.

Oh, don't worry about him.

He takes sleeping pills now.

Let's have some music.

Wonderful!

You found the tape!

This leaves me cold.

It's bedtime for me.

Aren't you glad you stayed?

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