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PLAYS OF THJi YEAR
Volume 9
1953
PLAYS OF THE
YEAR
CUOSKN BY
J. C. TRI'AYIN
TRIAL AND HRROR
Kenneth / Ionic
AN AST. IS I \
Marct'j/e Munrette, adapted by (Itty Rolf on
TlUi K/i'/URN
llndjipt Roland
AS LONG1 , i.V 77//iV'R/i HAPPY
I ' cnwn Syhhiim
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
Paul ]oms
VOLUMIi 9
ELEK New York
Copyright 1954 by
PLAYS OF THE YEAR COMPANY
AND ELEK BOOKS LTD.
14 Great James Street, London W.C.i.
Printed in Great Britain by Page Bros. (Norwich] Ltd.
All the plays included in this volume are fully pro
tected by British and United States copyright, and
may neither be reproduced nor performed, in whole or
in part, without written permission.
TRIAL AND ERROR
Copyright 1954 by Kenneth Home
ANASTASIA
Copyright 1954 by Marcelle Maurette and Guy Bo/ton
THE RETURN
Copyright 1954 by Bridget Bo I and
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Copyright 1954 £y Vernon Sylvaine
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
Copyright 1954 by Paul Jones
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
page 7
TRIAL AND ERROR
page 15
ANASTASIA
page 155
THE RETURN
page 255
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
page 357
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
page 483
FOR IPENDY
Of Course
INTRODUCTION
At least one play in this volume is straight from the
Theatre Theatrical— and why not? It is AN AST ASIA,
by the French dramatist Marcelk Maurette, in Guy
Boston's version; and its production at the St. James's —
it had been done at the Theatre Royal, Windsor, and also
on television — revived memories of a famous problem . (Did
a ghost walk in Europe?} That is an easy enough phrase.
Perhaps it would be more truthful to saj that, whereas a fen1
playgoers remembered the problem., many others found it
fresh to them. It was a surprising bulletin from the past.
ANASTASIA is a claimant-drama. To understand
it we must think of that day of tragedy for Imperial 'Russia,
July 17, 1918, when the C%ar Nicholas II, bis Empress
Alexandra, their four daughters (Olga, Tatiana, Marie,
and Anastasia), and their son Alexis, were shot in a cellar
at Yekaterinburg in Siberia. I say "four daughters ",
there we reach the heart of the play. Rumour held that the
youngest daughter, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikol-
aevna, had got clear and escaped into the Balkans. The play
depends upon that rumour.
History has many similar legends of escape. Not long
ago a "French researcher surprised all by asking for possible
confirmation of his belief that Joan of Ar had fled to
England. A Times fourth leader writer commented sadly:
" Authentic news (for example} of the settling in Ber-
mondsey or Bar king, about 1431, of a young woman with a
strong French accent, a military gait, and a suspicious
familiarity with French court gossip, is not the kind of thing
that can be expected to reward inquiries at this distance
of time"
The Anastasia story is much nearer. It is known that
a claimant to the title appeared during the nineteen-thirties,
a challenging phantom who was described as Madams
Anastasia Tschaikovsky. She declared that she had got
away from the firing-squad; she now sought a sum of money
held for the C%ar in America. War blotted out the frag
ments of the tale. Anastasia, like so many claimants of
various kinds, slid again into the mist.
Marcelle Maurette's version of the story is her own.
Here, in effect, is a Galatea with three Pygmalions. The
woman calls herself Anna Brouti; she has been saved from
suicide; and she is in a Berlin cellar (the period is sometime
between the wars}. About her are three C^arist exiles, led
by a Prince Bounine, sinister and suave. Hers not to reason
why; at the command of these men she is to become the
Grand Duchess Anastasia, a revenantejfaw/ the cellar at
Ekaterinburg. How did Anastasia escape the massacre?
That will be explained; all will be explained. She will take
the habit and the bearing of the ~R.omanov Grand Duchess;
she will marry her presumed cousin, Prince Paul; they will
receive the remnants of the Char's fortune; the Pygmalions
mil benefit; and Anna-Galatea-Anastasia will settle
(maybe} to long life and happiness as the lost heiress of
Imperial Russia. So much for the plan. The first act
exposition is a model of its type. We can imagine the ghost
of Pinero clapping soundlessly from a box, though it is by
no means the kind of situation he favoured. Marcelle
Maurette plants in bur minds — and this is most difficult —
a suspicion that the woman is being trained, very likely, to
play herself: in other words, that the wan sleepwalker is
indeed the woman she is alleged to be.
This " Anna " has unmistakable dignity and truth. The
conspirators are imagined with precision. We are, then,
quite prepared to collaborate; and we are rewarded by a
second act of wire-taut excitement, and by a third that, unit I
the inevitable blurring — and I do not propose to say now
exactly what happens — can keep us tense. The author has
summoned for us that sad make-believe world of the exiled
Russians, symbolised by the papier-mach'e throne hired from
operatic "props" for the installation of the Grand Duchess.
(" Oh, hollow! hollow! hollow! " as Bunthorne said on
another occasion.)
Although I scratched with enthusiasm on my programme
at the St. James's, I did not realise until later that night
that the result was a queer palimpsest. The programme,
when I looked at it, resembled one of those Victorian letters
in which a writer, to save space, deliberately trossed and
recrossed an original script until the page was an inky,
latticed tangle. Reading one's mail must sometimes have
been a problem at the Early Victorian breakfast-table.
Similarly, my programme of ANASTASIA would
delight a cryptographer. It may speak against the quality
of the drama that (without reference to the text) I cannot
now often recall the exact words. They should have returned
to mind without need for an aide-m6moire. However,
what we are obliged to describe (hideously) as the
Overall Impression, is clear enough. AN AST ASIA is
defiantly a play of the Theatre Theatrical; and for this,
much thanks.
The lines I was searching for on my programme-scrawl
had to do with living in the past, the backward-looking
habit that someone — though I wish he wouldrft — is bound
to call " nostalgia." But there is no reason on earth why
we should not remember the past, so long as we guard against
submergence in it. In AN AST ASIA this backward-
looking has become a weary habit. The C^arist Russians,
hopelessly exiled, try to remember their dead world, to
keep up appearances. It is the perfect atmosphere for the
tale of a claim that, as Anastasia makes it, is like a voice
ringing from the past through some tottering world of make-
believe.
Although this is not more than straight theatrical drama,
its problem of identity becomes something that Pirandello
might have liked. We begin early to feel that the wandering
enigma, so far from being Anna Broun of nowbere-m-
particular, is — we//, a Galatea impersonating Galatea. Is
she, or isrft she? How much can she have been tattgbtf How
much does she know? The questions multiply; for once
multiplication is not vexation — not, at least, until the
dramatists must make their final count. Consider the
problem now for yourselves.
II
From AN AST ASIA I remember such performances
as those of Marj Kerridge, Anthony Ireland, Laurence
Payne and — as the Dowager Empress of Russia, possibly
the woman's grandmother — Helen Haye. The part could
have been merely brushed in, but Miss Haye had the clarify
of a starlit night on the Neva. From a very different type
of piece, Kenneth Home's alert comedy of TRIAL A ND
ERROR, I think of the work of Naunton Wayne, a
baffled butter-ball of a man, and the wide-eyed tantrums of
Constance Cummings. I must explain that Miss Ctimmings
acted a wife who, on her wedding day, was flanked by two
husbands. The first husband had vanished — his name was
Nightshade; his wife called him Dudley — and unkind
rumour said that she had pushed htm off a liner to drown.
In fact, she had stood trial for murder, had survived Hollo-
way and the Old Baz'/ey, and had been acquitted: most
properly, because Dudley was alive in a Libenan gaol. (It
was exactly the sort of place in which one would have
expected to find him). Unknowing, Andrea married again,
and . . . on the whole, you had better turn to the text.
I think of the Victorian murderess who disposed of her
husband with a poisoned cake, served her sentence, and
10
married again. " I hope her husband doesn't like cake"
said somebody; and, in similar fashion, I found myself
wonder ing a little about Mr. Nome's Andrea.
Ill
In the first volume of Plays of the Year we printed
Bridget Roland's Cockpit. She is a dramatist of uncommon
quality, who refuses to use any puff-ball plot. When she
planned THE, RETURN she set herself a task as awkward
as any writer had had for a long time. A nun, after thirty-
six years m an enclosed convent, has lost her vocation and
seeks the outer world again. The play shows the sudden
impact of life beyond the wall. How can the woman come
to terms with a secular world so strange to her? It ts hard
to treat such a theme as this without strayingfrom the path;
any extraneous diversions are likely to be fatal. Miss
Eoland has resisted them; she has had the tact and taste not
to joke at the expense of a woman 0/1913 returned to the
modern world. More anxiously we ask whether she has been
able to make a reasonable figure of the woman, from " shady
cloister mew'd" whom Flora Robson was ready in the
theatre to express with all her extraordinary gift of
restrained emotion. The text of this honest play will help
us to decide.
IV
Vernon Sylvame, a farce-writer of great experience, has
faith in the general knowledge of his listeners. In AS
LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY he plies m with
references of a sort that we do not expect In a hands-across-
and-down-the-middle romp. The scene is an opulent house
m Regent's Park. There is a pianoforte at one side at
which the dying Crooner will presently sing " Please
Don't Forget To Remember " There is a staircase which
the wife will mount, quo/ing Hedda Gabler. There is an
entrance from the ball through which the house-parlourmaid
ii
scuttle now and then, usually to fall prostrate at the
crooner's feet. And there is a French window by which a
charming and quite unnecessary character has frequent
entrances and exits.
What is it all about? Now is that a fair question? Let
me say merely that, at the Garrick Theatre, Jack Buchanan
appeared as a stockbroker; that one of his thtee daughters
arrived borne suddenly, dressed " like a morbid fisherman"
and with a black eye; and that her husband, an Existential
ist, was in "a very small prison " in Paris. It was only a
temporary confinement because, before very long, the
husband arrived in person, putting on a pair of boots that
had been filled with whisky. Who filled them? Why, the
Crying Crooner (he used an onion), with whom another
daughter of the house was in love. The third daughter —
married to a cowboy — did not get back until later. Not that
it mattered, because we had plenty to occupy our minds.
The business of modern sculpture, for example; the question
of psychiatry; the appearance of one of Fleet St reefs less
distinguished young men; and, throughout, the icy gibbering
— if that is the phrase — of the father of the house tangled
in a web woven by his own remarkable offspring.
The last thirty seconds of the farce will show what a night
it is:
John gives a loud moan and Corinne wings Stella round
with her embrace as Barnaby, over six feet of dude
cowboy, with ten-gallon Stetson and all the trappings,
comes striding in through the archway. He makes
straight for Stella — who has her back to him —
swings her round, and lifts her high in the air as he
bellows:
BARNABY (lifting and lowering) : Hi-ya, Mom!
John goes all to pieces and, as Bamaby moves to him to
grab a hand and shake the daylights out of him, is
gibbering, cross-eyed, twitching, and shaking. Barnaby
bellows:
12
Mr. Ben t ley, sir—you sure am jerst as ah pictured
jew!
At this point the startled curtain falls. AS LONG
AS THEY'RE HAPPY is sure Jerst as ah picture farce.
V
There can be times during a comedy for six characters
(m search of a plot} when one would like to be watching,
say, Sardanapalus, the pleasures of which include the
Hall of Ntmrod and a cast to match. But BIRTPIDAY
HONOURS is much better than the usual fragile wisp
(2. m., 4 w., one interior set}; the author, Paul Jones, has
a quick sense of humour that freshens an anecdote about a
specialist with a histrionic wife, a deplorable mother-in-
law, a determined sister-in-law, and a secretary who is (to
coin a phrase) a treasure. These persons have a trick of
saying the unexpected. True, another six characters and
another couple of sets would have helped, but we do not long
too desperately for that Hall of Nimrod. The theme, I
suppose, is really that of Maugham's Penelope in reverse.
There we had philandering husband (a doctor] and apparently
complaisant wife. Here we have philandering wife and
apparently complaisant husband (a specialist}. Paul Jones
enjoys the mock-dramatic and its deflation. Quite the
happiest passage is the first, with wife and lover (" Look
here, Bestwood! "} being defiantly tense about it all — one
enjoying the chance for a scene, the other wooden and glaring —
while the husband, who should be playing up to them, spoils
it by his politely detached small-talk.
J. C. TREWIN
Hampstead,
March, 1954.
TRIAL AND ERROR
by
KENNETH HORNE
Copyright 1954 by Kenneth Home
Applications for the performance of this play by pro
fessionals must be made to E. P. Chft, 29 Manfield
House, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.z.
Applications for the performance of this play by amateurs
must be made to Samuel French Ltd., z6 Southampton
Street, Strand, London, W.C.z.
E. P. Clift, with Linnit and Dunfee Ltd., presented
Trial and Error at the Vaudeville Theatre, London,
on September lyth, 1953, with the following cast:
MRS. O'CONNOR Nan Munro
D u D L E Y Derek Farr
CLAUD Nam fan Wayne
ANDREA Constance Cumnnngs
GERTRUDE Nora Nicholson
B R i G G s Patricia Heneghan
RON Brian Smith
The play directed by Roy Rich
Setting by Richard Lake
CHARACTERS
(in order of appearance)
MRS. O'CONNOR, housekeeper
DUDLEY, Visitor
CLAUD, bridegroom
ANDREA, bride
GERTRUDE, aunt
BRIGGS, reporter
RON, press photographer
SCENES
The entire action of the play takes place at a house situated
somewhere on the Sussex coatf within easy reach of London.
It is September.
ACT ONE
Monday evening aftet dinner,
ACT TWO
Tuesday evening before dinner .
ACT THREE
SCENE i. Wednesday afternoon before tea
SCENE 2. Thursday afternoon after lunch.
ACT ONE
Scene: The hvmg-room of a" summer residence " situated
somewhere on the Sussex coast within eary reach of London.
The room is gay, pleasant and modern.
Layout: Against the wall right steps lead up to a low land
ing which hes across the up right corner of the room. From
thi r landing, wide glass doors, back right, give on to a sun-deck
outside. Up right, contiguous to the doors, are spacious
windows. Both provide a view of sea and sky. from the
sun-deck two sets of steps lead down and off: right to the
beach, and left inland. Right centre, m the wall of the land
ing, is a semi-circular recess with a built-in seat. Stack left a
door opens into the kitchen. Up left an open passageway leads
ojf left to the front door Immediately down of this passage
way, a staircase leads off upwards to the bedrooms, etc.
Down left a door open? into the library.
Furniture : Down right is a small easy chair. Right centre,
before the built-in seat in the recess, is a round table for meals.
On the sun-deck are two outdoor chairs and a table. Back
centre is a sideboard. On the sideboard is a bowl of flowers
and a tray with a bottle of whisky, a siphon and glasses.
Back left centre is a small table bearing a telephone and a pad
and pencil. Against the wall, left, is a pedestal-table with a
vase ofjlowers. Down left is a second easy chair. Left centre
is a couch. Before the couch is a low coffee-table bearing a
cigarette-box, an ash-tray, and magazines. There is a
picture on the wall, down left, and a mirror on the wall,
down right.
It is late evening in September.
Curtain rises on an empty stage. The lights are on. The
glass doors are open and the curtains undrawn. It is dark
outside. A. meal has been partly cleared from the table. A
lady's handbag and a bridal bouquet he on the coffee-table.
ACT ONE
There is a knock at the front door (off}, a pause, and the
knock is repeated.
Enter Mrs. O'Connor from kitchen.
As she opens the door, dance music is heard from within.
Mrs. O'Connor is the housekeeper. She is a spare, prim,
bleak, middle-aged person of the " superior " type. She
wears overalls and carries a tray.
MRS. O'CONNOR (as she enters, addressing someone in the
kitchen}: Of course you don't mind. Why should
you? You just sit and listen to your wireless. (Crossing
to table — her voice getting louder as the range increases.}
I'm the one who has to do the work. Fm the one
who's being kind, you know — not her. (Begins putting
the few remaining dinner things on tray.} All she does is
ask the people down here. Anyone can do that. I
should be delighted to lend my house to people — if
I had one — especially for a honeymoon. I shouldn't
think it was kind of me, though — not if it was some
body else who had to do everything. (Takes cruet and
table-mats to sideboard and puts them in.} It's doing
things for people that's kind, O'Connor, not getting
others to do it. (Returning to table.} Especially with
newlyweds 1 (Picking up tray and bearing it to kitchen.}
They don't know what is going on, half the time.
Don't even appreciate what's being done for them.
(Goes into kitchen — continuing off.} Not that I've any
thing against this pair, mind you. You'd hardly
know they were just married.
]The unintelligible rumble of a man's voice is heard, off.}
(Coming out again with crumb-tray and brush — crossing to
table.} I don't doubt it, O'Connor. I'm sure you
20
TRIAL AND ERROR
wouldn't mind being in his shoes, knowing what you
seem to think marriage is for. (Brushing table.} It
doesn't surprise me in the least. The only thing that
is surprising (moving to sideboard} is that you should
ever have wanted to marry me (picking up bowl of
flowers and bearing them to table) for I'm sure I don't
inspire that sort of thing.
[Enter Dudley on to sun-deck from left. Dudley is thirty-
five, well-bred and charming, but there is something about him
which fails to inspire confidence. He has a warm heart and
a good temper, but doubtful standards. He wears a light
raincoat over tiveeds, and is bareheaded. He now halts
tentatively in the open doonvaj.]
(Continuing — putting bowl on table and returning to side
board.} You never called me a smasher, anyway. That
I do know. (Opens sideboard, stoops and begins peering
tnside for something.} A simple English rose ! That's
what I was myour estimation. Not a ...
[Dudley taps on the door jamb to attract her attention^
(Starting up violently?) Ooah!
DUDLEY: I'm so sorry! I did try at the front, but . . .
(Breaks off.}
MRS. o'c. (complainingly): Well, all the bells are out
of order, and you can't hear the knocker with that
(indicates music} going on — What is it you wanted ?
DUDLEY: Do Mr. and Mrs. Merrilees live here?
MRS. o'c. : They're staying here, if that's what you
mean. Got here this afternoon.
DUDLEY (moving into the room}: Ah — then it is the
house.
MRS. o'c. : They won't be receiving tonight though.
DUDLEY (confidently) : They'll see me all right, {Wanders
across.}
21
ACT ONE
MRS. o'c : They were only married tins morning.
DUDLEY: I know. (Grins disarmingly and sinks into
chair down left.}
MRS. o'c.: They'ie out, anyway
DUDLEY: When do you expect them back?
MRS. o'c.: I've no idea. They'ie walking. (Indicates
outdoors right,}
DUDLEY: That won't take 'em long, then — not if I
know her. (Draws an evening newspaper from his coat
pocket, opens it and settles himself]
[Mrs. O'Connor seems a little nonplused.}
MRS. o'c. : Well, I've no wish to be rude, young man,
but I'm afraid you can't stop there.
DUDLEY (in faint surprise} : Can't I ?
MRS. o'c. : I have to go to bed.
DUDLEY (surprised} : You don't sleep in here, do you ?
MRS. o'c.: Of course not! I can't leave you heie —
that's what I mean. I — I don't know you.
DUDLEY: Ah! I see your point. (Rises and returns
paper to his pocket.}
MRS o'c. {uncomfortably}: It's nothing personal, I
assuie you.
DUDLEY (crossingright} : My dear lady — you're so right !
You'd be even less inclined to leave me here if you
did know me. (Smiles wwmngly.} I'll take a walk
myself. (Goes up steps right.}
MRS. o'c. (softening somewhat} : What name shall I say
— if I am still up ?
DUDLEY (halting}: Mr. Nightshade!
MRS. o'c.: Oh. — Well, I shouldn't be too long, if you
are coming back.
DUDLEY: No. — Thej won't be sitting up tonight,
either, will they? (Grins and goes out.}
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Exzt Dudley from sun-deck to left.]
MRS. o'c. (scandalised but quite thrilled] : Well! What a
thing to say! (Returns to sideboard, collects crumb-tray.,
carries it to coffee-table and begins emptying ash-tray —
again raising her voice?) Did you hear any of that ? A
man came in. Calling on them, if you please! Tonight1
. . . Well, I don't . . .
[Telephone bell begins to ring.]
(Muttering.} Oh, for heaven's sake ! (Goes to telephone
and lifts receiver?) Hullo ? — Yes — No, I'm afraid he's
not. — I've no idea, I. . . . Oh, just a minute!
[Enter Claud on to sun-deck from right. Claud is forty, good-
looking honest, precise, respectable and kind. He is a
trifle unimaginative but by no means lacking in wit —
especially when annoyed, which is fairly often. He wears a
suit of grey flannel, lie hurries in a little breathlessly^
CLAUD (coming down and crossing] : Is that for me ?
MRS. o'c.: Yes.
CLAUD: Ah! Thank you! (Takes receiver from Mrs.
O'Connor.}
\TLxtt Mrs. O'Connor into kitchen. As Mrs. O'Connor
closes the door after her, the music is extinguished.]
(Continuing) Miss Winter ? (Glances at his watch.} No,
you're right on the nail. I cut it a bit fine getting
back, that's all. — Yes, on the — er — on the beach, as
a matter of fact. Didn't notice the passage of time.
You know how it is! (Laughs self-consciously.} — Oh,
go on! You know you do. (Laughs again, then
suddenly continues in a brisk tone.} Well — what happened
23
ACT ONE
about the Jones and Matherson thing? — Ah, that's
all right then! And Tilling Limited ?— Good ! We
can leave that too. Anything else come up ? Who ?
— What name? — Nightshade? — Haven't the least
idea. Never heard of him.
[Enter Andrea on to sun-deck. Andrea is thirty-two and
very attractive. She is a woman of contrasts; easy-going,
amiable and languid— yet with the temper of a squib.
Maddeningly illogical — she is yet intuitively astute. She
is exasperating and adorable. She wears her " going-away "
dress and carries one of those long, trailing, ribbon-like
bunches of seaweed. She halts tip right, matching him.}
(Meanwhile continuing into telephoned) What did he want,
then?— But didn't he say ?— What ?— Oh, I seel-
Yes, most mysterious ! — Well, we shall soon find out,
I expect. — Yes, I. ... (Notices Andrea.} Just a
minute ! (To Andrea."} What have you got there ?
ANDREA (holds up seaweed — childishly pleased with it.}
Seaweed! (Continues down and crosses to right of couch.')
CLAUD : Oh ! (Looks doubtful, then returns to telephone?)
Sorry, I — just had to speak to my wife. — (Smirks}
Yes, it does seem strange, yes. — Well, all right, Miss
Winters, you'd better get to bed. — No, I don't
suppose we shall need any rocking, either. (Catches
Andrea's eye.}
[Andrea moves abruptly, in slight confusion, to couch,
where she sits, putting down seaweed beside her.}
(Continuing hurriedly.} I — I mean, er. . . . Thank
you! Goodnight! (Replaces receiver and moves down
to behind couch.} I say — do you think you ought to
bring that in here ? (Picks up seaweed.}
ANDREA: Why not?
24
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD : Well, it is a borrowed house, isn't it ?
ANDREA: It's perfectly clean. Some people cat it.
CLAUD: Some people eat horses — but you don't
bring them indoors, do you?
ANDREA (pleasantly sarcastic) : You're going to be far
too clever for me, I can see that.
CLAUD : What shall I do with it, then ?
ANDREA: Hang it up somewhere!
CLAUD: What for?
ANDREA: It also foretells the weather. Didn't you
know?
CLAUD : Oh ! (Looks about him, then moves left and hangs
the seaweed on a picture — then turns and stands smiling
bashfully?)
ANDREA (beckoning him} : Come !
[Claud hesitates slightly, then, after a cautious glance
towards the kitchen, goes and sits beside her. Reclining in the
corner, Andrea pulls him to her so that he lies across her
lap.}
CLAUD (warmngly): She's still about, you know.
ANDREA : Who IS ?
CLAUD: Mrs. Whatsname?
ANDREA: Darling — we're married.
CLAUD (uncomfortably) : Only this morning, though . . .
ANDREA (squeezing him with impulsive enthusiasm) : Oh,
I do think you're sweet.
CLAUD (in surprise) : What's sweet about that ?
ANDREA: Have you ever paused to wonder why I
should want to marry you ?
CLAUD (a little ruefully) : Yes — I must say I have.
ANDREA: It's for the very reason that you are like
that.
CLAUD : Like what ?
ANDREA: Afraid that Mrs. Whatsname might come
ACT ONE
in! (Ruminative ly.} It's because you have such a sense
of the fitness of things. It's because you tell the
truth, and read The Times, and wear a bowler, and
can't understand Picasso. It's because you don't
talk about women at the club. It's because you get
all unhappy when I come indoors with seaweed. All
those things! It's because you make such a change,
I suppose.
CLAUD (pulled} : Change ! From what ?
ANDREA (faintly surprised at the question}: My first
husband, dear!
CLAUD (not too pleased] : Oh ! (Draws away and sits up.)
ANDREA: He was nothing like that, you know. Far
fiom it! I got so that my yearning for respectability
was almost morbid. So you've got him to thank for
me, in a way.
CLAUD (sourly); I shall endeavour to keep that in
mind.
ANDREA (snuggling to him)' Why did you want to
marry me ?
CLAUD (ill-at-ease) • I — I don't know. I'm not much
given to that sort of analysis. I just couldn't resist
you, I suppose.
ANDREA (a little disturbed) : But you must have a better
reason than that, dear — an experienced man like you !
That's the mistake / made with him. Isn't there any
thing about me that you admired
CLAUD: Yes, of course there is.
ANDREA : What, for instance ?
CLAUD (vaguely): Well, I. ... Well — everything I
knoiv about you.
ANDREA: That can't be much. We only, met three
weeks ago. (Sitting up and looking at him.) Come to
think of it — what do you know about me ?
CLAUD (harassed) : Well, I know you weie a widow, of
course. I know you're an orphan. I know you were
26
TRIAL AND ERROR
brought up by an aunt. I know you've been living
in France and — and so on and so forth.
ANDREA : That's not much of a reason for wanting
to marry anyone, though, is it ?
CLAUD : Well, of course it isn't. I don't mean that,
I. ... (Breaks off at a loss.}
ANDREA : You see, dear, what I really want to know is
that it's not just physical.
CLAUD (shocked}: Andrea'
ANDREA : Because that can be fatal, honestly. I know
that only too well.
CLAUD (affronted} : Do I seem the sort of man who. . . ?
ANDREA (suddenly reassured) \ No, dear, of course you
don't. I'm just being silly. You're far too methodical.
(She seizes his arm and leans her head on his shoulder?) No
man who arranges for his secretary to ring him up
on his honeymoon could possibly fall to have the
most excellent reasons for getting married. (Slight
pause — conversationally.} Everything all right at the
office?
CLAUD: Perfectly, thanks'
ANDREA (ivith apparent enthusiasm}: Oh, good! (Nestles
to him.}
\Claud remembers something.}
CLAUD: By the way. . . .
ANDREA: Uh-huh?
CLAUD : D'you know a Mr. Nightshade ?
ANDREA : Now HOW, dear, no ! Why ?
CLAUD: Chap by that name got on to Miss Winters
this afternoon. Wanted to contact you.
ANDREA: Me?
CLAUD: Yes — urgently.
ANDREA: What about?
CLAUD: Wouldn't say apparently. Doesn't it mean
anything to you?
27
ACT ONE
ANDREA' Not a thing I
CLAUD (dismissing the subject} : Oh, well, she told him
where to get you, so I expect you'll soon find out.
ANDREA (pusgled} : But who can the man be ? Some
thing to do with him, of course, but. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting) : Something to do with whom ?
ANDREA : My first husband, dear.
CLAUD (blankly}: Why?
ANDREA: Well, his name was Nightshade.
CLAUD (draws away, sits up and looks at her — perplexed} :
Nightshade ?
ANDREA: Yes.
CLAUD : But how can that be ?
ANDREA : Why shouldn't it ?
CLAUD: You were Mrs. St. John Willoughby.
ANDREA: I changed my name, Claud — by deed poll.
Didn't I tell you ?
CLAUD: No!
ANDREA (put out}: Oh, I am soriy! Oh, Claud! I
wouldn't have had that happen for worlds, because, if
there's one thing I'm determined upon this time, it's
to start with no shadow of misunderstanding on either
side.
CLAUD: I can't see that it matters much what your
name was.
ANDREA: But it isn't that. It's a matter of trust.
CLAUD: It was only an oversight, anyway.
ANDREA (gloomily}: I know — I had a terrible time
with Dudley on account of oversights.
CLAUD (getting irritable} : Who's Dudley ?
ANDREA : My first husband, dear.
CLAUD: I thought you said his name was Roderick.
ANDREA: So it was. (Idly picks up bouquet.} I used to
call him Dudley, though, because I thought it went
better with Nightshade.
28
TRIAL AND ERROR
\Looking deeply perplexed, Claud rises and moves round left
end of couch.]
CLAUD (suddenly halting and pointing at her} : Oh, yes !
(Laughs and continues on up right where he stands looking
out through the windows.) What ever possessed you to
marry such a chap, though ?
ANDREA: I told you. I couldn't resist him. I knew
perfectly well he was only after my money but
(With a touch of wistfulness) Oh, he had such charm.
[Claud throws her a cold look.}
(Continuing quite dreamily.) I don't think I ever met
anyone who. . . .
CLAUD (suddenly struck by a thought, turns — interrupting) :
But, look here, Andrea. . . .
ANDREA: Yes?
CLAUD (moving down to her) : I thought you hadn't got
any money.
ANDREA (hangs her head and fiddles with the ribbon of the
bouquet) : Yes — I know I told you that.
CLAUD: .Then how could he have. . . . ?
ANDREA (interrupting — rising) : Darling ! (Moves swiftly
to him and stands close, looking deeply contnte.) I lied to
you. I've got quite a lot.
CLAUD: You have?
ANDREA: My aunt left it to me. The one who brought
me up.
CLAUD (bewildered): What on earth's the point of
lying about that'?
ANDREA: Well, you see. . . . (Breaks off.)
CLAUD: Yes?
ANDREA: I wanted so much to be sure that — you
weren't doing — what he did.
CLAUD: What, marrying you for your. . . . ? (Turn
ing away down right — angrily.) Andrea !
29
ACT ONE
//^) • 1 didn't know what you weie like
ttwa. I haully Lncw you.
CLAUD (shocked}: 1 daie say you didn't, but even
so. ... 1
ANDREA (taking bis ami}: Don't be huit, dear, please!
[Claud turns bis head away.]
(Continuing.} It's only right to profit from past mis
takes. You must see that.
CLAUD (still surly}: Well, having duly profited, I
suggest that we now forget the past — and everything
in it.
ANDREA (meekly) : Certainly, dear, if you wish.
CLAUD: And turn our attention to the future, for a
change.
ANDREA: Of course 1 (Drawing bis fate round to her.}
What's wrong with the piesent, though (holds her face
up provocatively] in the meantime?
[Claud seems to resist momentarily, then, after a pre
cautionary look towards the kitchen, takes her in his arms —
and they kiss.}
CLAUD (taking her hand] : Come and sit down 1
[Claud strides to couch, dragging her after him. Andrea
throws her bouquet on to the coffee-table. Claud sits and
drams Andrea down after him, so that she now reclines
across his lap. They take each other in their arms.]
ANDREA: We're going to be so happy.
[They kiss again. But in the middle, of this embrace Claud •
seems to lose interest. Slowly his lips leave hers, and his face
comes up a little, wearing a thoughtful look]
30
TRIAL AND ERROR
(In faint alarm.} What's the matter?
CLAUD (his face still very close to hers}: Look — I don't
want to pry into your affairs, of course, but why did
you change your name ^
ANDREA (surprised at the question] : Well, wouldn't you
have done — in similar circumstances ?
CLAUD (looking blank}: What circumstances?
ANDREA (disengages, sits up and stares at him}: You —
you can't mean that you don't know what I'm
refetiing to ?
CLAUD: Well, I don't, I can assure you.
ANDREA (suddenly agitated, nscs and moves away right}:
But it isn't possible. (Faces him.} Don't you ever read
the papcis? Heaven knows they made enough fuss
about it.
CLAUD (with the an of one who has taken enough — rising}-
Andiea — if you'ic frying to tell me that theie was
some SOIL of a scandal — honestly, 1 think I'd rather
not. . . . (breaks off, and moves away down left.}
ANDREA: Scandal I My dear, you don't know what
you're saying. Why do you think I went to live in
Fiance ?
CLAUD (gating ratfy}: I haven't the least idea why
anyone should live in France — except the Ftench.
ANDREA (going upstage}: But, this is awful, Claud I
don't know what to say. 1 took it that you knew.
(Cowing down again.} The vety fact that you never
mentioned it made me think that. I thought you were
being delicate about it.
CLAUD: How could I mention something that I
didn't know of?
ANDREA : Oh, I see that now, but 1 thought everyone
knew. Why, good giacious me, I'm pointed out to
American tourists in the streets of Cannes.
CL\UD: What as?
31
ACT ONE
ANDREA (turning away right — becoming evasive) : Well —
as the — as the woman who changed her name.
CLAUD (crossing to centre?) : But why, Andrea ?
ANDREA (her back to h^m} : Because — because of the
things that came out in Court.
CLAUD : Ah! " Court! " I see 1 So that's another lie,
is it?
ANDREA: Whatsis?
CLAUD : I thought you were supposed to be a widow.
ANDREA (quite pained] : Ckud — you don't think it was
a Divorce Court, do you ?
CLAUD: Wasn't it?
ANDREA (shocked} : Good heavens, no !
CLAUD: Oh!
ANDREA : I am a widow. Or rather, I was — until this
morning. He fell off a liner.
CLAUD: Who did?
ANDREA : Dudley I In the middle of the sea. (Goes up
right.}
CLAUD : I'm sorry. I didn't realise. It was a Court of
Enquiry 1
[Andrea clears her throat and looks at her feet.]
Is that what you mean ?
ANDREA (innocently): What, dear?
CLAUD : It was a Coroner's Court I
ANDREA (looking uncomfortable} : Well, not exactly, no !
You see — I was supposed to have pushed him off the
liner.
CLAUD (going to her — incredulously} : You were supposed
to have pushed him off the liner?
ANDREA (airily) : Yes.
CLAUD: Deliberately?
ANDREA: Oh, yes.
CLAUD (staggered} : You — you don't mean. . . . You
can't mean that — that it was a Criminal Court?
32
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA: Old Bailey!
CLAUD (staring at her): You were accused of. . . .?
(Breaks off.}
ANDREA: Tried for it!
CLAUD: Murder?
ANDREA (a little impatiently}: Well, of course, Claud!
CLAUD (horrified} : Andrea ! (Turns away to centre.}
ANDREA (a little sulkily} : I got off.
CLAUD (turning, with sudden violence}: Well, of course
you got off. I can see that.
ANDREA (in slightly hurt tones}: There's no sense in
getting huffy about it, dear. After all, it is over and
done with. (Moves to recess.} It wasn't my fault,
anyway. (Sits, right end of seat.}
CLAUD (crossing to her} : Whose fault was it, then ?
ANDREA : Phoebe Hogg's !
CLAUD : Who the hell's Phoebe Hogg ?
ANDREA: Oh, some fool of a girl on the ship.
(Resentfully.} There wouldn't have been any fuss at
all if it hadn't been for her.
CLAUD : What did she do ?
ANDREA: Said she saw me, that's all.
CLAUD: Saw you what?
ANDREA: Push Dudley ;'», Claud! (Her tone suggests
that he is being very obtuse.}
CLAUD (claps his band to his brow} : This is frightful !
(Turns and comes down right.}
ANDREA (aggrieved}'. I can't see what's so frightful
about it. He was an awfully bad man, anyway.
CLAUD (turns and stares at her} : Do you mean by that,
that there was a miscarriage of justice — that you
shouldn't have got off?
ANDREA (indignantly} : Of course I don't. I had every
right to.
CLAUD (relaxing with relief}: Oh!
B 33
ACT ONE
ANDREA: There wasn't enough evidence. Even the
Judge admitted that, and he was on the other side.
[Claud seems to give up. With a gesture of defeat, he stnks
into chair, down right, and abandons himself to a sort oj
stunned gloom. Andrea regards him with Mounting tow-
passion for a moment, then rises and comes down to /j/w J
(Kindly.} Darling — this is worrying to you, I can see
that. Wouldn't it be better if you let me tell you
about it ^
CLAUD (ironically — as if the thought had not occurred to
him before): Peihaps it would.
[Andrea at once sits on the floor at his feet.]
ANDREA : Well, you see — Dudley and I were coming
back from Cape Town where we'd been to see some
friends — and the ship was somewhere off that lump
— you know — that sticks out on the left-hand side of
Afuca (Looks up at him )
[Claud nods.]
(Continuing.} Well, it was a very hot night, and, also,
there had been a bit of a party. Heaven knows what
he'd had, but I'd had two glasses of champagne and a
green Chartreuse. So I. ... Or was it Creme de
Menthe ?
CLAUD : Does it matter ?
ANDREA: Yes, dear, it does matter. You don't know
what falsehood can do to a marriage. I do. He was a
shocking liar.
CLAUD: I seel I'm sorry.
ANDREA (considers again}: I think it was green
Chartreuse.
34
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD : Right 1 (Turns away.}
ANDREA: So I got Dudley to take me up on to the
boat deck for some fresh air, d'you see?
[Claud nods.]
Which he very kindly did. And when we were up
there, a scaif I was wearing blew off and caught under
one of the boats, and Dudley very kindly climbed
over the railings to get it for me. (Pauses.')
CLAUD (turning to her again} : Well ?
ANDREA: Well, now — according to the prosecution
— that's where I saw my opportunity — see? They
said I leaned over the railings and pushed him.
CLAUD (sittmgforward in his chair to question her) : That's
what the prosecution said ?
ANDREA: Yes.
CLAUD : And what about the defence ?
ANDREA : My counsel, you mean ? Old Smithers ?
CLAUD: Yes. What did he say?
ANDREA (gigghng] : I couldn't make out what he was
talking about half the time.
CLAUD (persevering patiently] : Look 1 Did he put you
in the witness-box ?
ANDREA: Yes.
CLAUD : Well, what did you say yourself?
ANDREA : About what ?
CLAUD (with iron control): In answer to the charge
that you leaned over the railings and pushed him 1
ANDREA : Oh, I just said I was trying to get him back.
CLAUD: Andrea — how did the prosecution know
that you were doing anything at all ?
ANDREA: Ah, that's where the girl comes in.
CLAUD : The one who was supposed to have seen it ?
ANDREA: Yes.
CLAUD: And she thought you were pushing — not
pulling^
35
ACT ONK
ANDREA : She was sure I was pushing.
CLAUD : But it was dark. How could she be sure ?
ANDREA : Oh, she could see all right. There was such
a lovely moon.
CLAUD: Then how were you able to show that she
was wrong ^
ANDREA: I wasn't. It was hei word against mine,
that's all.
CLAUD (hopefully}: Well, it was yours that they
believed, anyway.
ANDREA: Do you know — I don't think anyone
believed a word I said from start to finish.
CLAUD (getting quite frantic] : But, Andrea, they must
have done.
ANDREA: Why?
CLAUD: You were acquitted!
ANDREA: Ah, but that wasn't so much a matter of
believing me as disbelieving the girl. You see,
skid been having a paity too.
CLAUD: You mean they couldn't rely on her evi
dence ?
ANDREA: That's it, exactly! (Gets to her feet, jawntng
and beginning to move left.} Well — it was nasty while
it lasted — but all's well that ends well, and. . . .
CLAUD (rising in dismay and starting after her — interrupt
ing} But that's not alP You're not going to leave it
at that ?
ANDREA: It's all that mattered, dear. (Fakes up her
handbag from coffee-table, and begins vaguely searching in it.}
There were one or two people who came in and said
that Dudley had seduced their wives — you know —
to show motive — and a charwoman who testified
that she'd seen me hit him with a piece of Crown
Derby, which was a he because it was Spode. (Closes
handbag.} But nothing of importance. It all really
centred round the. . . .
36
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (crossing behind couch — interrupting)'. Andrea —
don't you realise that what I want to know is not
whether you got off; it's not even hoiv you got oft" —
it's whether you did it^1
ANDREA : How do you mean ? (Sits on couch.}
CLAUD (left ofcottch}'. Whether you d^push him in!
ANDREA : Didn't I say ?
CLAUD : No, you didn't say.
ANDREA: Oh! (In faint surprise.} And you want me
to?
CLAUD: Well, of course I want you to.
ANDREA (blankly} : Why p
CLAUD : What do you mean, " why ? "
ANDREA: I should have thought you'd take it for
granted that 1 didn't.
CLAUD (getting uncomfortable} ; Well, 1 do, but. . . .
ANDREA: Without having to be told. D'you think i
should be likely to do a thing like that?
CLAUD- No, but . . .
ANDREA- Then, why ask^
\Chiud is t educed fo frustrated ulcncc.}
Don't you trust me?
CLAUD: Yes, of course I trust you.
ANDREA: Then, I'm sorry, dear — but I don't under
stand.
CLAUD (mth a defeated air}: All right! Forget Jt!
(A loves away down L. and sits }
ANDREA : I'll tell you with pleasure if you ivanl me to,
of course, but. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting loudly} : The question's withdrawn.
(Folds hts arms and turns away.}
ANDREA: Thank you, darling! (Puts handbag back on
coffee-table.}
CLAUD: And I'm sorry!
37
ACT ONE
ANDREA (jnnhng indulgently}: There's no need to be
soiry. You spoke without thinking, that's all.
(Briskly.) Now! Let's talk about something not
so. ...
CLAUD (interrupting: I don't want to talk about
anything, if you don't mind.
ANDREA (dismayed, rises., goes to him, goes down on her
knees and takes hold of hini) : Darling — don't be cross !
I know it was wrong of me not to make suie that you
knew about all this befoie, but — please don't be
cross !
\Clnuddoes not reply.']
(Sits back on her heels — continuing} Please, Claud! It
woriies me when you behave like that. It's just the
way Dudley started.
CLAUD (turning to her — bitterly}: Did you forget to
tell htm something, then?
ANDREA (a little self-consciously] : As a mattei of fact, I
did.
CLAUD (deeply ironical} : Theie wasn't another husband
who fell off a liner, was there, before him ?
ANDREA (ignoring his ill-temper] : I neglected to men
tion that my aunt would be living with us, that's all.
CLAUD : Oh I Is she going to live with us too ?
ANDREA: She's dead, dear!
CLAUD (sarcastically) : You're sure of that ?
ANDREA (laughingly) : Of course I'm sure. (Rises and
turns away to coffee-tabled) I nursed her in her last
illness.
CLAUD : Is that the one who left you the money ?
ANDREA (brightly) : That's right ! (Takes up bouquet.}
CLAUD: I thought you said he married you for your
money !
ANDREA: So he did.
38
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD : But how could he have done if your aunt was
still alive when he married you ?
ANDREA (idly examining the flowers] : Well, he could see
how decrepit she was, Claud. Anyone could. That's
what I mean It was so silly of him to make such a
fuss. She couldn't hope to be with us for long, poor
pet. Though, oddly enough, it wasn't old age that
she died of at all, in the end.
[Claud seems suddenly gripped by a horrid suspicion.]
CLAUD (stiffening}: What did she die of, Andrea ^
ANDREA (buries her nose in the flowers, then — ) Botulism'
CLAUD : What the hell's botulism ?
ANDREA (turning to him — plaintively] : Claud — we don't
want to talk about things like that. This is our
wedding night.
CLAUD (n>ith a sort of bitter surprise") ; Good God ! So
it is ' (Turns away, morosely hunched in his chair.}
[Andrea stands a moment looking a little forlornly at
Claud's uncompromising back view ]
ANDREA (sighs}: Well — Tm going to bed, anyway.
(Turns away up left}
[Exit Andrea by staircase. Claud at once rises and crosses
in aimless agitation, nghf\
CLAUD (muttering worriedly}: Botulism' Botulism!
[Enter Mrs. O'Connor from kitchen. Dance music
emerges.]
MRS. o'c. (remaining in the doorway}: Oh, I forgot to
tell you' A gentleman called. Wanted to. ...
39
ACT ONE
CLAUD (interrupting)-* Mrs. O'Connor, is there a
dictionary in the house?
MRS. o'c. (indicating door down L.}: Well, that's the
library. I don't know whether. . . .
[Enter Dudley on to sun-deck from left.]
CLAUD (interrupting — making for library)'. Ah! Thank
youl
[Dudley appears tentatively in the doorway.}
DUDLEY : I say 1
[Claud, at library door, halts and turns in surprise^
MRS. o,c.: Ah!
[Exit Mrs. O'Connor into kitchen. The music ceases as
she closes the door.]
DUDLEY (advancing a little into the rooty) : I'm terribly
sorry to come in like this. I'm sure it's not convenient,
but. . . . (Breads off.} You are Mr. Mernlees, I take
it?
CLAUD : What is it you want ?
DUDLEY (coming down and crossing}'. Well — that's a
thing I think I'd better lead up to a little. (Begins to
take off his coat.} You see, what I have to tell you. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting): Look — I'm awfully sorry, my
friend; I don't know who you are or what you're
doing here, but it's late, and I want to go to bed.
DUDLEY (meaningly): I can well understand that you
do — but that, unfortunately, is the very thing that
I'm here to prevent. (Throws coat over back of couch.}
CLAUD : What the devil do you mean ?
DUDLEY (regretfully): I had intended — in common
40
TRIAL AND ERROR
humanity — to break it gently. But I perceive that
you are not a man with whom the indirect approach
is possible. (Fixes Claud with his eye.} I — am Roderick
Nightshade, Mr. Merrilees.
CLAUD : Oh, you're the man who called at my office.
DUDLEY : That is so.
CLAUD: Well, what's it all. . . . ? Did you say
Roderick Nightshade ?
DUDLEY: I did.
CLAUD (stares at hini}\ But — but that was the name
of my wife's first husband.
DUDLEY: That is the name of your wife's first hus
band.
CLAUD (incredulously) : You don't mean. . . . ? You're
not implying. . . ? (Breaks off.}
DUDLEY (with real regret} : I can't tell you how sorry I
am.
CLAUD (hurrying to him with outstretched hand —
delightedly): But this is wonderful!
DUDLEY (astonished} : Huh ?
CLAUD (seizing Dudley's hand and wringing it}'. I'm over
joyed — delighted! You — you don't know what a
relief it is. I couldn't be more pleased.
DUDLEY (mystified} : But, look. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting}: And Andrea! Just think what
it will mean to her! (Drops Dudley's hand and turns
away.} I must tell hei. (Making for staircase} I must
tell her at once.
DUDLEY: But just a minute!
CLAUD (halting} : Yes ~>
DUDLEY (looking bemused}: I don't quite follow this.
Why should you be pleased to see me ?
CLAUD (returning to him — in some surprise}: Why! —
your mere presence here, my dear fellow ! The very
fact that you're ahve \ Surely you must realise what a
terrible shadow it lifts from my married life?
41
ACT ONE
DUDLEY. I should ha\e thought it meant you hadn't
got a married life.
CLAUD : What ! (The elation drains from his face.}
DUDLEY (Beginning unhappily] : Well. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting} : You don't mean that you still
regard yourself as married to Andrea ~>
DUDLEY (regretfullj] '• Nothing's happened to unmariy
us — has it ?
CLAUD (looking completely stunned} : No, I. . . Good
heavens 1
DUDLEY (taking Claud's arm and piloting him to couch —
kindly]: Look' You sit down, old chap, and let me
get you a drink.
\Claud sinks into couch. Dudley goer up to s/deboaid and
begins to pour two neat whiskies.]
CLAUD (after a da^ed pause): But — this morning!
What we went through together this morning! Was
it — meaningless ?
DUDLEY (reluctantly}: Well — not so much meaning
less, perhaps, as — bigamous.
CLAUD (moamngly) : Oh, no ! That's too much !
DUDLEY (coming down with glasses)' Don't see how it
can be anything else. (Hand1; a glass to Claud}
CLAUD (almost snatching glass, in sudden anger}: For
God's sake, then, why did you leave it until now ?
DUDLEY: I didn't know where she was. Couldn't
find her. (Draws newspaper from the pocket of his over
coat and moves round left of couch} I shouldn't know
now, if it hadn't been for this (Puts down hi s drink and
reads from paper} " Mr. Claud Mernlces, the architect,
and Mrs. Andrea St. John Willoughby, leaving
Caxton Hall after their marriage this morning."
(Passes paper to Claud} There you are! Lunch
Edition! First I knew of it. (Picks up his dtinh, turns
to chair down left and sits}
42
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Claud puts down his drink, gets out his spectacles and
regards the picture gloomily '.]
I got your office from the telephone directory —
found out where you'd gone — borrowed a car from
a friend — and came down. Didn't waste much time.
(Suddenly looks pulled] By the way. . . .
CLAUD (morosely] : Well ? (Puts spectacles away )
DUDLEY: Has she married somebody else in the
meantime, or what ?
CLAUD (startled}: Uh^ Not that I know of. Why?
DUDLEY: Then why the "Mrs. St. John Wil-
loughby"?
CLAUD (relaxing): Oh, that! She changed her name,
that's all.
DUDLEY (perplexed] : Changed it ! What for ?
CLAUD (rising and throwing paper down on coffee-table —
irritably]'. Oh, use youi brain, man, for heaven's
sake ! (Moves away up right.}
[Enter Andrea by staircase^
ANDREA (as she enters}: Forgot to put the car away.
(Making for front door] Really, dear, you must learn
to drive. (Glances at the glum Claud, halts and changes
her direction towards hwi.} Claud — you're not still
fussing about. . . .
[Dudley rises slowly. Andrea glances at him, continues on
a few steps, then stops in her tracks and turns to stare at
him. For a moment she remains thus, frozen with astonish
ment^
No! It can't be!
DUDLEY (smiling regretfully): It is, you know. (Puts
down his drink )
43
ACT ONE
ANDREA (still da^cd}: We — we thought you \veie dead.
DUDLEY (with a glance at Claud} : So 1 gather.
ANDREA (suddenly running to him}: Oh, but how lovely\
(Locks him in a fervent embrace} I — 1 can't believe it.
(Kisses him heartily — then to Claud} It's Dudley, deai —
dhve\ (To Dudley again} Oh, but you've met my
husband !
DUDLEY ~] fYes. (Int. line r his head to Claud}
CLAUD _(Boii'Mg slightly} How d'you
do?
ANDREA (to Dudley}: We weie only matucd this
morning — andnowjw/. . . . (Squeezing hit arm} Oh,
darling, this makes my day complete.
[Neither man we ins quite equal to the sit nation. Dudley
/r a little cwbanassed. Claud look1: on unbelievingly,]
DUDLEY (weakly}: Well, I'm — glad you'ic pleased to
see me, Andrea.
ANDREA: How can you say such a thing ? It's liko
another wedding present. (Drawing him to comb]
Here, come and sit down1 Get him a drink, Claud!
(Takes in glasse r.) Oh — you have '
[An d tea plants Dudley in couch, hand1: htm his drink and
sits bestde him right,}
(Continuing} Oh, this is nice.
DUDLEY: Actually I felt a bit awkwaid — barging in
at a time like this.
ANDREA: Awkwaid! Why^
DUDLEY: Well, I — I knew you'd just got mat tied,
and. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting}: Why didn't you come to the
wedding ?
44
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (picks up newspaper} : I didn't know until it
was over. (Shows her the picture.}
ANDREA (taking newspaper — interestedly}: Oh! — a
picture ! (Studies it — then, to Claud.} What a pity you
were making such a face, dear ! (Puts down newspaper —
to Dudley.} But where have you been all this time ?
DUDLEY (something in his manner becoming subtly evasive) :
It's a bit of a long story, really.
ANDREA (innocently} : Oh, we're in no hurry to go to
bed (to Claud} are we ?
[Claud shakes his head in a da^ed sort of way, shrugs
slightly, moves to recess and collapses on to right end of seat.']
(Continuing, to Dudley.} And how did you manage it ?
I mean, the last I saw of you, you seemed to be going
down for the third time.
DUDLEY: Somebody heaved a lifebuoy after me. I
hung on to that.
ANDREA: The captain wasted hours looking for you,
dear.
DUDLEY: I know.
ANDREA: He was furious.
DUDLEY (plaintively) : I couldn't make myself heard.
ANDREA: How long did you have to hang on to the
lifebuoy, then?
DUDLEY (resentfully}: Until about half-way through
the next day.
{Andrea makes a sympathetic noise.}
Then I was picked up by some native fishermen —
that's about all there is to it, really. (He does not seem
anxious to pursue the subject?)
ANDREA: But where have you been ever since ?
DUDLEY (vaguely} : Out there 1
45
ACT ONE
ANDREA : In Africa ?
DUDLEY: Yes.
ANDREA : Why didn't you let me know, deai ?
DUDLEY (hesitates slightly}- I — I'd lost my memory,
Andrea.
ANDREA : You what ?
DUDLEY (with apparent effort) : You see — it had all been
rather a shock. I — I was really quite ill. Even now
I. ... (Breaks ojj, puts down his drink and passes a shaky
hand across his brow. One feels that he is acting?)
ANDREA (in deep sympathy] • Oh — poor darling !
CLAUD (rather aggressively}- Hadn't you anything in
your pockets to identify you ?
DUDLEY (pitifully): Nothing! I — just didn't know
who I was !
ANDREA: Perhaps you'd rather not talk about it,
dear?
DUDLEY (gratefully) : Well, if you don't mind, I. ...
CLAUD: How long did this go on, then — not know
ing who you were?
DUDLEY : Until quite recently.
ANDREA: Nearly a year?
DUDLEY (to Andrea): Yes. As soon as 1 remembered,
of coutse, I came back for you.
ANDREA (imderstandingly) : Of couise !
CLAUD: He couldn't find you, though — or, that's
what he says.
ANDREA: Well, naturally, Claud! I'd changed my
name and gone to live in France.
DUDLEY (looking pulled again] : Yes — what was the
idea of that ?
ANDREA: What?
DUDLEY: Calling yourself Mrs. St. John Willoughby!
ANDREA (blankly): I liked the sound of it, that's all.
I mean — if you have got to change your name, you
might as well pick one you like.
46
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY : But, that's what I mean. Why change it at
alP
ANDREA: Well., because. . . .
CLAUD (suddenly rising — interrupting) • Well, I'm sorry,
but I don't believe a word of it.
ANDREA: What?
CLAUD (moving to centre): All this nonsense about
amnesia. He could easily have found out who he was
through the name of the ship on the lifebuoy for one
thing — if he'd wanted to.
ANDREA : Well, you don't think I believe it, do you ?
CLAUD (in surprise) \ Don't you?
ANDREA: My dear Claud, nobody ever believes
Dudley.
DUDLEY (reaching for his drink, quite unabashed} ; I must
say I hadn't thought of that, though — about the life
buoy.
ANDREA (to Claud] You see? He hardly expects to
be believed. (In reproof.} But I don't think you know
him well enough, yet, to try and trip him up like that.
CLAUD (going up to glass doors] : Well, I devoutly hope
I shall never know him any better. (Stands looking out
into the mght.}
ANDREA (rising and going to left end of recess] : Claud,
dear, I can't think why you're adopting this attitude
to Dudley He hasn't done anything to you. (Glances
at Dudley.}
[Dudley avoids her eye.}
(Continuing, to Claud, suspiciously.} Or has he ?
CLAUD (turning to her] : He's only turned up on my
wedding night and claimed my wife as his, that's all,
ANDREA (at first uncomprehendingly] : Your wife — oh,
me, you mean ! *
CLAUD: Yes—you\
47
ACT ONE
ANDREA: But he's only joking! (Turns and looks at
Dudley.}
CLAUD : Ask him 1
DUDLEY (uncomfortably)'. I've told him how sorry I
am. I don't know what more I can do.
ANDREA (returning to right of couch — incredulously} : Do
you mean that you are claiming me ?
DUDLEY (with a note of defiance) : I don't have to. You
— are my wife, and I'd rathei like to have you back,
that's all.
ANDREA (astounded}: What on earth are you talking
about, Dudley? And, for heaven's sake, what do
you want me back for? You never appieciated me
when you had me.
DUDLEY (his manner suddenly grave, puts down his now
empty glass> rises and turns away before replying} : No — I
didn't. God knows I didn't. It wasn't until I —
couldn't find you, Andrea — until I began to think
that I might never see you again, that — I realised
what had gone out of my life. (He is acting agam.}
ANDREA: What had, dear?
DUDLEY : S omething — healing I
CLAUD (muttering} : Healing, my foot !
DUDLEY (still deeply moved}: I just found that I —
couldn't get on without you, Andrea, that's all.
CLAUD: Couldn't get on without her money, more
like it!
ANDREA (wearily}: Claud, dear, please don't keep on
pointing out the obvious. I'm trying to find out why
he thinks he's my husband. (To Dudley^ Have you a
reason ?
DUDLEY: Only that I married you first.
ANDREA (relieved}: Oh, well — if that's all — there's
nothing in that. (Moves to couch.} I thought you were
dead. (Sits.} You don't think I should have married
Claud if I'd known you were alive, do you ?
48
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (moving to left of couch} : Of course notl And
you had every justification for believing me dead. I
appreciate that.
ANDREA: Well, then. . . 1
DUDLEY: But, unfortunately, dear, it's not what you
believe that matters.
ANDREA: What does, then ?
DUDLEY: The simple and undeniable fact that I'm
alive.
ANDREA (scornfully amused}: Well, really — you never
were exactly logical, Dudley, but that's absurd.
What on earth has that got to do with it ? Of course
you're alive — in fact. Nobody disputes that. But
it's what you are in law that matters.
DUDLEY: What am I in law, then?
ANDREA : Dead as a door-nail 1
DUDLEY : Who says so ?
ANDREA: Well, it stands to reason. You must be
officially dead before anyone can be hanged for
killing you.
DUDLEY (mystified} : Who's been hanged ?
ANDREA : As it happens, nobody. But I should have
been, shouldn't I, if they had believed that girl. I
mean, the law doesn't even try you for murder if it
thinks the victim's still alive. That's common sense.
[Dudley is now completely bemused.]
CLAUD (coming down — pessimistically): Still, I doubt
whether there's much in that argument, you know.
ANDREA (turns to Claud in astonishment}: Are you
agreeing with him ?
CLAUD : Not exactly, no, but. . . .
ANDREA : What do you mean, then ? Don't you want
me, or what ?
CLAUD (moving in to centre} : Of course I want you. It's
no good shutting your eyes to facts, though.
49
ACT ONE
ANDREA: Well, really, you talk as if you were pei-
fectly ready to hand me over to the first Tc,m, Dick
or Harry who comes along.
CLAUD (harassed}: Not at all, I. ...
DUDLEY (interrupting loudly — to Andrea) : Look! Would
you mind telling me what the hell you're talking
about? What muider?
ANDREA (stares at him} : Well, yours, of course.
DUDLEY (seems to think a moment., then} : Well, I don't
know. I suppose I'm being very stupid, but. , . .
(Breaks off.}
ANDREA (incredulously] : Do you mean that you don't
know about it ?
DUDLEY: Yes, I do mean that I don't know about it.
CLAUD (crossing to Dudley): In that case, my friend,
let me have the exquisite pleasure of telling you.
While you were so callously engaged in keeping your
continued existence a secret— -jour wife veiy nearly
went to the gallows on your account.
DUDLEY (thundersttuck}: What!
ANDREA (to Claud, complaimngly} : There you go again !
I'm not his wife.
CLAUD (irritably) : You were at that time, anyway.
There can't be any doubt about that.
ANDREA: Yes, but. . . .
DUDLEY (to Andrea, interrupting) : Is this true ?
ANDREA : Certainly it's true. (Counting the events on her
fingers.} I was confined to my stateroom by the
captain, ariested when the ship got in, charged and
committed before the Essex Justices at Tilbury, sent
to Holloway to await trial, and tried at the Old
Bailey.
[Dudley is dumbfounded.}
CLAUD (moving away down right} : And what's more — he
knows it.
5°
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA: Why should you say that? He mightn't
have seen the papers — especially in Africa. You
didn't — even at Cheltenham.
DUDLEY (still unable to take it in): They thought
you'd killed me?
ANDREA- I've got the press cuttings, if you don't
believe me.
[Dudley sinks into chair down left,}
CLAUD • He would have made it his business to see
the papers — wherever he was. Anyone would,
who'd fallen off a ship.
DUDLEY (rather weakly): Theie weren't any papers
where I was.
ANDREA (to Claud}: See?
CLAUD: That's nonsense! There are papers every
where nowadays.
ANDREA: Well, you're not suggesting he kept quiet
on purpose, are you ?
CLAUD : I wouldn't put it past him. (Stts chair down
right.}
ANDREA: But — why should he?
CLAUD : He may have wanted you to pay the extreme
penalty, for all I know.
DUDLEY : Don't be so damn silly 1
ANDREA (to Cland> indignantly} : That would have been
almost like murder.
DUDLEY (defensively): I didn't know a thing about it,
Andrea.
ANDREA: I'm sure you didn't, dear. (Then, as if
soliloquising — with less confidence.} It does seem a little
odd, though, I must admit.
DUDLEY (getting harassed}: What's odd about it?
ANDREA (looking worried}: Well — it was even on the
B.B.C.
ACT ONE
CLAUD: Exactly! Where could he have been to get
away from that"?
DUDLEY (rising and going up Jeff — sullenly}: All right!
If you must know — I was — \ was in prison.
ANDREA (relieved}: There! I knew there must be
some perfectly innocent explanation
CLAUD : In prison where ?
DUDLEY: Liberia.
CLAUD : How long for ?
DUDLEY: Nine months! And if you want to know
what for, you can mind your own business because
that's got nothing to do with it.
ANDREA (to Claud}: Now are you satisfied?
CLAUD (grudgingly): Certainly seems more likely than
anything else he's said. I don't see why he shouldn't
have written, though, to say he was alive, even if he
didn't know what was going on.
DUDLEY (righteously): And disclose where J was?
I've got some self-respect, you know.
CLAUD: That, I feel, is the most remarkable assertion
yet.
[Even the good-natured Dudley is getting tited of this
hostility^
DUDLEY (going to Claud}: Look here — I thought you
were supposed to be pleased to see me !
ANDREA (to Dudley}: What on earth can have given
you that idea?
DUDLEY (returning up centre) : He said so.
[Andrea looks at Claud for an explanation.}
CLAUD (beginning to look uncomfortable) : Well, when he
first came in, the only thing I could think of was that
it showed that you — well, that you weren't a
murderess.
5*
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA (ominously): Showed who?
CLAUD : Oh, not me, clear, the world in general.
ANDREA: Oh!
DUDLEY (to Claud} : Actually, of course, it didn't show
anything of the kind. All it did show was that she's
not a successful murderess.
[Claud is quite undismayed^
ANDREA (appealing to Claud} : Theie ! Now, there's an
example. You see how the man splits hairs! Can
you wonder that I found him impossible to live with^
CLAUD (makes a reassuring gesture to Andrea, then — to
Dudley, confidently}: You mean, she might have tried
to kill you and failed?
DUDLEY (maliciously} • For all 1 OK know ! (Goes to recess
and stts morosely., left end}
ANDREA (to Claud}: Take no notice, dear! He's only
trying to get his own back.
CLAUD (rising} : I know, I know. (Going to rightofrecest
— to Dudley} For all I know, she might have done,
yes. But not for all you know, my friend. Indeed,
you're the only person — apart from Andrea herself —
who does know, for certain.
ANDREA: Well, if you have it in your mind to ask
him, Claud, you'd better save your breath because,
whatever the truth is, you'll only get one answer
from him — and that is that I did.
DUDLEY (resentfully perplexed}: What!
CLAUD (a little startled}: Why?
ANDREA (to Claud}: Because, obviously, dear, if he
wants me back, he's going to give the answer best
calculated to remove your competition.
CLAUD (relaxing}: Oh!
ANDREA (turning to Dudley}: I warn you, though, if
you do say anything like that — after I've been found
not guilty — I can have you for slander.
53
ACT ONE
DUDLEY (beginning protestmgly}: I haven't the slightest
int. . . .
CLAUD (with a satisfied atr — intenupting}' In any case,
my dear, he's already answered the question by the
veiy fact of wanting you back. No man — not even
be — would want a wife he believed to be a killer —
however nch she might be.
[Andtea does not seem particularly impressed. Dudley /r
not impressed at all. Pie looks like a man with a secret
worry.]
ANDREA (rising) : Well, if you're satisfied, dear, I'm
sure I am. (Going to Dudley?) And now, if you don't
mind, both of you — I must go to bed.
[Dudley rises.}
(Continuing'] Good-night, Dudley, clear ! (K/sres him.}
You are staying the night, I suppose ?
[Even Dudley see MS a little taken by mrprne.]
CLAUD (niaedu/ously}: Staying the night ?
ANDREA (to Claud}- He won't get in any who c lound
here, dear.
[Claud /urns away with a ge rtnre of despau . ]
DUDLLY Well, 1 have got a bag in the car, of coui.se.
ANDREA: Then do! (Ct owing to shnrs.} You don't
want to go all the way back tonight, and theie if a
room. Claud will show you. (Al stairs — to Claud}
And then — don't be too long, will you, clear 3 (Going
upstairs.} It's been a heavy day.
54
TRIAL AND ERROR
[E.\/f Andrea by staircase Dudley re-seats himself
Claud goes to coffee-table, picks up bis glass, drains it, takes
it up to sideboard and begins to replenish it.~\
DUDLEY (worried] • Look ! What does she say, herself,
about that ?
CLAUD : About what 2
DUDLEY : About whether she pushed me in ! Doesn't
she deny it ?
CLAUD (loftily): Andrea would naturally regard it as
beneath her dignity to answer such a question. What
does it matter to JON what she says, anyway? (Going
to Dudley in sudden suspicion.] Don't you know whether
she pushed you in?
[Dudlej looks uneasy and avoids bis eye.]
(Continuing?) Don't you ?
DUDLEY (with a note of defiance] : No, as a matter of fact,
I don't. (Rzses and moves down right.]
CLAUD (following] : You don't?
DUDLEY : There had been a bit of a party that night.
CLAUD (horrified] : You mean you can't remember ?
DUDLEY: Not a thing — until after I got in the sea.
That seemed to sober me
CLAUD: But think what you're saying, man! (His
dismay is monumental.]
DUDLEY: Well, I don't like it any more than you do.
CLAUD : It means that nobody knows (indicates stair
case] but her. It's — it's an appalling thought.
DUDLEY: I know. (Sits gloomily, down right.]
CLAUD (muttering] : Good heavens ! (Crosses to chcir
down left and sits.]
[There is a worried silence.}
DUDLEY : What do you think yourself? Do you think
she pushed me in ?
55
ACT ONE
CLAUD : How the hell should I know ?
DUDLEY • Put, T mean, you know her. Is she the sort
ci" v r,rr - * cu'cl expect to do a thing like that?
CL ( i , • ( uldn't have marned her if she were,
should J ?
DUDLEY (quite impressed") : That's true, you know.
CLAUD : You know her better than I do, anyway.
DUDLEY : What about it ?
CLAUD : Well — what's your opinion of her ?
DUDLEY (brightening): Well, if it comes to that, of
course, I married her too, didn't I ?
CLAUD (brightening) : That's right ! You did.
DUDLEY (rising and crossing to couch}; Well, we can't
both be wrong about her, can we ?
CLAUD: Well, not as wrong as all that, surely I
DUDLEY- I mean, we're neither of us complete fools,
are we?
CLAUD : No, we're men of experience.
DUDLEY: Judgment!
]The atmosphere is getting quite gay.}
CLAUD: Of course! (Rising.} Look! (Picking up
glasses from coffee-table and bearing them up to tidcboatd.}
Let's have another drink and talk it over sensibly.
DUDLEY (fitting., couch}: By all means!
CLAUD (pouring drinks} : There's no need to get in a
panic over a thing like this.
DUDLEY: None whatever! (Ponders.} And there's
another thing, you know.
CLAUD: Oh3
DUDLEY (looking clever}: Now look! I don't know
whether she pushed me in, do I?
CLAUD (coming down with drinks} : No.
DUDLEY (craftily} • But she didn't know that, did she —
until I told her ?
56
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (looking unintelligent}: Well? (Hands drink to
Dudley?)
DUDLEY: Well, for all she knew, I was m a position to
say she'd done it — if she had.
CLAUD : What about it ? (Sits beside Dudley.}
DUDLEY: She didn't seem concerned, that's all.
CLAUD : No, by Jove, she didn't, did she ?
DUDLEY : Delighted to see rne, in fact !
CLAUD '(very impressed} : I say, you know, you've got
something pretty conclusive there.
DUDLEY (looking smug} : I think so.
CLAUD (lifting his glass} : Well — your good health, Mr.
Nightshade !
DUDLEY (lifting his glass}: And yours, Mr. Merrilees!
[They drink gaily.}
CLAUD (more soberly} : Look — I don't want to appear
rude, but would you mind telling me — do you know
the law when you say she's still your wife — or is that
just your opinion?
DUDLEY (a httk uncertainly}: Well — I must admit — I
don't know absolutely for certain. I did pop m to a
Public Reference Library for a few minutes this
afternoon — but I didn't seem able to find the right
book. Still, it seems common sense.
CLAUD : That, I must admit. (With a flicker of hope.}
However, the law is not always what one would
expect.
DUDLEY : It isn't. For instance, you wouldn't expect
to get nine months for trying to get into somebody's
harem, would you?
CLAUD (laughmg} : Is that what you did ?
DUDLEY (laughing} : That's all.
CLAUD (laughing}: Well, I'm blowedl
57
ACT ONE
{They enjoy the joke a moment I on get , and take another
diink.\
Well, (obviously, the first thing to be dune tomorrow
is to see a lawyer and find out whose wife she is.
DUDLEY: Yes. (Hesitates.} In the meantime, . . .
(Breads off — looking uncomfortable.}
CLAUD: Yes?
DUDLEY: It's going to be a bit awkward for you,
isn't it ?
CLAUD : In what way ?
DUDLEY (delicately}: Well, the — er — the nuptials will
have to be suspended pto tern., won't they?
CLAUD (stiffening): I natuially appreciate that.
DUDLEY' Yes, but — does she appreciate it, that's the
point ?
CLAUD (coldly}: I think I have sufficient tact and
delicacy to make it clear to hci.
DUDLEY (shrugs}: It's not the sort of thing I should
caie to have to make clear to Andrea. (With a touch
of malice.} You may find it easier, of course.
CLAUD (rising and taking hi <; glass up ID sideboard} : Well,
as far as that goes — perhaps you'll be good enough
to mind your own business '
DUDLEY (quite mildly) • But I think it's veiy much my
business.
CLAUD (returning to right of couch}: Only in so far as it
concerns wheie you're going to spend the night.
DUDLEY (Mystified}. Where I'M going to spend the
night ?
CLAUD: Ceitainly1 The first thing that becomes
apparent is that I shall need the roomjw/ were going
to have.
DUDLEY- Why?
CLAUD: Because it's the only other one in the house.
DUDLEY: Can't we shate it?
58
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD: It has only a single bed, my friend, and I
don't proposeto double up with you, I can assure you.
DUDLEY (reasonably) : No, I do see that. That would
be too much — after what you anticipated. What do
you suggest I do, then ?
CLAUD: Ah — that's where it does become your
business. (Indicates couch.} You can have that if you
like.
DUDLEY • This ! (Considers a moment?} No — Fm sorry
— I shouldn't be comfortable.
CLAUD (crossing towards staircase) : That's your business
too. It's all there is.
DUDLEY : I mean in my mind.
CLAUD (halting at staircase)'. What do you mean by
that?
DUDLEY : You can't expect me to stop down here and
leave a woman who's very likely my wife on the same
landing as a man she persists in regarding as her
husband. It isn't reasonable.
CLAUD (returning down left to Dudley— furious} : Are you
suggesting that I should be such an unutterable cad
as to take advantage of that ?
DUDLEY (calmly] : You might never even think of it,
for all I know. But I should. (Rises, wanders up to
sideboard and begins to help himself to another drink.} You
see, I've got the soit of mind that does think of
things like that. I shouldn't sleep a wink with you
up there.
CLAUD (going to Dudley}: In that case, you can take
your car and spend your sleepless night somewhere
else, because, if that's the soit of mind you've got, I
won't even have you under the same roof 'as Andrea.
I've at least been through a form of marriage with
her, and, until you can prove anything to the con
trary, I intend to regard her as my wife — even if I
can't treat her as such. (Goes down left.}
59
A r T o N F,
DUDLEY {incredulously} : And I leave you here with her ?
CLAUD: Certainly! I don't care a damn what you
think. (Sits, chair donm left}
DUDLEY (coming down centre]-. All right! Let's forget
my feelings for the moment. We'll take it that I trust
you, if you like. I'll come round tomorrow and
believe you when you say you stopped in your room
all night. How's that ?
CLAUD : Very handsome of you !
DUDLEY : Nobody else will, though.
CLAUD: What do you mean?
DUDLEY: You only got married this morning, old
man. You know what the world is.
CLAUD : Blast the world '
DUDLEY (sitting right arm of couch} : By all means. It was
Andrea I was thinking of. I mean, if she has com
mitted bigamy, at least let her be able to show that
it's bigamy in name only. We don't want her having
to change her name again, do we ?
CLAUD (imptessed and disturbed}- All right! I'll bit up
in here all night.
-: My dear fellow — that's even
more difficult to swallow.
CLAUD: Not if I've got a witness, it isn't.
DUDLEY : What witness ?
CLAUD : You, my friend ! If you're so jolly concei ned
about Andrea, you can damn well stop here and
check up on me. You can still have the couch if you
want it. I'll sit here.
DUDLEY : Ob no 1
CLAUD : Why not ?
DUDLEY: I'm a very heavy sleeper.
CLAUD (jumping to bis feet — angrily}: Now, look
here. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting}: Who's going to believe me,
anyway, with my reputation ?
60
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Enter Andrea by staircase^
ANDREA (as she enters) : Forgot the car after all.
CLAUD (shouting at Dudley} : Then what the hell do you
want me to do ?
ANDREA: Dudley!
DUDLEY (rising) : Yes, dear ?
ANDREA (crossing to centre) : You're not still on about
being my husband, are you ?
DUDLEY : Not exactly — no !
ANDREA: Then what are you wrangling about now?
(Looks from Dudley to Claud.}
[Claud avoids her eye.]
DUDLEY (hesitates slightly}: It's something, my dear,
which you — in your innocence — would not even
have thought of.
ANDREA (mystified}'. Huh?
[Moving with deliberation, Dudley bears his glass to side
board, then returns to Andrea and takes her hands \
DUDLEY: Andrea! (He is acting again} I don't blame
you for marrying again — you know that, don't you ?
I even take it as a compliment — because it shows that
there was at least something about married life that
I taught you to appreciate.
ANDREA (thinks a moment, then}: I can't think of
anything, dear.
CLAUD : What's all that got to do with it, anyway ?
DUDLEY: I don't want her to think what I'm going
to point out to her is due to petty spite on my part,
that's all.
CLAUD: I wasn't aware that anyone asked you to
point out anything. And there's no need to hold her
hands like that, either.
61
ACT ONE
DUDLEY (releases Andrea's hands and moves away down
right}: All right 1 You tell her! But, if ever you're
married to her as long as I was — you'll learn that it's
sometimes wise to hold her hands.
ANDREA (to Claud] : What is this ?
CLAUD (acutely ?ll-at-ease) : Well, the fact is, Andrea —
we both feel — he and I — that it would be better for
all concerned if — just for the time being — until we've
got things straightened out a bit. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting warmngly}: Claud — if it's any
thing at all to do with this idiotic claim of his. . . .
DUDLEY (re tut rung to Andrea — intervening} : Darling, it
isn't. In fact, / want you to foiget the whole thing.
(With impulsive magnanimity} Look — pretend I
haven't come yet. Put the clock back twenty-four
hours and pietend it's yesterday, and then, as far as
you'ie concerned, I'm still at the bottom of the sea.
Now — how will that do ?
[Claud looks pulled.]
ANDREA (perplexed}: Well, it's ternbly nice of you,
Dudley, but — what's the point of it?
DUDLEY (right of Andrea}: I seem to have mucked
things up a bit, that's all.
ANDREA: But if it is yesteiday — that means that this
morning's ceremony hasn't taken place yet I
DUDLEY: Well, naturally I
[Claud's change of expression shows that he has cottoned on.\
ANDREA- Then I'm still a widow I
DUDLEY: One must be consistent, of couise.
ANDREA: But I shouldn't like that, dear.
DUDLEY: You can't have it both ways, Andrea.
CLAUD (crossing to Andrea}: You've been a widow
62
TRIAL AND ERROR
for nearly a year. A day or so can't make much
difference, surely.
ANDREA (turning to Claud — with a suddenly hard eye) : Do
you want to play this game ?
CLAUD (left of Andrea} : I think it might help, dear,
really.
ANDREA : But, how can I pretend to be a widow when
we're occupying the same loom, Claud? It wouldn't
be nice.
CLAUD (takes Andrea's hands and tries to emulate
Dudley's tender manner): But, darling, that's just it.
We both think — he and I, that — we shouldn't occupy
the same room.
DUDLEY: Just for a day 01 so, that's all.
ANDREA (ominously calm}: Does that mean — in plain
language — that I'm to spend my wedding night
alone ?
CLAUD (very unhappy) : Sounds awfully dreary, I know,
but. . . (Breaks off.)
ANDREA (placidly) : Very well — since I'm outvoted —
we'll play games and pretend I'm still a widow.
(Looks from one to the other.} But it's going to last
longer than a day or so. (With sudden ferocity.} I
promise you — both.
[On the word "promise" Andrea kicks Claud smartly on
the shin, so that he releases her hands, enabling her to turn
and — on the word " both " — slap Dudley's face. She then
stamps out. Exif Andrea by staircase. Claud hops to right
arm of couch,
DUDLEY (holding his face} : See what I mean ?
CLAUD (thoughtfully rubbing his shin}: Hm! Rather
surprising '
DUDLEY (moving away up right}: Wouldn't think it,
would you — to look at her ? (Sits left end of recess.)
ACT ONE
[Pause.]
CLAUD: I say!
DUDLEY: Hm?
CLAUD : Do you know what botulism is ?
DUDLEY (faintly surprised}'. Botulism? Sort of food
poisoning I Why ?
CLAUD: I just wondered.
DUDLEY : It's what her aunt died of.
CLAUD (turns his head and looks at Dudley] : I know.
DUDLEY (rising in horror) : Good Heavens I You don't
think. . . ?
Claud's suitcase hurtles don'n the staircase. Claud jumps
to his feet. A. hat and raincoat follow. Claud and Dudley
look at each other. Then Claud goes solemnly up /eff, picks
up the hat, coat and suitcase, puts on the hat, looks at
Dudley and stands waiting. Dudley crosses — grabbing his
coat from the back of the couch as he does so — and they go
off together.
[Exeunt Claud and Dudley into passageway. As they move
to go off a bag of golf-flubs descends the staircase with a
crash, and a shooting-stick, camera case, bowler hat,
umbrella, brief-case, kit-bag, etc., etc., follow in rapid
succession. The cascade continues as the
Curtain descends}
64
ACT TWO
Scene: The same, the next evening before dinner. It is
daylight., but the sun is setting.
The table is almost fully laid with dinner things for three.
The kitchen door is open, and the usual music issues forth.
Curtain rises on Mrs. O'Connor, dressed as before. She is
bending to burrow in the sideboard and her rear end is
presented to the audience.
MRS. o'c. (shouting to top the music) : It isn't a question
of letting people live their own lives at all. (Straightens
up with table-mats and cutlery box.} It's a question of
whether they're fit to be at large. (Going to table.} Of
course everyone has their own way of doing things.
(Begins laying mats and cutlery?) I know that as well as
you do. But there is a point when the way you do
things ceases to be normal, that's all — and hanging
seaweed on the pictures is one of them — you can say
what you like. (Returning to sideboard.} So is throwing
your things all over the floor and leaving them there
all night. (Puts box in sideboard, takes out cruet.} And
as for a man who goes back to London on his wed
ding night — well, I should have thought thatjw,
of all people, would have considered that most
abnormal. (Taking cruet to table.} People do have
their own way of doing things, but it's the first time
I ever heard of anyone having that way of doing
thaf. (Plants cruet.}
^Telephone bell rings.]
(Continuing — going up to kitchen door.} That'll be her
ladyship again, wanting to know if everybody's still
appreciating how kind she is. (Closes kitchen door.
The music ceases — she turns to telephone and lifts receiver.}
c 65
ACT TWO
Hullo? (With a slightly offended atr.} Yes, Mrs. Fish!
No, I'm sorry, she's out again, and Mr. Mernlees is
still in town. He did ring up this afternoon to ask if
Mrs. Mernlees could see him this evening — on
business and I don't know what he meant by that, I
must say. — Well, I've laid for him, but he hasn't
come yet. — Certainly I'll tell her, Mrs. Fish. —
(Sourly.} Oh, I'm sure she's most grateful. Good
bye ! (Hangs up and opens kitchen door. The ?misic issues
forth.} There! Just as I said. She. . . .
\There is a knock at the front door.]
Oh, fiddle! (Closes kitchen door, turns and goes off.}
[The music ceases. Exit Mrs. O'Connor info passageway.
We hear the front door being opened^
CLAUD (off): Oh — good evening! Is Mrs. Night
shade in?
MRS. o'c. (off}- Who?
CLAUD (off} : Mrs. Mernlees !
MRS. o'c. (off}: She's still on the beach.
CLAUD (off} : Oh !
MRS. o'c. (off — after a slight pause}: Well, aren't you
coming in?
CLAUD (off} : Oh — thank you 1
[Enter Claud followed by Dudley followed by Mrs.
O'Connor from passageway. Claud glances apprehensively
up the staircase as he passes it. Mrs. O'Connor has an
angrily bewildered air. Both men now wear lounge suits.
Claud carries a bowler hat., umbrella and a brief-case, and
his manner is stiffly formal. Dudley wanders down left.]
(Up right centre — to Mrs. O'Connor.} Is she — er — is she
expecting us ?
66
TRIAL AND ERROR
MRS. o'c. (up left centre) : I told herjw* were coming —
if that's what you mean. (Glances resentfully at Dudley.}
CLAUD : May we wait ?
MRS. o'c. : Well, of course you can wait if you want
to. I thought you were living here. (Rolls her eyes to
heaven, goes up to kitchen door, halts and returns.} And I
hope you don't think it eccentric of me, Mr. Merrilees,
but I put all your — hockey-sticks and things, upstairs
again. (Turns and goes out.}
[Exit Mrs. O'Connor into kitchen accompanied by the usual
burst of music. Claud goes solemnly to couch and sits stiffly
upright with hat, brief-case and umbrella on his lap. There
is a slight pause during which Dudley stares at Claud as if
waiting.]
DUDLEY : Well — have you made up your mind ?
[Claud shifts unhappily and avoids Dudley's eye.]
Look, Claud — you heard what the man said. The
first thing we've got to do is decide what we want to
do. We can't move until we've done that. I want her
— whatever she may or may not have done. There's
something about Andrea that's not easy to give up.
Now, I'm definite. What about you ?
CLAUD: I don't know what to say. I — I love her —
and yet there's this dreadful possibility which. . . .
(Breaks off helplessly.}
DUDLEY : I know how you feel, of course, but. . . .
(Breaks off, looking concerned.}
CLAUD (tenderly reminiscent}: When I think of her
warmth, her sweetness — when I think of the tender
ness she displayed towards me on this very couch,
only last night. . . .
DUDLEY (sympathetically} : You can't tell me, old man.
ACT TWO
CLAUD: "When I think of things like that, I — I just
can't believe it of her. And yet. . . . (Breaks off.}
DUDLEY: I know. (Moves upstage, turns and, fo> a
moment, regards Claud's back view with a grin, then —
apparently on impulse — coming down to Claudes right}
Claud — I'm going to give myself the luxuiy of doing
something decent for a change.
CLAUD (slightly startled} : Huh ?
DUDLEY: You've been nice about all this. There was
no need for you to take me with you to see Counsel
this afternoon — but you did — and I appreciate it.
I'm going to tell you something. (Slight pause}
She didn't push me in. (Turns away right}
CLAUD (rising} : What!
DUDLEY (apparently ashamed} : Did her best to save me,
in fact.
CLAUD: But — but you said. . . .
DUDLEY: I know I did. It wasn't true.
CLAUD: You can remember?
DUDLEY: Perfectly 1 I wasn't plastered — just lit-up.
CLAUD: I see! (Sinks back on to couch} You wanted
me to doubt hei I You wanted me out of your way.
DUDLEY (apparently contrite} : That's what it comes to.
CLAUD (in sudden temper} : Why didn't you make a job
of it, then — and say she «Wpush you in?
DUDLEY (turning to him} : You wouldn't have believed
it, old man.
CLAUD (bitterly}: Why not? I seem to believe any
thing.
DUDLEY: It wouldn't have been credible, would it —
seeing that I want her myself?
CLAUD (grudgingly}-. Oh, well, I'm glad you've told
me, anyway. No doubt it's kindly meant (Gloomily}
I'm not sure it wouldn't have been kinder to let me
go on doubting, though — with things as they are.
DUDLEY (moving away right — encouragingly}: What do
68
TRIAL AND ERROR
you mean " with things as they are " ? You mustn't
be defeatist about it, Claud.
CLAUD: She's your wife and you want her. If that's
not a handicap I don't know what is.
DUDLEY: But does she want me? That's what matters.
(Turns.'} So far it seems a bit doubtful.
CLAUD: All right! Supposing she doesn't want you.
It doesn't follow that she's going to want me, does it ?
DUDLEY: Not necessarily, no. But she's married you
once. That's some encouragement, surely.
CLAUD : Suppose she does want me, then ! Where do
we go from there ?
DUDLEY {moving in to Claud's right — indicating brief-case) :
Look at your notes, old man, and see what Sir Henry
saidl
CLAUD {putting his hat on coffee-table} : I know what Sir
Henry said. (Getting out his spectacles^] It's precisely
that that I find so disheartening. (Takes some papers
from brief-case and reads.} " In the event that it is the
wish of the parties of the second marriage to remain
together. ..."
DUDLEY (leaning over): That's you two!
CLAUD: Yes. "... and assuming that the legal
husband is disposed to be generous. . . ."
DUDLEY: That's me!
CLAUD (a little testily) : Yes, all right. "... the only
course open would appear to be — (a) dissolution of
the first marriage. ..."
DUDLEY: That's mine!
CLAUD : " . . . and — (b) re-solemnisation of the
second."
DUDLEY: That's yours!
CLAUD (putting notes away) : Exactly !
DUDLEY (straightening up} : In other words — a divorce
for me — and your performance all over again. That's
all. It's perfectly simple.
69
ACT TWO
CLAUD (putting his spectacles away) : But, my good man,
you can't get a divorce just like that. You've got to
have grounds.
DUDLEY (moving away right — airily] : Oh, one can always
rake up something.
CLAUD : That's all very well, but. . . . (Looks at him
keenly?) She hasn't any grounds, I suppose ?
DUDLEY: Well, not just at the moment, perhaps —
not that she knows of anyway.
CLAUD: Well, you've nothing on her, I'm quite
certain, so. ... (Breaks off with a hopeless shrug.}
DUDLEY: I should have had, of course — if I hadn't
turned up heie when I did.
CLAUD: If what?
DUDLEY (trying to be delicate} : Well, if I — if I hadn't
mucked up your honeymoon.
CLAUD (indignantly): Are you implying that that
would have given you grounds for divorcing her ?
DUDLEY (returning to Claud again) : Well, look at your
notes, old man I
[Claud irritably takes out the papers again and while he is
putting on his spectacles, Dudley grabs the papers from his
lap}
There you arel (Reads.) " Since the second marriage
is invalid and therefore no marriage at all, its con
summation would be adulterous and accordingly
would provide grounds for the dissolution of the
first. ..." (Tosses papers back to Claud.}
CLAUD (having put away bis spectacles'): But — but that's
preposterous.
DUDLEY (wandering away right} : Seems to be the law,
though.
CLAUD (putting away papers— fervently] : Thank God,
then, that you arrived in time 1
7°
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (going upstage) : Yes — if I did.
CLAUD (looking at him sharply} : What do you mean by
that^ You know you did, you were here soon after
dinner.
DUDLEY (at the glass doors, looking out} : You'd had all
the afternoon, though, hadn't you ?
CLAUD (rising nnth umbrella and brief-case and going
angrily to Dudley}: Now, look here, Nightshade — I
don't know what you mean by that, but. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting}: Nobody would have blamed
you, old man. You thought you were married.
CLAUD : I don't care what I thought. I'm not going
to have you, or anyone else, suggesting that I. ...
DUDLEY (turns — interrupting} : I'm not suggesting any
thing, anyway — except that you had the opportunity.
CLAUD: Why suggest even that? Don't you know
when you're being offensive ?
DUDLEY (patiently} : Look ! All I'm doing is to point
out that, if she does want you, and I am disposed to be
generous — there's my grounds for divorce, that's all
— ready made. All you've got to do is say you stopped
on the way down, or something.
CLAUD (incredulously] : Do you seriously believe that I
would stand up in public and say a thing like that ?
DUDLEY (coming down again}: I don't see why not!
Nobody would be able to contradict you.
CLAUD (following — outraged} : You don't see why not ?
On the way down? In daylight ^ Before dinner?
You and I don't speak the same language, you know.
DUDLEY: Well, there's no need to get huffy about it,
old man. I'm only trying to be decent.
CLAUD : Then I hesitate to think what your idea of
indecency must be. (Goes to chair down right and sits
stiffly. He still clings to his brief-case and umbrella}
[Enfer Andrea from staircase. She wears a house-coat.]
ACT T\VO
ANDREA (at once crossing) : Dudley I
DUDLEY (moving to meet bet ) : Hullo, darling !
[Claud rises.]
ANDREA : How nice ! I didn't expect you.
[Dudley and Andrea greet each other with a kiss.]
DUDLEY: We thought you were out.
ANDREA: No, I've been lying down, dear. I didn't
sleep very well.
DUDLEY (sympathetically} : I expect it's the silence.
ANDREA: Yes. Nobody breathing even. (Throws a
cold glance at Claud.} Good evening I (Moves to couch.}
CLAUD : Good ev. . . .
DUDLEY (moving after her — interrupting) : Matter of fact,
we were a little surprised to find you still here.
ANDREA (//; surprise}: Surprised! But I came for a
fortnight. (Sits couch.} Claud could have told you
that.
CLAUD: Yes, but after — what's happened, I thought
you'd very likely. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting coldly) : I really don't know what
justification you have for assuming that I'm going to
change all my plans just because you don't appear to
know your own mind.
[Claud re-seats himself.]
(To Dudley.} I shouldn't think of going off like that
after Valerie Fish had been so kind as to lend us the
house. She even had the bedroom done up specially.
DUDLEY: You're stopping on, then?
ANDREA: Somebody has to pretend to be enjoying
themselves, Dudley.
72
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (sitting on R. arm of couch}: But you'll be
lonely.
ANDREA: Oh, not now, dear. I've sent for Aunt
Gertrude.
DUDLEY (dehghted}\ Gertrude! Oh, but that's a
wonderful idea.
CLAUD: Who's Gertrude?
DUDLEY: Aunt Maggie's sister, dear boy! My
favourite in-law.
CLAUD (plaintively} : But I don't know who Maggie is.
ANDREA: You see, Claud, you don't even listen.
Aunt Maggie's the one I told you about.
[Claud looks blank.]
Died of botulism !
CLAUD: Oh! — and this is her sister I
DUDLEY: Elder sister, believe it or not — and quite
the most adorable thing you'll ever meet.
ANDREA: Yes, I'd forgotten what chums you used to
be. Why don't you stay a few days and see something
of her ?
[Claud stiffens. Dudley's manner becomes a little wary.]
DUDLEY (rising} : Stay ?
ANDREA • You might as well, dear.
DUDLEY : But — where am I going to sleep ?
ANDREA: There's the guest-room.
DUDLEY: But if Gertrude's going to. ...
ANDREA (interrupting): Oh, she'll be in with me.
That's what I got her for.
\S>oth men relax. Claud puts umbrella and brief-case down
beside bis chair.]
DUDLEY: Oh!
73
ACT TWO
ANDREA (innocently] : I can't bear sleeping alone. You
know that.
DUDLEY: Yes. I remember. (Grins.}
[Andrea looks at him, looks away again in slight confusion
and reaches for an American magazine on coffee-table.]
(Starting up left.} Well — I'll get my bag, then.
ANDREA: And while you're about it, Dudley. . . .
DUDLEY (halting) : Yes ?
ANDREA : I think her train gets in about now.
DUDLEY: Right! I'll get her too.
ANDREA (turning left and putting her feet up} : Would
you, dear? I wouldn't bother you, only Claud can't
drive — either. (Opens magazine.}
DUDLEY: Of couise! (Hesitates and glances at Claud.}
Before I go, though (to Claud} would you mind
stepping outside a moment, old man?
[Claud inclines his head coldly, solemnly collects his
umbrella and brief-case, rises and goes out on to sun-deck.
Dudley comes down to Andrea.}
Aren't you being a bit rough on the man ?
ANDREA : After his behaviour last night, I think it's
extremely nice of me to recognise his existence at all.
DUDLEY: Well, I know how you must feel, but. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting}'. No woman with any self-
respect could possibly overlook such conduct.
DUDLEY: I know, but. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting}: Refusing to spend the night
with me like that!
DUDLEY: There was nothing else he could do.
ANDREA : Well, of course there wasn't. I know that.
He acted with the utmost discretion. But you can't
expect me to like it, Dudley. It's so rude.
74
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (beginning to move up right}: Well — try to be
charitable, dear. He hasn't really done anything,
remember.
ANDREA (muttering}: No — that's just it.
DUDLEY (calls outside}: All right, old man! (Crosses
left.}
ANDREA : Come to think of it, though. . . . (Breaks
off-}
DUDLEY (halting} : Yes ?
ANDREA : "Why are you defending Claud ?
DUDLEY (in a slightly hurt tone}: Even I have some
sense of justice, Andiea.
ANDREA: Oh yes, dear, I'm not being critical. It
shows a nice spirit. I just can't see what you're up
to, that's all.
[Claud comes in from the sun-deck.}
DUDLEY (abandons his wounded atr and grins} : You will.
[Extfs into passageway. Claud moves down right centre and
stands unhappily hesitant. Andrea becomes absorbed in the
CLAUD (after a pause}: You're still cross with me,
then5
ANDREA (absently} : Um ?
CLAUD: I say you're still. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting}: I do love these American
advertisements for " intestinal regulators " and that
sort of thing, don't you? They're so uninhibited.
(Looks up from magazine} What did you say?
CLAUD: I said you're still cross with me.
ANDREA (surprised}: Am I? What makes you think
that?
CLAUD : I can tell by the way you treat me, Andrea.
75
ACT TWO
ANDREA: You're getting too sensitive, Claud. (Re
turns to magazine }
CLAUD (beginning to take umbrage]: Well, may I
proceed ?
ANDREA (looking up again-— faintly surprised}- Oh, was
there something else you wanted to say ?
CLAUD: I have to explain the legal position, Andrea.
ANDREA: Oh! (Returns to magazine.)
CLAUD : That's why I'm here.
ANDREA: I had wondered, I must say. (In a bored
tone ) Well ? (Begins searching for a handkerchief?)
CLAUD (goes to chair, down right, sits, puts umbrella on floor
and begins to open brief-case}: Well — we've seen a
lawyer, and. . . .
[Claud becomes aware of Andrews preoccupation. Having
searched her person, she is now looking under the cushions
and between the upholstery of the couch. Claud watches with
growing exasperation. Finally she finds the handkerchief,
elaborately unfolds it and dabs delicately at her nose.}
As I was saying — we've seen a. ...
[Andrea blows her nose loudly. Claud again waits gnmly
until she has finished mopping, and again taken up her
(Sarcastically.} Would you prefer me to come back
another time ?
ANDREA (startled} : What ? Good heavens, no ! What
a very disquieting idea!
CLAUD (rising, angrily} : Then, please listen \
ANDREA (innocently} : I am listening. I've heard every
word you've said. You've seen a lawyer.
CLAUD : Yes, I know, but. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting} : Get on with it, then ! (Returns
to magazine.}
76
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (huffily): A very eminent lawyer. Sir Henry
Sutton- White, as a matter of fact.
ANDREA (muttering) : Never heard of him.
CLAUD : Well, whether you've heard of him or not,
Andrea, he's an authority whose dictum is not to be
taken lightly, and you'd better pay some heed to what
he says. (Sits again.}
\A.ndrea begins idly clicking her tongue.]
(Continuing.} He specialises in this sort of thing.
(Pauses and stares at her angrily.}
ANDREA (continues clicking for a moment, then glances up} :
All right! All right! I'm " heeding ". What does he
say"?
CLAUD: Well, the first thing that becomes apparent
is that it's a very unusual case. (Starts again to open
brief-case?)
ANDREA: I shouldn't have thought you needed an
expert to tell you that.
CLAUD : The point is, Andrea, that it's so unusual as
to be without precedent.
ANDREA: You mean it hasn't happened before?
CLAUD : Apparently not.
ANDREA (gratified) : Well ! Imagine that !
CLAUD: Not quite like this, anyway.
ANDREA : Women thinking that their husbands were
dead for no better reason than that they'd been tried
for killing them, you mean ^
CLAUD: Er — yes.
ANDREA (returning to magazine} : Well, I don't see how
he makes a living.
CLAUD: Who?
ANDREA: Sir Henry Thingummy- Whatsisname ! I
mean, if he specialises in the sort of thing that never
happens, how can he hope to ? Doesn't sound very
bright to me.
77
A c i r \v o
CLAUD (rises, puts down brief-case and goes to her']: I
think you're being flippant, Andrea — and I think
you're doing it deliberately in order to show that you
no longer like me very much.
ANDREA: For a man, you know, Claud, you do have
the most blinding flashes of intuition.
CLAUD : Is it worth my while to go on ?
ANDREA : You've nothing to lose, I suppose.
CLAUD (moving away left] : With your permission, then,
I'll be as brief as I can. I won't deny that, on certain
points, Sir Hemy was reluctant to commit himself
then and there, and I suspect that even he needed time
to refer to his books. But of one thing, Andrea, there
is no possible shadow of doubt whatever.
ANDREA (without mteresf): Oh?
CLAUD (left of couch} : You'ie married to Dudley !
ANDREA (looking up in weary surprise) : My dear Claud,
you didn't come all the way down here to tell me
that, did you?
CLAUD (incredulously}: You mean you've accepted
that ?
ANDREA: It's indisputable.
CLAUD: But, last night, nothing would convince you
that you weie still his wife.
ANDREA: Well, I've slept on it.
CLAUD : I daie say, but. . . .
ANDREA: And taken advice, if you want to know.
CLAUD : Oh, you have !
ANDREA: I haven't been entirely inactive myself,
Claud. After all, I am an interested party. I've been
on to Valerie Fish.
CLAUD (pulled} : Valerie Fish ?
ANDREA: Yes.
CLAUD : Is she a lawyer ?
ANDREA : She is not.
78
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (crossing right — sarcastically): Oh, just happens
to know about these things, I suppose 1
ANDREA : Well, she should do. She was married to a
lawyer. She didn't have to look it up, anyway, like
jour man. She knew at once.
CLAUD (taking a gr?p on htmself— facing her): Well,
anyway, she concurred!
ANDREA- Absolutely!
CLAUD : And you accept the fact that you're married
to Dudley!
ANDREA: Technically — yes!
CLAUD (returning to chair down right and sitting) : The
particular attitude you elect to adopt towards your
husband is, of course, none of my business. (Taking
up brief-case and putting on spectacles.} All that concerns
me is what you intend to do about me — and that, I
think, you make abundantly clear.
[Andrea makes no comment, but she is no longer looking at
the magazine.]
(Taking out papers.} If you had wanted to — er — to
continue with me, there would have been very
considerable complications — but, as it is, they do not
arise, and (looking at papers} all that you will need to
do will be—" (a) . . ."
ANDREA : I didn't speak.
CLAUD: The letter " a "!
ANDREA: Eh?
CLAUD (loudly} : " A " !
ANDREA: Oh!
CLAUD (reading): "... to apply to the Court for the
second marriage to be declared null and void ab
tnitio."
ANDREA: Bless you!
CLAUD (putting away papers and spectacles}: This is
79
ACT TWO
nothing more than a foimality, and apparently not
even necessary — merely wise. (Taking up umbrella
and rising.) Which means, no doubt, that you won't
trouble to do it at all. (Goes to her.)
ANDREA (a httle sulkily): What's " b " then?
CLAUD: Forget that I ever existed. (Takes his bat
from coffee-table, puts it on and sticks out his hand.)
Good-bye !
ANDREA: Well, I must say. . . !
CLAUD: What? (Withdraws his hand and takes off his hat
again.)
ANDREA: You are an extraoidinary man. (Rises.)
Who said anything about not wanting to go on with
you?
CLAUD : Well, nobody, but. . . .
ANDREA : Then why on earth assume that I don't ?
CLAUD : Well, you certainly haven't said that you do,
Andrea.
ANDREA : But, I haven't been asked. You can't expect
me to answer a question if you don't even put it to
me, Claud.
CLAUD : Does that mean that you do want to go with
me?
ANDREA : No, I'm not sure that it does — now. (Moves
away left.)
CLAUD (following) : But, Andrea. . . .
ANDREA: Anyone might think you were trying to
get out of it, the way you go on.
CLAUD: But, listen. . . .
ANDREA (turning and facing him accusingly)'. \ expect
that's what you are doing, come to think of it. You
can't satisfy yourself that I didn't try to kill Dudley —
that's what it is — and you're making use of a mere
technicality to get rid of me. It's contemptible!
(Turns away.)
80
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (shouting}: But it isn't thatl I don't want to
get rid of you.
ANDREA: Simply because of a. ... (Breaks off and
turns to him in surprise.} You don't ?
CLAUD : As it happens, I am satisfied that you didn't
try to kill Dudley.
ANDREA : You are ?
CLAUD: I don't think it would make any difference
if you had killed him, anyway. It's the sort of thing
anyone might do.
ANDREA : You mean that ? (Takes his arm.}
CLAUD (cooling down, but still severe}: In any case, I
don't care what you may or may not have done. I — I
love you, Andrea. I've told you that before.
ANDREA (nestling to Claud] : Oh, I'm so glad to hear it
again though, Claud,
CLAUD (with hat m one hand and umbrella and brief-case in
the other — putting his arms about her, but continuing to
grumble} : It's ridiculous to say I don't want you. Of
course I want you. But you're another man's wife. One
must be objective about it. I oughtn't even to be
standing here like this.
ANDREA (enraptured} : Oh, you are sweet, really. I do
see why I married you. (Draws his face round and
kisses him, then — ) Come 1
[Andrea draws Claud to chair down left thrusts him into it,
takes umbrella and brief-case from him, puts them on the
floor down of chair, and seats herself on his lap with an arm
about his neck.']
CLAUD: Excuse me! (Passes his hat across her from his
right hand to his left and puts it on the floor with the other
things.}
ANDREA (kzsses him on the forehead} : Will it mean an
awful lot of bother ?
81
ACT TWO
CLAUD: What?
ANDREA: If we — decide to go on.
CLAUD (still faintly hurt)'. Not if you want me, of
course.
ANDREA: Just a matter of getting rid of htm, I
suppose!
CLAUD (nods) : And re-marrying me.
ANDREA : Oh, shall we have to do that ?
CLAUD: Naturally!
ANDREA (delimited}: Another wedding? Oh, what
fun! Wheie shall we have it this time ?
CLAUD: It doesn't make any. . .
ANDREA (interrupting : And where shall we go for our
honeymoon ? Here again ? Or would you like to try
somewhere else for a change ?
CLAUD: I don't. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting) : Well, we'll have the reception
somewhere else, anyway. The vol-au-vent was awful,
I thought, and even the. . . . (Suddenly thoughtful?)
Claud!
CLAUD: Yes?
ANDREA : Shall we have to ask him ?
CLAUD: I can't see that it matter s. Why?
ANDREA: I don't want to cultivate him, dear. He's
always a source of anxiety. Now, for instance. . . .
(Breaks off, looking disturbed?}
CLAUD (faintly alarmed] : What ?
ANDREA: Have you noticed how nice he's being to
you?
CLAUD: Matter of fact, I have rather, but — what
about it ?
ANDREA : Well, it's so surprising. I can't think why.
CLAUD (still a httle touchy}: I don't see that it's
necessarily surprising.
ANDREA : Oh, no, dear, of course not ! I'm sure he's
very fond of you. I can't think that it's entirely on
82
TRIAL AND ERROR
account of that, that's all. Does he know you're well
off?
CLAUD: What's that got to do with it?
ANDREA : Well, it nearly always is a matter of money
when he does something you can't account for.
CLAUD (complacently) \ He won't get any out of me,
I can assure you.
ANDREA: Well, do be careful, dear, won't you? He's
awfully good at it, and I shouldn't like you to be done.
After all, I do feel a little responsible for you. You
did meet him through me, didn't you ? (Kisses him on
the temple and lays her face against his.}
[Enter Gertrude, followed by Dudley, from passageway.
Gertrude Pigeon is small, old, gentle, innocent and brisk. A.
blood-relation of Andrea, she has much tn common mentally.
In appearance she is " countrified ". She wears a light
overcoat, a flowered cotton dress and a floppy straw hat.
Always with her is a large and apparently weighty black
plastic carrier bag. Clamped to her head is an ordinary
one-sided ear-phone. This is connected by heavy flex to
something within the bag, and at a convenient point on the
flex is a massive switch which emits a very audible " clack "
whenever used. At the moment Gertrude is carrying also a
cricket bat. Dudley bears two suitcases, and Claud's rain
coat. Bof& Gertrude and Dudley pause to admire the group
on the chair for a moment^
GERTRUDE (up centre} : Andrea 1
ANDREA (scrambling to her feet and running to Gertrude} :
Darling I
[Claud gets up hurriedly and in some confusion. Dudley
grins at him and puts his things down on the floor, up left.\
(Embracing Gertrude.} Oh, it is lovely to see you!
(Kisses her.}
83
ACT TWO
GERTRUDE: Just a minute! (Puts cricket bat along
back of couch, clacks switch, and holds her bag towards
Andrea?) What did you say ?
ANDREA (loudly] : It's lovely to see you.
GERTRUDE: Yes, dear, but there's no need to shout.
(Indicates contraption?) It's very powerful.
ANDREA: Oh!
GERTRUDE (turning to smile fondly at Dudley?) : What a
surprise you have for me !
[Dudley moves to Gertrude and puts an arm about her
shoulders.]
ANDREA: Yes, isn't it?
GERTRUDE: I could hardly credit my senses.
ANDREA: I know.
GERTRUDE (beaming): My first thought was that I
must be dead too.
DUDLEY (laughing) : I'm afraid you and I would never
meet in the same place, darling.
GERTRUDE (to Andrea) : I felt so sure he was dead.
ANDREA (laughing}: It just confirms what you've
always said about him, Aunt Gertrude, you can't rely
on a thing he does.
GERTRUDE (with no trace of reproof : No, but don't
say anything unnecessary, dear. It wastes the
batteries. (Indicates Claud?) Who's this, then, that
you were sitting with?
ANDREA: Oh, I'm so sorry. It's Claud. (To Claud.}
This is Aunt Gertrude, dear. Miss Pigeon! (To
Gertrude.} He used to play for Kent.
[Claud and Gertrude advance to meet each other, below
couch. Dudley, grinning, moves away down left.]
CLAUD (holding out his hand} : How do you do ?
TRIAL AND ERROR
GERTRUDE (taking his hand and holding if] : Oh, you're
the new husband, I suppose?
CLAUD: Well, erm. . . .
ANDREA (interposing): In a way, dear, yes.
GERTRUDE (smiling at Claud} : I'm glad to meet you.
I hope you're strong. (Releases his hand.} >'
[Claud turns his head to Dudley with an anxiously pulled
look. Dudley shrugs lightly.}
(Continuing to Andrea.} He's nice, isn't tits? (Sits,
couch.} What did you say his name was ?
ANDREA: Claud I
GERTRUDE: Claud what, though? I must learn rtt, I
may have to write to you some time.
ANDREA: Mernlees!
GERTRUDE: Oh, yes — Mernlees! (Switches off, closes
her eyes, puts her fingers to her brow and begins to repeat
the word over to herself.}
CLAUD (starting towards Gertrude — anxiously} : But you
do realise, I suppose, that. . . ?
DUDLEY (interrupting}- I wouldn't bother, old man.
Not just now.
CLAUD: But we can't let her go on thinking that
I. ...
DUDLEY (interrupting}: She's switched off, anyway,
GERTRUDE (still muttering}: Merrilees, Mernlees,
Merrilees. . . .
\Claud moves down left below Dudley. Andrea, at right
end of couch, pokes Gertrude.]
(Opens her eyes and switches on.} Yes, dear ?
ANDREA: It's the same name as the man who used to
wind your clocks.
GERTRUDE: Oh, yesl So it is! How lucky! I can
85
ACT TWO
remember it by that. Is theie anything else you
wanted to say ?
ANDREA • 1 don't think so. Not at the moment.
GERTRUDE : Then I'll write a letter. (Switches off, takes
a pad and pen from bag and begins to write.}
\They regard her a moment., Andrea a little helplessly,
Dudley indulgently, Claud anxiously.]
ANDREA (t$ Dudley): Well, perhaps you wouldn't
mind taking her bag up, dear!
DUDLEY: Right! (Goes up left and picks up a suitcase.}
Which irf her room?
ANDB:EA: Oh, of course — you haven't been upstaiis
yet; have you.
DUDLEY: No.
CLAUD (moving up left} : I'll do it.
ANDREA (to Claud}: Then show him his own room
too, dear, will you?
CLAUD (to Dudley — picking up the remaining things}-
Here — this is my suitcase that you've brought in. My
coat too !
DUDLEY (looking a little self-conscious} : Yes, I — well, to
tell you the truth, I felt a bit mean about stopping
here and letting you push off alone. I just felt that
if anyone was going to spend the night, it ought to
be you — particularly as the house was — put at your
disposal in the first place. (To Andrea, meaningly.} I
take ityou don't mind!
ANDREA (looking pulled}: Well, no I. ... (Breaks
off, stanng at him suspiciously.}
DUDLEY : Right I Then I needn't trouble to go up at
all, need I ? (Hands Gertrude's suitcase to Claud.}
CLAUD (in surprise}: I thought you objected to the
idea of my spending the night.
DUDLEY: Not with Aunt Gertrude here, old man.
Fm not all that prim.
86
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD : Well, then — thanks !
[Exit Claud by staircase. Dudley moves to left arm of
couch and sits. Andrea perches on the other
DUDLEY (touching the flex) : What is this contraption
she's got on ?
GERTRUDE (looks up, switches on) : What, dear ?
DUDLEY : Got a new aid, I see I
GERTRUDE : Henry made it for me.
ANDREA : Who's Henry ?
GERTRUDE: A boy, dear! Fifteen! Belongs to the
man who does the hedges. Such a pet, and so clever
with his hands ! Did this out of an old wireless, that's
all. That, and a pressure-cooker, I think he said.
Isn't it lovely ? Its works are all in here. (Holds up
bag for Andrea?)
ANDREA (looks into bag}: Well, isn't that convenient?
GERTRUDE: You wouldn't believe how much better
it is than that silly little thing I gave forty-five
guineas for.
ANDREA: What do you mean by better, dear —
louder ?
GERTRUDE : Oh, much louder 1 It's deafening ! (Smiles,
switches off, and goes on writing.}
[Enter Claud from staircase. He drifts across to recess and
sits left end. Andrea rises, goes behind couch and pokes
Gertrude.]
(Switches on.} Yes ?
ANDREA: Wouldn't you like to see your room?
GERTRUDE (at once putting away writing materials —
enthusiastically} : Oh, yes, Andrea 1 What a lovely idea !
DUDLEY (taking up cricket bat} : What's this ?
GERTRUDE: Oh, that's for Henry. He wanted a
87
ACT TWO
cricket bat. (Suddenly anxious.} It is a cricket bat,
isn't it ?
DUDLEY: Certainly it's a cricket bat.
GERTRUDE: Oh, I'm so gladl (Rises and sets off in the
wrong direction., down right.} I got it on my way through
town.
[Dudley rises and moves up left.}
ANDREA: Up here, dear! (Indicates staircase}
GERTRUDE : Oh ! (Changes direction, goes up left and halts
as if suddenly remembering something — to Andrea!) Oh,
you sent for me, didn't you ? What did you want me
for?
ANDREA : Only to sleep with me, Aunt Gertrude.
GERTRUDE (looks pulled} : Sleep with you ? (Looks at
Claud}
ANDREA : You know how nervous I am in a strange
bed.
GERTRUDE (stands a moment as if racking her brains'] :
Well, you know — that's most odd.
ANDREA : What is, dear ?
GERTRUDE (shrugs} : Well — either things have changed
considerably or my memory's playing me tricks,
that's all. (Goes off}
it Gertrude by staircase. As Andrea follows, Dudley
hands her the cricket bat.}
DUDLEY: Here!
[Exzt Andrea by staircase. Dudley eyes the rather gloomy
Claud, then crosses to sideboard.]
DUDLEY: Drink?
CLAUD : No, thanks I (Rises and wanders down}
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (helping himself to a whisky and soda] : Do you
think Mrs. Fish would mind if I had one?
CLAUD (adjusting his tie before the mirror] : I shouldn't
think so — especially as it happens to be mine.
DUDLEY : Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear fellow, I. ...
CLAUD (moving to chair down right — interrupting} : Drink
it I Drink it! Who cares? (Sits moodily.}
{Dudley looks at Claud and grins craftily to himself. Then,
adjusting his face to an appropriate gravity, he moves down
and sits on right arm of couch. ~\
DUDLEY: Well — you've had a chat, I take it?
CLAUD (without looking at him} : We have.
DUDLEY : You — learnt her wishes ?
CLAUD: I did.
DUDLEY: And. . . ?
CLAUD (turning his head arvay} : She wants me.
DUDLEY (apparently stricken} : I see 1 (Rises, moves up to
sideboard and stands with his back turned?}
CLAUD (after a pause — sincerely}', I'm sorry, Night
shade. I'm terribly sorry.
DUDLEY: It's all in the luck of the game. (Sighs.} Ah,
well. . . . (Drains his glass, puts it down and turns,
putting on a brave front.} Then why the worried look3
CLAUD (with distaste) : I don't like having to " rake up
something ", as you call it, for this divorce. It's
unsavoury. I don't like being associated with it,
even.
DUDLEY : It's only a matter of a receipted bill from
the Hotel Mizpah, Bloomsbury — or something like
that.
CLAUD: I know, but. . . .
DUDLEY (breaking in} : You want me to do it — is that
what you mean ?
CLAUD : Do what ?
89
ACT TWO
DUDLEY: Get the receipt, old man.
CLAUD (astounded} : Well, good heavens, you wouldn't
expect her to, would you ?
DUDLEY: You don't see yourself as a co-respondent,
I take it?
CLAUD (rising and going centre} : I do not see myself as a
co-respondent. But that has nothing to do with it.
The woman is never expected to provide the evidence.
It's a matter of chivalry.
DUDLEY (going to Claud., patiently] : Look — the sooner
you get it out of your head that you're dealing with
anything remotely resembling a gentleman, the better
— because you're not, you know.
CLAUD (ironically., turning away upstage): I'm soiry. I
keep on forgetting.
DUDLEY (moving down right — kindly}- Well, do try to
hold it in mind, old man, or we shan't get any
where. Now — where were we? (Sitting chair \ down
right}
CLAUD (sullenly} : Hotel bill !
DUDLEY: Right! So with that from me and a few
extra details from the chambermaid — Andrea gets
her. . . . (Breaks off, suddenly looking thoughtful,} No,
that can't be right.
CLAUD: What can't be right?
DUDLEY: Well, Andrea gets her freedom. . . .
CLAUD: Yes.
DUDLEY: You get Andrea. . . .
CLAUD: Yes.
DUDLEY: But, what do 7 get?
CLAUD (coming down centre — pulled} : What dojou get ?
DUDLEY: Yes — apart from a rather sordid evening's
entertainment at the Hotel Mizpah — what do I get
in return?
CLAUD : In return for what ?
DUDLEY (in apparent surprise} : My wife, old man !
9°
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (staring at him) : What can you get in return for
your wife?
DUDLEY (considers, as if the question had not previously
occurred to him}: You know — it's a pitiful thought,
but there is nothing, is there — except money ?
CLAUD: Ah — now I begin to see. (Bitterly sarcastic?)
I'm sorry. I hadn't reahsed you were putting her up
for sale. And the price ?
DUDLEY: Haven't really thought about it. Ten
thousand ^
CLAUD : Sounds to me as if you've thought about it
quite a lot. (With heavy irony.} That's C.O.D., I take
it?
DUDLEY : Certainly, old man. I'd trust you anywhere.
CLAUD: Thanks! And what about payment ? Cash —
or would you take a cheque ?
DUDLEY (shrugs} '. I'm not fussy.
CLAUD: No — I don't think you can be. (Walks
deliberately across to Dudley.} May I say, I think you are
the most unmitigated blackguard I ever met ? (Turns
away to recess and sits right end.}
DUDLEY (mildly]'. Well — now you can see the point
of keeping that in mind. With me, you can discuss
a thing like this — without embarrassment — without
restraint. But how would you feel in the case of, say,
Sir Henry Sutton- White, if you wanted to buy his
wife?
[Enter Mrs. O'Connor from kitchen, for once without music.
Rearing a tray with a glass and side plate, she moves
towards the table.]
CLAUD (unaware of Mrs. O'Connor — violently} : Well, I
don't want to buy Sir Henry's wife. . . .
[Mrs. O'Connor halts, rooted. Dudley tries to signal her
presence.]
91
ACT TWO
I don't want to buy anyone's wife, and you can put
that in your. . . . (Following the direction of Dudley's
signals, turns his head, sees Mrs. O'Connor and abruptly
shouts with nervous laughter?)
[Looking quite scared, Mrs. O'Connor turns and rushes
back into the kitchen.}
(Jumping to his feet, furiously.} Now, you listen to me,
Nightshade. . . .
GERTRUDE (off} : Oh no, dear, I'm never without it.
[Enter Gertrude, followed by Andrea from staircase.
Gertrude has removed her hat and overcoat. She moves down
to couch.]
DUDLEY (rising and going upstage) : Talk to you later,
old man. (Goes out on to the sun-deck and sits in one of the
chairs.}
ANDREA: Where does it come from, then — the
chemist or the ironmonger, or what ?
[Claud goes to chair down right and sits.]
GERTRUDE (sitting right end of couch} : No, it conies from
a Peruvian weed, dear — Pettacattel! The natives
make it. It's nothing to look at, of course, like so
many things that are helpful. (Begins rummaging in bag.}
I'll show you. Just a brown powder, that's all.
(Produces a small folded white paper.} There ! Though
that's only the paper it's done up in, of course.
(Replaces the paper?)
ANDREA (behind couch} : But what do you do with it,
dear?
GERTRUDE: Well, personally, I drink it with my milk,
but. . . .
92
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA : What's it for, though ?
GERTRUDE: Oh, I see what you mean. Well, the
natives use it as a sort of gum for sticking their hair,
but I take it for headaches and rheumatism. Do you
know what a llama is ^
ANDREA : Sort of South American camel !
GERTRUDE: That's it! But what I dare say you don't
know is that (weightily) this weed Pettacattel is the
llama's favourite food.
ANDREA : Is it ?
GERTRUDE: It is! And it was your own great-uncle
Lambert, dear — that most sagacious of men — though
never really understood in his day — who first saw
the significance of that. (Begins taking out writing pad,
etc.}
ANDREA (looking bewildered} : What is the significance
of it?
GERTRUDE : Have you ever heard of a llama suffering
from headaches or rheumatism ?
ANDREA : No, I can't say I have.
GERTRUDE (in mild triumph} : Well ! (Switches off and
begins writing.}
ANDREA (pulled, turns to Claud] : Well — can you see
the. . . ? (Takes in Claud's moody appearance, glances
towards the sun-deck and goes to him?) Have you found
out what he was up to, Claud? — because that's what
you look like.
CLAUD (grimly] : I have.
ANDREA : Was it money ?
CLAUD : It was.
ANDREA: Just a minute' (Returns to behind Gertrude,
stoops and speaks loudly in her ear.} You are switched
off, dear, aren't you ? (Waits a moment.}
[Gertrude goes on placidly writing.]
(Continuing — going again to Claud.} All right 1 Go on !
93
ACT TWO
CLAUD : He wants me to purchase you, Andrea.
ANDREA (uncomprehendingly) : Purchase me I
CLAUD : He wants me to pay him a sum of money in
return for the right to marry you.
ANDREA : Oh, for my freedom, you mean ?
CLAUD: That is what I mean.
ANDREA (ominously) : So, that's what it is ! That's why
he's " being fair ", and taking your part, and throw
ing the two of us together. I see 1 (Goes upstage and
calls.) Dudley!
[Dudley rises and comes in.}
(Returning to Claud.) Oh, darling, I am sorry. I do
feel so ashamed of him sometimes.
DUDLEY (appearing tentatively m the doorway) : Yes, dear ?
ANDREA (sweetly)-. Would you come here a minute?
[Dudley comes down a little apprehensively^
DUDLEY (left of Andrea) : Yes, dear ?
ANDREA (beginning with some restraint}: Dudley — I
don't mind when you come back from the dead.
(Advancing on him slowly.)
[Dudley backs away before her and casts an anxious glance
in the direction of Gertrude^
You can't help being alive; I realise that— and it's
not your fault that you still happen to be my husband.
(Suddenly bursting out furiously} But when you start
using the situation. . . .
[Dudley breaks away round couch, slips info the place beside
Gertrude and puts an arm about her as if seeking protection.
Gertrude turns her head, smiles vaguely, pats his hand, and
goes on writing^
94
TRIAL AND ERROR
... to take advantage of a man like Claud, simply
because you think he's rich and easily put upon
(leaning over and shouting across Gertrude] that I will not
have. D'you understand?
DUDLEY (cringing behind Gertrude} : Yes, dear.
ANDREA: Very well, then! (Slight pause, then, to
Claud.} How much is he asking, anyway?
CLAUD (irritably} : What does that matter ? It doesn't
make any difference what he's asking.
ANDREA (going to him — firmly} : Darling, you may be
ready to pay almost anything for me, but. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting — uncomfortably}: I don't mean
that, Andrea.
ANDREA: What do you mean, then, dear?
CLAUD : I'm not going to pay him at all.
ANDREA (with a little less enthusiasm — moving away centre} :
Oh I Well, that's all right, then — so long as you can
take care of yourself. But don't you hesitate to tell
me if he does start again, Claud 1 (With a severe look at
Dudley.} I never beard of such a thing. (Slight pause.
Then, trying not to sound curious.} Eim — how much did
he want for me, though?
DUDLEY (rising} : Well, I did think about ten thousand.
(Moves down left.}
ANDREA (secretly gratified, but trying to sound horrified} :
Ten thousand ?
DUDLEY: Yes.
ANDREA: Pounds?
DUDLEY: Certainly!
ANDREA (with diminished conviction}: It's outrageous 1
Don't you pay it, Claud !
CLAUD: I'm not going to, Andrea. I've just been
saying so.
[Andrea begins to look a little straight down her nose.]
95
ACT TWO
DUDLEY: But, now that I look at you, Andrea — I feel
it should be more.
CLAUD (rising) : Then look at me> my friend, and save
yourself some of the money you're not going to get!
ANDREA (a little acidly): There's no need to keep on
telling him that, Claud. It sounds awfully good, I
know, but. . . . (Breaks off.)
CLAUD : Keep on telling him what ?
ANDREA: That he's not going to get anything.
CLAUD (moving in to right of Andrea) : But I like telling
him he's not going to get anything.
ANDREA: I dare say you do. It's not very flattering
to me, though, is it?
CLAUD : Why not ?
ANDREA: Well, it sounds as if you'd rather let me go
altogether.
DUDLEY (reasonably)'. You know you'll have to pay
me in the end, old man, so what's the sense in. ...
CLAUD (interrupting: Now look! Once and for all —
I'm not going to pay you.
{Andrea's expression begins to harden.}
DUDLEY (moving in to left of Andrea — incredulously) : You
didn't expect me to let you have her for nothing,
did you ?
CLAUD: Well certainly! It never occurred to me.
DUDLEY: What didn't?
CLAUD: All this under-the-counter business.
DUDLEY: But how should I manage, old man? I've
nothing of my own. I've never earned a penny in my
life. I mean, how am I going to live?
CLAUD : I see not the slightest need for you to live.
DUDLEY: Look! I'll make it nine thousand, seven
hundred and fifty. How will that do ?
CLAUD : Can't you get it into your head, you parasite ?
It isn't a question of haggling. I'm not interested.
96
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Dudley shrugs, turns away, returns down left and sits.
Andrea is now looking very pent up.]
ANDREA (with a cold eye fixed on Claud] : I see. I'm
sorry. I didn't realise.
CLAUD : What didn't you realise ?
ANDREA (loudly): You don't think I'm worth nine
thousand, seven hundred and fifty ?
CLAUD : Of course I think you're worth nine thousand,
seven hundred and fifty. That's nothing to do with it.
One doesn't pay anything for a wife.
ANDREA: Oh, you would have accepted me as a gift,
then?
CLAUD: Well, naturally, I. ...
ANDREA (interrupting) : But, not if I cost anything I
CLAUD (loudly] : Not if you cost anything !
ANDREA: Right 1 Well, at least you're honest about
it. (Turns and stamps to staircase.] I don't mind thrift,
Claud, but if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a
mean man. (Mounts stairs.]
[Exit Andrea by staircase. Dudley nses, scoops up
Claud's hat, umbrella and brief-case from the floor, bears
them across to Claud and holds them out to him.]
CLAUD : What's the idea ?
DUDLEY (indicating the staircase} : Something it-lls me,
old man. . . .
[Claud's bag of golf-clubs descends the staircase with a crash,
and the shooting-stick, camera-case, brief-case, kit-bag, etc.,
etc.,folloiv in rapid succession. The cascade continues as the
Curtain descends}
97
ACT THREE
Scene i
Scene: The same, the next afternoon. Outside there is
brilliant sunlight. The kitchen door is open and the room ts
filled with the strident blaring of a military band heavily
engaged with " Poet and Peasant ".
Curtain discovers Mrs. O'Connor, dressed as before. She is
on the sun-deck, transferring tea-things from a tray to the
table.
Front door slams, off.
Enter Andrea from passageway. She is attractively
dressed for a sunny day. She comes in hurriedly, goes straight
to telephone, lifts receiver and dials once. Then, with some
diffidence, she gently closes the kitchen door. The music stops.
ANDREA (on telephone]: Atlee 4647, please 1 (Waits.')
Oh, Miss Winters, I'm so sorry, but it's me again. He
wasn't on that one. Are you sure he said he was
coming by train? — Oh — well I'll meet the next.
You — er — you did give him my message? Did he
seem pleased? Yes, it is difficult to tell with him,
isn't it? Well, thank you so much, Miss Winters!
I'll try not to bother you again. How arej/o# keeping
— all right ? That's right ! Good-bye ! (Hangs up and
opens kitchen door.}
]The music blares forth again.]
(Putting her head into the kitchen — loudly?) Oh 1 Excuse
me ! Can you tell me what time the. . . .
[The music stops.]
TRIAL AND ERROR
(continuing to shout} . . . next train gets in?
[The just-audible rumbling of a male voice is heard, off.]
Oh! Then is there a time-table, do you know?
[Again the rumble^
Oh — in the library. Thank you so muchl (Turns
away, leaving the door open, and moves down left.}
[The music starts again. "Exit Andrea into library. Mrs.
O'Connor enters the room, crosses and goes to the foot of the
staircase. Enter Bnggs, followed by ~R.on, on to sun-deck
from left. Miss Brzggs is slim, pretty, eager, intelligent,
diffident and very young. She wears a beret, sktrt, jersey
and sandals. Slung over her shoulder is a satchel. Ron,
equally callow, is gangling, untidy, amiable, loutish and not
very bright. He wears dirty grey flannel bags, a pullover,
open-necked shirt, no hat and a mid crop of hair. He carries
an alarming looking camera with a flash-bulb attachment
and slung from his shoulder is a leather case. He chews gum.
They enter very tentatively, yet with an air of suppressed
excitement.}
MRS. o'c. (calling up the stairs}: Your tea's ready.
(JListens for a reply, fails to hear one, goes to kitchen door
and closes it.}
[The music ceases, l&riggs ventures into the doonvay^\
(Keturns to staircase — calls.} I say, the tea's getting cold.
GERTRUDE (off}: Oh, thank you, Mrs. er — uml
MRS. o'c. (bitterly, to herself) : " Mrs. er — um " 1
[Briggs taps on the door jamb .]
99
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
(Turns — inhospitably.} Yes ?
BRIGGS (stepping in — timidly}'. Oh — excuse me! I'm
from The Sun.
MRS. o'c. (shghtly startled): Where?
BRIGGS (nervously): I — I'm a reporter.
MRS. o'c.: Oh! (Crossing to up centre.} What is it you
want?
BRIGGS: Is there a Mrs. Nightshade here, please?
MRS. o'c. : Not that 1 know of.
BRIGGS (nonplussed) : Oh ! (Exchanges an anxious glance
with Ron.} Isn't this Mrs. Fish's house?
MRS. o'c.: Certainly it is. There's no Mrs. Night
shade, though. There's a Mr. Nightshade — off and
on — and a Mrs. Merrilees, but nothing in between.
Why do you want to know ?
BRIGGS (coming into the room and going to Mrs. O'Connor) :
Well, you see, Mrs. Fish is a friend of my mother's,
and she knows that I'm just sort of — starting to be
a reporter, and she's terribly kind, and she rang up
my mother to say that this Mrs. Nightshade had —
had got a story that — that might do me a bit of good.
[Ron moves just inside the room.]
MRS. o'c. : And she said you'd find her here ?
BRIGGS: Yes.
MRS. o'c. (resignedly) : Well, of course, you may do,
by now, for all I know. Nobody ever troubles to
tell me who's staying here. (Moves to go, then halts}
Though, if you ask me — if it's something for the
newspapers — it's Mrs. Merrilees you want.
BRIGGS (eagerly): Is she in, please?
MRS. o'c. (pessimistically): She'll be coming in, I
suppose, some time or other, for her tea.
BRIGGS: May we wait ^
MRS. o'c.: Please yourself, my girl! (Moving to
100
TRIAL AND ERROR
kitchen door.] People come and go as they like in this
place.
[Exit Mrs. O'Connor into kitchen. Br/ggs turns away,
starts slightly at the burst of music accompanying Mrs.
O'Connor's exit, motions to Ron to join her., moves to left
end of recess and seats herself. Ron moves warily to her left
where he stands chewing watchfully. Both seem very over
awed. There is a slight pause. Enter Gertrude from stair
case. She is dressed as before. Briggs at once rises.]
GERTRUDE (going to couch — smiling vaguely}: How do
you do?
BRIGGS (starting forward] • How d'you do ?
[Gertrude sits left end of couch, takes out pad and begins to
write.]
(Glances uncertainly at Ron, then — to Gertrude.'} Excuse
me!
[There is, of course, no reply. Briggs, disconcerted, turns and
holds a hurried, whispered conference with Ron.]
GERTRUDE (looks up and switches on) : Have you come
to tea ?
BRIGGS (again starting towards Gertrude): No, thank
you. No, I. ...
GERTRUDE : Oh ! (Switches off and goes on writing?)
[Bnggs glances again at Ron, then crosses determinedly to
Gertrude who sivitches on and looks up enquiringly. Ron
edges down right a httle.}
BRIGGS (leaning over Gertrude): Excuse me — but are
you Mrs. Memlees ?
101
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
GERTRUDE : Oh no, dear — I'm Miss Pigeon.
BRIGGS : Oh ! — I'm so sorry. (Goes back to her seat and
sits}
[Gertrude switches off and goes on writing. Brzggs fakes a
notebook from her satchel and makes an entry. Ron sits
carefully, right end of recess. 1
GERTRUDE (switches on): Are you waiting for some
one?
\Enggs and Ron both rise instantly.]
BRIGGS (starting towards Gertrude again]: Mrs. Merri-
lees — I think.
GERTRUDE: Ohl But she's not Mrs. Mernlees now,
you know.
BRIGGS (dismayed) . Isn't she ?
GERTRUDE: No — she thought she was, but there's
been a muddle and she finds she isn't. (Looking
suddenly pulled.} I don't quite know what she is
now. She didn't say.
BRIGGS: Oh!
GERTRUDE (thinking it out] : I do know that she doesn't
intend to call herself by her first husband's name — so
I suppose she must be going back to Mrs. St. John
Willoughby — which is what she was in between.
(Switches off and goes on writing?)
BRIGGS (completely bewildered) : Oh ! — thank you ! (Goes
back to her seat, sits and makes a note?)
[Ron slowly re-seats himself. Enter Andrea from library.
She is studying a time-table. Briggs and Ron immediately
jump to their feet again.]
ANDREA (looks up] '. Oh — good afternoon 1 (Crosses to
them.}
IOZ
TRIAL AND ERROR
BRIGGS (starting fonvard}'. Good afternoon! I'm
Briggs, of The Sun.
ANDREA: Oh, yes!
BRIGGS (in a nervous rush}: Well, I'm not exactly on
The Sun; I'm just a sort of local correspondent, and
Mrs. Fish was kind enough. . . .
ANDREA (holding out her hand}- I know. She telephoned
me about you.
BRIGGS (shaking hands} : Oh, she did! Oh, you are the
lady!
ANDREA (extending her hand to R.ori) : How do you do ?
RON (shaking hands] : Hiya !
ANDREA: Well, do come and sit down, er — Briggs.
(Indicates couch.} I shall be delighted to give you an
" exclusive ".
BRIGGS (moving to couch, breathless with excitement] : Oh,
thank you! (Sits with notebook?) Er — is it Mrs. St.
JohnWilloughby?
[Row re-seats himself.}
ANDREA (at centre} : Oh, no, dear I That was the name
I took to conceal my identity. There's no need for
that any more.
BRIGGS : Oh ! (Hesitates with pencil poised} I — don't
quite know what to call you, then.
ANDREA: Well, strictly, of course, I'm Mrs. Night
shade. . . .
BRIGGS (in relief) : Oh, you are! (Begins making a note.}
ANDREA: But I don't propose to be called that,
because that would be unkind to Mr. Merrilees.
[Considers} Perhaps you'd better use my maiden
name for the ttme being. There seems to be nothing
else left.
BRIGGS : What ts that, please ?
ANDREA: Miss Pigeon!
103
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
BRIGGS : Oh ! (Glances in a confused way at Gertrude and
makes another note.} And is it true, Miss Pigeon, that
you are a rather notorious pers. . . . I — I mean a
rather famous person who was supposed to have —
have murdered. . . ? (Breaks off with a nervous little
laugh.}
ANDREA: Yes. (In mild surprise.} Didn't you know
about it ?
BRIGGS (apologetically} : I'm sorry. I was at school.
ANDREA: Ohl
BRIGGS: They didn't let us read that sort of thing.
ANDREA : No — of course not !
BRIGGS : And now he's turned up again ?
ANDREA: Yes.
BRIGGS: And — and what does that mean, Miss
Pigeon ?
ANDREA (crossing to left of couch} : Well, that means,
you see, that if Mr. Merrilees and I want to stay
married — which we never really were, of course — I
shall now have to get a divorce and be married again,
although it was only on Thursday that we were
married.
BRIGGS (frantically trying to make notes — looking up tn
agitated bewilderment}: I — er — I don't think I quite. . . .
ANDREA : Because Dudley and I. ...
GERTRUDE (suddenly looking up and switching on} : Did
you say something, dear ?
ANDREA: No, darling! . . .
[Gertrude switches off and goes on writing.}
(Turning to library door.} Perhaps we'd better go in
here. (Opens door for Briggs}
[Ro» rises.}
104
TRIAL AND ERROR
BRIGGS (rising and going down left}'. Please, Miss
Pigeon — who's Dudley — Mr. Merrilees ?
ANDREA: No, dear, Mr. Nightshade. Though he's
not really Dudley at all. He's Roderick.
[Exit Briggs into library looking thoroughly confused.]
I only call him Dudley because. . . .
[Exit Andrea into library. Left alone, ROM sinks back
on to his seat, looking more uncomfortable than ever. Enter
Dudley on to sun-deck from left. He wears now an altogether
more " summery " outfit — sports-jacket, scarf, slacks,
piebald shoes, etc. He comes into the room and moves
towards Gertrude, registering considerable curiosity at the
presence of Ron (who rises slowly and returns his ga^e with
a sort of trapped look}. Continuing on to left of couch, he
bends over Gertrude, switches on her " aid " and kisses her.]
GERTRUDE (/« pleased surprise — at once reaching round and
patting his face} : Oh — Dudley !
DUDLEY : Hullo, darling ! Having a nice time ?
GERTRUDE : Lovely, dear, lovely 1 I didn't know you
were coming today.
DUDLEY: Andrea sent for me.
GERTRUDE: Oh!
[Ron slowly sits again."\
DUDLEY : You don't know what she wants me for, I
suppose ?
GERTRUDE: No, dear. (Thinks.} Unless it's to put a
new flint in her lighter. She did say it needed one.
(Beckons him close to her and adds confidentially?) I don't
think that Mr. O'Connor's very good with his hands,
you know.
105
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
DUDLEY: No.
[Enter Bnggsfrom library.}
BRIGGS (she jerks her head at Ron from the doorway, then
sees Dudley): Oh! Excuse me! (Withdraws again.}
[Ron rises with alacrity and rushes across, nearly colliding
with Dudley. Exit Ron into library^
DUDLEY (quite startled} : Who are they ?
GERTRUDE: I don't know, dear.
DUDLEY (indicating library} : Is Andrea with them ?
GERTRUDE (looks vaguely round the room} : I suppose she
must be. She was here just now.
[Dudley moves to the library door and stands listening.']
(Continuing.} Is that all, then, for the moment ?
DUDLEY (turning away from the door and moving to behind
couch} : Yes, dear. You get on with your letter.
GERTRUDE: Yes. (Switches off and addresses a stamped
envelope.}
DUDLEY (with a preoccupied air — leaning over Gertrude, as
if talking to her} : Now, why did she send for me —
huh ? It can't be that she's decided that she wants me
back, can it ? Or, can it ? It might be, you know — if
only to annoy him. The thing is, though — what do I
do if it is that ? Do I have her and risk it — or what ?
I'm damned if I know. (Comes round couch, seats himself
next Gertrude and claims her attention.}
[Gertrude switches on.}
I'm sorry to disturb you again.
GERTRUDE: Oh, it isn't that, dear. (Indicating bag.}
My high tension's getting a little low, that's all.
1 06
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY: I won't keep you.
GERTRUDE: Well?
DUDLEY: Aunt Gertrude— -you know Andrea, don't
you?
GERTRUDE (pusgled) : Knoiv her, dear ! Of course I do.
What are you talking about ?
DUDLEY: I mean, you know her very well — better
than anyone, perhaps ?
GERTRUDE (considers}: I think, perhaps, I do — now
that dear Maggie is gone. She lived with her, of
course.
DUDLEY (registers a slight spasm of anxiety) : Yes. Well,
you never doubted her, did you ? At the trial, I mean.
GERTRUDE: At the trial, dear? Why should I? It
was all stuff and nonsense — especially that young
woman who said she saw her do it.
DUDLEY (earnestly) : You — you just knew she wouldn't
do a thing like that?
GERTRUDE (quite scornfully) : With somebody looking
on ? Of course not 1 She has far too much sense.
DUDLEY: But apart from that, I mean — didn't you
feel that she was — well, too essentially kind to — to
kill anyone?
GERTRUDE (pats Dudley's knee] : My dear — I've known
Andrea draw blood from the head of an under-
gardener with a hoe — simply because he drowned a
half-grown rat in the water-butt. Now if that doesn't
show an essential kindness, I don't know what does.
DUDLEY (as if surprised at his own reaction) : I do know
what you mean by that.
GERTRUDE: And that was when she was only ten, so
she's not very likely to drown a full-sized man in an
ocean at the age of thirty-two herself, is she ?
DUDLEY (beginning to look reassured) : No.
GERTRUDE ; YOU know how fond I am of you, dear !
107
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
[Dudley smiles and lays a hand on hers.]
Well, you don't think I should have gone on leaving
my money to her if I had thought she'd pushed you
in the sea, surely.
[Dudley pricks up bis ears.]
Why, she would never have seemed the same to me
again.
DUDLEY (trying to sound off-hand] : Oh — you've left her
your money ! I didn't know.
GERTRUDE : Indeed I have ! All of it — now ! I wrote
and told them so.
DUDLEY: Who, dear?
GERTRUDE: The Government! I was going to let
them have some of it, because they seemed so worried
about money. But after treating Andrea like that. . . 1
DUDLEY: I should think so, indeed!
GERTRUDE : And not a word of apology, mind you —
even when they had to let her go. (Suddenly perplexed.}
But why do you keep on asking me that ?
DUDLEY (looking blank} : What ?
GERTRUDE : Whether I doubted her, dear ?
DUDLEY: I haven't asked you before.
GERTRUDE : Haven't you ? Are you sure ?
DUDLEY: Certain!
GERTRUDE (thinks}: Ah, yes — now I remember. It
was Mr. Merrilees. Yesterday! Before he left.
(Suddenly looks pulled again.} But why should you
ask me at all. It seems such a funny question forjw/
to ask. You don't think she murdered him, do you ?
DUDLEY: Murdered who?
GERTRUDE : Oh, but of course it was you, wasn't it ?
Yes — I must get on. (Switches off and sticks down
envelope?)
108
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Lacking thoughtful Dudley rises and begins to move round
right of couch.]
(Switching on again.} By the way — you're not going to
let him have her, are you ?
DUDLEY (leans over her) : Do you know, dear — I don't
think I am.
GERTRUDE: That's right! (Pats his hand, rises and
starts up left.} I must take this to the post.
DUDLEY (going to her] : I'll do that for you.
GERTRUDE : Oh, mil you ? You are kind. (Hands him
letter.}
DUDLEY: Which way's the box?
GERTRUDE: It's, um — let me seel Well, I'll come
with you, dear, shall I, and show you ? (Turning to
staircase.} I'll get my hat.
Gertrude by staircase. Dudley smiles indulgently and
wanders down centre putting the letter in his pocket. Enter
Andrea followed by Briggs followed by Ron from library.}
ANDREA (crossing to Dudley}: Oh, here is Mr. Night
shade now. Dudley, dear, this is Briggs — a little
friend of Valerie's who's on The Sun.
DUDLEY (with a flattering note of interest}'. Indeed 1
(Bows faintly.}
BRIGGS : How do you do ?
ANDREA (indicating Ron) : And Mr. um. . . .
RON (lifting an arm} : Hiya 1
[Dudlej lifts his arm to Ron, then stands gravely attentive.}
ANDREA: I've given her an interview and had my
picture taken looking at my two marriage certificates.
Actually they were old dog licences belonging to
Valerie, but they were all we could find and it won't
109
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
show. Good evening, dear 1 (Presents her cheek to him.}
DUDLEY (kissing her} i Hullo, darling! (Puts an arm
about her shoulders.}
BRIGGS (still in a state of anxious confusion — to Andrea} :
Excuse me — I — I'm terribly sorry — but I still haven't
got it quite clear. (Indicating Dudley.} Is this the
gentleman you've just married?
DUDLEY (all charm and affability}: No. I'm the one
who went in the sea.
BRIGGS (excitedly — going to Dudley}: Ohl Oh, I
wonder whether. . . . Oh, could I persuade you
to. ...
DUDLEY (cutting in} : Make a statement ? Of course 1
I should be delighted. What would you like me to
tell you about ?
BRIGGS: Oh, anything, Mr. Nightshade, anything,
but — but. . . . (Breaks off.}
DUDLEY (encouragingly) : Yes ?
BRIGGS : Well, if you could say something about — how
you got in the sea. . . .
DUDLEY: Certainly! (Considers momentarily.}
[Bnggs tarns and sits on right end of couch, with notebook.]
(Takes his arm from about Andrea and wanders don'n right.}
You can say this — and quote me. (Dictating.} I
returned to this country a few weeks ago — after
having lam for nine months — in an African. . . .
(Hesitates.}
[Dudley meets Andrea' 's eye fleetingly. Brtggs scribbles
madly.}
. . . hospital — with amnesia.
BRIGGS (looks up startled} : Who did you say ?
DUDLEY: Loss of memory.
no
TRIAL AND ERROR
BRIGGS: Oh I (Continues writing}
DUDLEY (moving back to Andrea] : At first I was unable
to establish contact with my wife. When finally I
did so — I was shocked and astonished to learn — that,
in my absence — she had been charged with my death.
The allegation — that she pushed me in the sea — is,
of course (again puts bis arms about Andrea, and smiles
at her) the foulest calumny.
ANDREA (deeply appreciative)*. Dudley! How nice of
youl
BRIGGS (holding up her hand like a schoolgirl} : Please!
DUDLEY: Yes?
BRIGGS : What's cal — calum. . . ?
DUDLEY : A calumny, Briggs, is a false and malicious
accusation. A defamation — a slander. She fought
like a wild thing to save my life.
ANDREA: Oh, you can do the sweetest and most
unexpected things, Dudley.
DUDLEY (to Bnggs — looking smug} : Will that do ?
BRIGGS (still scribbling}-. Oh — boy!
DUDLEY (removing his arm from Andrea} : Now — would
you like a picture ?
BRIGGS (rising and putting away notebook}: Oh, please!
DUDLEY (considers]; Well (Taking Andrea's arm
and walking her down left} What about my wife in the
chair (thrusts Andrea into the chair) and me on the arm ?
(Sits on the arm and puts his arm about Andrea} Like
this?
[Ron, who has been hanging about uncertainly, left, is
suddenly electrified at the prospect of a picture and rushes
to confront the group.]
BRIGGS : Wonderful ! Eh, Ron ?
RON (down left centre crouching with camera} : Smashin' !
ANDREA (suddenly rising and moving away to couch} : No —
I don't think so, Dudley, if you don't mind.
in
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
[Briggs and Ron look dismayed.}
DUDLEY (a httle startled} : Not ?
ANDREA: Not without Claud, dear. It wouldn't be
in very good taste.
DUDLEY (rising — resentfully): What do you mean ? I'm
your husband.
ANDREA: Only on paper, though. Don't lose sight
of that!
DUDLEY (aggressively) : I've every intention of. ...
ANDREA (to Briggs — interrupting): So if you don't
mind waiting a httle while. . . ?
BRIGGS : Not at all !
[Dudley goes huffily upstage. Ron is the picture of resentful
disappointment.}
ANDREA (quite apologetically, to Ron): Then they can
both be in it.
BRIGGS: Yes.
ANDREA (crossing to library door and opening if) : Then
perhaps you'd go back in here, dear, would you?
BRIGGS (moving left] : Certainly!
[Ron follows sullenly}
ANDREA: I want to talk to Mr. Nightshade before
Mr. Merrilees gets here.
[Exit Briggs followed by Ro/i into library. Andrea closes
library door, turns and looks thoughtfully at Dudley.}
DUDLEY (moving down centre not too pleased) : You've sent
for him, then, have you ?
ANDREA: Yes.
DUDLEY: What for?
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA: Because I want to tell him how deeply
ashamed of myself I am.
DUDLEY: Ashamed! Why?
ANDREA : For being angry with him for showing the
very qualities for which I married him.
DUDLEY (scornfully) : You're referring, I take it, to his
rather marked integrity, honour and — what have you ?
ANDREA : Yes, dear ! His integrity, honour and what
you haven't. (Moves to chair down left.}
DUDLEY (acidly) : Why trouble to send for me, then ?
ANDREA: To take up your offer, Dudley. (Sits?)
DUDLEY (astonished} : What?
ANDREA: The one you made to him.
DUDLEY: Pay the ten thousand yourself, you mean?
ANDREA: Nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty —
to be exact.
DUDLEY (impressed): Well — you do want him, don't
you
ANDREA: I do.
DUDLEY: He wouldn't have been worth all that to
you this time last week, however.
ANDREA (ironically intrigued) : He wouldn't ?
DUDLEY: No. It's a good thing I realise that — other
wise I might be hurt.
ANDREA: What's happened in the meantime then —
to make him seem less worthless ?
DUDLEY (falling into the trap} : I've come back.
ANDREA: Ahl Yes — I do see that.
DUDLEY (undismayed} : You have a use for him now ^
ANDREA : Hadn't I a use for him before ?
DUDLEY: Only as a moral soporific.
ANDREA: And what has he become since you came
back?
DUDLEY (moving towards her} : Something in the nature
of a sanctuary, dear I
ANDREA: A what?
113
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
DUDLEY : A haven, a harbour, a port in a storm.
ANDREA : What storm ?
DUDLEY (leans over her, pointing to his chest) : Me !
ANDREA (flattening herself against the back of the chair) :
Have you any idea what you're talking about?
DUDLEY: I am talking about your constitutional
inability to resist me, Andrea.
ANDREA (falsely incredulous): My what!
DUDLEY : Which is better known to you than anyone.
So don't pretend you don't know what I mean !
ANDREA (trying to bluster) : Are you suggesting. . . ?
DUDLEY (leaning closer — interrupting}: Yes. So long as
you're free to return to me — I have only to do that
(snaps his fingers) and you will.
ANDREA (staring at him unbelievingly) : Return to you I
DUDLEY: Willy-nilly! Against your better judgment.
Whether you like it or not. (Straightens up.}
ANDREA (at once escaping from the chair and moving away
right trying not to hurry) : You're demented.
DUDLEY (moving slowly after her) : You have no defences
where I'm concerned — and you know it.
ANDREA: That's nonsense! (Realises he is following, so
turns defensively and backs away as he advances?)
DUDLEY: You're helpless — and you know you're
helpless.
ANDREA (brought to a halt by chair down right; getting
really agitated} : Well, you keep away, because. . . .
DUDLEY (moving close up to her — interrupting}: I have
only to touch you. . . . (Takes her deliberately in his
arms.}
ANDREA (leaning away from him — sharply} : Dudley 1
DUDLEY (drawing her to him} : . . . and you're sunk !
ANDREA: Dudley \
[Dudley kisses her. At first she resists, then, by degrees, the
kiss becomes mutual.}
114
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (as their lips part} : See ?
ANDREA (very shaken}: What do you think you're
doing ?
DUDLEY (still holding her) : Demonstrating, dear, that's
all.
ANDREA (pushing herself away from htm and going to centre} :
Well, stop demonstrating and get down to business.
I — I've got a train to meet.
DUDLEY (moving after her — with a leer}\ I am getting
down to business.
ANDREA: Oh, I see! Pushing the price up ! All right,
I'll make it eleven thousand.
[Dudley shakes his head, moves close up to her and begins
again to take her in his arms.]
Twelve, then!
[At right end of couch, unable to back away.]
[Again be kisses her. Again she reciprocates.]
(The fight gone out of her — remaining with her arms about
his neck — anxiously.} You don't mean that you do
want me back, though, do you — not really ?
DUDLEY: I do want you back.
ANDREA (in growing dismay)'. But, Dudley, we're a
terrible mixture. You must be joking.
DUDLEY: Do I seem to be joking?
ANDREA (wailingly) : No.
DUDLEY (gently) : I'll try to do better, this time, dear.
ANDREA : Oh, but I do so want to live in peace — with
someone I can respect, Dudley.
[Dudley's expression hardens.]
(Imploringly.} Dudley — please — if you've the slightest
"5
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
regard for my happiness! He's so much nicer than
you are.
[Affronted, Dudley removes her arms from about bis neck
and crosses down left.}
T$;'rteen thousand I
DUDLEY (loudly) : No !
ANDREA: But, Dudley. . . !
DUDLEY: You're not for sale. (Grabs a magazine from
coffee-table and sits, couch.}
ANDREA : But, yesterday you said. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting) : I've changed my mind. (Opens
ANDREA (stares at him helplessly a moment, then, suddenly
stamping with anger} : Well, I'm not going to have it,
that's all. (Going up right.} It isn't fair using your
beastly charm like that. It — It's blackmail — that's
what it is. (Coming back again.} Why have you changed
your mind, anyway ?
DUDLEY (unsurely) : Because — well, because I. ...
ANDREA (interrupting} : That, of course, I don't believe.
DUDLEY: As you please! (Begins to look at magazine,}
ANDREA (going up left}: Something's convinced you
that I'm worth keeping, that's all. (Pauses to think.}
\Dudlej maintains a discreet silence.}
Either you've discovered that I'm richer than you
thought, or you've managed to satisfy yourself that
I didn't push you in the sea — or something. (Again
pauses, and suddenly her look of resentment gives place to
one of mischief. She moves down to behind couch and leans
over him.} Well, as a matter of fact — and if you really
want to know — I did!
DUDLEY (looking up} : Did what ?
116
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA : Push you in the sea. And you can put that
in your pipe and. . . . Now what are you grinning
at?
DUDLEY (smiling tn a superior way — returns fo magazine) :
Really, Andrea!
ANDREA (straightens up}: Oh — I suppose you think
I'm just saying thatl
DUDLEY: You're slipping, my poppet!
ANDREA: All right! So you think I'm just trying to
scare you off! (Again leaning over — her mouth close to his
ear — evilly insinuating.} You can't be sure, though,
can you — not quite sure ^
DUDLEY: I'm reasonably so. (He ts still amused.}
ANDREA (trying to look like " Mr. Hyde "): Are you?
Why? Why even reasonably sure? Because you
wouldn't expect me to do such a thing? We don't
all look like it, you know. Babyface Nelson, for
instance !
DUDLEY (looks at her. The grin leaves his face} : Well —
it's a risk I'm prepared to take, anyway.
ANDREA : Very well ! (Moving away down right.} But I
should think twice before thwarting a woman of my
reputation. You don't get all that smoke without
some fire, Dudley. (Goes up towards doors.}
DUDLEY: That, of course, like most proverbs, is a
complete fallacy. (But a look of disquiet has come into
his eyes.}
ANDREA (at glass doors} : Well — so long v& you're happy
about it! (Goes out, turns and comes back again —
indicating Dudley's magazine.} I shouldn't start reading
any serials, though. (Again goes out}
[Dudley throws down the magazine and looks alarmed.
Andrea again returns^
ANDREA (still with a sinister air} : I spoke to Valerie
this morning.
117
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
DUDLEY: Uh?
ANDREA: She told me something you might care to
ponder, too.
DUDLEY: Oh?
ANDREA: Yes. If you're tried for something, and
you get let off — you can't be charged again — not with
the same offence. Did you know that ?
DUDLEY : What about it ?
ANDREA: Well — I have been tried for murdering you
once, haven't I ? (Goes out?)
[Exit Andrea from sun-deck to left. Dudley rises, looking
quite shaken. He goes down left. 'Enter Mrs. O'Connor from
kitchen. "There is the usual burst of MUSIC as the door opens
and closes. Dudley sits, chair down left, Mrs. O'Connor
crosses up right, looks out at the tea-table and turns back
again, rolling her eyes to heaven in exasperation. She goes
back to the kitchen and is about to enter when then is a
knock at the front door. Mrs. O'Connor again registers
suffering, and goes into passageway. Dudley, becoming
aware of something uncomfortable in his chair, scrabbles a
moment and produces a book. Enter Claud from passage
way. He wears a black coat and pin-stripe trousers, and
carries a newspaper in addition to his bowler, brief-case and
umbrella. Dudley suddenly becomes electrified at the book.]
DUDLEY: Good God!
CLAUD (crossing briskly right] : Good evening ! (Puts his
umbrella on sideboard, continues to recess, sits left end, puts
his hat and brief-case on table, takes out his spectacles and
opens paper.)
[Mrs. O'Connor re-appears from the passageway, making
for the kitchen^
DUDLEY (to Mrs. O'Connor — rising and going upstage}: I
say!
118
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Mrs. O'Connor halts bleakly.}
Who's reading this — d'you know ? (Holds tip book.}
MRS. o'c. : I have no idea what goes on in this house,
Mr. Nightshade. (Glances in Claud's direction and goes
out.}
[Burst of music. Exit Mrs. O'Connor into kitchen.}
DUDLEY (crossing to Claud} \ It isn't yours, I suppose?
CLAUD (looking up — -frigidly] : What isn't mine ?
DUDLEY (indicating book} : The Crimes of the Borgias.
CLAUD : She brought it with her — on her honeymoon.
DUDLEY: Oh!
CLAUD: She likes to read in bed, I understand.
(Retires behind paper.}
DUDLEY: Did she seem to enjoy it?
CLAUD (angrily] : How the hell should I know ?
[Dudley stares sullenly at Claud and moves away down left.}
DUDLEY (after a slight pause)'. Why didn't you let me
know you were coming^ You could have driven
down with me. (Puts book down on coffee-table.}
CLAUD: Thank you, but I prefer the wholesome
squalor of British Railways. (Lowers paper and looks at
him.} And before you make any further effort to be
friendly — I may tell you that I'm fully aware you were
lying when you said you could remember whether
Andrea pushed you in the sea. (Retires behind paper
again}
DUDLEY: Oh I (Slight pause.} Well look! D'you mind
if I ask you something ?
CLAUD : The point is, of course, academic. You will
ask me in any case. (Gives Dudley his attention.} Well ?
DUDLEY (going to Claud— looking worried}: Well, you
119
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
know the law about being tried twice for the same
offence! You can't be; you know that, don't you?
CLAUD : Not once you've been acquitted, of course !
DUDLEY- Quite I Well, Andrea's got hold of that,
and she seems to think it means she could bump me
off, now, any time she liked, and nobody could do a
thing about it.
CLAUD (with a short laugh} : Ingenious, anyway ! (Goes
back to paper.}
DUDLEY (going down right; anxiously seeking reassurance) :
That can't be right, though, surely? It wouldn't be
the same offence if she did it again — would it ?
CLAUD : Hardly an offence at all, in my view.
DUDLEY: No, seriously. . . !
CLAUD : Andrea has a genius for misinterpreting the
law. We know that. I don't know what comfort it
would be, though, with a knife in your back, to
reflect that it got there illegally.
DUDLEY (glaring at htm} : You sweet thing 1 (Goes up
centre.}
CLAUD (looking up} : From all of which I take it that
you are planning to live with her again.
DUDLEY: Well, as a matter of fact, I am — though I'm
damned if I know what I've said to suggest it.
CLAUD: A certain concern for your personal safety
suggests it. (Goes back to paper.}
DUDLEY (suddenly resentful}'. You're just plain bloody
callous, of course. You don't seem to think it matters.
CLAUD (tolerantly} : I can see that it matters to you.
DUDLEY : Doesn't it matter to you too ? I thought you
didn't like women who went in for that sort of thing.
CLAUD: I don't.
DUDLEY (turning to Claud in sudden alarm} : You don't
mean you're dropping out, do you ?
CLAUD (looking up — surprised} : Would you mind ?
DUDLEY: Well, of course I'd mind if it meant you
120
TRIAL AND ERROR
didn't beheve m her. If I'm going to have her back,
I shall need all the moral support I can get. (Moves
away left.}
CLAUD (going back to his paper}: Well — if it's any
comfort to you — I'm not dropping out.
DUDLEY (relieved} : Ah ! You do believe in her, then !
(Sits L,. arm of couch.}
CLAUD: Not yet! Not implicitly! No! . . .
DUDLEY (startled} : Uh ?
CLAUD : I do know how to find out about her though.
DUDLEY (rising}: What? (Going to Claud} What did
you say?
CLAUD (looking up} : I said — " I do know how to find
out about her though ", I've given the matter con
siderable thought and (very deliberately) I now know
how to find out about her. Is that clear ?
DUDLEY: I suppose it's not the least use asking you
how?
CLAUD (rises, takes off his glasses and thrusts his face into
Dudley's — loudly}: Not the slightest!
DUDLEY (suddenly furious}: You know — I've been try
ing to like you, for Andrea's sake. . . .
[Front door slams.]
but, from now on, so help me. . . .
[Enter A.ndrea from passageway, hurriedly. Dudley turns
away left fuming. Claud picks up brief-case.}
ANDREA (at once running to Claud — delightedly} : Darling
— you're here! (Flings herself at him and kisses him
ardently?) I missed you. You must have come the
other way.
CLAUD (stiffly] : Yes.
ANDREA: I'm so glad to see you. (Kisses him again?)
I've been so wretched, waiting.
121
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE,
CLAUD: Wretched? Why?
ANDREA: Didn't they tell you? (Indicating Dudley.}
Didn't he tell you ?
DUDLEY: What?
ANDREA (to Dudley): How sorry I am for throwing
him out last night.
DUDLEY: No, I'm damned if I. ...
ANDREA (interrupting} : Well, I do think you might
have done, Dudley.
CLAUD (a lit tie sourly) ; Oh, I got all that, all right —
from Miss Winters.
ANDREA (relieved} : Oh, you did !
CLAUD • And from the porter at the club.
ANDREA : And am I forgiven ? (She is still clinging to
him.} Well, I must be, mustn't I — otherwise you
wouldn't be here ?
CLAUD : As a matter of fact, Andrea, I was coming
anyway. (Patting brief-case.} I wanted to see you
about something.
ANDREA: Oh!
[Enter Gertrude from staircase. She now wears her hat, and
carries the cricket bat.]
GERTRUDE (to Dudley} : I'm ready, dear !
DUDLEY (uncotaprehendingly) : Huh ?
GERTRUDE • Didn 't you say you had to go to the post ?
DUDLEY (drawing the letter from his pocket}: Oh! Yes!
(Moves left.}
[Gertrude turns towards passageway.]
What are you taking that for ? (Indicates bat.}
GERTRUDE (halting}: What, dear? This? Oh, yes, I
brought it down to do it up. I want to send it.
DUDLEY (taking bat from her} : Well, Claud's your man
for that.
122
TRIAL AND ERROR
GERTRUDE : Is he ?
DUDLEY (going to Claud] : Certainly he is. He used to
play for Kent. (Hands bat to Claud then returns up left.}
GERTRUDE: Oh, well, that's lovely! (To Claud —
graciously,} Thank you so much I
[Exeunt Gertrude and Dudley into passageway,]
ANDREA (going to couch — resentfully) : Honestly — I could
murder that man sometimes. (Sits left end.}
CLAUD : Where is the paper and string, Andrea ?
ANDREA : Oh, leave it for the moment, dear ! (Patting
the place beside her.} Let's talk while there's a little
peace in the place.
[Claud follows and sits ivit>h the bat and brief-case across his
lap — and at once begins to take out his spectacles. Andrea
chngs to him again.]
Darling, I want you to promise me something.
CLAUD: Yes?
ANDREA: In future, when I get mad with you for
being honourable — you're to take no notice!
CLAUD (perplexed} : Huh ?
ANDREA: It isn't reasonable of me.
CLAUD : Isn't it ?
ANDREA: No. Particularly when you think that it's
precisely for being what you are, that I married you.
CLAUD : What am I, then ? I've rather forgotten.
ANDREA: Well — honourable, Claud I
CLAUD: Oh! (Prepares to open brief-case.}
ANDREA: I'm apt to be unreasonable at times, you
know.
CLAUD (looking up, apparently surprised} : Are you ?
ANDREA: Yes. You'll learn that when you get to
know me better. Meanwhile, though, if you could
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
just remember, when I do hit you, or throw things
about, or anything. . . .
CLAUD : To ignore it !
ANDREA: Please! Or I shall worry about you. You
take things so seriously.
CLAUD (not very confidently}: Very well! (Returns to
brief-case?) I'll do what I can.
ANDREA: There's a dear! (Sits up and looks business
like?} Now — what did you want to see me about ?
CLAUD (takes out a huge wad of papers and puts them on
coffee-table} : This matter of bigamy, Andrea. (Takes
out a single remaining paper.}
ANDREA (looking blank) • What matter of bigamy?
CLAUD (stares at her) : Surely you must realise ?
ANDREA: What?
CLAUD: Well, that — technically, my dear, you've
committed. . . .
ANDREA: I have ?
CLAUD: Yes.
ANDREA (in astonishment} : In marrying you, you mean ?
CLAUD: Yes.
ANDREA (pugnaciously] : Who says so ?
CLAUD: Well, it's — it's obvious.
ANDREA (rising} : What's obvious ? I never heard such
nonsense in my life. (Grabbing papers from coffee-table.}
Have you been seeing that Sir Henry Thing again ?
CLAUD: This morning!
ANDREA (turning away left} : Ah ! I might have known.
(Returns to left of couch.} How can it possibly be bigamy
when I was a widow ?
CLAUD : But you weren't a widow.
ANDREA : Then how could I have killed him ?
CLAUD (patiently) : You didn't kill him. That's why
it's bigamy
ANDREA : I see. So it's a crime to kill your husband,
and it's a crime not to kill your husband. (Turning
124
TRIAL AND ERROR
away left.} That makes sense, I must say. Really, Claud,
it's too much. First it's murder, then it's bigamy.
What'U it be next — mayhem or nepotism? (Throws
the papers high into the air, so that they flutter down all
around Claud.}
[Claud waits until the last paper has floated to the floor :]
CLAUD: Is this the sort of thing I'm to ignore?
[Andrea turns to him aghast at what she has done.}
I was only going to relieve your mind about it,
anyway. (Puts away the paper.}
ANDREA (going back to couch and sitting beside him again) :
Oh, I am so sorry. Oh, please go on and relieve my
mind, darling.
[Claud looks uncertain, but remains unresponsive. The bat
still lies across his lap.]
Please!
CLAUD (getting out the paper again}: Very well! (R.eads.}
" Mrs. Nightshade would have been entitled to
assume that all proper enquiries had been made to
trace her husband before she was charged with his
murder."
ANDREA (surprised} : Did Sir Henry say that ?
CLAUD : He did !
ANDREA: Perhaps I've misjudged him.
CLAUD (reading on}: " Thus — although the murder
charge did not — for matrimonial purposes — create a
legal presumption of Mr. Nightshade's death, and
Mrs. Nightshade's second marriage was therefore
bigamous. ..."
ANDREA (sitting up — contentiously} : Now, look. . .
125
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
CLAUD (interrupting sharply} : Just a minute 1 (Glares at
her.}
[Andrea's fingers fly to her mouth as, startled, she again
recollects herself^
(Shakes the paper sternly and continues reading.} " It
would, nevertheless, provide an answer to a charge
of bigamy."
ANDREA (in a small voice} : Well, I should think so.
CLAUD: " And, this being so, I am confident that the
Director of Public Prosecutions would be prepared to
assure Mrs. Nightshade that he will not authorise
such a prosecution." (Lays paper on coffee-table and puts
away his glasses.}
ANDREA : Well — that is nice 1
[With a suddenly pre-occupied air Claud lays aside the brief
case, rises and moves away right — absently taking the bat
with htm.}
Dear Sir Henry 1 We must ask him to dinner some
time. (Extends herself along the couch.}
CLAUD: Yes.
ANDREA : Anything else ?
CLAUD (standing with his back to her} : Yes — Dudley 1 I
suggest that we kill him.
ANDREA (sitting up in astonishment} : What ?
CLAUD : I see no alternative, Andrea. We are utterly
in his power. And unless we are prepared to sacrifice
everything — there's nothing else to be done.
\Claudpauses. He seems to be listening for the effect of his
words. Andrea, expressionless, subsides, turns slowly and
faces the back of the couch. .]
iz6
TRIAL AND ERROR
I thought, perhaps — if we took him for a walk —
along the cliff-tops — at night. Or asked him to go
for a swim with us, or. ...
[There is a muffled sound from Andrea. Her shoulders are
shaking. Claud turns.}
(Hurrying to couch.} Andrea — you're crying ! (Leaning
over her.) Thank God, you're crying !
[Andrea turns and sits up. She is convulsed with laughter.}
ANDREA: Oh, Claud — you're wonderful!
CLAUD (angrily astonished'}: What the hell's funny
about that ?
ANDREA: What a way to find out what sort of a
person I am! I never knew anyone so artless.
CLAUD (shouting furiously): Blast you, Andrea! (Flings
away up right.} You are the most maddening creature.
ANDREA (rising and going after him}: I'm sorry to
laugh, dear, but if only you'd learn to trust me, this
sort of thing wouldn't happen. What would you have
done if I'd agreed^ (In renewed laughter, attaches herself
to his arm and drops her forehead on his shoulder}
[Claud fumes. Enter Briggs from library. She pokes her
head enquiringly round the door.}
BRIGGS : Excuse me 1 Did anyone call ?
ANDREA (leaves Claud and moves to right of couch — trying to
recover her composure} : Oh, I am sorry, Briggs. I forgot.
(To Claud.} This young kdy's a reporter, dear. I
promised her a picture. (In an exhausted way.} Oh,
dear 1 (Takes out a handkerchief and dabs at her eyes}
BRIGGS (coming excitedly into the room}: Is this Mr.
Merrilees, then?
127
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
ANDREA : Yes. (Looks at Claud and collapses again with
laughter.}
[Enter Ron from library. Sheepishly unobtrusive, be
remains down left.]
BRIGGS (crossing to Claud with notebook): Oh, Mr.
Merrilees — would you care to make a statement ?
CLAUD (at left end of recess— fiercely] : What about?
BRIGGS (at once flustered] : About — about your — your
plans — for — for the future.
CLAUD: What makes you think I plan my future?
(Sits.)
\Briggs retires in disorder. Enter Gertrude and Dudley
from passageway. Dudley looks at Claud with distaste and
comes to a halt.]
GERTRUDE (to Dudley): Thank you, dear!
[Exit Gertrude by staircase.]
ANDREA: Ah' Here's the other one! Come, Dudley'
[Dudley remains sullenly up left.]
(To Bnggs — moving round couch.} Where would you
like us — on this ? (Sits centre of couch and strikes a pose.}
[Briggs comes eagerly downstage. Again galvanised into
action Ron rushes to centre and crouches with his camera
directed at Andrea. Bnggs squats behind him.]
RON- Sooper ! (Begins doing things to his camera}
ANDREA : Come then, Dudley ! — Claud !
128
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Claud rises. With til grace both men mooch to behind
couch — Claud absently shouldering his cricket bat.]
(To Ron.") How would you like us ?
RON (considers momentarily}: Erm — well — how about
you two on the sofa holdin' hands, and the other. . . .
ANDREA (interrupting) : Which two ?
RON (faintly surprised} : You and the legal one I
[Dudley emits a short, aggravating laugh. Claud throws
him an angry look.]
ANDREA (to Dudley} : Ssh! (Encouragingly to Ron.} Yes,
go on!
RON : 'N' the other feller leanin' over the back lookin*
cheesed off?
BRIGGS (enthusiastically}: Oh — wizard!
CLAUD (glaring at Ron}: Listen, young man — if I
consent to appear in the same picture at all with this
(indicates Dudley} — this spiv, I'm. . . .
[Dudley starts and faces him.]
ANDREA (interrupting sharply} : Claud!
DUDLEY (to Claud — aggressively) : Look — I'm getting a
little tired of you, you know, one way and another.
I'm half inclined to. ...
ANDREA (interrupting sharply}: Dudley! (Sternly.}
Come and sit down!
[Muttering mutinously, Dudley comes round couch, sits left
of Andrea, folds his arms, crosses his legs and turns his head
away.]
(To Claud.} Both of you!
B 129
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
[Claud comes round couch, sits right of Andrea, with the bat
across his lap, crosses his legs and turns his head away.]
(In an undertone.} You ought to be ashamed of your
selves. (Strikes a pose, then to Bnggs and Ron.} There !
How will that do ? (Puts on a smile.}
[Bnggs and Ron survey the group doubtfully.}
RON (plaintively)'. Couldn't one of 'em put his arm
round you, or something ?
ANDREA (doubtfully] : Well, I. ... (Breaks off with a
glance at Claud.}
BRIGGS: And the other hold your hand — to make it
fair?
DUDLEY (to Bnggs — uncrossing his arms and legs and
sittingfonvard} : Let's get this clear, shall we ? I'm the
lady's husband. If there's anything like that to be
done — J do all of it — see ?
BRIGGS (intimidated}: Yes, Mr. Nightshade! (Rises
and retreats down right.}
DUDLEY (indicating Claud}: This person is nothing
more than a rather doubtful boy-friend, and. . . .
[Claud starts, uncrosses his legs and turns to face Dudley.]
ANDREA (interrupting) : Be quiet, Dudley 1
CLAUD (bristling across Andrea} : May I say that I find
that offensive?
ANDREA (turning to Claud} You be quiet too\
DUDLEY (truculently}: That's exactly what you're
meant to find, and if you want to make something of
it. ...
CLAUD (rising and flourishing bat — overlapping from
"find"}: In that case, perhaps you'd care to come
outside and repeat it ?
130
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (beginning to rise) : Certainly, I'll. . . .
ANDREA : Stop it — the pair of you !
[Both subside and re-seat them selves >fumtng\
(To Ron.) I think they'd better just sit, if you don't
mind.
RON (shrugs resignedly] : O.K. 1 (Crouches and begins to
focus camera?)
DUDLEY (muttering}: Let him get his damn picture,
and I'll have the greatest pleasure in coming outside.
(Turns his head away?)
\Ron puts camera down and goes to Dudley.]
CLAUD: Good!
RON (to Dudley): Would you mind just. . . ? (Seizes
one of his legs and crosses tt over the other?) That's right 1
Looks more cosy, see ? (Stands off and looks at him?)
DUDLEY (muttering}: Teach you some manners, per
haps!
[Ron steps forward and turns Dudley1 s head to face Andrea]
CLAUD: Manners, eh? (Laughing mirthlessly.} Huh,
huh ! That's likely. (Turns his head away?)
[Ron returns to his camera picks it up and crouches again]
DUDLEY (muttering) : Sitting there like a. ...
RON (to Claud — interrupting} : You put your arm along
the back, will you ?
[Claud complies]
'S the idea. Look at the lady, though!
131
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
[Claud complies.}
(To Briggs with pride} How's that ?
BRIGGS (coming back and again crouching behind him.}:
Colossal!
RON: O.K., then I (Directs camera again.}
DUDLEY (under his breath}: Fatuous assl I'll knock
his. . . .
ANDREA (under her breath} : Will you be quiet ?
RON : Think of somethin' nice, now !
BRIGGS (imploringly} : Please look happy !
[Andrea resumes her false smile. Dudley and Claud
achieve a tortured travesty of a grin. All are still.}
RON: Hold it, now! Hold it!
[The attachment on the camera emits a flash.}
Oke ! Now, let's have. . . .
DUDLEY 1 (Together— jumping to their J Right!
CLAUD J feet}: 1 Now then!
[Both make for the glass doors. Ron, holding his camera
protectively above his bead, is nearly bowled over in the rush.
Briggs retreats in panic > down right.}
ANDREA (rising}: Don't be so childish, Claud!
Dudley! (Starts up right.}
CLAUD : I'm sorry, my dear. (Goes out on to sun-deck —
still with the cricket bat.}
DUDLEY: He asked for it. (Goes out on to sun-deck.}
[Exeunt Claud and Dudley from sun-deck to right. Ron is
following enthusiastically with his camera.}
132
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA (to Ron) : You come back here !
RON (halting) : Can't I just. . . ? (Indicates camera.)
ANDREA : No, you can not.
[Crestfallen, Ron returns down right.]
(To Brz'ggs.) And don't you dare print any otthis, you
know.
BRIGGS: Oh, no, Miss Pigeon, I wouldn't think
of. ...
[The voices of Dudley and Claud are heard angrily upraised,
off. The others turn in their direction, listening fascinated^
DUDLEY: Now then, you drip!
CLAUD : Are you prepared to withdraw what you. . . ?
DUDLEY: I withdraw nothing. You're a. ...
CLAUD: Right 1
DUDLEY : You put that. . . .
CLAUD 1 f Take your beastly. . . !
Agh! Ugh! Let go you
. . . ! Uph! I'll jolly
soon. . . .
> (Together):
DUDLEY Don't you. . . ! Oh, you
would, would you? All
right, you pompous clot,
I'll knock your. . . . Oooh !
[Grunts ; gasps, and the sound of blows follow. Finally there
is a musical, percussive sound, as of a wooden object descend
ing upon a human head — and then silence]
ANDREA (turning a scared face to the others) : Why has it
gone so quiet ?
133
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
[Enter Claud on to sun-deck from right. His hair is ruffled;
his clothes are disordered; there is an abrasion on hts cheek
bone and he ts out of breath. He still carries hts bat.]
CLAUD (comes into the room and halts — with an air of
faint surprise}: Do you know — I think I may have
killed him. (Takes out his handkerchief, wipes the end of
the bat and continues on downstage.}
Curtain
Scene 2
Scene: The same, the next afternoon, after lunch.
The room bears signs of disorder. Newspapers lie about the
place; cushions are disarranged. The remains of a scrappy
meal for three are still on the table. A large sm tease stands
by kitchen door, and a smaller one, half filled and open, ts
on the right end of the couch. Gertrude' 's plastic bag is on the
sun-deck table.
The telephone bell is ringing as the Curtain ascends. After
a pause
Enter Andrea, from staircase. She wears a simple, tailored
dress. Bedroom slippers and disordered hair, however, show
that her toilet is not jet complete. She has been crying and,
at intervals, she sniffs and gasps spasmodically. She carries
a small assortment of undenvear, etc. — which she hurriedly
dumps on the couch. She then goes to the telephone, removes
the receiver, takes out a handkerchief and blows her nose — •
and picks up the receiver again.
134
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA : Hullo ! (Sniffs.} Oh, Valerie ! You got my
message then ! (Sniffs and gasps.} What ? No, a touch
of hay fever, that's all. — Well, I get mine in September.
(Sniffs.} What? What phone ? This one? No, I
don't think so. — But we have been engaged all day.
It's hardly stopped ringing. (She is becoming., by degrees,
more composed?) — Well, newspapers, mostly. — Yes, it's
this article, dear, in The Sun, that your little friend
did. — Oh, no, there's nothing wrong with it. She
didn't say anything that — she shouldn't have done. It
seems to have made such a stir, that's all. One can't
go out, or anything. — Reporters, dear. Scores of
them. — No, only lurking, but there's one in every
bush. — People? Ordinary ones, you mean? Darling,
you never saw so many people. It's like Derby Day.
One might be living in a car-park except that they
bring their lunch. — Well, it depends what you mean
by holiday atmosphere, dear. They seem to be enjoy
ing it, but. . . . No, quite I And then there's another
thing, Valerie. Mrs. O'Connor's gone. Without a
word, my dear. Taken her husband and everything. —
I don't know. I can't imagine what's upset her but,
there it is she's. . . . Yes. So you see, what with
one thing and another. . . . Well, Gertrude and I
will be leaving as soon as we can, but. . . . What? —
Oh, no, dear, the house won't be empty. — Well,
Dudley ! (Becoming a little careful in her manner.} Yes,
he's — um — he's not very well. — Concussion, dear.
He bumped his head. — Yes, isn't it, poor pet. So
he'll have to be here for a day or so, anyway — until
he can drive himself away — because he's got a car
with him. And Claud will be here to look after him,
so. ... Oh, no, he offered to. He's terribly con
cerned. (Showingsigns of tears again — resentfully.} — Well,
as a matter of fact, dear, it isn't sweet of him at all.
155
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
He ought to be concerned. And Valerie — it isn't hay
fever, either. It's — it's Claud.
[Enter Claud on to sun-deck from left. He is dressed as in the
previous scene. The damage to his face has developed into an
angry bruise. He hurries in, makingfor the staircase.]
He's not the man I thought he was, that's all. He's a
brute. He's turned out to be. ... (Sees Claud and
abruptly changes her tone."} Well, thank you so much for
the house, darling. Be seeing youl Good-bye!
(Hangs up.}
[Claud comes to a halt at centre. Ignoring him, Andrea
returns to couch, sits left end and begins to pack the oddments.
Claud hovers ingratiatingly.]
CLAUD (after a pause} : Been to the chemist.
[Andrea makes KO reply]
(Showing a small bottle?) Aspirin ! Said he had a head
ache.
ANDREA (coldly) \ Is that surprising ?
[The telephone begins to ring. Claud goes to it]
Just say " No ", will you ?
CLAUD (lifts receiver) : No ! (Hangs up and turns away.}
ANDREA : And leave the thing off!
[Claud returns to telephone and takes the receiver off its
cradle. Then he comes down again]
CLAUD (entreatmgly) : Andrea ! Can't you forgive me !
ANDREA (m apparent surprise): Forgive you? What
for ? (She does not pause in her packing}
136
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD: Well, for — becoming exasperated with him
like that.
ANDREA: If — by " becoming exasperated " you mean
nearly beating his brains out — there's nothing to
forgive. You can't help having homicidal tendencies,
presumably.
CLAUD: But you must believe me. I didn't really
mean him any harm. I just happened to have a
cricket bat in my hand, that's all.
ANDREA: Some day you may happen to be toying
with a meat-axe when you become exasperated.
CLAUD: He hit me. Why aren't you wild with him?
ANDREA: You're supposed to be nicer than he is.
There's nothing else to recommend you, you know —
if you're not. I don't care what he does, anyway.
(Having packed everything, rises and looks round the room.")
CLAUD (with a flicker of hope} : But you do care what I
do?
ANDREA : Not now.
CLAUD: Oh!
ANDREA (sees the seaweed on the picture. Going to if} : I
just don't like cosh-boys, that's all. (Takes down the
seaweed, returns with it to couch, sits, folds it carefully, and
puts it in suitcase.}
CLAUD: It's finished, then?
ANDREA: That puts *t quite neatly, I think. (Shuts case
and starts trying to fasten it.}
CLAUD (humbly}: I see. (Begins to move slowly away right.}
ANDREA: There's no need to go all crushed and
silent like that, though.
CLAUD (halting) : Why not ?
ANDREA (struggling with the suitcase) : It can't mean all
that to you — and it only makes me feel a beast.
CLAUD (with a spark of resentment} : Well, I'm sorry,
but I happen to be crushed and silent.
ANDREA (kneeling on the suitcase} : That's plain silly, of
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
course. Only yesterday you still weren't sure whether
I was fit to be your life partner at all.
CLAUD : I am today, though.
ANDREA (cynically] : What's convinced you this time ?
CLAUD (returning to nght of couch} : The fact that you
can't forgive me, Andrea. You'd like to forgive me.
I know you would. But you can't. And any woman
who's so morbidly squeamish over a slight act of
personal violence like that, couldn't possibly be a
kiUer.
ANDREA (getting a little thoughtful}'. I see. (Stops
fiddling with the smtcase.}
CLAUD: So you needn't feel a beast, or anything.
I'm — I'm happy to lose you — that way.
ANDREA (gently] : Is it so important to you to be able
to believe in me, Claud ?
CLAUD: It is.
ANDREA (getting off the smtcase and standing] : Could you
do this for me, please ?
[Claud moves to suitcase, lifts it dotvn^ shuts it and puts it
behind couch. Andrea watches with a worried look.}
(Turning away down left.} Well, I'm sorry, Claud, but
you must see what a shock it's been.
[Claud moves up to sideboard and pours out a drink.}
(With her back to him.} I thought you were the last
person to do a thing like that.
CLAUD (bitterly) : I also thought I was the last person
to do a thing like that.
ANDREA : Later on, of course, I may feel differently
about it
[Claud turns to her hopefully.}
138
TRIAL AND ERROR
At the moment, though, I just can't bear the thought
of you.
CLAUD (subsiding): Ohl
ANDREA: I've made other plans now, too.
CLAUD : I know.
[Andrea turns and stares at him unhappily for a moment '.]
ANDREA (suddenly bursting out — going up left}: Well, I
wish you wouldn't be so humble and contrite about
it. I want to get on.
CLAUD: Everything conspires to make me humble
and contrite — even he ? (Indicates staircase.}
ANDREA (in surprise} : Dudley ?
CLAUD : Hasn't shown a spark of resentment.
ANDREA: Oh, well — as far as that goes — he doesn't
know.
CLAUD : Doesn't know what ?
ANDREA : That you hit him. He has lost his memory
this time.
CLAUD (astonished} : You don't mean it 1
ANDREA : And, although you don't deserve it, Claud,
I haven't enlightened him, because I don't like an
" atmosphere " but. . . .
[Enter Gertrude from staircase. She is dressed as before.
Walking briskly, she makes for the sun-deck.}
CLAUD : Do you mean to say. . . ?
{There is a knock at the front door.]
ANDREA (starting for the passageway} : Oh, bother !
CLAUD : You're not going to answer it, are you ?
ANDREA : It can't be a reporter, dear. The police are
keeping them out now.
139
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
[Exit Andrea into passageway, ,]
CLAUD (putting his drink on sideboard and crossing left) :
Oh, well, I'll give him his aspirin.
\Extt Claud by staircase. Gertrude goes out on to sun-deck,
gets her plastic bag and returns putting on the earphone.
At chair down right she switches on and halts, lookingfaintly
concerned. She sivitches on and off once or fivice, shakes the
bag, makes a small, cooing noise into it, then sits and draws
out the entire electrical contents — a weird, complex and
dangling collection of coils, valves, batteries, wires, etc.,
with a microphone protruding. All this she dumps on her
lap and begins to examine. Enter Andrea slowly from
passageway. She is reading the last page of a wad of
telegraph forms. She comes down to behind couch '.]
ANDREA (having finished reading} : Well, of all things !
The little -beast! Listen to this, darling! It's a tele
gram — from the Feature Ed'tor of the Sunday Record.
He says (reads') " Phoebe Hogg, chief witness for the
prosecution at your trial, walked into this office this
morning and made us a proposition. Stop. It seems
that her evidence was false. Stop. She was in love
with your husband and consequently did not like
you." (To Gertrude.) Well, that's only natural, I
suppose. (Continues to read.} " She was much upset
at his demise and wanted to make somebody suffer
for it. Stop. You were obvious choice. Stop. Also
handy. Stop. Says accusation was made under
influence of gin and tonic. Stop. Later found it
awkward to retract. Stop. But claims would not have
let you hang." (To Gertrude.) Well, that's a comfort,
anyway! (Continues to read.} " She has today read
press report of your husband's return also his state
ment that her testimony was untrue and now
140
TRIAL AND ERROR
confidently awaits prosecution for perjury. Stop. Mak
ing hay she therefore offers to sell us, while still in a
position to do so, a one-thousand word confession
under the title: ' My Fight with my Conscience ',
disclosure being inevitable anyway. Stop. Do you
object? Stop. Congratulations. Stop. We do not
like Miss Hogg." Now isn't that nice? (Takes the
bottom form from the bunch, leaves the rest on the back of
the couch, and goes up to the telephone table,} And the
length of it, my dear! Must have cost a fortune.
Prepaid answer, too 1 (Takes up pencil attached to pad
and scribbles on form — reading aloud.} " Of course I
don't object."
[Exit Andrea into passageway with form. Gertrude has
meanwhile been quietly and obliviously examining her con
traption. She now begins to bundle the whole lot back into
the bag.}
ANDREA (off): Thank you so much!
[Enter Andrea from passageway. Gertrude rises and makes
for staircase.}
(Coming down behind couch.} So that will be out on
Sunday. Won't Claud be pleased?
GERTRUDE (below staircase} : Just as well we are going,
dear. I think I've blown a valve.
ANDREA (staring at her} : Do you mean to tell me. . . ?
[.A. sort of grunting groan issues from the staircase.}
Dudley!
[Enter Dudley and Claud, from staircase. Dudley wears a
dressing-gown over pyjamas — and slippers. There is an
141
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
impressive dressing on his forehead, and he has a spectacular
black eye. He moves with care, for fear of jarring his head;
his hair is tousled, and he looks pretty much of a wreck.
The state of his temper is deplorable. Claud officiously
supports him by the arm. Seeing Gertrude, Dudley
shields his dressing from her.}
GERTRUDE (playfully} : Still a late riser, I see I
[Exit Gertrude by staircase.}
ANDREA (hurrying to chair down left for an extra cushion) :
What are you doing down here ?
DUDLEY (moving to couch — with ill grace}'. I'm all right.
ANDREA (returning with cushion to couch}-. You're not
all right. The doctor said. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting}: Damn the doctor! Ooohl
(Closes his eyes, frowns with pain, and sinks into left end of
couch}
\Andrea swiftly arranges the cushions^
ANDREA: Headache no better?
DUDLEY (putting his feet up} : No.
CLAUD (before right end of couch} : Won't take his aspirin.
ANDREA (left of couch} \ Well, I could have told you
that, dear.
CLAUD : Why not, though ?
DUDLEY : I don't like medicine.
CLAUD (producing the aspirin): Well, just this once,
old man.
DUDLEY: Nol
CLAUD: Come on! To please Andrea!
DUDLEY: No! Ooohl
ANDREA (to Claud] : You see ? I'm sorry, but I must
get on. (Turns and runs straight off.}
142
TRIAL AND ERROR
[Exit Andrea by staircase. Dudley closes his eyes. Claud
pockets the aspirin.]
CLAUD : Would you like another cushion ?
DUDLEY (grumpily) : No, thank youl
CLAUD: Cigarette?
DUDLEY : No, thank you 1
CLAUD: Good thing you happened to have a bag
with you (indicating Dudley's dressing-gown, etc.] other
wise it. ...
DUDLEY (opening his eyes — interrupting loudly}: And I
don't feel chatty either.
CLAUD : Oh ! (Turns away to recess, sits right end, puts on
his spectacles and takes a newspaper from table.}
DUDLEY (not very graciously} : I'm sorry.
CLAUD: 'S all right.
DUDLEY: You're being very good to me. I don't
know why, I'm sure.
[Claud looks uncomfortable, but does not reply. Dudley
glares at htm.~\
What happened ?
CLAUD: Huh?
DUDLEY: What really happened? She told me I fell
down.
CLAUD (uneasily}: You — er — you can't remember, I
understand !
DUDLEY: Not a thing 1
CLAUD (rather feebly} : What makes you think you
didn't fall down, then ?
DUDLEY: Listen! At four-thirty she says she's going
to kill me. At four-forty I'm attacked with a blunt
instrument. Doesn't that imply anything ?
CLAUD (rising — horrified} : You don't think she did it ?
DUDLEY (sarcastically} : Doj0# believe I tumbled over ?
143
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
CLAUD {puts paper down on table and takes off spectacles)-.
No — to be honest — I. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting)'. Exactly! Well, who else is
there with a reputation for trying to do me in ?
CLAUD (going to Dudley) : Well, nobody of course, but
that's no reason for assuming. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting — irritably)'. Lookl What's the
sense in talking like that ? You know she bashed me
as well as I do. I expect you were even there. As a
matter of fact, you probably intervened and stopped
her.
CLAUD: What?
DUDLEY : How else did you come by that ? (Indicates
on his own face the position of Claud's injury?)
CLAUD : Well, she didn't do it, anyway.
DUDLEY (wearily irascible) : Claud 1 I know you're the
sort of man who remains loyal through thick and thin,
and it's frightfully admirable and all that, but don't
come it with me this afternoon, there's a good chap —
not when I feel like this 1 (Suddenly shouting?) It's not
good for me 1 Oooh I (Clutches his head?)
CLAUD (with a shrug) : Very well. (Turns away up right?)
DUDLEY (slight pause): Have I got anything to show
for it — apart from this ? (Indicates his dressing?)
CLAUD (turning] : Haven't you seen yourself?
DUDLEY: Not yet. Why?
CLAUD (with a note of malicious satisfaction] : Oh! Well,
I'll get you a mirror. (Goes towards staircase?)
[Enter Gertrude, followed by Andrea from staircase.
Gertrude wears her hat and coat, and carries gloves, her
plastic bag and the cricket bat. Andrea has also put on her
coat as well as shoes and a smart little hat. She carries her
slippers and handbag. Claud stands aside. Gertrude
crosses to table. Andrea moves to behind couch and puts the
slippers and handbag on the back of it?\
144
TRIAL AND ERROR
GERTRUDE (holding up cncket bat} : What a good thing
you didn't do it up, Mr. Mernlees ! (Puts bat on table.}
I needn't send it now. (Begins to put on gloves.}
[Claud turns to staircase again.]
ANDREA (picking up small suitcase and taking it up to
passageway] : Are you going up, dear ?
CLAUD: Yes.
ANDREA: Bring down Gertrude's suitcase, will you?
[Claud nods, and exits by staircase. Andrea starts down
left.}
GERTRUDE (to Andrea}: Perhaps you'd ask him to
bring my suitcase down, dear?
ANDREA: I have.
ANDREA (shouting} : I have!
[Dudley winces. Gertrude still looks perplexed}
(To Dudley.} Oh, I'm so sorry 1 (Returns up to telephone
table, grabs pad, goes to Gertrude, scribbles on pad and
shows it to her.}
GERTRUDE: Oh, you have I Thank you! What's the
matter with Dudley, dear?
[Andrea puts her finger to her lips.]
(Whispering.} Isn't he well?
[Andrea points to her head.]
(In a horrified whisper.} Mental ?
[Andrea glances anxiously at Dudley, scribbles again on the
pad, and again shows it to Gertrude.}
145
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
(Relieved.} Oh — headache! Oh, well. . . . (Begins to
scrabble m her bag — whispering.} See if you can get him
to take one of my Pettacattel powders. (Produces
powder and hands it to Andrea} They're the very thing
for headache — and rheumatism, if he ever gets that.
(Then loudly, for Dudley's benefit} Well, I'll just put
these things safely in the car, and then I'll come back
and say " good-bye ". (Winks conspiratortally, picks
up bat and goes out}
[Exit Gertrude into passageway.]
ANDREA (considering): Now, let me see — have I for
gotten anything ? (Moving down to right of couch} Oh,
yes — a young woman rang up.
DUDLEY (opening his eyes') : What young woman ?
ANDREA: I don't know, dear, but she'd seen the
papers and. . . .
DUDLEY (interrupting} : Didn't she give a name ?
ANDREA: No. She sounded awfully pretty, though,
and quite well off. One could always get the name,
of course, through the registration number — if
necessary. I have made a note of it.
DUDLEY (lifting his head — irritably}'. What are you
talking about ? What registration number ?
ANDREA: Of her car, Dudley! Didn't I say? The one
you've got. She wanted to know what you'd done with
it. Said you hadn't been home since Monday.
DUDLEY (deflating} : Oh!
ANDREA: I told her you hadn't sold it or anything.
Was that right?
DUDLEY (looking shghtly anxious} : Was she cross ?
ANDREA (as if reluctant to say it} : She was, rather.
DUDLEY : About the car, you mean ?
ANDREA: That, and the fact that she hadn't realised
you were married until she read this morning's paper.
146
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY (avoiding Andrea's eye}: Ohl
ANDREA: Also, apparently, you went off and left the
bath water running. It's too bad of you, really.
[Dudley has no comment to make.}
(Goes up to telephone table and returns pad, then continuing}
Now is there anything I can get you before we go ?
DUDLEY: I shouldn't mind a drink.
ANDREA: Of course! (Goes up to sideboard} There is
one here already. Is that Claud's ?
DUDLEY: I suppose so.
[Enter Claud from staircase. He carries Gertrude's suit
case and a shaving mirror. Andrea begins to pour drink.
Claud stands the suitcase down by staircase and continues
down to Dudley.}
CLAUD (handing him mirror] : I'm sorry. I had to look
for one. (Returns up left}
DUDLEY (sits round, facing out front, and looks at his face
in the mirror] : Good heavens 1 (Stares in horror}
[Claud picks up suitcase and continues on to passageway.}
ANDREA (to Claud}: Can you manage the other one
too, dear ?
[Claud nods, picks up the suitcase by kitchen door, and goes
off with both. Exit Claud into passageway.}
DUDLEY (angrily) : Why didn't someone tell me about
this?
[Andrea starts down with the drink in one hand and the
Pettacattel powder still absently clutched in the other.}
147
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
Shan't be able to go out for weeks.
ANDREA : Well, never mind, dear 1 Claud will be. . . .
(breaks off, halts, looks first at the powder, then at the
drink, and becoming slightly furtive in manner, returns to
sideboard!) Claud will be able to. ... (Puts down
glass and unfolds the packet of powder!} . . . stay with
you. (Empties powder into glass.}
[Seeing this in the mirror, Dudley stares, for a moment in
growing horror, then rises slowly and moves away right.]
(Swirling the mixture.} He had arranged to take a
couple of weeks off, remember. (Turning and coming
down with drink, sees Dudley} Should you be on your
feet, dear?
DUDLEY: Evidently not!
ANDREA (putting drink on coffee-table} : Well — you drink
this 1 (Continues on to left of couch!)
DUDLEY: Thank you!
ANDREA: Now — is there anything else you'll need?
DUDLEY (pointing at drink} : Not if I drink that, any
way!
ANDREA (looking pulled}'. What do you mean, dear?
DUDLEY: What do you do it for, Andrea — fun?
ANDREA: Do what ?
DUDLEY: Put things in my whisky!
ANDREA : Oh 1 (Moves to behind couch.}
DUDLEY (moving in to right of couch} : You know you can
get rid of me now — without that — legitimately — any
time you like. You've only got to trace the woman
through her number plates and you've got all the
evidence you want. What's the idea ?
ANDREA: That may be perfectly platonic, for all I
know.
DUDLEY (fiercely) : Well, it isn't — see ?
ANDREA: Oh!
148
TRIAL AND ERROR
DUDLEY: I'll^w the name and address if you like.
ANDREA: You will?
DUDLEY (going up right — waving his arms) : You can have
a selection of names and addresses. (Stts left end of
recess.}
ANDREA: Well, thank you, Dudley 1 That is kind.
DUDLEY: Don't mention it!
ANDREA: I've no particular need of a divorce any
more — as it happens. . . .
[Claud enters from passageway. He wanders disconsolately
down left.]
DUDLEY (in surprise) : You haven't ?
ANDREA (glances at Claud}'. It may come in useful,
though — some time.
CLAUD (dismally) : Anything else to go ?
ANDREA (beginning to look distressed} : I don't think so.
What's Gertrude doing ?
CLAUD: Waiting for you, apparently. She's sitting
in the car.
ANDREA: Oh! (Picks up her bagand slippers and hesitates,
looking wretched} That's all, then, isn't it? (Looks
from one to the other}
[Claud nods faintly. Dudley turns his head away.]
ANDREA (puts bag and slippers down again, and goes to
Dudley— sadly}'. Well— good-bye, Dudley, darling!
(Lays a hand on his shoulder.}
[Dudley cringes.}
I do hope we shall never meet again. (Turns away and
crosses to Claud— emotionally.} Dear — dear Claud!
CLAUD (Fighting his own emotion.}: I'll see you off.
(Makes a movement upstage.}
149
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
ANDREA: No. I'd rather you didn't.
CLAUD (gruffly) : Good-bye, then !
ANDREA (her voice trembling) : You will keep in touch,
though, won't you — in case I get over it? I do hope
I do. (Kisses him lightly on the cheek.} It would be such
a pity. (Turns, goes behind couch, collects her bag and
slippers, and continues on towards passageiv ay}
CLAUD (moving to left end of couch} : But where are you
going?
ANDREA (halting and turning — in surprise)'. To Ger
trude's, dear!
CLAUD: I know, but after that! I must have an
address.
ANDREA: Oh, but I shall be living with Gertrude.
Didn't you realise ?
CLAUD: No. Indefinitely?
ANDREA: Well, that's the present arrangement. I
wanted to see that she ends her days in peace.
CLAUD: Oh!
ANDREA : But that's only if I've nothing else to do,
Claud. (Looks from one to the other, smiles a little wist
fully?) Good-bye!
[Exit Andrea into passageway.}
CLAUD (murmuring}: Good-bye!
[Claud turns away, comes down to coffee-table, picks up
Dudley's glass — and drinks. Dudley, wearing a pulled
and uneasy look, seems absorbed in some half-formed doubt
of his own.]
DUDLEY (half to himself] : She " wanted to see that she
ended her days in. ... " (Suddenly galvanised with
horror.} No! (Jumps to his feet} No! (Comes down
centre}
150
TRIAL AND ERROR
CLAUD (startled}: What's the matter?
[Enter Gertrude from passageway.]
DUDLEY : Don't you see what she's up to ? It's going
to be Aunt Maggie all over again.
GERTRUDE (coming down centre to Claud} : I'm so sorry, I
forgot to say " good-bye ". (Extends her hand to him.}
CLAUD (moving to meet Gertrude — to Dudley} : What are
you talking about? (Taking Gertrude's hand.} You
said " good-bye " to me outside.
GERTRUDE "^ I'm so glad to have met you,
[_ (Together): Mr. Merrilees.
DUDLEY f She's after her money, you
J fool.
CLAUD (smiling courteously] : Good-bye, Miss Pigeon !
[Gertrude turns to Dudley who seizes both her hands.}
DUDLEY: Don't go with her, Gertrude!
GERTRUDE : It's been so nice having you alive again,
Dudley.
DUDLEY: Gertrude — I implore you I
GERTRUDE : It's no good trying to start a conversation
with me now, dear. (Proffers her cheek to be kissed.}
DUDLEY: But, listen. . . !
GERTRUDE : Aren't you going to kiss me ?
DUDLEY (pecks her frantically} \ She's going to murder
you
GERTRUDE (with satisfaction): That's right! (Turns
away and bustles tip left.}
DUDLEY (following — clutching at her arm} : Gertrude !
GERTRUDE: Write to me, dear — if it's important.
[Exit Gertrude into passageway}
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
DUDLEY (turning) : What are we to do?
CLAUD: If you ask me — you're hysterical. (Sits,
couch.}
DUDLEY (coming down centre] : But the woman's a mur
deress.
CLAUD: Nonsense! (Drains his glass.}
DUDLEY: You must be half insane, you know. First
she shoves me in the sea — then she slugs me — then
she tries to poison me — and you sit there and. . . .
CLAUD (interrupting): What makes you think she's
tried to poison you, for heaven's sake ?
DUDLEY: Because I saw her.
CLAUD : Saw her ?
DUDLEY (moving in to Claud] : Not five minutes ago 1
Put it in my whisky! Brought it to me! (Thumping
coffee-table} Stood it down there. . . .
[Claud starfs slightly, looks at his empty glass and sits up.]
. . . and waited for me to drink it.
CLAUD (a disquieting thought developing rapidly} : Stood
it down there?
[Dudley goes up to sideboard, picks up the powder envelope
which Andrea has left there, and flourishes it at Claud.
He is masking Claud's view of the sideboard.]
(In growing alarm.} I say!
DUDLEY: Yes?
CLAUD : Is there another drink up there ?
DUDLEY (turning away right} : Oh, for pity's sake, what
does that matter.
CLAUD (almost with a scream} : There is\
[With quivering lips and staring eyes, Claud puts his glass
on the coffee-table. Enter Andrea from passageway.]
152
TRIAL AND ERROR
ANDREA (as she enters] : Forgot my suitcase. (Lifts it
up,}
DUDLEY (portentously} : Andrea !
[Andrea catches sight of the stricken Claud, puts suitcase
down again , and goes to him — ignoring Dudley '.]
ANDREA (behind couch} : Don't take it so hard, darling !
Just give me a week or so, and I'm sure it'll be all
right.
DUDLEY (crossing to Andrea} : If you take that poor old
girl away from here — if you so much as go out
through that door — so help me, I'll get the police.
ANDREA (takes up the bunch of telegraph forms from back
of couch and thrusts them into Claud's hand}: Here!
This'll cheer you. (Turns away up left.}
[Sunk in his growing terror, Claud seems hardly to notice.
Breathing hard, he flings the forms from him and begins to
undo his collar and tie.}
DUDLEY (following Andrea} : Andrea !
ANDREA (picking up suitcase} \ I'm afraid I can't stop
now to find out what you're talking about, Dudley,
but it sounds to me as if you're going to make your
self look awfully silly over something, dear.
[Exit Andrea into passageway.}
DUDLEY (following her into passageway — shouting}: I
warn you, Andrea. I mean it. (Immediately coming out
again.} Right ! (Goes to telephone, grabs receiver and at
once begins to jell into it.} Hullo! Hullo!
CLAUD (rising and staggering up centre to sideboard — also
yelling}: For God's sake, man. . .
153
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
DUDLEY (to Claud]: What's the matter with you?
(Info telephone.} Get me the police !
CLAUD (half collapsing over the sideboard} : Don't fiddle
with the police, you fool! Get a doctor\
DUDLEY (bellowing into telephone} : Hullo ! HULLO !
Curtain
154
ANASTASIA
by
MARCELLE MAURETTE
adapted by
GUY BOLTON
Copyright 1954 by Marcelle Maurette and Guy Bo I ton
When this play becomes available for performance by
amateurs, applications for a licence must be made to
Samuel French Lfd., 26 Southampton Street, Strand,
London, W.C.i. Applications for the performance of this
play by professionals must be made to Story Department,
M.C.A. (England} Ltd., 139 Piccadilly, London, W.i.
No performance may fake place unless a licence has been
obtained.
The play was originally produced at the Theatre
Royal, Windsor, on May 4, 1953, with the following
cast:
PIOTR PETROVSKY Wallas Eaton
BORIS CHERNOV Malcolm Russell
PRINCE BOUNINE Anthony Ireland
ANNA BROUN Mary Kerndge
SERGEI Chat les Cameron
ANTON Hed/ej Mattingly
SLEIGH DRIVER Geoffrey Tyrrell
CHARWOMAN Ever ley Gregg
FELIX OBLENSKI Michael Malnick
MARIA FEODOROVNA Helen Haye
BARONESS LIVENBAUM Ruth Goddard
PRINCE PAUL Allan Cuthbertson
Produced by John Counsell
It came on August 5, 1953, to the St. James's Theatre,
London, under the management of Laurence Olivier
Productions, Ltd., with the following cast:
PIOTR PETROVSKY Eaurence Payne
BORIS CHERNOV Peter llhng
PRINCE BOUNINE Anthony Ireland
ANNA BROUN Mary Kerndge
SLEIGH DRIVER Geoffrey Tyrrell
CHARWOMAN Susan Richards
FELIX OBLENSKI Michael Godfrey
DOWAGER EMPRESS OF RUSSIA Helen Haye
LADY-IN-WAITING Ruth Goddard
PRINCE PAUL Ralph Michael
A N T o N i A Verena Rimrmns
SERGEI Michael Malnick
Directed by John Counsell
Settings designed by Hal Henshaw
Costumes designed by Michael Ellis
CHARACTERS
PETROVSKY ^
CHERNOV \-the Syndicate
PRINCE BOUNINE J
ANNA
THE SLEIGH DRIVER
THE CHARWOMAN
FELIX OBLENSKI
THE DOWAGER EMPRESS
BARONESS LIVENBAUM
PRINCE PAUL
ANT ONI A, a nurse companion
SERGEI, a lackey
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES
ACT ONE
A. basement room in ~E>erhn.
ACT TWO
A hall tn a mansion on the outskirts of Berlin.
Four weeks later.
ACT THREE
The same as A.ct Two.
Two -weeks later.
TIME: Winter., 1934.
ACT ONE
A. basement room in Berlin. Headquarters of the Syndicate.
This 2s a small " drop-in " set, or if that proves simpler,
a set on a boat truck or slide. It is essential that it can be
struck in a matter of seconds. For this reason it must be
contained inside the set used for the remainder of the play
and furnished sparsely.
It is night, and the window, which is set high up on rear wall,
is both shuttered and curtained.
There are some steps up to an archway through which the
room is entered. The door to the street need not be visible.
There is another door at one side, standing ajar, showing
that the premises are not limited to this single room. On one
wall there are some shelves containing account books and
letter pies. Beneath this there is a desk with a typewriter.
There is a table centre with lighted lamp standing on it,
three chairs. While the essential thing is speed in making the
change, the place should not look too bleak; it is the office
of the three men who have been circularising the Russian
emigres on behalf of the Princess A.nastasia, whom they
profess to have found after her miraculous escape from the
massacre of her family by the bolsheviks. They have
collected a considerable sum, and hence can well afford to make
themselves comfortable.
On the wall is a poster with a drawing of a girl with a crown
on her head. The thing has lettering on it in Russian, having
been made for exploitation purposes.
Chernov is discovered, seated typing. He was formerly a
banker and has a dignified bearing. He is suspicious,
pessimistic and harsh. He stops typing as he hears the
sound of the door shutting and looks up at the arch at the
head of the steps. Petrovsky appears.
ACT ONE
He mars a, raincoat, belted and buttoned up over his chest;
he is of a highly nervous disposition, easily thrown off
balance. He is in point of fact a drug addict.
PETROVSKY: Is the Prince here ? (His glance goes to the
door of the adjoining room?)
CHERNOV: Not yet.
PETROVSKY: What's this all about, Chernov? I got
a message maiked " Urgent ", telling me to meet
you both here.
CHERNOV: I'm afraid we've run into serious trouble.
PETROVSKY : What sort of trouble ?
CHERNOV : It seems two or three of our subscribers
have got together and compared notes. I suppose we
should have expected something like this. It's over
five months since we sent out our first circular. And
while we've been keeping up our appeals and taking
in their money we've made no serious effort to find
the essential element of our enterprise. . . .
PETROVSKY: That isn't true. I've made enquiries all
over Berlin. I've seen a dozen or more Anna Brouns.
That's one of the troubles; the name is such a
common one.
CHERNOV: Do you think there ever was a woman
with an uncanny resemblance to the dead Princess ?
PETROVSKY: You don't think his Excellency Lied to
us?
CHERNOV: "His Excellency'5! You say it with
reverence in spite of all we know about him. You're
a snob, Petrovsky.
PETROVSKY (ponderingly) : But his story didn't seem the
sort of thing a man would make up. Taking those
people out to that hospital in Spandau in his taxi
CHERNOV (cutting in bitterly): Oh, yes, he was driving
a taxi then ! Now he sports a car and chauffeur. No
1 60
ANASTASIA
doubt Drivinitz and his friends have seen him lording
about in it.
PETROVSKY (pursuing his own thought} : And the amount
was so propitious. This Anna Broun, whose likeness
to the Princess he described as extraordinary,
appeared just when the rumours of Anastasia's escape
were flying about the Russian colony.
CHERNOV : The timing of her appearance was, as you
say, excellent. Her disappearance, after no one but
the Prince had seen her, was not quite so fortunate.
PETROVSKY: If we had found her, I wonder — could
we have got away with it? Passing someone off as
another — oh, I know it's been done and the fact that
Anastasia was practically a child when the murders
took place, still — (he breaks off, shaking bis head back
and forth} — I'm a crazy fellow, an artist, a dreamer —
it's not surprising I fell for the thing, but you, you're
a banker, or were in the old days.
CHERNOV: I needed money — it's as simple as that.
PETROVSKY: I heard a story from someone that you
were in a bit of trouble.
CHERNOV (still resentful] : And what about the business
you were engaged in ?
PETROVSKY: Oh, make no mistake, I'm not posing as
your moral superior. We're two rats who have been
turned out of our nice, comfortable granary, and have
to snatch our crusts as best we may.
CHERNOV (looking at his ivatch) : I wish the master rat
would come. He said he'd be here at nine — it's
nearly eleven. (Pursuing his thoughts.) When this
Anna Broun vanished we should have called the
thing off. We still had plenty of money.
\Petrovsky isn't listening. His eyes are glued on the arch
at the head of the steps, Chernov trails off his speech > also
looking up., as the light from the street lamp outside throws
F 161
ACT ONE
a man's shadow on the wall behind the arch. The light
disappears as the door is closed and Bottnme appears, a
handsome aristocratic figure, elegantly attired.}
BOUNINE : Good evening, comrades — if you'll forgive
a term that falls not too pleasantly on White Russian
ears.
PETROVSKY : Good evening, Excellency.
BOUNINE: You must excuse me for being so late.
I've had an adventure. Not what we usually mean
by that expression, but still, I must admit a woman.
PETROVSKY: We're in a state of some anxiety,
Excellency.
BOUNINE: Early this evening I was at the Russian
Club. Yes, they had been holding a function, perhaps
you'd forgotten, but today was the feast of St.
Alexander Nevsky. In the days that we were fond
of describing as " The Good Old ", the couit would
all have been lined up behind the Royal Family at the
Water Gate of the Winter Palace while His Imperial
Majesty spooned up a glass of water and the Arch
Patriarch blessed the Neva ... a ceremony punctu
ated by sneezes ... so like the Russians to decree
the 6th of January for a prolonged function with
bare heads.
CHERNOV: What happened?
BOUNINE: It was quite a scene, a resurrection of
uniformed crocks with the Tsar's portrait looking
down on them : that old hulk Lissenko on his frost
bitten stumps, Vorensky and Martoff, two grey-haired
Lieutenants who should have been Generals by this
time . . . and the women in their court dresses,
most of them as faded as their wearers.
PETROVSKY : What we are anxious to hear about . . .
BOUNINE: And would you believe it, some idiot —
Ptincess Bukann I think it was — had a bottle alleged
162
ANASTASIA
to be water of the Neva smuggled out of Russia, they
poured it into a big crystal goblet and passed it round
for everyone to sip. Damned insanitary if Neva
water it was. I wouldn't have put my lips to it for a
bet.
CHERNOV : We are all in this thing together.
BOUNINE (turning to him blandly] : Anxious to hear the
worst ? Well, the worst it is ... they're giving us a
week to produce her, then they're going to the police.
PETROVSKY: A week!
BOUNINE: I was called into the library and there, in
front of Drivinitz, was a list of our subscribers and
their contributions.
PETROVSKY: They wanted to know what we'd been
doing with the money ?
BOUNINE: Naturally. I explained that we had to
bring her Highness from Bucharest, and that this
involved the bribing of officials in obtaining papers,
not to mention the settling of demands made by
people who had been taking care of her.
PETROVSKY: And doctors.
BOUNINE: And doctors — and nurses, and private
ambulances. . . . They wanted to know exactly
what was the matter with her.
PETROVSKY: Surely after what she would have been
through ?
BOUNINE: I enlarged on all that. I spoke of the
wounds she suffered at the hands of Yourovski's
execution squad, and the hardships endured in the
perilous journey from Siberia. I said that her doctors
had insisted on isolation, rest, absolute quiet.
CHERNOV : What did they say to that ?
BOUNINE: They asked to see her doctors.
CHERNOV: And ?
BOUNINE: I replied that they and she were in a
private sanatorium in Switzerland.
163
ACT ONE
PETROVSKY: Good!
BOUNINE: Two of them offered to make the journey
immediately. There wasn't much I could say after
that.
CHERNOV (ejaculating: God!
BOUNINE (with a shght shrug) : Makes you sweat, does
it? It's easy to see you've never been shot at,
Chernov. It's only at such a moment the air has the
same taste it had at your birth. (He inhales, swelling
his chest.} Well, we're at one of those moments now,
so take a deep breath.
PETROVSKY: Conspiracy to defraud — what's the pen
alty in Germany?
BOUNINE : They say we've exploited their patriotism,
traded on their sacred loyalties. . . . Of course, it's
all damned nonsense, it's the money they're after —
the share our prospectus promised them of the Tsar's
millions.
CHERNOV : Now is the time to divide up our money,
what's left of it, and make a dash for it.
BOUNINE: Wait! Gentlemen, peihaps we're not
beaten yet
PETROVSKY: Not beaten? A week in which to find a
resurrected princess ?
BOUNINE: What would you say to a miracle? It
seems the appropriate moment for one.
PETROVSKY: What do you mean ?
[They stare at him without speaking,]
BOUNINE : I've found her, gentlemen — at the eleventh
hour. I've found her.
PETROVSKY: Her?
CHERNOV: Whom?
BOUNINE: The woman I found before, Anna Broun,
on whose resemblance to the Tsar's youngest
164
ANASTASIA
daughter all this business was based. (He makes a
gesture that includes the big poster.}
PETROVSKY: Where did you find her?
BOUNINE : I caught a glimpse of someone who looked
like her the other day when I was driving through the
Riemstrasse. Tonight, under the spur of this threat,
I went back there. (He pauses ) On the steps leading
down to the Landwehre canal. I think she was about
to throw herself into it.
PETROVSKY: Why?
BOUNINE: 111, out of work, half starved ... a
pathetic spectacle.
PETROVSKY: And do you believe that such a broken
down creature as that will pass muster with Drivmitz
and his friends ?
BOUNINE : If not she will have to be made sufficiently
convincing to have deceived us, then in case of
trouble it will be she, not her three poor innocent
dupes, who will go to gaol. (He lays hzs hand on his
chest as he speaks.]
PETROVSKY: And — this time — are we to be permitted
to see her ?
BOUNINE: Of course, once we have agreed to terms.
CHERNOV: Terms? What terms?
BOUNINE: The division of the money. I want half
of whatever moneys are forthcoming.
PETROVSKY: What? You must think we're crazy.
CHERNOV: You've already drawn far more than
either of us.
BOUNINE: Listen, Chernov: I found this valuable
article, found it not once, but twice.
PETROVSKY: Before I agree to doubling your share
of the money I'll see this woman you've found.
BOUNINE : So, you are laying down the law to me, are
you, my young drug dreamer? Drugs! That gives
me an idea. If worst comes to worst, I might say
165
ACT ONE
the story on which this swindle is based is one of
jour narcotic fancies. I was deceived by you and
your ex-convict friend. (He indicates Chernov.}
CHERNOV: What do you mean ?
BOUNINE: You served a term for technical forgery,
didn't you.
CHERNOV: I see, blackmail, Prince Boumne.
BOUNINE : You won't frighten me with an ugly word,
Chernov, I've heard too many of them flung at me.
\Petrovsky turns abruptly to a little chest of drawers and
opens the top one.]
PETROVSKY: You're playing a dangerous game,
Boumne. We too could tell a story — the story of a
man faced with a desperate situation who put a
bullet through his head. (Pie takes a pistol from the
desk drawer.}
BOUNINE- Ah, so — a pistol. You can put away your
toy. You see, I have given my lawyer a letter. (He
turns to Chernov.) And in case of my disappearance,
he will learn that I have had dealings with two —
gentlemen — whom I did not altogether trust.
[He turns squarely to the poster, presenting his back to
Petrovsky]
(With change of tone.) The drawing on this poster is
exactly life size, I think you said, Piotr ^
[He appears to be measuring the height of the figure against
himself. Petrovsky drops the pistol on the table as Chernov
whispers to him.}
CHERNOV (turning to Boumne) : Very well, we accept.
BOUNINE : Good ! I'm glad that's settled. But now I
166
ANASTASIA
must confess there is one drawback to my great
discovery: she pretends not to understand Russian.
CHERNOV : What ? But we agreed that was essential.
BOUNINE : She has a definite Slavic accent, and when
I spoke to her in Russian, whereas she didn't answer,
I'm convinced she understood.
CHERNOV You think we can break her down?
BOUNINE: Once we have her under lock and key, I
think we shall be able to persuade her. (Pie smiles?)
If not — we will have to picture it as a Freudian quirk,
part of a mental barrier built up against a remem
brance of past horrors.
PETROVSKY: Sounds pretty fishy.
BOUNINE: To be weighed against that there are
certain features that are quite breath-taking. (He
makes a sign m the direction of the steps.} Shall we have
her in?
CHERNOV: What!
PETROVSKY (astonished}: You don't mean to say she's
here"?
BOUNINE: Just outside in my car with Sergei stand
ing guard. Fetch her in, Piotr. I bought her some
food. She seemed quite badly in need of it.
\Petrovsky goes to the steps and disappears.]
CHERNOV (as Petrovsky disappears}: I still think this
matter of the language
BOUNINE (interrupting}: I knew them, Chernov, you
didn't. The children talked German continually.
After all, it was their mother's tongue.
CHERNOV: Perhaps so, but
BOUNINE (raising his tone to stop the interruption} : And
let me tell you, she speaks French. I said, " Est-ce
que Anna Broun est votre vrai nom? " and she
replied automatically, " C'est le nom que ]es reli-
gieuses m'ont donne."
167
ACT ONE
PETROVSKY (off} \ Be careful. There are steps.
[Anna ~£>roun enters. She has a black shawl about her
shoulders; a worn blue dress and heavy stockings and shoes.
Her hair is drawn into a simple knot. Her lips are pallid.
She seems to have at the moment no pretension to beauty.
She stops, looking down at the hvo men. Petrovsky appears
behind her.]
(Roughly.} Go on down.
[She descends two steps, then stops again, drawing her shawl
up about her face. Petrovsky closes the door behind him.
She turns, looking up — the effect is clearly as tf she were
surrounded. He repeats sternly :]
I said, " Go down."
[She hesitates for a second, then continues her way down,
coming forward to the table, grasping a chairback for
support^
BOUNINE (smiling urbanely} : Take a seat, fraulein.
[She sinks into the chair.~\
A glass of vodka ?
ANNA (humbly} : Thank you.
BOUNINE (as he pours vodka} : These are my friends. I
am putting you in their hands. They are going to
examine you.
ANNA : Examine ? They are doctors ?
BOUNINE: They only want to look at you.
ANNA : Oh, is that all.
CHERNOV : Does she know why we want to examine
her?
168
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE: I told her no details, only that I had a job
for her that would mean good food, and a good bed
to sleep in.
ANNA : May I smoke ?
BOUNINE: Help yourself. Carry on, gentlemen.
[She fakes a cigarette. As he speaks., Petrovsky strikes a
match and holds it, lighting her cigarette. Chernov moves
forward on the other side, both men staring down at her.}
PETROVSKY (cutting in) : The eyes are right. Possibly
the only feature that is.
CHERNOV: Where did you see the eyes of the — other ?
PETROVSKY: I was at Notre Dame de Kazan in 1915
when we had been driven back by Hmdenburg. She
came into the church to pray with her mother and
they each placed a candle before the big ikon. I saw
two little candles reflected in her eyes.
CHERNOV : Blue eyes ?
PETROVSKY: Blue-grey, with the two candle flames
like a pair of golden dots. And just now when I
held the match for this one's cigarette — there was the
same thing exactly. Very few eyes will pick up a
reflection like that.
BOUNINE: Eh!
PETROVSKY: I'm an artist. I know what I'm talking
about.
CHERNOV: Well. (Considering.} What about the
mouth?
PETROVSKY: All wrong, a drawn, taut mouth. Hers
smiled easily. Even at that solemn moment she
smiled. Her teeth were beautifully even, white and
shiny.
CHERNOV: What about the height ? (To Anna.} Stand
up.
ANNA : What did you say ?
169
ACT ONE
CHERNOV: I said, " Stand up." She looks too tall
to me.
BOUNINE (without moving): The last time I held
Anastasia's stirrup, when she came to inspect our
regiment at Tsarksoie, I noted that the top of her
dolman was on the level of my eye.
[She gets up slowly, coughs and continues to smoke as they
move about, scrutinising her from different angles.]
PETROVSKY: Of course she's twice the age the other
was — when she died.
BOUNINE : And I must remind you again that the last
sixteen years would not have been what the first
sixteen were.
CHERNOV (to Anna) : Say something ... in Russian.
[She looks at him, but doesn't speak.]
You don't know the language?
ANNA: No.
PETROVSKY: But you speak with a Russian accent.
How do you account for that?
[She again doesn't ansiver.]
PETROVSKY: And, clearly, you have Slavic blood.
CHERNOV (pointing} : Move over there. I want to see
how you walk.
[She turns, obeying him, and walks almost slottchmgly, with
head at an angle and sagging slightly forward.]
(With a scornful laugh.} They were taught as children
to walk carrying a book on their heads. Another
thing we would have to tell our subscribers that she
has somehow forgotten.
170
ANASTASIA
PETROVSKY: Is this really the same woman you saw
at the hospital? The one whose resemblance so
impressed you ?
BOUNINE: The same, I assure you.
CHERNOV (looking at her and shaking his head} : There
may be a sort of vague resemblance; but not enough
to convince our subscribers.
BOUNINE : And how have they seen the original ? A
white-clad figure in a rapidly moving carnage. Or
in the family stand at Krasnoie. Yes, they saw quite
a lot of her — tn the newspapers.
CHERNOV: What of the royal servants ? There are
still a few of them about.
BOUNINE : They'll see her through their tears ; poor,
good faithful souls that they are.
CHERNOV : And the family ?
BOUNINE: More difficult, certainly. But it isn't as if
there were a mother or a father to be dealt with. Or
a brother and sisters. . . . True, there is quite a
wealth of uncles, aunts and cousins, despite the Bol
sheviks and their execution squads. But they will
refer secretly to their photographs, and as she will
resemble those photographs
CHERNOV: This woman ?
[He turns, indicating where she stands in shadow, her
shoulder leaning against the wall while she stares at the floor,
oblivious to their discussion.]
BOUNINE: Yes. I am sure by the time we are finished
she'll be like, very like. Oh, it won't be the gay, pink-
cheeked girl, who danced in the Hall of Columns at
the last ball ever held there. But, let us say, she'll
be as like as a dead body is to a living person.
PETROVSKY: If we could present her to them lying
in her coffin it would be easier. No questions, no
answers, no mistakes.
171
ACT ONE
BOUNINE: A tempting idea, my friend, but you're
forgetting the money.
CHERNOV : You surely don't believe you'll be able to
convince the bankers ?
BOUNINE (with a shrug): Well, there's a chance. If
the family accept her, the bankers would find it
difficult to question their endorsement.
CHERNOV: Listen, Bounine, I admit you knew the
original better than we did, but still I've studied
those photographs of ours, and I can't imagine
BOUNINE: Get them out . . . compare her with them
feature by feature.
CHERNOV: I don't need to. I know them by heart.
In the early ones she wore her hair down — there's
one of her dancing on the deck of a yacht.
\Petrovsky goes and fetches two large but shabby looking
albums and places them on the table, .]
CHERNOV: In the more recent ones she appears
heavier than her sisters with stronger cheekbones,
more Russian looking.
PETROVSKY (dreamily): Yes, and then, at least for
some of us, there is the final one. The one photo
graphed by our imaginations.
CHERNOV : What are you talking about ?
PETROVSKY: She is standing up, the head and the
hands she had raised to shield it pierced with bullets.
[Anna, in the shadow, raises her head.]
BOUNINE: Look at her hands.
PETROVSKY (startled)' What did you say?
BOUNINE (nodding to the shadow) : I said : " Look at
her hands."
172
ANASTASIA
CHERNOV: You don't mean. . . ?
BOUNINE: I told you there was a special feature —
something rather surprising. And that isn't quite all.
[Petrovsky turns the shade of the lamp so that the hght falls
on her.]
CHERNOV: Come here!
[She does not move. Chernov goes to her.]
I said, " Come here."
[He catches hold of her arm and with a rough jerk brings
her stumbling forward. Petrovsky, with a quick fonvard
movement '; catches her by the other arm, and half dragging,
half supporting her, they bring her to the light. \
PETROVSKY: Open your hands.
BOUNINE : You'll find they are long and well shaped,
with a scar in the middle — the hands of a crucified
being.
PETROVSKY (a hoarse whisper]: Yes, it's true.
BOUNINE: Look at her head, gentlemen, the left
temple, a long narrow depression, the path of a bullet
... of course it may be something more prosaic; a
childhood accident, a rather bad one that caused a
fracture. . . .
[Pulling her close to the lamp they push her head down,
holding it there as they examine the scar.]
CHERNOV: What is this scar? Is it from a bullet?
Tell us?
ANNA: I don't remember.
CHERNOV : You're lying ! Anyone would remember a
173
ACT ONE
thing like that. Where do you come from? Your
home — where is it?
ANNA: The convent.
CHERNOV : What convent ?
ANNA : A convent where they take care of sick people.
(Shaking her bead.} It is the place where I lived for a
long time.
CHERNOV: You told this man that the name Anna
Broun was given to you by the nuns.
ANNA: Did I?
CHERNOV: What was your name before that — the
name you were born with ?
ANNA: I don't remember.
CHERNOV: Oh, so you're an amnesiac? Very con
venient. I suppose you do not even know what town
m Russia you came from ?
ANNA : I didn't say I came from Russia. (For the first
time she shows a faint agitation.} I said nothing of
Russia, nothing.
CHERNOV (grabbing her arm) : Where are your papers ?
Your identity card ? Show it to me.
ANNA : Perhaps the nuns have it.
CHERNOV : You lying slut ! (He pushes her down into the
chair.}
BOUNINE : You're a damned fool, Chernov. The very
fact that she can stand up to your questioning should
be giving you confidence.
CHERNOV: You're willing to trust her, are you? A
woman about whom you know nothing ? A woman
who says she doesn't know who she is or where she
comes from ?
BOUNINE: Such things happen to the memory,
Chernov. And they happen particularly to people
who have the furrow of a bullet along the side of the
skull and whose hands, have probably warded oft"
death by the merest fraction.
:74
ANASTASIA
PETROVSKY: It's those scars that are the real value.
They at least are authentic.
BOUNINE: It's enough excuse for us to believe in her.
PETROVSKY: Up to a point. The unfortunate thing
is this time limit they've set us.
BOUNINE: That may not be as bad as it sounds. At
that first meeting she will be in bed with a nurse and
doctor in attendance.
CHERNOV: Doctor?
BOUNINE: I know a man who can be safely trusted.
He'll tell them she is not to be pilloried with questions.
CHERNOV: You expect them to accept that?
BOUNINE : They'll have to. And for the first meeting
the scars should be sufficient evidence without offer
ing further proof.
CHERNOV: Well, and — after that?
BOUNINE: Before the meeting with the bulk of the
shareholders I shall insist on two months for con
valescence with medical attention. That cough of
hers will help us. We'll say she's consumptive.
PETROVSKY: We'll have to see she doesn't lose it.
BOUNINE : Plenty of cigarettes will take care of that.
(He rises and crosses to Anna.} I am going to explain
this business to you, and I want you to pay strict
attention. . . . In 1918 a young girl died. In 1918
you must have been very close to her age. A story
has been widely told, and widely believed, that this
girl is not dead. None of us three believe that story,
but that doesn't matter.
ANNA : What has this girl to do with me ?
BOUNINE : When I saw you in the hospital, I realised
you were something like her — that with our help you
might be made very like. . . . Do you understand ?
[He pauses. She does not answer.]
ACT ONE
(Sharply.} I want you to answer when I speak to you.
I must know that you are following what I say.
ANNA: I am listening.
BOUNINE: If, with our help, you succeed in getting
yourself accepted by her friends and relations there is
money waiting for you — and those who have helped
you.
ANNA : Friends, relations — how could I ?
PETROVSKY: If we could only get some member of
the family to endorse her
BOUNINE: Quite.
PETROVSKY: Yes, but who?
BOUNINE : Well, of course, Maria Feodorovna would
carry the most weight.
PETROVSKY : The Tsar's mother ? People say she went
mad.
BOUNINE: She happens to be here in Germany visit
ing her grand-nephew, Paul.
PETROVSKY: That doesn't sound as if she were too
crazy.
BOUNINE: Perhaps not too crazy but definitely too
difficult. I knew her well in the old days — a tartar
with a tongue like a whiplash.
PETROVSKY: What of him?
BOUNINE : Him, who ? Who are you talking about ?
PETROVSKY: The Prince you say she is visiting,
Prince Paul.
BOUNINE (softly, nodding bis head back and forth} : I
wonder. I wonder which way he would jump ? He
was her future husband.
PETROVSKY: Anastasia's? IF^j-he?
CHERNOV (protestmgly) : But they were children then 1
BOUNINE: Fifteen and sixteen. There'd been no
announcement of the betrothal, but everyone at
Court took it as an accepted fact. The two had been
playmates from childhood — second cousins.
176
ANASTASIA
CHERNOV: But obviously he would be the most
difficult to convince.
PETROVSKY : Was he in love with the girl ?
BOUNINE (wzth a shrug) : Royalty, who can say. It was
a great match for him. Apait from any question of
rank, the Tsar was the richest man in the world. (He
walks away a couple of paces., his head lowered in thought.}
Yes, yes, the more I consider it, the more I think we
ought to try it. Paul is poor and pleasure-loving.
That big fortune that's waiting in the banks would
count a lot with him.
CHERNOV: But surely the only way he could get the
money. . . . (Breaking off.} My God, you don't
think he'd be willing to marry that? (He gives a laugh
as he points at Anna.}
BOUNINE: It's a lot of money, remember.
CHERNOV : You're letting your fancies run away with
you.
BOUNINE: I admit it sounds pretty far fetched. It
would depend, I suppose, on how hard up he is.
ANNA (suddenly expostulating}: No!
[They all look at her.}
BOUNINE: What do you mean, " No "?
ANNA: I want to go.
BOUNINE: Go where?
ANNA: Anywhere. Back to the nuns. (She closes bet
eyes.} Four white walls and my little bed near the
window. ... I was wrong to run away from it. In
summer they let me read my book out under a tree.
[She turns and goes towards the steps. Petrovskj leaps to
his feet and picks up the pistol,]
PETROVSKY: Stopl
177
ACT ONE
[She turns. Chernov, hurrying forward, puts himself
between her and the steps, .]
BOUNINE: There's no going now, my girl.
ANNA (for the first time she shows fear) \ What are you
going to do to us ? (Her ejes are focused on the revolver.}
BOUNINE: Us?
CHERNOV (jeeringlf) : You're alone, you seem to have
forgotten that.
PETROVSKY (advancing slowly): You know too much
now to let you go.
ANNA: Give me a moment to say a prayer. (She puts
up her hands, one across her eyes, one shielding her temple^
BOUNINE (to Petrovsky}: Put away that silly pistol.
(To Anna.} You're safe enough as long as you
behave yourself.
ANNA (weartly) : What is it you want me to do ?
BOUNINE: We've already told you — we want you to
be someone else.
ANNA : How can I ?
BOUNINE: I'm convinced that you can with our help.
We will teach you the things you will have to do and
see to your appearance.
PETROVSKY: You will have beautiful clothes to wear.
On grand occasions you will even wear a coronet.
ANNA: Coronet?
PETROVSKY (pointing to it] : Yes, like the one you see
on that poster. Go and stand by it. I drew it from
a record of the lady's measurements as kept by her
dressmaker. You questioned the height of the figure.
It's exact.
[As he speaks, she goes to the poster and places her hands on
it, following the shape of the face up to the crown. Then,
turning round, she faces the three men. Bountne turns the
lampshade so that the hght ts focused on her. She exactly
178
ANASTASIA
fills the silhouette. The Byzantine crown seems to rest on her
head.}
BOUNINE (exultantly)'. Yes, to the nearest fraction!
[Her face becomes suddenly convulsed. She seems to be
trying vainly to free her body and her arms from invisible
clutches. She seems, in fact, as if nailed to the wall under
the gilt crown. She utters a cry.}
ANNA : Let me go 1
CHERNOV : What's the matter with you ? Are you an
epileptic ?
BOUNINE (commandinglj): Come here. There's noth
ing holding you.
[As if with difficulty she frees herself, and lurching forward
she recovers and turns, then walks step by step, backwards,
her eyes glued on the poster.]
ANNA (in a whisper) : Who is it ?
BOUNINE: A Princess, a Russian.
ANNA (with a crooked smile] : I think I must still be in
the asylum with the woman who thinks she is an
angel, and the three who sit all day crouched and
covered because they fancy they have not yet been
born.
PETROVSKY (amused) : Perhaps you are right — here you
are with the mad General, the mad painter, and the
mad banker.
ANNA: And the mad woman who must believe her
self a Princess.
CHERNOV (with sarcasm] : A Princess who will have to
know the names of her palaces, their servants and
officials, her family history, the regiments who
guarded her, their names, their uniforms — quite a
task for a woman with a bad memory 1
ACT ONE
BOUNINE (unruffled) : She will naturally make mistakes,
but the injury to her head and the lapse of time will
explain that.
CHERNOV: People will come to see her, each with
their private store of memories.
BOUNINE: Sentimental occasions invariably bring
forth a stream of reminiscences. For the most part
she will only have to listen.
CHERNOV: I doubt if she even knows how to behave
among people of our class.
PETROVSKY: You saw her hands. They're not those
of a peasant.
BOUNINE: We'll find out just how hard it will be to
teach her; here sit down.
[He clears the cigarette box, bottle and glasses from in front
of Anna, who sits at the end of the table.}
ANNA : What if this Princess suddenly appears ?
BOUNINE: She won't. I've told you already, she is
dead — murdered.
ANNA (with delicate irony) : Oh, I was murdered, was I ?
BOUNINE: With your entire family, in a cellar in
Ekaterinburg. . . . That is — officially. Unofficially
you escaped with two brothers named Tschaikowsky
who were members of your guard. They dragged
you from the heap of the dead.
[She closes her ejes.]
(Sharply.} Now pay attention to what I'm telling you.
This is the story you will have to repeat. They hid
you under straw in a farm cart.
ANNA (repeating dully) : Under the straw.
BOUNINE: They trekked across Southern Siberia.
[She nods her head back and forth.}
180
ANASTASIA
PETROVSKY: You had jewels sewn in your clothes —
they used them to get money.
BOUNINE : They moved on south, avoiding the towns
and cities, making their way to — where was it - ?
PETROVSKY (supplying if] : Balta.
BOUNINE: Balta.
ANNA (still with closed eyes] : Balta.
BOUNINE: Right . . . and at Balta you crossed the
Rumanian border to Bucharest.
ANNA: Bucharest.
BOUNINE: Bucharest is where we found you. We
took you to Switzerland, to a sanatorium — you will
also have to remember that.
[She again nods her head.]
who was it who saved you that night in
Ekaterinburg ?
ANNA: Two brothers named Tschaikowsky.
BOUNINE: And they took you across the Rumanian
border at what place?
ANNA: Balta.
BOUNINE (triumphantly}: There, my dear Chernov —
what have you got to say to that ?
CHERNOV: Most impressive.
ANNA : Is that all ?
BOUNINE: It's enough for the moment. I think it's
time to introduce you to your family. Get the
albums.
ANNA : My family ?
BOUNINE: Don't look so startled. I'm not going to
produce any living members.
ANNA: Who are they?
BOUNINE: The most important are your second
cousin once removed, Prince Paul, known also by
his German title, " Haraldeberg ", and your grand
mother, the Dowager Empress, Maria Feodorovna.
181
ACT ONE
ANNA: My grandmother?
BOUNINE: Yes, that will be your most trying experi
ence, but it will not happen for some time. (He opens
book.} Now this is your mother, Queen Alexandra.
Why do you close your eyes ?
CHERNOV : Is your eyesight bad ?
ANNA: No, go on.
BOUNINE: Here's the whole family on a picnic. That
is you, the girl, with the hair down her back. . . .
Anothei group: Alexis, Olga, Tatiana and Mane —
your brother, your sisters, and again, you.
ANNA (abruptly] : I see them. (She herself turns the page.}
BOUNINE1 Uncles and aunts — there's quite a series
of them. Say their names after me: the Grand
Duchess Mane Pavlovna — Aunt Miechen.
ANNA : Aunt Miechen.
BOUNINE: The Duchess of Cumberland — AuntThyra.
ANNA: Aunt Thyra.
BOUNINE: The King of Norway — Uncle Hans.
ANNA : Uncle Hans.
BOUNINE : The old King of England — Uncle Bertie.
ANNA: Uncle Bertie.
BOUNINE : The Queen of Norway — Aunt Swan.
ANNA: Aunt Swan.
BOUNINE : Oh, this one must have got in by mistake,
merely a President of the United States.
CHERNOV : And how much of all that can she repeat ?
BOUNINE : I'm not asking her to repeat any. We'll go
over the list every day. Not all will sink in, but some
will. (Turns back to Anna.} Now look: we'll close
the book on this final one : you in uniform as Colonel
of the Kaspiski regiment.
PETROVSKY: Blue skirt, red dolman, kolback of black
fur.
ANNA (trying to place the word} : Kolback ^
182
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE (pointing) : The shoulder cape. You are on
the way to review your regiment.
PETROVSKY: Wait. Let us re-enact it. Perhaps that
will make her see it. (To Anna.) Go up those steps.
They are the steps of the Winter Palace. Your
father's palace.
[She hesitates a moment, then obeys him, walking carefully ',
watching the steps as she goes.]
Enough. Turn and face us.
[She does so.]
You had best describe it, Prince. You have been
closer to it than I.
BOUNINE (drily): Yes, much closer. (Addressing
Anna.} Now try to picture it. The long line of the
Imperial Guard, your father, the Emperor, in uniform,
at their head — behind you, on a balcony, are the white
specks that are your mother, your sisters, and your
brother Alexis. Below are the palace guards and
servants, the Negroes with their feathered turbans.
. . . The massed bands strike up " God protect the
Tsar ". It is your signal. You come down.
[There is a momentary pause, then erect, head up, quite
altered in her carnage, she comes down the steps as if walking
to slow music. The three men move back, watching her as
if she were a phantom ]
Splendid! I know she can do it.
PETROVSKY: Yes, yes 1
BOUNINE: And now let me present the members of
your household. (Indicating him.} Boris Chernov.
Formerly of St. Petersburg. Banker.
183
ACT ONE
PETROVSKY (introducing himself}: Piotr Constantmo-
vitch Petrovsky, artist — formerly m scenic depart
ment Russian Imperial Opera.
BOUNINE (with a bow): Prince Arcade Arcadievitch
Boumne, General of the Don Cossacks. "Qyi-cude-de-
camp attached to the person of his Majesty Nicholas
the Second, Emperor of all the Russias.
ANNA : And I ?
BOUNINE : Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess
Anastasia Nicolaevna.
[She stares at him for a moment, then bursts out in a
discordant laugh that sends her into a fit of coughing.]
Curtain
184
ACT TWO
Four weeks later.
The scene represents a linng hall in the house that the
business syndicate have taken for their " Princess ". The
house is situated in the suburbs of Berlin and is a left-over
from days when the district was rural and a house such as
this stood in a park.
There is an archway at centre of rear wall and in it is a
landing with three or four steps descending from it into the
room. At the back of this landing is a doonvay with a pair
of heavy curtains hanging in it. It leads to the private
apartments assigned to Anna. To the right of this archway
is a small door, designated in the script as " exit right ".
The right-hand wall runs down-stage from beside this door
and contains a tall French window and a fireplace, the latter
being well down-stage. In the opposite wall and facing the
window is a double doorway which is the entrance of the
room from the outer hallway where the front door is situated
but not visible.
The furnishings are rich, with a couple of handsome giran
doles on which there are crystal candelabra. There is also
a glass chandelier. On one wall there hangs a large ikon with
a prie-dieu placed below it. A. console table stands on left
of centre archway, and, beside a bowl of flowers, there is a
large photograph of the Russian Royal family, the frame
surmounted with the double-headed eagle. About the fire
place there is a grouping of chairs, one being given a special
prominence, a big straight-backed armchair. It is in this
that Anna plays her scene with the two peasants.
Through the window we see the trees of a small park and a
misty suggestion of buildings beyond. It is afternoon.
Petrovsky is discovered. He wears black coat and striped
trousers. He has a list which he is looking over.
185
ACT TWO
PETROVSKY (calling): Sergei!
\A powerfully limit Russian, in the uniform of a royal
servant, enters instantly as if be had been stationed immedi
ately outside.]
I see there are four more witnesses on today's list.
Are they still here?
SERGEI : One had to go, a dressmaker. As a girl she
says she worked for the firm who made clothes for
the four Princesses.
PETROVSKY: Soma Rykoff
SERGEI: Yes, that is the one. She will be back
tomorrow.
PETROVSKY: And these others ?
SERGEI: A peasant woman and a sleigh-driver. The
man is blind.
PETROVSKY: And this other man?
SERGEI: Felix Oblenski. Was a soldier m the Guards.
Had special sentry duties in the Royal apartments.
PETROVSKY (looking at hsf) : The sleigh-driver was in
service in the Royal Stables at Gatchma.
SERGEI: Yes, he still has his badge.
[Chernov enters up centre I\
CHERNOV : How is it going ?
PETROVSKY (to Sergei} : Tell these people her Highness
will see them if they wait.
SERGEI: Yes, sir.
[He turns and exits.']
PETROVSKY (turning to Chernov): Ups and downs. The
servants, most of them, accept her without question.
CHERNOV : The uneducated ? Of course. It's what I
186
ANASTASIA
always say, the Russian revolution was started by
Alexander the Second — he sent the people to school.
[Bounine enters left. He has hat and gloves and wears a
morning coat with two nbbons in his buttonhole^
BOUNINE: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
PETROVSKY: Good afternoon, Excellency.
BOUNINE (pulhng off his gloves') : I've got some news.
We are about to have a distinguished visitor.
PETROVSKY (starmg at him expectantly) : Who ?
BOUNINE : Maria Feodorovna.
PETROVSKY (incredulously) : The Dowager Empress. . . .
BOUNINE : The Prince sent for me to ask if her High
ness was now well enough for us to bring her to
Haraldeberg to meet the Empress. I thought we
weren't ready for that, not yet, so I said " No ".
PETROVSKY: Quite right, but
BOUNINE (overlapping} : The Prince said, " In that
case the Empress will visit her Highness under my
escort." Of course there was nothing I could reply
to that except that I was sure her Highness would be
overjoyed.
CHERNOV: Were those his exact words that you
quoted? Did he say " her Highness " ?
BOUNINE : He did indeed. No talk of " the unknown
woman ", or " the alleged daughter of the Tsar " —
the sort of phrases he used before he met her.
PETROVSKY : It sounds as if she'd convinced him.
BOUNINE: He won't exactly come out and say so but
I think she has. Only he's hanging back until the old
lady has accepted her.
PETROVSKY: I hadn't the honour of knowing Maria
Feodorovna. Is she as tough a customer as you said ?
BOUNINE : She won't be easy.
PETROVSKY: Well, it is anyway good news that the
Prince is kindly disposed.
187
ACT TWO
CHERNOV : I'm afraid our report isn't quite as pleasing.
BOUNINE (a touch of anxiety}: Why, has anything gone
wrong with her ?
PETROVSKY: With her? No. She seems to be in
excellent form. Chernov is referring to the interview
with your old friend Plouvitch, the Court Chamber-
lam.
CHERNOV: A complete failure.
BOUNINE : He wouldn't accept her ?
CHERNOV : Not for a moment.
BOUNINE: I've always loathed the stiflf-necked old
fool. Tell me what happened exactly. Did she make
any bloomers ?
PETROVSKY : Not one. She spoke of his gilt dress that
had so impressed her as a child. And of the tall wand
with which he rapped on the floor to give the signal
to the trumpets and the drums. He asked, just to
trick her, if she remembers him in his gilt dress at
the parades, but she said, " No, then you were dressed
in the uniform of a General of the Guards with a
white dolman with an eagle on it."
BOUNINE: And you mean to say he still wasn't
impressed ?
CHERNOV : He told her she was an excellent pupil.
BOUNINE : The blithering old fool.
PETROVSKY: But all the same, just when Sergei took
his arm and was helping out, he turned and called
back, "Tell me, who are you?" (He imitates the
hollow quavering tone of an old man.}
BOUNINE: And she ?
PETROVSKY: stared steadily at him and gave him
no answer.
BOUNINE: Perfect.
PETROVSKY: She's amazing. What she's managed to
learn in one month.
188
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE: Her ability at picking out and memorising
petty detail is certainly extraordinary.
PETROVSKY: Yes, if that ts what it is.
BOUNINE : What do you mean ?
PETROVSKY: Well it seems to me, at times, that it
passes the extraordinary and becomes the — uncanny.
CHERNOV: Rubbish 1 She's made mistakes, plenty of
them, when we've been going over the books of
data.
PETROVSKY: Oh yes, the name of some functionary,
or whether some event took place at Tsarskoie or the
Winter Palace — the sort of mistakes we would all
make about things that happened to us sixteen years
ago.
BOUNINE: You surely aren't suggesting ?
PETROVSKY (overlapping): You're sure she was killed?
BOUNINE: Who? Anastasia?
PETROVSKY: You said you knew for certain.
BOUNINE : Of course she was killed. I had the whole
story from Yourovski's head bodyguard before we
strung him up. To be sure Anastasia fainted when
Yourovski shot her father and so the first volley of
the execution squad didn't kill her. She came to, to
find herself lying in a heap of dead. If she hadn't
screamed she might have stood a chance !
CHERNOV: The bodies were tossed down a deserted
mine shaft. You don't suppose Yourovski didn't
count them, do you?
PETROVSKY: All the same the tale of her escape has
also been insisted on by people who claimed to have
first hand information.
BOUNINE: Russian peasants. You know their love of
the miraculous.
PETROVSKY: It's a choice of miracles it seems to me.
CHERNOV: With all this perfection you see in her I
will remind you of one glaring failure. There must
189
ACT TWO
be an interpreter present if she talks to a witness who
can only speak Russian.
PETROVSKY: And yet the Russian accent is unmistak
able.
CHERNOV: It's the reason she failed with Plouvitch.
BOUNINE: Plouvitch won't matter if only the old
woman accepts her. Everything depends on that.
PETROVSKY: Mightn't it be enough jf the Prince is
convinced ?
BOUNINE (shaking his head] : The Prince is not enough :
a society idler, a bit of a gigolo, musician, dreamer —
above all, a Russian. But the Empress is Danish,
with no romantic nonsense about her.
PETROVSKY. What time will they be here?
BOUNINE: Five o'clock.
PETROVSKY (looking at his watch}: Perhaps I'd better
send away the remaining witnesses and we'll get out
the albums and give her a last minute drilling. (He
makes a move towards the door.}
BOUNINE: No. It would only confuse her mind and
make her nervous. . . . We'll have to trust to her
instinct. Of course it is ten years since I've seen the
Empress. It's not likely her own memory is what
it was. She's nearly eighty, remember.
[Sergei enters left.]
SERGEI: Pardon, Excellency, there is a phone call
from a newspaper.
BOUNINE ; Which paper ?
SERGEI: Die Nachtausgabe.
PETROVSKY (to Eoumne} : They called before asking for
an interview.
[As Petrovskj makes a move to go:}
BOUNINE: Not you. You had better talk to them,
Chernov.
190
ANASTASIA
CHERNOV: I think so too.
[Chernov nods and goes left to Sergei, .]
PETROVSKY: Why did you send him?
\E>oumne turns to Petrovsky as Chernov exits folloived by
Sergei.]
BOUNINE: You're not capable of dealing with these
newshawks.
PETROVSKY (sulkily}\ Oh, that's it? I've told you
why
BOUNINE (cutting in} : I don't care why. Giving them
her photograph to publish was the act of an idiot.
\Antonia enters from the curtained doorway. She is of
early middle-age, grim-faced, but of superior class.}
ANTONIA : Pardon, Excellency, her Highness is ready
to receive the witnesses.
PETROVSKY (calling through doonvay] : Sergei 1
BOUNINE: Who are they? Anything will help to
swell the numbers of her supporters.
[Sergei enters left.}
PETROVSKY: A blind sleigh-driver, a palace sentry and
some sort of charwoman — people of no importance.
BOUNINE : Do they all speak German ?
SERGEI: Yes, Excellency.
BOUNINE: You explained to them why her Highness
prefers to conduct these interviews in the language
of the country ?
SERGEI: Yes, Excellency, I told them it was so that
the records of what was said could be read by her
legal advisers.
BOUNINE: Good. We'll take the woman first.
191
ACT TWO
SERGEI: The blind man and the woman are fnends.
They ask if they may come together.
BOUNINE : Very well. (Makes a dismissing gesture.}
[Sergei turns.]
Are you sure this man is really blind ?
SERGEI (turning back} : Quite sure, Excellency.
[Sergei exits left. Antoma remains, standing stiffly beside
the curtained archway ]
BOUNINE (to Petrovsky} : One must be careful of blind
men. It was a supposed blind man who threw the
bomb with such deadly aim at the carriage of Alex
ander the Second.
PETROVSKY: Sergei examines everyone before they
are admitted. There is no chance for anyone to be
armed.
SERGEI (appearing in doorway] : Come this way.
[The Chanvoman and the Sleigh-Driver enter. She holds
the blind man's arm guiding him into the room. The old
man has a white beard, wears a long black overcoat, green
with age, and carries a cap. The Chanvoman is a middle-
aged Russian peasant, with a scarf about her shoulders
over a brightly coloured dress. Her eyes are taken by the
ikon. She does an awkward cuttsey to tt and crosses herself.
Antoma goes to the blind man.]
PETROVSKY (crossing to them] : Now, my good people,
her Royal Highness is about to receive you. You
are to talk to her and examine her attentively. After
the audience you will be taken to the chief secretary
who will register your opinion in writing and obtain
your signature.
[They do not answer.]
192
ANASTASIA
ANTONIA (who has taken a position beside the steps and
facing the audience}: Her Imperial Highness, The
Grand Duchess Anastasia Nicolaevna.
[Anna enters through curtained archway., centre., a figure
transformed and with an air of incontestable distinction.
She wears a tailor-made dress that is extremely chic and
she has a heavy " choker " necklace of Russian amber on
her neck. Her face., though pale, is no longer haggard. She
seems to be infused with an extraordinary calm and all her
movements are graceful and measured. She halts on the last
step and stands there. The Sleigh-Driver drops to his knees,
and shuffles nearer. Sergei guides him to take Anna's hand.
Anna steps down the remaining step bringing herself
immediately in front of the S leigh-Dnver. He raises his
hand, moving it in the air gropingly. She extends her hand
to his; he seizes it and puts it to his lips.]
DRIVER : Yes, it is you, Little Mother. I know you as
my own dog knows me. You were like four flowers,
you and your sisters, and for each of you there was a
different scent.
ANNA: Dear Wassievitch! Do you remember that
Christmas at Gatchina when I had sprained my ankle
on the ice and you had to carry me to and from your
sleigh in your arms ?
DRIVER (brokenly): Yes, it is your voice. I would
know it anywhere.
\Petrovsky smiles and, turning his head, winks at Botmne.]
ANNA : I remember how you used to kiss each of your
horses good morning. It always made me laugh
and I remember the big blue silk net that was spread
over their backs to keep the snow they picked up
with their hooves from falling on the people who rode
in the sleigh.
G 193
ACT TWO
DRIVER: Yes, yes, Little Mother. I see you have not
forgotten those old days.
ANNA: My sister Tatiana took a photograph of us,
you and me. I have it in an album. Would you like
to see it ?
DRIVER: I am blind, Gracious One.
ANNA (compassionately): I didn't know.
DRIVER: A double cataract. But I do not mind. It
was a beautiful world that I saw in those old days.
I like to pretend I am still living in it.
CHARWOMAN: You would be glad of your eyes today.
Our Princess is beautiful.
ANNA: You have knelt to me long enough, Wassie-
vitch. It was not like that at Gatchina. Then we
threw snowballs at each other — only I knew you
always threw them so that they should not hit me.
DRIVER: You loved the snow. I called you " Snow
Princess " and you said you liked the name.
[Bounine gives a signal to Sergei and he comes forward and,
taking the old man's arm, helps him to rise. A.nna goes
to the chair o.p. centre. Boumne steps forward.]
ANNA: Place chairs for my visitors.
BOUNINE: I must inform your Highness that other
visitors are corning. . . .
[She looks at him questioning^, but doesn't speak. The two
servants, who have each gone to a chair to execute her order,
stop.]
Prince Paul — and the Empress Mother.
ANNA : She is coming here ?
BOUNINE: Yes.
ANNA: These two have come to me from a long way.
(Turning to the servants.) Bring them chairs.
194
ANASTASIA
[They do so, and Anna seats herself. The Charwoman starts
forward, then halts hesitatingly. Anna beckons her with the
full arm gesture peculiar to royalty. Bounme turns back and
rejoins Petrovsky giving a slight shrug of the shoulder as he
does so. The Charwoman drops in a deep but awkward
curtsey in front of Anna. The woman Antonia goes to the
Sleigh-Driver and takes his arm, standing beside him,~\
(Indicating chair to Charwoman.} Sit here.
[She turns her face to Antonia who, interpreting the
unspoken order, brings the bhnd man down and helps him
into the other chair. She addresses the Chanvoman.]
What is your name ?
CHARWOMAN: Annouchka, Highness.
ANNA: And have you come here all the way from
Russia, Annouchka?
CHARWOMAN: No, Highness. I have lived here in
the colony since nineteen twenty-one.
ANNA : You know me, do you, Annouchka ?
CHARWOMAN: Of course I know you, Little Mother.
ANNA: Where was it that I met you, in Peterhoff,
Iivadia, or was it in Spala during the war ?
CHARWOMAN: At Ekaterinburg, Little Mother.
ANNA (incredulously} : You saw me there ? But nobody
was allowed in the town except the soldiers.
CHARWOMAN: I lived there. My dead husband and
my dead son were both miners. I was sent into the
house of Ipotieff, the accursed house with the two
wooden fences about it, with the closed windows and
the darkened panes. . . . The soldiers said to me,
" You are to wash the floorboards," so I went in.
ANNA: And you saw me there?
CHARWOMAN: Sitting in a half-dark room all alone.
I had my pail, my cloths, my brushes. Yourovski,
195
ACT TWO
the assassin, gave me a push and said, " Hurry." I
fell on my knees on the threshold of the room as one
does in church. The vile one thought it was in order
to scrub the floor but you knew it was for you that I
knelt.
ANNA (softly) : For me ?
CHARWOMAN : You smiled and gave me a good wish,
but then you forgot I was there. Your thoughts were
in the clouds flying like wounded birds.
ANNA: I do remember. I remember the swish of your
cloth as you wiped the floors reminded me of the
frou-frou of the women's trains as they walked about
the polished floors of the Winter Palace. . . . And I
thought of the wonderful balls that were given there.
The great staircase. And on every step a huntsman
in green, his gloved hand on a gilt cutlass.
CHARWOMAN: One of the soldiers had traced on the
floor a sketch of Rasputin all naked. I washed it out
and as I did so, the sun must have come out, for a
little beam came through the shutters and there, on
the floor, was your shadow. ... I stooped and
kissed it.
[Anna grips the arms of her chair until her knuckles
whiten. She leans back, her chin thmvn up, her eyes closed.}
And — afterwards, came that dreadful day when the
shots were heard, and the sun darkened so that a
July evening seemed like the blackest hour of
winter . . . but even then, at that time, it was
whispered that there was one who was not dead.
And, as the months passed and we gathered round
our stoves, the story was told of the Princess who was
carried away in the night in her blood-stained dress,
heavy with all the diamonds and pearls sewn together;
of the bribing of the sentries and the tale of him who
196
ANASTASIA
had exchanged for ten big diamonds the droshka and
the horses.
BOUNINE (sharply, coming forward}: Enough 1 Her
Highness must close the audience. You were brought
here to attest that this is indeed Anastasia Nicolaevna.
You both agree ?
DRIVER (chantingly] : Anastasia Nicolaevna, the Snow
Princess, risen from the tomb.
ANNA : Good-bye dear Wassievitch and God's bless
ing.
CHARWOMAN : In Ekaterinburg there is a deep wood
of pine trees and in it through the night shadows are
seen moving, some say seven, but I know now there
can only be six.
[The woman Antonia has again come forward and taken
the blind man's hand. She leads him off. The Charwoman
walks backward a step. Sergei goes to her, taking charge
of her. Anna opens her eyes, which she has kept closed
through the end of the scene.]
ANNA: Good-bye, Annouchka, Annouchka of Eka
terinburg.
[She makes the Russian sign of the cross and kisses her
thumb.}
CHARWOMAN: Bless your Highness.
[They are led off OH prompt side.}
PETROVSKY: Thank heaven! I'm dying for a cigar
ette.
[He fakes one out of his case and puts it in his mouth. Anna
with a sudden gesture snatches the cigarette from between
his lips and throws it on the floor.}
ACT TWO
ANNA (blaming at him}: How dare you! How dare
you light a cigarette in my presence without my
permission.
[Petrovsky stares at her in amazement,}
PETROVSKY: I beg your Highness's pardon,
[Boumm gives a little laugh, lout Petrovsky's ga^e is rivet ted
on Anna, who returns his almost hypnotised stare with an
imperious sternness.']
If you'll excuse me, I'll (He breaks off and gives
a little nervous laugh.}
[He murmurs the last word, takes a backward step, turns,
and exits.]
BOUNINE: Good. I told you to try and think of
yourself as Anastasia. You see how effective it can
be.
ANNA (holding out her hand} : A cigarette, please.
[Bounme laughs and, picking up a box from a table, offers
it to her. She takes one.]
BOUNINE (smiling}: Have I your Highness's per
mission?
[Anna gives a contemptuous shrug. Bounine takes a cigarette
for himself then, picking up matchbox, lights first her
cigarette, then his own.}
And that was good just now with those two peasants.
If you do as well with the old Empress the prize is in
sight.
[She turns her face to him enquiringly^
I mean the money.
198
ANASTASIA
ANNA (indifferently) : The money ?
BOUNINE : The Tsar sent abroad millions of pounds
to buy munitions but most of that is gone, spent in
buying guns that arrived too late.
ANNA: Surely the Soviet lays claim to what is left?
BOUNINE: Naturally. But, in addition to that,
Nicholas deposited in those same banks two million
pounds for each of his children. Ten million pounds
which now belongs to his only surviving daughter —
toyou.
{Anna gives a dismissing wave of the hand as if the subject
bored her.]
ANNA: You say the Empress is coming this after
noon?
BOUNINE: The Prince is coming too. He is already
on your side. He fancies he is in love with you.
ANNA (with a faint laugh): What are my orders? Am
I to lead him on ?
BOUNINE: He won't require leading I fancy he is
only waiting for the old lady to accept you to remind
you that he was your girlhood sweetheart.
ANNA . And am I to marry him ?
BOUNINE: It may sound a little over ambitious.
ANNA: Yes, doesn't it?
BOUNINE (his voice hardening}: I am talking to you
seriously.
ANNA : And am I to have children at your command ?
And must they be his^ Or will you allow me the
liberty of my famous ancestress and let me choose
my Orloffs or my Potemkins ?
BOUNINE: Don't speak to me in that mocking tone
or you will get your face slapped. Your success with
these moujiks has gone to your head. If you are
clever it is with the cleverness of me and my two
companions.
199
ACT TWO
[She looks at him with a faintly scornful smile bat without
speaking.']
The point I have been leading up to is this : if you
get the money the Prince will want to many you,
but if he will marry you first it will help us in getting
the money.
ANNA: So, it is the money he wants?
BOUNINE: He is poor, dependent on rich snobs.
ANNA: I see.
BOUNINE : But he is a romantic, a sentimentalist. He
will persuade himself he is in love with you — if that
is of any moment.
ANNA (repeating) : " Of any moment " ? Why should
it be ? Can a poor outcast expect everything ?
BOUNINE : Poor outcast is right, and don't ever forget
it. ... But I have come to realise something that
was not evident at our first meeting : you are a lady,
quite well educated and refined. . . . Who are you ?
What family do you come from ?
ANNA: My father was a toymaker, my mother his
assistant who painted the faces of his dolls. Could
you ask for a better ancestry for a puppet ?
BOUNINE (with a half laugh] : You hate me, don't you ?
ANNA: Despise would be a better word.
[Sergei appears in doorway.]
SERGEI: Pardon, your Highness. What of the last
witness ?
BOUNINE: Who is it?
SERGEI: The sentry. He was one of the guards in
the palace of Peterhoff.
[Oblenski appears beside Sergei.}
OBLENSKI: The — Princess will see me.
ANASTASIA
SERGEI (barring entrance with Us outstretched ami) : You
can't come in here.
OBLENSKI (protesting): She saw the others.
ANNA : Let him come in.
[Sergei drops his arm. Felix Oblenski enters., He is a
typical Russian of the working class with peaked cap., short
heavy-looking coat and trousers tucked into his boots. He
is m his late thirties, early forties.]
BOUNINE: What is your name?
OBLENSKI: Felix Oblenski.
BOUNINE : How is it you speak German ?
OBLENSKI: I was a prisoner of war for two years.
BOUNINE : I see. (To Sergei, with a dismissing gesture?)
Her Highness will give him a brief audience.
[Sergei bows his head and withdraws.}
OBLENSKI (addressing A.nna): Well, don't you know
me?
BOUNINE (sharply) : That is not the tone in which to
address her Imperial Highness.
OBLENSKI (with a grin): Oh, pardon. . . . Do you
remember me, Imperial Highness ?
[He stresses the title with a faint hint of mockery. Anna
ga^es at him without replying. Bounine steps in front of him
as he moves a step nearer her. Chernov re-enters up right.]
CHERNOV : What is this — another witness ?
BOUNINE: Yes. (To Oblenski.} Peterhoff was full of
sentries. You can't expect her Highness to remember
them all.
OBLENSKI: I didn't meet her Highness in Peterhoff.
... I met her in a hospital.
201
ACT TWO
CHERNOV: A hospital she visited with her mother ?
OBLENSKI (shaking his head]'. No, she was a patient
there — same as I was.
BOUNINE (with growing sharpness}: Where was this
hospital ?
OBLENSKI: In Moscow. We were both there after
the factory explosion.
BOUNINE (repeating incredulously}: Factory explosion?
And what had her Highness to do with ?
OBLENSKI (overlapping}: We used to sit in the big
sun-room together. Her head had been hurt and it
was all bandaged so's I couldn't tell whether she was
pretty or ugly as sin. (He makes a move to pass Boumne.)
But I liked her voice.
[Boumne pushes him back roughly.}
BOUNINE (angrily}: I'm beginning to understand.
Those were lies you told about being a Peterhoff
sentry.
OBLENSKI : No they weren't. I was in the Guards, the
Izmailofsky regiment. . . . But that wasn't when I
met Tania.
[Anna turns her back as if the argument ha r no interest for
her and stands with her hands on the mantel looking down
into the fire. .]
CHERNOV: Tania?
OBLENSKI : Tania Ivanovna — that's her name.
CHERNOV (to Anna, addressing her back} : Do you know
this man, your Highness ?
[She makes no sign of having heard the question.}
BOUNINE- Of course she doesn't. 1 see your little
ANASTASIA
game. You're obviously a Bolshevist agent who has
been sent here to try and upset her Highness' claim
to recognition.
OBLENSKI: I don't care anything about her claims.
I've come to take Tania home with me. We had a
quarrel and she ran away, but she's my wife — or
much the same thing.
BOUNINE : One has only to look at you standing there
to see what stupid lies you are telling. Do you think
any decent woman would go to live with you in the
kind of stinking hovel where you belong ?
OBLENSKI: It's a good house I live in — I've got the
honour medal. (Addressing her?) Aren't you going
to speak to me, Tania ? I've come a long way.
BOUNINE: Keep your eyes on me, you Bolshevik
dog. I'm talking to you. Who gave you the permit
to leave your job?
CHERNOV : And the money for your ticket ? And the
marks you need here in Berlin ^
OBLENSKI (trying to speaK): If you've got the
medal
BOUNINE (talking through his line]: And for that you
were to tell this rubbish to anyone who'd listen
CHERNOV : The newspapers especially.
OBLENSKI: Rubbish is it? Tania's the one who's
being paid and that's why she won't speak to me.
(Again trying to speak round Bounme.') They've dressed
you up like a grand lady and taught you how to
act
BOUNINE: That's enough 1 Now get out — go! Or
I'll have my servants kick you down the steps.
CHERNOV (calling} \ Sergei I
OBLENSKI : All right. There's too many of you. But
I'll see you again, Tania.
BOUNINE: You'd better keep your nose out of our
business if you don't want to get hurt.
203
ACT TWO
OBLENSKI: Stir up your memory, Tania. See if you
don't remember the little house on Merchant Street
and my sister Luka, and my old Uncle Fedor. . . .
Yes, and that evening in the field of sunflowers,
where you hid and I caught you and you lay with
your head on one of the broken sunflowers like a
pillow and the moon shone on your face.
[He turns and goes out. Sergei following^
BOUNINE (turning to Chernov] : Tell one of the men to
see him clear of the place.
CHERNOV: I'll take care of him, Excellency. (Pie
exits.}
[Bormine turns back to Anna.]
BOUNINE (with bitter sarcasm)'. Revolutions make
strange bedfellows, don't they . . . only it wasn't
a bed — a field of sunflowers, the raw earth, like
animals.
ANNA: You sound shocked. Don't tell me your
moral sense is offended ?
BOUNINE: I notice you don't deny it. Perhaps you
found his charming reminiscences nostalgic.
ANNA : Why are you so concerned ?
BOUNINE: Were you this moujik's sweetheart? I
want the truth.
[He takes a step nearer her. She doesn't move.}
ANNA : And if I was, is that any concern of yours ?
BOUNINE : That amounts to an admission. Now your
halo is off you won't be able to give yourself such
airs.
ANNA: Is that a warning that I must be careful to
keep my door locked ?
204
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE (with a faint smile) : You may read it as a
suggestion that you leave it open.
ANNA: You flatter yourself, my dear Prince.
[He catches her by the arm and gives it an upward turn,
holding /A]
BOUNINE: I want the truth, was this fellow your
lover ?
ANNA: Is this quite the moment to twist my arm?
The Empress is coming, remember. The success or
failure of your precious swindle will be in my hands.
\Thej stand eye to eye through a tick of 'silence :]
ANNA : Let go of me, you swine.
[He drops her arm.]
BOUNINE (covering his defeat}'. Yes, perhaps that can
wait.
[Chernov re-enters.]
CHERNOV: Listen. That man is standing outside in
the road. Shall I send for the police ?
BOUNINE (recovering his poise}: The police? . . . They
might start to dig up records — your own among
them.
[Petrovsky appears.]
Ah, here's the man we can thank for all this. (Turns
to Petrovsky.} One of your witnesses, the Peterhoff
sentry, turns out to be a Bolshevik, who saw the
photograph you so stupidly gave to the paper. He
claims this lady is his sweetheart.
205
ACT TWO
PETROVSKY (staring at Anna): Her — his sweetheart?
ANNA : Yes, and Prince Boumne is inclined to believe
it.
PETROVSKY (staring at Bounine} : You don't ?
ANNA: Oh, it's quite a convincing story. According
to this man my real name is Tania Ivanovna. He met
me after the explosion in the Moscow factory where
we were both workers. (She moves toward the curtained
archway and turns.} That was at the time that I got
those scars.
BOUNINE: Bitch!
PETROVSKY (staccato undertone}: Does she mean that?
Is that the truth?
BOUNINE (with a shrug} : Who is to say ?
SERGEI: Her Majesty's car is here.
BOUNINE: Quick, Piotr, get out there. Stop that
Russian dog from getting at her.
PETROVSKY: If I can.
[Exit.]
BOUNINE (turning to Chernov} : Go up and tell the girl
to hurry.
CHERNOV: Does she know what she is to wear?
BOUNINE: Yes, that is all arranged.
[Chernov exits. Eoumne gives a quick glance round. He
moms the framed picture of the Russian Royal family, so
that it can be more plainly seen. Voices are heard off.}
EMPRESS (off}: So you're in the Imperial livery ?
They're not wasting much time, are they ?
[Enter the Empress, followed by her lady-in-waiting,
Baroness Livenbaum. The oldEmpiess, the Danish mother
of Nicholas II, is erect and queenly, dressed all in black
206
ANASTASIA
and wearing a mourning bonnet without veil. She is eighty-
four years old but is incomparably well-preserved and her
eyes, for all the tears they have been called on to shed., are
sharp and critical, baroness Livenbaum is a woman in her
late sixties, a vague, fluttery creature who exists only as
the shadow of her royal mistress^
EMPRESS: So this is the audience room?
[Boumne enters from up right. He bows low.}
And Arcade Arcadievitch. I thought you were dead.
Don't they shoot traitors nowadays ?
BOUNINE: Let your Majesty be reassured. The
tradition has been observed. I was sentenced to be
shot twice.
EMPRESS : By whom ? The Whites or the Reds ?
BOUNINE: By both.
EMPRESS : And you're still here ? But there, I remem
ber. You were always a man who, when you came
to a parting of the ways, took both ways.
BOUNINE (smiling unruffled}: It seems to me that our
cause has had enough martyrs, your Majesty. . . .
What it has chiefly lacked are men with practical
minds who know how to gauge an opportunity and
seize it when it appears.
EMPRESS: As you are doing here. . . . The effrontery
of using the name of Romanov to create a business
like the Royal Dutch or Lloyds Insurance — with
shares and salaried officers — and a promise of hand
some dividends ! My compliments, Bounme. You're
a scoundrel on the grand scale.
BOUNINE: Either that, or, possibly, a loyal servitor
of a Princess too long denied her rightful heritage.
EMPRESS: You have certainly come some distance
since those days when you were aide-de-camp to my
207
ACT TWO
elder son, gambling to the small hours with the
Grand Dukes and winning ten thousand roubles a
night — so I was told — with suspicious regularity.
BOUNINE: It's not necessary to cheat opponents who
pour their brandy out in goblets.
EMPRESS (paying no attention to htm and overlapping his
speech] : I remember one of your mistresses from the
Marienskaia theatre — oh, yes, you went in for actresses
even in those days. (She waves her hand, indicating the
room to make clear her meaning^ She created a scandal
in your rooms and my husband called you to account.
DOUNINE: Alas, your Majesty! The lady acted when
off the stage and behaved when on it — an unfortunate
reversal.
EMPRESS: She conveniently disappeared so that you
were free to tell whatever story you liked. You made
women disappear in those days and now you make
them appear. . . . Quite a talented magician.
[She holds out her hand to 'Llvenbaum who., opening her bag,
produces a smihng-bottle.}
BOUNINE: The Grand Duchess asked your Majesty
to grant her an interview at which you might judge
better than anyone living, the truth of her claim.
She had relied, as had we, on your coming with an
open mind.
EMPRESS (sniffing the bottle}: My dear Bounine, I have
already been shown two Alexis, an Olga and a
Tatiana. I am a little weary of these spectral
Romanovs.
BOUNINE: Your Majesty must surely realise that this
time there is a difference. From the very beginning
there have been persistent rumours of the Princess
Anastasia's survival. And these stories were suffici
ently plausible for a group of our Russian kinsmen
to subscribe a fund to be used in making a search.
208
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS: With yourself as searcher-in-chief? The
whole thing reeks of money, Bounine.
BOUNINE: There is certainly money at stake, the
contribution the Tsar made to support the war
effort. The Kremlin has laid claim to it
EMPRESS (interrupting): Yes, I know all about that.
My son was ready to beggar himself in defence of his
country. Unfortunately he waited as usual until it
was too late.
BOUNINE: True.
EMPRESS : The Tsar was like a man riding backwards
on a train; he never saw anything until he was past
it.
BOUNINE : This money, if recovered, will, of course,
belong to her Highness.
EMPRESS : Oh, come, Bounine. You're not doing all
this out of loyalty to your late sovereign or his
alleged daughter
BOUNINE: I can assure your Majesty
EMPRESS (holding up her hand., stopping him) : Save your
protests, I'm not here to spoil your little game —
though I'm not here to help it either. . . . I've
come, if you must know, because my nephew has
plagued me into it.
BOUNINE: I am giateful to his Highness.
EMPRESS: But I warn you, Bounine, don't try my
patience too far. I have lost everything that I ever
loved; my husband, both my sons, my five grand
children, my home, my position, my country. . . .
I have nothing left but my memories. Don't lay
your hands on those . . . they are sacred. Not to
be corrupted for your profit, nor to be used to bolster
up your puppet's claim to recognition.
\Eounine boivs in silent acknowledgement,}
Now you may go.
ACT TWO
BOUNINE: Thank you, your Majesty.
EMPRESS : I see you hesitate. Perhaps you are afraid
to let your artist perform without a prompter ?
BOUNINE : Not at all. I will go and tell her Highness
you are ready to receive her. ... I think your
Majesty is about to meet with some surprises.
[He draws back, and bows as he speaks and then goes up
the stair, disappearing behind the curtains^
EMPRESS: Impudence! A poisonous insect that
should have been crushed by a Romanov boot while
where was still power in the foot that wore it.
LIVENBAUM: But he's attractive; so masterful and
ruthless. A blow or a kiss, or perhaps both.
EMPRESS: I find your voluptuous fancies quite dis
gusting. To a woman of your age, sex should mean
nothing but gender.
LIVENBAUM (unabashed}: Did he really murder his
actress friend?
EMPRESS: I didn't say he murdered her — she con
veniently disappeared. . . . (She makes a httle move
ment of distaste with her shoulders?) It is when I meet
a man like Boumne that I understand why the
revolution happened.
PAUL(O/): Where? Inhere?
EMPRESS : Ah, here is Paul.
[She turns to the door. Prince Paul enters, a fair, handsome
man, half Russian, half German. From them he inherits a
romantic-mystical strain to which the dramatic reappear
ance of his childhood sweetheart makes a strong appeal. His
manner is warm and pleasant. Despite his makeshift
existence he is not at all of the gigolo type.]
PAUL: You're here before me. I'm so sorry.
210
ANASTASIA
[He goes to her as ^f to kiss her. She puts out her hand, he
bends and kisses it.}
I had to borrow a car. It's a nuisance not having one
of your own.
EMPRESS: Yes, I'm afraid your ancestors hadn't
foreseen a world in which royalty might have to
work for a Living.
PAUL (looking round'] : Hasn't anyone received you ?
EMPRESS: Oh, yes, the Kerensky satellite was here.
He succeeded in rousing in me a nausea and in
Livenbaum an amorous yearning.
PAUL: Don't hold Kerensky against him. There are
plenty who made that mistake. The Bounine of
nineteen-eighteen and Bounine today are two
different men.
EMPRESS : You think people change ? How naive you
are ! My husband used to say if you want to reform
a man start with his grandfather.
PAUL (with a laugh] : Well, anyway, don't quarrel with
the dinner because you don't like the cook.
[Baroness I^ivenbawn laughs.}
EMPRESS: Run along, Livenbaum, we're discussing
family matters.
LIVENBAUM (her face falling] : I'm not to see her ?
EMPRESS: You'd only insist on giving me your
opinion and you're never right about anything. . . .
Go and find this Bounine you hanker after. You may
get the blow but I'll be surprised if he gives you the
kiss.
[Baroness I^ivenbaum giggles and does a perfunctory bob.
She exits., stopping and peering myopically as she goes}
PAUL: Does Anastasia know you are here?
211
ACT TWO
EMPRESS: I believe the lady has been notified.
PAUL: Do try and keep your mind open.
EMPRESS : They've gone out of their way to put my
back up. Look at that photograph, the eagles on the
frame, the servants' liveries.
PAUL: Yes, I agree it's overdone, but
EMPRESS : If your Anastasia were genuine she'd revolt
against it.
PAUL: Please don't make up your mind before you
meet her.
EMPRESS: You're gullible, Paul. You always were.
You had reached your teens before you stopped
believing in Santa Glaus.
PAUL (with a laugF): I'm not as easy as you think.
The first time I came here it was in no mood of eager
expectancy. ... I was all prepared to denounce and
expose. I had heard about Bounine and his company
and thought the whole thing a disgraceful fraud.
EMPRESS: And then came your conversion from
prosecutor to prime upholder. Quite in the manner
of your sainted namesake.
PAUL: I didn't recognise her immediately. One
hadn't made enough allowance for the years, or for
all she had gone through.
EMPRESS: She answered your questions, I suppose —
what do you expect? Bounine has taught her her
lessons.
PAUL: Bounine doesn't know everything.
EMPRESS: There are many sources he can draw on
here in Berlin; old friends, old servants, ghosts from
our royal past, each with his stock of personal
anecdotes.
PAUL (musingly) : It isn't only what she knows, and it
isn't the evidence of her wounds. No, it's more an
atmosphere she creates, a quiet assurance, a fineness
that you feel is above question.
212
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS : You sound as if you've fallen in love with
her.
PAUL : I think perhaps I have.
EMPRESS: You're quite mad. I suppose it's only to
be expected. Your mother, poor Eudoxia, when her
husband died, wanted to mairy the Pope.
PAUL (with a laugh}: She was always religiously
inclined.
EMPRESS : It's no laughing matter. So you're in love
with this sleeping beauty ?
PAUL : Shouldn't I be ? Don't forget, she was to have
been my wife. Why, we actually went through a
ceremony of our own devising, a child betrothal. It
was held on the Chinese Island. She was twelve and
I was fourteen.
EMPRESS : And does she recollect it all clearly ? Who
was with you? What she wore"? That's the thing a
woman remembers the longest.
PAUL: She hasn't mentioned anything about it. It
seems to be one of her blank spots.
EMPRESS: She doesn't remember a thing like that?
And yet you still believe in her? Preposterous!
PAUL: You're wrong. I've spoken to the doctors, to
Lessing for one. There's no greater authority. He
says some degree of aphasia would be almost
inevitable. The head wound was a serious one —
quite aside from the shock. When you think what
she saw happen in that cellar
EMPRESS (stopping him with a hand on his arm} : Please —
I've done enough thinking about that. I feared at
one time my mind could never leave the subject even
for an hour. . . . Do you know what my refuge has
been? As I sit at my tea, you'd hear me say " take
that chair Nikki " and he takes it — and again " three
lumps Tatiana, you'll get fat if you eat so many
sweets and then the English Prince won't want to
213
ACT TWO
marry you. " Livenbaum thinks I'm one of the mad
ones of the family but that is the way I keep my
beauty— by forcing my mind away from July the
sixteenth, mneteen-eighteen.
PAUL: My poor dear one, perhaps I should have
realised what a strain I was putting you to, making
you come here,
EMPRESS (mth a half shrug] : One can't complain of old
wounds being reopened when the wounds have
never healed.
PAUL: I too had a feeling of repugnance when I first
came here. I was sitting waiting for her, as we are
doing now, and I thought of my last visit to Tsarkoie-
Selo. I kissed them all good-bye. I was going off to
war, and the Emperor went with me to the door.
We crossed the Marble Parade Hall, the Hall of
Catherine the Second, the Portrait Gallery, the Black
Cossack's Hall. Behind us everything entered into
the shadows, and I felt that it was there, among those
shadows, that they should remain ... in their fairy
palace, with the black eagles, and the mighty ancestors
looking down from the walls.
EMPRESS: Wrapped in the dignity of death, undis
turbed by controversy or upstart claimants.
[As she speaks the curtains on the stairs are parted and the
" claimant " the Empress refers to stands there. She has
changed to a black skirt and white blouse and her hair,
now parted in the middle is drawn into a bun worn low on her
neck. She is unseen by them for a moment, then, as if he
felt her presence, Paul turns.}
PAUL: Anastasia!
[He rises and goes to her. The old Empress sits unmovmg
and does not even turn her head.}
214
ANASTASIA
Are you feeling better today?
ANNA: Yes, thank you. My cold is almost gone at
last.
PAUL: Dressed like that you make the past come
alive. . . . (With a crooked smile?) Oh, dear, oh, dear
— the pathos of distance ! But I won't talk about it
now. This is your grandmamma's moment. (He
smiles and says in a low voiced) Have confidence.
[He turns and goes off up right. Anna comes down and turns
facing the old Empress, a yard or two away from her. The
old Empress raises her head slowly and inspects her from
under hooded lidsl\
EMPRESS : Yes, I can see why the others have believed,
even my romantic-minded nephew. The likeness is
good enough for a waxwork gallery.
ANNA : I haven't cared whether they recognised me or
not. But you — don't you know me ?
EMPRESS : Where were you born ?
ANNA: In Peterhoff.
EMPRESS : Child, no doubt, of Nicholas the Second
and Alexandra, his queen ?
ANNA : And grandchild of Maria Feodorovna.
EMPRESS: You have taken a long time in coming to
comfort my bereavement.
ANNA: For many years I did not know who I was.
EMPRESS : But now you are quite sure ?
\Anna doesn't answer.]
How long have you been an actress ?
ANNA: As in your own case, your Majesty, from
earliest childhood.
EMPRESS : Yes, to be a Princess is to be an actress —
but not necessarily a good one.
215
ACT TWO
ANNA: Perhaps I should have learned to be a better
one if the curtain hadn't fallen so early.
EMPRESS: You are being flippant about a subject
which you must realise is, for me, a great personal
sorrow.
ANNA: Forgive me, I forgot for a moment you
would be regarding that tragedy as more yours than
mine.
[The Empress doesn't answer. She pulls the stopper from
her scent-bottle and sniffs it. Anna looks at her appealingly^
I am trying to keep my courage. But you are making
it very hard for me. ... I have been without love
for so long.
EMPRESS: Come, have there been no men in your
life ? I thought the story of your rescue included a
Bolshevik guard who had fallen in love with you and
who carried you from the charnel house where the
bodies were awaiting burial ?
ANNA : Yes, he rescued me and took me to Rumania,
but he soon decided that a ciazy girl was no great
prize.
EMPRESS : A rescue from the very edge of the grave.
Years of lost memory in an asylum. Excellent
material for melodrama.
[Anna shakes her head.}
ANNA: Long empty days in which the consciousness
of living came only through pain. Hardly melo
drama, grandmamma.
EMPRESS : Did I give you permission to call me that
name?
ANNA: I'm sorry, it slipped out. I will try to guard
my tongue.
216
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS: You think my answer should be to grant
you that privilege? A lonely old woman should be
glad to hear someone call her " grandmamma ", glad
to clasp a young head against her empty bosom.
ANNA: My loneliness has been as bitter as yours.
And the blow fell on me when I was sixteen. It came
to you after you had known years of happiness.
EMPRESS: You ask me for recognition, for love. And
you do it well; your eyes are moist, your voice full
of feeling. But I can only reply that the love you beg
for belongs to one who is dead. . . . You have
chosen to deck yourself in the robes of a spectre,
mademoiselle, and, so doing, have managed to win
endorsement from a few poor sentimentalists,
dreamers, self-deceivers — but I am none of those
things. The shell that was once my heart is not easily
pierced.
ANNA : And so you thrust me from you ? I was told
you would ask me difficult questions. But you are
not interested enough to ask me any.
EMPRESS: Oh, I was going to catechise you, was I?
That is what your business associates told you?
ANNA: They mean nothing to me, these men.
Neither they nor the millions about which they dream.
EMPRESS : But they've told you about those millions ?
ANNA : Oh yes, they have told me.
EMPRESS : And did you reply that a Romanov may be
butchered but is not to be bought ? That should have
been your answer. For if your blood was truly
Romanov you would not let yourself be made a
catspaw by Bounine and his crew.
ANNA: Tell me to whom this money should be given
and I will give it. Then perhaps you will believe me.
EMPRESS : Easily said and rather clever. You cannot
give the money away until you have it. And you
cannot get it without first obtaining my recognition.
217
ACT TWO
ANNA : Yes, you are hard. And you are showing me
your fighting face, the wounding words, barbed like
arrows. ... I remember hearing father say you
were the toughest . . . fighter the family has known
since Peter the Great . . . that was at the time you
and my mother quarrelled over a necklace. . .
Some emeralds, part of the Imperial treasure, but
you wanted to keep them for your Lifetime.
EMPRESS: Who told you this? Oh, but there were
plenty who must have known about it. Rasputin as
a beginning. Alex aired all her grievances to him.
ANNA : I remember your wearing them. It was with
your last court dress, the red velvet one with the long
tram.
EMPRESS (sharply) : Where did you see my portrait, or
did someone describe me.
ANNA (dreamily): It's strange. I only remember the
large outlines or the little details.
EMPRESS : It was the worst of our quarrels . . . the
Winter Palace, my private rooms, the snow falling
outside the double window-panes. . . . Alex had
herself announced by one of the lackeys : " Her
Imperial Majesty! " Thinking to awe me with a
title that had been my own for thirteen years. . . .
I was sitting by the fire with my jewel-box on my
knees, and, after that pompous nonsense, I didn't
even trouble to get up ( She breaks off on a sudden
realisation of who she's speaking to.} I don't know why
I'm telling all this to you.
ANNA : My father took the side of my mother, they
even brought in the Chancellor. They were all lined
up against you — but you kept Piggy's jewels.
EMPRESS : You know that too, do you ? And you've
learned to call the great Catherine " Figgy " ?
ANNA: We always called her that. And sometimes
we'd give the same nickname to Olga because she
218
ANASTASIA
had such an eye for the men. Tatiana used to tease
her and
EMPRESS (agitated, rising}'. Stop. ... I forbid it. I
forbid you to bandy those names.
ANNA (roused} : They're my sisters. I can speak of
them if I choose.
EMPRESS: Impostor!
ANNA : You call me that ?
EMPRESS : Yes. If you had any decency you would
stop this masquerade. ... I will pay you, give you
more than these scoundrels will, I warrant, once you
tell them I'm not letting you mount my shoulders to
gather your golden plums.
ANNA (turning from her) : Go away. Leave me.
EMPRESS : I'm offering you money.
ANNA: Go away, please.
EMPRESS : You're giving up, are you ?
ANNA: So it wasn't enough to have suffered all that,
the cellar, the asylum, the horror, the cruelty, the
emptiness ? ... It was also necessary that I should
meetjw again — like this.
EMPRESS: The tragic scene of despair. You're for
getting nothing.
ANNA: Say what you like. I am no longer able to
struggle. Oh, how can anyone who has suffered so
much have so little heart for suffering ?
EMPRESS : I am sorry if your failure to win me over is
such a cruel disappointment, mademoiselle. (She
turns and goes towards doonvay on prompt side.}
ANNA (crying out} : Don't go !
[She runs and places herself between the Empress and the
doorway.]
EMPRESS : But you just told me to.
ANNA: Not yet. I'll say nothing more about them.
Nothing to try and convince you.
219
ACT TWO
EMPRESS : Then what do you want of me ?
ANNA: Just a moment or two longer. Let me touch
your dress. Put my hand for a moment in yours.
[She drops on her knees beside the old woman and clasps
her dress. The Empress makes a movement to disengage
herself.}
No, just a moment more to hear your voice, to close
my eyes and fancy we are on the terrace at Livadia
with the smell of the sea, and an echo of laughter
from the tennis courts where father and Tatiana are
playing. You called me little one, " Malenkaia ". It
was your own special name for me. You used it for
no one else. (She breaks off with a shght attack of
coughing.}
EMPRESS: Are you ill?
ANNA: No, just a cough. Nothing serious. I am not
bidding for sympathy.
EMPRESS : But you have seen a doctor — a good one ?
ANNA: Oh, yes, I am well acquainted with doctors.
But it is kind of you to ask. And I am not after all,
surprised that you do not recognise me. I know I
have changed very much indeed.
EMPRESS (moved} : Let me go, please. I must go home.
ANNA (unheeding and perhaps unbearing} : What is strange
is that you have changed so little. And after all that
you have gone through too. . . . You still seem to
me as you did that day that my finger was pinched in
your carriage door and you told me to try not to cry
because there were people there and I was the
daughter of a king.
EMPRESS (family) \ Let me go.
ANNA (holding if up to her} : Look, it is still not quite
straight, that finger. Or can't you see the difference
from the others ?
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS {gasping) : You are too clever for me. ... I
don't know how you know these things, but, please,
mademoiselle, I am an old woman. ... I have not
the strength
ANNA (releasing her, but still on her knees} : Very well,
go, if you must. And you'll never come back again,
I know it. We two have met again after all the years,
the only two left of our family.
EMPRESS : I will come back. I will see you once again,
mademoiselle, when my mind is clearer. Now I — I
am feeling upset.
ANNA: No, perhaps you had better not come again.
You are kind now. You have softened toward me.
But later you will get your balance. You will say,
'* It was all acting. She is some sort of cheap little
actress hired for money." And it is true, grand
mamma, they did hire me for money. I was starving
after I ran away from the asylum. I had nowhere to
go, I even went down the steps to the canal. . . .
Perhaps I should not have let him stop me
EMPRESS {going to doorway on prompt side] : Good-bye,
mademoiselle. Tell Paul I didn't need him. I must
be alone.
ANNA {crosses to the doorway) : Good-bye, dear grand
mamma, I will try not to be lonely or frightened.
Lonely or frightened — why did I say that? Where
have I said those words before? . . . Oh, now, I
remember, it was on board the Standart. I had waked
and found a storm raging, the big waves breaking
against the hull. And I cried out. And you came to
my cabin.
[The Empress stands stanng at Anna, who rises as she
speaks and takes an unsteady step to the sofa. She drops
down on it, her head bowed forward as if half fainting. The
Empress takes a step towards her, then stops, then another,
ACT TWO
then another pause i moving thus as if dragged against her mil
by some invisible force. She stands over Anna, who leans
against the back of the sofa with closed eyes.]
EMPRESS (a low cry) : Malenkaia!
[ She drops down beside Anna on the sofa,, and as the younger
woman opens her eyes, looking at the old lady with an
expression of half doubting joy, she opens her arms to her.
With a choked sob Anna drops her head and the Empress
presses it against her bosom.]
Malenkaia! Malenkaia! (She kisses the top of the
bowed head.} I couldn't believe it at first. You've
come from so far away, and I've waited so long for
you. Don't cry, just rest yourself. There is no need
to tell me any more. . . . You are warm, you are
alive, that is enough. I can stand no more for now.
Can't you hear how that weary old heart of mine is
thumping? I must go, but don't be afraid. I shall
come back. ... I need you.
[She disengages herself and rises. Anna reaches out,
clutching at her dress.}
No, let go of my dress. That is what you used to do
as a child. ... Be sensible, Malenkaia, I'll go as I
used to, speaking to you as you lay in your little bed.
[She speaks soothingly, as if to a child as she crosses slowly
to doorway on prompt
We will go, tomorrow if you like, to my old palace
in Finland. It is still there and still mine though I
have not seen it for years. . . . There is a very old
man there, our lamplighter. Each evening he goes
222
ANASTASIA
from one room to another lighting the empty lamps
until, for him, the great, dark rooms are ablaze with
light. The other servants take no notice. They
realise that he is childish. And perhaps that is true
of us all, and we are lighting dead lamps to illumine
a grandeur that is gone. . . . Good-night, Anastasia
Nicolaevna, and please, if it should not be you— don't
ever tell me.
[She exits. Anna rises. There is the sound of applause and
as she looks toward the stair, a pair of hands are thrust out
between the curtains and applaud, without revealing the
identity of their owner. With a swift gesture Anna
snatches up a book and hurls it at the curtains. The hands
disappear. A moment later Prince Paul re-enters up right.}
PAUL (stopping and looking round}: So she's accepted
you?
[Anna plays the early part of the scene as if her mind was
on what has gone before.}
ANNA: Then you were listening
PAUL: No, Chernov told me. It is splendid news. If
the old Empress recognises you so must everyone.
ANNA: Even yourself ?
PAUL: I? I was one of the first to come to your
support.
ANNA: You weren't too sure.
PAUL: There were stumbling blocks; the fact that
you didn't speak Russian, or said you didn't.
ANNA: Yes, of course.
PAUL: I understand that now. I realise now that the
mind, after a sufficiently devastating shock, will shut
a door on all associated ideas.
ANNA: And that made you feel safe in giving me
your friendship ?
223
ACT TWO
PAUL (taking her by the shoulders] : More than friend
ship. You know that I have been in love with you
since our childhood.
ANNA : I know that a marriage had been arranged.
PAUL : It was not like the important marriages planned
for your elder sisters. We chose each other.
ANNA: And the love that you felt for that happy,
care-free child has survived the years, the long
period when you thought me dead ?
PAUL: It has. My desire to marry you is as strong as
ever.
ANNA: There was a Russian workman here this
afternoon who also believed that I was his long lost
sweetheart.
PAUL : What ? But that is absurd.
ANNA: Suppose I say it's true? Suppose I tell you
that these scars of mine are the result of an explosion
in a Moscow factory where I was a worker ? Would
you still love me ?
PAUL: It isn't true. Why are you trying ? (Pie
breaks off breathlessly.}
ANNA: I'd be just the same woman, except for a
name. Would you still want me for your wife ? Or
is your love the exclusive property of the girl with
whom you used to walk hand in hand in the gardens
at Tsarkoie, beside the lake with the black swans ?
PAUL (reassured): Ah, that's better. (He draws a
relieved breath and smiles?}
ANNA: What's better?
PAUL : Only one who was there would know that the
swans were black.
[Anna bursts into a peal of discordant laughter.}
ANNA: That is wonderful! The cloud leaves your
brow because I remember that the swans were black.
224
ANASTASIA
There's a picture of them, my dear Paul, in one of
the photograph albums. . . . I'm supposed to have
taken it myself. ... Do you think I did? (She
laughs again.}
[Bounme enters up left. Almost simultaneously Chernov
parts the curtains on the stairs and comes down.]
Ah, here are my keepers. . . . They heard me laugh.
That's the best way to recognise a mad person, by
their laugh. I know I've heard quite a lot of
that kind of laughter.
BOUNINE : Her Highness is overwrought. The strain
of the interview with her grandmother has been very
severe. Naturally. It means everything to have her
Majesty's acceptance.
ANNA: Yes, it will help with the bankers, won't it?
BOUNINE : There is something that will help possibly
even more. (He looks at Paul?)
PAUL : Prince Boumne thinks that our marriage would
clinch the matter.
ANNA (with building irony}: Yes, what stamp of
identification would be stronger than your marrying
me? It's a trump card for you, Bounine. Think of it,
Paul. Ten million pounds — it's a handsome dot, you
must admit? Worth marrying for, worth the effort
of stirring up those old romantic embers.
PAUL (trying to check her) : Please.
ANNA: And worth it for me too. As Prince Boumne
says I not only get the money but a Prince Charming
as well. Quite a triumph for Tama Ivanovna.
PAUL (repeating under his breath} : Tama Ivanovna ?
BOUNINE (low voiced, soothingly}: Pay no attention,
your Highness.
{She laughs again, and goes towards the stairs. As she
ACT TWO
mounts the first step she suddenly clutches her head, sways,
spins round and collapses in a faint. Chernov makes a
movement to catch her but she slips from his grasp, and lies,
a crumpled heap, at the foot of the stairway. Paul hurries
to her, kneels by her side.]
BOUNINE: Sergei! Antoma!
[Sergei appears from door up right.]
Brandy, Chernov. . . . Sergei, the doctor, the near
est one is Stemmetz. Lay her on the sofa.
[Sergei hurries across and exits prompt side. Chernov goes
to a small cabinet and gets a bottle of brandy. Paul bends
over her., pushing back her hair.]
Brandy.
PAUL: That scar is unquestionably a bullet wound.
BOUNINE: Unquestionably, Highness.
[The two servants, Sergei and Antoma, enter, sent in by
Petrovsky. They go towards the figure on the floor. Paul
rises and stands aside as Sergei and ~B>ounme pick up Anna
and carry her to the sofa]
PAUL: We must have her with us. The Empress
would wish it.
[As he speaks Chernov comes down with the brandy and with
the assistance ofEounme, who raises her up, he pours some
between her lips]
BOUNINE: We can take good care of her here, High
ness. And it is better that she should not be moved.
PAUL: Nonsense! Her proper place is in her family's
care.
226
ANASTASIA
4NNA (murmuring, half conscious): Chto slucheelos Grtia
Crtia. '
BOUNINE: Listen! Listen ... she is speaking
Russian! &
WNA: Grtta Hastalneyu, Olga, Tatiana—Moi syostre
noi syostre. (Her eyes open. She stares up at them.}
Curtain
227
ACT THREE
The scene is the same. Two weeks later.
It is about eight o'clock at night. A. reception is to be held
at which the investors in ~Bounme*s syndicate are to be
presented to Anastasia, and she, in turn officially presented
to the world. The lamps and chandelier are lighted and
there are huge bowls of Russian lilies. The furnishings are
augmented by a throne which is placed in front of window,
curtains of which are di awn, furnishing it with a background.
Chairs are grouped on either side. On a banquette standing
in front of the throne is a crown.
Two other important-looking chairs are placed beside the
throne facing audience. These are intended for the Dowager
impress and Prince Paul. Petrovsky, attired in full
evening dress, is putting some finishing touches to the room.
Trying the effect of a cushion placed in the throne chair, and
then, dissatisfied, removing it. Thus pre-occupied he does
not see Bounme who enters left behind him. The leader of the
conspiracy wears the dress uniform of a General of the Don
Cossacks. Hzs breast is bedecked with small-scale dress
medals and there is an order about his neck. His appearance
is commandingly impressive. He stands in doorway survey
ing the room.
BOUNINE: Good, good. . . . Not quite the Peterhoff
throne room, but since that is not available
PETROVSKY: I've done my best with what I could find.
BOUNINE: The throne — where on earth did you get
that?
PETROVSKY: I rented it for the night.
BOUNINE : From whom, may I ask ?
PETROVSKY: The property department of the Opera.
It's from " Boris Goudonov ".
BOUNINE (with a laugh]-. Couldn't you have got
228
ANASTASIA
Chaliapin as well? That would have made the
evening a real success.
PETROVSKY (pointing to them) : Russian lilies ?
BOUNINE: Excellent. . . . (With a gesture indicating
the room across the hall.} And how about the seating
arrangements in the Ballroom?
PETROVSKY: I've given Sergei his instructions. The
generals and court dignitaries are to have the front
seats. The uniforms should make quite a show despite
the bald heads and the weak knees • reds, light blues,
yellows — and the grey and white of the Cossacks.
BOUNINE- Quite an historical pageant and to think
that only a few years ago it was part of one's every
day life ! But, never mind, Piotr, our fortunes are on
the turn. We are to have two guests tonight more
important than all the others. (He pauses, smiling^
PETROVSKY: Who?
BOUNINE : Councillor Krefting and Baron Stromberg.
[As Petrovsky stares at him not recognising the names. \
The heads of the Svenska-Handel Bank.
PETROVSKY (wondenngly) : The Swedish bankers !
BOUNINE: Exactly! I spent an hour with them in
their suite at the Adlon. They are most impressed.
The Empress being Danish still carries weight in
Scandinavia and the romance of the reunited sweet
hearts is, as the councillor remarked, a page out of
Hans Christian Andersen.
PETROVSKY- Wonderful!
BOUNINE : You may still have a chance of fulfilling
your destiny as a painter, Piotr.
PETROVSKY: And you will be able to restore your
stable of race-horses — not to mention your even
more attractive stable of mistresses.
BOUNINE (shaking his head): I shall go to America.
229
ACT THREE
It's the only country left with a proper respect for
wealth.
[Chernov enters. His business suit and rather untidy
appearance are witness of his concern. He carries a news
paper.]
CHERNOV : Here you are, both of you.
BOUNINE: Why aren't you changed?
CHERNOV: Have you seen this? (He holds out the
paper.}
BOUNINE : What is it ?
CHERNOV: Die Nachtausgabe.
BOUNINE (taking paper}: Another of their veiled
attacks ?
CHERNOV: The veil is off. They call us swindlers.
They use the word.
BOUNINE: They do, do they? They'll pay for that —
pay handsomely.
CHERNOV: Will they? Wait till you've had a look at
it There's a photograph of Tama Ivanovna, a police-
card photograph. It bears the official stamps.
{Bounine spreads the paper, examing the picture, then carries
it over to the light, Petrovsky follows, looking over his
shoulder.]
CHERNOV: Don't worry, it's Anna right enough —
no mistake about that. The article is an interview
with her ex-lover Felix Oblenski !
PETROVSKY: We should have dealt with the swine the
day he came here.
CHERNOV: Dealt how?
PETROVSKY: An accident — he was hanging about in
the road
BOUNINE (breaking in) : You're to blame — that damned
photograph.
230
ANASTASIA
CHERNOV: Yes, that's what brought the fellow here.
BOUNINE: More than that — take a look at this. Look
closely. It's been made up from the one that you
gave out. (He thrusts it in front ofPetrovsky.}
CHERNOV • True. The pose is identical.
PETROVSKY (recovering)-. So — it's a fake?
BOUNINE : Yes, but a fake that plenty of people will
find convincing.
CHERNOV : Some of tonight's visitors will have this
paper in their pockets.
PETROVSKY- What does it matter?
BOUNINE (sharply) • What do you mean — " What does
it matter " ?
PETROVSKY: A faked photograph to be weighed
against the endorsement of a royal fiance, an Imperial
grandmother ?
BOUNINE : How do you know we'll have their endorse
ment ? This may be just the thing to turn them
against her ? (He raps the paper.}
PETROVSKY: I don't believe it. They insisted on
having her with them. The Empress has nursed her
dirough this illness.
CHERNOV : That only adds to the danger. Anna may
easily have said something, made some blunder that
has already raised doubts in the Empress's mind.
PETROVSKY: She'd have been back before this if the
Empress disowned her.
BOUNINE : Was the Empress at her fitting yesterday ?
PETROVSKY: Worth's woman says she was alone —
but she came in the Empress's car.
BOUNINE (nodding as be rveighs //): Yes, yes. ... I
would call that fairly reassuring. (He turns to Petrov-
sky.} How is the dress ?
PETROVSKY: A dream in white and gold — wait till
you see it.
BOUNINE : And the tiara ?
231
ACT THREE
PETROVSKY: It's over there on the table. I kept it
for you to pass on.
[Bounme goes to console table and picks up the case which
lies there.}
CHERNOV (cynically) • You are true Russians, both of
you. Grim realities never disturb your dreams for
long.
BOUNINE (ignoring him} : Yes, it looks like real Russian
workmanship. . . .
CHERNOV: Yes. Hired for the evening. (Picking up
the paper from where Eounme has left it.} Die Nacbtaus-
gabe points out that the lady who is to wear it is
denied by her former tutor; and that a still more
important sceptic is the family dentist.
BOUNINE: Yes, it's humiliating to think that royalty,
like horses, should be judged by their teeth.
CHERNOV: In the face of disaster you make jokes.
BOUNINE: I am a soldier. ... It is the first principle
of warfare — never expect defeat.
[Sergei appears in the doorway left.}
SERGEI (announcing) : Her Imperial Highness.
[All three men turn to the door. Anna enters left. She is
in quite simple travelling attire. She seems completely
recovered., calm and self-assured.}
BOUNINE {with a mocking emphasis] : Good evening . . .
Imperial Highness.
ANNA : Good evening.
[He bows. The others do not. Sergei withdraws}
CHERNOV : You are alone ?
ANNA: Yes.
232
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE (anxiously) : But the Empress is coming ?
ANNA : I don't know.
BOUNINE: You don't know? But she must come.
It's essential.
ANNA: She was expecting the Prince. She wanted
to have a talk with him.
PETROVSKY: He is coming?
ANNA (with a faint smile) : Yes, I fancy you can be
reasonably sure of Prince Paul.
BOUNINE : You know of no reason why the Empress
might not be coming ?
ANNA: Reason?
BOUNINE : Did you make any slips in the two weeks
you spent at Haraldeberg ?
ANNA : I'm afraid I can't say. I was ill — in a delirium.
CHERNOV : And so you might have said anything ?
ANNA: Yes, anything.
BOUNINE: It's of vital importance she should be here.
[He pauses for a second, but she makes no reply, ,]
The Prince is not enough. They may say it's the
money he is after, and you are his_ means of getting it.
CHERNOV : Which is the exact truth. At any rate you
made no conscious blunders ?
BOUNINE: And the Empress continues to be kind
to you ? We know how fond she is of the Prince.
She must be coming to support him.
PETROVSKY: She knows this is the important
night. . . .
ANNA (with a faint smile) : The night I am to be
presented to my people.
BOUNINE: That's right, think of them as your people.
I have'told you that before.
CHERNOV (eyeing her ironically) : From a homeless out
cast to Tsarina of Russia — quite a rise !
233
ACt THREE
PETROVSKY: And a Prince for a husband: it's
Cinderella outshone.
BOUNINE- Now pay strict attention: two Swedish
bankets will be here tonight.
CHERNOV (surprised}: What?
BOUNINE: Oh, yes, I haven't told you, have I?
Krefting and Stromberg are coming. (Turning back to
Anna.} You must be gracious but do not appear to
curry favour. Complete self-confidence with them,
as with the Russians.
ANNA : The conspiracy is prospering. I congratulate
you.
BOUNINE' We have drawn up a list of our more
important subscribers. There's a list of the guests,
somewhere. . . . Where is it, Piotr ?
\Chernov waves his hand, indicating Petrovsky.}
PETROVSKY (to Anna} : It is in there on your dressing-
table.
CHERNOV : The top ten are the important ones. They
knew Anastasia personally.
PETROVSKY: You will find certain details about these
personalities — you have, I know, a photographic
memory, and so. . . .
BOUNINE (cuffing in}: If a question is awkward,
pretend not to hear. We have given out a story that
you were deafened by a blow on the head from a
rifle-butt. (He places the case containing the tiara in her
hands.} Here is your tiara. Petrovsky will come and
look you over before you appear. Now go.
ANNA : You do not say " now go " to the Tsarina of
Russia.
BOUNINE (mockingly}: I beg your pardon, your
Imperial Majesty.
ANNA: You speak of my memory — how good is your
memory, I wonder.
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE : What do you mean ?
ANNA: You said, " Pretend, even to yourself, that
you are Anastasia ". . . . Very well, Prince Bounme,
I will pretend.
[Bounine stares at her, not knowing what is coming. She
continues in a different tone, higher in pitch, hght, rapid.}
It was a lovely autumn morning at Krasnoie. There
was a gymkhana, and Marie and I were taking part
in the jumping contest. You helped me mount and,
holding my hand, said something too personal. I
raised my riding whip. . . .
BOUNINE (softly): God!
ANNA: Was it I? If not, how did I learn it? Not
from your books. (She turns on Petrovsky.) And you,
the artist, you saw two candle-flames reflected in my
eyes, standing in a dark church in front of the ikons.
And, lying beneath the ikons, was a bunch of wild
flowers that some poor person had placed there.
PETROVSKY (whispering, awed): It is true!
ANNA: Our Russian yellow lilies and some blue
flowers (She turns to the curtained archivaj.}
PETROVSKY: Yellow and blue flowers. How did you
know about that ? Did I speak of it ?
ANNA (gently, with an enigmatic smile, her band on the
curtains): Perhaps you did. . . . You must try and
remember. (She exits.)
PETROVSKY (staring at the spot where she had stood) : Blue
and yellow — no one could have told her.
BOUNINE (also deeply impressed): It is possible . . .
and yet — how did she know ?
CHERNOV : Well it's obvious the Empress must have
mentioned some incidents the real Anastasia told her.
[Antonia appears in doonvay.~\
ACT THREE
ANTONIA (announcing)- Her Imperial Majesty.
BOUNINE (softly) : She is here !
\All three men turn to the door. Chernov, taken aback
and forgetting for a moment to bow, is reminded by seeing
Bounine and Petrovsky bent over ceremoniously. The
Empress appears, followed by the faithful Ewenbaum. The
Empress is, as always, in black, but she wears the Catherme-
the-Great emeralds that Anna talked about. She has on
long black gloves and carries an ebony cane. The Baroness is
in white and displays a modest decolletage, to which she has
pinned a sunburst " order " with a huge inappropriate
safety-pin.]
EMPRESS (raising the qiu^glass she carries on a chain) • Ah,
the entire syndicate ! (She drops the glass and reaches out
her hand to Eivenbaum.) I think you'd better give me
my smellmg-bottlej Livenbaum.
BOUNINE: Your Majesty is early. May I offer that
as my excuse for not being at the door ?
EMPRESS: Save your apologies ; pomp without power
only makes deposed royalty ridiculous. ... Is my
nephew here ?
BOUNINE: Not yet, your Majesty. (He speaks over his
shoulder to Petrovsky.) Go. People are arriving.
PETROVSKY (murmuring) : Yes, Excellency. (He exits.}
BOUNINE : You too, Chernov.
CHERNOV: Yes, Excellency.
[He does another bow directed at the Empress's back, and
follows Petrovsky off.]
EMPRESS: I see you school your associates in the old
traditions. Your overbearing manner is quite feudal.
(She again raises her glass.) What is this, a throne ?
BOUNINE: Rented for this evening's ceremony.
236
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS : And is it your idea to present a Romanov
on a hired throne, and one, unless I am mistaken,
made of papier mache ?
BOUNINE: May I remind your Majesty that the
realities are now in a museum ?
EMPRESS: Yes, our actual state robes are to be seen
in London — at Madame Tussaud's.
BOUNINE- I trust her Highness will soon be able to
provide herself with more suitable furnishings.
EMPRESS: You are speaking of my son's foreign
deposits? I understand you have caused my grand
daughter to sign certain documents concerning these
monies, their handling and division.
\Livenbaum., as if embarrassed, patters up to doorway and
hovers there.}
BOUNINE: I admit the share we ask may sound rather
a large one, but my two associates and I have taken
a lot of trouble
EMPRESS (with an indignant sniff] : A lot of trouble
indeed !
BOUNINE (with a half laugh}: And . . . well, your
Majesty, a man must live.
EMPRESS : In your case I fail to see the necessity.
LIVENBAUM (in a shocked tone) : Oh !
EMPRESS (turning on her) • Did you speak ?
LIVENBAUM (in doorway): Such a lot of old friends
arriving. To think they're still alive — quite a
miracle !
EMPRESS : Only half alive, most of them.
LIVENBAUM (with a vague gesture}: Countess Zelin-
skaya — may I go and embrace her?
[Empress waves her hand impatiently., in a gesture of dis
missal. ~Livenbaum hobs a crippled curtsey and exitsl\
237
ACT THREE
BOUNINE: May I ask your Majesty, did your grand
daughter confide anything else to your Majesty
regarding me and my friends ?
EMPRESS: Not deliberately. But that night my
nephew brought her to me I sat by her bedside for
many hours until the attack had abated. . . .
BOUNINE: I still don't understand what caused that
sudden seizure.
EMPRESS: Don't you? Then you don't realise the
relationship between a sick body and a tortured mind.
BOUNINE (with assumed carelessness] : Her Highness was
in a delirium?
EMPRESS (fixing him mth a stern ga%e) : Yes, a delirium
whose fires were very illuminating ... it was then
I learned that you found her by a canal.
BOUNINE (taken aback] : A canal ?
EMPRESS: A canal where a poor, broken creature met
a cynical brute who bargained with her in the coinage
of food and shelter.
BOUNINE (dry-throated}: I see — your Majesty
knows. . . .
EMPRESS: I know everything, the whole dirty swindle.
BOUNINE (bewildered] : And yet you are here ?
EMPRESS : Yes, odd, isn't it ?
BOUNINE: Prince Paul persuaded. . . . (Breaks off.)
Or have you come to — to
EMPRESS : Denounce you ? That would be merely to
condemn your scapegoat. I am sure i£ your droshky
were in danger of being overtaken, you would not
hesitate to throw your lady passenger to the wolves.
BOUNINE (relieved): I see ... noblesse oblige. The
Romanov gesture.
EMPRESS : You say it with a sneer ? What else should
one expect from the author of this impudent
conspiracy ? Kings and Queens are nothing in them
selves, vou are right there : a museum for our symbols
238
ANASTASIA
of power, a Madame Tussaud's for our clothes. . . .
And it is quite easy to get rid of us, a bomb or a
plebiscite does it. But you've made one mistake,
Bounine; there is a tradition that is in our blood.
We have pride, not in our position but in our
behaviour.
BOUNINE: Your Majesty seems to threaten some
thing?
EMPRESS : The threat is not from me and it is not I
who will defeat you. But I have a firm conviction
the tradition will beat you, Arcade Arcadievitch
Bounine.
[Enter Prince Paul. He is in dress umform and wears
several orders.]
PAUL (he bows to her} : How are you, dear grand-aunt ?
EMPRESS (with satisfaction] : Feeling better, thank you.
PAUL: Good evening, Bounine.
BOUNINE (bowing): Good evening, your Highness.
PAUL: What a gathering you've got in there! (He
makes a gesture to doorway.} Have you seen them ?
[The Empress, whom he addresses, shakes her head., sniffing
her scent-bottle, ,]
PAUL : Where did they dig up all those diamond dog-
collars, those jewelled kokosnoiks?
BOUNINE: Good evening, Prince. I would like a
word with your Highness.
PAUL (turning to him) : Certainly.
\The Empress turns away distastefully.]
BOUNINE: It's about the wedding. If you could
decide when it is to take place, we might make an
announcement here, tonight.
PAUL: Tonight?
ACT THREE
BOUNINE (m shghtlj loivered tone} : The Swedish bankers
are coming — two of them.
PAUL (also in confidential tone]: And you think the
effect ? Yes, I see. (Thoughtfully^) When is
Easter this year ? It must be in about seven or eight
weeks.
BOUNINE: Our Russian Easter — that is an excellent
idea.
EMPRESS (rounding on them} : And is the bride to have
nothing to say about it ?
PAUL: Her Majesty is right. Anastasia must be
consulted.
EMPRESS: I should hope so.
BOUNINE: Of course if her Highness vetoes Prince
Paul's suggestion But I hardly think she will.
PAUL (to Empress} : Let us settle it at once.
BOUNINE: I will tell her Highness you are here.
[He moves towards the curtained doorway, before he can
reach it the curtains part and Anna appears.}
ANNA: You needn't trouble, Prince Boumne . . .
you have forgotten how well one can hear behind
these curtains.
PAUL : Good evening, Anastasia.
ANNA: Good evening, Paul. (She turns towards the
Empress.} And dearest Grandmamma. . . . My heart
curtseys to you.
BOUNINE: Prince Paul would like to make an
announcement tonight — your marriage date.
ANNA (coming down the steps}: I will discuss the matter
with the Prince — in private.
BOUNINE: Certainly, your Highness.
EMPRESS : Shall I. . . ?
ANNA: Please stay, Grandmamma. A date for our
marriage ? You would like to name it tonight ?
PAUL: If it is agreeable to you.
240
ANASTASIA
ANNA : You feel it will impiess the bankers ?
PAUL: That is one thing — but the other
ANNA (overlapping) : Marrying my sweetheart cousin ?
A most convincing touch don't you agree, Grand
mamma ?
EMPRESS: A very strong card for Bounme and
Company.
ANNA: Yes, no one would suppose that Paul would
marry a woman who claimed to be his long lost
sweetheart unless he were quite, quite sure.
PAUL : You know you have completely satisfied me —
as you have the Empress.
ANNA: Good. . . . There is one thing you have
never mentioned, and it's strange that you haven't:
our boy and girl betrothal at Krasnoie, the ceremony
on the Chinese Island.
PAUL : I was waiting to see if you would remember.
I thought you would be bound to speak of it — and
you have.
ANNA : Ah, that was to be your final proof, was it ?
[She drops the Empress's hand that she has been holding
with linked arms.]
PAUL: It was a secret between us and your three
sisters. (To Empress. ,) No one living could have told
her of it, because no one knew.
ANNA : No ? (She laughs.} You, yourself, told me the
day you brought the Empress to see me. You spoke
of it to her. I was standing behind those curtains,
listening. (She points?)
PAUL: My God, what are you saying ? Do you want
to shake our faith, make us believe this is all trickery ?
ANNA : But it is tricks that you have asked for, tricks
of remembrance. You could find nothing of person
ality, nothing of character by which to identify me.
241
ACT THREE
Animals know their kind by scent, but, it seems,
I am not endowed with the rare odour of the
Romanova.
EMPRESS (watching her): You have their spirit — no
doubt of that.
PAUL (recovering): You're wrong. I recognised you
almost at once — and by instinct, if you want to call
it that. These " tricks " are merely the proofs I
like to have ready at hand for those who still have
doubts.
ANNA • Such as the bankers ?
PAUL (with a touch of impatience}: All right — the
bankers.
ANNA : Supposing there were no bankers, no money ?
Would you still be as sure that I am the girl to whom
you pledged your love ?
PAUL: Of course.
ANNA : Now it is I who ask for proofs. I suggest that
we marry with no reference to bankers or bank-
accounts, that we make no claim for this money, that
we work for our living, both of us.
PAUL: But why ? Why should we?
[Chernov appears in doorway. He bows.}
CHERNOV: Your Highness: the gentlemen from
Sweden would like to be presented. May I bring
them in.
PAUL (with a glance at Anna) : No ; I will come and
meet them if you have a room where we can talk
privately.
CHERNOV: Certainly, Highness. Their chief concern
is what the Tsar's money would be used for. I
assured them nothing political.
PAUL (to Empress and Anna) : If you'll excuse me.
[He exits, passing Chernov, who bows and follows
242
ANASTASIA
ANNA (iromcally] : Even royalty bows its head to the
bankers. (She takes a step toward door, as if watching
Paul off.} And look across the hall to the ballroom —
those pathetic exiles in their faded finery. It's like a
medieval danse macabre.
EMPRESS (smihng}'. I am waiting quite breathlessly for
the prima ballerina to perform.
ANNA (she also smiles') : So I am once again the actress ?
EMPRESS : As you said what else have we ever been —
are we ever anything else?
ANNA: I'm afraid my performance tonight may
disappoint you.
EMPRESS (eyeing her with warm affection] : Somehow I
don't think so. ... I feel a prophetic tingle as one
does when some great event is impending.
\0blenskt enters.}
OBLENSKI : Tama, I thought I might find you here. I
got a couple of newspaper friends out there, they
passed me in.
EMPRESS: Who is this man?
OBLENSKI: Felix Oblenski. (Turns to Anna.} Did you
see your photo in the evening paper? Your police
photo. This will finish your Little game so you'd
better be ready to pack and come home with me.
ANNA : If I deny I was your Tama what would you
do ? Try to drag me away like a stray animal ?
OBLENSKI: No need for that, all I've got to do is to
tell them in there.
EMPRESS: This lady is Her Imperial Highness, the
Grand Duchess, A.N. I was in the palace of Peterhoff
the night she was born.
\£)blenski turns ^ facing her enquiringly^
EMPRESS: I am her grandmother. Do you think
they'll take your word against mine ?
ACT THREE
ANNA: You are in the presence of Her Majesty, the
Dowager Empress of Russia.
EMPRESS : I thought he might be aware of that fact
since he keeps his cap on. A Republican gesture no
doubt.
OBLENSKI: So you're the one they call the old ikon?
Why are you helping those crooks ? But there, I
suppose you're all in it together, backing her up and
then shaimg the money all round ? All right, suppose
you are the Grand Duchess. What are you going to
be queen of ? A country you daren't put your foot
in, and a people who don't want you? Won't you
get sick of living this pack of lies, with all these old
ghosts bowing and scraping pretending to be some
thing that's over and done with ? What kind of life
is that for a girl like you, Tania ?
[Enter Pau/.]
PAUL : I've talked to the bankers — who is this man ?
ANNA : A Russian.
EMPRESS : A more up to date version than the rest of
us.
PAUL: How did he get in here? Where are the
servants ?
ANNA: Wait, don't call anyone, he's under my
protection.
EMPRESS : Come my man, do you really believe this
is your Tania ?
OBLENSKI: Of course she is, but what is the truth
against what people want to believe. Seems you win,
Tania, I can pack up and go. What do you mean to
these people ? You're only a way of getting money
and you needn't feel too sure about that. You
should have come home with me. You may have
beaten me but you haven't beaten those who sent
me. Good-bye, Tania. (He exits.}
244
ANASTASIA
PAUL: What does this mean, Anastasia^
EMPRESS: It means that the White Russians have at
last won a Victory.
PAUL: Who is this Oblenski?
EMPRESS: He's a Ukrainian for one thing, you can
tell by those high cheek bones.
ANNA- The People of the Steppes.
EMPRESS: The Steppes that we shall never cross
again.
ANNA (dreamily): A gold green sea with star-thistles,
broom and the white flowers of the wild flax. . . .
And the good Russian air, bitter to the taste with the
smell of pines that the winds bring from the frozen
forests of the north.
[She turns and goes :]
PAUL (bursting out]: Why did she want to protect
him? All those things he said to her. Why didn't
she deny them.
EMPRESS : So she was right — you are not sure ?
PAUL: Are you^
EMPRESS : No, I shan't help you. . . . This is a thing
of too much moment to her — as well as to you,
PAUL: Don't say that. It will make no difference in
my attitude, I've accepted her, I shan't go back on
that. But for the sake of my future peace of mind.
. . . (He breaks off.}
EMPRESS : What is it you want to know ?
PAUL : In those hours you sat by her bedside, did she
say nothing that was a certain proof?
EMPRESS: At such times it is hard to say which is
fancy and which reality. . . . Oh, there was a
mingling of realities : people who befriended her, an
old doctor in Bucharest who fought a long, slow
battle for her life — some woman, a Russian refugee,
ACT THREE
who sheltered her, sharing what little she had. I'm
afraid I can offer you nothing really tangible.
PAUL: I was so sure — her first convert. But now
after all that fellow said ... if she only had some
sign, some token. . . . Those jewels that were sewn
in Anastasia's dress, a single one would suffice.
EMPRESS : Yes, it seems that was an oversight on the
part of the brilliant Bounine.
PAUL : Will we ever be sure ?
EMPRESS: Well, at least if she isn't real the Tsar's
money is. Isn't that enough?
PAUL: I don't know. It may be I have more pride
than you think.
[Chernov enters behind Bounme.]
BOUNINE : The bankers are convinced that Her High
ness is indeed the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nico-
laevna. She only has to meet them.
CHERNOV (excitedly to Paul} : We have won, we have
won. ... It is a moment of triumph.
BOUNINE : You must all three enter together with the
Imperial Anthem playing.
EMPRESS (drily}: You are giving orders, Prince
Bounine?
BOUNINE (bomng); Pardon, your Majesty. ... I am
rather carried away.
CHERNOV (eagerly}: But your Majesty will surely
agree? It is, as his Excellency says, the supreme
moment
BOUNINE: They will fall on their knees.
CHERNOV : And the bankers. . . .
[The sentence gets no farther. He breaks off, repeating " The
bankers " automatically as Anna enters. She is dressed as
she was on her entrance (in this act}. That is to saj she
246
ANASTASIA
wears the same travelling coat, but some of the accessories
are different. Her hat is simple and tight-fitting, her shoes
those in which a woman might embark on a journey. She
wears black gloves that are serviceable and not new. She
carries a handbag and also a small travelling bag of con
tinental appearance that is a trifle battered. About her
throat there is a woollen scarf. This costume is described
in detail because it is important. It must proclaim at a
glance that she is leaving. It must not be too shabby: it
must not be too smart. One must visualise her taking a
train to "Bucharest., then still outside the Iron Curtain.']
BOUNINE (he breaks off] : God '
ANNA- No — I am not wearing that charming dress
you provided for this occasion ? It is a pity isn't it ?
PAUL : What does this mean, Anastasia ?
ANNA: It means for you that I am setting you free.
. . . And it means for you, my employers, that I am
setting myself face.
BOUNINE: You surely are not throwing it all over?
Your claim to recognition ? To your father's
fortune?
ANNA1 I am sorry, Prince Bounine, but that is it
exactly.
CHERNOV (tvith laboured breathing} : Oh no, no, please
. . . don't you realise, they are all ready to accept
you without question.
ANNA : Then I have at least saved you — gentlemen —
from a charge of fraud. That should amply fulfil my
obligation.
CHERNOV (hoarsely): But the bankers. . . . Ten mil
lion pounds. . . . Ten million
ANNA: An impressive sum but one for which I do
not care to barter my liberty.
BOUNINE: You are ill again, you must be.
ANNA: I am quite well, Prince Bounine. Quite well
2-47
ACT THREE
and quite able to go on playing your game — if I
wanted to.
[As if by a master stroke of irony the band in the ballroom
starts to play the march from Glinka's " A Life For The
Tsar ", the opera which celebrates the founding of the
Romanov dynasty. Petrovsky enters as she speaks.}
PETROVSKY: Excellency, please, they aie getting
impatient. General Drivmitz (Breaks off as he
sees Anna.}
ANNA: Ah, here is your scene-designer. Pack up
your throne, Petrovsky, your carefully chosen
Russian lilies.
PETROVSKY (bewlderedly): What is it? What is
happening ?
ANNA: Your puppet-master is in difficulties: one of
the marionettes seems to be in the wrong costume.
BOUNINE (bitterly}: You've certainly picked your
moment, haven't you? When we've got them all
here, the opposers beaten, the doubters silenced
ANNA: All the doubters ? Does that include yourself,
Prince? If I have convinced you it is my final
triumph.
EMPRESS: I warned you, Bounme, that tradition
would beat you.
BOUNINE: Tradition? The Romanov tradition ^
Peter the son-murderer, and Paul the sadist. Mad
Nichoks, Mad Theodor, and that other Peter, a
grown man sitting playing with dolls.
ANNA: And now, finally, a mad Romanov who has
no desire for a crown of paste and a make-believe
throne. . . . Madder still, she doesn't want that
splendid fortune and all that goes with it, the
pathetic band of loyalists who cling to deposed
royalty, the childish intrigues and dreams of restora
tion.
248
ANASTASIA
BOUNINE (his anger breaking out]: Very well, Anna
Broun, I will myself tell them you are a swindler and
a cheat ... of how you came to us with your story
of escape, with your wounded head and your pierced
hands. . . You had better consider. This ex-band
of Loyalists will not be easy with anyone who has
first fooled and then flouted them.
EMPRESS (quietly] : You are forgetting me, aten't you ?
\A.nna turns to her with a smile .]
BOUNINE: Yes, your Majesty, I had forgotten you.
And I should have remembered the strength of your
enmity. I saw it triumph the night Rasputin died.
Now you have honoured me with your hate and,
whether you really believe in this lady or not, you
will stand with her so that I may be humbled. . . .
Very well, the house of cards falls — cards of paste
board kings and queens. . . . Only fools use them
to build their castles. (Exit.}
CHERNOV (following}: You must have had another
breakdown, that is what we must say . . . her great
sufferings
[The sentence trails off as he exits. Petrovsky hovers
uncertainly in the doorway. He murmurs as he shakes his
head. Without a botv or a good-bye he moves away —
disappears.}
ANNA (turning to Paul] : It is true what he told you. I
was schooled by these men to play the role of
Anastasia Nicolaevna. In the room behind me are
albums of photographs, scrapbook after scrapbook
filled with data they told me I must learn. ... So
comfort yourself, my dear Paul, Perhaps, after all,
you have been saved from marrying an impostor.
PAUL (with a gesture of waving her words aside) : I don't
249
ACT THKEE
understand what it is you want. You say you set me
free — but why ? You explain nothing.
ANNA: That music answers you, all the old Russian
airs, the past, always the past — meaningless titles,
childish attempts at Majesty. Echoes from a lost,
dead Life that has vanished forever.
EMPRESS (quietly) : My life.
[With an impulsive gesture Anna holds out her hand. The
Empress gives her hand to her and she holds it as she
speaks.]
ANNA (to Paul) : You wanted me as I was. . . . Very
well then, dear Paul, keep me as I was, a yellowing
photograph of a girl in a white dress waving good
bye from the bridge of the Chinese Island.
[There is another clamour of voices off.]
PAUL • I still don't understand. Those people in there
are your loyal supporters, ready to die for you, if
need be.
ANNA • Why should they die for me ? I am not then-
Joan of Arc, and, if I were, they're not looking for
someone to lead them forward — only to lead them
back. A queen should reign in the hearts of her
people — but I can have no hope of that.
[Paul turns to the Empress.]
PAUL: When your Majesty is ready to leave I will
take you home.
[He exits.]
EMPRESS (with a gesture toward the door): You can't
blame them for wanting the old life again. It was
strangely beautiful.
ANNA : Was it ? (She smiles indulgently at the old lady.)
250
ANASTASIA
EMPRESS: In the summer the royal parks, vast as
forests, or on the seas among the Finnish islands,
cruising in the Standart. And in the winter we lived
in immense hot-houses filled with strange flowers
and from whose windows the snow-draped land
scapes looked quite incredible, the landscapes of
fairyland.
ANNA: Yes, the figures move gaily, charmingly;
they laugh; they sing and dance; they make jokes.
. . . But behind them hangs a painted backdrop of
the final scene in their comedy. ... A Cellar in
Ekaterinburg.
EMPRESS : I have tried to live as if that horror had
never been. I had places set at the table for my dear
phantoms and talked to them as if they were there.
ANNA: I might well be one of them, loving to be
there beside you turning my back on reality.
EMPRESS : And is reality to be so greatly desired ? To
me it has meant sadness, suffering and tragedy.
ANNA: I know and no one can blame you for living
with your phantoms. But so much of my life, even
from the beginning, has been spent in a shadow
world. I must try to find the things every woman
longs for ... a life of my own.
EMPRESS (sadly): So it seems I have found you only
to lose you again.
ANNA: Oh, no, we will not be parted for long.
EMPRESS: Can't you stay now?
ANNA : I am taking a night train, I am going to help
some people who helped me. (Shaking her head.} I
am grateful that you have made their rescue possible.
EMPRESS : What I gave you is pitifully little.
ANNA: It is enough. And you have given me so
much beside : my sanity, my desire to live.
EMPRESS (anxiously): You will be careful? I know
where you are going and it is close to danger.
251
ACT THREE
ANNA: Yes, I will be very careful.
EMPRESS: My darling — my darling, I can't bear to
let you go. (She sits. She is close to breaking down.}
ANNA : Let us not kiss or embrace, it makes partings
Haider — and I remember what you told me when my
finger was pinched : " Princesses must never be seen
to cry."
EMPRESS : Thank you for reminding me.
[Anna crosses a couple of steps toward the door, then turns
back impulsively]
ANNA: Dear, dear, Queen Grandmamma.
EMPRESS : That is what you used to call me. Now it
is only Grandmamma.
ANNA: If there had never been a queen before, my
darling, they would have had to call you one.
[From off comes the strains of the Russian Imperial Anthem.
Anna turns her head toward the door. The Empress slips
her bracelet into the bag.]
How absurd! It's the Imperial Anthem. Does it
mean anything any longer ?
[She goes to the Empress and gives her her arm, helping her
to rise, They stand side by side for a moment, listening ]
EMPRESS: It still sets my blood tingling, as it did
when the massed bands of the Guards Regiments
played it in the square outside the Winter Palace.
[The Express must not smile on this line. It breaks the
tragic mood.]
ANNA (going to the door /eft) : Now is the moment
They are all in there standing with bowed heads . . .
" God preserve our noble Empress ' "
252
ANASTASIA
[She gives a httle laugh at the incongruity of the situation.
The music swells up, voices singing in Russian. Anna moves
round below the impress and does a deep curtsey. Then she
exits right. The old Empress stands looking after her. She
raises her arm in a gesture of farewell.]
Curtain
255
THE RETURN
ijr
MIDGET BOLAND
Copyright 1954 by Bridget Poland
Applications for the performance of this play by amateurs
must be made to Samuel French Ltd., z6 Southampton
Street, Strand, London, W.C.z, Applications for the
performance of this play by professionals must be made to
Christopher Mann Management Ltd., 140 Park Lane,
London, W. i . No performance may take place unless a
hcence has been obtained.
The 'Keturn was presented by the London Mask
Theatre at the Duchess Theatre, London, on
November 9th, 1953, with the following cast:
SISTER AGATHA Flora Robsofi
CHAPLAIN Ernest Jay
THE PRIORESS Entd Lmdsey
ANGELA SWITHIN Ann Walford
PETER SWITHIN Peter Martyn
CYRIL PLUMMER Roj Malcolm
Dkected by Michael MacOwan
Settings by Fanny Taylor
CHARACTERS
SISTER AGATHA
THE CHAPLAIN
THE PRIORESS
ANGELA SWITHIN
PETER SWITHIN
CYRIL PLUMMER
SCENES
ACT ONE
SCENE i. The Convent Parlour of an Order of
enclosed nuns
SCENE 2. The same
ACT TWO
SCENE i. The Living Room of the Smthins* Flat
in London
SCENE 2. The Living Room of the Swithins'' flat.
Some months later
SCENE 3. The Lmtig Room of the Swithms' Flat.
Some weeks later
ACT THREE
The Convent Parlour
ACT ONE
Scene i
The Convent Parlour of an Order of strictly enclosed nuns,
in an English Midland town. There is no suggestion of
Gothic Revival about the architecture — this was probably
the study or library of a large house which the Order took
over about 1830 and have never had enough money to improve
too much.
In the back wall stage left a French window opens on to a tiny
garden court, across the end of which can be seen the side
wall of the Chapel (once the stables}. In the wall left is a
door opening into the " Lodge " — the entrance to the Convent
and to the public end of the Chapel. (The side wall of this
" "Lodge " or entrance hall can be seen as the left wall of the
little court.}
Down-stage left is an immense cold fireplace, furnished with
the smallest portable electric fire. In the wall right is the
door to the Enclosure (the nuns' quarters}. This door is
kept locked on the inside, and the sound of a key turning
can be heard whenever an entrance is made from this side.
In the back wall right is the gntte. This is in the embrasure
formed by what was once a doorway into a little room the
side wall of which forms the right side of the little court.
The lower part of the doorway has been sealed up, but in the
upper part is a large fine-meshed wire grille, behind which
is a wooden shutter, normally kept closed.
The walls are bare except for a large Crucifix over the
grille, a photograph of the I* ope, and a large Arundel print
of a sacred subject. There is a big highly polished table, with
a couple of huge books, of the illustrated-suitabk-for-
waitmg-rooms variety, carefully disposed on it. There are
259
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
a couple of chairs at the table., undone with arms by thegrtlle;
others are disposed severely against the walls. Everything is
exceedingly clean, and looks as if it smelt of beeswax.
Across one corner of the table is laid a small cloth at which
the Chaplain sits eating his breakfast and reading his
morning paper. He is a burly, middk-aged man, with some
thing of the air of a country doc for. There is a slight rattle
behind the grille. The Chaplain shrinks, looks out of one
eye at the grille, and hastily raises his paper between it and
his face. The shutter behind the grille is removed for a
moment, but the inner room is in pitch darkness and nothing
can be seen. The shutter is replaced. The Chaplain drops
his paper, hastily brushes the crumbs from his waistcoat,
wipes his mouth carefully, and goes through the clerical
equivalent of straightening his tie. . . .
There is the sound of a key turning, and the door right opens
to admit the Prioress. She is an ageless woman with an
alarming capacity for absolute stillness, and a manner of
effortless dominion. She bows to the Chaplain, who jumps
up effuswelj.
CHAPLAIN: Ah! Mother Prioress 1 Good morning,
Reverend Mother.
PRIORESS: I'm not disturbing you, Father? You have
finished your breakfast ?
CHAPLAIN: Thank you, yes, yes. I'm ashamed to say,
I have. Yes. Bacon and eggs, and salt and pepper,
and marmalade — all forbidden fruits, aren't they?
You people feed your Chaplain like a fighting cock
simply to show your contempt for the secular clergy.
PRIORESS: Nonsense, Father: a parish priest has a
heavy day's work to do.
CHAPLAIN: But how you despise us for doing it on a
260
THE RETURN
full stomach! Oh, I know. And not just the humble
parish priest, either. You despise me with an egg,
but you despise the Bishop with a chicken.
PRIORESS: Do sit down, Father, won't you?
CHAPLAIN: Yes. . . . Oh, thank you, Reverend
Mother.
[They both sit down, the Prioress without leaning lack., and
yet with an air of complete relaxation, the Chaplain
lounging,yet continuing to look uncomfortable^
CHAPLAIN: Well, and how's everything at home, eh,
Reverend Mother ? All the Sisters fat and fit, I hope ?
PRIORESS : Thank you, the Community are very well.
CHAPLAIN: I sometimes feel I ought to stick my head
through that grille of yours every morning, and
bawl out " Any complaints ? " . . . Well— er— is
there anything ?
PRIORESS : Just one or two things, Father. Since we
have to have Mass so late in the mornings
CHAPLAIN: Oh, now, hold on a minute, Reverend
Mother. Six-thirty a.m. is not late.
PRIORESS: All these things are comparative, of
course
CHAPLAIN: This is a big industrial parish that has
grown up round your tight little island here, and
there are only two priests to look after it. Mass here
at the Convent a moment earlier than six-thirty is out
of the question. As it is it's too early to be any good
to anyone except a few Irish labourers and holy old
charwomen.
PRIORESS : There is always the Community, of course.
CHAPLAIN: ... I beg your pardon. Yes. There is
the Community. Thirty-six souls. You must forgive
me, Reverend Mother. One's work gets a little on
top of one, sometimes, and — your souls here are so
almost aggressively saved.
261
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
PRIORESS: Only from one moment to the next,
Father, even if that is so.
CHAPLAIN: Yes, yes — there's nothing the matter
with your theology, either. (Jumps up, and paces about.}
Look, I know the Community is obliged by its rule,
made in twelve-eighty-six, to rise at four. But this
pagan age can't afford you a resident Chaplain, and
most of the labourers in this town start work at eight
and the clerical staffs at nine. If they're good enough
to want to go to Mass on their way to work, they're
still human enough to stay in bed as late as they can.
And nowadays it isn't the Lady Prioress that I serve —
it's Patrick Donovan the builders' labourer, and Mary
Johnson the typist and old Mrs. Corelli the char.
PRIORESS: And of course there are the boys' clubs
and so on that have usually kept you up late the night
before, Father. . . .
[There is a moment' s pause, then the Chaplain spins round,
stung, and then suddenly bursts out laughing^
CHAPLAIN- Reverend Mother, you're the limit. Oh,
well, I don't suppose you could hold down the job
you do if you weren't more than a bit of a psycholo
gist. All right, I give in, and you can impute the
lowest motives you like to me.
PRIORESS: You're distressing yourself quite unduly,
Father. I was only going to ask if the Community
might receive Communion before Mass. It need
make no difference to the Communion during Mass
for the congregation at the public end of the Chapel;
and Mass could still start at six-thirty of course.
CHAPLAIN: You know, you worked me up into a
rage on purpose, so that getting here quarter of an
hour earlier in the morning would seem like nothing
at all, when we got down to it, didn't you ? All right,
262
THE RETURN
don't answer me. I should hate to be an occasion of
sin to you, Reverend Mother. Six fifteen it is. Next,
please.
PRIORESS: It's extraordinarily good of you, Father.
Then there was the question of Confessions. During
the winter months, I see no reason why the Com
munity should not use the grille from the ante-room
into the parlour, here, instead of the one from the
Choir in the Chapel; because of course the Chapel
is quite unheated, and in here you could have the
electric fire turned on.
CHAPLAIN: You don't feel it would contravene your
own Rule that forbids heating of any kind ?
PRIORESS : Oh, no. I don't imagine any very appreci
able difference would be felt in the ante-room.
CHAPLAIN (curtly): Thank you, Reverend Mother, I
prefer to hear Confessions in the Chapel.
[The Pnoress bows slightly.}
Anything else ?
PRIORESS: Then there was just the little matter of
Sister Agatha.
CHAPLAIN: Quarter of an hour here or there in
a morning's devotions, that's an important item on
the agenda. Way down at the bottom among any
other business is just the little matter of Sister Agatha.
PRIORESS: Poor Sister Agatha! But then there is,
after all, only one of her, Father; the other matter
affects the whole Community. One has to try and
preserve one's sense of proportion.
CHAPLAIN: Heaven preserve me from ever develop
ing one. How long is it that Sister Agatha has been
a nun?
PRIORESS : Thirty-six years, Father.
CHAPLAIN: Thirty - six — forty - nine — nineteen
thirteen. That year of years.
263
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
PRIORESS: Nineteen thirteen? Why, Father — what
was there about nineteen thirteen?
CHAPLAIN : It was the year before nineteen fourteen,
Reverend Mother, remember ? The year before the
end of the old world. It was the last year of security
in the old order, it was the last year that the aeroplane
was a stunt and the motor car was a freak, the last
year of — sitting on the lawn under the cedar drinking
tea, the last year in which no one questioned the
existence of a ruling class or that a gentleman was
more likely than not to be a man of honour.
PRIORESS • Was it ?
CHAPLAIN • Well, don't you agree ?
PRIORESS: I had been a nun sometime already,
Father. I entered in nineteen hundred and four.
CHAPLAIN: You ?
[For the first time the Prioress smiles :]
PRIORESS: I imagine I am quite an old woman.
CHAPLAIN: God bless my soul! I beg your pardon.
But — well! D'you know, Reverend Mother, now I
know you're that much older than I am I shan't mind
your getting your own way so often? Well!
We were going to talk about Sister Agatha.
PRIORESS: She is fifty-eight.
CHAPLAIN: You must have known her as a novice.
PRIORESS: Oh, yes. I remember her coming. I was
interested, because I had known her as a child, and —
young nuns still have a lot of curiosity and
CHAPLAIN: And common humanity; don't apologise.
What was she like?
PRIORESS: As a child? I can see her now! A
boisterous little thing, always getting her elder sister
into trouble — Cecilia was at school with me, then,
though of course a great deal younger. She was the
one you'd have thought should be the nun. It was a
264
THE RETURN
huge house, you know, in Norfolk, but you could
hear Agatha's voice from one end of it to the other.
I was very shocked at her running so wild. But they
were a strange family. My father frightened me when
I first went to stay at Brattesleigh. " The Fosdykes ? "
he said. " Mad as hatters. No one to marry in
Norfolk, of course, except each other." It gave me
most alarming ideas.
CHAPLAIN: And when she came as a novice? As a
postulant, before she got her habit?
PRIORESS: Oh, that — that's so long ago. I don't
remember so well. Yes, I do — awkward — ungainly.
I remember thinking she would never learn how to
move without striding, and swinging her arms like a
windmill. For years, even without raising your eyes
— which, of course, we don't do unless we have to —
you could tell Sister Agatha in a file of nine by the
way she moved.
CHAPLAIN: I'm finding out as much about you,
Reverend Mother, as I am about Sister Agatha
Why had she entered ?
PRIORESS : She had a vocation.
CHAPLAIN: No unhappy love affair, for instance?
Family crisis?
PRIORESS : I was not even Mistress of Novices, then,
Father.
CHAPLAIN : Well, but you knew the family
PRIORESS : I had known them. One is allowed letters
from home once a year . . . while people still
trouble to write.
CHAPLAIN: Yes. Yes. . . . And after thirty-six years
she wants to leave.
PRIORESS: She has discussed it all, of course, with
our spiritual director. But Father Augustine is a
Carmelite, of an enclosed order like our own; it was
he who said it was time to consult you,
265
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
CHAPLAIN: I've made the enquiries you wanted,
about what's left of her family, and I've talked to the
bank and your solicitor, and so on. But she mustn't
do it, Reverend Mother.
PRIORESS: Of course, when all the enquiries are
complete, and she knows what she's facing, if she
still wants to we must submit the case to the Bishop
and eventually to Rome.
CHAPLAIN: She mustn't do it.
PRIORESS : She is older, of course, than a dispensation
from vows is usually allowed, but I imagine
CHAPLAIN: It isn't that.
PRIORESS: On the spiritual side
CHAPLAIN: I'll leave that to you and Father Augus
tine. It isn't that.
PRIORESS: What is it, Father?
CHAPLAIN: It's — it's too long since nineteen thirteen!
PRIORESS: Is it? ... Father, you think we despise
the secular clergy who continue in the world. We
don't. You've chosen the harder road. You've
chosen the harder road. Haven't you ?
CHAPLAIN: No.
PRIORESS: You say that because you tried your
vocation as a monk and failed.
CHAPLAIN: I never told you that. Father Augustine
— no, he wouldn't know. What a whispering gallery
for gossip a convent is !
PRIORESS: You tell me, yourself, Father, every time
you laugh and joke about the privations of our life —
to cover up the hurt. You think it was because you
hadn't the strength or the courage that you left the
monastery.
CHAPLAIN: I
PRIORESS: It wasn't. You hadn't the vocation, or
you'd have stayed. So your going there wasn't a
positive thing. It was negative. It was escape. For
266
THE RETURN
you the cloister would have been escape from the
atmosphere of vice that revolts you, from the sight
of poverty that you can't relieve, from the whole
world gone wrong that you can't do anything about.
You envy us our life. We don't envy yours.
[There is a moment's pause.]
I will send for Sister Agatha, now; I want you to
talk to her. If you'll be good enough to ring the
bell
[The Chaplain, glad to have something to do, goes to an
electric bell push and presses if.]
I should like you to explain her family situation to
her, whatever it is, and anything else you think she
should know.
CHAPLAIN: I — look here, Reverend Mother, I rang
the bell automatically because you told me to. I'm
sorry, I honestly don't think I could cope; it's still
only half-past seven in the morning.
PRIORESS: I'm so sorry, Father. Of course. I just
thought it would save another journey for you across
the town.
CHAPLAIN : All right. Sooner or later, of course — I
don't know why the idea should be so alarming,
anyhow.
PRIORESS : No, not more than usual, really.
CHAPLAIN: "Open just a little wider, please — this
isn't going to hurt " ? How do you know that I
loathe every human problem I come up against, in a
parish teeming with more human problems every
day than all the modern novels yet written?
PRIORESS : Do you, Father ?
CHAPLAIN : But you don't suffer from Sister Agatha,
267
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
and you know the woman. You'd take the lot in your
stride, wouldn't you ?
[Tiie shutter behind the grille is opened.}
PRIORESS: Oh, Sister, would you be good enough to
tell Sister Agatha the Chaplain would like to see her
now? Thank you.
[The shutter closes.}
CHAPLAIN: You've talked to her, and Father Augus
tine too, about the significance of her vows — all that?
PRIORESS: For some months.
CHAPLAIN: Good. You know her: do you think
she could be happy, now, in the world ?
PRIORESS: Happy? I'm not sure that that would
matter so very much. But she might well be. Women
of her age seemed pretty happy, when I was a girl.
CHAPLAIN: Yes. Yes. ... I see what has been left
out of the discussions so far. . . . Funny thing, I
must have heard her Confession every week for
several years, I must know her innermost soul, and
yet I've no notion which of you she is. I wouldn't
know her from Adam.
PRIORESS: Since the question of her leaving has
arisen she has been confessing only to Father
Augustine when he comes once a fortnight for
spiritual counsel.
CHAPLAIN: Quite right, avoid conflicting advice for
the poor woman. Tell me; she's perfectly normal?
PRIORESS: Oh, I should say so.
CHAPLAIN: Not neurotic, hysterical?
PRIORESS: No.
CHAPLAIN : Why not ?
PRIORESS : I beg your pardon ?
CHAPLAIN: In the name of fortune, why not? Here's
268
THE RETURN
a woman who shut herself up from the world at the
age of twenty, who's lived on cabbage-water soup
and vegetables cooked without salt and slept on a
bed of planks and got up at four in the morning and
not laid eyes on a human being outside the Com
munity for thirty-six years, and when she finally
tells you she can't stand it another moment you tell
me she doesn't seem at all unusual. "Why not ? What's
the matter with her ? What's the matter with her ?
PRIORESS : She hasn't got a vocation.
CHAPLAIN : And how long has she been finding that
out?
PRIORESS : Eight or ten months, I think.
CHAPLAIN : She wasn't suffering the tortures of the
damned for a moment before that?
PRIORESS : Why should she be ? I fancy she wrestled
with her conscience for perhaps two years before she
would admit it to herself. Not longer. The con
fessional is a useful safety-valve for such feelings as
soon as they become conscious.
CHAPLAIN: All right, then — give it thirty-three years.
Why not before that?
PRIORESS : Because before that she had a vocation for
the contemplative life. People change, Father — or at
any rate women do. One gets out of the habit of
thinking in terms of years, but some of course will
have developed intellectually and emotionally as
far as they ever will, by the time they are twenty.
Very few, I should say, reach the end of their
possibilities of spiritual development before they are
fifty. Some seem to lead all their lives at once, all
warring for the upper hand together, till one wins
and they settle into it. The lucky ones — like Sister
Agatha — lead their different lives one after the other,
each phase succeeding the one before like different
people coming into a room.
269
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
CHAPLAIN: Reverend Mother, how old were you
when you came through that door for the last time ?
PRIORESS: Nineteen, I think.
CHAPLAIN- And all you've learned, you've learned
inside these walls.
PRIORESS : Yes, Father, you're right — there's a whole
world I can't help Sister Agatha about. That's why
she is to talk to you.
CHAPLAIN: For once you're wrong. That isn't what
I meant.
[The shutter behind the grille is opened.]
PRIORESS : Ah, Sister Agatha
AGATHA (of) : Yes, Reverend Mother.
PRIORESS: Father Blake has been making enquiries
for us, Sister, about your family and what your
financial situation would be, and so on, if you
decided to appeal for a dispensation from your vows.
Would you like to discuss it with him ?
AGATHA (off} : Thank you, Reverend Mother.
CHAPLAIN: Er — good morning, Sister — I hope you
won't feel it impertinent of me to have been poking
among your private affairs — eh ?
AGATHA: No, Father.
CHAPLAIN: I fancy I know more about them than
you do now — eh? Look here, Reverend Mother, I
can't go on like this. She must come in here.
PRIORESS : Oh, no, Father. It's against the Rule.
CHAPLAIN: Bother the Rule. Her life and perhaps her
soul are at stake. This is impossible.
PRIORESS: But you give advice in the confessional
under just these conditions.
CHAPLAIN: I'm sorry. It's not spiritual advice you're
asking me to give. I'm playing her lawyer and her
bank manager and her go-between with her family,
270
THE RETURN
and I am not going to do it through that meat-safe.
PRIORESS: Sister, open the door into the passage,
will you ? . . . And come back to the grille.
[There is a pause. A shaft of light, not very strong., appears
on the grille., and Sister Agatha moves back into it slowly.
She is scarcely visible.]
CHAPLAIN: She might as well be in Mexico. Look,
they see the doctor in here, don't they, and the
dentist if they need one ?
PRIORESS: That's provided for in the Rule. It's
inside the Walls, though it's outside the Enclosure.
CHAPLAIN : There you are, then. Sister Agatha, you
feel you want to go out into the world again after all
these years. Do you not feel you ought to be able to
try your wings, at least as far as this room?
AGATHA (after a moment] : As Reverend Mother thinks
fit. ...
PRIORESS : It has simply not been legislated for. . . .
Come round, Sister. Yes. Come in here.
[After a moment' s pause Sister Agatha closes the shutter.]
CHAPLAIN: I will say you can make the large
decisions, too. I wish I hadn't stayed here for break
fast this morning.
PRIORESS: I suppose the Refectory Sister could not
very well come in to clear away, since I have kept
you here.
[The door right opens to admit Sister Agatha. She moves
correctly, her feet not showing beyond her skirts, her hands
•when not in use folded in her sleeves, her eyes not raised,
but coming through this door is an important moment, and
a straightening of her shoulders shows it. She bows to the
271
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
Chaplain and to the Prioress, and waits. The Prioress
watches the other two for a moment.]
I was just saying how disagreeable Father Blake's
breakfast was beginning to look, Sister. Perhaps
you will give me a hand with it.
[Sister Agatha hurries forward and they char the things
on to a tray together.]
No, no, don't you bother, Father. (To Agatha.} I
was telling Father Blake that I remember your sister
Cecilia at school. She was a dear little girl, very quiet
and pretty. I hope she is still alive. That is the sort
of thing Father Blake and you are going to talk about.
CHAPLAIN: Reverend Mother, I can't have you
waiting on me like this.
PRIORESS: Nonsense. It's my breakfast, anyhow,
now I come to think of it — the bacon, anyhow. The
rest of the Community are all registered as vegetarians,
of course, but we keep the book that is in my name
for the chaplains and guests. Everybody has Ration
Books, you know, nowadays, Sister. Now the
cloth. . . .
]Thejfold the cloth together]
Not that we need very much off ours, and there must
be very few people who find them inadequate.
Ordinary life in the world, that is what Father Blake
can tell you about. (She puts the cloth on top of the tray,
which she lifts }
AGATHA: Let me, Reverend Mother.
PRIORESS (smiles at her}'. Oh, Sister, panicking so
soon ? Would you be good enough to open the door,
Father ?
272
THE RETURN
[Sister Agatha gets to the door first and opens if.]
Now, I'll leave you together. Take as much time as
Father Blake can spare, Sister.
[Sister Agatha bows as the Prioress goes out. She closes
the door and turns slowly, but does not raise her eyes.]
CHAPLAIN: We have now been put at our ease,
Sister. Only, personally, I hate being put anywhere,
even at ease, don't you ?
[Sister Agatha relaxes a little, and laughs silently.]
Come and sit down. She's an amazing woman, the
Prioress. She makes you understand those great
mediaeval abbesses who dominated the life and
politics of a province from their cells. I told the
Bishop one time I believed she was descended from a
long unbroken line of Napoleon's aunts. What
do you make of her yourself? Come on, now — I
never knew the nun yet that wasn't the better for a
little uncharitable gossip about her Mother Superior.
AGATHA: She makes a magnificent Prioress. She was
a great Mistress of Novices.
CHAPLAIN: But you don't think she's much of a
nun. All right, all right, I said it. ... Why do you
want to come out ?
AGATHA: ... I think I'm wasting my time — and
God's.
CHAPLAIN: Hm, hm. God, of course, has plenty;
but you're getting on for sixty. Is there something
you specially want to do with the years that are left ?
AGATHA: No.
CHAPLAIN: Listen. The spiritual aspect of your
problem isn't my concern just now. Father Augustine
is a saintly man of your own way of life and you've
273
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
talked to him in your language. I am to talk about —
not what you may be leaving but what you may be
going to. You must help me — it's a large subject.
If you were a young woman I should suppose it was
the call of the flesh, or loneliness of heart. If you were
middle-aged I should say dissatisfaction was your lot
for a time in any case, and that it would pass. What
are you looking for outside? Or are you running
away from something here ?
AGATHA: I think they're wrong.
CHAPLAIN: Yes?
AGATHA: Wrong. The world — the sins of the
world. . . .
CHAPLAIN: Prayer, and penance for the sins of the
world. Yes?
AGATHA : I don't believe it any more. I don't mind.
I don't mind at all.
CHAPLAIN: I see.
AGATHA : I don't believe God minds.
CHAPLAIN: Yes, man has always made God in his
own image. If you were God, you'd forgive the
world ?
AGATHA : I don't believe there's anything to forgive.
It's good, it's good, Father. Oh, stupid, if you like,
and mad sometimes, with war, but you'd never say a
child was bad, wicked, sinful — you'd say the poor
little thing was tiresome and badly brought up and
you'd have patience with it. Why shouldn't God
have patience with men?
CHAPLAIN: Yes. You had a happy childhood, a
happy girlhood, Sister ?
AGATHA: Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Perhaps I was spoilt.
I was certainly happy. I found people good, kind —
lovable.
CHAPLAIN : And yet you entered an enclosed Order,
as strict as the Carmelites or the Poor Clares ?
THE RETURN
AGATHA : It was the contemplative life. My soul was
too big for my body, in those days, and it's only in a
life like this that it has room to grow and lose itself
in the things that are bigger still.
CHAPLAIN : And you were happy ?
AGATHA: Very. Until my soul — me — I — seemed to
shrivel up to the size of a pea and to be not worth
bothering about.
CHAPLAIN : That next, yes, of course.
AGATHA: Oh, I've read the lives of the Saints,
Father — but I wasn't lost in the Infinite. I had ]ust
stopped wanting to be.
CHAPLAIN: Well, not to trespass on Father Augus
tine's territory: some people are capable of
intellectual mysticism. You turned out to be a
different kind of cake, that's all. Forgive the simile —
but you look as if you might have made a good cook.
Well, then?
AGATHA: Then. Father Augustine directed me from
contemplation for a time, and advised me to meditate
on our other purpose in being here — expiation for the
sins of the world.
CHAPLAIN: And you didn't really know any to
meditate on.
AGATHA: What?
CHAPLAIN: Never mind. All right, I'm in the
picture and I particularly don't want to discuss the
spiritual side of things. Now, then: tell me about
your sister, Cecilia.
AGATHA: Cecilia?
CHAPLAIN: Cecilia. Your parents are dead, your
only brother was killed in the Great War. Tell me
about Cecilia.
AGATHA: She married.
CHAPLAIN: Yes?
AGATHA: All right: she married a man — an atheist,
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
divorced. She went and lived with him till his wife
divorced him. They had a child before they were
married. Who was there to marry at home? You
know what Norfolk is like. We were brought up
among Protestants, we played with them as children,
hunted with them in the holidays, danced with them
when we came out, but we mustn't marry them.
Cecilia — she wasn't beautiful, hardly even pretty.
She had a season or two in London but she hated
them. The brothers of the girls at school — she got
engaged to one for a bit, my father arranged it, but
she broke it off. She hardly knew him, and she'd
known — this other man — all her life.
CHAPLAIN: Yes?
AGATHA : I prayed for her, but I didn't blame her. I
couldn't.
CHAPLAIN: Your family cut her off, wouldn't see her
even after she married. You were a nun already
Did they tell you ?
AGATHA: No. They were only allowed to write
once a year. They just didn't mention it, and Cecilia
didn't write.
CHAPLAIN: Who told you?
AGATHA: Mother Prioress. She became Mistress of
Novices about then. Her people had written. It was
her brother Cecilia had been engaged to. She knew
I was hurt at Cecilia's never writing year after year,
but in time one gets not to mind, and it's only for
their sake you read the letters that do come. I'd
rather not have known. I hated to have to pray for
Cecilia. I was very young.
CHAPLAIN: And you hated the Prioress for telling
you. And you've never been able to feel oppressed
by any sense of sin.
AGATHA : Cecilia is the only wicked woman I know.
CHAPLAIN: Did you know she died?
276
THE RETURN
AGATHA : . . . She was older than I, of course. Only
a few years. . . . Cecilia. . . .
CHAPLAIN: She died many years ago. Sister Agatha,
the only close surviving relative you've got is her
son. He has answered my letter, and said he would
give you a home, at first at any rate. He has a young
wife who seems to agree. He says it would give him
considerable satisfaction to pay your dead family back
for the way they treated his mother.
AGATHA: Cecilia's son! What's he like?
CHAPLAIN: I'm no judge of character from hand
writing — but if he were not a generous young man
he'd be more likely to pay them back by refusing to
have anything to do with you. Your capital is held
in trust and the interest paid into the Convent's bank.
It would bring you in a couple of hundred a year,
though I fancy your trustee would agree to buying
you an annuity. Your old home in Norfolk is now
a branch of the Ministry of Co-ordination.
AGATHA : A what ?
CHAPLAIN: A sort of enormous filing cabinet for the
records of government departments.
AGATHA: A waste-paper basket? Oh, well, at least
it's something funny.
CHAPLAIN: Hm. Perhaps you'd do all right after all.
AGATHA: I don't mind. I don't mind how I do! I
tell you, I want to go! Perhaps I had something
different once, I don't know, I think I had. Perhaps
it was only youth. But it's burned itself out, it's dried
itself up — I told you, it's shrivelled away. I am an old
woman, an ordinary old woman, ordinary, ordinary,
and none of it means anything to me any more.
CHAPLAIN : " But I know where'er I go that there has
passed away a glory from the earth." Only it was a
saint you were trying to be and not a poet, so it's
heaven and not earth that's lost its glory. Sister. . .
277
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
AGATHA: Yes?
CHAPLAIN: Don't do it.
AGATHA: I can do it— I can try. I can write to the
Bishop, I can see him when he makes his annual
visitation, no one can stop me. I can appeal myself
to the Mother Provincial of our Order in England.
If she won't help me I can appeal to Rome. ... I
can! I canl
CHAPLAIN: Sister, open that door.
AGATHA : What door ?
CHAPLAIN: That door into the Enclosure. Do as I
say. Open it. Open it wide.
[Sister Agatha obeys.]
Where is the key? Take it out. Well? Which side
of the door was it on ? Come on.
[Sister Agatha puts back the key and closes the door gently.]
AGATHA: The inside.
CHAPLAIN: Now go to the other door. Do as I tell
you.
[She crosses to the door left and opens it without looking.]
And down that passage is the front door. That has
to be opened from the outside with a yale key, of
which there is only one, which is kept at the local
Police Station in case of fire; but it can be opened
from the inside at any time of the day or night by
any who cares to turn a handle. So there is no need
for dramatics, is there?
AGATHA: I meant — my vows. Till death. I'd stay.
CHAPLAIN : My dear child, there are more ways than
one of dying. There were two women, once —
278
THE RETURN
Siamese twins, joined back to back by a bond of
flesh. Then one of them died. Surgeons weren't
what they are, and for three days the other one lived
with a dead woman on her back. . . . You'd get
your dispensation. The woman who made those
vows has died on your back.
\There is a moment's silence, and then Sister Agatha covers
her face wtth her hands and sobs.]
And still I say don't go. You don't know and I can't
give you any picture of what you're facing. If you
were a young woman who had somehow skipped the
time of out: two wars and the dragging years
between, I should say: go out and find your level.
If you had said to me, even being the age you are,
that you knew now your vocation was for active
good works — that you wanted to serve the poor, or
prisoners, or children or, God help us all, lost dogs,
I'd say: " If sin and suffering call to you, go out and
join the battle, veteran." But they don't.
AGATHA: I could
CHAPLAIN: No, they don't. You don't believe in
sin and you don't know what suffering is. You!
Born into your watertight little world of the old
Catholic aristocracy. You, who heroically refrain
from judging your poor little sister, the only wicked
woman you know. You, who knew only good, kind,
happy people in your childhood, and were a sweet
earnest young novice at twenty, and have hated ever
since the woman who spoilt the only illusion you've
ever lost ! You, to go out at sixty into a world that is
ashamed only to hide its vices. Men are cruel and
women are lascivious — oh, they were in your day,
too, but they had manners or conventions to protect
them or at the worst to hide behind. Governments
279
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
don't disregard the poor now — they bribe them for
votes, and then leave them to rot in their slums.
Czechs and Poles don't break their hearts decently
in Central Europe any more; they come and do it
openly on English farms. We let shiploads of Jews
just sink with their own weight into the calm, lovely
Mediterranean where you used to bathe. There isn't
any sand you can bury your head in now. How are
you going to look at such people and see, and learn
to love them again in the few years you've got left,
you poor old fool?
[Sister Agatha is looking at him with a smile.']
In the name of fortune, what have I said that's funny ?
AGATHA: I'm sorry, I wasn't really listening. Your
voice reminded me so of old Father Mostyn, at home,
when my father told him off to persuade me against
becoming a nun.
CHAPLAIN: . . . And you didn't listen to him,
either. Did you hear a word I said ?
AGATHA: Oh yes, about the few years I had left.
My great grandmother lived to be ninety-six. At
that rate I might live out of the convent two years
longer than I've lived in it, and I really don't see why
I shouldn't. Do you ?
Curtain
280
THE RETURN
Scene 2
The Convent Parlour.
Peter S within, a good-kokingyoung man of about thirty-five,
stands at the window with his back to the room, and his
wife, Angela, tiptoeing about the room, is examining
everything with enormous interest. There is a suitcase on the
chair, and a cardboard bat-box.
ANGELA (whispering): I say, Peter! Peter!
PETER: What?
ANGELA: Sh.
PETER: Darling, it's not a church!
ANGELA: Well, as good as. Look, Peter, I'm sure
this is where they keep them It's locked ! Peter, I'm
sure there's a squint-hole in that grille thing.
PETER: I don't want to look at it, it makes me sick.
ANGELA- Oh, dear, does it give you your prison
phobia? It does look like the Zoo — but if they
didn't like it, they could all get out, I suppose, like
your aunt's going to
PETER : After two years of hullabaloo, poor creatures
— if they had the guts.
ANGELA: Peter, it's years since the war. You must
get on top of it.
[He turns back to the window. Angela studies him with
absentminded thoughtfulness for a moment, and then turns
to the table and opens one of the books of views on it. The
door left opens and she jumps and shuts the book guiltily.
The Chaplain comes m.]
CHAPLAIN: Ah! The Sister Portress told me you
281
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
were here already. Mrs. S within? How do you do?
How do you do. Have you seen the Prioress ?
PETER : We didn't know how to get hold of her
CHAPLAIN: So they left you languishing. (He rings
the bell by the grille.} All convents are the same —
what's an hour or two, compared with eternity?
They stopped walling up nuns ages ago. They wall
up visitors now instead. Ah, you brought the
clothes ?
ANGELA : Yes — I do so hope they're all right. It was
terribly difficult to get anything sort of cheerful and
— and courageous for her, you know, but really
suitable for someone with a mind like a nun.
[The shutter opens. The Swtthtns both start. Angela
moves forward, dropping the hat-box she had picked upl\
Oh!
CHAPLAIN: Sister, would you tell Mother Prioress
and Sister Agatha that Mr. and Mrs. S within are
here? Thank you.
[The shutter closes.}
ANGELA : But we're in the Zoo ! I mean, she could see
us if she wanted to, lit up, like an aquarium !
[The Chaplain picks up the bat-box :]
Yes, her hat — I drove the assistant mad, because of
course they all looked terrifying on me, but — I
really thought this one would look all right for
someone who died in nineteen thirteen. Do you
think it'll do?
CHAPLAIN: In very good taste, I'd say.
ANGELA : I do want her to like everything, clothes are
282
THE RETURN
such a help to hold on to, you know. And shoes —
they don't wear heels, do they, and it hurts the back
of your leg and your instep like hellj I mean fun, if
you're not used to them. I turned the town upside
down, because I would not have her go out in those
awful lace-up things. Women in her day always
had very pretty feet, you know, and they were
fearfully proud of them, and even if hers have spread
a bit from flapping about in those sand-shoe things
they're going to look as nice as we can make them.
Lookl
[She has been routing in the suitcase, and now reveals a neat
pair of shoes with a lon> — perhaps a Louts — heeL]
CHAPLAIN : You've taken a lot of trouble.
ANGELA: I expect she'll be a bit scared, you know.
There's nothing like feeling you've got the right
clothes on, anyhow. The underclothes I am worried
about still. I read somewhere they always wear
wool, prickly on purpose, and of course you can't
leave off wool suddenly, but
PETER: Darling, Mr. — Father Blake is a priest.
[The door right is unlocked and the Prioress comes in. She
and the Chaplain bow to each other.}
CHAPLAIN: Mr. and Mrs. S within, Reverend Mother.
The Mother Prioress.
PRIORESS: How do you do^
PETER : How do you do ?
ANGELA : Oh3 How do you do ?
\They do not shake hands.]
PRIORESS: You are being very generous, Mr.
Swithin, in giving your aunt a home.
283
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
PETER: I'm very glad to be able to. It's only a pokey
London flat, about two by four, I'm afraid.
CHAPLAIN: Mr. and Mrs. Swithin have both been
extraordinarily thoughtful and kind.
PRIORESS: And they are quite aware of her financial
situation ?
CHAPLAIN: Er — yes
[Peter laughs pleasantly^
PETER: It's all right, we know she's only got four-
pence and it's an annuity. We shan't murder her for
her money.
PRIORESS : I knew your grandparents very well. They
were most kind to me as a young girl.
PETER (curtly, ready to take offence): And my mother,
then?
PRIORESS: Yes, indeed; though she was still a
schoolgirl when I became a nun.
[Peter relaxes.}
Sister Agatha was in the Chapel, I know. They can't
have found her, or she'd be here by now. Excuse me
a moment.
[She goes out right.}
ANGELA: Whew!
CHAPLAIN: No, your aunt isn't like that a bit. She
is, though. I'd be less worried if I thought you
knew how.
PETER : How what ?
CHAPLAIN: How remote her world was from yours,
when she had one.
ANGELA: I know — I've been reading it up and
284
THE RETURN
looking at pictures and things. The novels of E. F.
Benson. I'd rather have liked it, myself.
CHAPLAIN: You can't read it up, it's never been
written — the tiny, self-contained world of the old
English Catholic aristocracy. You're going to think
her a fabulous snob — you'll have to try and think of
it as period, like her probable taste in hats. As remote
and as self-contained as Mars, her world. If it
weren't so likely to be tragic, it would be sensationally
interesting, like reviving an Egyptian mummy and
turning it loose in the world today.
[The door right is unlocked and Sister Agatha comes in.
She slowly raises her eyes and looks at Peter. He stares
for a moment and then hurries to her and takes her in his
arms.~\
PETER: Darling Aunt Agatha, you're going to be
free and yourself again. I'm going to look after you
till you rind your feet, and then you're going to do
whatever in the world you like.
AGATHA: It's so good of you — so
PETER : Oh, come on now, you're not crying ?
AGATHA: No, I
PETER: You are She's not. She's laughing. (Aside
to Chaplain.'} Hysterics ?
CHAPLAIN: Sister
AGATHA : It's all right. But it seemed so silly. We've
always spoken of you as — Cecilia's son, Cecilia's boy.
It's only just occurred to me — I'm afraid I don't
even know your Christian name.
PETER: Peter. Peter. . . . Oh, and this is Angela,
my wife.
ANGELA: How do you do? (She does not move.}
AGATHA: How do you — do. Father
CHAPLAIN: Yes?
z85
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
AGATHA: Nothing. My dear, you must forgive my
staring, I haven't seen a woman in — ordinary clothes
—since the last time my mother came here, thirty
years ago.
ANGELA : It's all right. Absolutely all right.
PETER: I've got my car parked round the corner, and
we're driving straight down to London. We're
rather broke, you know, and we can only give you
the sort of loose-box they call a spare room in our
flat — I don't believe you're listening.
AGATHA: I'm sorry. I was, really. But you see,
you're older than Cecilia was, years older, and so
much more sure. It's ridiculous of me, you would be.
CHAPLAIN: Sister, Mrs. S within has brought your
clothes. You ought to go and change, now. You've
a long drive ahead.
AGATHA: Yes. Yes, I suppose so. ... To London,
you said? Yes, quite far. But drive? Only to the
station, of course.
PETER : I wonder if we ought to have gone by train ?
No. A car is quieter than a train, and more private.
You'll like it, and you can see the real England from
the window — country roads.
AGATHA: England!
CHAPLAIN: Go and change, now.
AGATHA: Yes, Father.
[She moves obediently. Angela comes forward with the
case and bat-box.}
Thank you.
CHAPLAIN: Mrs. Swithin has tried very hard to
choose the right clothes for you. She hopes very
much you're going to Like them.
AGATHA: Oh, you shouldn't have gone to any
trouble — anydiing would do. It was very good of
you.
286
THE RETURN
\Peter holds the door for her, and she goes out right. Peter
closes the door.]
CHAPLAIN: Well! You're very quiet, Mrs. S within.
PETER: I hope it doesn't mean you're going to
decide you don't like her.
ANGELA: No — it's all right, I'm going to like her.
It's just that it's so terrible.
CHAPLAIN: Terrible?
ANGELA: So huge for her, this — all this. I don't
know how any of you can talk, talk to her as if it
was every day. I'm quite old, a woman, and since
years before I was born she's been in there. It's not
a day, there aren't words, there ought to be a
different language, or trumpets, or gongs and drums
and so much noise that you can't hear, throbbing
and blaring in your ears, so that you can't think.
People oughtn't to see such things !
CHAPLAIN: Why don't you sit down, Mrs. S within?
We shall have some time to wait.
ANGELA: How ksteningly quiet it is ! What on earth
is Aunt Agatha going to make of a London flat —
particularly our London flat ?
CHAPLAIN : Is it a particularly noisy one ?
ANGELA: It's particularly small.
PETER : You see, sir, I am in a particularly small way
of business.
ANGELA: Peter, I didn't mean that. I merely said it
is physically a small flat.
PETER: Morally, it's even smaller.
CHAPLAIN : What is your work, S within ?
PETER : Jute. What you make linoleum out of, when
you can get any. One of the principal exports of our
late-lamented Indian Empire. Filthy stuff.
CHAPLAIN: You don't sound as if you'd found your
vocation, either.
287
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
PETER: A good-natured cousin of my wife's found
it for me, poor man. Oh, I fancy one business is
much like another. The people who naturally buy
and sell cleverly will have their fun, whether it's a
" cargo of ivory, topaz and cinnamon ", or peanuts
off a barrow. I just haven't the knack.
CHAPLAIN: But you catch the City 'bus every morn
ing with pious resignation
ANGELA: And come home every night in a worse
temper. You're going to have to watch your
language, darling, with Aunt Agatha around.
PETER : And you're going to have to snap out of the
glooms, my sweet, and be Little Susie Sunshine
about the flat all day.
ANGELA: Oh, dear, I do hope we are going to be
able to make it happy for her. We've been con
centrating on the idea of just getting her out. It's
going to be just too funny for words if she finds
she was better off inside
CHAPLAIN: Oh, well — if you work hard enough on
keeping her happy, you may find you've cheered
yourselves up by mistake.
{The Prioress comes in right.]
PRIORESS: Sister Agatha is in her cell, dressing. I
wanted to warn you, Mr. Swithin. She is distressed.
The clothes, I think made it real rather suddenly.
When you have lived with an idea for some time it
takes on a dream-quality, and the realisation is
always a shock.
PETER: We'll look after her.
PRIORESS: I believe this morning she'd elect to stay
here.
PETER: Have you been talking to her? Persuading
her?
288
THE RETURN
PRIORESS: No She's coming.
CHAPLAIN: Swithin, were you taken prisoner at all,
during the war?
PETER: Yes. And you're quite right — I don't like
prisons or anything that resembles prisons. And I
have very little confidence in the way my mother's
family arranged the lives of either of their daughters.
ANGELA: Peter, you — d'you think you ought to
bring the car round to the door? They won't let
you park there because of the traffic, I know, but if
you stayed in the car
PETER: It's all right. It's only on the corner. (To
Chaplain.} Sorry.
PRIORESS: I'll leave you, then. Goodbye, Mrs.
Swithin, Mr.
CHAPLAIN: Where are you going ?
PRIORESS: I ? To the Chapel, Father.
CHAPLAIN : And Sister Agatha ?
PRIORESS : She's no longer in my care.
CHAPLAIN: You stay and wish her "Godspeed".
That woman leaves this house with the sanction of
the Church. She leaves it with the honours of war]
PRIORESS: Of course, Father; as you wish.
ANGELA: What does she like?
PRIORESS: I beg your pardon?
ANGELA: I mean, what's she interested in, to talk
about and so on ? We're going to be alone together
a lot all day — I thought I might get some books and
read up whatever she's interested in.
CHAPLAIN: You've set the Prioress a teaser. You
see, the nuns don't talk to each other, except for half
an hour a day, and then only in general conversation,
not in ones and twos. They don't read books. Only
the Prioress is compelled by her office to have some
contact with the outside world, to read the news
papers, for instance. Reluctantly compelled. You'll
K 289
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
find your aunt's mind virgin soil — it's not just that
she hasn't any secular interest, she won't even know
what there is to be interested in in your world. She's
spent the first half of the century lost in childhood
and contemplation. You're going to find you've
got an adult mind to deal with that was only born
this morning.
ANGELA : It sounds rather a frightening idea.
CHAPLAIN: It is.
\There is a moment's chilled silence. Then the key is heard
turning and the door right opens slowly. Agatha comes in.
She is wearing the clothes that Angela brought with the hat
at an unbecoming angle and the silk scarf tied over it like
a motoring veil. But more strikingly still, under the coat
(which is of course " New L,ook " length] she wears the
skirt of her habit. She moves with the short gliding step
of the convent and carries her habit and veil in a folded
pile, with the cross and rosary on top. Her face is streaming
with tears, but she does not sob and her voice is low but
steady.}
PETER (gently) : Aunt, darling, the scaif
[Angela puts out her hand quickly to stop him, but he goes
on gently.}
The scarf goes round the neck
AGATHA : Oh, does it ? I thought as we were motor
ing But then, there's my hair — I think I'll keep
it like this. I had to keep the skirt of our habit,
Reverend Mother. The other was very short.
(Quickly to Angela?} I am a little taller than you
expected, I'm sure. (To Prioress.) I'll post it to you,
Reverend Mother.
PRIORESS (comes forward and picks up the cross) : This
is yours. It would have been buried with you.
290
THE RETURN
AGATHA (takes it slowly, kisses it automatically, as part
of the daily habit of putting tt on, and slips the cord over her
head. Then she shps the cross out of sight in her blouse.
As she does so she notices her hand, and the ring catches her
eye} : But now this, now (Tugs at it.}
ANGELA (whispering): But it's a wedding ring — on
her left hand 1
CHAPLAIN (whispering) : A nun is the Bride of Christ.
{Agatha can't get the ring off, and there is an agonised
silence as she tugs at //.]
ANGELA (muttering, barely audible): Stop it, stop it.
PETER (ditto}: Oh, God.
[The ring comes off, and Agatha puts it on top of the ptle.]
CHAPLAIN: Now then! Look here, when you took
that habit, the Bishop blessed it, didn't he ? Well, I
don't see why I shouldn't bless your new clothes.
[The Chaplain raises his hands and Agatha falls on her
knees. The Prioress bows her bead.]
(Quietly.} Benedicat te omnipotens Deus, in nomine
(makes the Sign of the Cross over Agatha — not dramatically,
but simply, as one does it a do^en times a day} Patns, et
Flln, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Go in peace.
{Agatha gets up and goes straight to door left, but the
Prioress is between her and it. The Prioress takes her by
the shoulders and gives her the Kiss of Peace (same gesture
as that of a French General conferring the accolade}.
Agatha goes out quickly left followed by Angela and Peter.]
CHAPLAIN: I'm torn between the prayers for an
291
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
infant and valediction for the dying — " Go forth,
Christian soul " Ah, well, I'm due at the
hospital at eleven. . . . What did you make of the
young people. Reverend Mother ? The girl ?
PRIORESS: My experience is very limited.
CHAPLAIN: If she'd come to you as a postulant, say.
PRIORESS: She's not the type ever to imagine that
she had a vocation.
CHAPLAIN : But ? An odd stable companion for
Agatha Fosdyke.
PRIORESS: Oh that, certainly. But the girl, I should
say, would be more susceptible to other people than
Agatha.
CHAPLAIN: I wonder what on earth they're going to
make of each other, the three of them. I must look
them up in a month or two, if I can wangle a reason
for going down to London.
PRIORESS: Yes, I dare say you would find it very
interesting. Now, if you will excuse me, Father
[The door left bursts open, and Angela comes in followed
by Peter supporting Agatha. The Chaplain swings forward
the armchair and the Prioress, after one glance, hurries out
right.]
ANGELA: Just a moment. You'll be all right. A
chair — quick. We were hardly outside the door
[Agatha is sobbing and shuddering convulsively.}
Peter, go round and get that car and bring it to the
front and wait, and damn the police.
PETER: I give you five minutes. If you're longer I'll
leave the bloody car and come in for her.
[Peter goes out left.}
292
THE RETURN
ANGELA (to Chaplain} : She just took a few steps, and
then stood and shook, and stared, and trembled. And
when she tried to walk again her ankle gave. Those
damn shoes had too much heel, after all.
[The Prioress returns, right, with a glass of water.}
PRIORESS: Drink this, all of it. ... Drink this,
Sister.
[Agatha automatically reaches out her hand for the glass.]
CHAPLAIN: That's right. Better?
AGATHA: I can't! I can't do it' I Reverend
Mother, I can't do it!
CHAPLAIN: What was it? Tell us.
AGATHA: I can't do it, I shouldn't have thought I
could do it. Let me back, Reverend Mother ! Let me
back! I'm an old woman, I'm too old!
ANGELA: You mustn't! Oh, you mustn't take her
back, Peter couldn't stand it! (To Agatha.} He's got
this prisoner-of-war thing about people being shut
up. I know it's terrible, it would be peace and quiet
and heaven to stay, but you mustn't, it "would haunt
Peter. Oh, you shouldn't ever have told anyone
you wanted to get out if you weren't going to be able
to do it!
CHAPLAIN: Mrs. Swithin, you're going to have to
trust me. Go out into the garden for a few minutes.
Leave us to handle this.
ANGELA: But Peter
CHAPLAIN : You must leave her with us for a moment.
Don't worry. Look, you can watch us through the
glass '
[He leads Angela out, and closes the French window behind
her. She can be seen, leaning against a statue in the court as
though her forehead were burning.']
293
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
Now then, what was it ? Tell us. Come on.
AGATHA (quieter) • Everything. The noise, and things
blundering past, huge things, and the noise! It's
like a great clanging blanket over your head. I can't
stand it, it's no good, I knew this morning I couldn't
stand it!
CHAPLAIN : And what did you see ?
AGATHA : Blundering and swirling and smelling.
CHAPLAIN: Traffic. God bless my soul, I thought
you'd at least seen an atom bomb going up.
AGATHA : The women ! The whole street was full of
— of harlots with painted faces and bare legs and no
skirts. And a huge woman, as big as three houses,
naked
CHAPLAIN (to Prioress}: Corset advertisement on a
hoarding opposite.
AGATHA : A poster, of course, but naked
CHAPLAIN: Agatha Fosdyke, you are being an ass.
AGATHA: . . . Father, that girl, poor Peter's wife —
she's a harlot, how can I live with her? I mean, I
don't judge her, I don't, but what could I do if she —
if she
CHAPLAIN: You're even more of an ass than I
thought. Poor little Mrs. Swithin, who probably
spent a couple of hours working out the quietest
get-up in her wardrobe so's not to startle you, and
only put on as little make-up as she possibly could
and still face the light of day
AGATHA: I told you, it's — it's not the sin, it's — it's
the embarrassment!
CHAPLAIN: There! . . . Well, I hope you don't find
anything worse to put up with than embarrassment.
Now, there's nothing whatever the matter but strain
and shock and — I'll be bound, an empty stomach!
(Flmgs out an arm at the Prioress.} Breakfast, Reverend
Mother ?
294
THE RETURN
PRIORESS: I — I am afraid I was not thinking of her.
The cold lentils we always have
CHAPLAIN : Half a saucer — never mind. If we keep
hei to feed her now we'll have young Peter pulling
the place down to get her out. They must feed her
on the way.
AGATHA: I
CHAPLAIN: Be quiet. And don't you call that child
a harlot.
AGATHA • But I
PRIORESS: You were never at Trente-et-Un, in the
Rue de Varennes — the finishing-school of the Order
where we were educated. There was an old nun
there, she must have been ninety when I knew her,
in a bath-chair. Her mother had been a lady-in-
waitmg to Mane Antoinette. Some of the girls used
to use the papiers poudres which were sold in those
days. One day when they were forbidden I saw her
smile. I asked her why, and she told me the world
came full circle. Her grandmother used to scold her
mother, she'd been told, because the Queen and the
younger ladies took to going without paint or
powder, and with their own unpowdered hair. It
was Rousseau's dangerous philosophy, the worship
of Nature and the loosening of manners and morals,
and it brought about the Revolution. ... I
shouldn't worry about little Mrs. Swithin's face —
or her legs — if I were you.
AGATHA: I do think it was partly that I didn't eat
my breakfast
CHAPLAIN (calhng}\ Mrs. Swithin! Miss Fosdyke's
ready to go now, and I'm coming with you, if I may.
I want to tell you about buying some'sandwiches
PRIORESS: Goodbye, Agatha.
AGATHA (going to Prioress and kissing her in an ordinary,
affectionate way] : Goodbye, Margaret. Goodbye.
295
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
CHAPLAIN (to Angela) : And I'd be glad if you'd drop
me off at the hospital on your way out of town
[Angela and the Chaplain follow Agatha out left. The
Prioress looks after them for a moment., and then looks at
her watch (the turnip kind, worn in the waist-band}. She
shakes her head as at an appalling waste of time, collects
the ptle of the habit, and goes out right. The key can be
heard turning m the lock.}
Curtain
296
ACT TWO
Scene i
The living room of a small, inconvenient-looking London
flat. Doors open from it to tiro bedrooms and a kitchenette,
and there is a "front " door on to the landing. It is early
evening. The room is empty. A. radio is playing dance
music stridently. After a few moments the front"
door is opened by Peter. Pie flings his coat and hat untidily
down.
PETER (calling}: Angela? Home, darling.
\Angela hurries in from kitchen.}
ANGELA: Peter, darling, she's. . . .
PETER : For God's sake, Angela, why must you keep
that infernal thing blaring like that. . . .
[He switches off the radio.}
ANGELA : Because I can't hear it in the kitchen other
wise.
PETER : You know she can't stand it. No wonder she
shuts herself up in her room all day. I told you, I
won't have it.
[He goes to the door of Agatha's bedroom and raises his
hand to knock.}
ANGELA : She is not m her room.
PETER: Out on her own? Good. Oh, evening,
darling.
[He drops on Angela the habitual " home from
kzss he omitted and goes to the cocktatl cabinet.}
297
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
Though I suppose she's only nipped round to the
church. Drink? What's the matter? She ts all
right?
ANGELA : I doubt it. She's gone to see her old home
at Brattesleigh.
PETER: Angela! Are you mad ? Brattesleigh! Don't
you realise what a shock the place is going to be for
her?
ANGELA : If you'd let me get a word
PETER: Open-cast coal-mining where the gardens
used to be, the house crawling with civil servants,
all the things she had to love and remember all these
years. . . . You've got about as much imagination
o r _^_
ad
ANGELA: I've got enough to have sat here all day
waiting for the 'phone to ring, to say she'd collapsed
somewhere.
PETER : Why didn't you stop her ?
ANGELA: Why didn't you? She went before either
of us was up.
PETER : You said she'd gone out to Mass.
ANGELA : Well, I supposed she had. I didn't find the
note on the mantelpiece till after you'd gone.
PETER: Well, you should have 'phoned me at the
office.
ANGELA: And given you the excuse to take the day
off. It's not much of a job, but such as it is you may
as well keep it.
PETER: There we go again. Oh, never mind the job
— what did she go for ? We've told her she'd hate it.
[Angela produces note.]
ANGELA (reading): "... early train to Brattesleigh.
I just want to look round and see if there is not some
useful work I could do among the poor in the village,
298
THE RETURN
as I am sure that will be the best thing, if I can find
rooms or a cottage on the place." And she says
she'll be home for dinner.
PETER: "Useful work" at her age. Couldn't you
have found something she liked doing, and kept her
amused ?
ANGELA : Oh, Peter, I have tried ! Fm fond of her,
too. You want to make up to her for being shut up
all those years ; but I admire her so for having had the
guts to come out.
PETER: There must be something
ANGELA: I've tried everything. It worries me as
much as it does you when she sits in her room, with
the silence fairly flowing out under the door. I've
dug out all Mummy's old friends from private hotels
in South Kensington and asked them to lunch with
her. She just seems sorry for them.
PETER: I'm not surprised.
ANGELA: I've taken her to matinees, cinemas, hair
dressers. I tried manicures, facials, and even a
Turkish bath. She's perfectly charming about
everything, but I honestly believe the only thing she
enjoys is helping to cook and char the flat. The only
thing I haven't tried is a psychiatrist.
PETER : I did so want her to be happy.
ANGELA: She doesn't seem ##happy, somehow. She
just looks as though she were waiting for it to start.
PETER: "It"?
ANGELA: Life, or something. She has this amazing
strength — not busy, you know, but latent. When I
stop to watch her cleaning, I almost feel I could
enjoy scrubbing and polishing myself: quiet, steady
and methodical, rhythmical. And then she just sits.
She doesn't like novels, much, and she seems to
know all the religious books they've got in the
Public Library. She does acres of plain sewing —
299
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
again, almost rhythmically — and then she does just
sit. . . . Well, I suppose I'd better start laying the
table, anyhow.
[She busies herself during the ensuing hnes with opening out
the dining-table in a corner., etc. Peter does not help her.]
PETER : Can't you get hei to play chess, or something ?
ANGELA: Chess, Canasta — she'll play something I
teach her, if she thinks I want someone to play with.
PETER : Can't you get her talking, and find out what
she wants.
ANGELA: I don't believe she wants anything. I
don't know whether it's because she died in nineteen
thirteen, or because she lives on a different plane, but
she doesn't seem to have the same reasons for doing
things or the same problems as we do.
PETER: Rot. It's no use going all mystic about it.
She's a perfectly normal human being. That's why
I can't bear the idea of her going to Brattesleigh. All
these years, she'll have lived with one picture of the
outside world in her mind: Brattesleigh before the
first war, dignity and leisure, and lawns and cedar
trees. You don't know how people hang on to
things in prison — particularly illusions.
ANGELA: Oh, God, I so hope she can take it. I know
it matters to you that she can get over all those years
shut up. But it matters to me too — that she can take
real life the way it is. It's a selfish way to look at it,
I suppose, but for us it's like a test — if she can take it.
PETER: Sorry I blew my top at you, darling. You've
been awfully good about having her. She's notyour
aunt.
ANGELA: I was just ordinarily sorry for her in the
beginning. Now — it's a symbol, almost; a challenge.
Besides, I see more of her than you do. I rather love
300
THE RETURN
her. Peter, it's getting awfully late. Someone would
have 'phoned here, wouldn't they, if she'd — you
know, like that first time we got her out into the
street?
PETER : If she had the number on her.
ANGELA: Oh, Pete, don't — she wouldn't lose her
memory.
PETER: Shock does funny things. Sh!
\They listen towards the "front " door. A. key is heard in
the lock.]
ANGELA (relieved}: A key — it's her. (Worried.} Oh,
Peter. . . .
[She puts her arm m his. They wait anxiously. The door
opens slowly and Agatha comes in. She looks extremely
tired and moves slowly.']
PETER : Come in, Aunt darling. That's right.
AGATHA (flatly} : Good evening, Peter. Angela, dear.
[Peter closes the door, removing the key that Agatha has left
in it, as Angela leads Agatha to a chair.]
ANGELA: That's right. Come and sit down. You've
had a long day.
[Peter takes her bag and drops her key back into //.]
PETER: How about a drink? Spot of brandy. Do
you good.
AGATHA : Oh, no, thank you, Peter.
PETER: Doctor's orders.
[He pours brandy.}
301
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
It's all those hours in trains, that's all.
AGATHA : I'm really quite all
PETER: Come on. Drink up.
[She takes the brandy. The other two exchange looks over
her head.]
AGATHA : Thank you, dear. I was a little tired.
ANGELA: Of course you were. I loathe trains, too.
Whenever I come back from a holiday I need another
holiday to get over the journey.
[There is a noticeable blank stlence.]
Well, now, how about some supper-
PETER (at the same time): Would you like to get
straight off to bed, and — sorry, go on.
ANGELA: Nothing.
AGATHA: You are both looking at me very oddly.
I hope you didn't mind my ]ust leaving a note for
you, Angela. You never knew Brattesleigh m the
old days, did you, Peter ?
PETER: No. My mother wasn't — accepted any more,
you know. Aunt, darling, forget about it. It was
lovely, and all that's gone. But it was cruel, too;
and everyone's dead, it would have been over for
you anyhow. This is home, where Angela and I want
you. Forget all about it.
AGATHA: About Brattesleigh? Oh, no. I'll always
remember it. I was very happy there. It's satisfactory
to have seen it now. It's confusing to carry about a
memory of the past as if it were a picture of the
present. I've seen it, and — buried my dead.
ANGELA: You don't want to go and work there, do
you?
AGATHA (laughing a little}: Oh, my dear, all that's
302
THE RETURN
changed too. The old almshouses our family
founded in the village are a hostel for the girls who
work at the house — clerks and secretaries, very well
paid. The cottages about the place have all got
electric light and most peculiar little paved gardens,
and they tell me the directors and senior officials live
in them, and that they all have plumbing and central
heating and are quite expensive. Everyone was very
kind but I think they were rather amused at my
looking for drunks and ne'er-do-wells and people
with too many children. I wonder what's happened
to them all. No, there's nothing to be done at
Brattesleigh.
PETER: Good.
AGATHA: But, Peter, I talked to the director there.
They keep the records of all the Ministries, and he
showed me round and explained, and I found out the
most extraordinary things. India is independent.
Ireland is a republic. There are no Kings in Spain,
Italy, Rumania, Portugal, Bulgaria, I forget where
else. No Austro-Hunganan empire, no Turkish
empire, practically, I gather, not really a British
empire. And all in my lifetime — while I wasn't
looking! Why didn't you tell me?
PETER: It never occurred to me you didn't know.
No wonder you look a bit shaken. You've had a
social revolution and lost an empire since breakfast.
AGATHA: He told me they'd had a revolution in
Russia, too! Isn't that wonderful? The serfs freed
after all those hundreds of years! I remember a
charming Prince Zermantoff, a refugee after the
Students' Revolt in nineteen hundred and five, who
was a friend of my father's. He'd quite given up
hope. And now Russia's a republic.
PETER (softly): I don't believe it. Well, then there
was the Chinese empire — or was that over already
303
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
in nineteen thirteen — and the Jews have a govern
ment of their own in Jerusalem.
ANGELA: Peter, that's the Holy Land, she
PETER: Sh
AGATHA : The Jews in Jerusalem. " For I will give
you a name, and praise among all the people of the
earth." How strange — in my own time, and not to
know it. I'm sorry, my dears : it must seem odd to
you, but I believe that is more real to me than all
your history. All these years, singing the Divine
Office every day — you know how much of the Bible
is taken up with the lamentations of the Jews for
Jerusalem Lately, when prayer has been difficult
for me, and the Choir the sort of torture that easily
drives you mad, I've tried to concentrate just on the
words, the words themselves and their meaning in
the time when they were written. Choir — have you
ever heard Office sung in a convent ? Just occasion
ally you have. (She chants in plain-song^ " lerusalem,
lerusalem, convertere ad Dominum Deum tuum."
But all the year round it's (she chants on one note}
" Aedificans lerusalem Dominus, Dispersiones Israel
congregabit " — for a couple of hours on end;
according to the weather or how long you've been
fasting it goes sharp or flat after a bit, and the Choir
Mistress strikes a tuning fork and you pitch it right
again. The words, the words : I used to hang on to
the meaning of the words, till I suppose the Jews
several centuries B C. are nearer to me than you
people with your two wars. " And I will bring back
the captivity of my people Israel- and they shah1
build the abandoned cities and inhabit them: and
they shall plant vineyards and drink the wine of
them, and shall make gardens, and eat the fruit of
them. And I will plant them upon their own land,
and I will no moie pluck them out of their land
304
THE RETURN
which I have given them. ..." What times you
have lived in!
ANGELA: Yes ... if you can look back at them
with that — that
PETER : Historical perspective. Perhaps it's not such
a bad thing to be dead and buried for a time, after
all.
ANGELA: . . . But, Aunt Agatha, it has been a day,
and you do look all in. Suppose you went off to bed,
and I brought you some supper on a tray?
AGATHA: Nonsense, my dear. I'll go and have a
wash and change and be quite refreshed in time for
dinner. I was just a little tired at the idea of having
to think of something else. I'd taken it for granted
I should be making myself useful up at Brattesleigh
as soon as I'd found my feet. . . . But — there'll be
something else.
[She goes into her bedroom and closes the door.]
PETER: Whew! They sure did breed 'em tough in
them there days.
[Peter pours dnnksfor both, which they take with relief.]
ANGELA : Oh. I've been so scared all day ! I've been
feeling if anything went wrong we ought to be shot
— we should never have taken on the responsibility.
PETER: Up the Fosdykes!
ANGELA: The Fosdykes. They can take it.
[She kisses him lightly.}
All of them. . . . Funny to think if you'd inherited
Brattesleigh she might even now be able to carry
soup and jelly round the village, like she'd planned.
305
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
PETER : If I'd inherited Brattesleigh ... we should
none of us be pigging it in two bed one recep. in the
Fulham Road.
ANGELA: Oh, darling, I didn't mean that. Besides,
we probably should anyway. There evidently wasn't
any money to keep the place.
PETER : And I could never have made any.
ANGELA : Pete, I never said that.
PETER: My dear girl, every damn thing you say has
one thought behind it: we shall never have any
money.
ANGELA: Oh, darling, let's not fight tonight. I'm
sorry if I set you off. I do so try not to.
PETER: And you sit there looking as if you're trying
not to, too. I told you I'd be no damned good at
making money. If you'd let me take a Regular
commission when I had the chance at the end of the
war
ANGELA : So that you could sit back happily for ever
because your pay was fixed and there was nothing
you could do about it either way.
PETER: Except work for promotion in a job I liked
and was good at.
ANGELA : Promotion ? Did you bother about it in the
war?
PETER: No. I was too busy.
ANGELA: . . . Pete! Look, I only fight you back
when you get on to that because — I don't know, I
worry about whether I was wrong to get you to give
it up. I thought you'd had as much army as was good
for you, and I knew you'd got about as much
ambition as a tram line, and
PETER: And your soaring ambition on my behalf
has achieved this for us, with me blissfully running
up and down the two bottom rungs of the ladder
from nine till six in Big Business.
306
THE RETURN
ANGELA : All right, darling, the whole thing has been
a mistake. Only it's a bit of a strain putting on an
act for Aunt Agatha about the Brave New World
when
PETER: Putting on an act. Pretending to be happy
in spite of your dreary lot.
ANGELA: Oh, Peter, really
PETER: I bet you use her as a sympathetic confidante,
poor creature — what have you told her? Have you
told her that I won't let you have a baby ?
ANGELA: No. I haven't.
PETER: Just the tight-lipped little martyr with the
secret sorrow. It must be a temptation to sob your
heart out about your wasted life and your chronic
flop of a husband.
ANGELA (goaded into shouting at him] : Yes, it is I
[They glare at each other for a moment or two; and then
Peter bangs out of the "front " door. Angela, automatic
ally, to drown her feelings turns the radio on full blast, just
as Agatha comes in looking anxiously about. Angela
switches the radio off at once.]
AGATHA: Angela, did you call out? What's the
matter? I thought I heard
ANGELA: You heard me yelling at Peter, and Peter
banging out to the pub. You'll hear Peter banging
back around closing time.
AGATHA: Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. How stupid of
me. Of course.
ANGELA: Of course?
AGATHA: Well, I mean of course young couples are
liable to shout at each other from time to time, I
expect.
ANGELA: Aunt Agatha, you are amazing.
AGATHA: I do hope my being here hasn't been
307
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
stopping you. I always felt as a child one ought to
be allowed to shout.
ANGELA : Not the sort of things I shout at Peter. I
do try, but when he gets m a mood— when something
makes him feel he's no good — he turns every damn
thing you say into meaning you think he's no good,
until you get to the point when you say it, to shut
him up. And then you've said it.
AGATHA: What has just made him think he's no
good?
ANGELA: You, darling.
AGATHA: Angela !
ANGELA: Bless you. You took Brattesleigh just too
well. It made him feel a twerp for the way he can't
take things.
AGATHA: But, dear, you'd all told me it had been
changed, it wasn't a shock, like that silly business of
just first coming out into the noise outside. Brattes
leigh doesn't matter.
ANGELA : Just a social revolution.
AGATHA: Yes. Nothing fundamental.
ANGELA: You'd certainly shake them in Parliament.
AGATHA: Poor Peter. . . . Would it help him, do
you think, if he knew — one doesn't like to talk about
oneself, but — if he knew one was
ANGELA: What?
AGATHA: Frightened, oneself?
ANGELA: Oh, darling, what of?
AGATHA : Oh, not the things that change and always
have, Like Brattesleigh, and empires. The things
that go on. Suppose one hadn't got them ?
ANGELA : What things ?
AGATHA: Suppose one had lost, or been born
without, the reason for living at all ?
ANGELA : . . . You mustn't let yourself have thoughts
like that!
308
THE RETURN
AGATHA : Oh, I haven't. There are answers one has
learned — the whole scholastic philosophy of Chnsten-
dom. And yet you can be afraid that you might come
— not to think, but to feel — that the whole world
was about nothing at all.
ANGELA (relieved}: Oh, that! Darling, you had me
scared for a moment. You're tired, and I've made it
worse by going on about Peter and me. You won't
tell him, will you ? That I worried you, I mean ?
AGATHA : No. No, dear, of course not. Angela, you
don't feel yourself
ANGELA : That the world makes sense ? Of course it
doesn't, it's not meant to. But that's quite different
from what you said before, about . . . about no
reason for living. You're going to be happy. You
are, I promise you.
AGATHA : Now, you're not to worry about that. And
one thing's certain: I'm going to start being busy,
and out from under your feet, as rny old nurse used
to say. It's just that not being needed at Brattesleigh,
I've got to find something else. It'll be quite easy.
I just don't quite know where to begin to look.
Curtain
Scene 2
The Swithins' flat. Some months later.
Angela is opening out a small tea-table. There is a slight
sound, and she looks tip-stage towards the front door of the
flat. It is opening with infinite slowness and caution. At last
Peter's head appears round the corner of the door.
309
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
ANGELA: Peter! For heaven's sake! I thought you
were at least a burglar.
[Peter, having made sure she is alone jn the room, comes tn.
He speaks tn a low voice]
PETER: I thought he might be here already, and I'd
just have to sneak off again.
ANGELA: Mr. Plummer's a perfectly harmless little
man. Really, anyone would think you were afraid
of being shanghaied to his idiotic Youth Club.
PETER : I can't stand the creature, that's all. Nattering
on about the Wonderful Work that's being done.
And he always wants to get me in a corner and talk
about the War — as if he's known one end of it from
the other — and what we " ex-army types " can do
together for Young People today.
ANGELA : Well, what did you come back for ?
PETER : Found I hadn't enough money on me. Now
look here, Angela, you've got to see she doesn't
agree to take on any more work for him.
ANGELA: I should have thought you'd have noticed
by now that what Aunt Agatha wants to do she does.
If she thinks it's worth while
PETER: You know darn well it's a dead waste of
time and energy. Why you want to encourage
her
[He goes into their bedroom, taking out his wallet as he does
so, Angela talks to him through the door as she unfolds
a table cloth. They are careful throughout that Agatha
shouldn't hear what they say from the kitchen.]
ANGELA: Because it seems to be what she wants to
do. We've got to pretend to take an interest in it.
It's horrid if your family just say " Oh no\ " and bolt
310
THE RETURN
out of the house the moment what you're interested
in crops up.
[Peter comes out of the bedroom stuffing money into his
wallet.]
PETER: My dear girl, if you think you fool anybody
being fascinated about the spread of synthetic
culture in the East End
[Agatha comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray. Angela
hastily puts on the cloth for her.]
AGATHA: Oh, Peter, how nice — can you be here for
tea after all ?
PETER: No, I'm terribly sorry, Aunt Agatha, I do
have to meet this man and Saturday's the only day
he can manage.
AGATHA : Oh, well, have a nice time, dear.
PETER: You won't let the Plummer talk you into
taking on
ANGELA (quickly., holding up a milk jug] \ Darling, how
do you get the silver like this? And you shouldn't
have bothered, I did mean to
AGATHA: Oh, I used to look after the sacristy, I
rather miss having big candlesticks to polish, and
bells, and
[The door-bell nngs.\
PETER: Woops — take cover! I'll hide in the kitchen
and slide out when he's not looking.
ANGELA: Peter!
[Agatha laughs with considerable sympathy.}
AGATHA: Poor Peter — yes, quick.
311
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
[Angela, glaring at Peter, gives him time to hide in the
kitchen and then opens the door. ~Plummer is a man who
still encourages an already prolonged youth. He is worried
by silence, and whenever there might othenvise be one is
inclined to sing wordless snatches of unpopular opera.]
PLUMMER: Hullo, hullo, hullo.
ANGELA: Hullo, Mr. Plummet.
AGATHA: Well, Mr. Plummer, I do hope you didn't
find all the 'bus changes too complicated?
PLUMMER: Not a bit, but Miss Fosdyke — the idea
of your doing that journey both ways five nights a
week — and right through the rush hour in the City
on the way down to the East End !
AGATHA: The business is all rather exciting, when
you get used to it.
ANGELA : Do sit down, Mr. Plummer. Cigarette ?
PLUMMER: Oh, thanks, no, I daren't start again —
we're having to look both sides of sixpence at the
Youth Centre with all the redecorations to pay for.
AGATHA : How does the new paint look ?
PLUMMER: Very gay. I hate having to close down
for a fortnight like this, though. They do slip away,
bless them, once they get out of the habit of coming.
ANGELA: I'll just get the tea. I'm dying to hear all
about it.
[Angela goes out to the kitchen. In the doorway she nearly
collides with "Peter about to shp out. Agatha sees out of the
corner of her eye.]
AGATHA: Oh, I got that wall map you wanted, Mr.
Plummer — I do hope it's big enough.
[She unrolls a schoolroom map of the world while "Peter
makes his exit.]
312
THE RETURN
AGATHA: I'm afraid I don't quite understand how
you " tie the news in with it " hke you said ?
PLUMMER: Oh, splendid, yes, bless you. Well, with
coloured tape, you see — a drawing pin here, in
Australia for instance, and a bright piece of tape
from it to the newspaper cutting on the noticeboard
alongside saying how they've exploded an atom
bomb at Woomera, and another, one, say here in the
Greek islands, and another coloured tape to a cutting
about the earthquakes. It gives them the picture,
you know, the shape.
AGATHA: Oh, I see And are they interested, do you
find?
PLUMMER: They're not! They're not! One just has
to keep on trying. I thought we'd get little Shirley
Bates to do it for a bit — the whole point is to have
them do it themselves.
[Angela comes back mth the tea.}
PLUMMER : It was a great feature of the Army Educa
tion centres during the war. Ah, those were the days.
ANGELA : What, the war ?
PLUMMER : In the Aimy Education Corps. Whatever
you wanted for the men, from raffia to documentary
films — you ]ust requisitioned it. Gramophone
records — do you know, I had three gramophone
circles going in one unit ? Swing, popular classical,
and students. They graduated, Miss Fosdyke,
graduated, when they got tired of the records in their
own circle.
AGATHA: Milk and three lumps of sugar for Mr.
Plummer. (To Plummer.} What an interesting war
you must have had.
PLUMMER: Well, one had a chance to see what
education can do ! I had a bunch of Pioneers turning
313
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
out the most exquisite free-hand brushwork I have
ever seen. And the difference it made to those men !
AGATHA : I'm sure it did.
PLUMMER: And talking of that, Mrs. Swithin, I was
hoping to ask your husband — I'm starting up a
boxing class for the boys — they will scrap, you know,
and after all it's better than knuckle-dusters and
coshes. I was wondering whether Captain Swithin
did any boxing in his P.O.W. camp — I know a lot
of the boys did, to keep fit, you know. I was going
to ask him if he'd give us an evening, now and then.
[Agatha and Angela exchange the swiftest possible glance.]
ANGELA: No, I'm afraid
PLUMMER: Just the odd evening when he'd nothing
better on
ANGELA: Oh, lord, I've suddenly remembered. I'm
going to have to dash out as soon as I've had a cup,
if you'll forgive me, Mr. Plummer. I've — er — got
to get — some fish for tonight before the shops close.
PLUMMER : Oh, I say — are you open here on Saturday
afternoons ^ I must keep an eye on the time, then —
I do want to get some enamel, I'm doing the canteen
chairs myself.
ANGELA : Couldn't I get it for you ?
PLUMMER : Oh, thanks, no, I've got the colour in my
eye, but I couldn't describe it. What I did want to
talk to you about, though, Miss Fosdyke, is the Club
time-table when we re-open. What with the boxing
class for the boys, we shall have to lay on something
else for the girls on Fridays to correspond, and I
wondered if you could just conceivably manage just
an hour on Fridays ?
ANGELA : Oh, no, Mr. Plummer, that's my aunt's one
free night —
THE RETURN
PLUMMER: Only just from half-past six to half-past
seven. I've seen you doing such exquisite needle
work while you were waiting to open the canteen
after a lecture, and — it's wicked of me to ask you, I
know, but — just the one hour for elementary
embroidery.
ANGELA: But you're doing three afternoons a week
at the Welfare Chmc
AGATHA (hushing Angela with a gesture] : Do you really
feel elementary embroidery is what they need, Mr.
Plummer ?
[The door bell rings]
ANGELA: Whoever ?
[She goes to ansiver it]
PLUMMER: It's so difficult to think of anything else.
AGATHA • I'll come, of course.
ANGELA: Oh, please, Peter'll be so
[She opens the door, to reveal the Chaplain]
ANGELA : Father Blake !
[Agatha jumps up, and hurries to the door as he comes in]
CHAPLAIN: Mrs. Swithm
AGATHA: Father Blake! But how unbelievably
delightful!
CHAPLAIN: I've been in London all day attending a
stupid meeting for the Bishop, and I'd sworn to
myself I'd look you up. I do hope you don't mind,
Mrs. Swithin — I just had an hour before my train
ANGELA : It's terribly nice of you. I'll just get another
cup.
[She goes into the kitchen]
315
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
AGATHA: Mr. Plummer, this is Father Blake, the
Chaplain of the convent where I used to live. Mr.
Plummer is the warden of a settlement in the East
End where I help with the Youth Club.
CHAPLAIN: \ Howdoyoudo?
PLUMMER : J
AGATHA : You've no idea how delighted I am to see
you. Come and sit down, Father.
CHAPLAIN: Pity I haven't time to run down and see
your club.
PLUMMER: Next time you're in town, Padre. That's
a date. We're strictly undenominational, of course,
but we'ie always delighted to welcome other workers
in the — er— -battlefield.
CHAPLAIN: I just had an hour before my train
Battlefield it is. We've a lot of Irish up in my part of
the world. All they want in a club is dancing.
PLUMMER: Folk, or ballet?
CHAPLAIN: Just Yank, I'm afraid. But we give it
'em.
PLUMMER: And you're so right! You're so right!
And slip in a tiny bit of something better in between
so that they hardly notice, eh? What a racket, eh,
Padre?
CHAPLAIN: What a racket.
[Angela comes back with another cup.]
AGATHA: Well, tell me all the news, Father.
CHAPLAIN: News? Well., the Bishop made his
annual Visitation last month. Sister Immelda in the
Convent laundry celebrated her golden jubilee. . . .
You know there's never any news.
AGATHA: I know. I never thought I should live to
be so anxious to hear some !
CHAPLAIN: Miss Fosdyke's letters tell me you've
made a real home for her, Mrs. Swithin.
316
THE RETURN
ANGELA: We love having her. Milk, Father Blake ^
CHAPLAIN: But no sugar. Thanks. And is the club
your mam interest now?
PLUMMER: Oh, there's the Welfare Clinic, too
ANGELA (at Plummer} : And the Hospital Libraries on
Wednesdays
AGATHA: Do tell Father Blake about the club, Mr.
Plummer.
PLUMMER: Well, we do our best, we do our best.
And Miss Fosdyke is a real godsend, Padre, if it isn't
poaching on your preserves to say so. I always say
it's a wonderful thing for our young people to see
real peace in action, they have so little of it in their
own dreadful little lives, poor dears; and Miss
Fosdyke is so still, it's always making me jump when
I come on her not expecting to.
AGATHA: Oh, dear, Peter and Angela are always
saying that. I do try, but it's difficult to do things
like cutting up sandwiches really noisily.
CHAPLAIN: And what sort of fare do you give them,
Plummer — apart from Miss Fosdyke's sandwiches ^
PLUMMER : Well, we do rather pride ourselves on our
handicrafts. And then there's music, and art-appre
ciation, so vital, and nature films. I'm afraid Mrs.
Swithin thinks it's all father unimportant
ANGELA: Oh, now, that's not fair
CHAPLAIN: It sounds most useful.
PLUMMER: In the long run, I do think, you know —
in the long run. In our humble way, in a district
like that, we're really the final bulwark against
Communism. I see the Youth Centre — if you'll
excuse a military simile in an ex-soldier — I see it as a
fort, defending a treasure of lovely things, and
making little sallies to spread the knowledge of them
in the desert.
317
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
CHAPLAIN: You put everything you've got into it.
I can see that.
PLUMMER: Well, well. One must justify one's
existence somehow.
AGATHA (with impassioned violence) : No !
[The others turn and stare at her.}
I'm sorry. Just — just the expression — I'm
ANGELA: You know what, you two must have lots
to say to each other, and if Father Blake's got to get a
train — why don't you come out now, Mr. Plummer,
while I go for the fish. I'll drop you at the paint
shop, and you could come back and talk about the
new club schedule without having to rush.
[She goes to her bedroom as she talks.}
CHAPLAIN : Oh, you mustn't let me
PLUMMER: Not another word, it's arranged, it's
arranged. You have a cosy gossip about the good
old — I mean, a cosy gossip. Me and the Missus'll
nip out and do the shopping.
[Angela comes back pulling on a coat. Plummer offers her
his arm with a flourish^
PLUMMER: Quite the old married couple. Cheer ho
for now, then. Shan't be long.
[Angela takes him out.}
CHAPLAIN- That's a good man, Miss Fosdyke.
AGATHA: I know.
CHAPLAIN: I know the type. Humble, sincere,
selfless. The kind of fool our fathers used to call
3:8
THE RETURN
" Innocent." Of such are the kingdom of heaven.
Which is one reason, I suppose, why so many
people go elsewhere.
AGATHA: Father, can you remember the Seven
Corporal Works of Mercy ?
CHAPLAIN: Out of the Catechism ? " To feed the
hungry, to give drink to the thirsty, to clothe the
naked, to harbour the harbourless, to succour the
imprisoned, to visit the sick, and to bury the dead."
AGATHA (Coining in at the end]: " To visit the sick and
to bury the dead." They're not works of mercy any
more. They're the work of the municipal council.
CHAPLAIN: There's no harm in jogging the council's
elbow.
AGATHA: Charity is a dangerous drug to hide the
symptoms of a disease that it's the State's business
to cure.
CHAPLAIN (whistling softly] : You have been learning
fast. But then what, in the name of fortune, are you
doing in Plummer's gale re ?
AGATHA: One does the obvious. I failed as Mary, I
presumed I was cut out for Martha, but — the virtue
seems to have gone out of charity. The poor are
entided to be fed and clothed and housed and
hospitalled and buried. It's not the same thing as
saying that Christians are under an individual
obligation to see it done. Charity is as unreal as
Brattlesleigh, Father.
CHAPLAIN: I see.
AGATHA: And it's no good. I can't — I cannot — go
on!
CHAPLAIN : The Welfare Clinic ?
AGATHA: A properly run, official place. The pro
fessionals can do my work in half the time, and the
babies don't cry when they weigh them.
CHAPLAIN : Oh, you good women with your spiritual
319
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
pride 1 What does it matter if the virtue has gone out
of it ? What does it matter if two-thirds of it are a
waste of time and the rest is probably a mistake?
Can't you do the ]ob for its own sake, and forget its
significance and yours ?
AGATHA: I've wasted so much already — wasted
three-quarters of the only life God's ever going to
give me.
CHAPLAIN: Is that a good reason for banking so
much on your own reactions now ?
AGATHA: What else have I got? All right, if I'm
wrong — please God I'm wrong! All right, advise
me. Oh, what shall I do ? Tell me what to do.
CHAPLAIN: You're under no vow of obedience now.
AGATHA: Can't you see I want to be told? I'll do
whatever you say — whatever you say.
CHAPLAIN : It's your life, not mine.
AGATHA: You can't say that. I'm too old to find
myself with a life of my own and to be expected to
plan it for myself. I don't know what to do.
CHAPLAIN: Think how lucky you are only to have
found that out now, instead of suffering from it for
sixty years like most people.
AGATHA: Atrophied, I suppose— the muscles one
ought to be able to arrange one's own life with. Set
an old hen loose in the jungle, and expect it to fly.
... It wouldn't matter, really, whether you were
right or wrong — I shouldn't blame you afterwards —
if you would be so very kind as just to make some
suggestions as to what I should do.
CHAPLAIN: Odd, this. You took the new world as
you found it, after the first shock, with more ease
than I ever thought you would. I don't believe it's
what you've met, out here, that's troubling you : it's
something you brought out with you. What is it ?
AGATHA: It's knowing I've only got ten, fifteen
320
THE RETURN
years to do something with, after all; and wondering
— wondering if I can endure to live so long.
CHAPLAIN: Time! Shall I tell you there's no such
thing? But there is, while it lasts; there is. ...
Forget that God ever gave you time to spend or
waste, forget that you were ever born, that anyone
ever christened any baby " Agatha Fosdyke."
AGATHA: Lose myself? But I tried to lose myself.
CHAPLAIN : You tried to lose yourself \ All day and
half the night, for years and years, thinking how you
could lose yourself, looking for the kingdom within
you. Oh great, dangerous doctrine! The kingdom
within you.
AGATHA: Don't. Don't. I hadn't the gift, I hadn't
the grace — well, but I've left all that behind.
CHAPLAIN: Then look at the kingdom you're in.
There'll be time enough for heaven in eternity. Why
did that phrase of Plummer's frighten you- " justi
fying one's existence " ?
AGATHA : Because I can't.
CHAPLAIN: Contemplation has lost its consolation
for you, and charity has lost its virtue. Forget the
virtue, woman: charity remains.
AGATHA: Blind, motiveless, purposeless, probably
useless charity.
CHAPLAIN: The dictionary meaning of the word
" charity " is " love." Your trouble is that you don't
love your neighbour.
AGATHA: Oh, I
CHAPLAIN: Oh, you've been gently bred, it would
distress you to cause anyone a moment's pain. That's
not the same thing.
AGATHA: What I meant was that nowadays there
doesn't seem
CHAPLAIN: Bosh. I said bosh, rot, rubbish. " Nowa-
i. 32.1
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
days." There's always been a " nowadays " to
blame, there always will be.
AGATHA: You said yourself the change since nine
teen thirteen had been too great
CHAPLAIN: I said you've brought your trouble into
nowadays with you. And you know it.
AGATHA : It seems more difficult than it did.
CHAPLAIN: Because there's no "merit" in feeding
sandwiches and half-baked culture to a State-cared-
for and State-educated kid? You get no consolation
from seeing the one that's lonely in the factory finds
some good heartening noise and company here. That
terrifying Plummer, wasting his precious years and
trying to justify his existence with raffia work, he's
warmed and heartened every decade or so by some
stupid eyes lighting up at the work of their own
clumsy fingers, with bright, lovely, human pride —
because Plummer loves his neighbours. It's a thing
you've never done.
AGATHA : Don't say that. ... If you think it's that
I want the reward, the satisfaction — I don't. I don't.
I can work without that, if I only have the purpose
— I can ! If only I could find it ! If only
CHAPLAIN : You won't find it here, or anywhere like
this. You might have known. If you had the
purpose this life needs, you'd have wanted to teach,
or nurse, or serve the poor in one of a hundred other
Orders, thirty-six years ago. Chaiacter may develop,
a temperament doesn't change that much. . . .
AGATHA: So I was born just short of the love of
God, and without the love of man? . . . Do you
realise what you're saying to me?
CHAPLAIN: Now, you mustn't make too much of
that
AGATHA: Not make too much of it? I who thought
everything would be all right if I could just find the
322
THE RETURN
right thing to do ! What does it matter what I find
to do ? Without the love of God or man. And it's
true. It explains the awful, empty, purposeless — it
explains why I couldn't put my — heart — in anything.
CHAPLAIN : Miss Fosdyke -
AGATHA : Why I shall never find anything to put my
heart into. I need hardly have bothered to start out
on a new life so late. I need hardly have bothered to
live so long at all.
\The door-bell rings, ^Agatha is overwrought, The Chaplain
presses her shoulder to keep her m her chair.']
CHAPLAIN: I'll go.
[He hesitates when he gets to the door, looking back at her
anxiously; but he opens it, to admit
PLUMMER: Well? Nice chat? Thanks, Padre. I bet
you didn't leave the Bishop with a shred of character
to his name. Look (showing paint pot], terra absolutely
cotta. Oh, I never got a brush. Would you believe
it. Well, I'll knock off one from the decorators. God
helps those who help themselves, eh, Padre ?
AGATHA: Mr. Plummer, I'm sorry — I shan't be
helping you at the club any more.
PLUMMER: You - ? Oh, now, look here, Padre, I
take that a bit hard. I dare say you're short of helpers
too, but Miss Fosdyke is doing invaluable work at
the Centre -
AGATHA: I'm not. I'm wasting — my useless time.
PLUMMER: Oh, now, really, Padre - !
AGATHA: It's not your work that's a waste of time.
It's me. I am no use to God or man. Useless, utter
waste.
Curtain
323
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
Scene 3
The Swithins1 flat. Some weeks later.
It is night. In a mixture of moon and firelight, Agatha, tn
her dressing-gown, is pacing slowly about the room — not in
any hysterical agitation, but rather as one might go for a long
walk through the streets at night while trying to work
something out. Her bedroom door is open, and when her
quartering of the hmng-room brings her opposite it she
goes through it and after a moment comes back again with
the same measured tread. She is quite unconscious of her
surroundings, just as — if she were in the streets — she would
find it difficult to tell you where she had been. A. clock
stnkes two without her noticing. Her inability to reach
a conclusion is distressing her, and her pacing becomes more
agitated. She stops, to take a grip on herself. After a
moment she shakes her head with a sigh, fishes a rosary out
of her dressing-gown pocket, and kneels down wherever
she happens to be. After another moment or two the beads
stop slipping through her fingers; and then quite suddenly
she breaks down, burying her head in her arms on the seat
near her, sobbing.
In a httle while we hear stifled laughter approaching.
Agatha starts and raises her head, listening.
ANGELA (off] • No, darling. No. Not out here —
PETER (off]: Stand still, woman. Angela' I'll sue
you
[Agatha gets to her feet swiftly and hurries to her bedroom,
just as Angela gets the "front " door unlocked.}
(Off.] For restitution of conjugal rights
324
THE RETURN
[They are now both tn the open doorway > as Agatha's door
wftly closes. They are tn evening dress., Peter trying to kiss
her and the to get him in and the doot shut first. They are
neither of them at all drunk, but both relaxed and liberated.}
ANGELA: You can't have conjugal rights on the
landing.
[He kisses her as she gets the doo? shut.}
Sb.1 You'll wake Aunt Agatha '
[Peter makes a very loud kissing noise in the air., and then
kisses her again.}
PETER : Kissing niy wife.
ANGELA: Uxorious beast.
PETER: Let's elope.
ANGELA : I can't. I love my husband.
PETER: You should have thought of that sooner.
You've been leading me on all the evening.
ANGELA : I have, haven't I ?
PETER: I've got witnesses. You hardly danced with
anyone else all night. You never danced with
Desmond.
ANGELA: Desmond has horrid hair.
PETER : He has boatloads of money.
ANGELA : Then he should buy a wig.
PETER: You wouldn't dance with Jock.
ANGELA: Jock was drunk. Ringing up total strangers
out of the 'phone book and asking them to dance.
PETER : You drove him to it. Angela, I love you.
ANGELA : The wine, the night, the music ?
PETER : It's nearly morning, the bands have all gone
home — but it's an idea, we'll have one last drink.
[He goes to the cocktail cabinet^
325
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
ANGELA: Oh, darling, no — bed! We'll wake her.
PETER: We'll muffle our oars. I want to drink a toast.
ANGELA: Oh, well. It's been such a lovely party.
PETER: It's still a party. We've got rid of the dead
heads, that's all.
ANGELA: What a new dress will do!
PETER: You can get rid of the dress, too.
[He brings drinks.]
A toast.
ANGELA: A toast.
[He raises his glass, feels foolish, and giggles. She giggles,
too. They both take a sip tn silence and they draw together,
still holding their glasses and dancing very slorvly, humming.]
What a pity
PETER: Mm? What?
ANGELA: One can't live in sin with one's husband.
Sin is such a bond. . . . I've learned such a lot from
Aunt Agatha.
PETER : About sin ?
ANGELA: About what doesn't matter.
PETER: Nothing matters.
ANGELA: Practically nothing. All the things people
get in such a tizz about — " Just history," she says,
" very interesting." " Money ?" she says. "What
the hell."
PETER: In so many words.
ANGELA: In so many thoughts. "Success?" she
says. "What for, dear?"
PETER: Of course! (He stops dancing.} That's the
toast : Aunt Agatha I
ANGELA: Aunt Agatha!
[They drink towards her room.]
326
THE RETURN
PETER: Because, by God, she can take it. Angela.
. . . Know something ^
ANGELA: What?
PETER: The way you've mucked in on this . . .
bringing her back to life. ... I knew you'd put
up with her, I mean, but I'd never have thought
you'd make such a thing of it. I — was a bit scared
you'd feel she was another flop — another chronic
misfit.
ANGELA: Shall I tell you something ?
PETER: Not if it's horrid, darling — it's been such a
good party.
ANGELA: Half this " misfit " nonsense has been my
fault. You be the kind of peg you bloody well want
and the hell with the shape of the hole.
PETER : As Aunt Agatha would say.
ANGELA : As Aunt Agatha would say.
[He kisses her.]
PETER: We could really go to bed anytime, now.
ANGELA: Mm. Let's.
[They go together towards their room,]
Oh, lights, darling.
[Angela goes into her room, Peter puts out the lights. As he
passes Agatha's door he blows a kiss.]
PETER (very American)'. T'anks, pal.
[He follows Angela, closing the door audibly. There is a
moment's pause, and then Agatha's door opens a crack;
assured that the others have gone, Agatha comes in in the
moonlight and crosses to the seat by which she collapsed,
327
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
and retrieves her rosary. She goes back towards her room
with it, but as she reaches the door she stops, and suddenly
swings round turning her back on it with revulsion. She
stuffs her rosary back in her pocket, and looks about her
with the panic, claustrophobic boredom of insomnia. She
picks up a book and puts it down without looking at the
title, and absent-mindedly picks up a silver candlestick
standing near it, merely because it is the next thing to hand.
Feeling she is holding it she looks at it in surprise, and then
an idea strikes her. She puts it down and crosses to the
kitchen door. The light goes on in the kitchen for a moment,
and then goes out as she comes back with cleaning things.
She is about to turn on the light in the living room, but after
a glance at the Swithms' door she crosses to the fire instead
and gently pokes it up. She collects various silver objects
from about the room, and settles down in the firelight to
clean them. She rubs rhythmically and becomes more
relaxed. Suddenly the telephone rings. Agatha starts and
is about to dive for her room when she realises the silver is
all over the place. She comes back and stuffs everything she
can get out of sight in frantic haste, and at last grabs the
AGATHA: Hullo! ... I beg your pardon? . . .
Who did you want — this is Fremantle one nine
five three. . . . Angel? Oh, you do mean Mrs.
Swithin, yes, just a
[Angela, m night things, hurries in.]
It's for you, dear, a man. He sounds rather dis
traught, I hope it isn't
ANGELA: Darling, I'm sorry. Hullo, who is it?
[She takes the telephone from Agatha's hand as Peter
appears. He turns on the light.}
3*8
THE RETURN
Jock! My God, Jock, I'll assassinate you. (To Peter.}
It's Jock, the bloody fool, still asking people to dance
with him. Jockl Shut up! Now, you listen to me:
that sort of thing stopped being funny three hours
ago, it stopped being funny fifteen years ago, I
doubt if it was even funny in nineteen twenty where
you belong, you great, gay old — gaby! You
PETER: Here.
[He takes the receiver.}
Jock! You
[He opens his mouth but his eye falls on Agatha. He stops,
hamstrung, trying to think of another word.}
Some other time.
[He hangs up.}
ANGELA: Half past two. Oh, Aunt, darling
AGATHA: It's all right, it didn't wake me.
ANGELA : You were — oh, Peter ' — we didn't wake you
when we came in? We whispered
AGATHA: No, no, my dear, I — just happened to be
awake, when it rang.
ANGELA : Half past two.
PETER : Lord, how sober one does feel.
ANGELA: A hot drink. That's the thing. The fire's
not bad. Fuss it up a bit, darling, and you two
cuddle round it while I go and brew something up.
AGATHA: Oh, no, Angela, don't bother
ANGELA: It's the only thing, now. Otherwise none
of us will ever sleep again. Sit down and get warm.
It won't take a moment.
[She goes out to the kitchen. Agatha buries the half-
cleaned silver more carefullj while Peter puts coal on the
fire.}
329
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
PETER: When I get hold of Jock. ... It wasn't
that kind of party, anyhow. A little ordinary, human
happiness, with things looking as if they made some
sort of pattern for once ... he has to make it look
as if we were just all drunk.
[Hi? clatters the fire-irons viciously.'}
AGATHA: Peter . . . Peter, you're not really at all
satisfied with jour place in the shape of things, are
you?
PETER (quickly, for her sake}: Me? Good heavens,
yes. Things are pretty good, you know, all round.
I'm all right, you don't want to worry about me.
Did I sound depressed ? Well, it's half past two in the
morning, being dug out of bed like that Any
body's liable to sound a bit cheesed off. Lord, no,
I've got nothing against the shape of things. Pretty
good, by and large.
[In his anxiety not to let her find anything depressing he
overdoes it so that the gaiety sounds quite grisly and utterly
unconvincing^
AGATHA: I didn't mean the shape of things in
themselves, of course they don't matter, I meant
you, you as a person, in them. Or perhaps just you
as a person, in a vacuum.
PETER (brightly) : Lord, no. Oh, I was a bit unsettled,
after the war, but that's all over and done. Sound
as a bell, bright as a button, merry as a cricket; right
as a trivet, whatever that may mean.
AGATHA (giving it up}: I'm sorry. Sometimes it
might do one good to be able to talk about things
with someone else who. . . . There, forget about
it. It's just the oddness of sitting here together in
the middle of the night.
330
THE RETURN
[She looks about for something to do with her hands., and
takes up some sewing.}
PETER (genuinely'): It's true, you know. There's no
need to put on the old act for you really. I'm all
right. I can cope.
[But the falsify of his original act was too obvious. She
doesn't believe him now.]
AGATHA : Yes, of course.
PETER : I don't have to make a nonsense out of every
thing, any more than you do — things are all right.
They're all right.
[Angela comes in from the kitchen with hot drinks. She is
still stirring them as she hands them out.}
ANGELA: Do you suppose poison acts more quickly
if you take it hot ?
PETER: What?
ANGELA: I was thinking how nice it would be to
take some boiling arsenic round to Jock.
PETER: And I was just thinking how young and
innocent you both looked — secret cocoa parties in
the dorm., or High Jinks at St. Ursula's.
[She makes a schoolgirl face at htm.}
ANGELA (to Agatha}: Not sewing, in the middle of
the night!
AGATHA: Oh, just automatically, for something to
do.
[She kicks the cleaning things further under the seat.}
ANGELA : Funny thing, I never feel the need to make
things to do. I'm always pretending I want to take a
job, but I really only do it to annoy Peter because
he likes to play the Breadwinner.
331
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
PETER : Oh ? In that case I think I'll send you out to
work tomorrow.
ANGELA (to Agatha): I was so glad when you gave
up that ghastly youth club stuff, though. That
idiotic Plummer character, with his fretwork smile.
PETER: Oh, I suppose they mean well, that type.
ANGELA: Nonsense. They just dream up a crusade
for bird-watching or raffia mats or tea and buns for
juvenile delinquents because they feel they've got to
justify their existence somehow.
[Agatha gets up suddenly, but after a moment gives a pur
pose to her movement by pretending to take more sugar
from the tray behind Angela.]
What's the — oh, sorry, darling. Yes, I suppose you
can't expect them to recognise that some people's
existence is just basically not justifiable.
[Agatha puts down her cup., because her hands are shaking.}
PETER: Or to realise that there's no need to bother,
poor things.
ANGELA: Mm?
PETER: Fretting about trying to justify themselves.
" Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow,"
or whatever it is. Old Ma Plummer is just as much
an Act of God as a lily, or a thunderstorm, if only
he'd stop fashing himself and get on with the job.
[The thought strikes Agatha powerfully, but to the
audience it is not jet clear how.]
AGATHA : Peter — an Act of God, you said
PETER: That's right — something that it's just too
bad about but it can't be helped. All right, so
332
THE RETURN
they're like that. There's nothing to be done about it.
AGATHA: I think — I'll — finish this in my room,
perhaps
[She takes up the cup, steadying it firmly, staring at Peter.]
ANGELA : Good idea, darling, get into bed and finish
it then. Sure you wouldn't like a hot-water bottle ?
AGATHA : Yes. I mean no, thank you, Angela.
[She goes, quickly.}
PETER: Did she look a bit odd ? Did I say something?
ANGELA: Did you? No. . . . Well, except that
Plummer was a dead loss.
PETER: I didn't. I said, it was nothing to worry
about if one was.
ANGELA: Oh, she just wanted to get back to bed.
She has been quiet, though, you know, since she
packed in that youth club thing. She hasn't been
out trying to find something else. I was hoping that
was a good sign.
PETER: That priest from the convent. My God,
Angela, do you suppose he deliberately made her
feel
ANGELA: Of course not. Now, don't be an idiot
and worry, Peter, there's nothing on earth to worry
about.
PETER: They couldn't get her to go back inside,
could they ?
ANGELA- Nobody could make her do anything.
PETER : But if she wanted to go back, deliberately shut
herself up inside again, in that world ... all that
silence, remember ? and not knowing what was
going on outside, not seeing anyone, doing the same
thing day after day, round and round, month after
333
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
month, with the same faces going round in circles,
and time, and time, and time never going on
ANGELA: Stop it! Shut up! Now listen, Peter. No
one is going back inside anywhere. No one. She
was tired, and she may have looked at you a bit
oddly. She was probably half asleep. Peter
PETER: All right, all right, I was only thinking. Of
course she wouldn't go back. She'd be more likely
to chuck herself in the river. No, she's all right.
Look at the way she's taken the world. If there's
nothing the matter with the world, hell, there's
nothing the matter with anything. She's all right.
ANGELA: Of course she is. Come on, darling: bed.
[She collects the cups and puts the tray inside the kitchen
door, plumps up the cushions, tidies away A.gafha's sewing.]
PETER: Yes. We've giving ourselves the willies,
dithering about out here in the middle of the night.
She did look odd, though. Do you think you'd
better look in — just, I don't know, say goodnight,
or something, to make sure?
ANGELA : She's finished her drink and is half asleep
by now. Relax, Peter, and get to bed or all the good
jour hot drink has done you
[She has come, ^n her automatic tidying, upon the cleaning
things and the silver.]
What on earth
PETER: What?
ANGELA: Nothing, darling. Nothing. Go on to
bed. Just absent-mindedness.
PETER: What's the matter?
ANGELA: Nothing. Just some cleaning things Aunt
Agatha must have left this morning. It's so unlike
her. And anyhow, I could swear
334
THE RETURN
PETER : Swear what ?
ANGELA: I could have sworn before we went out
this
[She handles some piece of silver she might be expected to
notice if it were moved or missing\
Oh, what the hell. I'm beginning to get in a tiz2 too,
now. Go on — shoo. I'm coming.
[She turns out the light and follows Peter into their bedroom,
closing the door. After a moment Agatha' 's door opens
softly again. The light is on in her bedroom. She is dressed.
She crosses the living room to a desk and takes a sheet of
paper and pencil and goes back to her room, moving swiftly
and quietly. We see her shadow in the open doorway as she
stoops at a table, writing. She comes back into the living
room, props a note up on the mantelpiece, goes back to her
room, and comes out in a moment with coat and hat which
she is pulling on as she comes ; and handbag. She turns out
the light in her room, but leaves the door as it is, wide open.
She hesitates for a second outside the Swithms" room as if
regretfully, and then very quickly and quietly lets herself
out of the "front " door. As the "front " door closes,
Angela, without her dressing-gown, comes out from her
room (in which the hght is not an}. Peter is heard protesting
as she appears.]
PETER (off} : For heaven's sake, Angela, now what ?
ANGELA: The dashed alarm clock — I forgot it. I'll
never wake in time to get you to work tomorrow
without it.
[She crosses to the kitchen, without bothering with lights in
either room, and comes back winding a big kitchen-type
alarm clock. She goes close to the hvtng room clock to see
335
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
the dial to set it by, and as she turns back to her own room
notices Agatha's door wide open. After a second she
crosses to it, listening}
(Softly.) Aunt Agatha ? Are you awake ? Aunt
[She turns the hght on inside the room. She comes out again;
hurries across to the kitchen, and turns the light on in there
to look; turns on the lights in the living room.}
Peter. Peter, come here.
PETER (off}: Good God, what a night
ANGELA: Peter, she's not here. She's gone. There
was something wrong. She's gone.
[Peter comes m, pulling on his dressing-gown.}
PETER: Gone?
ANGELA: That wasn't quiet. That was desperation.
PETER : Gone, at half past two in the morning ?
ANGELA: Peter, I can hear what you said. You said
that some people were such a dead loss there was
nothing to be done about it. Nothing to be done
about it. ...
[They stare at each other, frightened}
Curtain
336
ACT THREE
Scene: The Convent parlour.
Time: It is late afternoon.
In the distance the nun's voices can be heard singing the
Salve Regina.
The room is empty. A. tea-tray with a padded cosy is on the
table. The singing ends, and there is a pause. Then
simultaneously the two doors open. The Prioress comes ;«,
unhurriedly, right. The Chaplain, with a great busthng,
left. The Chaplain is dressed in cassock and biretta. They
both stop as they see each other, and look about the room.
CHAPLAIN: But — isn't she here?
PRIORESS : I thought so. I had a telegram
CHAPLAIN: The Sister Portress told me. She said
she had arrived. She must have gone into the Chapel.
She would have remembered — Thursday afternoon,
Benediction at four.
PRIORESS: Did you notice her in the public part as
you came out ?
CHAPLAIN: No, I came straight through from the
Sacristy. What did she say in her wire ?
PRIORESS : Just the time that she would be arriving,
and the request that I'd see her. You saw her, I
thought you said, recently.
CHAPLAIN: I did. I did. I gave her advice. No, not
advice, even: abuse. Habit, and ill-temper; and
all the cock-sure conviction of the psychiatrist who's
read the text-books on applied psychology. Blither
ing idiot I
PRIORESS: You didn't advise her to come back?
CHAPLAIN: No, no. But from what I did say she
must have decided it was the only thing to do. She's
taken her time, thought it over, and decided I was
337
ACT THREE
right. She's a woman with such an infernally logical
mind! Idiot. Idiot.
PRIORESS (after a pause, takes off the cosy and feels the
tea-pot) : Your tea's getting cold, Father.
CHAPLAIN: And you can not soothe my conscience
with first aid applications of hot sweet tea 1
PRIORESS: It would go against my own to give it
you cold. And, by the way, Father, I've been think
ing: the Refectory Sister would have time to make
your tea after Benediction instead of leaving it here
stewing for a quarter of an hour every Thursday
if we could arrange
CHAPLAIN : I suppose she is still in the Chapel ? She
might have — have thought better of the whole thing,
and just left.
PRIORESS : I hardly think Agatha would have become
as mercurial as all that. It took her thirty-six years
to reach her last decision. But I am glad of this
opportunity, Father; as you are here, perhaps you
would be good enough to deal with the whole
thing ? I did rung Father Augustine as soon as I got
the telegram, but they told me he was away, giving
a Retreat at Grayshott. And of course in any case
as our Chaplain
CHAPLAIN: It's my headache? I did want to see her.
I should have found something better to say. The
world must be full of women who feel as she does,
it must always have been full of them. Someone
must in all these aeons have thought of something
better to say to them than that. But she's your head
ache, Reverend Mother, and don't forget it ! You're
the Prioress of this convent, not me !
PRIORESS: Well, yes. But Agatha Fosdyke is not
one of my nuns. That is very kind of you, then,
Father, if you will see her. I'll ring the Presbytery
for you and tell them you will be delayed a little.
338
THE RETURN
[Turns towards door, right.'}
CHAPLAIN (staying her}: Hey! Reverend Mother!
You're scared! I bekeve you're scared.
PRIORESS : Why, what of?
CHAPLAIN : Of an unpleasant emotional scene that is
going to take place in the next half hour in this room 1
Don't you deny it! " Oh, Father Augustine will
deal with it " — but Father Augustine is at Grayshott,
wise man. " Well then, Father Blake will deal with
it. He's always making scenes and getting into
tantrums himself, it won't upset him." Eh? Mm?
PRIORESS: Well, you saw her recently, Father. You
said
CHAPLAIN: And that is straightforward blackmail.
Because I was fool enough to admit in your hearing
that something I said to her was a mistake, I'm to
have the whole problem on my hands. Well, I was
talking to myself. Eavesdropping and blackmail!
Oh, no, you don't get out of it that way.
PRIORESS: I meant that she is after all in the world.
Whatever her trouble is, it must be something you
would know more about than I.
CHAPLAIN: Even that isn't true. She's been looking
at my world today through eyes more like yours than
mine. Have you no humanity, I wonder? Agatha
Fosdyke is — she was when I last saw her — in very
great distress of mind. You knew her as a child, her
parents were kind to you as a young girl, she was
your Sister here in this house for many years, and
under your care . . . but Father Augustine or the
Chaplain will be able to cope with her now.
PRIORESS : Father, you know I can't help her.
CHAPLAIN: No. But it might be nice to find you
looking as if you'd like to. You needn't worry. Miss
Fosdyke was well brought up and she has spent many
339
ACT THREli
years schooling herself: she won't make a scene in
any sort of bad taste, such as throwing herself on
her knees and imploring your help. I hope.
\Tbe door, left., opens quietly ', and A.gatha comes /».]
AGATHA: Reverend Mother — it's good of you to
see me.
[They exchange the Convent embrace. Agatha looks round.}
AGATHA: Tea for the Chaplain after Benediction on
Thursdays I I'm glad you're still here, Father. I
hoped I might see you.
CHAPLAIN: They told me on the door that you were
here.
PRIORESS: Do sit down, won't you, Agatha? It is
nice to see you again. If Father Blake can stay for a
little, I will just go and ring the Presbytery for him.
CHAPLAIN: Now, there's no need
PRIORESS: Oh, yes, indeed, Father: it's no trouble.
I know you always have to hurry back on Thursdays.
We must let them know.
CHAPLAIN: Well, I shan't be staying long: it's you
that Miss Fosdyke has come to see.
[The Prioress goes out right.]
AGATHA : She's afraid !
CHAPLAIN: She's human.
AGATHA: Poor Margaret! One forgets how quiet
it was. For months I've felt that even walls and
floors never quite stayed still. I never thought I
should live so to hate music! If only wireless could
have stopped at what it was invented for: picking
up distress signals from ships at seal
340
THE RETURN
CHAPLAIN: None of it — out there — improves on
acquaintance ?
AGATHA: Only the things that were there all along,
to my mind — the parks and the countryside. And
even that, you know. . . . There is a tree in the
garden here, a tall, rather scrawny willow : I used to
watch it turning from grey-gieen to silver; then after
a windy night in the early autumn to see the grass
white like seagulls' feathers with its elegant long
leaves. When you've got plenty of trees you don't
really notice them.
CHAPLAIN (nicely)'. A bit like the sailor, aren't you?
When you're at sea you're homesick, and when you're
at home you're seasick. No, no — I'm not bullying
you! You know that what I said to you the other
day was very stupid, don't you ?
AGATHA: No.
CHAPLAIN: But it was. There is nothing on this
earth so dangerous as putting out a finger to touch
another human being's life.
AGATHA: It's your job, Father.
CHAPLAIN: Then we should get danger-money
You've been brooding over it.
AGATHA: Thinking about it. It was quite right, of
course.
CHAPLAIN: A thing may be perfectly true in one
specialised sense and have no earthly bearing on
practical life.
AGATHA: No, I mean right as well as true, right
that you should say it.
CHAPLAIN: Eight, right; there you go — what right
have you to suppose that I'm right? Tm not
supposed to be infallible. I'm an impetuous ass —
and you know it.
AGATHA: It's perfectly logical. After all, if a bird
doesn't use its wings or a reptile its legs for long
341
ACT THREE
enough, they weaken and shrink and wither away,
don't they? I was here a long time, not using those
muscles — even if I was born with them.
CHAPLAIN: It's a question of temperament. The
mystical or the active: you have one or the other.
No, no, I didn't mean quite that, you mustn't
think
AGATHA: It's all right, Father. I should do what I
mean to do now, whatever you said.
CHAPLAIN: Reverend Mother tried to get Father
Augustine to be here today.
AGATHA : Father Augustine ?
CHAPLAIN: Spiritually he's better qualified to advise
you than either of us.
AGATHA: It was kind of her to bother; but it's a
practical step I'm going to take. Later, Father
Augustine's help might be invaluable . . . perhaps.
CHAPLAIN: Something's happened. . . .
\The key ^s beard and the Prioress comes in, right. She
looks at them before speaking^
PRIORESS: That is all right, Father: Father Clarke
will start to hear Confessions for you at six, and you
can relieve him when you arrive.
CHAPLAIN: Thank you, Reverend Mother
PRIORESS : Don't go, Father. You've — you've had a
talk to Miss Fosdyke ?
AGATHA: Yes. Father Blake's very kind. I went
home, Margaret, to Brattesleigh. It's a Government
Office now, but I'd had an idea of settling in one of
the cottages. Do you remember the little room you
nsed to have, next to Cecilia's, when you stayed with
us?
PRIORESS: Yes. It had green and white striped walls,
and it looked across the shrubbery to the gazebo. I
remember it well.
342
THE RETURN
AGATHA: It's an extra cloakroom for the typists,
now.
PRIORESS: Don't — don't do this, Agatha, don't try
and tell me things.
AGATHA: Margaret, I'm sorry! I don't want to spoil
your — your peace, your memories — I thought you'd
be amused at how little romance I've found, outside.
PRIORESS: I mean, I can't help you, there's nothing
I can do.
AGATHA: Of course you can't! If you could, as my
nephew Peter would say, " there ought to be a lot
of money in it." Though you must know a lot more
about what they've made of the world than I did :
you've had to read the papers.
PRIORESS: But — there's nothing we can do! We
knew, we told you it would be a shock, that things
weren't the way you left them, but — you'd have said
yourself just not liking the way of the world was no
reason for staying in a convent.
AGATHA: Margaret
PRIORESS: It's no good, it's no good, Agatha! Don't
appeal to me.
AGATHA: But
PRIORESS: Hasn't Father Blake told you? I left you
so that he could tell you. . . . You can't come
back. Don't say anything for a moment. Don't
distress yourself. I can do absolutely nothing. It's
been a mistake, perhaps, a terrible mistake, but it's
been made, we can't pretend there has been no
mistake.
AGATHA : Margaret, please, you must listen to me
PRIORESS: No, don't, don't. It's humiliating and
degrading, you mustn't do it. I tell you, I have no
power to take you back. I know what I'm refusing
you. When I have to refuse young girls who think
they have vocations, even when they have none at
343
ACT THREE
all it is terrible to have to refuse them even though
they don't know and they'll never know what I'm
refusing them! But you know. It's not — it's not
that you broke your vows, Agatha, you never broke
them, they were unbound for you — but you didn't
keep them, and how could they be accepted again?
Can't you see, even if the Order were willing, Rome
could never sanction it. My hands are tied, I have no
power
AGATHA: Father, stop her! Stop it!
PRIORESS: I
CHAPLAIN: Reverend Mother: I think — she doesn't
want to come back. (There is a longpause^ I must go
and get out of my cassock, and I left everything out
in the Sacristy. I'll look in again, before I go.
[He goes out left and doses the door. There is another
silence,]
AGATHA: I'm sorry, Margaret; I tried to stop you.
PRIORESS: I didn't understand. . . . You're happy,
then?
AGATHA: Happy? (Laughs gently.} No.
PRIORESS: I thought, when you telegraphed — and
Father Blake seemed to think, too, that he had said
something when he saw you that had been
AGATHA : The last straw ? In a way, it was.
PRIORESS: Have you changed, then? What is it? I
don't understand.
AGATHA: Perhaps no one ever broke your back.
Have you ever known the real outer darkness,
Margaret ?
PRIORESS: Despair? It afflicts us more than the
others you know.
AGATHA: If a man could paint and loses both his
hands, and his sight so that he can't even see what he
344
THE RETURN
would paint. . . . No, he could see in his mind's
eye. Even a deaf musician can compose great music.
A madman, with one tiny lucid cell in his brain that
only knows that he is quite, quite mad. There's no
describing it — the loss, and the sense of loss, and the
utter purposelessness.
PRIORESS: One comes through it.
AGATHA: No, not some of us. " I believe in God,
the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth "
— and earth. I believe — with acceptance, Margaret,
with absolutely no experience of belief. And I love
my neighbour with duty, Margaret, and absolutely no
experience of love. " I believe in the resurrection of
the body and life everlasting " — and I look towards
death without the experience of any hope. There is
for me now and from now on no consolation. And
the relief of knowing and accepting that is unspeak
able.
PRIORESS: No one can help.
AGATHA: No one can help. And no one need. It is
of absolutely no importance. The ant in the ant-heap,
the ant souls in the ant-heap of souls, the ant of
unimportance in the whole rolling, peaceful desert
of unimportance! It's over, Margaret. For me
there's no coming out on the other side. And it
doesn't matter.
\They remain for some time in silence. The afternoon has
been darkening imperceptibly, and now when the door, left,
opens and the Chaplain comes in, he switches on the lights.
He has taken off his cassock, and carries his greatcoat and
hat.}
CHAPLAIN: . . . Very quiet. She didn't want to
come back ?
PRIORESS : No, Father.
345
ACT THREE
AGATHA: Father Blake is devoured with mortal
curiosity.
CHAPLAIN: Mea culpa.
PRIORESS: Yes — why the telegram? Why did you
want to come up here and see me, then ?
AGATHA : Because I wanted to consult you, and after
this week I shall have neither the time nor the money,
I'm afraid.
CHAPLAIN: But
PRIORESS: What about? If you had decided
AGATHA : My niece.
PRIORESS : The girl who came here to fetch you, with
her husband? My dear Agatha, don't you tell me
she has developed a vocation ? I never saw a less
likely subject.
AGATHA: Margaret, you must get out of your head
the notion that there is a queue of desperate women
trying to invade your Enclosure.
PRIORESS: And what would you know about that,
Sister Agatha ? You only saw the few that got in
under my guard. You'd be surprised how many
there are ! Well, but what about this niece, then ?
AGATHA: They've been good to me, she and Peter.
The only thing in the whole world that I want to do
just now I can't I want — I do want to so very
badly — to help them, and I can't. I've hunted high
and low for some purpose for my life, and the one
and only thing that I must do, which is repay them,
I can't. I'm even more lost in their world than they
are — how can I help ? So I had to come to you.
PRIORESS : To me ? But why ?
AGATHA: You were Mistress of Novices for a long
time. You've had so many young women through
your hands. It's your advice I want.
PRIORESS : The problems of pious young novices are
346
THE RETURN
rather specialised, I'm afraid; scruples and doubts
and tiresome little whimsies. I could tell your niece
how to cure a trick she has of fidgeting with her
hands, and that nervous jar in her voice I noticed,
but I fancy you haven't come all this way for that.
AGATHA: You couldn't even cure those unless you
had the knack of finding what's behind them.
CHAPLAIN: You haven't only had your novices
nonsense to deal with, Reverend Mother. Since
you've been Prioress, you've said yourself, you've
had problem women of every sort and shape coming
into this room. What's the trouble, Miss Fosdyke^
And let's hear the oracle.
PRIORESS: And you said such a short time ago how
dangerous it was to indulge in giving advice!
AGATHA : Most of the women who've come to you —
apart from the ones who've got past your guard — is
it the world around them they couldn't deal with ?
PRIORESS (counting on her fingers); The men they love
have died or left them. Their husbands have found
someone else. Their children are grown up and
don't need them any more. They have great mystical
gifts, which they can't develop in the bustle of their
homes. They have studied Yogi and Buddhism and
Hermetic Occultism and come to the conclusion
that we would provide the nearest available equiva
lent of the proper oriental background. . . . Those
are the main classes. Since the end of the war, of
course, there have been several who, as far as I
could make out, simply couldn't stand queues.
AGATHA: They've been so very good to me, these
two. I owe them so much — Angela specially.
Another woman in their tiny little flat must have
been a great trial.
CHAPLAIN: And she's unhappy?
AGATHA: You've seen them. If it were only that
347
ACT THREE
they quarrel — well, they make it up again, it isn't
that.
CHAPLAIN: I had the impression that she loved him.
AGATHA: She does. (Sadly.} Angela, I think, has a
great capacity for love. A natural capacity for love.
CHAPLAIN: And still not happy?
AGATHA: It's so strange, they're both of them fight
ing the world all the time. Even when they quarrel,
they're only talcing that out on each other. Every
thing's against them, wars, and economics, and the
struggle for success — the whole world and everything
that's in it on one side, and the two of them, poor
children, on the other.
CHAPLAIN: Heavy odds.
AGATHA: But whatever for? I don't understand. I
can't help her — I can't see the enemy.
CHAPLAIN: No, no, you wouldn't. And I was
afraid to see you sent out against it! ... But then,
she couldn't conceive your enemy either, you know.
I doubt if the nightmares of individual purpose and
spiritual aridity haunt Mrs. Swithin at all.
AGATHA: But their own war is ruining their lives.
CHAPLAIN: It's a sobering thought that half of us
in the battlefield haven't a notion what the fellow
beside us is firing at.
AGATHA: They're very young, and they've been
good to me, Margaret. I'm leaving their flat, and I
thought of you : you must have known such girls
as Angela. What have you said to them ? Have you
ever found anything that helped?
[The shutter behind the grille is opened.]
PRIORESS: Forgive me a moment.
[She goes over to the grille., and a conversation in low tones
348
THE RETURN
is earned on. The shutter is closed, and she turns back to
the others.]
She's here — your niece.
AGATHA: Angela — here?
PRIORESS: The Sister Portress just 'phoned through
a message. The girl is in a state of excitement,
distress, I gather. I've told them to send her in.
AGATHA: I didn't even tell her I was coming here.
I left early — very early — this morning. I only left a
note telling her not to bother about me for meals.
Why should she come-
CHAPLAIN : Perhaps she's developed a vocation after
all.
AGATHA: And distressed ?
CHAPLAIN: You probably left a trail of some kind.
We're all amateur detectives nowadays. If you've
disappeared from their flat and caught a train, it's a
fair guess this would be where the train went to.
[The door, left, bursts open and Angela comes in. She is in
a highly emotional state.]
ANGELA: Aunt Agatha! Please, please, you mustn't
do it. Can't you see, it's just my fault, I couldn't
make the world seem a good place to you because
I'm such a mess myself. It is all right really, people
are happy and things needn't be sordid — it's their
fault if they are. You mustn't judge everything by
what you've seen of it with us. Please, please give it
another chance
AGATHA : My dear
ANGELA (to Chaplain] : Oh, couldn't you help ? You
know it's — it's natural to live in the ordinary world,
you could persuade her, explain to her, you must
loiow people who are happy and making a success of
349
ACT THREE
it. It's just that Peter and I have let everything get us
down so, and we're so mixed up about each other.
It's not Peter's fault, it's mine, it was my job, at
home all day, and I did try so hard. I can't bear it,
to have failed her Can't you tell her
CHAPLAIN: Mrs. S within, if you'd just
[Angela turns In despair to the Pnoress.]
ANGELA: Even you, you've known her all these
years, you know she wasn't happy here before. You
can't have her back in there, you can't, it's not
Christian — it's
PRIORESS: Be quiet, my dear; and don't be so silly.
AGATHA: Angela, they wouldn't even let me go
" back in there."
ANGELA: They wouldn't? Oh! Oh, darling, thank
God. But you wanted them to. We did fail you.
AGATHA : Why did it mean so much — for you your
selves ?
ANGELA: Because we thought you could take it. We
watched you. We know how much more ghastly
everything must look for you than it did to us and
you were quite calm and still, and so peaceful in the
flat it was like having a — oh, I don't know — a tree
growing there. You had such peace !
AGATHA: No, Angela
ANGELA: Oh, you had, you had — you must have
had ! And I thought if you could take it, so could we,
it would be better to stop fighting and hanging on
and struggling, and take it, and perhaps get some
peace, too, in the end. After the party, when we went
to bed, I said, " Go back into the Army, and I don't
give a damn if you have to live on your pay for ever,
you were supposed to be good at it, maybe you'll
even get somewhere — we'll stick at it till you do."
350
THE RETURN
And he said, " Let's have a kid, and the hell with
what it costs," he knew I'd always wanted one so
terribly, and we were going to and he was going to
find out about the Army, and now it's not true, and
even you couldn't take it! Oh, Aunt Agatha, we'd —
we'd built things on it 1 It seemed to matter so I
AGATHA: Angela, dear child: I didn't come back
here to be a nun again.
ANGELA : Not to try to ?
AGATHA: No.
ANGELA: You — it didn't all seem to be hell and
useless to you?
\There is a pause.]
AGATHA: No. No. There's nothing whatever the
matter with you all but growing pains. Good
heavens, the Dark Ages lasted five centuries, and in
the first half of this one, you've already learned to fly
faster than sound, you've discovered how to watch
your hearts beating, to twiddle a knob and hear what
they're saying in Yokohama or Peru, or see what
they're doing in Sutton Coldfield — and you don't
know what to do with it all. Too many Christmas
presents ; you've made yourselves sick, and frightened
yourselves into screaming nightmares with your
own jack-in-the-box of an atom bomb. It's all right.
CHAPLAIN: Is it?
AGATHA: I'm not running away from it, Angela.
ANGELA: But in the middle of the night, Aunt
Agatha — we were terrified.
AGATHA: Oh, dear, I didn't think you'd know till
breakfast time. I — just went for a walk, and into a
church that's open all night. There was something
I wanted to think out.
ANGELA: But the money — the solicitor? We were
trying to trace you all the morning, and I'd just tried
ACT THREE
that Youth Centre when your solicitor rang up and
asked Peter to go and see him. If you weren't
coming back here, what was all that about the
money? (To Chaplain?) Did you know about it?
CHAPLAIN: Nothing about any money.
AGATHA: Never mind that now, Angela
ANGELA: But I do, I don't understand! Your
solicitor told Peter you wanted to make over the
whole of your annuity to him, every year!
AGATHA: Well, dear, it was family money, and as it
was an annuity I couldn't leave it to him when I
died, sol thought he might as well have it now. It's
not very much, but anything is a help. I worked it
all out quite satisfactorily, and I went to see my
solicitor as soon as his office was open.
ANGELA : But what did you mean to do ?
AGATHA: I'm going to work.
ANGELA: But Aunt Agatha, Peter wouldn't take it!
How could you think he would take it? It's — it's
hurt him terribly, just when everything looked like
making sense and he was pleased because I believed
he would be good at his own job that he liked, he
says you go and think he's no good either, and you're
sorry for me and that's why you wanted him to have
it! Of course he wouldn't take it, even if you were
coming back here. And as for staying outside and
working!
CHAPLAIN: I must say it was rather a slap in the eye
with a wet fish for the poor young man.
AGATHA: Well, it was family money, one used to
have ideas about not leaving it away from the family.
I'm sorry, I thought I ought to try that first.
ANGELA: But if you're not coming back here, why
on earth do you want to get rid of it ?
AGATHA: It's unearned income, you know, and
nowadays that's considered wrong.
352
THE RETURN
ANGELA: What?
PRIORESS: Are you sure you've really understood
about money, Agatha ^
AGATHA: Yes, perfectly. Unearned income is taxed
very highly — if you have enough of it, it's taxed so
that it practically disappears altogether. Everybody
puts up with it, and there isn't a revolution over it, so
everybody must agree that it's quite right, basically,
and that unearned income is a thing you shouldn't
really have. Well, I don't need it, luckily, I can work.
ANGELA: Aunt Agatha, what are you going to do
with it?
AGATHA : If Peter won't take it, I explained to my
solicitor ; some of it goes already in tax, of course,
and the rest, as it's paid into the trust yearly, my
solicitor will simply hand it over to the Chancellor
of the Exchequer.
ANGELA: What!
AGATHA : Conscience money, I believe they call it.
ANGELA: She's mad!
AGATHA : I am not mad, it's the obvious and logical
thing to do! That's what's the matter with you all
nowadays, you're trying to live in two worlds at
once, looking over your shoulders all the time, you
accept the principles and you won't follow them to
their obvious conclusions. I know the old-fashioned
convention would have been to give it or leave it to
some charity. Why on earth, when hospitals, and the
blind, and cripples and orphans and the rest are all
the business of the State? Hand it straight over to
the Exchequer, and presumably it goes where it's
needed most.
ANGELA: You are mad. But if that's what you're
going to do with it, Peter'll take it and like it.
AGATHA: Good. I'm old-fashioned enough, too, to
want to keep it in the family.
M 353
ACT THREE
CHAPLAIN: Miss Fosdyke, you're not young.
AGATHA : I can qualify for an old age pension. And
(to Prioress] look at Sister Immelda, in charge of the
Convent laundry. How old is she ?
PRIORESS : She must be eighty-two or three.
AGATHA: And good for another ten years. Besides
(to Angela) if I had the money, you know you tried
to make me like bridge-parties and matinees and
having my hair done, and all the things women of my
age are supposed to like, and I did find them so dull !
I've worked it all out; it's the logical thing to do.
ANGELA: Do you know, I don't believe I am going
to make Peter take the money ? I think I'm going to
tell him what you're going to do with it if he doesn't,
and I'm going to tell him, I think he can stand on his
own ten toes without it? I think that would shake
him quite a bit. And do you know, I honestly believe
he could.
CHAPLAIN: Good for you!
ANGELA: But, oh heavens 1 I hate to think of the
government getting it !
AGATHA (to Prioress] : I think that settles what I came
up to see you about.
PRIORESS : All the same, Agatha, I'm glad you came.
AGATHA: We must go, Angela. There was a train
back I meant to catch, at six- twenty-five.
CHAPLAIN: You haven't told us what you're going
to do.
AGATHA: Oh, I've found a room, very clean and
cheap, in a little street near where I am going to work,
so that I shan't have to waste money on bus fares.
I'm going to move over there tomorrow, if that's
convenient for you, Angek, so's to be settled in
nicely by Monday.
CHAPLAIN: And what's the work? And how and
why did you hit on it ?
354
THE RETURN
AGATHA: I think perhaps it's a mistake to go about
trying to do good — it might be better just to do
something well. (To Angela,} You remember you
made me come with you to the cinema again the
other day ? I was very interested in what it said.
ANGELA : What was said, darling ? It was that Techni
color life of Ivan the Terrible, wasn't it ?
AGATHA: Oh, well, you know I always keep my
eyes shut during the coloured ones. No, the other
man.
ANGELA: Well, there was the Mickey, and the
News
AGATHA : Yes, in the newsreel — the man who talked
about exports.
ANGELA: My God I You didn't believe that? But
he was a politician!
AGATHA : It sounded very reasonable, to me.
ANGELA : Oh, why did we ever let you out at all ?
AGATHA: He simply said the country couldn't buy
food or luxuries or afford any leisure because it
hadn't any money, and the only way to get any
money was by making things and selling them abroad.
Really, I can't see anything to stare at in that.
CHAPLAIN : I beg your pardon, but you are practically
a lusus naturae, you know.
AGATHA : Well, anyhow, I went to the place they call
a Labour Exchange, as soon as I'd seen my solicitor,
and they found this work for me. It's quite a small
factory, where they make the parts for wireless sets.
It's a terrible thought, in a way, that one should be
perpetuating all that noise, but one can always hope
they will mostly be used for ships' radios. They
tested me, and found my hands were quite neat and
quick; and apparently they do a very large export
business. They pay three pounds fifteen shillings a
week to start with, and it's all quite satisfactory.
355
ACT THREE
ANGELA: I don't believe it.
AGATHA: Now don't be a goose, there's nothing to
gawk about.
ANGELA : But all this — suddenly, in the middle of last
night! Why? Aunt Agatha, when we found you'd
gone we were scared it was something Peter had
said
AGATHA: It was.
ANGELA: Oh, God. Don't tell him so ! (To Chaplain.}
He said some damnfool thing about some people not
being able to justify their existence
CHAPLAIN : He did ?
AGATHA: No, no, not that. It was the wonderful
way he couldn't for the life of him see why they
wanted to try. He said people were an Act of God,
like the Mies of the field or a thunderstorm. All
they had to do was to get on with the job. Living.
CHAPLAIN: How easily we do all find each other's
solutions.
ANGELA : But — we wanted you to be happy.
AGATHA: Happy! Happy! What do you all think
you are — birds, with bird brains, expecting to be
nothing but happy all the time? Human life is
larger than happiness. There's room in it for
mountains, deserts, pain. There's triumph as well
as success.
CHAPLAIN: Yes.
AGATHA : And theie's more in love than emotion and
affection. Yes, and more than being kind, and feeling
happy in being kind. Love is acceptance. And I
accept life.
PRIORESS: You've found that Life is your vocation,
Agatha.
AGATHA: I accept it. ... I do accept!
Curtain
356
AS LONG AS THEY'RE
HAPPY
by
VEKNON SYLVAINE
Copyright in the U.S.A. 1954 by Vernon Sjlvaine
When this play becomes available for performances by
amateurs, applications for a licence must be made to
Samuel French Ltd., 26 Southampton Street \ Strand,
London, W.C.2.. Applications for the performance of
this play by professionals must be made to Story Depart
ment, M.C.A. (England) Ltd., 139 Piccadilly, London,
W. i . No performance may take place unless a licence has
been obtained.
As ~L.ong As They're Happy was presented by Linmt
and Dunfee, Ltd., at the Garnck Theatre, London,
on July 8, 1953, with the following cast:
GWENDOLINE Susan Lyall-Grant
LINDA Virginia Tdewett
PATRICIA Sally Cooper
STELLA BENTLEY Dorothy Dtckson
JOHN BENTLEY Jack Buchanan
BOBBY DENVER David Hutcbeson
HERMANN SCHNEIDER Frederick Merger
MICHAEL KENLEY Stephen Hancock
PETER PEMBER Nigel Green
PEARL Madi Hedd
c o R i N N E Jean Burgess
B A R N A B Y John Bqyd-Brent
The play directed by Roy Rich
Setting designed by Fanny Taylor
Music for Vernon Sylvaine's song, " Please don't
forget to remember," by Jack Strachey
CHARACTERS
(in order of their appearance)
GWENDOLINE
LINDA
PATRICIA
STELLA BENTLEY
JOHN BENTLEY
BOBBY DENVER
HERMANN SCHNEIDER
MICHAEL KENLEY
PETER PEMBER
PEARL
CORINNE
BARNABY
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES
ACT ONE
John Bentlefs house near Regent's Park. Morning.
ACT TWO
SCENE i . The same. Afternoon.
SCENE 2. The same. Evening.
ACT THREE
SCENE i. The same. Night.
SCENE 2. The same. Next morning.
ACT ONE
Scene: The lounge of John Ben f ley's house, near Regent's
Park.
There are French windows at right leading to the garden.
The main entrance to the lounge is through an arch at right
centre. At left centre there is an arched or squared recess
in which can be seen the stairs with decorative wrought-iron
banisters, leading to upstairs. Down left there is a door
leading to a dining-room off-stage.
There is a chair at either side of the French window. At
right of the entrance arch and facing the audience is a radio
gram. Through the arch can be seen a long table against the
wall, and electric fittings on the wall. There is a small
window in the off-stage right wall. On stage, left of the arch
and facing the audience, is a long narrow table carrying
bottles of cocktails and spirits, a vase with flowers, books and
telephone. Against the left wall is a medium grand piano,
with piano stool up-stage facing the audience. At right
centre there is a settee with narrow sofa table behind and
against it. At left centre there is a low upholstered arm
chair. Below the door down left is a chair. Usual light
fittings and suitable carpet, rugs, pictures and etceteras.
Where architecturally possible the set breaks at slight angles.
(NOTE : Directions as to left, right, etc., refer to stage
left, stage right, etc.}
It is about eleven a.m. on a spring morning. The sun shines
through from the garden. A moment — and Gwendoline
cautiously descends the stairs left centre. She is an attractive
girl of sixteen, slim, slight and sensitive. She wears pyjamas,
shppers and dressing-gown, and her hair is attractively
dressed. She glances about the lounge, then moves quickly
to the telephone up-stage. She lifts the receiver and dials a
number.
361
ACT ONE
GWEN: Hullo. Is that the Savoy Hotel ? . . . This is
Mr. J. Arthur Rank's secretary speaking. Would you
put me through to Mr. Robert Denver, please ? . . .
Mr. Robert Denver. . . . Well, perhaps you know
him as Bobby Denver. . . . Thank you. (Given rests
the receiver, hurries to the archway, looks off-stage, then
hurries to the telephone.} Hullo? . . . He's what?
... In his bath? . . . Well, can't he get out of his
bath? . . . Oh, but listen, this is very urgent. Mr.
J. Arthur Rank is waiting right here to speak to him.
. . . Would you do that, please? . . . The number
is Hampstead 4327. . . . Yes, as soon as possible.
. . . Thank you. Goodbye.
\Gwen smilingly replaces the receiver as Linda enters through
the archway. Linda, maid to the ~S>entley household, is about
thirty. She is a thin, worried type, but she doesn't drop her
aitches and she is not a caricature. She wears a httle white
apron in front of her black skirt.~\
What do you want, Linda ?
LINDA: Well, Harry's called for Mr. Skeffington,
miss, and I can't find him anywhere.
GWEN (moving to settee] : He's in my bedroom.
LINDA: He hasn't been there all night, has he?
GWEN: He certainly has. I felt lonely.
LINDA: Well, for heaven's sake don't let your father
know. He's beginning to proper hate Mr. Skeffing
ton.
GWEN (sitting on settee) : Poor Daddy. I feel so sorry
for him.
LINDA: Why?
GWEN : He's getting old and crotchety.
LINDA: Nonsense! Your father's in the full flush
of ripe middle-age.
GWEN (wistfully): Whenever I think of him now I
see the leaves falling — and the corn bending.
362
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
LINDA: Yes — you let him hear you talking like that
and you'll be doing some bending.
GWEN (smiling) : Oh, no. I'm not a child any longer.
I'm sixteen. I'm a woman! Ready to fulfil my
destiny.
LINDA (moving to stairs}: I don't like that sort of
talk. I'll get Mr. Skeffington.
[She exits up the stairs, Telephone rings. Given rises and
excitedly hurries to lift the receiver^
GWEN: Hullo? . . . Yes, that's right. Oh, thank
you. I'll put him through to Mr. Rank. (She taps
the receiver rest to simulate an exchange plug noise.} Hullo ?
Is that Mr. Robert Denver ? . . . (Shegvesadeepsigh.}
Oh, Bobby! I love you! I adore you! It's Gwendo
line. Hullo. . . . Hullo. . . . Hullo. . . .
\L,inda descends the stairs with Mr. Skeffingtonl\
(Taking the dog's lead.} All right, Linda — I'll take him.
LINDA : He can't stay in here.
GWEN: Why not?
LINDA: He's so dirty.
GWEN: I like him like that.
LINDA : Miss Gwen, I don't know what's come over
you lately. I think you're sickening for something.
[She exits through the archway.]
GWEN (picking up the dog}\ SkefTy! He spoke to me!
(Enraptured.} Right close to my ear, I heard his
voice. He said, " Who the hell are you ? " And when
I told him he slammed down the receiver. He didn't
just replace it. (Enraptured.} He slammed it down!
[Telephone rings. Gwen hurnes to tt and hfts the receiver^
ACT ONE
(Hopefully.} Hullo ? (Irritably.} No. How could it be
Euston Station ?
[Gwen bangs the receiver down as Linda hurries in through
the archway.}
LINDA (excitedly) : Miss Gwen — your sister's here !
GWEN (surprised): Which one?
LINDA : Miss Patricia — I mean Mrs. Pember.
[Patricia enters briskly through the archway. She carries a
small Pans Airline valise. She is twenty-one, brisk,
forthright, modern and hard-boiled. She is wearing very
tight trousers, exaggerated brogues of light yellow, red socks,
a yellow jersey with a plain rounded neck, a dull green
jacket, and a necklet of outside imitation pearls to match
her earrings. Her hair is brushed back flat and tight and a
red ribbon holds the horse's tail effect at the back of her
head. She has just the suspicion of a black eye.}
PAT: One hour to fly over from Paris, and three to
get through the damn customs. Hullo, Gwen.
GWEN: Patl I scarcely recognised you.
PAT: I haven't been away all that long, have I ?
GWEN: No, of course not. Are you all right?
PAT (as she throws her small valise on to the settee table} :
I'm fine. Where's mother?
GWEN: Out. You've got a black eye.
PAT: Yes. I bumped into somebody.
GWEN: Is Peter with you?
PAT: No. I left him in Paris.
GWEN: But what about your honeymoon ?
PAT : I left that in Paris too.
GWEN: Is anything wrong?
PAT (taking a packet of French cigarettes from her hip
pocket}: For God's sake! What is all this? I've just
flown over to buy some clothes, that's all.
364
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
[Pat extracts a cigarette and replaces the packet as Ltnda
takes Mr. S keffington from
LINDA (as she does so): She doesn't look happy. Miss
Gwen. I can always tell unhappiness. I remember
when my mother married my father, I could see at
once she wasn't happy.
PAT (having ht the cigarette} : Linda -
LINDA: Yes, miss?
PAT : Get to hell out of it.
LINDA: Yes, miss.
PAT: And bring me a sandwich.
LINDA: Yes, miss — er — Mrs. — madam.
[L^ncla exits confusedly through the archn'ay with Mr.
PAT (briskly, as she sits on the settee} : Have you heard
from Corinne?
GWEN: Not since she went to New York.
PAT : It was quite funny, really — two of us suddenly
getting married.
GWEN: I couldn't see anything funny about it.
Marriage is a sacred undertaking.
PAT (smiling}; Oh, dear. Still taking Me seriously?
Are you going to bed or getting up ?
GWEN: I'm convalescing. Daddy thinks I've been
ill.
PAT: Oh? What's the matter.
GWEN: I just happen to have lost my appetite, that's
all.
PAT: In love with somebody?
GWEN : Of course not.
PAT : Does father know ?
GWEN: Nobody knows.
PAT: Well, take it slowly, Gwen. Don't rush into
anything.
365
ACT ONE
GWEN: Oh, Pat, what's wrong ?
PAT (irritably): Nothing, nothing! I'm just tired,
that's all.
GWEN: Why are you dressed like a morbid fisher
man?
[Pat rises and moves up-stage to pour herself a neat whiskej.}
My husband likes me to dress like a morbid fisherman.
Peter is an Existentialist. Our flat is in the Boulevard
St. Germain. And, in the Boulevard St. Germain,
all Existentialists dress like morbid fishermen.
GWEN: How did you get that black eye?
PAT (turning)'. An elderly French aristocrat tried to
crack Peter with a bottle. He missed him and hit me.
(She drinks some of her whiskey?}
GWEN: What dreadful sort of life are you leading
in Paris ?
PAT (moving to right end of settee} : There are no words
to describe it. It's the far end of hell. If ever I have
any children they'll be certified at birth. (She drinks
some more whiskey?}
GWEN: What on earth will father say?
PAT (having hanged down her glass on to the settee table}
Gwen, I've been living where policemen walk about
in fours. Our flat is a converted cellar with an outside
inconvenience, and our landlady is one of the original
knitters under the original guillotine. To me the
word " father " sounds about as frightening as the
word " pussy cat ".
[Pat stumps out her cigarette into an ashtray at right end
of settee table, as L,inda hurries in through the archway
carrying a sandwich on a plate.}
LINDA: I'm afraid this is the best I can do, Miss
366
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Patricia. Oh, dear. I can't get used to your marriage.
PAT (taking the plate) : Nor can I. (She lifts the top
bread of the sandwich.} What in hell's name is this ?
LINDA: I think it's liver sausage, miss. It was all
right when I had it for breakfast.
[Pat places the plate and sandwich on the settee table as
Stella Eentley is heard calhng, off-stage:]
STELLA (off-stage): Linda!
LINDA (to Pat): There's Mrs. Bentley! I reckon
she'll just about fall down when she sees you.
\Linda hurries away through the archway as Pat moves
down
PAT: Oh, helll
GWEN: What's the matter?
PAT: I forgot I'd have to go through all this.
GWEN: How do you mean?
PAT: Darling, you know Stella. She's the most
wonderful stepmother anybody could have, but —
oh, gosh! — that exuberance! Any moment now —
and she'll simply burst into the room — probably
with a loud cry of " Pat, darling! This is the most
wonderful moment of my life! " I sometimes wish
she'd never left the stage. She'd be a Dame or some
thing by now.
GWEN : How you've changed.
PAT : So have you. You're walking on air — and you
look quite beautiful. How long have you known
him?
GWEN: Be quiet!
STELLA (off-stage): Pat, darling! This is the most
wonderful moment of my life!
[Pat laughs— and Stella arrives m the archway. She is a
367
ACT ONE
most attractive woman— young for her thirty-nine jears —
and faultlessly dressed for spring out of doors in town. She
carries a large bunch of yellow roses. She remains framed
in the archway as she smilingly glances round the room. Her
eyes rest on Pat, then she looks at Given as she moves
forward^
(To Owen.} Where is she ?
\Gwen silently indicates her sister. Stella moves down
centre as she stares at Pat.]
Oh, no I I thought you were somebody from the
Chinese laundry.
PAT (moving to right centre below settee}: Stella, please
don't be facetious. I'm tired.
STELLA (over-sympathetic): Of course you are. (She
moves to Pat.} You poor darling. I've never seen
anybody look so tired. (Quietly.} You can tell me
about the black eye when we're alone together.
(Brightly.') How's Peter and how's Paris — and above
all — are you happy? (Without waiting for an answer?)
Darling, those trousers! Are they meant to be as
tight as that?
GWEN: Mother, for heaven's sake!
STELLA: And those brogues! Of course, they'll last
for ever. I simply can't wait to see what Peter's
wearing. Where is he ?
PAT: In prison.
STELLA: Splendid. What did you say?
PAT (making unemotional statements) : Peter is in a small
prison, just off the Rue Bergere. He's been charged
with assaulting a gendarme and smashing up the
Petit Poisson Night Club. I've flown over here to
borrow five hundred thousand francs from father.
STELLA: What?
368
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
GWEN (to Pat} : You're fooling.
PAT (sitting centre of settee) : I'm not.
STELLA : But what happened ?
PAT (taking plate from table behind her., but remaining
sitting) : We were celebrating my birthday. The party
got a little wild and Peter had too much to drink.
For an Englishman he's very excitable.
STELLA (sitting left of Pat} : Does he always hit you in
the eye when he's excited ?
PAT: He's never hit me. Somebody else did that,
quite accidentally.
[Pat takes a bite of the sandwich.]
GWEN : It was a French aristocrat, and he hit her with
a bottle.
STELLA (to Pat) : Well, thank heaven you're meeting
some nice people. How much is five hundred
thousand francs ?
PAT: About five hundied pounds.
STELLA : Is Peter in a cell ?
PAT: He was last night. He's probably on his way
to Devil's Island by now.
STELLA : Hasn't he got his passport with him ?
PAT : What's that got to do with it ?
STELLA: It definitely states that he's got to be looked
after and afforded every protection. Anyway, I
thought the French were our allies or something.
This is dreadful ! It'll kill your poor father.
[Pat has another bite at the sandwich.]
GWEN: Oh, mother, don't be melodramatic.
STELLA (turning}: Gwen, how dare you talk to me
like that ? When I'm so upset, too. Go back to bed
at oncel
369
ACT ONE
GWEN: Why should I? There's nothing the matter
with me.
STELLA : I'm not thinking of you. I want to talk to
Pat.
GWEN: So do I.
STELLA : Well, you can speak to her later. She's just
come straight from Paris, and quite obviously she
has something to tell me that a girl of your age
shouldn't hear.
GWEN (moving to stairs): You're getting more like
father every day.
STELLA : How do you mean ?
GWEN (as she ascends] : Whenever he mentions Paris —
he winks.
[Gwen exits to upstairs^
STELLA (excitedly): Pat! I can't wait to hear about
you and Peter. The marriage was quite legal, wasn't
it?
PAT (throwing plate and sandwich on to settee) : Good
God, of course it was !
STELLA: Is Peter still writing plays?
PAT : Yes — he wrote one last Thursday.
STELLA (rising and moving to centre) : But that's wonder
ful! You can continue your acting and he can write
the loveliest parts for you.
PAT: No, Stella. You don't understand. He doesn't
write plays that can be acted.
STELLA (wistfully): Oh, how that takes me back!
PAT: To him the theatre is a servile medium through
which he expresses his views as an Existentialist.
STELLA (completely lost) : Ah, yes, of course, dear
PAT: He's fifty years ahead of his time.
STELLA (happily): Well, you must just try and keep
up with him.
370
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
PAT : He doesn't lead the life of an ordinary individual.
He's quite strange — really very queer.
STELLA: Darling, you don't mean in any way your
father wouldn't understand ?
PAT: Most emphatically not! (Wildly.} But I can't
go on living with him !
STELLA : Why not ? You love him., don't you ?
PAT: Yes, I love him, but I don't like him. He's as
crazy as a coot !
STELLA : Bailing, all playwrights are.
PAT: But he's not content with writing plays! A
fortnight ago he decided to take up sculpture. Our
only wardrobe is full of clay, and our bedroom is
full of pornographic statues. He sleeps all day and
gets up at midnight. He's growing a beard and he
eats his food with his fingers. He wears pale blue
shorts and rides a red bicycle. He drinks like a fish
and gives the victory sign in reverse to all policemen.
STELLA (as she moves to piano) : Oh, Pat ! You don't
know how I envy you.
PAT (amazed} : What ?
\Stella places the roses on the piano., and turns.}
STELLA: For fourteen years I've been married to a
man whose motto is " Steady as she goes." For
fourteen years I've listened to nothing but talk about
stocks and shares and bulls and bears. I've survived
it because I transferred my own ambitions to Corinne,
you, and Gwen. But believe me, Pat, after the dull
and ordered security of life with your father, Peter's
temperament would lift me to the skies. I sometimes
feel I'd like to set fire to this house, seduce the vicar,
and go busking in the West End.
\L.inda hurries in through the archway.]
ACT ONE
LINDA: Mrs. Bentleyl The master's come home.
[Pat rises as Stella gasps.]
STELLA: Oh, no! Linda, whatever you do don't
tell him Mrs. Pernber is here.
LINDA (reluctantly) : Very well, ma'am.
[Linda exits as Stella indicates room left]
STELLA : Pat, wait in there. I want to do this my way.
PAT (grabbing her valise}: I've got to get that five
hundred pounds.
STELLA: I'll get it for you. I just want to make quite
sure that your father's in the right mood to hand it
over.
PAT (crossing Stella to left} : Okay.
STELLA: And when you meet him for heaven's sake
pretend to be happy.
PAT (angrily}: I am happy!
[Pat exits into the room left as Stella moves to take up the
yellow roses. John Bentley's voice is heard]
JOHN (off): And what's this slipper doing here?
LINDA (off): That's Mr. Skeffington's, sir.
JOHN (off): I told you to keep that damn dog out
of the house. The place is getting like a bear garden.
LINDA (off): Yes, sir.
[John Eentley enters through the archway. Quite obviously
he is not in a good mood. About forty-six, well built and
fit, good looking, well groomed. There is a certain pompous-
ness about him but he has an attractive personality. He is
dressed in a short black jacket and carefully creased trousers,
etc. He carries the " Financial Times ".]
372
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HA??Y
STELLA: John, dear. You're home very early, aren't
you? (Holding up the roses.} Look! Aren't they
lovely ? Is anything wrong ? You're not ill, are you ?
Will you be staying for lunch ?
JOHN: Taking your questions in the correct order,
the answers are — yes, very, I hope not, and I don't
think so.
STELLA: Oh. Well, thank goodness for that. Shall
I put them in water for you ?
JOHN (surprised} : Are they for me ?
STELLA: Of course.
JOHN : Why — what have I done ?
STELLA (smilingly) : It's the tenth.
JOHN: The tenth?
[John looks blank. Stella continues:}
STELLA: The tenth of May. The day your first wife
left you.
JOHN : Stella, you really are the most tactless person
I've ever met!
STELLA : I'm sorry. I thought it was an occasion for
rejoicing.
JOHN (irritably) : Quite possibly it is, in a masochistic
sort of way, but we've never remembered it before.
Why, for no reason at all, start today?
STELLA: Yes, it was rather silly. I know. I'll pretend
you gave them to me. (She clasps the roses to her breast
and smiles} There. Is that all right ?
JOHN: Yes, Stella, that's all right.
[John has glanced at his wife quite casually and he has not
intended to continue looking at her., but he does.}
They look lovelier than ever now. I wish I ha.
them for you. (He kisses her on the cheek.}
373
ACT ONE
STELLA (surprised} : Thank you, John.
JOHN (moving tip-stage) : How's Gwen ?
STELLA : Much better. Quite her old self again.
JOHN (as he pours himself a whiskey] : Good.
STELLA: Not whiskey, dear? Not in the morning.
You only do that when you're worried.
JOHN : I am worried.
STELLA: What's happened? Oh, I did so want you
to be in a happy mood. Are those share tilings going
up and down again ?
JOHN: No, Stella. It's nothing to do with my work
in the City.
STELLA: You mean — it's something important?
[John reacts, then continues:}
JOHN: This morning, at the office, I received a
twenty-five minutes' phone call from Corinne in New
York.
STELLA (anxiously) : She's not ill, is she ?
JOHN: No. She sounded quite fighting fit. She sent
you her love, and her husband sent his love, and she
hoped you were quite well, and her husband hoped
you were quite well, and she enquired all about her
dog and her canary and her tortoise. She also asked
how I was. The rest of the twenty-five minutes was
spent explaining why her husband was out of work
and impressing upon me the urgent necessity for
cabling her a thousand dollars at once.
[Stella glances unhappily towards the door, left.}
A thousand dollars 1 How am I supposed to do that?
They've only been married two months.
STELLA (feebly) : How much is a thousand dollars in
francs ?
374
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
JOHN : What on earth has that got to do with it ?
STELLA: I was just wondering.
JOHN: She should never have married that damn
fellow. She wouldn't have done if I'd had my way.
STELLA : You're not blaming me for it, are you ?
JOHN: You introduced him to her.
STELLA: And I'm glad I did. Barnaby is masculine
and virile. You should have seen him at Olympia.
JOHN: A cowboy without any cows. A film, actor
on horseback. A fine husband he'll make.
STELLA: When he's working he earns fabulous
money.
JOHN : And whether he's working or not he spends it.
STELLA : Why isn't he working now ?
JOHN : Your Bump-along-Barnaby, or whatever he's
called, happens to have a carbuncle on his bottom
and he can't sit on his horse. That temporary
emergency lands Corinne in the bread line.
STELLA: But everyone knows that the film world is
chicken one day and feathers the next. It's like the
stage.
JOHN (angrily}-. Thank you, I don't want to hear
anything about that profession! I had Corinne
trained to be a private secretary. She could have
been safe and secure in an embassy by now.
STELLA: But she didn't want to be a secretary. She
wanted to be a veterinary surgeon. I'm quite sure
she only married Barnaby because she's so fond of
horses. What are you going to do about it? You
can't let them starve.
JOHN : Of course I can't 1 I'll have to fork out, that's
all. But when is it going to stop? The man's
obviously toxic — liable to get carbuncles on his
backside every other month.
STELLA: No, dear, I remember reading about it —
they never strike twice in the same place.
375
ACT ONE
JOHN (as he looks at the bits and pieces on the settee) :
What's all this mess ?
STELLA : I had a sandwich.
[John looks at her.}
It wasn't very nice.
JOHN: That's quite obvious. Apparently you filled
your mouth with liver sausage and blew it all over
the settee.
[John takes up a half cigarette from the ashtray.]
" Le petit Caporal." (He looks at Stella surpnsedly.}
French.
STELLA: How clever of you, dear.
\L,inda hurries in through the archway and makes for the
stairs. She carries Pafs semi-overcoat ', a waist-length
duffle-type in red and black check.]
JOHN (to ~Lmdd} : What have you got there ?
LINDA: It's Miss Pat's, sir. (As she looks at Stella?}
Oh, dear!
STELLA (smilingly ', as she moves tip-stage]: That's all
right, Linda. (Taking the coat.} You can get on with
your work.
LINDA (unhappily} : Yes, ma'am.
[Linda hurriedly exits through the archway as Stella holds
out the coat.]
STELLA (laughingly, to John}: Have you ever seen
anything so ridiculous ? Pat sent it by post.
JOHN : From Paris ?
STELLA: Yes. She wants it French cleaned.
376
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
JOHN: I see. And I suppose you found the cigarettes
in one pocket and the liver sausage in another?
(Abruptly.} She's here, isn't she?
STELLA: Yes.
JOHN: Why didn't you tell me at once?
STELLA (putting down the coat} : You seemed so upset
about Corinne — I wanted you to recover a little
before hearing about Pat.
JOHN (anxiously) : Is she ill ?
STELLA: No, dear.
JOHN (hopefully} : Has she left her husband ?
STELLA: No, dear.
JOHN : Is she unhappy ?
STELLA: No, dear.
JOHN : Does she want anything ?
STELLA (quickly} : Yes, dear.
JOHN (quickly} : How much ?
STELLA (very quickly}: Five hundred pounds.
[ John slaps a hand to his forehead and collapses into the
armchair left centre. Stella moves to him.}
John, it could have been so much worse ! She might
have married a man who knocked her about.
JOHN : I see. So I'm to regard my daughter's marriage
as highly successful just because she hasn't got a
black eye.
[Stella forces a httle laugh.}
I thought you told me Pat's husband was an estab
lished playwright.
STELLA: He is. It's just that he hasn't been estab
lished long enough.
JOHN : Has he ever had a play taken ?
STELLA: Of course he has. But Peter doesn't want
his plays to be acted. He's an Existentialist.
377
ACT ONE
JOHN: What does that mean?
STELLA: He's fifty years ahead of himself.
JOHN: Good. He's obviously going a long way.
(He rises.} Would anybody have believed it possible ?
My two daughters. After devoting my whole life
to them — after all my hopes and prayers that they
would marry into safety and security — and I scarcely
know the names of their penniless husbands.
(Angrily?) Damn it, I haven't even met them!
STELLA: Corinne was too scared to bring Barnaby
here, and Pat had to signal from the window to let
Peter know whether you were in or out. Can you
wonder that they slipped away to get married ?
JOHN: That's right! Blame me for it. The father's
always in the wrong. Give the children money —
and you spoil them. Don't give them money — and
you handicap them. Expect much from them — and
you set too high a standard. Expect nothing from
them — and you give them an inferiority complex.
There's no answer to it.
STELLA: Oh, but there is! Surely, as long as they're
happy
JOHN (crossing to right) : Nonsense 1 Any monkey with
a bomb tied to its tail can be happy until it goes off'
Thank God Gwen is only sixteen. I'll make sure
she meets the right man. (Angrily.) Why didn't Peter
have the guts to come and ask me for that money
himself?
STELLA: He couldn't get away.
JOHN: He could have phoned me.
STELLA: At the moment he doesn't happen to be on
the phone.
JOHN: He could have written, he could have sent a
telegram. No! He preferred to send his wife.
[The door left is flung open and Pat enters.]
378
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
PAT (almost shouting) : He did not send me 1 He doesn't
even know I'm here.
JOHN (staring at Pat}: Good God! Have you been
shipwrecked?
STELLA: John! That's not a very sweet welcome.
JOHN : But why has she disguised herself? (To Pat.)
What's happened to you ?
PAT (moving towards stairs'): I can't stand any more
questioning !
STELLA (restraining her) : Pat, dear, your father's only
interested.
PAT: He's not!
JOHN: I certainly am. For one thing, I'm interested
to hear how you got that black eye.
STELLA : A French aristocrat hit her with a bottle.
JOHN: What?
STELLA: It was an accident — he didn't know he was
doing it.
JOHN: Well, what the hell did he think he was
doing?
STELLA: Oh, don't bother about unnecessary details.
(Moving Pat towards John?) Aren't you going to give
you daughter a kiss ?
JOHN (after a second's hesitation} : Yes, of course.
[John moves to Pat and kisses her on the cheek. He looks
at her.]
Are you happy?
PAT (grimly, with her hands in her trottser pockets} : Yes,
veryl
JOHN: That's good. (He pats her arm.} That's fine.
[John moves away to nght as with some attempt at bree^i-
ness he continues:}
Stella tells me that Peter is a — er-
379
ACT ONE
STELLA (at centre)'. A playwright, dear.
JOHN (at right) : No, no. There was another word.
PAT (at right centre): An Existentialist?
JOHN: That's it. What exactly does that mean?
PAT (immediately on the defensive}'. Existentialism is a
philosophy. It's a school of thought that seeks to
reaffirm, in modern idiom, the stoic form of indi
vidualism.
STELLA: Isn't it exciting?
JOHN (to Pat): Are you sure you understand what
you're talking about ?
PAT (defiantly) : Peter is teaching me to understand it.
JOHN: I see. And is that ridiculous get-up an
expression of individualism ?
PAT (angrily) : Yes, it's exactly that ! I am an individual
now, with my own opinions and my own way of life.
STELLA (restrainingly): Pat, dear
PAT (losing all restraint) : But I don't expect you to
appreciate that. Any more than I could expect you
to appreciate a Leonardo da Vinci, or a Bach concerto,
or anything else that didn't find its inspiration in the
Stock Exchange. It must seem quite ridiculous to
you that Peter doesn't write his plays for money.
JOHN: Not at all. As long as I keep my health and
strength, why should he ?
PAT (hvid): I'll never forget that as long as I live.
(Loudly, as she turns and makes for the stairs!) Never!
(Hurrying up the stairs two at a time.) Never I
[Pat exits to upstairs.}
JOHN (hiding his upset): Well, that was a pleasant
little interlude. (He moves to the whiskey.) Quite like
old times, wasn't it ?
STELLA: She's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
JOHN (angrily ', as he pours himself a drinK) : Then why
380
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
isn't Peter here to look after her, instead of gallivant
ing about in Paris?
[John drinks as Stella replies,]
STELLA: He's not gallivanting about in Paris. He's
in prison.
JOHN (after a splutter}: What did you say?
STELLA (scared] : John, dear, please take things calmly.
I read somewhere the other day that this world is
not the centre of the universe. Do remember that.
I don't want you to have a stroke.
JOHN: This is no time to discuss my blood pressure I
Deviating, for just one moment, it might interest
you to know that the doctor says I'm below what I
should be above. But that was before this morning I
(Managing to control himself.} Now then. What were
you saying as to the whereabouts of my precious
son-in-law ?
STELLA : He's in a little prison — just a very small one
— and it's only used for the nicest people.
JOHN: And what has he been charged with —
murdering his six other wives ?
STELLA: No, dear — he smashed up the Petit Fish
Night Club — but he didn't do it with malice afore
thought. He was sitting by himself, quietly drinking
a cup of coffee, when somebody insulted the British
Empire. Peter, of course, immediately lost his temper
and went through the Club like a bulldozer.
JOHN (pleasantly surprised}: Oh. Well, that's some
thing to his credit. God knows we can do with an
expression of patriotism these days. I never imagined
he was that sort of fellow.
STELLA: Oh, yes. He's terribly like that. And that's
why Pat wants the five hundred pounds.
JOHN: You mean for compensation?
381
ACT ONE
STELLA: Yes. Peter insists upon paying for the
whole thing himself. As soon as he does, he's as
free as the wind.
JOHN (smilingly) : Tell Pat to come down and see me.
STELLA (blowing him a kiss] : You're the sweetest man
in the whole world !
[Stella turns., moves towards the stairs — and the telephone
rings. She takes the receiver.}
Hullo ? . . . Yes, this is Mrs. Bentley speaking. , . .
Oh, yes, I've been wanting to meet him for weeks.
. . . Oh, no! Not this morning. You must stop
him. . . . (Frantically.} But you don't understand!
Would you hold on, please?
[Stella covers the mouthpiece with her hand and looks
towards her husband, who is glancing at the " Financial
Tims ".]
(Appealing^.} John, dear — go into the garden.
JOHN (at right}: Why?
STELLA: I must be left alone for just two minutes.
JOHN (moving towards her] : Let me have a word.
STELLA (hurriedly) : No, no. It's quite all right.
[Stella turns her back and huddles over the mouthpiece.,
and John continues to read his newspaper as she continues
at the telephone.}
Hullo ? . . . Er — paries vous francais ?
[John looks up.]
Bon. Alors, fait attention. (Emphatically.} II ne
faut pas venez ici ce matin. . . . Non! Mon mari
382
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
cst ici et il savez absolutely rien de tout. . . .
(Appalled.} II a departe? . . . Ici dans cinque
minutes ? Oh, mon Dieu !
[Stella replaces the receiver and acts a happy laugh to John,
who acts one back.]
JOHN (putting down his paper} : That was really quite
extraordinary. I can't understand a word of French
but I got the whole gist of that.
STELLA (moving down centre] : Did you, dear ?
JOHN (moving down right}'. Why don't you want
somebody to come round here this morning, and
what is it I know nothing about ?
STELLA : Would you like another whiskey ?
JOHN: Answer my question 1
STELLA (after a moment's hesitation} : It's Gwen.
JOHN (moving to in front of settee} : What do you mean?
STELLA : She's in love.
JOHN (irritably}: What are you talking about? She's
only sixteen — she could still be at school.
STELLA (moving to him} : John, please believe what I'm
telling you. She's desperately — dangerously in love.
[A pause. John stares at Stella. Then he pulls himself
together, takes a rigid and imposing stance and enquires
heavily i\
JOHN: Who is the boy?
STELLA: Well, he isn't quite a boy, dear. I suppose
he's a man, really.
JOHN: How old is he?
STELLA (after a moment's pause}: Thirty-seven.
[John stares at her blankly for a moment, then be half
closes his eyes and fumbles to loosen his tie as he collapses
on to the settee. Stella hurriedly sits at his left.]
383
ACT ONE
Oh, John I Take some deep breaths or something.
Think of the Milky Way — and all those stars. My
book says they're not really there at all. (Brightly.}
Do you realise that at any moment the earth may
lose its atmosphere? That would mean complete
oblivion for everybody, including Corinne's cowboy,
Pat's playwright, and — er — Gwen's crooner.
[John stares fearfully at Stella.}
JOHN: Gwen's whatl
STELLA: He's a singer, dear. He croons into a
microphone. He's the sensation of London! He's
followed about wherever he goes — and even middle-
aged women try to steal his braces as souvenirs.
And he's absolutely original! Instead of making
people happy — he makes them miserable. When he
sings, he cries real tears ! You can actually see them
streaming down his face. It's wonderful !
[Stella rises and moves to her handbag at left end of settee
table, as she continues:}
And look at this. (Producing it.} It's a press cutting
I found in Gwen's bedroom last week.
[Stella holds out the press cutting and John takes it.}
JOHN (reading) : " Police were called to the stage
door of the London Coliseum last night when three
hundred devotees of Mr. Bobby Denver screamed
and fought to kiss his hand or tear a button from his
jacket. There is no doubt about it, this tearful Romeo
of Song — with little or no voice — has sobbed his
way into the hearts of a million fans, one hysterical
woman even going so far as to throw herself in
384
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
front of the crooner's car and beg him to drive over
her."
STELLA (excitedly)-. What do you think of it?
JOHN (grimly, as he props himself up} : Has Gwen ever
met this ghastly product of a degenerate age ?
STELLA (quickly) : Bobby says they've only met twice.
He's staying at the Savoy Hotel, and one night I
managed to speak to him on the phone.
[John surges to his feet and makes for telephone. Stella
turns.}
What are you going to do ?
JOHN (lifting the receiver) : I'm going to send for the
police 1
STELLA: They'll give it to the papers. Anything to
do with Bobby Denver and out comes a special
edition.
JOHN (slamming down the receiver) : My God, have we
all gone mad? Years ago a man had to spend his
whole life toiling upwards through the night, even
having to die before he could make the slightest claim
to fame. But in this enlightened epoch some silly
so-and-so has only to coin a ridiculous catch phrase,
or waggle his navel in front of a television camera,
and within twenty-four hours he's practically
immortal! Did I understand you to say he was
calling here this morning?
STELLA: Yes. His secretary said he was already on
his way. Any moment now — and you'll be able to
discuss the whole thing with him as man to man.
JOHN: I'll shoot him right between the eyes!
STELLA: John, dear, control yourself.
JOHN (sitting left centre): Gwen, my baby daughter.
(Suddenly and angrily.} I blame you for this 1
STELLA: John!
N 385
ACT ONE
JOHN : For fourteen years you've tried to bring your
mad stage world into the lives of my children, and
this is the result.
STELLA: What are you talking about? I gave up the
stage to please youl
JOHN (rising) : But you couldn't forget it, could you ?
Night after night, for years on end, you filled this
house with actors and actresses. I'll never forget
those evenings. It was a cold war with insanity. And
when I couldn't stand it any longer, you went under
ground. Cunningly and ruthlessly you brought my
daughters up to hate my way of life — and to hate the
careers I had them trained for. And where are they
now? Corinne and Pat married to improvident
clowns, and Gwen in love with a weeper — a crooner.
STELLA : I think you're forgetting that your first mfe
left you.
JOHN (irritably)'. What's that got to do with it?
STELLA : She left you because she couldn't stand your
dull absorption with the City. Any more than
Corinne or Pat could stand it. Any more than I can
stand itl There's no colour in this house. No life,
no sweet insanity! I'm sorry, John, but I've got to
say it. I would willingly leave you tomorrow for
either Laurel or Hardy.
JOHN: You don't mean that?
STELLA: Of course I don't. Oh, I'm sure everything
will turn out all right — as long as we take things
calmly.
JOHN: Thank you, Stella, I don't need advice. I
know exactly what to do.
STELLA: What?
JOHN: There's obviously something very much the
matter with Gwen. I'm going to consult a psychia
trist.
STELLA: I've already been to one.
386
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
JOHN: When?
STELLA: Two days ago. Gwen hadn't eaten for
forty-eight hours, so I phoned my sister and she
told me about a man called Hermann Schneider. He's
a foreigner.
JOHN: You surprise me.
STELLA: He lives in a little flat at Park South, but
he's frightfully clever. He once cured a woman who
had fallen in love with the high tides at Brighton.
I told him about Gwen, and what do you think he
said?
JOHN : I haven't the faintest idea.
STELLA: He suggested we should try and get the
crooner to come and stay here.
JOHN (ironically): Did he really?
STELLA: He said that if Gwen could see him going to
the bathroom to clean his teeth she would soon
realise that he was just an ordinary man like you or
anybody else.
JOHN: Thank you very much.
[Urgent ringing at the front door bell.}
STELLA: Bobby Denver!
JOHN: Now listen, Stella. I'm handling this my way.
I don't want any interruptions fromj0#l
STELLA : I won't open my mouth.
[The front door bell rings again as Linda comes hurrying
through the archway}
LINDA (very exczted} : Oh, sir, there's a crowd of people
outside the door, and somebody's ringing the bell.
JOHN (irritably} : Well, go and open the door.
LINDA (qmckly) : But there are two policemen outside
as well, sir.
387
ACT ONE
STELLA (quickly}: It's all right, Linda. We have
somebody very important calling.
JOHN (to Linda) : Take that plate away.
LINDA (as she makes for the settee} : Very good, sir.
STELLA (quickly) : And hurry I Mr. Denver isn't used
to being kept waiting.
LINDA: Oh, ma'am! You don't mean Mr. Bobby
Denver ?
STELLA (quickly) : I certainly do.
JOHN (to Linda) : Get a move on !
LINDA (gaping incredulously)'. Bobby Denver, the
crying crooner ?
STELLA (irritably} : Yes !
[Linda moans ; staggers, and collapses on to the settee.}
JOHN (to Stella}: What's happened?
STELLA (hurrying to Linda}: She's fainted!
JOHN: Damn it, why choose a time like this ?
[The front door bell rings again, as John and Stella hurry to
Linda.]
STELLA (to John}: You'd better answer the door
yourself.
JOHN (indignantly) : I will not !
STELLA: Well, somebody's got to let him in.
[Linda opens her eyes and tries to prop herself up, .]
(To Linda.") Are you feeling any better ?
JOHN (emphatically) : Of course she is !
STELLA (to Linda} : Do you think you can manage to
answer the door?
JOHN (immediately): Of course she can! (To Linda.)
Come on. (He lifts Linda to her feet.} Ups-a-daisy 1
[Linda sways like a reed in the wind.]
388
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Now then. Best foot forward.
[John supports the staggering Linda towards the archway as
Stella protests.}
STELLA: John, she can't!
JOHN : Of course she can. She's as steady as a rock.
[John releases Linda. Swaying against the archway she
chngs desperately for support}
Good girl, Linda. That's wonderful! Now then,
steady as she goes.
\With a mighty effort Linda savings herself out into the
passage and staggers out of sight}
Splendid !
STELLA: She'll faint again when she opens the door.
JOHN (returning from the archway}: Of course, I just
don't understand your sex.
STELLA: I know, dear.
JOHN (having glanced towards the French windows} : Damn
it, now there's a bunch of old girls trying to climb
over the hedge. (Shouting towards the old girls.} Go
away! Mind your own business I (He closes the French
windows.}
STELLA: Shouldn't we tell Gwen to come down?
JOHN (emphatically} : Absolutely no !
STELLA: Ssh!
[Linda appears, clinging to the archway}
LINDA (in a hoarse whisper}'. If you please, sir — Mr.
Bobby Denver.
\Laughing out loud, Bobby surges into the room. He clutches
a bunch of tulips and a full-length microphone with flex
coiled. His exquisite light fawn suit is torn in several
389
ACT ONE
places, his collar is open, bis tie is missing, his hair is
ruffled, he has no hat, there are lipstick marks on his cheek,
and he is holding up his trousers.}
BOBBY (loudly and happily): Hullo, Mrs. Bentley! I
suppose you are Mrs. Bentley? Isn't it a lovely day?
Phew! I thought I'd never make it. You know
something'!! have to be done about this popularity
business. It's not safe to go out. (Indicating John.}
Who's this ?
STELLA : My husband.
BOBBY: Well, well! (To John.} I thought you'd be at
the office. (To Stella?) I hope you don't mind the
mike coming in. I always take it with me — in case
somebody asks me to sing.
JOHN (angrily]-. Nobody's going to ask you to sing
in this house !
STELLA: Oh, John, I'd love him to.
BOBBY (smilingly) : That's very sweet of you.
STELLA (indicating the microphone) : How does it work ?
BOBBY: I'll show you. (Holding out the microphone to
John.} Hold it for a moment, will you ?
[John reluctantly takes the microphone.}
That's right. (To Stella.} Now, we just plug it in and
— if it doesn't fuse — Bob's your uncle. (Uncoiling the
flex.} Have you got a plug here ? (Looking left.} Ah,
yes ! There we are. (As he moves left to plug the /ex
into power point.} Of course, I don't have to do all
this when I appear in public. Still, it's all exercise.
(Having plugged in.} Now then. I think we're all set.
(To John, and moving back to left centre.} Er — just for
safety, sir — would you mind pressing down the little
switch at the top ?
[John irritably presses down the sivitch. Bobby continues.]
39°
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
(Smilingly?) That's right! (Brightly} Would you like
to try it, sir ?
JOHN (angrily bellowing, with the mike right in front of
him) : I'll do nothing of the sort !
[The amplification frightens John into a dither, as Bobby
rocks with laughter and moves to John to take the micro
phone and stand it near the piano, clearing the flex as he does
so.]
JOHN (angrily) : Now listen to me, Denver!
BOBBY (still laughing): Just a moment. (To Stella.}
What can I do with these ?
JOHN (livid, as he points} : My own tulips !
BOBBY: Yes, I'm afraid so. Your front garden's in
a hell of a mess. They shoved most of your daffodils
into my car. It was a Girl Guide who pulled these
up. Well, they're no use to you now, are they?
[Bobby looks towards 'Linda, who is still gapmgly holding
on to the archway^ and smiles as he holds out the flowers}
(To Linda.} Here you are, darling.
[Linda totters towards Bobby as she whispers}
LINDA : Oh, no ! You don't mean it ?
BOBBY: Of course I do. (He hands the flowers to Linda
as he continues.} With love from me.
\Lmda gives a moan and goes down like a shot pigeon.
Bobby burst out laughing.}
(To Stella.} You know (indicating Linda} that sort
of thing used to upset me terribly — but I'm getting
so used to it !
391
ACT ONE
STELLA: Well, I'm not finding it frightfully original.
John, she's very in the way. Do take her outside
or something.
JOHN (hvid}\ I'll do nothing of the sort!
STELLA: Well, I can't lift her, and if Bobby tries
she'll probably have hysterics.
JOHN (as he mows to Linda) : Hell and damnation ! (As
he slightly raises Linda.} You stay exactly where you
are, Stella.
[John, walking backwards, drags Linda towards the archway
as he glares at Bobby and grow Is]
And I've something to say to you, sir, when I come
back.
[John exits backwards through the archway and the uncon
scious Linda, still clutching the tulips* trails out after him.]
BOBBY: Very excitable, isn't he?
STELLA: Not as a rule. Would you like a drink?
BOBBY: No, thanks. I've only just had breakfast.
STELLA: Well, please sit down.
BOBBY: I can't. I'll have to be going in a moment.
(Looking at his wrist watch.} The whole of the British
Broadcasting Corporation is waiting for me. Doesn't
it sound important?
STELLA: Very.
BOBBY: I just can't get used to it. A couple of years
ago I didn't even have to pay income tax. Now I
owe them thousands.
[Bobby laughs out loud, and suddenly grabs at his waist-line.]
STELLA: Something gone wrong ?
BOBBY: I can't keep my pants up.
392
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
STELLA : Don't you wear braces to hold them up ?
BOBBY: I do as a rule, but the Girl Guides got
them
[He produces and holds out a pair of black silk braces from
his jacket pocket.}
I got them back, though. I did a half-nelson on her
flag pole.
[Stella laughs as she moves to Bobby and takes the braces.}
STELLA : Shall I help you ?
BOBBY: You can't, darling. I've only got one button
left. I lose about forty a week.
[Stella and Bobby laugh., and Bobby tightens the waist
buckles of his pants as John comes galloping back through
the archway. He skids to a stop and glares at Bobby.}
JOHN: What are you laughing at?
BOBBY: I've lost my braces again.
[John glares at the still laughing Stella, sees the braces m
her hand and gasps}
JOHN: Stella!
[Bobby claps one hand to his mouth to subdue afresh out
burst of laughter, as Stella says}
STELLA (to John] : Oh, nol You don't understand I
[Stella starts laughing again and Bobby doubles up with
laughter as he totters to Stella. He tries to speak but only
gurgles can be heard as be points to John, then to Stella, then
to the braces, then to himself.}
393
ACT ONE
JOHN (losing bis temper — to Stella)-. Pull yourself
together! Are you crazy? Laughing like a stupid
schoolgirl — when my daughter's morals are at stake.
STELLA (handing the braces to Bobby) : Oh, John, don't
be so ridiculous!
BOBBY (shoving the braces into his pocket}'. What's he
talking about ?
STELLA : I've told him about Gwen.
BOBBY: So what? The poor kid hasn't done anything
wrong.
JOHN: Are you trying to pretend you don't know
she's in love with you ?
BOBBY: Dozens of women are in love with me — or
think they are.
JOHN: Gwendoline is not a woman. She's an
innocent child. Damn it, you're old enough to be her
father!
BOBBY: So is Donald Peers. And what about Pappy
Crosby — all the kids are in love with him. I can't
help it if the whole sex has gone potty.
STELLA : I think it's a lot to do with the food we eat —
there's no nourishment in it.
JOHN (angrily}: Will you be quiet? (Unbelievingly, to
Bobby.} Do you mean to say you haven't encouraged
this — this illicit infatuation ?
BOBBY: Encouraged it? I'm fed to the teeth with it!
Gwen has twice forced her way into my dressing
room — and twice I've had her turned out. I spoke
to her like a Dutch uncle — I wouldn't have bothered
to do that if I hadn't liked the kid. Yesterday I
received a telegram from her in which she said she
would commit suicide if I didn't meet her alone for
at least two minutes. I thought it time to come and
see her mother.
STELLA (smilingly, to Bobby} : Her stepmother.
BOBBY (smilingly) : Of course — I should have guessed.
394
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
JOHN (pompously, as he raises his voice — to 'Bobby'} : May
I ask why you didn't prefer to interview her father"?
BOBBY : Because I've had previous experience of this
sort of trouble, and I've never yet met a father cap
able of understanding any daughter.
\_Gwen, still wearing her dressing-gown, appears at the top
of the stairs.]
JOHN (to Bobby*): Havejo# any children?
BOBBY: No. I had a wife, but she left me.
GWEN (from the stairs] : Why did she leave you ^
STELLA (turning}: Gwen!
\Gwen descends the stairs.]
BOBBY: Oh. Hullo.
JOHN (to Given] : Go back to your room at once !
\Gwen moves to Bobby.]
GWEN : I saw you arrive, and my heart nearly stopped.
"Why have you come here ?
BOBBY: Well — er
STELLA: I asked him to.
GWEN (to Bobby): Why did your wife leave you?
JOHN: That's got nothing to do with you. Now
listen, Gwen. This nonsense has got to stop. Denver
himself has asked me to put an end to it.
GWEN (to Bobby) : Have you ?
BOBBY: I do think you're behaving rather foolishly.
JOHN (to Gwen, angrily): Damn it (pointing to Bobby)
he's nearly as old as I am ! You're only sixteen !
GWEN (to John): Juliet was only fourteen when she
fell in love with Romeo.
JOHN: They were foreigners!
395
ACT ONE
GWEN (to Bobby) : Cleopatra was only eighteen when
she fell in love with Antony.
BOBBY (to Stella] : Some of the Cleopatras I've seen
have been at least forty.
GWEN (to John) : John Knox was fifty-nine when he
married a girl of fifteen. Ruskm was forty-two when
he fell in love with Rose la louche, and she was only
twelve.
JOHN (angrily): Denver isn't in love withjou.
GWEN: I know, but I'm in love with him.
BOBBY (to Gwen) : Now listen, don't be a silly kid.
GWEN (quietly) : Why did your wife leave you ?
BOBBY: We were temperamentally unsuited. She
had no sense of humour. I used to knock her about.
It was the only way I could make her laugh.
JOHN (to himself) : Good God !
GWEN (to Bobby) : You could never make me believe
that. Oh, Bobby! I love you so much.
JOHN (angnly) : Be quiet !
STELLA : Gwen, dear — not in front of your father.
GWEN (to Bobby): I fell in love with you that first
Monday at the Coliseum. You sang — my favourite
of all your songs — " Please don't forget to remem
ber! " And you cried real tears. I've loved you ever
since.
JOHN (loudly) : Gwen! (As he points.) Upstairs!
GWEN (whipping round, angrily) : You can't talk to me
like that 1 I'm not a child any longer.
JOHN : I'll talk to you as I think fit. Go to your bed
room.
GWEN: Bobby! Sing that song to me now. I'll
listen to you from upstairs. Please, Bobby, sing it!
I'll kill myself if you don't !
JOHN (to Gwen) : If you stay down here two seconds
longer, I'll put you across my knee. I've half a mind
to do that, anyway.
396
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
GWEN (as she stares wide-eyed at her father} : You've
insulted me in front of him 1 I'll never forgive that.
But I'll make you sorry for it I
\Gwen turns and hurries halfway up the stairs, then she
stops for a moment.}
(Loudly and tearfully?) I'll make you so sorry for it
you'll wish you'd never been born 1
[In a flood of tears Gwen exits to upstairs.]
BOBBY (anxiously, to Stella): She won't do anything
silly, will she?
STELLA: I hope not. (Turning?) John, for heaven's
sake go upstairs and apologise.
JOHN: Apologisel I'll do nothing of the sort!
STELLA: You know what an impulsive child she is.
She might throw herself from the window.
JOHN: What?
STELLA (urgently): Hurry!
JOHN: Oh, damn and damnation! (As he hurries up
the stairs?) Gwenl Wait for Daddy! (Over his shoulder?)
You stay exactly where you are, Stella !
[John exits to upstairs.}
BOBBY: Do you think she will throw herself from the
window ?
STELLA: No. She always talks like that when she
wants to frighten her father. Besides, her bedroom
used to be the nursery — it still has bars across the
window.
BOBBY (laughingly) : Doesn't he know that ?
STELLA (laughingly): He's forgotten.
[John suddenly appears at the top of the stairs. He frantic
ally descends two of 'them ', as he shouts]
397
ACT ONE
JOHN (desperately}: Denver! You'd better sing that
damn nonsense. She's having hysterics in the bath
room!
[John tears up the stairs again and exits, as Stella says:]
STELLA (to Bobby): There's the piano.
BOBBY: No! It upsets me too much. I'm not fit to
meet anybody for hours afterwards.
STELLA (as she makes for the stairs'): I'm not thinking
of you — it's Gwen I'm worried about.
BOBBY (moving to the piano) : Oh, damn it ! (Turning.}
I'll have to use my microphone.
STELLA (turning} : You won't need it in a little place
like this.
BOBBY (as he sits at the piano) : You'll be surprised.
[Bobby strikes some opening chords, then plays and sings
with exaggerated tenderness and sentiment, with a choke
in almost every note and conveying the impression that at
any moment he will completely break down and sob his heart
out.]
The day we met, the roses grew
And smiled at us, as if they knew,
Alas, that roses die
And we must say goodbye
But—
Please don't forget to remember
Darling mine.
Sweetheart, I didn't know
How quickly those hours would go
Since first I kissed your
Lips so red.
You made my life divine,
So please don't forget to remember,
Darling mine.
398
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
[Choking with sobs and apparently scarcely able to see for
fears, Bobby rises., chokes his way to the arch, turns his
contorted and blear-eyed face to Stella., waves a feeble good
bye, then bursts into uncontrolled sobbing and exits. Stella
herself is sniffing and dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes, and
as Bobby exits and John appears at the top of the stairs
she calls out:}
STELLA (towards the archway): Bobby! You can't
leave like that!
JOHN: I hope he can! I've never heard such a damned
awful noise in the whole of my life '
STELLA (loudly} : Oh, do be quiet, you silly, dull man !
JOHN (at the foot of the stairs'] : Stella !
[Stella has already hurried to the piano. She grabs her hat
and the beautiful roses that she had bought for her husband
and makes for the archway as she calls again:]
STELLA: Bobby! Bobby! Wait for me!
[Stella exits through the archway as John, bewildered and
furious, moves to centre, as the French windows open and
Linda enters carrying Mr. Skeffington.}
JOHN (immediately, to Linda): What the hell do you
want?
LINDA: I'm worried about the dog, sir. I was
listening to Mr. Denver singing and suddenly Mr.
Skeffington was sick on the crazy paving.
[John's face lights up. He delightedly pats the dog's head,
as he murmurs:}
JOHN: There's a good boy! Good old boy!
The curtain falls
399
ACT TWO
Scene I
Scene: The same. About four boars later.
The settee has been tidied. The French windows are open.
The sunlight shims from a different angle. On the settee is a
black Hamburg. Bobby's mike is still plugged in and is
standing near the keyboard of the piano.
A moment — and Linda hurries in through the archway and
makes for the stairs. She carries a glass of milk on a tray.
She has hurried halfway up the stairs when telephone rings.
She stops, turns, descends the stairs., rests the tray on the
drinks table and takes the receiver.
LINDA: Hullo? . . . (Irritably?) No, it isn't Euston
Station. You ought to know that by now.
[She replaces the receiver, hurries to the stairs and gets
halfway up when she realises she has left the glass of milk
behind. She stops, turns, hurries down the stairs, takes up
the tray, turns again, hurries to the stairs and is halfway
up when telephone rings. She stops, turns, descends the
stairs, rests the tray on the drinks table and takes the
receiver.]
Hullo? . . . Oh, Mrs. Bentley, where have you
been? . . . Oh, but you don't know what's been
happening! About two hours after you left, Miss
Gwen jumped out of the bathroom window! . . .
I'm not being silly, ma'am. We've had to have the
doctor! . . . Yes, I found her myself, all uncon
scious, just by the dustbin. . . . No, the doctor said
she hadn't broken anything — but she's shaken
400
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
everything up. . . . Poor Mr. Bentley's been nearly
off his head with worry. He was so afraid she might
try it again, he sent for that psychologicahst. . . .
Yes, that's right, ma'am — Mr. Schneider, from Park
South — he's upstairs with her now — and he's very
worried about her. He says that when people
deliberately jump out of a window, it usually means
they've done it on purpose. . . . Speak to who? . . .
I'm afraid you can't, ma'am. Mr. Bentley's gone to
the chemist with the doctor's prescription. . , . Oh,
yes, please do, ma'am — as soon as you can! . . .
Goodbye.
[Linda replaces the receiver, takes up the tray and hurries to
ascend the stairs. She is halfway up when John Bentley's
voice is heard.]
JOHN (calling, off-stage) : Linda 1
LINDA (stopping, turning and descending} : Yes, sir ?
[John enters through the archway. He carries two medicine
bottles wrapped ^n paper]
JOHN : Who was on the phone ?
LINDA (at the foot of the stairs}: Mrs. Bentley, sir.
JOHN: Where was she speaking from?
LINDA: The French Embassy, sir. I told her about
Miss Gwen and she's coming right back at once.
JOHN (as he places the bottles on the table right centre} :
She needn't bother.
LINDA (unhappily} : Oh, dear !
\Ltinda starts to ascend the stairs as John enquires:]
JOHN: Is Mrs. Pember still upstairs?
LINDA (turning at the second stair} : Yes, sir — so is Mr.
Schneider.
401
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
JOHN: What have you got there?
LINDA: A glass of cold milk for Miss Gwen, sir.
JOHN: The doctor said hot milk.
LINDA (leaving the stairs) : I'm sorry, sir.
JOHN: And Linda
LINDA: Yes, sir?
JOHN: I don't want any talk about today's events.
You understand ?
LINDA : I won't whisper a word, sir.
JOHN: Good.
[Linda hurries away through the archway. John moves
towards the stairs., stopping suddenly as he sees Mr. Her
mann Schneider solemnly descending them. Schneider is
about fifty-five, short, stout; wild, curly hair, pah fat face
and fierce eyebrows. His expressive hands are clasped
behind his back and his head is bent in thought. ]ohn asks
anxiously:}
Well?
SCHNEIDER (having reached floor level}: Mr. Bentleys,
ven ze doctor examine your daughter, did 'e find any
bruises ?
JOHN: I don't really know. He said she hadn't hurt
herself. Why do you ask?
SCHNEIDER: Nussing. I vos joose vondering.
JOHN (anxiously) : Mr. Schneider, do you think she's
going to be all right ?
SCHNEIDER: Oh, yes. I don't sink you 'ave anysmg
to vorry about — except per'aps joost keep ze vindows
closed. (Turning.} Vy did you phone for me ?
JOHN: My wife told me she had already seen you
about Gwen.
SCHNEIDER: Ah, yes. I remember. Ze trouble is still
viz ze same crying crooner ?
JOHN: Yes.
402
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
SCHNEIDER: Zey are a nuisance, zose men — but an
interesting phenomenon.
JOHN: How do you mean?
SCHNEIDER: Zey are cardboard lovers for dis
appointed vives — safety valves for respectable spin
sters. Viz ze crooner on ze stage, ze ladies can go to
ze theatre and have a Little romance wizout getting
into trouble. But wiz your daughter it is different.
Zere is som'sing unusual. You are qvite certain you
don't like 'im ?
JOHN: Quite!
SCHNEIDER: I suppose zat is to be expected. After
all, you are natural enemies.
JOHN: Oh? Why?
SCHNEIDER (shrugging his shoulders}: Bobby Denver
make ze people cry wiz 'is sad songs — you make zem
laugh wiz your funny jokes from ze Stock Exchange.
(Briskly.) Tell me, you are not biased because of Mrs.
Bentley running after 'im?
JOHN: Not at all. My wife used to be an actress.
I regard her behaviour this morning as just a piece
of theatrical nonsense. It's Gwen I'm worried about.
She's only a child.
SCHNEIDER: Ze female of ze species is never a child.
A little girl is a small voman.
JOHN (trntably)1. I don't wish to go into any un
pleasant psychological ramifications. I live an
ordinary decent life and I just want to know how to
deal with this trouble.
SCHNEIDER (briskly)-. Okay. I vill tell you. (Sitting
left centre?) But zis is positively my last professional
appearance as a psychiatrist.
JOHN (sitting on settee) : Oh. Why?
SCHNEIDER: Mr. Bentleys, my profession has been
underminded by frivolous people. (Angrily.) In
every play in ze Vest End, zere is a psychiatrist!
403
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
Zose damn playwrights I Zey 'ave look up our sleeve
and put all our cards on ze table. (Tearfully.} For
six years, at Ellis Island, I study for my American
degree — und in ze last six munce, I am almost bank
rupt! For the future I will apply my psychological
knowledge only to business.
JOHN : But how does all this concern my daughter ?
SCHNEIDER (rising)'. I vill tell you. (Sitting on settee,
at left of John.} My son 'as invented a silent — 'ow
you say? — der Behalter — der Behalter for das
Mafchzimmer — a silent cistern for ze little room.
[A pause. Schneider looks at John who blankly looks back
at him. Schneider, seeking to elucidate matters., gives two
little pulls at an imaginary chain.}
JOHN (immediately, as he makes to rise} : For heaven's
sake!
SCHNEIDER (stopping John from rising}: No, please I
Listen! You do not appreciate. (Dramatically.}
Instead of all ze " Yah, Yah, Yah! " ven ze vater
pours from ze tank — zere is only a little " Sob, Sob,
Sob " — like somebody crying. (Briskly.} Now zen!
For som'time, my son 'as vondered vot to call ze
silent cistern. But today, I can tell 'im! (Emphatic
ally.} Ve vill call it ze Bobby Denver !
JOHN: Oh, ridiculous 1 (Rising.} I'm sorry. I'm very
busy.
SCHNEIDER (rising}: Too busy to bozzer about your
daughter's happiness?
JOHN (irritably): How can such nonsense possibly
concern my daughter or anybody else ?
SCHNEIDER: Mr. Bentleys, ven a man accidentally
shoot 'imself in ze heart — zat is tragedy, you cry.
But ven a man accidentally shoot 'imself in ze seat
of ze pants — even zo Je die — you laugh. (Forcibly.}
404
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
It is 2e same tragedy, but you laugh ! Shall I tell you
vy? (Emphatically^ Because ze tragedy 'as been
robbed of dignity. Do you see vere I am getting at?
'Ow could your daughter take seriously ze tragic
tears of a man whose name vos on der Behalter for
das Mafchzimmer? It vill kill 'im vi2 ridicule I Und,
at ze same time, ze publicity vill make much money
for my son. (Smilingly?) Ze perfect marriage between
psychology and business.
JOHN: It would certainly make my wife change her
mind.
SCNEIDER (smilingly) : For zat reason also, I took ze
liberty to phone Bobby Denver and ask zat 'e kom
'ere at vunce.
JOHN: Of all the damned impertinence I How did
you know where to find him ?
SCHNEIDER: Mrs. Bentley tell me 'e live at ze Savoy.
I phone zere und zey say 'e is at ze B.B.C. I phone
again und — vunderful! — I speak to 'im personal.
JOHN : You didn't tell him about Gwen jumping ?
SCHNEIDER: Oh, no! I only say som'sing very
serious 'as 'appen und '& is to kom at vunce.
JOHN: I won't see him. I'll throw him out!
SCHNEIDER (solemnly): Mr. Bentleys, upstairs your
daughter lies in her bed wiz her pillow wet wiz tears
as she cries " Bobby! Bobby! " Please — don't keep
'im avay from her. Ven a man is going to stab you
in ze back — look him in ze face.
JOHN: Schneider, I'm quite convinced that you're
an imposter!
SCHNEIDER (indignantly): Ich verstehe nichtl
JOHN: But I think you're a clever one. And if, by
fair means or foul, you can put a stop to my daughter's
infatuation for this crooner, I'll give you two
hundred pounds.
SCHNEIDER: Soch money!
405
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
JOHN: Well? What do you suggest?
SCHNEIDER : I 'ave already explain ze Behalter for das
Mafchzimmer.
JOHN (irritably): No, no! I want something more
definite.
SCHNEIDER : Okay. (Briskly.} I vould advise zat — to
prepare ze ground — you do ze rough stuff. Smack
ze daughter, 'it ze vife. Make zem afraid of you.
JOHN : I'll do nothing of the sort.
SCHNEIDER : Ve sink of som'sing else. Tell me, vot
is Bobby Denver's reaction to zis romance ?
JOHN: He says he's not interested.
SCHNEIDER: Zen appeal to 'im to 'elp you. Ask 'im
to do ze David Garrick.
JOHN: What does that mean?
SCHNEIDER: Veil, 'e deliberately drinks — to make ze
daughter disgusted viz 'im.
JOHN: Have you any other ideas ?
SCHNEIDER: For two hundred pounds? I didn't
started yet. I sink it vould 'ave a great reaction
on ze respect of your family — if you leave 'ome.
JOHN (irritably}: What are you talking about?
SCHNEIDER : Eizer ze daughter gives up zis nonsense
or you pack your bag und valk out — never to
returnl
JOHN (emphatically) : I couldn't leave my home. My
conscience wouldn't let me. Besides, I'm nervy
about damp sheets.
SCHNEIDER (clutcbtng hzs forehead}: Mein Gott! At
such a time. (Suddenly.} Ah! (Slowly, as be moves
closer?) 'Ow vould ze wife react if, vun day, you
bring 'ome — a strange voman?
JOHN (indignantly}: Are you suggesting immorality?
SCHNEIDER (emphatically]: If it is necessary zat you
sacrifice yourself for zis great cause, I vould say,
" Stop at massing zat does not make you look
406
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
foolish! " But I suggest only zat you change your
way of living. Srow aside your British conventions
and restraints I Your family laugh at zem. I am qvite
certain zat it is reaction to your respectable solidity
2at 'as make your daughter fall in love wiz ze
Bohemian crooner. Okay! From today forwards,
you vill live in soch a vay zat vill make Toulouse-
Lautrec seem like ze Salvation Army.
[The front door bell rings urgently.]
Bobby Denver!
JOHN: Hell!
SCHNEIDER : Are ze vindows closed upstairs ?
JOHN: Yes, I think so. Where's that bromide ? Ah!
(.As he takes up the bottles.'} D'you think I can give
her a double dose ?
SCHNEIDER : You should 'ave ask ze doctor.
JOHN (as he hurries up the stairs} : I'll risk it.
[John exits up the stairs.]
SCHNEIDER (to himself}: A double — a double. Now
vot does zat remind me of? (Suddenly.} But of
course!
[Schneider makes for the n'hiskey and pours himself a
treble as he happily hums a httle tune — and Pat, still in her
Existentialist garb, enters and descends the stairs. She is
wearing large dark glasses and carries a book. Schneider
raises bis glass and beams at the contents]
Mr. Schneider, 'ere's vishing you very 'appy com
plexes.
[About to drink, bis eyes open wide as Pat silently passes
in front of him to extt through the French windows]
407
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
(Fearfully.} Oh, nol MelnGott!
[Schneider hurriedly drinks hts whiskey and mops his fore
head with his handkerchief as 'Bobby Denver staggers in
through the archway carrying a half-unconscious Linda over
his shoulder. Bobby is wearing a different suit. It isn't
damaged, but his collar is open and askew. He carries his
tie and his hat.}
BOBBY (as he enters} : You know, this woman should
only walk about in a bath chair.
SCHNEIDER : Tell 'er to go back to 2e kitchen.
BOBBY (propping "Linda on to her feet} : She can't go
anywhere. She's got paper legs. (To Linda.) Are you
feeling better?
[Linda feebly nods her head.]
Good. You know, I think it would be safer if you
went about on all fours. Alternatively, answer the
door with your eyes shut, then you won't know
who's calling. That would help, wouldn't it ?
[Linda feebly nods her head. Bobby leaves go of her. Linda
sways sideivays and Bobby grabs her again.]
Listen, honey, you're in a bad way. I'd like to see
you go to bed.
[Linda's eyes open wide and she goes down hke a shot
pigeon. Bobby looks at Schneider.]
She misunderstood me.
[John comes hurrying down the stairs.}
(Smilingly.} Good afternoon. (He moves aside and
indicates Lmda.} You're just in time.
408
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
JOHN (hvid}: No, by heaven, she can stay there 1
BOBBY : It looks so untidy.
JOHN (moving to Linda}: Hell and damnation!
[John glares at Bobby as be half lifts Linda by the arms.}
I believe you do it on purpose.
BOBBY: As a matter of fact, I do. Your wife said
you needed exercise.
[John., walking backwards, drags Linda towards the arch
way as he glares at Bobby and growls:}
JOHN : I curse the day I met you !
[He exits through the archway with the still unconscious
"Linda trailing after htm, as Bobby remarks:]
BOBBY (to Schneider} : What a tide for a song.
SCHNEIDER (ingratiatingly): May I take your 'at?
BOBBY: Sure.
[Bobby holds out his hat. It has been torn right across and
the two sections hold together by a thread.}
Which half would you like?
SCHNEIDER: Oh, no ! (As he takes the hat.} 'Ow 'as it
got broken ?
BOBBY: The usual struggle. Another excited female.
(As he pulls a woman's stocking from his pocket.} But
I'm hitting back! Oh, boy, I'm hitting back! (As be
shoves the stocking back into his pocket} There's no
telling what I might win in the next scrimmage.
SCHNEIDER (excitedly, referring to the hat} : May I keep
zis?
BOBBY (as he puts his tie on} : If you like that style.
409
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
SCHNEIDER: Oh, sank you. I will make a pair of
Bobby Denver slippers wiz it. I vill sell zem. Ho,
ho ! (As he shoves the hat into his pocket.] You vait
und see.
BOBBY: I can't wait — I've got an appointment.
SCHNEIDER: All in good time, Bobby. But first,
before Mr. Bentleys' return, I 'ave a proposition to
make. My name is Schneider — Prof. Hermann
Schneider. Plis — vould you allow me to 'ave your
name inscribed on a Wasser Behalter ?
BOBBY: That depends. Where's it worn ?
SCHNEIDER: I refer to ze vater tank in ze — er
BOBBY (amazed} : You don't mean the thingummybob
in the whatyoumaycallit ?
SCHNEIDER: Exactly! It would be a sensational
advertisement.
BOBBY: Certainly not!
SCHNEIDER (turning nasty] : Okay. Zen I vill not use
your name. I vill inscribe ze Behalter — " Ze Crying
Crooner."
BOBBY: You know, you're hitting below the belt. I
don't think I like you.
SCHNEIDER: I am a business man. I do not appreci
ate sentiment. To me, you are no more zan a little
cog in ze veel of my ambitions.
BOBBY: So! You make ze insult, huh! You sink
you can play ze big shot, heh? Mein Gottl Ich
mochte etwas Brot mit Booter und Kase und dann
einen Pfannkuchen!
[Schneider angrily protests in a flow of ad lib German.
Bobby angrily interrupts him.]
Horch! If you put my name on ze pull sing I go to
the polizei, und you get ein, zwei, drei, vier, funf
years imprisonment. Und ven you kom draussen —
I kick ze shins — und brechen das necken !
410
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
[More angry ad hb German from Schneider, and John
enters through the archway.']
JOHN (angrily interrupting}: Schneider — shut up and
get out!
SCHNEIDER : Danke schon ! Auf wiedersehen !
[Schneider turns, grabs his hat, and hurriedly exits through
the French
JOHN : Denver, I quite appreciate that theatre people
have a warped sense of humour — but this afternoon
even jour witticisms seem out of place.
BOBBY: Why? What's happened?
JOHN: Some two hours after you left this morning
Gwen jumped from the bathroom window.
BOBBY: Are you serious?
JOHN : Of course I am.
BOBBY: But — I had no idea. Is she hurt?
JOHN: Fortunately, no. But I think it's high time
you realised that her ridiculous infatuation is no
laughing matter.
BOBBY: I never thought it was. What made her do
it?
JOHN : She knew my wife had gone off with you.
BOBBY: You mean Gwen jumped out of the window
because of — what was it, jealousy?
JOHN : If one can apply such a term to her unbalance,
yes.
BOBBY: Good Lord! What can we do about it? I'm
as worried as you are.
JOHN: Listen, Denver — for some fantastic reason
Gwen regards you as an idealist. To her, your tears
are an expression of spiritual emotion and poetic
sentiment — and nothing I can say will alter that
opinion.
411
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
BOBBY: Well, what do you suggest?
JOHN: You've got to disillusion her. You've got
to do a Henry Irving (hurriedly) \ mean, a David
Garrick. You've got to do something that will make
her ashamed of you — and I'll be very obliged if you
can manage to do it away from her — and away from
me.
BOBBY: Times have changed, you know. When
Garrick pretended to get tight, it was regarded as a
social disgrace to have one over the eight.
JOHN: In my circle, sir, it still is.
BOBBY: You're not a Rotarian?
JOHN: As it happens, I am — and I've yet to see a
member of the Club under the influence.
BOBBY: I must have joined the wrong branch.
[Stella enters through the archway.}
STELLA: Hullo, Bobby! What arejo# doing here?
BOBBY: I was sent for, urgently.
STELLA: Because of Gwen ?
BOBBY: Yes.
STELLA : John, did she really jump from the window ?
JOHN (coldly): I would prefer not to speak to you.
But as you are directly responsible for Gwen's mad
impulse, I will advise you. Yes, she jumped from the
bathroom. She whispered that information herself.
STELLA: Where was she found?
JOHN: Just by the dustbin — flat on her back, quite
unconscious, her face wet with tears. (Indignantly.}
Are you smiling ?
STELLA: Only with relief. (Turning.} Bobby, will
you excuse me ?
BOBBY: Of course, darling.
[Stella moves towards the statrs.~\
412
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
JOHN (intercepting her) : I don't wish you to sec her.
STELLA (amazed) : What?
JOHN: She certainly doesn't want to seejo#. Quite
apart from that, she's in a deep sleep. I gave her a
double dose of bromide.
STELLA : Then I can see her without waking her.
JOHN (emphatically): I prefer that you remain down
here.
STELLA (quietly} : Will you please get out of my way ?
JOHN : No, I will not.
STELLA: I'm going upstairs. If you try to stop me —
I'll hit you.
JOHN (shocked} : You'll whaft
BOBBY: Oh, don't start any rough stuff.
JOHN : Ah, yes ! (Quietly, as he looks at Stella.} Rough
stuff! (Loudly.} Stella, sit down !
STELLA (emphatically)'. I'm going upstairs.
[John gives Stella a gentle push on the shoulder— just enough
to send her back one step.]
BOBBY: Oh, nol
[Stella has already recovered her balance and she gives John
a push in the chest that sends him staggering backwards, to
land on his backside at the foot of the stairs.]
STELLA (to Bobby) : I hope that hasn't distressed you
too much ?
BOBBY: It was fascinating.
STELLA: I've never done it before. It was quite
spontaneous.
[John has risen. He moves down to left of Stella, as he says:]
JOHN : Your whole attitude makes me feel quite sick
413
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
with disillusionment. Not content with an afternoon
of shameful flirtation
STELLA: Oh, Johnl Don't be so stupid. I had an
innocent little fling and I feel all the better for it.
Now I can settle down again and lose my personality
without feeling restless. I think all wives should have
a little fling now and then. (To Bobby.) Don't you ?
BOBBY: Well, it rather depends who they fling.
JOHN (to Stella) : You were away for over four hours !
STELLA: But I wasn't with Bobby all that time. I
spent an hour at the bank and two hours at the
French Embassy. It may interest you to know that
I got Peter released from prison at exactly three-
thirty. He's flying over on the first plane possible.
JOHN: He's not going to stay here.
STELLA: Oh yes, he is.
BOBBY (to Stella): Who's Peter?
STELLA: My son-in-law.
BOBBY: What was he doing in prison?
STELLA: Sitting on a jury.
BOBBY: How very uncomfortable.
[Stella and Bobby laugh together.']
JOHN (to Stella) : Are you absolutely heartless ? Do
you want Gwen to jump from another window?
STELLA: She hasn't jumped from the bathroom
window yet.
JOHN: What do you mean?
STELLA: The greenhouse is directly underneath it —
and the dustbin is round the corner. I think Gwen
rather lost her bearings — unless, of course, a fright
fully strong wind caught her in mid air.
JOHN: We shall see.
[John moves to the stairs and pompously ascends them to
exit, as Stella says:]
414
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
STELLA: Don't go, Bobby. (As she humes up the
stairs.} We might have some more tough stuff in a
minute.
\She exits as Bobby replies •;]
BOBBY: Charming! I haven't enjoyed so much
domesticity since my wife slapped me on the stomach
with a cold hot-water bottle.
\The telephone rings— just behind Bobby. He starts violently
and takes the receiver.']
(Into telephone.} Hullo ? . . . (Broad Scotch.} Aye, this
is Euston Station. . . . Aye, there's a train to Glas
gow at six o'clock — but I'm afraid it went yesterday.
. . . Well, you maight faind a seat on the eight-thirty
express, but it's awful slow. I think you'll faind it
quicker if you walk. Aye, and it's much cheaper. . . .
Well, if you've got to come back, I suggest you don't
go at all — that'll be cheaper still. . . . No, you can't
get your threepence back. You've pressed Button A
and it's a dead loss.
[He replaces the receiver as John descends the stairs. He
passes Bobby without a word, moves to the archway and
exits as Stella hurries down the stairs.]
STELLA (to Bobby, as she passes him} : We're going to
inspect the dustbin.
BOBBY: Have a nice time.
[Stella laughs and exits through the archway, as Pat enters
through the French windows. She is carrying her hook and
wearing her dark glasses.]
Good Lord ! I mean, hullo.
415
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
PAT (stopping) : Hullo.
BOBBY: Who are you?
PAT: I'm one of the daughters here. Are you the
crying crooner ?
BOBBY: That's right. But I don't think I could make
you cry. What's your name ?
PAT: Patricia. Why?
BOBBY: I just wondered what sort of name went
with those trousers.
[Pat crosses to the stairs. Bobby continues:}
Are you Peter's wife ?
PAT: Yes.
BOBBY: I bet you're glad he hasn't got to sit on that
jury any longer.
PAT (turning, at foot of stairs}'. What the hell are you
talking about?
BOBBY: I was only making conversation.
PAT: Listen, you've caused enough trouble in this
house. Why don't you beat it ?
BOBBY (moving to her] : What a pity 1
PAT: What do you mean?
BOBBY; You're so tough — and you could 'be so charm
ing. You look like hell — and you could look so
wonderful. (He moves to the piano, as he continues.}
A pretty girl shouldn't dress like that.
[He switches on the microphone and sits at the piano, as he
continues:]
Don't you want your husband to think
[Bobby sings and plays — without foohng:~\
When my sugar walks down the street
416
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
All the birdies go tweet, tweet, tweet
[Pat turns and starts to ascend the stairs, as Bobby
continues:]
And in the evening when the sun goes down
It's never dark when she's around
[Pat stops on the stairs and, without turning, listens — as
Bobby continues:]
She is affectionate, and I'll say this
When she kisses me, I sure stay kissed.
When my sugar walks down the street
Why all the birdies go tweet, tweet, tweet,
She's such a pretty baby
PAT (interrupting wildly, as she turns} : Oh, shut up !
BOBBY (stopping playing} : What's the matter?
PAT (wildly ', as she descends the stairs and moves to down
centre) : Don't you think I want to behave normally ?
[She flings her book and glasses on to the settee.]
Don't you think I want to look like a woman?
[She pulls off the red ribbon and shakes her hair loose]
I'm sick of this damn way of living ! (Pulling off her
jersey.} And I'm sick of these damn clothes 1
[She flings her jersey aside. She is wearing a brassiere.
Still in the same wild mood, she fumbles angrily with the
side %ip of her trousers as Gwen, in a dressing-gown, appears
at the top of the stairs and Bobby shouts frantically :]
BOBBY (to Pat}: Steady! Steady! That'll do.
o 417
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
GWEN (from the stairs, to Pat] : You wicked devill
PAT (angrily, to Gwen} : Oh, go back to bedl
GWEN (as she descends the stairs, to Pat} : I'll kill you !
I'll kill you in your sleep.
BOBBY (at centre, to Gwen}: What's the matter with
you*
[Given on the verge of tears, moves forward to left centre, ]
GWEN: She was trying to seduce you. (Wildly, to
Pat.} All right! Two can play at that game.
[She wrenches at the cord of her dressing-gown.]
PAT (at right centre}: You crazy little fooll What are
you doing?
[Gwen whips off her dressing gown and flings it on the floor.
She is wearing pyjama trousers and 'jacket \]
GWEN (to Pat}: Now then I It's jour movel
BOBBY (to Gwen} : You know, you need a damn good
spanking! (To Pat.} So do you.
[Bobby picks tip the dressing-gown and throws it to Gwen.]
Put that on at once!
GWEN: Not till she puts her jersey on!
BOBBY (appeahngly, to Pat} : Be a sport.
PAT: I'm not going to be dictated to by a silly kid.
BOBBY (angrily} : You're sisters, aren't you ?
[He moves to Pat, grabs her by the wrist and pulls her
towards Gwen]
Come on! You're going to kiss and be friends.
PAT (struggling to release herself) : Leave me alone I
[Bobby holds her with difficulty as John and Stella enter
through the archway to hear Bobby shouting]
418
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
BOBBY (to Pat}'. Damn it, one little kiss won't hurt
you I
JOHN (livid] : What did you say ?
[Pat wrenches herself free from Bobby and he staggers back,
to near Gwen, who hurriedly puts on her dressing-gown as
Pat picks up her jersey and John moves forward to centre
as Stella moves down nght.~\
(To Bobby.') I'll get you six years for this ! But first
I'm going to thrash the daylights out of you.
[Pat hurriedly puts on her jersey as Gwen moves protectingly
to the front of Bobby.]
GWEN (on the verge of tears, to John} : Oh, no, you're not.
JOHN: Get out of the way!
GWEN (wildly] : I won't I
STELLA: John, there must be some explanation.
PAT (to John}: Gwen and I had been rowing each
other. He was asking me to kiss her.
STELLA (to John): There. You see?
JOHN (to Pat]: Who removed your jersey?
GWEN: She removed it herself. She was trying to
attract him.
PAT : I was not !
GWEN: You were! (To John.} And, as a counter-
measure, I removed my dressing-gown.
JOHN (moving past Pat — to Stella}: Now perhaps
you'll realise the damnable effect these men have on
women ? (Angrily.} I suppose I should feel nattered
that you came home with your hat on.
BOBBY : Er — could I have a little word ?
JOHN (turning}: Not to me! (Moving back to centre.}
I'm going to throw you into the gutter, where you
belong.
419
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
GWEN (desperately} : Daddy, if you touch him, I'll hit
you!
JOHN : What did you say ?
STELLA: John, you're being narrow-minded and
'biased. Personally, I think Bobby's a decent man
and I like him.
GWEN (wildly] : I love him !
[John looks hopefully at Pat.}
PAT (to John}: He made me realise that I've been
dressing like an idiot. I'm grateful to him.
JOHN: I see. (To Stella.} It appears that I'm the only
one with any sense of decency. (Sorry for himself.}
I feel rather in the way. Excuse me. *
[He turns and solemnly ascends the stairs to exit.]
PAT: What's he going to do ?
STELLA: I don't know. (Looking towards the stairs?) I
believe I'm rather worried.
BOBBY: He won't jump from the bathroom window,
will he?
STELLA: I don't think so. He couldn't get through
it.
GWEN: I did.
PAT: You did not!
GWEN : I did ! I landed on the greenhouse, fell to the
ground, and staggered round to the dustbin.
PAT: Ha!
GWEN : I did ! (To Stella?} And if you go out with
Bobby again, I'll jump from the roof. I'll jump from
the roof every day until I'm dead I
BOBBY (to Stella}: I don't think that bromide had
much effect.
GWEN (wildly} : Oh, Bobby 1 I love you so much 1
420
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
BOBBY: Oh, shut up!
STELLA (suddenly) : Ssh !
[ She looks towards the stairs. John enters to descend the
stairs. He is wearing his bowler hat and he carries a suit
case. It has obviously been jammed full of clothing m a
hurry and one pyjama leg hangs out.}
John, dear, are you going somewhere ?
JOHN: I'm leaving.
GWEN (at left centre] \ Oh, Daddy !
JOHN (at centre} : I no longer fit in with the scheme
of things here. I don't feel bitter — just a little heart
broken, that's all. Do you happen to know where my
umbrella is ?
BOBBY (at left}'. He's going to Manchester.
[Stella tries to control her laughter. John stares at her
with amazement.]
JOHN: Is nothing sacred to you ? I may never see you
again. Is there anything particularly funny about
that?
STELLA (at right centre] : No, dear, of course not. It's
just that (pointing to his suitcase) your pyjamas are
hanging out.
JOHN (having glanced at his suitcase] : Ah, yes. I under
stand. My tragedy has been robbed of dignity.
[He looks from Stella to Pat and Gwen, then back to
Stella.]
Well, goodbye.
GWEN: Daddy! You can't leave us. What will we
do?
JOHN: Oh, I'll make all necessary arrangements.
I'll still look after you.
[Bobby quietly moves to the piano as Pat says:]
421
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
PAT (to John} : Damn it, this is your home !
JOHN (bitterly) : I have no home.
[Bobby switches on his microphone and sits at the piano,
as Stella replies:}
STELLA (to John}: I never thought you would desert
your family.
JOHN (bitterly) : I have no family !
[Bobby sings and plays.'}
BOBBY: Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'.
On this our wedding day. . . .
[John freezes. Stella tries hard not to laugh. Patricia
claps a hand to her mouth and shakes with suppressed
laughter. Gn>en bites her lip to stop crying, and sinks into
the chair, left centre. Bobby smilingly continues singing\
Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'.
Wait! Wait along!
[John suspiciously glances from Stella to Pat to Gwen —
and again at Stella. Then he half turns towards Bobby, who
has continued:}
I do not know what fate awaits me
I only know I must be brave.
[John carelessly shrugs his shoulders and moves to near
Bobby — as much as to say " I can take it" Bobby smilingly
continues:}
For I must face a man who hates me,
[John again shrugs his shoulders and carelessly meanders to
the archway, as Bobby continues:}
42,2
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Or lie a coward — a craven coward
[John stands still in the archway, -with his back to his family.
Bobby continues:]
Or lie a coward in my grave 1
[John suddenly drops his suitcase, grabs his handkerchief
and bursts out sobbing as he turns and totters to Stella
to be enfolded in her arms, as Given sobs out loud and Pat
flops on to the settee to hide her laughter in a cushion, as:
The curtain falls]
«/ J
Scene 2
Scene: The same. About two hours later.
John's suitcase has been removed. The French windows are
closed, the curtains are open. Outside lighting is dusk. The
lounge hghts are on.
As the curtain nses, John's voice is heard from upstairs.
JOHN (off-stage, angrily): There's no need for you to
go at all!
STELLA (off-stage): I've got to look after Gwen,
haven't I?
JOHN (off-stage, angrily): Then keep her away from
Denver !
STELLA (off-stage}: Oh, John! Don't you under
stand ? Tonight she says goodbye to Bobby for ever.
423
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
JOHN (off-stage, angrily)'. All right!
[A door upstairs is slammed — and John enters, to descend
the stairs. He is dressed as before. He is in a violent
temper. He descends two or three stairs then turns as he
shouts towards upstairs.'}
But I warn you, Stella — if you do go, you'll find me a
very different man when you return !
[The telephone rings. John descends the rest of the stairs,
moves forward, grabs the receiver and growls:}
Hullo? . . . (Angrily.) No, it is not! This is the
Beachy Head Lighthouse 1
[He slams back the receiver as Linda enters.}
LINDA (nervously)'. If you please, sir, there's a Mr.
Michael Kenley to see you.
JOHN: Tell him to go to the devil!
LINDA (towards the passage) : Will you come this way,
please ?
[Michael Kenley enters and Linda hurries away. Michael
is about twenty, good looking, manly, and not particularly
well dressed. He carries his hat and a newspaper.}
MICHAEL (smiling) : Good evening, sir.
JOHN: What the hell do you want?
[Michael laughs.}
MICHAEL (briskly)'. I'm from the Daily Record, sir.
We wondered if you would be good enough to
advise us if there was any particular reason for Bobby
424
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Denver calling here twice today. We've had quite a
number of phone calls about it — and we thought you
might be able to give us some small piece of informa
tion that might be of interest to the general public.
JOHN: I loathe the general public — almost as much
as I loathe people who force their way into my house
to pick up bits of scandal.
MICHAEL (brightly}: Scandal, sir? Ah! Now we're
talking.
JOHN (really curious} : Have you no shame ?
[Michael laughs.']
MICHAEL: I was assigned to this job. I didn't choose
it. Actually, I was on my way to attend a conference
covering the recent statements of Italian scientists
that there is life on other planets.
JOHN : Well, why didn't you go to it ?
MICHAEL: The editor said Bobby Denver was more
important.
JOHN (piteously as he holds his head}: Please go away!
I feel desperately ill.
[Pat enters to descend the stairs, as she says:]
PAT (to John} : Why don't you go to bed ?
MICHAEL (as he looks at Pat} : Oh, gosh!
[Pat is wearing a low-cut evening dress, with semi-crinoline
to the floor — and she looks very beautiful and very feminine.
She carries a small fur cape.]
JOHN (smiling}: Ah! Now that is my daughter.
PAT (as she leaves the stairs} : Thank you, Daddy.
JOHN: My dear, you look lovely. And the dress of
course — I've never seen anything like it.
425
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
PAT: Yes, you have. Stella's been wearing it for over
a year. (Having noticed Michael.} Who's this ?
JOHN (irritably) : Nobody.
[Pat immediately moves to shake hands with Michael.}
PAT: How do you do ?
MICHAEL (smilingly}: Hullo.
JOHN (to Pat} : Are jw going to this damn television
thing?
PAT: No. I'm going to Clandges. I'm meeting an
elderly Guards officer who's the biggest snob in
London. He'll probably make me sit at a separate
table — but I'm going to enjoy every dull English
moment of it.
[Michael laughs.]
JOHN : But what about your husband ? He'll be here
within half an hour.
PAT: That's why I'm going to Claridges.
JOHN: Pat, don't be so stupid.
PAT: Oh, father! Do mind your own business.
JOHN: What?
PAT (to Michael as she moves to the archway}'. You
wouldn't get me a taxi, would you ?
MICHAEL: You bet I would 1
PAT (with a smile) : Thank you.
[She exits through the archway.]
MICHAEL (to John} : Excuse me, sir ? I'll be right back.
[He hurries away through the archway as John shouts after
him:]
JOHN: No, you damn well won't! If you ever look
in here again, I'll break your neck!
426
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
\Gwen, in evening dress, has entered to descend the stairs as
she says:]
GWEN (anxiously, to John) : Was that Bobby ?
JOHN: No — but the same goes for him.
GWEN (as she leaves the stairs} : Where's Pat ?
JOHN: She's gone to Claridges.
GWEN (wildly}: I don't believe it! Oh, damn and
blast her, she's double crossing again!
JOHN (angrily} : If you use that language in front of
me, I'll
GWEN: I'm sorry, Daddy — but she's after Bobby. I
know she is 1
JOHN: Well, I hope she gets him.
GWEN: But she's married!
JOHN: So is he! And it's about time you realised it.
GWEN: I've been realising it all day. I'm not going
to see him again after this evening.
JOHN : Where are you meeting him ?
GWEN: He's calling for me here.
JOHN: Gwen, you're only a baby. Do you really
want to flaunt yourself in front of all those people —
with a married man of thirty-seven ?
GWEN : I'm going to listen to him singing — and have
a little supper with him, that's all. And — we're
going to have a chaperon. Stella's coming, too.
JOHN: That's what's worrying me!
[Linda enters through the archway.}
LINDA: If you please, sir — Mr. Peter Pember.
JOHN (holding his forehead} : Oh, my God.
[Pefer Pember enters through the archway. He is a well-
built fellow, about twenty-two. Crew-cut hair, and a
heard of about a fortnight' 's growth. He is wearing clumsy
427
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
yellow brogues, red socks and pah blue shorts: a brown
sweater with a rolled neck, a mustard jacket, and a white
beret. He carries a battered old suitcase, tied round with
string — and a large paper parcel. He enters a step or two,
then stands still and smiles sardonically at John.]
PETER: Hullo, father.
[Linda claps a hand to her mouth and hurriedly exits as
John winces and closes his eyes.]
GWEN: Oh, no! (To Peter.} You're not really Pat's
husband, are you?
PETER: I hope so. I've been taking some awful
liberties, if I'm not. Are you her sister ?
GWEN (aggressively): Yes.
PETER: I don't think we're going to like each other.
GWEN: I know we're not!
JOHN (to Peter) : Take that bonnet off!
PETER: What do I do with my luggage?
JOHN : Well, if it belonged to me, I'd throw it away.
PETER: Jolly good idea.
[He throws the suitcase and parcel on to the floor near right
end of settee and, without removing his beret, moves to
centre as he produces a German-type pipe from his pocket '.]
(Brightly.} Where's my woman ?
JOHN: Your^Az/?
PETER: My little one, my loved one, my rose of
Sharon, my wife.
JOHN: She's out.
PETER (at centre) : Remind me to be annoyed with her.
[He fills his pipe with loose tobacco from his pocket as he
glances round the room]
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Well, well 1 So this is my new home. It simply reeks
of Suburbia. But it has its memories. (Smilingly., to
John.} Months ago I used to wait for you to go to
bed, then creep in here and do my courting. (Looking
right centre?) Oh, how I remember that settee 1
JOHN (at left of Peter] : I don't like your conversation,
sir.
PETER (producing a match from his pocket}: It isn't
conversation, it's just idle chatter. I'm never very
witty when I first meet people. I find it gives them
an inferiority complex.
[He strikes the match on the seat of his shorts and lights
his pipe .]
GWEN (at left}: Oh, Daddy! He's ghastly!
JOHN (to Peter} : Have you booked yourself in at a
hotel anywhere ?
PETER (in between puffs} '• No, dear boy, I'm staying
here. Where my wife is, there am I — and let no man
put asunder.
[He shakes the match out and throws it over his shoulder.]
JOHN: Pember, I dislike you intensely!
[Genuinely surprised, Peter looks at John and, at the same
moment, exhales a mouthful of pipe smoke full into John's
face. John chokes and coughs — then continues :\
If it hadn't been for the fact that you smashed up
that Club in defence of the British Empire
PETER (interrupting}-. What are you talking about?
I don't like the British Empire.
JOHN (immediately, to Given} : Fetch your mother 1
\Gwen turns and hurries up the stairs to exrf, as Peter says:]
429
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
PETER (as he steps on to the settee} : She won't throw me
out. She simply adores me.
JOHN (Imd, as he moves to the settee} : Now listen to me,
Pember
PETER (as he relaxes full length on the settee): I'd love
you to call me Peter.
JOHN: I'll call you a lot of things before I'm through
with you. Take your feet off that settee — and put that
filthy pipe out I
PETER: Yes, I must admit it is rather offensive. It
was given to me by a Swedish naturalist. A most
charming fellow — I shared his cell. He'd been
sentenced to six months for sitting his wife on a
Primus stove — and he found the smell of this pipe
just too nostalgic. (As he takes them off.) Do you
mind if I remove my brogues ? I haven't had them
off since last Friday.
JOHN: Pember! I'm going to have you certified.
[He moves away to left. As Peter puts his brogues on the
carpet against the right end of the settee he says:}
PETER: My dear fellow, in this mad world, it would
be a certification of sanity.
[Stella enters to descend the stairs— in evening dress.}
STELLA: Peter! How lovely to see you again 1
PETER (rising and stepping over the settee): Ah, Stella I
Charmante! Comment ca va?
STELLA: Tres bien, merci.
PETER (as he takes her hand): Est-ce que je peut vous
embrasser?
STELLA: Mais certainementl
[Peter kisses Stella on each cheek.}
430
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
(Laughingly.} Oh, dear! You're quite Parisian, aren't
you?
PETER: No, but I've picked up a lot of habits from
the Enghsb in Paris.
STELLA (laughing and turning to John] : John, dear, this
is our son-in-law. Isn't he exciting ? (To Peter.} My
husband's always very shy when he first meets people.
You'll like him when you get to know him better.
PETER: I hope so. I must confess that up to now
I've found him bitterly disappointing.
[He moves to flop on the settee.]
STELLA (laughing, to John} : He's so witty. You mustn't
be offended. He only says what he thinks. (To Peter.}
I'm afraid Pat had to go out.
PETER: So I understand. But why are you afraid?
STELLA (laughingly) : Why have you taken your shoes
off?
PETER: I'm giving them a breather. Do you like
my socks ? I knitted them myself.
STELLA : John — his socks !
JOHN: I've seen them 1
STELLA (laughingly): Have you had anything to eat'
PETER : I'm still full of black bread from the prison.
STELLA: Well, you make yourself comfortable and
I'll get you a nice big whiskey.
JOHN (at left centre} : Oh, no, you won't!
STELLA (at centre) : What do you mean ?
JOHN (with ominous restraint — a s he moves to her} : Stella,
you and I — in our different ways — have more or less
enjoyed an association of some fourteen years.
During that long time, I have given way to you on
almost every conceivable occasion. But today, over
the question of Bobby Denver, we have practically
reached the point of separation. And if—to that
43 J
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
crisis — you add the insult of allowing this indecent
pathological specimen to stay in my house, then I
most solemnly warn you, I shall not be responsible
for my actions !
PETER: Very good!
JOHN (continuing steadily, to Stella): Don't be misled
because I happen to be speaking quietly. Inside me,
there is a seething beyond your understanding. I
hear strange voices telling me to do things. There is
a peculiar ringing in my ears
[Urgent ringing at the front door be//.]
PETER (wiggling a finger in his ear) : I've got that.
\Gwen, still in evening dress, and carrying a small fur cape,
comes hurrying down the stairs to make for the archway '.]
STELLA (to Given) : Where are you going ?
GWEN (excitedly): It's Bobby!
[She hurriedly exits through the archway.'}
STELLA: Oh, John, it's Bobby!
JOHN (mockingly as he moves to side of piano] : Ow, it's
Bobby!
PETER: Who's Bobby?
STELLA: Bobby Denver, the crying crooner. Gwen's
crazy about him. (In a whisper, having glanced at John.}
But he's thirty-seven and she's only sixteen.
PETER: Good Lord, that's nothing. I know an old
farmer in the Pyrenees who married a girl of thirteen.
He's eighty-seven. They both play with the same toys.
[Bobby and Given enter together through the archway. She
is holding his arm. Bobby is in full evening dress. There is
no sign of any mauling from the fans. ~\
432
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
STELLA: Hullo, Bobby 1
BOBBY: Hullo, darling!
JOHN (angrily}: You will not address my wife like
that! I'm sick of your " darlings " to each other!
BOBBY: It's only a theatrical expression.
GWEN : It doesn't mean anything, Daddy.
JOHN: Get away from him! (Pointing to left.} Sit
down there — go on!
\Gwen crosses and sits left as Bobby says:]
BOBBY (to Stella] : Quite a crowd outside — but look !
No braces missing, no buttons ripped off. D'you
think I'm slipping ?
STELLA (at right centre} : Perhaps they didn't recognise
you in the dark.
BOBBY: Well, that's insulting. (Keacttng suddenly and
pointing as he notices Peter.} Who's this ^
STELLA: Er — Peter P ember, my son-in-law.
BOBBY (crossing to Peter) : How are you ?
PETER: Why do you ask? You're not interested in
my health.
STELLA : He's an Existentialist.
BOBBY: Oh, I see — wearing the national costume.
GWEN: Don't speak to him, Bobby. He's horrible.
STELLA: Gwen!
[Peter takes Bobby's right sleeve and pulls him on to the
settee, as he sajs:~\
PETER: As a matter of fact, Denver, we have quite a
lot in common.
BOBBY: Really?
PETER: Oh, yes. The morbid depression of your
singing and utter hopelessness of my philosophy
form quite a strong link between us.
[Bobby rises and looks at Stella.}
433
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
BOBBY: I don't think I like him. (Crossing Stella.}
Dojou like him, Bentley ?
JOHN: God forgive me, the appalling comparison
has almost made me like you.
STELLA (as she makes for the stairs} : Come along, Peter.
I'm sure you want to have a wash or something.
[Peter picks up bis suitcase — not the parcel — and follows
Stella^
PETER: Am I sleeping with my wife?
STELLA (as she ascends the stairs'): No. I'm afraid
you'll have to have the Little room next to my
husband tonight.
JOHN: No, by heaven, he won't I
[John makes for the stairs. Finding Bobby in his way he
shoves him to one side, as Stella exits and Peter follows.
John frantically ascends the stairs as he shouts :]
Stella! I've warned you. If he stays here, I'll cut his
bloody throat. Stella I
[He exits as Bobby laughs.]
BOBBY: You know, I believe your father's beginning
to enjoy himself.
[He stops, immediately apprehensive, as he notes the depth
of feeling behind Gwen's steady ga^e.]
GWEN (quietly} : Hullo, my darling.
BOBBY (nervously) : Gwen, you've got to be good.
GWEN (quietly) : This is the first time, in the whole of
our lives, that we've ever been left alone together.
BOBBY (calling towards the stairs') : Stella !
GWEN: Oh, no I
434
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
BOBBY: Are you going to behave yourself?
GWEN : I promise. (Crossing to the settee,} But please
sit down — just for a moment.
BOBBY (looking at bis wrist watch} : We've got to get to
the studio.
GWEN (appealing^}: Just until Stella's ready.
BOBBY: All right — but you stay where you are.
[He sits in the chair left centre. Given smiles and sits on the
settee. A. pause. They look at each other. Given smiles and
Bobby immediately looks away.]
(Briskly} Tell me, how are you getting on at school ?
GWEN: I've left school. Father's having me trained
to be a secretary. I hate it! I want to be a writer.
I want to write like Dostoevsky. (Suddenly.} But I'd
be jour secretary. (Rising and moving to near him.} Oh,
Bobby, that would be a wonderful idea.
BOBBY : Forget it.
GWEN : Why did your wife leave you ?
BOBBY: She made a hit on Broadway when I was still
on the beach at Blackpool — few marriages could
stand up to that.
GWEN : Where is she now ?
BOBBY : In America.
GWEN : Do you still love her ?
BOBBY: Yes.
GWEN: I hate her!
BOBBY: What an extraordinary child you are. Full
of wild emotions. I suppose it's adolescence or
something.
GWEN: Life itself is adolescent. In the great scheme
of things, this old world of ours is very young.
BOBBY: Is that a quotation?
GWEN: Oh, no. I never express myself through the
minds of other people. I'd rather kill myself.
435
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
BOBBY: There you gol Jumping out of the window
again. Of did you jump ?
\Gwen ignores the question as she impulsively moves forward
to kneel beside him.]
GWEN: Bobby! After the television, let's give Stella
the slip. Let's have our little supper alone together.
BOBBY: No darn fear! (Rising and crossing to right.}
Stella comes with us and Stella stays with us. And,
after tonight, we don't meet again. That was what
we arranged and you swore on your oath you'd keep
to it.
GWEN (rising} \ Would you like a whiskey ?
BOBBY (after a moment's pause] : Have you ever heard
of David Garnck ?
GWEN: No.
BOBBY: Then I'd like a large one.
GWEN: Oh, yes! I'll get it for you.
[She hurries to pour a large whiskey as Bobby sits on the
settee.]
BOBBY: Nothing with it. I like it good and straight.
I didn't have any for breakfast this morning and I'm
rather missing it.
[Given hurries to him with a glass full of neat whiskey.]
GWEN: There you are, my darling.
[Bobby stares at the enormous drink, then takes the glass.]
BOBBY: Thanks.
[He looks at the whiskey — smiles feebly at Gwen — again
looks fearfully at the whiskey — unobtrusively crosses a
couple of fingers., and drains the glass. His eyes bulge, his
436
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
legs cross — and he is only just able to hold out the glass and
gasp:]
May I have another ?
GWEN (excitedly, as she takes the glass} : Oh, please do !
[ She hurries to the radiogram and switches it on, then hurries
to pour another treble as — unseen by her — Bobby leans
sideways with his hand on his stomach, and his face con
torted. Suddenly., lobby's face brightens. He is looking
down at Jeter's big brogues. He half looks towards Gwen,
then again at the brogues — and he sits up straight and smiles:
as Gwen comes back to him with the refilled glass :]
Are you sure you wouldn't like some soda water
with it?
BOBBY (happily, as he takes the glass}: Quite sure,
thanks.
GWEN (happily] : I'll get you a cigarette.
[She turns and makes for the cigarette-box on the piano,
and Bobby — having glanced towards Gwen — quickly pours
the whiskey into one of the brogues. He immediately tilts
the empty glass to his lips as Gwen returns with the
ctgarette-box — and quiet sentimental music comes from the
radiogram^
(Holding out the box.} Help yourself.
BOBBY (holding up his glass} : I'd rather have another
whiskey.
GWEN (taking the glass} : Oh, good !
[She hurries to pour jet another whiskey and Bobby bos
another peep at the brogues before continuing^
BOBBY (happilj}: I'm afraid drinking is rather a
437
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
strong weakness of mine. The doctor's trying to
limit me to two bottles a day.
[Given arrives with the whiskey. She has half filled the
glass. Bobby reacts.]
Good heavens ! (Hurriedly, as he takes the glass.} I
mean good health!
GWEN: Good health 1
[She replaces the box on the piano and hurries to the foot
of the statrs to look upwards and listen as Bobby — having
glanced towards her — hurriedly pours the whiskey into the
other brogue ', as he replies :]
BOBBY: Hurray.
[Gwen turns from the stairs as Bobby, with tilted glass,
appears to be draining the dregs. She moves forward.}
GWEN (as she ga^es at him} : Oh, you don't know how
I admire you.
BOBBY: What?
GWEN: For a man of your age to be able to drink
nearly a pint of neat whiskey in less than five minutes.
I think it's wonderful !
BOBBY (hopelessly}: You mean you're not disgusted?
GWEN : Of course not !
BOBBY: So much for David Garrick!
GWEN (sitting at his left} : Why are you so cold and
indifferent? I thought the whiskey would warm
your heart.
BOBBY: Was that why you asked me to have a drink ?
GWEN: Yes.
BOBBY: Of course, I just don't know what to do
about you.
438
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
GWEN (on the verge of tears) : I'm in love !
BOBBY (rising): Oh, don't talk nonsense! (As he
bangs his glass down on the settee table.} Honestly,
Gwen, I'm fed up with it.
[He moves to the French windows and suddenly daps his
hands to his eyes,, as he exclaims v]
Aaaah!
GWEN : What's the matter ?
BOBBY (fearfully, as he slowly lowers his hands'] : I've just
seen the new moon through glass !
GWEN : Don't be so old-fashioned.
BOBBY: Everything will go wrong with me now. I'm
doomed !
GWEN (rising and making for the French windows] : Well,
I'm going to be doomed with you.
BOBBY (intercepting her): Nol Let me open the
windows first.
[He hurriedly opens the windows. Gwen moves to them.]
GWEN: Where is it?
BOBBY (pointing) : There — just above the trees. Wish
for something nice and ask it to let me off.
GWEN (looking out to the night]: Oh moon, serenely
shining, don't be unkind to Bobby. Turn his thoughts
from primitive superstitions and bring me closer to
the man who is my love. (Suddenly as she steps back.)
Oh!
[Michael enters through the French windows.}
MICHAEL (to Gwen) : I'm sorry. I know I'm snooping
— but please let me in on this. (To Bobby.) A little
romance — yes ?
439
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
BOBBY: Who are you?
MICHAEL: I'm afraid I'm from the Daily Record.
BOBBY: Well, what you heard just now is off the
record.
MICHAEL : Okay, Bobby, if that's how you want it,
but it would mean a lot if you could give me some
sort of angle.
BOBBY: Nothing doing. You report one word of
gossip and I'll get you the sack.
[Michael laughs.}
What's your name ?
MICHAEL (briskly} : Michael — Michael Kenley. Twenty-
five years old. Born in Dublin. No parents. No
money.
GWEN: A press reporter?
MICHAEL: Yes — but it won't last. I get kicked out
of everything. (To Bobby.} And I've just about tried
everything. I've washed up at Lyons, swept round
at Selfridges, and last December I was Father
Christmas at Gamages. (He laughs out loud.}
BOBBY: How do you manage to keep laughing?
MICHAEL: It started when I was Father Christmas
and I can't get out of the habit.
BOBBY: Are you married ?
MICHAEL (laughingly}: Good Lord, no. Women
don't take me seriously.
BOBBY: Perhaps you don't know when not to laugh.
MICHAEL (laughingly) : Yes, I expect that's it.
BOBBY (to Gwen} : I like him.
GWEN: I don't.
[Michael laughs.}
BOBBY (to Michael}: Look in at Lime Grove Studio
440
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
this evening — about an hour's time — ask for me.
I've got a television show
MICHAEL : Thanks a lot.
GWEN: Oh, no!
BOBBY: Damn it, the poor devil's got to live. I
only want him to report on my new song.
MICHAEL: I heard all the others. I thought they were
lousy.
[He laughs out loud as Bobby reacts — and John's voice is
heard from upstairs.]
JOHN (off-stage}: Well, let him get pneumonia! It'll
do him good. If he wears my overcoat, Fm through.
Lock, stock and barrel, I've finished with the whole
damn thing !
[A door is heard to slam. Given turns off the radiogram
as John, completely out of control, hurriedly descends the
stairs.]
GWEN: What's wrong, Daddy?
JOHN (as he makes for the telephone} : Don't speak to me.
(As he lifts the receiver and dials.} I don't want anybody
to speak to me '
BOBBY: It's going to be a very one-sided phone
conversation.
JOHN (glaring at Bobby) : You mind your own damn
business! (As he sees Michael} And what the devil
are you doing here ? Get out !
MICHAEL : Okay, sir. (Laughing out loud as he turns to
the windows.} Here I go again! I'll be seeing you,
Bobby.
[He exits through the French windows, as John says:}
JOHN (at the phone} : Hullo ? . . . This is Mr. John
Bentley. I want to speak to Mr. Schneider.
441
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
BOBBY: Ah I Der Wasser Behalter mit de pull sing!
JOHN (at the phone] : Well, tell him to phone me. It's
urgent.
[He slams down the receiver as Bobby says:]
BOBBY: Is there anything I can do, sir?
JOHN: Yes — you can go to hell!
[He sits left centre and sinks his face into his hands as
Stella, now wearing a fur cape with her evening dress,
descends the stairs followed by Peter. He is still wearing
his white beret and a black evening dress overcoat, borrowed
from John's wardrobe, and is still wearing socks without
shoes.]
STELLA (as she descends}'. Bobby, you don't mind if
Peter comes with us, do you ?
GWEN: Oh, no!
BOBBY: I don't think they'll let him in.
STELLA: He can sit with me. The only trouble is I
can't find any shoes to fit him. (To Peter.} You'll
have to wear your brogues.
[Bobby laughs out loud.]
PETER (smilingly to Bobby as he makes for the settee} : I'll
be the noisiest audience you've ever had.
BOBBY (laughing out loud] : I bet you stamp your feet.
[He still laughs as Peter puts one brogue on, as Gwen sajs:]
GWEN (ahnost in tears, to Stella) : This is the meanest
thing you've ever done to me!
STELLA: Don't be selfish, Gwen. I can't leave him
with your father.
GWEN (tearfully as she leaves'}'. Come on, Bobby!
[She exits through the archway.}
442
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
STELLA (turning^'. John, dear, do be sensible.
GWEN (shouting angrily from off-stage): Bobby!
BOBBY: Oh, all right!
STELLA: Are you ready, Peter?
[Peter stands with one foot half raised — and Bobby rocks
with laughter.}
PETER : Yes, but (as he looks at the floor round about him)
I seem to be standing in something wet!
BOBBY (speaking with difficulty)-. You're over-excited!
\Kocking with laughter, Bobby exits through the archway,
as Peter moves to follow him, still holding the other brogue
in his band.~\
PETER (loudly and suspiciously, as he follows Bobby} : Have
you been putting anything in my brogues ?
[He exits through the archway, as Stella moves to near her
husband.}
STELLA: John — can't you understand? This is
Gwen's goodbye to Bobby. It's a farewell to her first
romance.
JOHN (hoarsely, with a wild dramatic gesture} : Go away !
STELLA: Oh, very well.
[She moves to up-stage centre, then stops and looks back at
John.]
But, remember what Shakespeare said.
[She remembers playing Juliet, and she faces the audience,
as she continues:]
" Good night, good night, parting is such sweet
sorrow,
That we must say good night, 'til it be "
443
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
[Peter suddenly reappears in the archway, as he says loudly
and petulantly:]
PETER (to Stella) : Oh, come on, mother !
[He exits as Stella freezes. Completely deflated, there is
nothing for her to do but close her eyes and extt after Peter,
m science. The telephone rings. John comes to hfe, springs
to his feet, and moves up-stage to grab the receiver.]
JOHN: Hullo? . . . Yes. Is that you, Schneider?
. . . Good! Now listen! (Slowly and emphatically.}
What exactly did you mean when you suggested my
bringing a strange woman here? . . . (Loudly?)
Well, fnd one for me ! (Loudly and desperately '.) Yes —
as soon as possible !
The curtain falls
444
ACT THREE
Scene i
Scene: The same. About three hours later. Night.
The windows are closed. The curtains have been half drawn
to. The lights are on. The km armchair, from left centre.,
has been moved into and against the " waist " of the piano.
Left centre there is a " waiter " carrying a couple of opened
champagne bottles and an empty glass. A.t right of the
" waiter " is a small chair. There are tivo or three empty
glasses on the down-stage end of the piano. On the long
table behind the settee are two opened champagne bottles,
a half -full bottle of brandy, and several glasses. Peter's
brown paper parcel is on the right end of the drinks table.
Before the cur tarn rises the radiogram can be beard playing,
and voices singing the end of one of the verses of a record
of " Down Yonder,"
John is sitting left end of the settee. He is wearing Peter's
white beret, a dressing-gown, and a flowery scarf. His arm
is round Pearl's waist. Her head is on his shoulder. He
holds an empty glass. Pearl is about twenty-four, a platinum
blonde, and quite beautiful. She wears a sleek black evening
frock, with a slim wrapped coat of claret velvet, and rhine-
stone earrings. Schneider is sitting in the chair right of the
" waiter." He wears a shabby dinner jacket — he's smoking
a cigar and holding a glass of whiskey. Peter, still in the
blue shorts, etc., is sitting on the piano, ivith his feet on the
back of the small armchair. He is clumsily trying to knit a
fantastically coloured scarf. John, Peter and Schneider
slightly advertise the fact that they have had more than
enough to drink. Pearl is cold sober, but the adverb is
metaphorical.
The singing has reached the chorus as the curtain rises.
445
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
JOHN: 1 . ^ . ^ ^
SCHNEIDER:^ fJ f Down yonder!
m^ J
PETER :
PEARL: Someone beckons to me
JOHN: ~]
SCHNEIDER: >• (at the top of their \ _
PETER: J vows) | Down yonder!
PEARL: Someone reckons on me.
I seem to see a race in memory
Between the Natche2 and the Robert E. Lee.
Swanee shore, I miss you more and more
Every day; my Mammy land, you're simply grand.
JOHN: \ (at the top of their ~\ _. , ,
SCHNEIDER: >^ f J ^ Down yonder!
votces) f '
PETER: J ' ->
PEARL: When the folk get the news
Don't wonder at the hullabaloos,
There's Daddy and Manny, there's Ephraim and
Sammy
I (at the top of their ~\ Waitin' down
PETER: J volce^ f y°nder for mel
\The radiogram checks off, as Schneider and Peter shout
together:}
SCHNEIDER (raising his glass, to Pearl) : Bravo !
PETER (at the top of his voice} : Bentley for Chairman!
JOHN (as he moves the microphone to centre} : I am now
going to sing a little song, all by myself.
PETER (getting down from the piano] : Oh, no, you're
not!
JOHN: Oh, yes, lam! If Bobby Denver can croon —
anybody can croon.
SCHNEIDER (rising and moving to sit at piano} : I vill
play for you — vot is it to be ?
446
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
JOHN: Something my office boy has been singing for
the past six months — and has it made me cry!
PETER (crossing behind John to sit on left end of settee) :
Hit it, Hermann!
[John switches on the microphone. Schneider plays and John
sings " Cry " — in serious burlesque — directly to audience.}
JOHN: When your sweetheart sends a letter of good-
It's no secret you'll feel better if you cryyyyyyyyy
When waking from a bad dream don't you sometimes
think it's real
But it's only false emotion that you feel.
If your heartaches seem to hang around too
And your blues keep getting bluer with each
songgggggggg
Remember sunshine can be found behind a cloudy
sky
So let your hair down and go right on baby
And Cryyyyyyyyy!
[Reprise in a higher key ', from " If your heartaches" A.t
conclusion, Peter, Schneider and Pearl applaud and cheer —
and Peter takes the microphone back to near the piano
keyboard, clearing the flex as he does so, as Pear! says:}
PEARL (to John} : Darling, you sing like a nightingale.
JOHN (mopping his forehead} : Thank you, darling.
PEARL: I can sing too.
JOHN: Really? Who taught you ?
SCHNEIDER (proudlj}: I did. She occupies a little
fiat next to my own. Each night, I give 'er a lesson
qvite free.
PETER (to Schneider} : Well, I think you should pay.
447
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
JOHN (at left end of settee, to 'Pearl'] : What is your name
again, darling ?
PEARL: Pearl.
JOHN : Charming. And is Schneider your oyster ?
PEARL: I don't know what you mean. (Raiding out
her arms.} Give me a little kiss.
JOHN (indicating Peter and Schneider} : Not in front of
the children.
SCHNEIDER (laughingly} : Ve can go into ze garden.
PETER (continuing bis knitting, m front of right end of
settee)\ Not for me. I enjoy nothing more than
watching an elderly man make a clot of himself.
PEARL (to John} : Why don't you throw him out ?
JOHN: Because I don't want anybody to know he's
been here. (Crossing to Peter.} But later, I shall find
myself a pair of scissors and remove his whiskers !
PETER (grinning., as he continues to knit} : You resent my
beard, don't you ? It's a threat to the common level
of your green meadow gregariousness. You ridicule
it because it offends your bovine mediocrity.
JOHN: Peter, darling, you slay me.
\With a little dance step, John moves up to the drinks table
to refill 'his glass :]
SCHNEIDER (to Peter} : Vy don't you be'ave yourself?
You 'ave already been kicked out from television.
If you are not careful, ze same sing vill 'appen here.
PETER: Oh, no. Be it ever so humble, this is my
home — and an Englishman's home is his schlosh.
PEARL: There's no need to use disgusting words.
Can't you talk seriously for a change ?
PETER: But of course.
[Pefer sits on the settee, at Pearl's right, and leans his
head on Pearl's shoulder., as he continues:]
448
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
(Over-senously.} Tell me, my darling, what do you
think of the hereafter ?
SCHNEIDER: Ah, no! No politics!
[John drains his refilled glass, and fills it again, as Petet
says:]
PETER (resignedly, as be rises); Oh, very well. I shall
go into the kitchen and make a pass at Linda,
SCHNEIDER (irritably): She is preparing sandwiches.
PETER (making for the archway}: Good! I can take
her unawares. (Turning, as he smiles wickedly.} If you
hear anybody screaming, it'll be ?ne.
[Peter exits, with his knitting, as Schneider says:}
SCHNEIDER (following Peter} : Damn lunatic ! Vy don't
you mind your own business !
[Schneider exits through the archway.]
PEARL (sweetly} : Mr. Bentley.
JOHN {putting down his glass} : What is it, darling ?
PEARL: This isn't quite the set-up I expected.
JOHN {moving to settee} : How do you mean ?
PEARL: Well, you're not very interested in me, are
you ? After all, I consider myself fakly attractive —
and I'm not used to spending platonic evenings with
strange men. I think you've been most insulting.
JOHN : Didn't Schneider explain that I had no require
ments ?
PEARL: Yes— but can't you change your mind?
JOHN (sitting at Pearl's left}: My dear girl, we're
discussing a standard of behaviour. We're not
backing horses.
PEARL (petulantly}: You got me here under false
pretences.
449
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
JOHN: I did nothing of the sort. It was a non-
biological business arrangement which you under
stood perfectly well. Our relationship is no more
than that of a managing director and his private
secretary.
PEARL: Oh, sir! (Jumping on to his lap.} Just one little
kiss!
JOHN (putting her back on to the settee] : Absolutely, no.
PEARL (petulantly) : Don't you ever want to kiss your
real secretary ?
JOHN : Not with any overpowering inclination. He's
a middle-aged Scotsman with five children.
PEARL (laughingly, as she puts her arms round him) : Now
you're being silly.
JOHN (removing her arms}: Pearl, darling, please
remember — you're Schneider's trophy, not mine.
[John rises and moves to centre.}
PEARL: All right, Mr. Bentley — I shall want another
ten pounds for wasting my time like this. If you
don't give it to me, I shall make things difficult for
you.
JOHN: How?
PEARL (rising and moving to him} : I shall tell your wife
there has been nothing between us.
JOHN (aghast} : You wouldn't do that ?
PEARL (putting her arms round his shoulders) : Oh, yes,
I would.
[Schneider enters through archway.]
SCHNEIDER (continuing down left centre} : Ah-ha 1
JOHN (to Schneider] : Listen! Have you been teaching
her the psychological approach to business ?
SCHNEIDER : Only 2e first lesson.
JOHN: Well, cut it out. She's matriculated.
450
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
[Pear! sits on left arm of settee, as Peter hurries in through
the archway and shouts:}
PETER : Where's my parcel ? (As he sees it and takes it
up.} Ah!
JOHN : What have you got there ?
PETER (clutching the parcel to his chest} : The preliminary
model of my masterpiece in sculpture !
JOHN : I thought you were a playwright.
PETER: Damn it, can't I have a hobby? I'm going
to give it to Linda. I find her completely unrespon
sive. It will awaken her to the naked facts of life !
JOHN (grabbing the parcel from Peter} : Give me that!
[Schneider hurriedly moves the bottles from the " waiter "
to the dnnks table, and John puts the parcel on the " waiter "
and rips off the string.}
PETER : Well, be careful !
[John throws aside the brown paper, and holds up a shapeless
lump of " clay " (plasticine] about the si%e of a football
It has a large hole through its middle.}
JOHN: What the hell is it?
PETER: It's a horse.
{John looks at Peter, then drops the " clay " on to the
" waiter " and stares at it.}
JOHN (to Peter}: Which part of the horse?
PETER (holding his forehead}: It's the whole horse!
JOHN: But it hasn't got any legs.
PETER : It did have — but I removed them. When an
artist finds that his work is beginning to resemble
something, he should stop.
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
JOHN: I don't think he should begin. What's its
name?
PETER: Rebecca.
JOHN: Oh. It's a mare?
PETER: No, nol Sex doesn't enter into this at all.
JOHN: I'm not surprised. (To Schneider as he indicates
the shapeless " clay ".) Is this art ?
SCHNEIDER: But certainly. Rodin said zat sculpture
is nossmg more zan a lump. Vot matters is 'ow you
look at ze lumps!
JOHN: Right! (As he slaps the " clay ".) This is mine.
PETER: Oh, no!
JOHN (turmngup bis cuffs) : From now on, I am an artist
— with all the right to be Bohemian, immoral and
unwashed.
[John pounds at the " clay " ivttb htsfist.}
PETER (in agony}: Aaaah! You damn vandal! God
will punish you for this! I can't stand it! (Turning
and making for stairs.} He's ruined it '
[Peter ascends the stairs, as he continues •]
(Erokenly.} He's ruined my horse !
[Peter exits.]
JOHN (briskly} : Pearl — for an additional five pounds,
you will adopt a piquant pose on the piano.
PEARL (rising): In the nude?
JOHN: Certainly.
[Pearl crosses to the piano as she removes her claret coat.]
PEARL : Oh, good ! This is going to be fun.
452
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
SCHNEIDER: Mr. Bentleys, for in ze nude — zere is
not enough clay. I speak from experience.
JOHN: Oh, very well. I'll do a mask. (To PearL}
Just the face, darling.
PEARL (angrily, to Schneider) : Why the hell did jou
have to interfere?
SCHNEIDER: You can still pose on ze piano. You
'ave got nice legs.
[Pearl steps on to the small armchair and sits on the piano,
showing her nice legs as she says:]
PEARL (to Schneider): You make me sick!
JOHN (to Pearl}: That's the expression I want. (As
he works furiously on the " clay ".) Steady now — hold
it!
[Given, still in evening dress, hurries in through the archway.'}
GWEN (as she enters}: They're half killing Bobby.
He's (She stops, then continues.} What does this
mean?
JOHN (to Pearl} : Don't move, darling.
GWEN (livid, to John} : What did you call her ?
JOHN (very busy} : It was only a theatrical expression.
It doesn't mean anything.
GWEN: You've been drinking. Oh, Daddy! You're
not going to let Stella see you like this ?
JOHN: Why not? You've all been having fun. Now
it's my turn. I'm very grateful to you, Gwen. Your
own carefree outlook on life has opened up a whole
new world to me. No more worrying about the
future. No more responsibility or sense of duty.
I'm in love with my new freedom — and the family
can go to blazes !
GWEN (wildly, to John}: Stella will divorce you for
this!
453
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
JOHN: That's okay by me. (Indicating Pearl.} I'll
marry Pearl.
GWEN: What!
PEARL (to John} : Oh, darling 1 I'd love that 1
JOHN (to Pearl] : How old are you, my sweet ?
PEARL: Twenty-four.
GWEN (to John, tearfully] : You're forty-six !
JOHN: That's nothing! John Knox was a hundred
and fifty-nine when he fell in love with Rose La
Touche. And if you marry Bobby Denver, his
new stepmother-m-law will be thirteen years younger
than he is. That'll make him feel pretty ancient,
won't it ?
GWEN (wildly}: I'm ashamed of you! (Tearfully.}
You're a wicked man!
JOHN : Maybe I am. But I've never threatened to hit
my father.
GWEN (wildly] : If she stays here, I'll kill her !
PEARL (to Gwen} : I think you're being awfully silly.
GWEN (mildly, to Pearl] : Don't speak to me !
[Tearfully she turns and makes for the French windoivs.}
I won't stay in the same house with you! (Glaring
back at Pearl.} You common concubine!
\Gwen bursts into tears., turns ; flings open one of the French
windows and exits into the garden.~\
PEARL (to John} : Was she hinting at something ?
SCHNEIDER (irritably}-. Don't be so sensitive.
[Bobby, still in evening dress, comes hurrying in through the
archway.]
BOBBY: Good Lord! What goes on?
454
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
[ John models furiously without looking up.]
SCHNEIDER (to Bobby) : Sshl
PEARL (smilingly, as she slips the top of her frock from her
shoulders] : Hullo, Bobby Denver I
BOBBY (moving to her} : Hullo, darling. (Having kissed
her on the lips.) Who are you 3
SCHNEIDER: She is a model for Mr. Bentleys. Pits
don't disturb 'im.
BOBBY: Has he gone cuckoo?
SCHNEIDER: 'E 'as found 'is vocation.
BOBBY: I didn't know he'd lost it.
[Michael enters through the archway, takes one look at
John's white beret, and bursts out laughing.]
SCHNEIDER (angrily] : Ssh I
MICHAEL (to Bobby) : Has Gwen seen this ?
BOBBY : I don't know. (To Schneider.) Where is she ?
SCHNEIDER: In ze garden. She vos a little upset.
BOBBY: I'm not surprised. (To Michael.) Go and look
after her, will you ?
MICHAEL: Okay.
[Michael has another glance at John, laughs out loud, and
exits into the garden.]
JOHN (loudly and petulantly as he slaps down a lump of
" clay ") : I find it quite impossible to work with all
this noise going on!
BOBBY: I didn't know you'd started.
JOHN (indignantly] : Started? I've nearly finished.
BOBBY (looking at the lump of " clay ") : Well, there's
one thing about it — it isn't rude.
JOHN (staring at Pearl) : If only I can get those eyes !
Wait now 1 Don't move !
455
ACT THREE, SCENE ONfi
\With outstretched fingers., John excitedly measures Pearl's
eyes, as Stella, still in evemng dress, enters through the
archway.]
STELLA (angrily]: What does this mean?
JOHN (over his shoulder}: Stand back! Oh! Hullo,
darling. Excuse me a moment.
[John hurriedly has one more check of the eye measurement,
then — with his two fingers raised in the air, he hurries back
to above the " iv alter ". Slowly he draws back his hand,
then lunges his fingers into the " clay ". Slowly and tensely,
he withdraws them and anxiously leans forward to study
the result. 'Excitedly, he turns to Bobby at his right.]
Oh, wonderful ! Denver — what do you think of it ^
BOBBY: Magnificent! (To Stella.} Imagine what he
could do with a bit of wire !
[Pearl gets down from the piano and moves to John and he
smilingly puts an arm round her and hugs her to him — as
Stella crosses Bobby as she moves to right of the" waiter ".]
STELLA (as she looks at the " clay ") : Oh, yes 1 It's
quite something, isn't it ? One can almost see Hyde
Park. (Charmingly, to Pearl.} My husband must know
you quite well.
PEARL (with charm and emphasis} : Intimately.
STELLA (surprised}: Really? I don't know which of
you to congratulate. (Indicating the " clay ".) This
is supposed to be your face, isn't it ?
JOHN: J
STELLA (as she turns and grabs a champagne bottle —
wooden rephca—from the drinks table just behind her} :
Good!
456
PEARL . i ^r
Or course.
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
[Stella viciously wallops the " clay " with the bottle — and
leaves it clinging to the " claj ", as Pearl hurriedly leaves
John, grabs her coat, crosses to right and gasps:]
PEARL (as she goes} : For Pete's sake '
[Stella has already grabbed a loose piece of " clay " and she
flings it after Pearl, as she almost screams:}
STELLA (to Pearl}: Get out! Get out before I tear
you to pieces'
[Schneider, babbling a torrent of ad lib German, grabs
Pearl, and together they panic away through the archway,
as John says:]
JOHN (to Stella} : Control yourself 1 Don't you realise
that, at any moment, the earth may lose its atmo
sphere ^
STELLA (tearfully}: I'll never forgive you for this.
Never !
[John pushes the " waiter " away to up left and moves
down centre to left of Stella, as he says:]
JOHN (emphatically): To coin a phrase, I couldn't
care less ! I've had a little fling and I've thoroughly
enjoyed myself. But I'm not going to settle down
and lose my personality. I'm going to go on having
little flings. This was only a rehearsal.
[A. high-pitched whine comes from Stella, as she presses her
handkerchief to her mouth.]
BOBBY (at right centre}: Pull yourself together. He
was only putting on an act.
457
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
STELLA (sobbmgly, to Bobby}: Every wife knows it
must happen sooner or later — but for a man to be
unfaithful, just out of spite
BOBBY: He hasn't been unfaithful. (To John.} Have
you?
JOHN (smilingly): Only metaphorically.
STELLA : There, you see ? He's admitted it ! (Brokenly,
to John.} All the rest of my life now, I shall see the
shadow of a woman tip-toeing behind you ! (Wildly.}
I don't want to live! (A.s she makes for the stairs.} I
don't want to live.
BOBBY : What are you going to do ?
STELLA (dramatically, as she looks back from the foot of the
stairs.} That doesn't matter much. What does matter
— is how I do it!
[Stella, remembering her last performance at the Hay-
market, slowly and magnificently ascends the stairs as she
continues:]
And I'm going to do it — beautifully !
[Stella magnificently exits.]
BOBBY: Oh, Lord, what does that remind me of? It
was in a play somewhere. (As he thinks hard.} " I'm
going to do it beautifully. I'm going to do it
beautifully." (Suddenly.} Bentley! It was Hedda
Gabler! She's going to shoot herself!
JOHN (calmly, as he smiles}: Upstairs? All alone?
Without an audience? It would be a physical
impossibility. Why, even when she played " The
Second Mrs. Tanqueray ", she couldn't bring herself
to die off-stage. They had to re-write the whole end
of the play.
[Peter frantically descends the stairs, as he gasps:]
458
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
PETER (to John}: Stella! She's in the bathroom!
Writhing on the floor! She's foaming at the mouth 1
Quickly!
[Peter tears back up the stairs, frantically followed by John.]
JOHN (as he ascends the stairs, to Bobby') : Phone the
doctor !
BOBBY: What's the number?
JOHN: I don't know — phone and ask him!
[John exits upstairs after Peter, as Linda comes hurrying
in through the archway.]
LINDA (immediately, urgently and anxiously): Is any
thing wrong, sir?
BOBBY (immediately and urgently, as he moves to her}:
Linda, this is serious! What's the doctor's phone
number ?
LINDA (flustered} : Er — er — er
[Bobby takes her by the elbows, his face close to hers.]
BOBBY: The number! Quickly!
LINDA (flustered) : I can't remember it, sir — not when
you look at me so close !
BOBBY (shaking her, and raising his voice angrily} : Damn
it, pull yourself together! What's the number?
LINDA (breaking down} : Oh, don't be cross with me,
Bobby! (Loudly and tearfully.} I couldn't bear you
to be cross with me!
BOBBY (immediately, and with gentle and soothing charm) :
Linda, darling, I'm not cross with you. (As though
to a child.} Bobby only wants to know the number.
Bobby likes you. Bobby almost loves you.
[Linda closes her eyes and moans. Bobby mechanically
moves to behind her, and as she passes out backwards, he
459
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
catches her. Silently and mechanically, he exits backwards
through the archway and Linda, still unconscious, exits
with him — as Peter slowly descends the stairs to sit mopingly
at the foot of them. One second — and Bobby comes hurrying
back through the archway.'}
(Immediately., to Peter.} Is she still alive ?
[Peter nods.']
Then why are you looking so miserable ?
PETER (as he rises and haves the stairs]: I'm pondering
the Stygian chicanery of women. Do you know what
caused that awful frothing at the mouth ?
BOBBY: No.
PETER : Half a tube of my toothpaste.
BOBBY: Are you sure?
PETER (showing the tube] : I took it out of her hand as
we got her on to the bed — and she opened one eye
and whispered, " Don't say anything! "
BOBBY: Did you tell Bentley ?
PETER: No. He'd fallen on his knees and was deep
in prayer. I didn't like to interrupt him.
BOBBY (as he pushes past Peter and makes for the stairs} :
My God, you're as mad as they are !
[Bobby hurriedly exits up the stairs as Pat, still in evening
dress, enters through the archway. Peter at left centre
remains motionless for a moment as he stares at her, then
murmur -s:]
PETER: Oh, Pat.
PAT (at centre}: What's the matter? Do I look too
unspecified, too ordinary? Have I joined the
common throng? Have I let you down?
[Peter is silent for a moment. He glances at his blue shorts
and ye How brogues.}
460
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
PETER: I feel rather ridiculous.
PAT (surprised): You mean you're not fed up with
me for dressing like this ?
PETER (smiling as be shakes his head): No. You look
like (Pause.) I've never seen anything like it !
PAT: Was it going to be something complimentary ?
PETER: Much more than that.
PAT: But I don't understand. Have you lost your
faith, or been converted ?
PETER : I was going to ask you that.
PAT (moving to him): All right. I'll give you the
answer. (Steadily?) I'm never going back to the
Boulevard St. Germain — and I never again want to
hear the word Existentialist. I'm going to live an
ordinary normal life, with ordinary normal people,
and if you find that impossible — (her voice breaking) —
well, it's just too bad.
PETER: Now may I tellj/o# something?
PAT: Go ahead.
PETER (steadily): I've hated almost every moment of
our life in Pans. I don't really know what the word
Existentialist means, and I know absolutely nothing
about sculpture. (Loudly and irritably.) I feel frozen
to death in these damn shorts, I hate this beard — and
I've always wanted to live near Wimbledon Common.
PAT: Peter!
[She puts her arms out to him and he holds her close. She
looks up at him.}
(Keally very pulled.) But why on earth have you been
behaving like a crazy lunatic all these weeks ?
PETER : You forget what you were like when we first
met. You were screamingly bored by anything
commonplace — you jeered at everything conven
tional. Picasso was your patron saint — James Joyce
461
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
your Bible. You swore like a trooper, you drank
your whiskey neat — and it was only with the greatest
difficulty I stopped you chewing tobacco.
PAT: But that was only a phase. It was revulsion
against father.
PETER: Maybe, but I didn't know that — and I
thought that if I didn't act crazy too, I'd lose you.
(Pause, then quietly.} And I didn't want to lose you.
[She looks up at him and be kisses her on the hps — then
continues:]
So I didn't tell you I was writing a play about
Queen Victoria — and I didn't tell you
[Peter pauses and looks worried.]
PAT: What?
PETER (quietly, as he turns away) : 1 don't think I can.
PAT : But you must ! Is it anything dreadful ?
PETER: J don't think so — but you might.
PAT : Anything to do with a woman ?
PETER (unhappily) : No.
PAT: Oh, Peter, tell me! I understand most things
about life — and I'm tremendously forgiving.
PETER (reluctantly} : All right. (He looks at her.} Pat —
I'm a Conservative.
[They laugh together. He moves to her and takes her hands.]
Shall I tell you something else ?
PAT: Yes.
PETER (stmhngly} : I'm hungry.
PAT (laughingly} : I'll get you a sandwich.
PETER : Darling, the kitchen's full of them. Linda's
prepared a whole banquet. (He looks at her.} I love
you so much.
462
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
[Bobby appears at the head of the stairs and qmetly descends
them, as Peter continues •;]
(To Pat.} I wish I could tell you how you looked
when you came into the room just now.
PAT: Well, try. Did I look pretty?
PETER: Oh, yes.
[Bobby switches on his microphone and quietly sits at the
piano, as Peter continues:]
But that doesn't describe it. You looked — you
looked
BOBBY (playing qmetly and singing sincerely without tears] :
Sweet and lovely
PETER (to Pat}: That's it!
[Pat puts her arms round Peter. Bobby has continued
singing:}
BOBBY: Sweeter than the roses in May
[Peter kisses Pat on the lips. Bobby has continued:}
BOBBY: And she loves me
[Peter holds Pat close to him as they move to the archway.
Bobby has continued:}
Heaven must have sent her my way.
Skies above me
Never were as blue as her eyes
[Peter and Pat exit as Bobby continues:]
And she loves me
Who could want a sweeter surprise
\Gwen, angry and desperate, enters through the French
windows and makes for the stairs. Bobby switches off the
microphone, as he says:]
463
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
Where attyou going ?
GWEN: Upstairs — to pack. I won't stay here another
night!
BOBBY (rising): You know, if you go on like this
you'll be sent to one of those schools.
[Michael smilingly enters through the French windows as
Gn>en replies:}
GWEN (her eyes narrowing): Oh, no! Nobody's going
to send me anywhere! I'm going to follow you for
the rest of my life. When you stay at the Savoy, I
shall live m an attic nearby. If you go to America,
I shall stow away on the same ship. If you rejoin
your wife, I shall separate you. When you become
old and ill, I shall look after you. And when you die
— I shall die, too.
MICHAEL: Never underestimate the power of a
woman.
GWEN (to Michael] : Oh, shut up !
BOBBY (quietly] : Michael.
MICHAEL: Yes?
BOBBY : Would you mind ?
MICHAEL: You mean, out again?
BOBBY: Just for a few moments.
MICHAEL: Sure. I've had quite a long stay, for me.
\Micbael laughingly exits through the French wmdoivs.
Bobby looks at Given.}
BOBBY (at left centre}: I didn't expect you to break a
promise.
GWEN : How do you mean ?
BOBBY : You swore on your oath that if we spent the
evening together you'd stop all this nonsense.
GWEN : We weren't alone together. Anyway, if I did
swear on my oath I can't keep to it. (Moving to him.}
464
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
Bobby, is it because I'm only sixteen that you won't
take any notice of me ?
BOBBY: That's one reason, yes.
GWEN: What's the other?
BOBBY: I'm over sixteen.
GWEN: If you were twenty, and I were nineteen —
would you take any notice of me then ?
BOBBY: Oh, yes, rather.
GWEN : Well, can't you pretend I'm nineteen ?
BOBBY: Yes, but I can't pretend I'm twenty.
GWEN: I was quite close to you tonight when you
were singing — and I saw the tears streaming down
your face. Only in you have I found somebody
tremblingly alive to all the sorrow in the world.
Somebody who can't even whisper the words
" Goodbye " or " Forgive me " without his eyes
filling with tears. It was like finding water in the
desert. And now — (her voice breaking — away from
you, I couldn't live.
BOBBY: You're not in love with me. You're in love
with tragedy. You've been reading too much
Dusty-Dosty-what's-his-name. You'll make quite a
writer yourself when you grow up a bit and get a
sense of proportion. At the moment you're just
wallowing in sloppy sentiment.
&WEN • This isn't you speaking.
BOBBY: It certainly is. And I've got another surprise
for you. I haven't cried real tears since I was a kid.
I've never been able to see the tragic side of life, and
I've never found anything to cry about. I'm a comic !
Until recently I was perfectly happy making people
laugh. All this weeping warbler stuff is giving me the
wilhes 1
GWEN: You mean your tears weren't real this even
ing?
BOBBY: No.
465
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
GWEN: Were they real that Monday at the Coliseum ?
BOBBY: No.
GWEN: Oh, Bobby, I don't believe, you! You're
trying to keep me away from you. Tell me it isn't
true. If you don't, I'll kill myself! (Tearfully but
insistently.} They are real, aren't they ?
BOBBY: No, they're not! I can't cry at all. I use an
onion.
{.A pause. Given stares at himl\
GWEN (in a whisper) : You're fooling.
BOBBY: I'm not. (Producing a small onion from his
trouser pocket.} This is the one I used to break your
father up. " High Noon " — remember? And I used
it again tonight. At the right moment I stick my
finger into it, touch my eyelids — and it's a physical
impossibility to whisper " Goodbye ", " Forgive
me " — or even " Bob's your Uncle ", without the
tears simply streaming down!
[He puts the omon back in hzs pocket as Given half turns
away, bends her head, and presses a hand to herface.~\
Oh, come on, GwenI Be a man. You've got to
face up to life.
GWEN (brokenly, in a whisper) : Don't speak to me !
BOBBY (gently as he moves to her) : Listen
GWEN (wildly, as she makes for the archway) : Go away 1
[Gn>en exits.]
BOBBY: Poor silly damn kid — why did she have to
pick on me? (Top of his voiced) Michael!
[Michael hurries in through the archway '.]
466
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
BOBBY: That was very quick.
MICHAEL (as he makes for the archway} : She's going to
take some looking after this time.
BOBBY: Were you hstening?
MICHAEL (laughingly) : Of course !
[Michael hurriedly exits through the archway — and John
(without beret] enters to descend the stairs, slowly — as
Bobby takes his handkerchief and dabs one eye. He looks
at the handkerchief.]
BOBBY: Good Lord! It's a real one. A real tear I
(As he carefully folds the handkerchief so as not to crease
the tear.} Oh, if only I could have it stuffed.
JOHN (dully as he leaves the stairs}: I can remember
when that sort of conversation would have sounded
quite strange.
BOBBY (replacing the handkerchief into his breast pocket} :
How's Stella?
JOHN: The toothpaste upset her stomach. She's
feeling very weak. She has only just enough strength
to prop herself up and whisper the most poisonous
remarks about my mother.
BOBBY (at right centre}: I told her you hadn't been
unfaithful.
JOHN (at left centre}: So did I. But we're just little
sparrows beating our wings against a wall of female
granite. If I live to be a hundred and ninety, I shall
spend every remaining hour of my life under the
shadow of guilt and suspicion. (Moving to him.}
Bobby — you'll have to stay the night here.
BOBBY: I can't.
JOHN : My dear old friend, you must. Any moment
now — and she'll rise from her bed of sickness to begin
my cross-examination. I can't go through it by
myself!
467
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
[Linda enters through the archway, carrying a large silver
tray, with coffee pot, milk jug, four cups and saucers, four
small plates, four knives — and two large plates piled high
with sandwiches. She reaches the foot of the stairs, and
John half turns, as he says:]
Er — Linda.
LINDA (turning and moving down left] : Yes, sir ?
JOHN : Piepare the little bedroom next to yours, will
you?
LINDA (still holding the over-loaded tray] : Very good, sir.
Who's going to occupy it, sir?
JOHN (indicating]: Mr. Denver.
[A violent tremor shakes Linda from head to foot. She
moans, closes her eyes, and staggers backwards as she
clenches her teeth in an effort to retain consciousness, as John
shouts:}
Put the tray down 1
BOBBY (to Linda] : Put your head between your knees !
[With a mighty effort, Linda digs her heels into the carpet
and stands still for half a second. Then with another moan
and increasing speed she totters sideways across the room
towards John and Bobby. With cries of dismay, they fling
themselves through the open French windows, and Linda
follows, almost on top of them. A. second's pause, a terrific
crash, and shouts from the garden and:
The curtain falls}
468
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
Scene 2
Scene: The same. The following morning. About 9 a.m.
All 'evidence of the previous night's party has been tidied away.
On a chair at the side of the drinks table there is an overcoat
and a bat. The French windows are closed, the curtains
open.
John is discovered, full length on the settee and fast asleep.
He is covered by a blanket, his head rests on a cushion.
He is dressed as for the previous Scene. His hair is ruffled.
A moment, and the telephone rings. John mumbles, without
moving.
JOHN: Hullo. Hullo!
[He opens his eyes, groans and props himself up. ~\
(Holding his head.} Phew !
[Suddenly he realises that the telephone is ringing, and still
half asleep and with a hangover he rises and staggers to the
telephone, trailing and tripping over the blanket.']
(Hoarsely, having lifted the receiver) : Hullo ? . . . Hold
on.
[He rests the receiver, moves to the stairs and shouts
upwards:]
Bentley!
[John suddenly " does a take ", hurries back to the telephone,
lifts the receiver and says:}
Speaking.
[Linda enters with a cup of tea — as John continues:]
469
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
Who? . . . Michael Kenley ? . . . (Immediately brisk
and alert.} Is Gwen still with you ^ Good1 . . . Yes,
get a taxi at once. . . . Goodbye.
[John replaces the receiver as Linda asks:]
LINDA (as she puts the tea on the settee table} : Is she all
right, sir?
JOHN (holding out the blanket to Linda): Yes. She'll
be here in a few minutes.
LINDA (taking the blanket}: Is she still with that
reporter ?
JOHN (taking up the cup of ted}: Mmd your own
business. What's the time?
LINDA: Nine o'clock, sir.
JOHN (pointing}: Whose overcoat ?
[John sips his tea, as Lmda replies v]
LINDA (as she folds up the blanket}: Mr. Denver's,
sir. A chauffeur brought it from the Savoy Hotel. I
didn't like to take it up to his bedroom.
JOHN: Is Mrs. Bentley up?
LINDA: Oh, yes, sir. She went out nearly an hour
ago.
JOHN: Did she look as though she might be going
for good ?
LINDA: How do you mean, sir?
JOHN : Well, did she take her mink coat with her ?
LINDA: Oh, no, sir.
JOHN: She'll be back.
LINDA (moving towards the stairs, with the blanket} : Will
you be sleeping upstairs tonight, sir 2
JOHN (holding his head} : I hope not ! For the rest of
my life I shall regard that bedroom as the head
quarters of the Spanish Inquisition.
470
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
LINDA (unhappily}: Very good, sir.
[Linda exits to upstairs, and John turns to find that Stella
has entered to the archway. She is dressed for out-of-doors.~\
STELLA (with a charming smile] : Good morning.
[John, at left centre, remains silently staring at her. Stella
moves to him. She kisses him on the cheek.}
JOHN (surprised}'. Oh, no! This isn't true! I'm
delirious !
STELLA : You deserve to be. Any news of Gwen ?
JOHN: Yes. Michael's just phoned. They were at
Baker Street. He was just getting a taxi.
STELLA: Thank heaven for that.
JOHN: Where have you been ?
[Stella removes her hat and places it on the settee table,
as she replies •]
STELLA: Visiting your pseudo fille de joie.
JOHN (amazed) : Do you mean Pearl ?
STELLA : Of course.
JOHN: You actually called on her?
STELLA: Certainly. I knocked three times and she
opened the door at once. We had a cup of tea, and
a little chat, and parted most amicably.
JOHN: Did she explain ?
STELLA: Everything.
JOHN (amazed}: And you believed her?
STELLA: Absolutely.
[John puts a hand to his forehead, and crosses to sit on the
settee.}
What's the matter?
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
JOHN: For six hours last night I swore on my oath
and on my knees, and you wouldn't believe a word I
said. This morning, you have a cup of tea and a little
chat with a comparatively complete stranger and you
accept the same explanation lock, stock and barrel.
STELLA (moving to sit at his /eft) : This morning I knew
I was being told the truth. No woman can success
fully lie to another woman. Over a cup of tea we
instinctively see through each other. (Taking his
hand.} I think we can be happy again.
JOHN: I hope so. I'll try and make life a bit brighter
for you. Take you to theatres and night clubs. We'll
start tonight!
STELLA : Oh, no, we won't 1 When I looked at myself
in the mirror this morning I thought I looked tired
and ugly. (Pause.} I said I thought I looked tired
and ugly.
JOHN (meekly) : I'm not arguing, dear.
[Linda enters to descend the stairs.]
LINDA (as she sees Stella): Oh, thank heaven you've
come back, ma'am. (A.s she makes for the archway?) Mr.
Bentley was trying to work out whether you might
have gone for good.
\L,mda exits as Stella gives John an old-fashioned look.]
JOHN (forcing a laugh} : She put that very badly.
STELLA: Yes. Now, you have a shave and pull your
self together ! And when Gwen arrives for heaven's
sake behave as though nothing had happened.
JOHN (rising and moving to centre} : You mean I'm not
to question her about walking round London all
night3
STELLA: Of course not! (Rjsmg and moving to mar
412.
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
French Windows.} She was with Michael, and he phoned
us at least six times to tell us she was all right.
JOHN: Why didn't he bring her home? Why didn't
he tell us where we could find her ?
STELLA: She wanted to be alone. Can't you under
stand that there are moments in even a child's life
when the words father and mother make her want
to scream?
JOHN (as be crosses to left of Stella) . My God, Shakes
peare knew what he was doing when he wrote
" Blow, blow " — whatever it was. And I ought to
know better than to be upset by it. The only way to
raise children is to have at least seventeen, give them
all numbers, and as soon as they've attained the age
of reason — throw them out !
[Linda hurries in through the archway with a newspaper^
LINDA (as she enters): Oh, sir! Look at this! It's
all about Miss Gwen and Bobby Denver!
[John takes the newspaper.]
STELLA (to ~Linda) : What d'you mean ?
LINDA: He's phoney, ma'am!
STELLA (to John] : What does it say ?
JOHN (quoting) : " Struggle on Embankment. Famous
crooner mentioned. Late last night, near Chelsea
Bridge, Police Constable Riley went to the assistance
of a man struggling with a young girl who appeared
to be trying to throw herself into the Thames. When
questioned, the girl, she seemed quite heartbroken,
sobbingly assured Constable Riley that the tears of
Bobby Denver, the well-known crying crooner, were
produced with the aid of an onion. Enquiries at the
Savoy Hotel elicited no reply from Mr. Denvei. He
was not at home."
473
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
STELLA (at right, above settee table): Thank God it
doesn't mention her name.
JOHN (unbelievingly): She tried to throw herself into
the Thames?
STELLA : It doesn't saj that. It says she appeared to be
trying. And knowing Gwen, I'm quite sure she'd
already made certain that the tide was out.
JOHN (at left of Stella) : This'll finish Denver.
LINDA (tearfully); And so it should!
STELLA- Get on with your work, Linda. It's nothing
to do with you.
LINDA (tearfully, at left of John): Oh, yes, it is! He's
broken my heart as well as hers. I've never fallen for
any man as often as I've fallen for him !
[Sobbing freely, Linda turns towards the archway and
happens to see Bobby as he enters to descend the stairs (still
in evening dress}. She gives a loud howl and hurriedly exits.]
BOBBY (as he descends}: What's the matter with her?
(To John.} Is Gwen back ?
STELLA: She'll be here in a few minutes.
BOBBY (as he leaves the stairs}: Good. (Smilingly p.) I
thought you'd had bad news.
JOHN: No — we're all right — but I don't know about
you. (Holding out the paper.} Have a look.
[Bobby takes the paper and moves away to the left, as John
continues •:]
I'll get you a drink. You'll need it.
[John moves to the up-stage table and pours a whiskey.
Bobby looks up from the paper.}
BOBBY (quietly) : It looks as though I've had it.
[Stella moves down, past the right end of settee, to right
centre in front of settee, as she says:}
474
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
STELLA (over-cheerfully, to Bobby): I don't think it'll
do you much harm. After all, it's wonderful publicity,
and everyone knows they use glycerine for tears on
the films.
[Bobby sits left centre as John moves towards him with the
whiskey, as he says:]
JOHN (irritably r, to Stella] : It's not the same thing at
all. Bobby earns his living making people cry.
When they read about this, they'll laugh. (To Bobby,}
Did you really use an onion ?
BOBBY: Yes.
JOHN (holding it out} : Have a drink.
BOBBY (with something of a smile)-. No, thanks.
MICHAEL (loudly, off-stage}: Gwen, for heaven's sake,
take it easy !
GWEN (loudly, off-stage} : I won't be bullied ! I haven't
done anything wrong !
JOHN : Ah ! Here she is !
STELLA: Now, John, be tactful!
JOHN: I know how to deal with her!
[Gwen enters through the archway, followed by Michael.
There is an air of defiance about her. She is wearing an old
overcoat thrown over her evening dress and is carrying her
shoes. John continues:}
And about time too! Now listen to me, Gwen
GWEN (coldly): Are you still drinking?
JOHN (angrily): No, damn it, I am not! (Placing the
glass on the piano.} I poured it out for Denver I
STELLA (moving to right of Gwen): Shall I take your
shoes ?
[Stella takes them and looks at them.}
475
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
My, my, you won't want these again, will you?
Where did you get the overcoat ?
MICHAEL (as he takes the overcoat from Given' 's shoulders] .
It belongs to an old boy who runs a coffee stall in
Hammersmith.
JOHN: Hammersmith? What the devil
STELLA (interrupting, to Given): Let's fix a nice hot
bath, shall we?
[Given nods — then looks at Michael, as she says, quietly:]
GWEN : Thank you for looking after me.
MICHAEL: Keep the old chin up. I'll be seeing you.
STELLA (to Given) : Come on, honey.
[Stella puts her arm round Given and they move a step
towards the stairs. Given stops suddenly and moves to
Bobby.]
«
GWEN (quietly) : Have you read the papers ?
BOBBY: One of them.
GWEN (fighting hack tears); I'd give my life — not to
have done that.
BOBBY (rising] : Aw, skip it, Gwen. It's not going to
knock me out. I'll be happier making people laugh.
GWEN (breaking down) : I didn't mean to do it, Bobby 1
I didn't mean to!
[Breaking down completely, Gwen turns and moves to
Stella, who puts an arm round her shoulders, as they ascend
the stairs together, with Stella saying •]
STELLA: Old Mr. Skeffington's been looking for you.
I found him on your bed this morning. I bet you
get a lovely welcome.
[Stella and Gwen exit. John immediately swallows the
476
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
whiskey ', bangs down the glass, takes out his handkerchief
and moves tip-stage centre as he blows his nose.]
MICHAEL (to Bobby) : I know what you're thinking, but
I didn't.
BOBBY: Didn't what?
MICHAEL: Give it to the papers. They collect those
bits of news automatically.
BOBBY: That's all right.
JOHN (to Michael}: Will there be any trouble about
that river business ?
MICHAEL (smiling}: No, sir. You may have some
chap call round, just to check up, but there's no
question of attempted suicide. It was only a four
foot drop from the Embankment, and the tide was
out. (Having glanced at his watch.} Well, I'd better get
to the office. Cheen-ho, Bobby.
BOBBY: So long, Michael.
JOHN: Shall we be seeing you again ?
MICHAEL: I'm afraid so, sir. Gwen's going to write
a novel and she wants me to help her with it.
JOHN: What about your job?
MICHAEL (laughing out loud}'. I've had that! Bobby
was my assignment, and with me not cashing in on
the onion they'll probably put me on to reporting
stocks and shares or something.
JOHN (enthusiastically}: Stocks and shares? Oh, my
dear fellow I Come round as often as you like. Make
this your home!
MICHAEL: Thank you, sn. That's the first time I've
been invited back anywhere !
[Laughing out loud, Michael exits through the archway.]
JOHN (to Bobby): Nice fellow. Plenty of guts, too.
So have you. I seem to be the only one without any.
477
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
[Unseen by John, Stella enters to descend the stairs, as he
continues:}
The youngest child is always the favourite, and mine
hates me.
STELLA (from the stairs} : She'll love you again when
she hears the truth about Pearl.
JOHN (to Stella, having turned}: Well, why not tell
her now ?
[John moves to join Stella on the stairs but, as he reaches
the foot of them, the telephone rings. Pie grabs the receiver :]
(At the telephone.) Hullo ? . . . Hold on. (To Bobby.)
It's for you. Somebody called Charlie.
BOBBY (making for the telephone): Oh, Lord, that's my
agent. This is going to be tricky. (Having taken the
receiver from John} Hullo, AL . . . Yes, I've seen it.
. . . It's true. . . . (Suddenly and excitedly.} Are you
fooling ? . . . Sure ! I'll be right round !
[Bobby slams back the receiver^
(Excitedly, to John and Stella} I've had an offer to
play America! All cards on the table — and billed
as " The Crooner who kidded London."
[Bobby grabs his hat and overcoat, as he continues:}
(Excited top of his voice — Al Jolson style} California,
here ah cornel
STELLA (as with John she moves from upstairs}: When
are you going ?
BOBBY: Right now I
JOHN: Oh, my dear fellow, I'm so sorry. (Happily,
as he hurries to the archway} I'll get you a taxi.
478
AS LONG AS THEY'RE HAPPY
STELLA (moving to hiw) : Goodbye, Bobby.
BOBBY {giving her a peck on the cheek?) : Goodbye, darling.
JOHN (impatiently waiting in the archway; to Bobby):
Get a move on 1
STELLA (to Bobby): Come and see us as soon as you
get back.
BOBBY: You bet!
STELLA: Don't forget!
BOBBY (singing} : I won't forget to remember, Darling
mine
\He turns and moves to the archway, as he continues:]
(Singing) Dearest, I didn't know
[In the archway, he is at left of John, as he turns to Stella,
as he continues:]
(Singing.) How quickly those few hours would go
JOHN (as he gives Bobby a Jab in the behind with his knee) :
Oh, get out!
\Kesponding to the jab, Bobby makes an undignified exit —
followed by John — but he continues to sing off-stage]
BOBBY (his singing fading to the distance, off) : Since first
I kissed your lips so red
[Stella looks a little sad. Then, she looks at the piano,
sees the microphone still in position near the keyboard, and
smiles. She moves to the microphone and switches it on.
She sits at the piano — and plays and sings quickly:]
STELLA: When your sweetheart sends a letter of
Good-bye-bye-bye,
It's no secret you'll feel better if you Cry-cry-cry
479
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
[John comes hurrying back through the archway, as Stella
continues:}
When waking from a bad dream
JOHN (loudly} : Stella !
[She stops.]
(Continuing desperately^] I've reached the end of my
tether! (Emphatically?) One more straw on the back
of my camel — and the slender thread of my sanity
will snap!
[ Very excited, Linda comes galloping in through the arch
way — to right end of settee — as she gasps:}
LINDA: Oh, sir — ma'am! Miss Corinne's arrived —
with her husband !
[John slaps a hand to his forehead, and staggers to collapse
on the settee, as he shouts:]
JOHN: Oh, no!
[Stella has risen from the piano — and she moves to left
centre as Corinne comes hurrying in through the archway.
She is dressed in modified cowgirl outfit, with modified
Stetson.]
CORINNE (excitedly, as she immediately moves to embrace
Stella) : Seventeen hours ago, we were in New York!
Barnaby's sold that darned horse and we're staying
right here just as long as we can !
[John gives a loud moan and Corinne swings Stella round
with her embrace as Earnaby, over six feet of dude cowboy,
480
AS LONG AS THEY RE HAPPY
with ten-gallon Stetson and all the trappings, comes striding
in through the archway. He makes straight for Stella —
who has her back to him — swings her round, and lifts her
high in the air, as he bellow MV]
BARNABY (lifting and lowering): Hi-ya, Mom!
[John reacts and goes all to pieces and, as Barnaby moves
to htm to grab a hand and shake the daylights out of him,
John is gibbering, cross-eyed, twitching and shaking as
Barnaby bellows:}
Mr. Bentley, sir — you sure am jerst as ah pictured
yew I
The curtain falls
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
by
PAUL JONES
Copyright 1954 by Paul Jones
When this play becomes available for performance by
amateurs, application for a licence must be made to
Samuel French Ltd., 26 Southampton Street, Strand,
London, W.C.z. Applications for the performance
of this play by professionals and repertory companies
must be made to A. D. Peters, 10 Buckingham Street,
Adelphi, London^ W.C.z. No performance may take
place unless a licence has been obtained.
'Birthday Honours was staged at the " Q " Theatre on
February 27, 1953, with the following cast:
ELIZABETH WILTON Jane A.ird
MARY TITHERADGE Ins Baker
BEATRICE TITHERADGE Jean St. Clair
ALEC BESTWOOD Hugh ~Latitner
MONICA BESTWOOD Mary Mackenzie
PETER VARLEY Bryan Coleman
Dkected by Peter Dearing
Setting by Elizabeth Taplay
Donald Albery presented it at the Criterion Theatre
on October 6, 1953, with the following cast.
MARY TITHERADGE Marian Spencer
ELIZABETH WILTON Beryl Baxter
BEATRICE TITHERADGE Jean St. Clair
ALEC BESTWOOD Hugh 'Latimer
MONICA BESTWOOD Motra Lister
PETER VARLEY David Stoll
Directed by Nigel Patrick
Setting by Hutchinson Scott
CHARACTERS
ALEC BESTWOOD
MONICA BESTWOOD
MARY TITHERADGE
BEATRICE TITHERADGE
PETER VARLEY
ELIZABETH WILTON
SCENES
ACT ONE
One morning in May
ACT TWO
Late afternoon, A few days later
ACT THREE
Morning. Two weeks later
All the attioti of the play takes place in the Bestwoods'
house in London
Time: The Present
ACT ONE
The living room of the Beshvoods' house in London.
About ten o'clock on a sunny May morning.
It is a charming and very well-furnished room with doors
centre leading to other parts of the house, French windows
left which look out across the street to the trees of the park,
and a door right which leads into Alec's consulting room.
When the curtain rises, a faint ha^e hangs over the park,
and the windows are open allowing a gentle breeze softly to
stir the curtains. The room is empty but for Elizabeth
Wilton who is arranging some flowers that stand in a vase
in front of the windows. She is an extremely attractive
woman of just over thirty, slim, rather tall, ivith an air of
quiet charm and efficiency about her. The dress she is
wearing, like most of her clothes, is simple without being
severe, and she wears it as she does everything, with uncon
scious style. Elizabeth is Alec Besftvood's secretary-
receptionist. After arranging the flowers she glances at
her watch, and then stands looking out of the window.
The doors centre are opened and Mary Titheradge comes into
the room. Mary is a smallish, pretty woman in her fifties,
very smartly dressed, with her grey hair tinted the colour of
cigarette smoke. She is a witty, charming busybody with a
dominant personality.
MARY: Good morning, Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH (turning]: Oh, good morning, Mrs. Tithe-
radge.
MARY: Is the doctor in?
ELIZABETH: No. He's flying back from Paris this
morning.
MARY: Of course. I'd forgotten he was in Pans.
Lucky thing.
487
ACT ONE
ELIZABETH: He wasn't really due back until this
evening; but things went better than he expected.
Is there anything I can do ?
MARY: Where's my daughter? She's the one I really
came to see. Elsie said she was out.
ELIZABETH: I believe she is.
MARY: But it's only just after ten. Monica's never
been out so early in her life before, unless she's gone
to the hairdresser's.
ELIZABETH: I don't think she's come back yet.
MARY: Not come back. Where's she been then?
ELIZABETH: She did say something about not being
in last night. I thought she said she was spending the
night with you.
MARY: It's the first I've heard of it.
ELIZABETH: Then I expect I've got it wrong. She
must have said Miss Titheradge.
MARY: Why on earth would she want to spend the
night with Beatrice?
ELIZABETH : I've no idea.
MARY: Must have taken temporary leave of her
senses. I'll ring her up.
[She crosses to the telephone and dials a number.]
Isn't it a heavenly morning? I saw any number of
people in the park as I came along. I heard a rumour
yesterday, in fact it was more than a rumour. I was
dining with Lady Lexton last night and she said she
had heard from someone or other who knows about
these things that they're going to give Dr. Bestwood
a knighthood.
ELIZABETH (surprised) : Really? How marvellous.
MARY: Isn't it? That's why I rushed over this
morning, to see if he had told anybody yet.
ELIZABETH : What would he be made a knight for ?
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY : For that operation he did on a royal personage.
I mean it was extremely delicate, and he made a
success of it. She's quite normal again now, I
believe.
ELIZABETH: But it was only because Sir Thomas
Langley was indisposed.
MARY: That makes it aU the more likely. Stepping
so magnificently into the breach like that.
ELIZABETH: Oh.
MARY: No answer. They must be on their way over
here now. (She replaces telephone and turns to face Eli^a-
beth— confidently.} It will be in the Birthday Honours
List. Won't it be wonderful for Monica? Lady
Bestwood. It ]ust suits her. I don't mind telling you
I had my doubts when they married. Alec's a dear
and all that, but I felt someone with Monica's gifts
could have done so much better for herself.
ELIZABETH (rather defensively}: Doctor Bestwood is
one of the foremost endocrinologists in the kingdom.
MARY: He is now. But he wasn't then. Then he was
just a very good-looking, very poor young house
physician who hardly knew one gland from another.
But now, with this honour I consider he has at last
justified his marriage.
ELIZABETH (turning awaj}\ Will you excuse me?
There are one or two matters I want to have cleared
up before the doctor gets back.
MARY: Of course, my dear. You carry on. I'll make
myself comfortable here.
[She settles herself in armchair. Elizabeth glances at her
then goes quietly through the door up right. The doors centre
are opened and Beatrice comes into the room. Seeing Mary
she hesitates for a moment. Beatrice is a quite large,
healthy-faced woman of about thirty, with awkward bands
and feet, little dress sense, a deep-rooted fear of her mother,
489
ACT ONE
a slightly envious respect for her sister, and a heart just
bursting with love.]
BEATRICE : Good morning, Mother.
MARY (looking round}: Oh, here you are, Beatrice.
Where's Monica?
BEATRICE : Isn't she here ?
MARY: If she were here I wouldn't be asking you
where she was now, would I? Do use your head,
Beatrice, dear, it's big enough.
BEATRICE : Where is she, then ?
MARY : That is what I am asking you. Did you come
in together?
BEATRICE: No, I've just come round from my flat.
I naturally thought she would be here, or at your
place. She was spending the night with you.
MARY: Don't talk nonsense. She was spending the
night with you.
BEATRICE: She was not. When I rang her up last
evening she told me definitely she was staying the
night at your flat.
MARY: I haven't seen her for two days. Well, if she
didn't spend the night at your place, and she didn't
at mine, whose place did she spend the night at?
BEATRICE : I don't know.
MARY: And I daren't think.
BEATRICE: Have you seen the Tatler? (She holds it in
front of her.}
MARY: No. When you reach my age you no longer
care what your friends are doing. I wonder where
Monica can be ?
BEATRICE : There's a photograph of her in here.
MARY: Is there? How sweet of them. Show me.
{Beatrice opens the magazine and indicates the photograph^
Delightful. I'm sure she was far and away the most
49°
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
glamorous woman in the place. Who's that with
her? It's not Alec.
BEATRICE : It's Peter Varley.
MARY: Who's he?
BEATRICE: He's a bachelor, he hunts, and he's a
close friend of Monica's.
MARY : He's very good-looking.
BEATRICE: He and Monica are having an affair.
MARY: Beatrice! What a dreadful thing to say about
your sister.
BEATRICE (defiantly} : Everybody knows it. They say
it's been going on for months.
MARY: Now don't get carried away. No wife who
wants to be photographed ever dines out with her
husband, you should know that. (She has another look
at the photograph.} I must say he's very good-looking.
BEATRICE: Don't you object?
MARY: Of course I object. I object very strongly to
anything going on without my knowledge.
BEATRICE: Now you can guess where Monica was
last night.
MARY : Only someone suffering from extreme physical
repression could jump to such a wanton conclusion.
BEATRICE: What conclusion do you jump to, then?
MARY: My jumping days are over, Beatrice. I
expect she's gone over to Elaine Cartwright's place.
Now, please tell me why you are here so purposefully
armed with the Tafler?
BEATRICE: I came round to confront Monica with
this photograph and to ask her if there was any
truth in the stories that are going around, that's all.
MARY: And if there was?
BEATRICE : I was going to tell her that she must stop
it.
MARY : You have a nerve !
BEATRICE: She's my sister!
491
ACT ONE
MARY: What right does that give you to order her
social life ?
BEATRICE: It's not fair on Alec.
MARY: Don't be silly. Of course it is. You don't
think he knows, do you ?
BEATRICE: Whether he knows or not doesn't matter.
MARY: My dear, that's the whole crux of the thing,
A test of a good wife is whether or not she can hide
her private life from her husband.
BEATRICE: A wife should have no secrets from her
husband.
MARY: But that's positively immoral. Beatrice,
where do you get all these stupid ideas from ?
BEATRICE: That's what I believe.
MARY: I suppose that's what all nice spinsters believe.
BEATRICE: Must you call me that?
MARY: Spinster or bachelor girl — the effects are just
the same. Anyway, that's what you are. Monica is
an indulgent wife and you — a reluctant spinster.
BEATRICE : What are you ?
MARY (promptly) : A triumphant widow.
BEATRICE: I think Monica is a beast. And you
encourage her.
MARY: I know one thing, I wouldn't have to en
courage you.
BEATRICE: I should be a good wife. If I were
married. . . .
MARY: Now, now. Enough of these pipe dreams.
You know they're not good for you.
BEATRICE (far away): I would cosset and nurse a
man. I would make him things.
MARY: You would make him very, very unhappy,
dear, that's all. Now calm yourself.
BEATRICE: I was only. . . .
MARY (firmly) : Calm.
BEATRICE (hanging her head] : I'm sorry.
492
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY: Let me tell you my little piece of news.' Alec
is going to be presented with a knighthood.
BEATRICE: No I
MARY: It will be in the Birthday Honours List.
BEATRICE: I say, how absolutely ripping.
MARY: I was just saying approximately the same thing
to Miss Wilton. How nice it will be for Monica. J
think she's earned it, don't you? And then. . . .
(she stops suddenly) : Oh, dear !
BEATRICE: What's the matter?
MARY: Peter Varley. That's what's the matter.
Suppose Alec got to hear of that. There might be a
divorce. Oh, my God, I couldn't bear it. Not now.
Before, of course, it didn't matter, but now. ... It
just doesn't bear thinking about. And if it got
around, if there was a breath of scandal about
Doctoc Bestwood's wife, that also might put paid to
Alec's chances.
BEATRICE: But surely what Alec's wife does, doesn't
affect. . . .
MARY: The path to a knighthood is simply riddled
with pitfalls. My dear, a cousin thrice removed,
convicted for loitering could dish you. Oh, they're
terribly particular. It's a constant wonder to me how
so many outwardly normal people do manage to pull
it off.
BEATRICE: Monica doesn't deserve to have a title.
MARY: Foolish girl — it's her birthright. And I shall
do everything in my power to see that she gets it.
This Peter Varley nonsense will have to stop.
BEATRICE: It's been going on quite a time.
MARY: Then that should make it all the easier to
discontinue. Of course, Alec must never hear a word
of this. And I'm not only thinking of Monica now —
I'm thinking of him. It would be too cruel if he
ever came to know there had been someone else.
493
ACT ONE
BEATRICE: He loves her so dreadfully.
MARY: It would absolutely finish him.
[Elizabeth, now wearing a crisp, white overall, comes back
into the room and looks out of the
BEATRICE: Do you think she's in love with. . . ?
MARY: Be quiet, you stupid girl.
ELIZABETH: Here's the doctor now. He's just paying
off his taxi.
MARY: Oh, is he? Oh, dear!
ELIZABETH: Did I make a mistake about where Mrs.
Bestwood was last night ?
MARY: Yes, you did. She was with my daughter.
Wasn't she, Beatrice ?
BEATRICE (stupidly) : Was she ?
MARY: Of course she was.
ELIZABETH: Is she in now?
MARY: No. She had to go out again.
ELIZABETH: I see.
[Elizabeth goes back tnto the consulting room. Mary looks
at Beatrice .]
MARY: Do try to keep in touch with the situation a
little more, will you, dear ?
BEATRICE : I'll try.
MARY: Alec's back, and Monica still hasn't come in.
The situation is grave. I'll tell him she's gone out
shopping — you will just keep quiet. Or only speak
when spoken to, and then only in monosyllables.
BEATRICE: Yes, Mother.
MARY: If Alec finds out about this we're lost. Now
hold your head up and smile. Oh I And for God's
sake get rid of that Tatler.
[Before Beatrice can move the door centre is opened and Alec
comes into the room. He is in his fortieth jear, quite tall,
494
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
slim, with good features, and blessed imth a quiet, natural
charm. Dressed m a dark lounge suit and carrying a bnej
ease, he stands just inside the door, smihng\
ALEC: Hello.
MARY: Alec, darling!
BEATRICE : Good morning, Alec.
ALEC: Good morning. I didn't expect a reception
committee, but I'm very pleased. How are you.
[He bends and kisses Mary's cheek, but not Beatrice's.]
MARY: How lovely to see you.
ALEC : One would think I had been to Alaska for a
year, instead of Paris for three days.
MARY: Is that all it is? It seems so much longer.
Anyway, I'm always glad to see you, darling, you
know that.
ALEC : Stop flirting with me, and tell me why you're
here.
MARY : We've heard some wonderful news about you.
ALEC : Am I going to be a daddy ?
MARY: Don't be so mundane. You're going to be
something much, much better than that. You're
going to be a knight.
ALEC: A what?
MARY: Oh stop pretending you don't know. You're
going to receive a knighthood, dear.
ALEC : What on earth for ?
BEATRICE : For service to your country.
ALEC: I've never done a damn thing.
MARY: You performed a miraculous operation on a
person of royal blood.
ALEC: It was an extremely simple operation. A
child of two could have done it.
MARY: I refuse to believe that. Anyway, you did it.
Your services are going to be rewarded.
495
ACT ONE
ALEC: Oh, good.
BEATRICE: Aren't you thrilled?
ALEC: Unspeakably.
MARY: Just think of it. Sir Alec and Lady Bestwood.
Lady Bestwood and Sir Alec. Lady Bestwood.
ALEC : Just where is Lady Bestwood by the way ?
BEATRICE: That's what we want to know.
MART (hastily}-. She had to rush out to do some
shopping.
[Elizabeth enters.}
ELIZABETH: Good morning, doctor.
ALEC : Oh, good morning, Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH: A good trip?
ALEC: Excellent. Everything went off very well.
[Elizabeth takes his brief-case.]
Things all right this end ?
ELIZABETH : Perfectly. Mr. de Frece wants you to get
in touch with him. It's about the Raleigh boy. And
there are one or two reports.
ALEC: Right, Miss Wilton. I'll be with you in a few
minutes.
[Elizabeth smiles and carrying his bag goes through door
right.]
MARY: Alec, do you mean to say that you hadn't an
inkling of this wonderful news ?
ALEC: Not an inkling, dear. And I don't for a
moment think there's a word of truth in it.
MARY: But of course it's true. Oh, I have so many
plans. You will not be able to continue living here,
of course. You'll have to get a much larger place.
496
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC (lighting a cigarette]'. I couldn't afford a larger
place.
MARY: Then you'll just have to do more work, or
raise your fees or something. I should think you'll
be able to raise your fees easily enough. People will
flock to you now.
ALEC: You'll be telling me I can put " By Appoint
ment " on my plate in a minute.
MARY: Why not? Fortnum and Mason's do.
[Alec picks up the Tatler.]
ALEC (turning pages)'. Where did you say Monica
was?
MARY (in agitation): She's gone to the hairdresser's.
Oh, don't look at that.
ALEC : Why ever not ?
BEATRICE : It might not be good for you.
ALEC: It's hardly likely to be bad for me. Nothing
could be more innocuous. A glossary of glossy people
on glossy paper, through which, when one has
nothing better to do, one glosses.
BEATRICE : Tell us about Paris, Alec.
[Alec idly turns the pages of the Magazine.]
MARY: Oh, yes. Where did you stay ? The Meurice,
or the George Cinque ?
ALEC: Neither, (He suddenly stops.} Good Lord!
Look at this.
MARY: Alec, darling, you mustn't look.
BEATRICE : You'll only hurt yourself.
MARY: I'm quite sure there's some very simple
explanation.
ALEC: Bunny Cummings, of all people. And to a
girl who not only looks sane, but extremely pretty
as well.
497
ACT ONE
MARY: What are we talking about?
ALEC: Bunny Cumrrungs. He's married.
MARY: I couldn't care less.
ALEC: Funny old Bunny. He always used to say
that until the law of the land was changed and a
man was allowed not one wife but three, he would
remain a bachelor.
MARY : What would he want with three wives ?
ALEC: He always maintained three were the necess
ary number. One to live with, one to play with —
and one to be seen out with.
MARY: I hope you don't share his ridiculous view.
ALEC : Myself I think one is enough. I wonder which
category Bunny puts his bride in ? Now I must go
and do some work. I hope Monica won't keep you
waiting long.
[He crosses to window^
MARY: You know what these dressmakers are.
ALEC (looking out") : Such weather. Some people wear
the oddest clothes for such a day. (He stretches?)
You know this is one of those mornings which
beguile you into thinking England is the most
splendid place in. the world. And perhaps it is at
that. It is on mornings like this that I feel an irresist
ible urge to sing. You will forgive me, won't you ?
\A.lec breaks gaily into song, and smiling at them goes
through the door right. Mary and Beatrice look at each
other, then Beatrice hursts into fears.]
BEATRICE (sobbing): Singing! As if he were happy.
If he only knew. . . . Oh, Alec, poor ill-starred
Alec. What foul trick has Fate played upon you.
MARY (impatiently)'. Oh, stop blubbing, you great
498
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
fool. I thought he was on to us for a moment. That
wretched magazine. . . . The candid camera is the
biggest threat to domestic bliss yet invented.
[She picks up the magazine and sits on */.]
BEATRICE : Oh, where is Monica ?
MARY: If we knew I don't suppose it would make us
feel any better.
BEATRICE : How can she behave like this ?
MARY: It's quite understandable. She obviously
didn't expect Alec back before this evening. And
then, of course, she didn't know about the knight
hood.
BEATRICE : Oh, Mother, you're so heartless. People's
happiness is not based on money and social position.
MARY : It is when you're married.
BEATRICE: Monica thinks it's clever to flirt with
other men.
MARY : And it is if she's successful. It's a means to
two ends. Feminine pleasure and matrimonial
security. Do you think for one moment that if
Monica weren't so extremely attractive to men
Alec would be so madly in love with her? Do use
your head, Beatrice.
BEATRICE: I wish you wouldn't keep on referring
to my head. There's such a thing as love.
MARY: Beatrice, you are driving me to the irrevoc
able conclusion that you are oversexed.
BEATRICE: Mother! What a horrid thought.
MARY: Yes, I find it rather repellent myself. (She
cocks her head.} Listen. I hear someone coming.
\They both turn towards the doors centre as they are opened
and Monica in evening gown and wrap sweeps into the room.
She is about thirty-five and beautiful. There are other
499
ACT ONE
things about her, her undoubted glamour, her sophistication,
her clothes; lout the fact that she is beautiful strikes one
first; everything else — her charm of manner, her assurance —
springs from that one fact. She is humming " I'm just Wild
about Harry ". Seeing Mary and Beatrice she stops
abruptly^
MONICA: Oh!
MARY: Yes, you may well say " Oh! "
MONICA: Mother! Beatrice I What are you doing
here ?
BEATRICE : We're waiting for you.
MARY: It's eleven o'clock. Where on earth have you
been, you dreadful girl.
MONICA (recovering herself]: What a lovely surprise 1
Both of you. How are you ? (She kisses them lightly.}
Have you had a drink ? If not, let me give you one
immediately.
[She walks quickly to the sideboard.}
MARY : Where have you been ?
MONICA: I have been to a party, darling. A very
good one, too. What would you like ? " Mother's
ruin " ?
MARY: You're a mother's ruin, and I don't want a
drink. You'd better hurry up and change. Alec's
back.
MONICA (startled] : What !
MARY : He's in the consulting room now.
MONICA: That's awkward.
MARY: It's much more than awkward. Your whole
future depends on how quickly you can remove that
dress.
MONICA : Did he ask where I was ?
BEATRICE: You were jolly lucky. We stood by you.
We told him you had gone out.
Joo
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY: Darling, Alec's getting a knighthood.
MONICA : How lovely. Why ?
MARY: " When " is more to the point.
MONICA: When, then?
MARY: Soon. A couple of weeks. So you see it's
absolutely imperative that you don't blot your copy
book now. Whatever happens Alec must never
know about this. Now hurry up and . . . what was
that?
\There is the sound of someone whistling, " Tm just Wild
about Harry " and Peter Varley walks gaily into the room.
He is about thirty-five, or so, athletic ; very good-looking and
wearing a dinner jacket. Seeing others he comes to an
abrupt halt.']
PETER: Oh!
MARY: Well!
BEATRICE: You see.
MONICA (valiantly): Darlings, you don't know Peter,
do you ^ My mother, my sister Beatrice — Peter
Varley.
PETER (swallowing}'. How do you do.
MARY: We've seen your photographs.
PETER : Oh, good show. It looks like it's going to be
a warm day, doesn't it ?
MARY: It certainly does.
MONICA: Darling, there's no time for pleasantries.
Alec's back.
PETER (Dumping] : Good God !
MONICA: Keep your voice down. He's in the next
room.
{The following dialogue is spoken in almost hushed
whtspers.1
PETER: I thought he wasn't coming back until this
evening ?
501
ACT ONE
MONICA: So did I. He must have come by an earlier
plane.
PETKR : How inconsiderate of him.
MONICA: He's often like that.
MARY: Don't stand chattering, you ridiculous things.
Where've you two been ? Why are you so late ?
MONICA (quickly}: We had a breakdown near St.
Albans and had to abandon the car. Fortunately
Peter knew a man who runs a hotel nearby and he
was able to fix us up for the night.
MARY (drily] : Very fortunate.
MONICA: Yes, wasn't it? I don't know what we
would have done without him. We came back by
Green Line this morning.
PETER: That's right.
MONICA: We felt so silly dressed like this on a Green
Line.
PETER: You see, we were the only ones in evening
clothes.
MONICA: We got a taxi from Marble Arch and well
. . . here we are.
PETER: That's right.
MONICA: Darling, I think you had better go right
away. If Alec finds you here there will be murder.
MARY: There certainly will. Go away, you very
charming young man. You mustn't ever see my
daughter again. Now hurry, hurry.
MONICA: I'm sorry it had to end like this.
PETER: That's all right, darling. I understand.
MONICA: Go now. Ring me this afternoon, will
you?
PETER: At about four. Well, good-bye. . . .
[Before he can move towards the door, the consulting room
door is opened and Alec comes into the room.]
ALEC (amiably}: Good morning.
502
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
\Thej all turn to look at him.]
MONICA: Alec!
MARY (softly): You're on your own, now, dear.
ALEC : Hello, darling. How are you ? You're looking
very glamorous for such a time of the morning.
MONICA: Darling. Welcome home.
[She runs to him and kisses him.]
Did you have a good trip ? You're very early getting
back.
ALEC : Well, the early bird, you know. . . .
MONICA (hastily} : How are you ?
ALEC : Fine. By the way, do I know your friend ?
MONICA : Oh, no, of course you don't. This is Peter
Varley. Peter, my husband Alec.
ALEC (with great charm] : How do you do.
PETER (uneasily') : Oh, how do you do.
[They shake hands.]
ALEC: You're looking rather splendid too. Where
are you going?
PETER: Nowhere in particular.
MONICA: Darling, it must sound awful, but we've
just come in.
ALEC (in great surprise) : Really ?
MONICA: It is silly, isn't it? You see, I've been to a
party. . . .
ALEC: I thought you were out shopping. That's
what your mother said. You had gone to the hair
dresser to do some shopping while you were waiting
for a dress to be finished.
MARY : I must have made a mistake. I was so excited
by my bit of news. . . .
503
ACT ONE
MONICA : Oh yes, congratulations, darling.
ALEC : Thank you very much.
MONICA (in her best social manner} : Peter, you didn't
know, did you? Alec is to receive a knighthood.
PETER: Oh, jolly good show.
MARY: We're all very thrilled.
MONICA : And nobody deserves one more.
PETER: I think I'd better be going.
ALEC : Oh, no, don't go. You haven't told me where
you've been yet.
MONICA: Oh, darling, don't jump to hasty con
clusions.
ALEC: I'm not.
MONICA: It's all very simple really.
PETER: Perfectly straightforward.
MONICA: You see, Peter and I are old friends, only
we hadn't seen each other for ages.
PETER: Not for years.
MONICA: And yesterday by an amazing coincidence
we ran into each other again.
PETER: Just like that.
MONICA: Out of the blue. And so we went and had
tea together at Gunters.
ALEC : But the school holidays are on.
MONICA: No, they're not. Anyway, we talked over
old times and then Peter said he was going to a party
the other side of St. Albans last night and asked me
if I would like to go with him. I was feeling rather
lonely without you and I thought it might be rather
fun.
ALEC: And was it?
MONICA: Oh, yes.
ALEC:' I'm glad.
MONICA: But on the way back Peter's car broke
down.
ALEC : What was the trouble ?
504
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
PETER ""i Carburettor.
f (simultaneously} :
MONICA J Ignition.
ALEC : Exceedingly tricky. .
MONICA: As a matter of fact, we don't really know
what it was.
PETER: We ]ust had to abandon the thing and walk.
MONICA : We walked miles !
PETER: Miles!
MONICA: But fortunately Peter knew somebody who
ran a hotel near St. Albans and . . . and we were
able to put up there.
ALEC: Did you have a good night ?
[He walks to the window.]
PETER: Rather. (Pause.} It was a three star hotel.
ALEC (looking out} : Nice car you have, Varley.
PETER: Yes, not bad.
ALEC: Do you find they heat up. . . ?
MONICA (hastily): That's not Peter's. That's a hired
car, darling. We came back in it.
BEATRICE: You said you came back by Gieen Line.
MARY (kicking her} : Be quiet, Beatrice !
\There is an uncomfortable silence. Alec stands looking at
them. Monica suddenly runs to him^\
MONICA: Oh, darling! Sorry. So sorry, my darling.
I know I've hurt you terribly.
ALEC : It's quite all right.
MONICA: Say what you like. I deserve it. Go on,
say it. Oh, I'll never forgive myself for doing this
to you.
PETER (coming fonvard} : Look here, Bestwood. I'm
most awfully sorry.
5°5
ACT ONE
ALEC : Don't mention it.
MONICA: Darling. I would rather have cut my right
arm off than have this happen to you. Peter, you
must go.
PETER: Very well.
ALEC : No, don't go. Stay and have a drink.
MARY: No, go. Go at once. This is dreadful. Don't
you realise that if the Prime Minister got wind of
this it would all be up ? Go away, young man.
ALEC: There's a little Scotch.
MONICA : Darling, you're being magnificent — and I'm
proud of you.
ALEC : Or would you prefer gin ?
MARY: No one wants alcohol, the situation calls for
something stronger.
ALEC: I think I may have a little adrenalin in the
other room.
[Monica stretches out a hand to Peter.]
MONICA: Good-bye, Peter. Forever!
PETER: Why be ostriches? Now that it's happened,
can't we talk about this like rational adults ?
MONICA : No, we can't. How can you be so cruel ?
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. I know you must
think I'm a cad; but please believe me, my feelings
for Monica, for your wife, are strong and utterly
sincere. I just wanted you to know that.
ALEC: It's a great comfort. Thank you.
MONICA: Oh, Peter, how can you? Don't make it
any more difficult than it is. Think of my position.
I don't want to hurt anyone; but you must under
stand that my duty is to my husband.
PETER: I'm sorry.
MONICA: Good-bye, my dear. You've been very
sweet. Bless you.
506
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC (raising his glass} : Cheers.
PETER : If that's the way you want it, Monica.
MONICA : That's the way it must be.
[Monica and Peter stand facing each other. A.lec crosses to
Mary and Beatrice and takes them by the arms.]
ALEC: Come with me. I have something to show
you.
MARY : Alec, what are you doing ?
ALEC (firmly] : Come along.
BEATRICE : Where are you taking us ?
ALEC: To the consulting room, he said, with a
villainous laugh.
MONICA: Darling, don't. There's no need.
PETER: Bestwood, I'm going.
\A.lec is propelling Mary and Beatrice towards door right.}
MARY: Alec, don't be so silly. I refuse to leave this
room in the middle of the drama.
ALEC: Come along " Mother-in-law".
MARY: Don't ever call me that again.
MONICA: Alec, please.
ALEC: Come along, ladies. I have some really
delicious X-Rays to show you. (To Monica and Peter.}
You will excuse me, won't you ? Good-bye, Varley.
Nice to have met you.
[Alec, Mary and Beatrice go through the door into the
consulting room. Monica turns to Pefer.]
MONICA: Oh, Peter. He's so hurt.
PETER: Are you sure? He seemed quite unmoved
to me.
MONICA: That's his superb self-control. He's noted
for it. Oh, darling. What rotten luck.
507
ACT ONE
PETER: Beastly.
MONICA: There's only one course left for us now.
It's good-bye, Peter.
PETER: I suppose so.
MONICA: I can't bear deceit. As long as he didn't
know, of course, it was a different matter. But
now. . . . Poor Alec. To have done this to him.
I could cry, I could really.
[She touches her eyes with the tips of her fingers.]
PETER: You mustn't, sweet, you mustn't.
MONICA : What else am I expected to do ?
PETER (holding her) : Oh, you darling. You adorable
darling.
MONICA: Hold me tightly just for a moment.
PETER: If it could only be for a lifetime.
MONICA: It could have been; but not now. Not
now, darling.
PETER : Let's make a clean breast of it, and go away
together. Just we two.
MONICA: Don't paint rainbows in front of my eyes.
PETER : Will you ?
[Monica shakes her head and smiles sadly up at him,]
MONICA: No, Peter. We haven't only ourselves to
think of now. We have him. Therefore, our moment
must end.
PETER: Moment? It's been nearly a year.
MONICA : It only seems like a moment.
PETER : But if you love me. . . .
MONICA: Oh, I do.
PETER: Then surely it would be more honest to tell
Alec, and we'll go away together.
MONICA : How simple you make it sound.
508
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
PETER : But it is simple.
MONICA: Nothing in life is simple. My dear, you
should know that. No, Peter, in a moment you must
go out of my life and you must never come back,
do you understand ?
PETER: What, never?
MONICA: Never.
PETER: It's too cruel.
MONICA : Life is cruel.
PETER: Don't keep on about life. Life is what you
make it. Life is a bowl of cherries. Life is a kick
in the pants.
MONICA: Don't spoil our last moments by being
testy, darling. My life from now on will be devoted
to my husband. I have learned my lesson, there will
be no room for anyone else. I'm sorry.
PETER: I say, you are not being influenced by this
knighthood business, are you?
MONICA: Peter!
PETER : No, that was base of me. I take it back.
MONICA : I can say on my word of honour that the
idea of a knighthood leaves me cold. Human
relationships are what count in life. . . .
PETER : If you say that word again I shall scream.
MONICA: You never had Alec's control.
PETER : I don't want his control. I want his wife.
MONICA : But now you may never have her. She has
gone as she came, like thistledown on the wind.
Good-bye, my darling. Think of me occasionally.
PETER: You will never be out of my thoughts.
MONICA : Please go before I cry. No, kiss me first.
{Peter takes her in his armsl\
Bruise me a little so that I may remember.
PETER- Oh, darling!
MONICA: Oh, darling!
509
ACT^ONE
[They are locked in a passionate embrace as Elizabeth com is
out of the consulting room.]
ELIZABETH (calmly] : Oh, excuse me.
MONICA: That's all right, Miss Wilton.
[Elizabeth goes out of the doors centre. Monica looks at
Peter.]
Don't let's prolong this. I couldn't bear much more.
PETER: You love me, and yet you allow me to go out
of your life.
MONICA: I must.
PETER (visibly moved}: You're a very wonderful
woman.
MONICA (nodding} : There will be a scene with Alec in
a minute. But I shall not dodge it, just as I have not
dodged the bitter poignancy of saying good-bye to
you.
PETER: So brave.
MONICA: No, not really. Just a fatalist, perhaps.
Good-bye, my dearest. Take care of yourself, and
perhaps, one day, we may meet again. You have my
'phone number, haven't you?
PETER : Next to my heart.
MONICA: Good-bye, then. One brief kiss and then
oblivion.
[She leans up and kisses him on the mouth.]
Go now. Don't look back.
[Peter nods dumbly and turning walks heavily to tht door.
At the door he pauses and half turns round.]
Don't. . . .
JIO
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
\Peter shakes bis head. Turning away, he walks slowly and
blindly out. Momca stands where she is looking after Aim.]
(Whispering?) Farewell, my love.
[The door of the consulting room opens and Mary and
Beatrice come back into the room^\
MARY: Well! Of all the tactless young women. In
my day wives always bade their lovers farewell in
the porch. Or at least in the summer house.
BEATRICE: There's no summer house here.
MARY: I'll thank you to keep your nose out of this,
Beatrice. Anyway, that just shows how manners and
morals are changing. In my day. . . .
MONICA: Oh, Mother, do be quiet. Things arc
turbulent enough without you drooling on about
your day. How's Alec ?
MARY: How can you expect him to be? He's being
absolutely wonderful under the circumstances.
MONICA : I must go to him 1
MARY: Not before you've changed, you don't. That
gown with it's stale perfume, its tiny creases, its
air of stolen enchantment — my dear, you would be
just asking for a divorce.
MONICA : I'll change right away.
MARY: Have you banished that delightful man from
your life?
MONICA : For ever !
MARY: I hope he won't go and do anything desperate
to himself. He was so good-looking.
MONICA: It wasn't easy; but I couldn't bear to have
Alec suffer any more than he has already.
MARY: Not now that he's getting a knighthood,
anyway.
MONICA: Mother, once and for all let me make this
511
ACT ONE
quite clear. I am not one whit interested in Alec's
proposed knighthood.
MARY : But Lady Bestwood. . . .
MONICA: Blast Lady Bestwood! Mother, you have a
social register for a heart.
MARY : Only since I passed fifty.
MONICA (dramatically)- I know what Alec feels for
me. I know what it would do to him if there were
another man. Therefore I am prepared to sacrifice
Peter's love, not because I don't love Peter, or because
I'm anxious to acquire a title, but just because after
ten years of married life I still happen to have some
feeling left for my husband.
BEATRICE (appreciatively] : That was absolutely splen
did, Monica.
MONICA: And now I'm going to change.
MARY : Something simple. I would suggest, my dear.
Something rather young and virginal.
MONICA: Mother, aren't you rather letting your
imagination run away with you ?
[jEx// Monica. Mary looks at Beatrice.]
MARY: This is all your fault.
BEATRICE: Why?
MARY: Don't ask ridiculous questions. Pour me a
quick gin before I collapse. I am utterly unnerved.
BEATRICE (going to sideboard}'. I think it's jolly unfair
of you to blame me.
MARY: Well, if you won't go and get yourself
married then you must serve some useful purpose in
life.
BEATRICE: I tell you, Mother. I'm getting fed up.
MARY: Don't be so ungrateful. You have the benefit
of my almost daily companionship. What else can a
girl Like you expect3
512
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
BEATRICE: I behave a jolly sight better than Monica;
and yet you are constantly criticising me and con
doning everything that Monica does.
MARY: Oh, you are a churlish girl, you are, really.
You're just like your father. Just like Bertie.
Everything I do and say is done with your interests
at heart. I don't want you to go through life as a
wallflower, an also ran. I want you to be happy,
Beatrice. A big success. I know I'm asking rather
a lot, but I shall not rest until I've achieved that
object.
BEATRICE: Sometimes I think that's the last thing
you want.
MARY: Oh, Beatrice. Wanton child!
BEATRICE : I mean, I know I haven't Monica's beauty
and charm and all that sort of stuff; but I love
animals, and as you yourself know, I'm a jolly good
cook.
MARY: None better. But since the war, after twelve
years of rationing, men's stomachs have shrunk;
therefore one can't attach as much importance to that
route as in my day, you do see that, don't you, dear ?
Anyway, there's little point in marrying a man who
can't even afford a cook.
BEATRICE: I shouldn't care what a man had as long
as I loved him. And I'd love any man who would
marry me.
MARY : This obsession of yours for love, Beatrice, it
worries me. I wish to heaven you had never given
up lacrosse.
[Alec enters from the right.}
ALEC : Still here ? Varley's gone, I suppose ?
MARY : Monica got rid of him right away. Just sent
him packing.
ALEC : Where is she now ?
R 513
ACT ONE
MARY: She has just gone to change her frock. Don't
be too hard on her, Alec. She's a little young and
impetuous as yet.
ALEC: I quite understand. Thank you for coming
round and telling me about my impending knight
hood and for being so wonderful in my hour of need.
MARY: Any mother-in-law would have done it.
ALEC: But not with half as much relish. Good-bye,
Mary. Good-bye, Beatrice. I'm sorry to hurry you
off like this, but I'm sure you will appreciate my
feelings when I say I should like to be alone now.
MARY: Of course, Alec. Come, Beatrice. We'll
go along to Fortnums and have coffee.
BEATRICE: Good-bye, Alec. I'm so awfully sorry.
But as Mother says, if Monica were not so attractive
to other men, you wouldn't love her half as much
as you do.
MARY (taking her ami] : Come along, Beatrice. You
are taking me to lunch at the Berkeley.
BEATRICE: You just now said we were going to have
coffee at Fortnums,
MARY: A good lunch is small compensation for the
blow you have just dealt me. 1 shall begin with
lobster. Good-bye, Alec.
[Exit Mary. Beatrice hesitates and looks at Alec for a
momentl\
BEATRICE: Alec, I'm so sorry that this should have
happened. If there's anything I can do, if there's any
little thing that you might want at any time, I would
just like you to know that I should be more than
delighted. Good-bye.
[Extt Beatrice. Alec sighs and helps himself to a drink.
'Elizabeth comes in from the centre.}
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ELIZABETH: Doctor, is this true that you are going
to be presented with a knighthood?
ALEC : Miss Wilton, can you keep a secret ?
ELIZABETH • It's against the dictates of my sex — but
I can try.
ALEC : My mother-in-law is one of the silliest women
in London.
ELIZABETH: Oh.
ALEC : She's an echo of a bygone day. Would you
like a drink?
ELIZABETH: Oh, no, thank you.
ALEC: Please do. I know it's a little irregular; but
this is a most irregular morning.
ELIZABETH : May I have some gin, then ?
ALEC : I'm so glad you suggested that — because that
appears to be all we have. Oh, no, wait a moment,
there's some sherry if you would prefer it.
ELIZABETH: Gin, please.
ALEC: Vermouth, tonic water, or just plain water?
Or sherry? Gin and sherry's quite exciting. It's just
the sort of drink to start you off when you have
decided to do something that perhaps you shouldn't,
something rather gay and abandoned. Something
that the world would censure you for, but something
you know will be so wholly delightful that you don't
give a damn. Gin and sherry. A prelude to gaiety.
ELIZABETH : I'll have a gin and water, doctor.
ALEC: And so will I. Your choice betrays good
taste, as well as good sense, Miss Wilton. There you
are.
ELIZABETH : Thank you.
ALEC (raising his glass): God bless.
[Elizabeth raises her glass and they drink.}
By the way, my mother-in-law says I must earn
ACT ONE
more money, so that my wife may live up to her
proposed tide. Therefore I suggest you bring
pressure to bear on all those people with outstanding
accounts.
ELIZABETH: There are quite a number.
ALEC : There always are. Miss Wilton, tell me, how
long have you been here, now?
ELIZABETH: Three years.
ALEC: As long as that? Well, I insist that you give
me six months' notice of when you intend to leave
me. Good secretaries are hard to get.
ELIZABETH : I have no intention of leaving you.
ALEC: That's what all my secretaries have said, but
they've gone all the same — usually to get married.
ELIZABETH: I've been married.
ALEC: Have you?
ELIZABETH : My husband was killed in the war.
ALEC: I'm sorry.
ELIZABETH : So long as you don't intend to give me
the sack, I shall stay,
ALEC : You haven't any children, have you ?
ELIZABETH: No.
ALEC (looking thoughtfully at her}: What do you do
with yourself? Don't you get lonely? You do for
give me asking, don't you ?
ELIZABETH: I don't really know what I do; but I'm
never lonely. I read, knit a little, go to the pictures
once a week. Oh, and I also go to the theatre quite a
lot.
ALEC : That's more than I can afford to do.
ELIZABETH: I go in the Pit. And sometimes the
Gallery.
ALEC: Nowadays, I believe the best people do.
ELIZABETH: Anyway, by the time we have finished
some evenings it doesn't leave a lot of time to do
anything, does it?
516
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC : If that's a veiled hint that I work you too hard
you'd better have another drink.
ELIZABETH: It wasn't, and I don't want another
drink, thank you.
[Monica enters centre. She has changed into a very attractive
and smart day dress.]
MONICA: I'm sorry to have been so long, Alec.
Would you mind leaving us, Miss Wilton, please?
I wish to speak to the doctor.
ELIZABETH : Of course. Thank you for my drink.
ALEC : Not at all.
[Eh^abefb goes through into the consulting room. Monica
looks at Alec.]
MONICA: Well, Alec?
ALEC: Just a moment, darling. I've just remembered
something.
[He goes to the door of the consulting room.]
ALEC : Miss Wilton. Would you remember to order
some Methylatropine Nitrate?
ELIZABETH (off] : I've already done so.
ALEC: Oh, good.
[He turns back. Momca has adopted an attitude and stands
waiting. Alec suddenly turns back to the consulting room
again.]
Oh, and we want some pituitary extract from
Burroughs.
ELIZABETH (off) : I'll order it right away.
[Alec nods and closes the door then crosses to sideboard.]
ALEC : Are you going to have a drink, darling ?
MONICA: I couldn't drink at a time like this.
517
ACT ONE
ALEC: Then I must drink alone.
MONICA (running to hini] : Oh, Alec, Alec.
[She buries her face into his shoulder. Alec looks mildly
surprised.]
Forgive me. Forgive me, darling.
ALEC- Very well. Let me just pour this drink.
MONICA: Oh, darling. I hate myself so much.
ALEC- You mustn't do that.
MONICA: I know I don't deserve it, but just tell me
I'm forgiven Please, I couldn't bear it otherwise.
I'll do anything you say, darling, but just tell me I'm
forgiven.
ALEC : You're forgiven.
[Monica releases him and steps back a pace.]
MONICA (vehemently] : No, I'm not. You're just saying
it. Just being wonderfully brave, while inside your
heart is bleeding.
[She flings her arms around his neck and holds him tightly.}
ALEC: I am not being brave. I have never been
brave in my life, I am not a brave man. And as to a
bleeding heart, I can assure you it has never been
more robust. Now do let me help myself to this
drink before I go mad with thirst.
MONICA: Alec, you don't know how low you make
me feel, by behaving so magnificently. You're fifty
times the person I am. I'm nothing more than a
worthless slut. If you want to beat me, you can.
[Alec has succeeded in pouring himself a drink and now he
turns to face her.]
ALEC: I suppose all this emotion springs from the
518
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
fact that I know you and Peter Varley were out all
night, last night?
MONICA: Please don't even say it.
ALEC: In other words that you spent the night
together.
MONICA: Alec. Don't torture yourself.
ALEC: I'm not torturing myself. I would just like
you to know that it's quite all right, therefore,
darling, there's no reason at all for you to feel badly
about it. I'm sure you enjoyed yourself and if you
did, then I'm glad. So don't let's say any more
about it. Will you have a drink now ?
MONICA (raising her head} : I see. I understand, Alec.
And I'm grateful to you. I see that you are deter
mined to avoid a scene at all costs. Thank you, my
dear. I appreciate that. I agree that we shouldn't
have a horrid scene over something that was so
transient, so worthless.
ALEC : I'm giving you gin and tonic , but there's no
lemon.
MONICA • I would like you to know that Peter's gone,
now. Gone for ever.
ALEC : Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
MONICA : Coming back into my life as he did yester
day, something happened, a flame was suddenly
kindled, it burned bright, then just as suddenly it
died again.
ALEC: Here's your drink, darling.
MONICA: Thank you, darling. It was a moment of
madness, that's all. We're intelligent people, you and
I, Alec. We can discuss this thing coolly and
rationally, can't we ?
ALEC: My dear, I have no intention of discussing
anything, I have told you that.
[ He sits on the arm of the sofa and picks up the Tatler.]
ACT ONE
What happened last night is quite unimportant,
believe me. Now let's talk about something else,
shall we ? Oh, by the way, Bunny Cummmgs has got
married.
MONICA (slowly} : Do you mean that ?
ALEC: It's in here. There's a photograph.
MONICA: I mean about Peter.
ALEC: Oh. Certainly I mean it. Your moment of
madness as you call it doesn't affect me in any way
at all. Really it doesn't.
MONICA (her voice changing) : Doesn't it ^
ALEC : Of course not.
MONICA: You may be interested to hear, then, that
it wasn't just a moment.
ALEC: Oh?
MONICA: It's been going on for nearly a year now.
Nearly a whole year!
ALEC (nodding} : I thought it was about ten months.
MONICA (aghast} : What ?
ALEC: Don't look so surprised. I've known for
quite a while now. I didn't know who the man was ;
but then that wasn't important — to me, at any rate.
I felt sure he would be someone rather charming.
You have always had good taste, darling.
MONICA : Alec. Aren't you feeling well ?
ALEC: Never felt better.
MONICA: How could you possibly have known?
ALEC : You told me. In the way you walked, the way
you talked, the look in your eyes. Your vivacity,
your gaiety. I haven't seen you looking quite so
attractive for years. The adventure and slight danger
of deception lent an edge to your personality which
was quite delightful to look upon. And then again —
you were so awfully charming to me.
MONICA : Of course, this is just sophisticated bravado,
isn't it?
520
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC: Not at all. I've been quite grateful for your
attachment. Because of it our relationship became
so much more pleasant, you were so much easier to
live with. You didn't make demands upon me, you
allowed me time to myself; and then on those
occasions when you were with me you were always
the soul of consideration and kindness. I've appre
ciated it.
MONICA : I think you must be raving mad.
ALEC: Darling, we've been married ten years now,
I hope we shall remain that way for another ten, and
more. We're happy, we suit each other; but you're
not in love with me.
MONICA: I am.
ALEC: No, you're not.
MONICA (after a moment*} : I love you.
ALEC (gently] : That's not quite the same thing, is it ?
You haven't been in love with me for at least three
years now.
MONICA: Three years, yes, that's about right. Oh,
darling. I didn't think you knew.
ALEC : Of course I knew.
MONICA: Oh, my sweet. My sweet darling. I feel
so utterly wretched for you.
ALEC : That's all right, because I fell out of love with
you two years before that.
MONICA (standing up} : You did what ?
ALEC : You outlasted me by two years, I should say.
MONICA : You're obviously drunk.
ALEC: Nevertheless, I think we've done very well.
Taking everything into consideration, I think we are
entitled to call ours a very successful marriage. We
had love at the beginning, we had a lot of love ; and
I think it lasted as long as, if not longer than most
marriages. I must admit I found it a bit of a strain
541
ACT ONE
when I fell out of love with you, and you weie still
madly m love with me, but later when yours died and
you faced up to the fact that it had, everything became
quite pleasant and normal for us again. And I am
glad to say it has stayed that way. I sincerely hope
it will continue to do so.
MONICA* I think you're despicable.
ALEC: You just told me not five minutes ago that I
was magnificent and brave and fifty times the person
you were.
MONICA: I didn't know you for what you were then.
My eyes were blinded by mists of trust.
ALEC : It's all my fault for coming back early. If for
one moment I had thought that you were bringing
Varley here, I would, of course, have caught a
later plane. I hope you'll forgive me. But once back
I was curious to see what sort of a chap he was, so
I came in here to meet him. He seemed rather nice
MONICA: I'm in love with him.
ALEC: Good.
MONICA: I intend to go on seeing him.
ALEC: Oh, good, I'm so glad. I was worried for a
moment.
MONICA: You . . . you really do want me to go on
with Peter?
ALEC: Of course I do, darling. Why should you
give him up ? He's amusing, he's charming. You're
obviously happy in his company. Far happier than
you would be in mine, let's face it; and anyway,
I'm so terribly busy, I just can't give a lot of time to
you. Yes, I think it's an ideal arrangement — for all
of us.
[Monica draws herself up and looks A.lec straight tn the
eye. There is a pause.]
522
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MONICA (very coldly] : I would like you to know that I
shall never forgive you for this as long as I live.
\Turmng on her heel she walks with great dignity out
through the doors centre as
The curtain falls}
523
ACT TWO
The same. Afternoon, a few days later.
When the curtain rises, Mrs. Titheradge is discovered sitting
on the sofa. Alec comes into the room from centre.
MARY: Good afternoon, Alec.
ALEC (cheerfully}: Good afternoon, Mary. And how
are you?
MARY: Oh, don't worry about me, dear, it's you I'm
thinking of.
ALEC : That's very sweet of you.
MARY (with great concern) : How are you, Alec ?
ALEC: I'm fine, thanks.
MARY : Are you ? Are you really ? I know, dear, that
it must have been quite a shock to you.
ALEC: Oh, I soon became reconciled to the idea.
Tell me, have you heard any more about it? What
does your friend Mabel Lexton say ?
MARY: Oh! Oh, we haven't any further information
about your knighthood, if that's what you mean.
ALEC : Well, keep working on it.
[House telephone rings. Alec picks it up.]
Very well, Miss Wilton. Just coming. I must leave
you now because I have somebody waiting to see me.
MARY: Anyway, we shall soon know. The Honours
List will be out in a fortnight.
ALEC: I do so hope I've drawn a horse. Good-bye,
Mary. Keep a vigilant eye on all rny interests, won't
you?
[He opens door right.]
Ah I Mrs. Tankerton. . .
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
[Pie disappears into the consulting room. Mary looks
thoughtfully after him as Monica enters from centre^
MONICA : I didn't know you were here, Mother.
MARY: I trust you didn't. Considering I have been
sitting here for ten minutes. Well, how are things?
MONICA: The same.
MARY: How is he taking it?
MONICA: Very badly.
MARY: I have just been talking to him. I feel bound
to say that he struck me as being in the best of
spirits.
MONICA: It's all a pose. He's doing it with every
body. I think he's absolutely magnificent.
MARY: Of course, it's their training, isn't it? And
then he was at Harrow. Churchill's the same.
MONICA: Oh, Mother, I don't know what I'm going
to do. I feel so frightful about it all.
MARY: I suppose he drops the pose when you're
alone ?
MONICA: I can't tell you. Once behind locked doors
he becomes positively savage. Well, he was for the
first two days. Now he's just silent and brooding;
and sometimes I see him looking at me with that
hurt, reproachful look, like a ... like a whipped
dog. I wish he would be savage again, I wish he
would beat me, anything, anything, rather than this
dreadful silent reproach of his.
MARY : There would have been much more cause for
anxiety if he hadn't taken it this way. In fact, that
doesn't bear thinking about.
MONICA: I quite agree, Mother, it doesn't.
MARY : Just as long as he's not contemplating divorce.
Now what about your other young man ?
MONICA: Peter? I haven't seen him. I told you I
525
ACT TWO
had banished him for ever. As a matter of fact he's
another thing I have on my conscience.
MARY: It's good for a woman's conscience to be
tioubled in that way. I never felt completely happy
unless I was holding at least three men's destinies
in my hands. I am afraid you and I are the same,
Monica. We can't help ourselves. We are what are
known %&—femmesfatahs.
MONICA : Sometimes I wish I were like Beatrice.
MARY: You would find it veiy uncomfortable.
MONICA: Her life is cosy, straightforward, simple,
uncomplicated.
MARY: I should think it's unmentionable, too. No,
dear, however grey things may look for you at the
moment, you must certainly never wish such a fate
upon yourself. Poor Beatrice. In her I have been
grossly misrepresented.
[The doors centre open and "Beatrice enters. She is carrying
a square brown paper parcel. She star is on seeing Mary and
Monica.]
BEATRICE: Oh, hello.
MONICA: Hello, Bee.
BEATRICE: Good afternoon, Mother.
MARY: Good afternoon, Beatrice. And just what are
you doing here, may I ask ?
BEATRICE: I didn't think you were here.
MARY: I see we are about to start one of our circular
conversations. I asked you a simple question, dear.
Without straining yourself unduly, could you
possibly give me a simple answer to my question ?
BEATRICE: I just thought I'd look in to see how
everybody was, as I happened to be passing.
MONICA : We are all as well as can be expected in the
circumstances.
526
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
BEATRICE (sitting) : How is Alec ?
MONICA: Not too good, I'm afraid.
BEATRICE : Is he in ?
MARY: What do you want to know if he's in for?
Anyway, what have you got in that parcel ?
BEATRICE: Nothing.
MARY: Nothing?
BEATRICE: It's just a parcel.
MARY: I'm well aware of that, Beatrice. But what's
inside it ?
BEATRICE : There's nothing inside it. Why must you
keep on questioning me ?
MARY: Mother and daughter should have no secrets
from each other, you should know that by now.
BEATRICE: Is Alec m?
MARY: Yes, but he has a patient with him. You are
showing an uncommon interest in Alec, today,
Beatrice.
BEATRICE: I'm not, I just wondeied. After all, he
lives here, it's only natural that 1 should ask, surely.
MONICA: Don't let's keep on about it, for God's
sake. I have enough on my mind without you two
bickering under my nose. If you want to bicker I
think you had better go and bicker somewhere else.
MARY: I quite agree. Beatrice, I think you might
show a little more consideration for Monica.
BEATRICE: Monica's all right.
MARY: She is not. She's under a strain.
BEATRICE: It's her own fault if she is.
MONICA: You wouldn't know about this, Beatrice.
But sometimes in life there are things that are so
compelling as to make one forget one's obligations,
one's loved ones. Such a thing overtook me. I am
now suffering a little for the suffering I have caused
others, please try and understand and be a little more
considerate.
ACT TWO
BEATRICE (rising): I'm going round to see Mrs.
Fortescue. She's rather poorly. I thought perhaps
if I looked in to see her it might buck her up.
[She walks centre.}
MARY: What a quaint idea.
BEATRICE: I may come back later.
[Exit Beatrice.}
MARY: Like a blimp that's lost its moorings.
MONICA : She's left her parcel behind.
[She picks it up and looks curiously at it.}
MARY: It's not very heavy. I wonder what it can be?
MONICA: I expect she's bought herself a hideous
camisole or something.
MARY: No. I will say one thing for her. She always
wears the most beautiful undies.
MONICA : Heaven knows why.
MARY: She's spent the last ten years of her life under
the delusion that whenever she walks along the
street there is a man following her. That's why she
never takes a taxi.
MONICA: It's obviously a cardboard box. Give it a
shake.
MARY (shaking if] : No sound. She's a secretive little
hussy. Deceitful, too.
MONICA : I wonder if we've stumbled on something.
She's always off somewhere on her own. What does
she do with herself, Mother ? Where does she go in
the evenings ?
MARY: To Guides, I think.
MONICA: That may be a blind. Nobody can really
528
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
be as quiet and non-committal as Beatrice without
trying to hide something. Who knows — she might
be a drug trafficker.
MARY (rapturously) : Oh, if only she were. "
MONICA: Hashish might well account for that
curious expression she wears permanently on her
face.
MARY : Let's open it.
MONICA : Dare we ?
MARY: Yes, let's.
MONICA: All right.
MARY: We'd better not cut the string. We'll just
pick at the knots.
MONICA : Unless we cut the string and tie it up again
with fresh string.
MARY: Too risky. Here, dear. You do it, your nails
are less brittle than mine.
[The doots are opened and Beatrice comes m, snatches up the
parcel and without a word exits again.}
MONICA: Damn!
MARY: That's typical of Beatrice. Instead of going
away properly like any normal person, she has to
come back again.
[Peter Varley appears suddenly in the doorway centre^
PETER (fervently) : Monica I
MONICA (jumping): Good God!
MARY: It's that man!
MONICA : Peter ! What are you doing here ?
PETER: I had to come. Please don't scold me. I
had to see you.
MONICA : I gave the maid instructions not to let you
in.
529
ACT TWO
PETER : I couldn't go another day without seeing you.
I just had to see you. Can you understand that ?
MONICA: Of course I can, darling. But you're taking
an awful risk. My husband is in.
PETER : I must talk to you.
MARY: Oh, you headstrong, romantic young man.
I expect you want to throw her over a horse and
gallop away over the horizon, don't you ?
MONICA: Mother, I think you had better go.
MARY : I think this wicked young man had better go,
too. Unless we want to lass our title good-bye.
Come along, Mr. Varley, you may take me out to
tea.
PETER : I don't want to take you out to tea. I want to
speak to Monica. Darling!
MONICA : Go away, Mother, please.
MARY: I think it's most unfair. Whenever there's
drama imminent I have to leave the room.
MONICA: Peter and I would just like a moment
alone.
MARY: My dear young man, to me you are the spirit
of chivalry and romance. Even though I stand to
lose a title, I adore your action of forcing your way
in here to see your lady. But I am a romantic, I admit
it. I always have been. Through Monica I relive my
own young married life. . . .
MONICA: Mother, do go away!
MARY: That may surprise you, but it's true. But
although I see your actions in such a Light theie are
others who won't.
MONICA: Mother!!!
MARY: Oh, very well, but I shall only go just outside
the door. And I shall listen.
{Exit Mary. Monica and Peter immediately embrace.}
PETER: Let me look at you. Oh, darling.
530
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MONICA: Sweet Peter.
PETER : Has he been awful ?
MONICA: Dreadful.
PETER: He's beaten you?
MONICA: Savagely.
PETER: The swine.
MONICA: Bruises. Bruises everywhere.
PETER : Oh, darling. I can't bear it. He didn't mark
your face, though.
MONICA: He didn't want the world to know.
PETER : The utter, utter swine. And it's all my fault.
MONICA: I was just as much to blame.
PETER: Darling 1
\They embrace again. Eh^abeth, without her overall,
comes out of the consulting room and crosses centre.}
ELIZABETH (politely) : Excuse me.
MONICA (shortly) : That's quite all right, Miss Wilton.
\Exit Eh^abeth.]
His patient must have gone. He'll kill you if he
finds you here.
PETER : Monica, I want you to come away with me.
MONICA : I can't, Peter. Where ?
PETER: Venice.
MONICA: It's absolutely impossible. When?
PETER: Tonight. This afternoon. This minute.
MONICA : Oh, darling. How could I ever do such a
thing to Alec? That would be the last straw — he
would die. Anyway, I should have to have some new
clothes for the Continent. Oh, sweetheart, you must
see it's out of the question.
PETER: Why should he come between two people
who love each other as we do ? I'm going in there.
I'm going to talk to him.
ACT TWO
MONICA: Darling, he'll kill you! Go away now,
please. While there's still time.
\The door of the consulting room is opened and A.lec comes
slowly into the room reading a sheet of paper. He doesn't
see Peter and Monica. Peter throws his arm protectively
in front of Monica^
PETER: Leave this to me.
[Alec looks up.]
ALEC (happily surprised}: Hello, Varley. Nice to see
you. How are you ?
[He comes forward and shakes Peter's hand enthusiastically^
I thought we were nevei going to see you again.
Have you been away ?
PETER: No.
ALEC : I didn't know you were here, or else I would
have come in before. Well, how are you ^
MONICA (to Peter} : It's all bluff.
ALEC : What did you say, darling ?
MONICA: I told Peter that you were bluffing. I was
just putting him on his guard.
PETER : Look here, Bestwood. . . .
MONICA: Be careful, Peter. I wouldn't be at all
surprised if he hadn't got a scalpel in his pocket.
ALEC : Dear heart, what are you saying now ?
MONICA: It's no good, Alec. It's no use your
pretending you're pleased to see Peter.
ALEC : But I am. Terribly pleased.
MONICA: You are not. You're livid, you know you
are. Livid, livid, livid 1
ALEC : How can you be so discourteous to our guest ?
552
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
I must apologise, Varley, but please pay no attention
to Monica, I really am delighted to see you.
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. . . .
MONICA: You must go, Peter. I don't want blood
on my hands.
ALEC: Monica, every time Varley comes here you
are immediately at great pains to send him away
again — why ?
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. . . .
MONICA: Go, Peter!
ALEC : Monica, please let him stay, if only so that I
may find out whether he is capable of saying any
thing else besides, " Look here, Bestwood."
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. . . .
ALEC: Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
PETER: Look here, Bestwood, I think the time has
come for us to have a talk.
ALEC: Congratulations. You made it.
PETER: Bestwood, I'm in love with your wife.
ALEC: Good. Will you stay to tea?
PETER : Did you hear what I said ?
ALEC : Very clearly.
PETER : Well, aren't you going to do anything ?
ALEC : What would you like me to do ?
PETER: Well — something.
ALEC : A cartwheel ? A pas de chat ? An arabesque ?
Qu'est ce que votts vouk^ ?
PETER (intensely): I'm in love with Monica. I'm in
love with her. I'm in love with your wife. Can you
possibly understand that?
ALEC: Oh, I think so. One man's meat, you know
. . . sugar?
PETER (to Monica} : What did he say ?
MONICA: He's just trying to be gay about the whole
thing.
PETER : I want her to come away with me.
533
ACT TWO
ALEC : Where were you thinking of taking her ?
PETER: I thought Venice.
ALEC: Very nice place, Venice. Is that where you
want to go, Monica?
MONICA: Of course it is. There's no place I want to
go to more.
ALEC: Yes, it's lovely there at this time of the year.
I almost wish I were coming with you; but pressure
of work and all that, you know. I am sure it will do
you the world of good, darling. How long were you
thinking of going for ?
PETER: I hadn't got that far, actually.
ALEC : Well, you want to remember that you'll only
have eighty quid between you. Although I think
I might be able to give you a connection there who
would advance you some Lire.
PETER: That's jolly sporting of you.
ALEC : Not at all. Only too glad to help. Now when
are you thinking of going ?
PETER: Tonight. If that's all right with you.
ALEC: Of course it's all right with me, my dear
fellow. I'll give Monica a letter to this chap about
the money. Oh, and by the way. . . .
PETER: Yes?
ALEC: You must visit Guiseppe's. You haven't
eaten Italian food until you've been to Guiseppe's.
It's just off the Piazza. Anyway, you know where
it is, don't you, Monica? I expect the old boy will
remember you; but in case he doesn't just tell him
you're friends of mine. Well, bye-bye, Varley. Have
a wonderful time. I know I can trust you to take
good care of her.
{They shake hands,']
Good-bye, darling. (He kisses her gently?) I won't
534
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
detain you both any longer, because I'm sure you
have a million things to do. Don't forget, I shall
expect at least one postcard from you. Have a lovely
time — you lucky things.
[And with a charming smile at them both A.lec walks into
the consulting room again.]
PETER (slowly): I can't believe it I (Then suddenly
becoming excited.} Darling, do you realise what this
means ? (He crosses to her.} Oh, darling. It's all right.
It's all right. You're mine. Isn't that wonderful ?
MONICA : Oh, shut up !
PETER : What did you say ?
MONICA : I said shut up, you great fool.
PETER: Monica!
MONICA: Don't you Monica me. I've had quite
enough of you. Get out of my sight. Go home.
PETER- Dailing! What's happened to you? What
are you saying ? We are going to Venice together.
MONICA : We're not even going to Clapham Junction
together. Go away.
PETER: Darling.
MONICA: I've heard about men like you before; but
foitunately I'd never met one. You appear to be
completely without shame. There are no words to
describe how despicable I think your type of man is.
Coming here like this, trying to come between my
husband and myself, trying to take me away from
him. My God, you're low.
PETER: Monica, darling, what are you saying?
MONICA (witheringly): You cur.
PETER: What!
MONICA: Cur, sir!
PETER: I feel as if I'm dreaming. What's suddenly
made you change like this ? I don't understand.
535
ACT TWO
MONICA: I don't expect you to, youi brain's no
bigger than a shrivelled pea. Go away, I hate you.
You're a cad, and you're also a very large bore.
PETER: Please. . . .
MONICA: I don't like you. I've never liked you, I
never shall like you. To me you're the epitome of
all the things that give me the willies. Now go away
before I start screaming.
PETER: This is quite fantastic. We are supposed to
be in love.
[Monica throws her head back and gives a high-pitched,
scornful laugh}
We have been for nearly a year. We were supposed
to be going away together, just we two, to find
happiness. And now, just when everything looks
marvellous for us, for no reason at all you turn on
me. I just don't understand you, Monica. I just
don't understand you.
MONICA (working herself up} : I must say it's a fine time
to tell me. You didn't say anything about not
understanding me when you wanted me to go away
with you, did you? No. No, you tell me now, now
that we're not going away. Isn't that just like a man ?
PETER: But before I thought I did understand you.
MONICA: Oh, be quiet and go home, you stupid
buffalo, you. You bore me. I don't want to ever
see you again.
PETER : Very well. I'll go.
[Monica turns her back on him. Peter looks at her, then
walks to the door. At the door he turns}
I'm not quite sure what I've done, but I'm sorry for
doing it, anyway. Good-bye, Monica.
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
[Ex// Peter, Monica angrily lights a cigarette. Mary pops
her head round door centre.]
MARY: Darling, what happened? Did they fight?
MONICA: Oh, get out!
[She turns and is about to burl a cushion at Mary who
promptly disappears again. Alec comes in from the
consulting room.]
ALEC: Hello. Still here? I thought you would be
busy packing.
MONICA : You think you're very clever, don't you ?
ALEC : Has Varley gone ?
MONICA: Yes, surprisingly enough, he has.
ALEC : What time is he coming to pick you up ?
MONICA: He is not coming to pick me up. We are
not going.
ALEC : Why ever not ?
MONICA: Because I don't choose to, that's why. Do
you know a better reason ?
ALEC: Well, you don't need this letter then.
[Alec puts the letter in his pocket.]
Are you going anywhere else? Brighton, or Felix-
stowe, or somewhere?
MONICA: We are not going anywhere at all. It's all
off.
[Alec stands looking at her for a moment^
ALEC (seriously]: Darling, you haven't done this
because of me, have you ?
MONICA: All right, Alec. You can drop the mask
now. The joke's gone on long enough. I am not
537
ACT TWO
going away with Peter, now or ever. I don't care if
I never see him again. Now are you satisfied ?
ALEC: I might be if I knew what you were talking
about.
MONICA: In the parlance of melodrama — you are
discovered, darling. I know your little game, it was
a very clever little game, now may we stop playing
little games and come back to normal ?
ALEC: By all means. But I repeat, I haven't the
faintest idea what you're talking about.
MONICA: Will you or will you not admit that every
thing you have been doing and saying to me ever
since you came back from Paris is all part of a very
clever scheme to make me give up Peter ?
ALEC : Oh, I see. How quaint. Darling, if I really
minded about your association with Varley, the first
thing I should do would be to tell you, and I see no
reason to doubt that that would be enough.
MONICA : I trust you are not going into the realms of
fantasy again by saying that you meant everything
you said.
ALEC: Darling, will you do your utmost to get that
little bird brain of yours under control for a few
moments, just long enough for you to assimilate
what I'm going to say to you Monica, I'm afraid
we two have now reached that flat spot in marriage
which seems to come to the best of married couples
after a certain period of time ; but all the same, dear,
I would like you to know that I wouldn't swop you
for anyone in the world.
MONICA- That's very big of you.
ALEC: Not at all. You are still quite the most
beautiful woman I know, I am sure you always will
be; but I suppose because I've become used to it
staring me in the face every day of the week, that
beauty fails to excite me any longer. Instead of filling
538
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
me with awe and wonder as it did once it now just
pleases and satisfies me, as well as affording me a
rather complacent feeling when we go out to dine.
It's the same with all your other virtues. Satisfying
but not exciting. But then, of couise, it works both
ways, for now your faults. . . .
MONICA : What faults ?
ALEC: Your faults, dear. Well, they no longer
irritate me to the point of madness as they used to.
I am now able to view most of them with amused
tolerance, in fact even with some pleasure, and that's
something I could never do when I was in love with
you.
MONICA : How grand you are, and how inexpressibly
smug.
ALEC: The happiness of our marriage, the even
tenor of its course, is due, I would like to point
out, in no small measure to me, for the fact that I
am no longer in love with you.
MONICA: Is it absolutely necessary for you to keep
repeating that?
ALEC: We must face facts, dear. And therefore
because of the fact that I am no longer in love with
you I am able to allow you rope which you couldn't
possibly expect otherwise — believing in the old-
fashioned maxim that tolerance is better than divorce.
MONICA (sarcastically) ; You're old-fashioned ?
ALEC: Extremely.
MONICA : Pompous ass !
ALEC : I think we are handling our flat spot elegantly
and admirably while it lasts, because, of course, it
doesn't last. It just comes after a certain period of
wedlock, round about a certain age, usually forty,
stays for a little while, then departs, leaving the
couple to join together again in the final sweet
harmony of approaching old age.
539
ACT TWO
MONICA: Lavender and lace and Auld Lang Syne.
How charming you make it sound.
ALEC : It is rather charming.
MONICA: Have you finished ?
ALEC: I think so.
MONICA: Thank you so much. I've derived a lot of
benefit from your lecture. It's helped me to see
things a lot more clearly.
ALEC: I'm glad, darling.
MONICA: It's now quite obvious to me that there's
another woman.
ALEC : I beg your pardon ?
MONICA: Oh, you must take me for a fool, Alec.
You really didn't hope to get away with all that stuff
did you? All that psychological hoo-ha about flat
spots and amused tolerance and what have you?
My dear, I may be a little dim but you can hardly
have expected me to fall for that one.
ALEC (faintly) : I think I must sit down.
MONICA: Who is she, Alec? Who's the lady?
ALEC : The workings of that extraordinary brain of
yours leave me speechless in wonder and admiration.
MONICA: My dear, I haven't reached the age I have
without getting to know something about the ways of
men. When a husband starts telling a wife that he
wants her to enjoy herself, it's painfully obvious that
he has a woman up his sleeve.
ALEC : Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear !
MONICA: That's right, darling, play for time. The
reason you didn't mind about Peter, the reason you
encouraged us to go away together was nothing to
do with me, it was all for your benefit, so that you
might have the coast clear to carry on your nasty
little intrigue. Also, I think you're quite despicable.
ALEC: And I think you're quite incredible.
MONICA: If there's one thing I can't stand in a man
540
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
it's deceit. Anything else, perhaps; but not that.
You've deceived me. Alec, I have no doubt you
have been deceiving me for a long time now, and
you would have gone on doing so if I hadn't been
clever enough to find you out.
ALEC: You're clever all right. You're quite the
cleverest woman I've ever met.
MONICA: Then you admit it?
ALEC : I admit nothing. There's nothing to admit.
MONICA: You still intend to try to make me believe
that there's no one else ?
ALEC: I don't intend to try to make you believe
anything — I know my limitations.
MONICA: Who is she, Alec?
ALEC (standing up} : Oh, for God's sake. There is no
one, Monica. No one at all. Please get that into your
silly, woolly little head, will you? There's no one.
No one at all !
[Elizabeth comes into the room from the doors centre and,
smiling politely, crosses to the door right and disappears
into the consulting room. There is a silence. Monica looks
at Alec.]
MONICA (slowly) : I might have known.
ALEC : I might have known you would have known.
MONICA : Yes, I am a fool, aren't I, Alec ? I've been
one for a long time. So that's it. All the time while
I was out with Peter, you were carrying on in the
consulting room! Oh, could anything be more
infamous ?
ALEC : Stop being so utterly absurd. Miss Wilton is
my secretary and my receptionist. I resent very
strongly the insinuation that she might be anything
else.
MONICA: Either that woman leaves this house or I
ACT TWO
do. Take your choice; but I am not living under the
same roof as my husband's mistress.
ALEC: Oh, don't be ridiculous.
MONICA: Yes, that was ridiculous. I take it back.
That's just what you want, isn't it? To get me out
of the way so that you may continue this abortive
intrigue at your leisure. No, I stay. She goes.
ALEC : She does not.
MONICA: She does!
ALEC: She does not! Miss Wilton is my secretary,
she's a very fine secretary, she's the finest secretary
I've ever had; but she's nothing more. Therefore
she stays.
MONICA : She's very pretty.
ALEC: Is she?
MONICA : She has an excellent figure, and she always
dresses well. Cheaply, but with taste.
ALEC: She could be habitually draped in the Union
Jack for all I've noticed.
MONICA: I've always thought her most attractive in
a rather obvious sort of way. (She looks at him.) She
has rather nice eyes.
ALEC : If you told me she was boss-eyed with huge
buck teeth I would believe you.
MONICA: Then she is not the woman ?
ALEC : Of course not.
MONICA: Then there's someone else.
ALEC: Oh, God!
MONICA: And I intend to find out who she is. And
when I do, when I do, there's going to be hell in this
house.
ALEC: This is the most miserable afternoon of my
life.
MONICA (walking about): You should feel miserable.
How do you think I feel ? Stop being so self-centred
and imagine my feelings. It's all been a terrible
542
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
shock. I feel betrayed, but I'm willing to give you
the benefit of the doubt for the moment. I know
what some of these predatory females are. But who
ever she is, I shall find her, Alec, be sure of that, and
when I do, she will wish she had never been born.
Good-bye I
[Exit Mom fa centre. Alec puts bis hand to his head and
groans. Then slowly be walks to the sideboard and pours
himself a stiff drink. The doors centre are opened and
Beatrice cautiously puts her head inside. Seeing Alec is
alone in the room, she comes nght m, closing the door behind
her.}
BEATRICE (softly] • Hello, Alec.
[Alec chokes and turns to face her.]
ALEC : Oh dear !
BEATRICE : Are you alone ^
ALEC: For the moment, yes. Quite alone. Would
you like a drink ?
BEATRICE: It's much too eaily, but you carry on. I
know how you must feel.
ALEC : Do you really ?
BEATRICE: I'm your ally. I understand the stress and
strain you must be under in this, your darkest hour.
ALEC: My darkest hour. You've never said a truer
word.
BEATRICE: Don't try and talk if you don't want to,
it's all right. And have another drink, if you feel
you must. But if I may give you a bit of advice,
Alec — don't seek refuge in the bottle. It's not worth
it. You have a career in front of you, a knighthood.
Don't throw it away because of a woman's caprice.
ALEC: I'll try not to.
543
ACT TWO
BEATRICE: Remember that every cloud has its silver
lining. I would like you to think of me now as your
little silver lining.
ALEC : That's really most kind of you, Beatrice.
BEATRICE : I don't suppose I can do much, but if a
sympathetic ear, a bit of advice, a cheery word will
help in any way, then I'm at your service.
ALEC: I have a sneaking feeling that perhaps I
shouldn't be here.
BEATRICE: I've brought you something. A little
present to cheer you up. Come and sit on the sofa.
[Beatrice plumps herself down on the sofa and Alec a little
uneasily follows suit.]
It's not much; but I thought it might help to know
that somebody's thinking of you. Will you open it?
ALEC : It's very nice of you, Beatrice, to bring me a
present.
[He begins to undo the string.]
BEATRICE: I know blood is thicker than water, but
I can find nothing but condemnation for Monica for
the way she has behaved. You don't deserve such
treatment. In fact, if I must be quite frank I don't
think Monica deserves someone like you for a
husband.
ALEC: For my pait, I don't think I deserve someone
like her for a wife.
BEATRICE: One would expect you to say something
like that. I take my hat off to you. You're a decent
chap.
ALEC: I certainly couldn't ask for more. Ah! Here
we are.
544
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
[He removes the paper revealing a flat cardboard box.]
Shall I open it?
BEATRICE: Of course.
[.Alec takes the lid off the box and reveals a folded
garment, on top of ivhich rests a card. Alec picks up the
card.]
ALEC {reading} : " To Alec. With my love. Beatrice."
How very charming. Thank you very much indeed.
BEATRICE: Take it out.
[Alec slowly holds up a huge maroon pullover •.]
ALEC (startled} : What is it ?
BEATRICE : It's a pullover. Do you like it ?
ALEC : I can't think what I've done to deserve it.
BEATRICE: Is the colour all right?
ALEC: Lovely. My favourite. Did you make this
yourself?
BEATRICE: Yes.
ALEC : Wonderful. It's moss stitch, isn't it ?
BEATRICE: No. Stocking stitch.
ALEC : Oh, yes, of course.
[A slight pause. Alec continues to stare incredulously at the
pullover^
BEATRICE : You really like it ?
ALEC : I'm crazy about it. But Beatrice, isn't it ...
isn't it just a teeny wee bit big?
BEATRICE : Is it ?
ALEC : It does seem to be a little on the biggish side.
That is, at a quick glance.
b 545
ACT TWO
BEATRICE (blushing): Well, I had no way of telling
just what your chest measurements were.
ALEC: Quite.
BEATRICE : I knew that you wete a big, strapping soit
of chap, and I knew therefore that you would have a
pretty large chest.
ALEC : As a matter of fact I have a very tiny chest.
Rather like a spring chicken. Still, I'm sure I shall
be able to fill out now that I have such a wonderful
incentive; it's very, very sweet of you. I just can't
wait for the winter to arrive so that I can wear it.
Thank you.
BEATRICE: I've been doing it in the evenings. It was
meant to cheer you up.
ALEC: And it has done, enormously. You have no
idea.
BEATRICE: I don't suppose Monica ever knits you
anything.
ALEC: I believe there was a Balaclava helmet m the
winter of forty-one. Rather close-fitting. We used
it as an egg cosy in the end.
BEATRICE: Monica is beautiful and glamorous and
has lots of personality, but I don't think she's a very
good wife. I don't think that type ever is, especially
for a man in your position. You need someone
steadier, more reliable. . . .
ALEC (hurriedly}: I am now quite certain that I
shouldn't be here.
[He makes as if to stand up but Beatrice takes hold of his
BEATRICE (very seriously) : Someone who could be a
companion as well as a wife, someone who could cook
you little delicacies when you were not well. Some
one to nurse and cosset you. A woman whose head
546
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
is not full of fashions and petty vanities, but a woman
who can darn your socks and drink a pint of bitter
with the next man. Someone who likes the smell of
horses, and is good with dogs, too. Someone who
armed with a stout stick can tramp the rugged moor
land at your side revelling in the sting of rain upon
her face. A woman like that is what a man like you
needs, Alec.
{She puts her arms round his neck and kisses him. Elizabeth
opens the door of the consulting room and comes into the
room. Seeing the scene on the sofa she pauses.]
ELIZABETH : Oh, excuse me.
ALEC (feebly} : That's quite all right, Miss Wilton.
{Elizabeth smiles slightly then goes back into the consulting
room. Alec looks at Beatrice who is now looking rather
shamefaced^
Really, Beatrice!
BEATRICE: Oh, Alec. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.
I don't know what came over me.
ALEC : That's quite all right, Beatrice. Don't give it
another thought.
BEATRICE : You probably think I'm horrid and quite
ridiculous.
ALEC: The thought never crossed my mind.
BEATRICE: Honestly, you didn't mind?
ALEC (magnanimously] \ A little kiss ? Of course not.
BEATRICE (embracing him) : Oh, you're splendid I
ALEC (going under] : Help 1
[Beatrice is purposefully kissing Alec again when Mary
comes in from centre. Seeing them, she stops abruptly and
puts her hand to her mouth in astonishment, then turning
547
ACT TWO
round she almost runs out of the room again.
opens the other door.]
ELIZABETH : Doctor. You're wanted on the 'phone.
It's urgent.
ALEC (disengaging himself) : It certainly is. Excuse me,
Beatrice.
[He gets up and runs into the consulting room closing the
door behind him. Beatrice is looking a little flushed. Raising
her eyes to Eh^abetb, she almost giggles.}
BEATRICE (after a moment] : I hope you're a woman of
the world, Miss Wilton.
[Humming gently to herself, Beatrice exits centre. The door
of the consulting room is opened and A.lec peers into the
room.]
ALEC (whispering) : Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH (turning): It's all right. She's gone.
ALEC : Oh, thank God for that.
[He comes into the room.]
There wasn't really a 'phone call, was there ?
ELIZABETH: Emergency tactics.
ALEC: There was never a bigger emergency. This
has been a perfectly incredible afternoon. If it keeps
up I am quite certain I shall become hysterical.
ELIZABETH: Can I get you a drink?
ALEC: I don't think so. I think I'll go and have a
nice quiet cup of tea in a moment. We haven't any
more appointments this afternoon, have we ?
ELIZABETH: No.
ALEC : Then let's call it a day.
548
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ELIZABETH: I still have some accounts to do.
ALEC: Leave them.
ELIZABETH: Remember Mrs. Titheradge.
ALEC: Blast Mrs. Titheradge. And the whole Tithe-
radge family. You can knock off early. Go to the
pictures, or go in the gallery somewhere. By the
way, there's an awfully nice smell in here.
ELIZABETH: I expect it's my violets.
[She indicates a httle bunch pinned to the bosom of her
frock. A.kc looks at them and then at Aer.]
ALEC : Very unprofessional — but very charfning.
ELIZABETH: It's such a lovely day — and as I was
coming back fiom posting those letters I saw a
woman selling them, and I'm afraid I couldn't resist.
And as it also happens to be my birthday I thought
I was entitled to treat myself.
ALEC: Your birthday's today?
ELIZABETH: Yes.
ALEC: Many happy returns.
ELIZABETH: Thank you.
ALEC: You know, I am a swine. You always
remember mine, though God knows how, and I
haven't the faintest idea when yours is.
ELIZABETH : Why should you have ? I've never told
you,
ALEC : I could have found out.
ELIZABETH: There are more important things.
ALEC: I'll remember next year. In fact to make
quite certain make a memo to be sure and remind me
next year.
ELIZABETH (smiling); Yes, doctor.
[Alec smiles back at her.}
549
ACT TWO
Well, if we have really finished, I think I'll go and
tidy up and then go.
ALEC (suddenly) : No, don't go. Not for a moment.
[Elizabeth pauses and looks enquiringly at htm^
Stay and have a drink, or have some tea, or some
thing.
ELIZABETH : No, thank you, Doctor.
ALEC: Oh, do.
ELIZABETH: It's much too early to drink, and I'm
not really very keen on tea.
ALEC : Then have a cigarette.
[Hi? offers her his case. Elizabeth looks at him, then takes
one.}
ELIZABETH: Why?
ALEC: I want to talk to you.
ELIZABETH: If it's about the Raleigh boy . . .
ALEC : It's about you.
ELIZABETH : Have I done something wrong ^
ALEC : Not that I know of.
ELIZABETH : Why are you looking at me like that ?
ALEC : Because do you know I think I'm seeing you
for the first time.
ELIZABETH: I don't think I quite understand.
ALEC : I'm finding it a little difficult to myself.
ELIZABETH: Doctor, I feel you're a little upset.
ALEC: I'm most upset. Three years. Well, well,
well.
ELIZABETH: I've never seen you look like this
before.
ALEC : In all honesty, I can say exactly the same thing
about you. You know, you're not even a little bit
boss-eyed, are you ?
55°
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ELIZABETH : I am delighted to hear it.
ALEC: And your teeth . . , your teeth . . . Miss
Wilton, do you think you could laugh ?
ELIZABETH: At this moment, very easily.
ALEC: Then please do so.
ELIZABETH (smhng): What on earth is all this about?
ALEC: Very white and perfectly even.
ELIZABETH: Doctor, before we go any further, you
must really explain what this is all leading up to.
ALEC: Your eyes are very blue, aren't they?
[HLh^abeth looks at him, but says nothing.]
They suddenly darkened then, suddenly became
softer. They're almost the coloui of amethysts now.
They're really, very, very nice eyes.
ELIZABETH (slowly) : If it wasn't such an unprofessional
idea, I would say you were flirting with me.
ALEC: If it wasn't such an unprofessional idea I
would be inclined to agree with you.
ELIZABETH: I must go.
ALEC (taking her hand): No, don't.
ELIZABETH : I mUSt.
ALEC: Not for a moment.
[Alec keeps hold of her hand and stands looking at her.
There is a pause.]
ELIZABETH (softly}: Why are you doing this?
ALEC: I don't know. Something's been suggested
to my mind, and I've suddenly discovered that my
mind is extremely susceptible to suggestion. Please
don't be angry.
ELIZABETH: I'm not angry. But a little surprised, a
little bewildered.
ALEC: I know.
ACT TWO
ELIZABETH: What is it? Anger, pique, spite,
jealousy? Or just boredom?
ALEC : Nothing like that.
ELIZABETH : Are you sure ?
ALEC: I'm becoming more sure every moment.
ELIZABETH: I told you not very long ago that I'm
very happy here. I would like to go on being that way.
ALEC: Would it make so much difference?
ELIZABETH: Every difference in the world.
ALEC : Will you have dinner with me tonight ?
ELIZABETH: No.
ALEC : But it's your birthday.
ELIZABETH: No.
ALEC : You're very cruel.
ELIZABETH: I'm old enough to have found a little
wisdom.
ALEC : Wisdom is a poor substitute for enchantment.
ELIZABETH : Enchantment is a poor substitute for all
I have here at the moment.
ALEC : Please. We'll take the car. Drive out into the
country, let a little air blow around us for a while.
And I know the most delightful place to dine.
Sixteenth century. All oak beams, and candlelight.
ELIZABETH : If you had asked me yesterday, or any
time before today, I would have come with you like
a shot. But not now.
ALEC : But why yesterday ?
ELIZABETH: Because for nearly three years until
today I've been a happy woman thinking how
awfully nice it would be for us to dine together.
ALEC : My dear.
ELIZABETH (exasperated}: I was so sure that you
would never ask me — or if you did it would only be
in the way of business. And now you've asked me,
and it isn't in the way of business, and you've spoilt
everything.
552
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC: I don't understand.
ELIZABETH: Don't you know dreams, forbidden,
fugitive dreams, are so much more wonderful and so
much more constant than reality ? Why did you have
to stop them ? Why couldn't you have let me go on
loving you a little and never doing anything about
it?
ALEC (startled) : Do you mean to tell me. . . ?
ELIZABETH: Any other man but you would have
known two years ago.
ALEC: Good God. But this is amazing. This is
wonderful.
ELIZABETH {moving envoy): I'm going now. And as
soon as you can get someone to take my place Fm
leaving altogether.
ALEC : But you can't go. That's impossible. I could
never get anybody to take your place, you know
that. And certainly I couldn't now. Oh, you can't
leave.
ELIZABETH: But I must. You see, I'm allergic to
triangles.
ALEC : How can four points make a triangle? You've
seen what's been going on in this house.
ELIZABETH: I don't want to even talk about it.
\A.lec catches bold of her hand again and they face each other. ,]
ALEC: But you've got to. Don't you see that this is
suddenly terribly important ?
ELIZABETH : It was, but not any more.
ALEC : If you go I shall follow you.
ELIZABETH: You're talking sheer nonsense.
ALEC: Yesterday it would have been. Today it's
sublime, exciting, delightful nonsense.
ELIZABETH: It couldn't last.
ALEC: Nothing wonderful ever does.
553
ACT TWO
ELIZABETH: It does in dreams.
ALEC: Dreams are the realities of failures.
ELIZABETH : Then let me be a failure.
ALEC: Darling, I wouldn't let you be anything that
you don't want to be.
ELIZABETH (her hps on his] : 1 shall never forgive you.
[Taking her in bis at MS, Alec kisses her softly. There ^s a
pause. 'Elizabeth makes no move to free herself but stands
looking at him.]
ELIZABETH (after a moment} : Where is this place with
oak beams and candlelight ?
ALEC: Not a hundred miles away,
[Pie smiles at her. E/i^abeth smiles back. Off Monica
and Mary can be heard calling " Beatrice."]
Come along, we'll go out through the consulting
room.
(He takes her hand.}
ELIZABETH: But my dress.
ALEC : It's perfect.
[At the door of the consulting room Alec pause,1! and looks
at her.]
ALEC: Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH: Yes, doctoi?
ALEC : Many happy returns of the day.
[Hand in hand they go quickly out through the door as
The curtain falls]
554
ACT THREE
The same. Morning. Two weeks later.
When the curtain rises, Elizabeth is standing by the
window glancing at a copy of The Times. Alec enters
briskly from centre.
ALEC (cheerfully}: Good morning, Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH (turning}'. Good morning, doctor.
ALEC: Lovely morning, Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH: Lovely, doctor.
ALEC: And you're twice as lovely as the morning,
Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH: Have you seen the papers ?
ALEC: I certainly have! This is a very great day for
England.
ELIZABETH: England will never know how great.
My congratulations.
ALEC: I knew I could rely on your congratulations
if no one else's.
ELIZABETH: Mrs. Titheradge alighted from a taxi
not twenty seconds ago.
ALEC: Mrs. Titheradge will be very hot and very
excited no doubt.
[The doors centre are opened and Mary hurries in.]
MARY (panting): Alecl Have you seen the morning
papers ?
ALEC : I have, my dear.
MARY: The Birthday Honours' List has been pub
lished. But your name isn't there.
ALEC: That's right, dear.
555
ACT THREE
MARY: But this is terrible, terrible. What can have
happened ?
ALEC: It would seem that Mabel Lexton's informa
tion wasn't straight from the horse's mouth after all.
MARY: I can't understand it. We were all so sure.
Not only Mabel Lexton, but Fanny Carstairs, Enid
Wetherall, all of us. It was absolutely certain — why,
we've talked of nothing else for weeks. Do you think
somebody might be in error?
ALEC: I am quite sure somebody soon will be.
MARY: One of the printers, or the Prime Minister or
somebody. I have a damned good mind to ring
them up.
ALEC: I should, dear. Get on to the palace right
away and ask them what the devil they think they're
playing at.
MARY: It's perfectly monstrous. And when I see
some of the people who've made it. Do you know,
they've even honoured a theatrical manager!
ALEC: Horrible!
MARY: It's most unfair.
[Mary seats herself on sofa.]
I had made all sorts of plans, and for what? For
what? Oh, Alec, it makes one lose one's faith in
human nature.
ALEC : You must try not to be too bitter.
MARY: It's enough to make one. What's the use of
trying to help others, when they do things like this
to you? Miss Wilton, be so kind as to pour me a
small gin, I am not feeling at all well.
[Elizabeth goes to the sideboard and pours the drink.]
556
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC: My dear Mary, please accept my most heart
felt condolences. I know just how you must feel.
MARY : Oh, Alec, that's very sweet of you, but it will
take a little time to completely recover from such a
crushing blow. By the way, what about you? In
the shock of everything I'd completely forgotten
about you. My dear, you must be feeling very sad.
ALEC: The only feeling I have is one of the most
tremendous relief. Ah I Hete's Monica.
[Monica comes into the room from centre.]
MONICA: Good morning, everybody. Alec, darling,
I've seen the papers. I'm most tetdbly sorry.
ALEC: Not at all.
MONICA: For myself I couldn't care less; but for
you, it must be something of a disappointment.
ALEC: Your mother's thinking of writing a strong
letter to the Times about it.
MARY: It seems to me I am the only one in this house
who has a proper set of values, a proper sense of
responsibility.
MONICA: Oh, rubbish, Mother. You have a highly
developed social sense and nothing very much else.
MART: I have maternal instincts.
MONICA: You must try to keep them under control,
then, dear. Now let's forget the whole thing.
MARY: And it was all for you. Ungrateful. Just like
your generation.
MONICA: Mother, if I know you, you'll soon find
something else to concentrate your attention on.
[The doors centre are opened and 'Beatrice comes in.]
BEATRICE: Good morning. Oh, Alec, I've just seen
the papers. And I rushed right round to say how
sorry I am,
557
ACT THREE
MONICA : Be quiet, Beatrice.
MARY: It has nothing at all to do with you, Beatrice.
BEATRICE: I just wanted to say. . . .
MARY: You've said enough.
ALEC : Miss Wilton, I think we could be much better
employed in the other room, don't you ?
ELIZABETH : I'm ready.
ALEC: Then let's go. Excuse me, but Miss Wilton
and I have one or two things to do in the other
room. After you, Miss Wilton.
[Alee follows Elizabeth into the consulting room, closing
the door behind him.]
MONICA: One or two things to do in the other
room. I didn't like the way he said that.
MARY: You mustn't stop Alec working, dear. The
least he can do now is to work his ringers to the bone
after letting us all down so badly.
MONICA : It was nothing to do with him.
MARY: Well, it was certainly nobody else's fault. He
was the one who was getting the knighthood, not
us. I hold him entirely responsible for our dis
appointment.
BEATRICE: I think that's jolly unfair.
MARY: Be quiet, Beatrice. You're still in disgrace.
BEATRICE: I think we should feel sorry for Alec,
and do everything we can do to make it up to him.
He should have something to comfort him.
MONICA: I have a horrible suspicion that he already
has.
[She begins to walk about the room.]
BEATRICE: I don't understand.
MONICA: You're not supposed to.
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY: You're not even supposed to be here,
Beatrice. We have forbidden you to entei the house.
How dare you disregard our instructions ?
BEATRICE : I came to commiserate with Alec.
MARY: Do what with him?
BEATRICE : Commiserate.
MARY: Over my dead body. We've had quite enough
of your commiserating as you are pleased to call it.
Take yourself away.
BEATRICE: But I've only just come.
MARY: Which will make your visit a mercifully brief
one.
BEATRICE: I don't want to go. I haven't anywhere
to go.
MARY: Oh dear, what a burden you are. Well, if
you're going to stay, you'd better make yourself
useful. Refill my glass with gin and tonic, will you ?
BEATRICE: Isn't it a bit early to be drinking ?
MARY: Beatrice, are you questioning my habits?
BEATRICE: No, but. . . .
MARY: You'll be suggesting that I'm a secret drinker
in a minute.
BEATRICE: There's no secret about your drinking.
MARY: Beatrice I
BEATRICE (truculently) : Well. . . .
MARY: Did you hear that? Just like her father.
BEATRICE: Why do you always say my father? He
was Monica's father as well, wasn't he ?
MARY: Beatrice, I trust you made that remark in all
innocence.
MONICA (turning on them} : If you two don't shut up at
once I shall ask you both to leave. Nag, nag, nag.
Bicker, bicker, bicker. You might as well be
married.
MARY: I quite agree. Stop being so fractious,
Beatrice, and give me a drink.
559
ACT THREE
MONICA (thoughtfully): Miss Wilton seems to be
looking a lot prettier of late.
[She continues walking about the room.]
MARY: I couldn't care less. Well, deal, we'ie right
back where we started. And now that the question
of the tide no longer arises, there's no real reason
why you shouldn't take up with Peter Varley once
more and start to lead a normal life again.
MONICA : Oh, damn Peter. If I never see him again
I shall be delighted.
MARY: I quite see your point. Why should you tie
yourself to one man? I remember once when I
was your age, or perhaps a little younger — it was
just after Lindbergh flew the Atlantic — there was a
young stockbroker
MONICA : Mother, must you go on with this ?
MARY: I just thought it might interest you, but if it
doesn't. . . . Beatrice, where's my drink ? What are
you doing?
[Beatrice turns away from the window and brings Mary her
gin.]
BEATRICE: I was just thinking what a topping
morning it would be for a vigorous walk in the
country.
MARY: Well, that's a healthier thought than some you
have been entertaining in that head of yours, lately.
Monica, if you find that Peter bores you, I shouldn't
think it will be difficult to find someone equally
attractive and more interesting. There are heaps of
young men about. Or so it seems to me.
MONICA: I'm not interested in young men. I'm not
interested in anybody but my husband.
560
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY : Are you feverish, dear ?
MONICA: Is it so strange to be in love with one's
husband ?
MARY: Not strange, dear. Just a little irregular.
MONICA: Mother, stop chattering and listen to me.
I am now absolutely convinced that there is some
thing going on between Alec and Miss Wilton.
MARY: Oh, rubbish, she's far too ordinary. Anyway,
Alec's a gentleman.
MONICA: I think perhaps we have all tended to put
too much reliance on that fact. I've suspected some
thing ever since that day a fortnight ago when Alec's
car broke down and he and Miss Wilton didn't come
in until the small hours.
MARY: This is quite outrageous. How dare Alec
behave like this ? It just goes to show that you can
never trust a man. Oh, faithless creatures!
BEATRICE: What's good for the goose. . . .
MARY (with dignity}: Beatrice, please remember that
blood is thicker than water. We, the family, must
all stick together in matters of this sort.
MONICA: Well, anyway, there's going to be a show
down between that woman and myself. I'm not
tolerating that sort of thing. I just won't stand for it.
MARY: I should say not indeed.
[The door right is opened and Elizabeth comes in. Watched
silently by the others she walks to a small table, picks
up a folder, and is about to return to the consulting room
when Momca speaks to her.]
MONICA: Oh, Miss Wilton. Just a moment. I
would like to speak to you.
ELIZABETH: Yes, Mrs. Bestwood?
MONICA: Mother, Beatrice, would you please mind
leaving us ?
561
ACT THREE
MARY: I absolutely refuse1. Just when anything inter
esting is likely to happen. . . .
MONICA: Please go, Mother. And you, too, Beatrice.
MARY: Very well. I shall go; but I shan't go far.
No woman could. Don't stand there, Beatrice.
Come along.
[Mary exits followed by Beatrice. Monica turns to
Elizabeth.]
MONICA : Will you have a drink, Miss Wilton ?
ELIZABETH: No, thank you, Mrs. Bestwood.
MONICA: Cigarette?
ELIZABETH : No, thank you.
[Monica helps herself to a cigarette.}
MONICA: You've been with us quite a while now,
haven't you? It must be two years.
ELIZABETH: It's three.
MONICA: Is it? As long as that. Well, it's obvious
that you must like it heie.
ELIZABETH: I do.
MONICA: Yes, the doctor's a very charming man. All
his receptionists have liked it here. Of course, none
of them have stayed as long as you have. Most of
them were single girls, too; but naturally they were
off to get married. It's the fate of all attractive girls,
I'm afraid. Although of course they were all younger
than you.
ELIZABETH: So I've heard.
MONICA: Don't you ever think of getting married,
Miss Wilton?
ELIZABETH: The thought never crosses my mind,
Mrs. Bestwood.
MONICA: Really? With most women when they
562
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
reach your age the thought is never out of their
minds.
ELIZABETH: I obviously must be an exception.
MONICA: Of course, marriage is just a means to an
end. If one can achieve that end without marriage,
why should one bother to get married ?
ELIZABETH: There are quite a number of women
who don't seem to see it as an end; but merely as a
beginning — to other things.
MONICA: Really?
ELIZABETH: You know the type. The sort of woman
who only sees marriage as a form of social security.
MONICA: You sound rather embittered, Miss Wilton.
ELIZABETH: Not for the reasons you choose to
imagine, I can assure you.
MONICA: My dear, you have all my sympathy. It
can't be much fun living in one room, with no
future. Especially at your age.
ELIZABETH: You're quite wrong. It can sometimes
be a lot of fun.
MONICA: Do you have a cat?
ELIZABETH: No. I've never liked cats — or their
habits.
MONICA: You sound as if you are an authority.
ELIZABETH: I feel I soon might be.
MONICA: What do you find to do in the evenings?
Does your landlady allow you to entertain gentlemen
friends ?
ELIZABETH : I live in a block of flats There is no
landlady.
MONICA : How convenient.
ELIZABETH: Yes, it is.
MONICA: I expect you have plenty of friends. Do
you throw lots of gay parties ?
ELIZABETH: No. I'm not the gay party type.
MONICA: Just what type are you, Miss Wilton?
563
ACT THREE
ELIZABETH: The old-fashioned type.
MONICA: I won't contradict you. Miss Wilton. I
think you should know that I am in love with my
husband.
ELIZABETH: I believe those are the normal feelings
of a wife for her husband.
MONICA (biting her hp} : You don't seem surprised.
ELIZABETH: I would have been much more surprised
if you had told me you were not in love with him.
MONICA : You're very cool, aren't you ?
ELIZABETH : It's frequently necessary to be in my job.
One comes into contact with so many types of people.
MONICA: I'm sure one does. You must tell me all
about your little job one day. Meanwhile, I am telling
you once more that I am in love with my husband.
ELIZABETH : Is that what you wanted to speak to me
about?
MONICA: That was one of the things. The others are
that I am rather a selfish woman — I resent intrusion
on property that is mine. In fact, I not only resent
it, but I won't tolerate it. I am sure I've made
myself clear.
ELIZABETH: Perfectly.
MONICA: Therefore I think it would be as well if
you found yourself another situation.
ELIZABETH : As I told you a moment ago I am per
fectly happy here, and as long as Doctor Bestwood
finds me satisfactory, I have no intention of leaving.
MONICA : You refuse ?
ELIZABETH: I can't really see how you expected me
to do otherwise.
MONICA: I gave you my reasons.
ELIZABETH : But I don't believe them.
MONICA: You don't want to believe them.
ELIZABETH: On the contrary, I should like to very
much.
564
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MONICA: Yes, I know. Spread a httle happiness.
You're just oozing the milk of human kindness,
aren't you?
ELIZABETH: And unlike yours mine hasn't curdled
yet!
MONICA: Why, you. . . .
[She makes a move towards Eh^abeth but stops as the door
right is opened and Alec comes in.]
ALEC: Can't you find it, Miss Wilton^1 (Noticing
folder?) Oh, you have found it.
MONICA (stepping fonvard); Alec, either this woman
leaves this house today or I do. There's not room
for the two of us.
ALEC : Where were you thinking of going, darling ?
MONICA: I? I'm not going anywhere.
ALEC: Well, Miss Wilton certainly isn't.
MONICA : How dare you !
ALEC: Good secretaries are very hard to get these
days.
MONICA : Good wives are harder.
ALEC: I certainly shouldn't argue with you on that
' point.
MONICA: You utter beast 1 How can you do this to
me?
ALEC : I am not doing anything to you, you are, as
usual, doing it all yourself.
MONICA: Do you mean to try and tell me that you
and this woman are not having an affair?
ALEC: It depends what you mean by the word affair.
MONICA : You know damn well what I mean.
ALEC : If you mean is it the same relationship as has
been existing between you and Varley for the last
ten months I am reluctantly forced to admit that it is
not.
ACT THREE
MONICA: Please leave that fool out of this.
ALEC: I've found it difficult to leave him out of
anything in this house lately.
MONICA: Am I to be blamed for life for one little
mistake ?
ALEC : Nobody's blaming you for anything. Nobody
gives a damn. Your tiresome little affair with Varley
leaves us all cold.
ELIZABETH: I'd better go.
[Elizabeth quietly exits centre.}
MONICA : My tiresome little affair with Varley as you
call it was brought on by you, by your callous
indifference and your complete lack of affection
towards me, your wife.
ALEC: Nonsense. It was brought about because
you're one of those vanity-ridden, empty-headed
females with no thought or interest for anything or
anyone but yourself.
MONICA : How dare you !
ALEC: You're silly, social and predatory as hell.
You're just like your mother.
MONICA: Please keep my mother out of this.
ALEC : It would take a far more determined man than
me to keep your mother out of anything.
MONICA: If I'd listened to my mother I wouldn't be
here now.
ALEC: Then why the hell didn't you listen?
MONICA : Don't you swear at me.
ALEC (ivarrmng up"} : I'll swear at you and the whole
damn Titheradge family if I want to — and I do want
to. I've been wanting to for a long time. You're all
a lot of misfits and it was a very sad day for me when
I fell into your clutches.
MONICA : You positively bounded in if I remember.
566
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
ALEC: Dazzled by your beauty I didn't see your
mother and sister. I saw your father, though, but
before I had time to get to know him he did the only
sensible thing and died.
MONICA: God rest his soul.
ALEC : Your mother certainly never did.
MONICA : You perfect swine 1
ALEC: Your mother should be chained to a bridge
table for life, and some kind person should put
Beatrice out to graze. As for you, you dazzling piece
of tinsel, you should be allowed to revolve radiantly
at some cocktail party for the rest of your life, a dry
martini in one hand and an itsy-bitsy little thing on
a stick in the other. You make me sick !
MONICA : I wish I were dead !
ALEC : So do I !
MONICA: Oh!
[She steps forward and smacks him across the cheek. Alec
smacks her back. Monica immediately dissolves into tears
as the doors centre are opened and Mary and Beatrice come
in.}
MARY: What's happening? It sounds most exciting.
ALEC: Go to hell! Go to hell! Go to hell, go to hell !
BEATRICE: That was splendid, Alec.
ALEC: You, too!
MONICA (running to Mary} : Oh, Mother, I married a
lout. A subnormal, vicious lout with bestial
instincts.
ALEC: I'm likely to unearth a few more bestial
instincts before I'm through, if you don't all get out
of here, I can feel them rising up inside me like an
inferno. In a moment, I shall start running round
and round this room, barking like anything.
MARY: He's obviously suddenly gone mad.
567
ACT THREE
ALEC : And I shall bite you all, starting first with you,
my mother-in-law.
MARY: If you give me rabies, Alec, I shall never speak
to you again.
ALEC : If I thought I could rely on that I would have
no hesitation in giving you rabies on the spot. But
to rely on you keeping your mouth shut for more than
one-fifth of a second would be the positive zenith
of wishful thinking. I'm sick and tired of you all.
Every damn one of you. You're all a lot of ruthless,
selfish, conniving, egotistical opportunists who've
all come along just for the ride. Well, you've had a
good run, but this is where you get off, because the
ride is now over. Absolutely and completely and
finally and utterly over. Has anybody anything to
say?
[Peter Varky appears in the doorway I\
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. . . .
[Alec Ju/vps, startled^ everybody turns to look at Peter.]
ALEC (at the top of his voice} : Oh, no. No J This is
too much! Much too much!
[He turns and running past Peter exits centre.]
MONICA (blaming to Peter): What the devil do you
want?
PETER : I came to say good-bye.
MONICA: Good-bye!
MARY: Good-bye!
MONICA : Now go. Before I turn the dog on you.
BEATRICE: You haven't got a dog.
MONICA: This is a fine time to get pedantic, Beatrice.
PETER : But Monica, please, darling, listen. I'm going
568
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
away. I'm leaving London for good. I'm chucking
everything up. I'm going farming. I'm going
farming m the country.
MONICA : One would hardly expect you to go farming
in the West End. Come along, Mother, we'll go up
to my bedroom.
[She walks to the centre floors and exits. Mary follows her.]
MARY (at door) : Home wrecker !
[Exit Mary. Peter looks after them stupidly.]
PETER : I don't know what to say.
BEATRICE: Don't try and say anything. I under
stand. I'm your ally.
PETER: Women are strange creatures — one moment
so tender, the next . . . just the opposite.
BEATRICE (dosing the doors}: Not all women are like
that.
PETER : I shall probably enter a monastery.
BEATRICE: I thought you were going to live on a
farm?
PETER: It's the same thing.
BEATRICE: Farms can be a lot of fun. Anywhere
where there are animals can be fun. Dumb animals
are the best companions. I like dumb animals very
much.
PETER (looking at her) : You're not a bit like Monica,
are you?
BEATRICE (sitting on sofa] : I don't think I want to be.
PETER: She thinks the world begins and ends in
Park Lane.
BEATRICE (stoutly}: Don't worry about her, Peter.
Or what's happened. It just wasn't worth it. You
569
ACT THREE
have a farming career in front of you. Don't spoil
your chances because of a woman's caprice.
PETER: You're awfully understanding.
BEATRICE: I'm also a jolly good cook.
PETER : Monica can't even boil an egg.
BEATRICE: She'd be no good on a farm.
PETER: She certainly wouldn't.
BEATRICE (earnestly}- A farmer's wife should be a
woman who can take over in an emergency. A
woman who could cook the farmer little delicacies
when he was poorly, and look after him and nurse
him and cosset him. A woman whose head is not
full of petty vanities and fashions, but a woman who
can milk the cows and drink a pint of bitter with the
next man.
PETER: You've said it.
BEATRICE: A woman who could tramp the fields in
muddy Wellingtons and revels at the sting of lam
upon her face. A woman who likes the smell of
horses and is good with dogs, too.
PETER: That's exactly the type. But where can one
find a woman like that these days ?
BEATRICE (lowering her eyes) : Well. . . .
PETER: I repeat, where can one find such a woman?
BEATRICE: Well. . . .
PETER: Exactly. You can't answer me. And why?
Simply because such women just don't exist. They're
all products of the beauty parlour today with feelings
as false as their complexions. I want a real woman,
a woman who's close to the soil.
[He sits on sofa.}
BEATRICE : A woman who can knit pullovers ?
PETER: That's right.
BEATRICE : A woman who wants lots of children ?
57°
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
PETER: Rather.
BEATRICE: A woman who likes horses and is good
with dogs too ?
PETER: That's the type.
BEATRICE: Take me, Peter. You have just made me
the happiest woman in the world.
PETER : I never touched you !
BEATRICE: You'll never find a woman nearer the
soil than me.
[She presses her lips to Peter's in a long, lingering kiss^\
PETER {faintly}'. My goodness 1 What an amazing
kiss!
BEATRICE : I've been saving it up for a long time.
PETER : I feel quite weak.
BEATRICE: You didn't mind?
PETER: It was the most overpowering thing that's
ever happened to me. What's your name?
BEATRICE: Beatrice.
PETER: Oh, yes, that's right. I say, Beatrice, would
you like to live on a farm?
BEATRICE: It's just what I've always wanted to do.
Milking the goats, feeding the pigs.
PETER : Pigs have a smell.
BEATRICE: It's like Chanel to me. And then the
exhilaration of harvest time. Oh, I just can't wait
to start the hay making.
PETER : I must say I'm beginning to look forward to
it myself.
BEATRICE (moving to windows] : I hate London, really.
I never seem to have fitted in with things here,
somehow.
PETER (joining her at window} : Neither have I.
BEATRICE (beseechingly}: Then couldn't we. . . ?
PETER: Let's.
ACT THREE
\Thej are framed in the window in an embrace as Elizabeth,
followed by Alec, comes quickly into the room. Neither
of them notice Beatrice and Peter.}
ALEC: Elizabeth, listen. Please, listen.
ELIZABETH: It's no good, Alec.
ALEC : Darling, you can't leave. You can't leave me
at the mercy of these harpies.
ELIZABETH : You've been at their mercy for a number
of years now.
[Alec holds her arms.]
ALEC : We'll go back to our old footing.
ELIZABETH: We couldn't. Not now.
ALEC: We could try.
ELIZABETH: But we both agreed that it couldn't last.
I don't want to get married again; and you don't
want to leave Monica; you've said so. And as to the
other alternative, well, that might not work out,
and you would have thrown up your practice and
your life, and your friends. It wouldn't be worth it.
Let's finish now, before we make a complete mess of
things.
ALEC: It's awfully hard finishing something that
still hasn't begun.
ELIZABETH: We're not children.
ALEC : Is it because of Monica ?
ELIZABETH: Mostly, yes.
ALEC: Isn't there any way?
ELIZABETH: No. Not now that she's come back to
you.
ALEC : I wish I could think of some way of making
her go away again.
ELIZABETH (finally] : I'm sorry. Don't let's talk about
it any more.
572
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
[She walks into the consulting room. A.lec turns away and
sees Beatrice and Peter in the window locked in a fervent
embrace.]
ALEC: Good Godl
[Beatrice and Peter slowly release each other.]
BEATRICE (radiantly}: Hello, Alec.
ALEC: Good morning.
BEATRICE : We're in love.
PETER: Look here, Bestwood. . . .
ALEC : Now don't you start. As a matter of fact, I
think I'm entitled to say — " Look here, Varleyl "
That's my balcony you are making use of so indis
criminately.
PETER: I came round to make my apologies to you
for my recent behaviour to Monica.
ALEC : I'm not likely to forgive you in a hurry.
PETER : But I've given her up.
ALEC: That's why I'm not likely to forgive you.
PETER: Anyway, it's all over now. Beatrice has
given me a glimpse of another life.
ALEC : The kiss of death. I know, I've tried a couple.
BEATRICE: We're going to be married and we're
going to live on a farm.
ALEC: Congratulations. I hope you will both be
very happy.
PETER : So you won't be seeing me again.
ALEC: The old place won't seem the same without
you.
BEATRICE : And I shall miss you, too, Alec.
ALEC: You must just try and seek solace from the
many diversions a farm life will offer Varley, do
tell me. What is this penchant you have for the
Titheradge family ?
573
ACT THREE
PETER: In their different ways they're amazing
women.
ALEC (feelingly): You can't tell me. I mairied them.
Good luck.
[Exit Alec right. Peter looks at Beatrice.]
PETER: Come round to my house now, and I'll
show you some photographs of the farm.
BEATRICE: All right.
PETER : I do hope you'll like it.
BEATRICE: I'm sure I shall.
PETER: Let's get married as soon as possible.
BEATRICE: The sooner the better.
PETER: I'll get a special licence.
BEATRICE (happily} : Lovely.
PETER : Isn't it amazing the way some things happen ?
Where shall we go for our honeymoon ?
BEATRICE : I don't mind, as long as we go together.
PETER : What about Venice ?
BEATRICE: It sounds wonderful.
PETER: Bestwood recommended me to a place
there — Guiseppe's. So that's fixed. We'll honey
moon in Venice.
[He looks at her.]
I say, what's the matter? You've got tears in your
eyes.
BEATRICE (blinking] : Have I ?
PETER : I say, you are happy, aren't you ^
BEATRICE (chokingly] : Oh, Peter.
[She pulls hm to her and they are kissing as the doors centre
are opened and Mary comes m.]
574
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY (seeing tbcni}. Beatrice1
[Neither Beatrice nor Peter take any notice.}
Beatrice! What is the meaning of this? What do
you think you're doing ? Beatrice!
BEATRICE (looking up} : Oh, shut up !
MARY: What!?
[Beatrice settles down to kissing Peter again. Mary walks
quickly forward and taps her on the shoulder^
Beatrice, have you taken leave of your senses ? Stop
this disgraceful exhibition at once. At once, I say.
BEATRICE: Go home.
MARY : Beatrice 1 1 1 Have you gone mad ? Do you
realise who you're speaking to?
[Beatrice lets go of Peter and turns to look at Mary.]
I repeat, do you realise to whom you are speaking ?
BEATRICE (calmly): Yes. The biggest busybody in
London.
MARY: What did you say?
[Beatrice stands facing her mother with an unwavering eye.]
BEATRICE : The one person in this world who more
than anyone else has deliberately and consistently
made my life hell.
MARY : How dare you speak to me like this ?
BEATRICE : The one woman who has knocked every
bit of confidence out of me, and has made me
conscious of all my shortcomings, has held me up as
a figure of ridicule as long as I can remember.
MARY : Beatrice, you obviously are not well.
575
ACT THREE
BEATRICE: On the contiary, I feel marvellous. I'm
saying something that I've wanted to say for a
number of years; when I was a child you had no
time for me, you were too engrossed in the social
whirl of your own little life as well as systematically
driving my father to an early grave to bother about
me.
MARY: I don't think I feel awfully well. Be good
enough to pour me a small gin.
BEATRICE: Pour it yourself.
MARY: I think I must sit down.
BEATRICE: That's right, make yourself comfy. Peter,
I hope this is not embarrassing you too much?
PETER: Not a bit. You carry on, old girl. I'm
enjoying it.
BEATRICE: So am I. By the way, your offer still
stands, doesn't it?
PETER : Even more so now.
BEATRICE: That's all I wanted to know. Mother,
you are a nosy, self-centred, sadistic, silly old woman.
MARY: Help!
BEATRICE: You've ridden rough shod over me for
more than twelve years and how you've enjoyed
doing it, but it's all over now, because I'm leaving
you. Leaving you for good and all. I'm doing what
you have been telling me to do for years. I am using
my head!
MARY: Listen, Beatrice, listen. No good will come
of speaking this way to your poor old mother. I
have done everything for you, Beatrice, everything.
My greatest ambition since you were the most
repulsive debutante of the year has been to get you
happily settled. It's been an uphill struggle, but one
from which I have not flinched, and I shall not do so
until I have finally achieved my ambition, which is
to see my little daughter happily coiled in the bonds
576
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
of matrimony. When that great day dawns I shall
then be able to die in peace.
BEATRICE: Well, I suggest you start making your
funeral arrangements now.
MARY : I beg your pardon ?
BEATRICE: Peter and I are going to be married.
MARY: What!!!
BEATRICE: We're honeymooning abroad, and then
we're going farming together.
MARY : Beatrice. How dare you !
BEATRICE : Aren't you thrilled ?
MARY: You wicked girl, telling such lies.
PETER: It's the truth, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Tither-
adge. Beatrice and I have finally found each other.
MARY: Have you taken leave of your senses? You
can't marry this dreadful girl. No one could.
PETER: Well, I'm going to. See you about harvest
time.
[He moves to centre doors.]
BEATRICE: Good-bye, Mother. Try not to get
hysterical with happiness.
[Sbejotns Peter at centre doors.}
MARY (/» a frenzy) : Beatrice. Wait. You can't go.
What am I going to do without you ?
BEATRICE: Have a large gin and use your head.
[Beatrice waves to Mary and then goes quickly out of the
doors followed by Peter.]
MARY (falling) : Beatrice 1 Come back !
T 577
ACT THREE
[Mary stands for a moment looking at the door, then faints
gracefully on to the sofa. Alec comes in quickly from the
rtght.]
ALEC: What the devil's going on in here? Is it
[He sees Mary stretched out on the sofa ]
Drunk again.
MARY (opening one eye] : How dare you !
ALEC: What's the matter ?
MARY: I'm very ill.
ALEC (over his shoulder'} ; Miss Wilton, will you bring
some smelling salts ?
[Monica enters quickly from centre ]
MONICA: Alec, there are some things I want to say
to you.
ALEC: Yes, and there are a few things I have to say
to you, too.
MONICA: Go away, Mother.
[Elizabeth appears right.}
ALEC: Miss Wilton, take Mrs. Titheradge into the
other room and revive her, she doesn't appear to be
very well.
MARY (weakly) : Monica, I must speak to you.
MONICA (impatiently) : Later, Mother. First I want to
talk to Alec.
ELIZABETH: Come along, Mrs. Titheradge. Let me
help you into the consulting room.
[She takes Mary's arm.]
578
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY: Monica, I have some dreadful news.
MONICA: Later, Mother.
ALEC (to Elizabeth} : If she doesn't respond to smell
ing salts, administer brandy — she's almost certain
to respond to that.
\L,eanmg heavily on Elizabeth, Mary allows herself to be
helped into the consulting room.]
MONICA: All right, Alec, let's drop all the small
talk and get down to fundamentals.
ALEC: That's just what I am going to do. What
about Varley ?
MONICA: He's gone.
ALEC : But when's he coming back, that's the point ?
MONICA : If he has any sense he won't come back at
all.
ALEC : I would like to believe that.
MONICA: I don't understand. What are you talking
about ?
ALEC: I'm talking about Valley, of course I He's
done his level best to wreck my marriage. What arn
I supposed to do? Ignore it?
MONICA: You've made quite a good job of it so far.
ALEC : Don't mock me. Anything else, but not that.
MONICA : I thought Varley was an old pal of yours ?
ALEC : Monica, listen. Listen to me. Varley must go.
MONICA: He's gone. For ever and ever. Amen.
ALEC (going to her] : Oh, darling ! Honestly, darling
Varley has finally gone ? Never to return ?
MONICA: Never to return; but I don't quite see. . . .
ALEC : Oh, Monica, I've waited a long time to hear
you say those words and know that you meant them.
MONICA: But. . . .
\A.lec takes her m his arms and kisses her.}
579
ACT THREE
ALEC: My own darling. Oh, these last few weeks
have been hell. Torture!
MONICA (slowly) : But you didn't mind about Peter.
ALEC: Didn't mind! I was insanely jealous.
MONICA: Darling, you really did care, after all?
ALEC : I can't tell you how much. It was just because
I was so hurt, so bruised, that I pretended to be
indifferent.
MONICA : And your heart really was bleeding ?
ALEC: Profusely.
MONICA (radiantly] : Oh, my dear 1
ALEC : Do you love me still ? Can you love me still ?
MONICA: More than ever. What about you?
ALEC: Passionately.
MONICA: You didn't mean a word of all that flat
spot nonsense, did you ?
ALEC : That pseudo-psychological poppycock ? What
a hope '
MONICA: And all those horrible things you said to
me a few minutes ago.
ALEC: Rage! Ungovernable jealous rage.
MONICA: Oh, darling. I feel so happy. Kiss me.
{Alee kisses her tenderly.]
(Looks at him.} By the way, what about Miss Wilton ?
ALEC (in great surprise] : Miss Wilton ?
MONICA : You've been seeing her.
ALEC : You had hurt me. I wanted to hit back at you.
I wanted to hurt you in some way. I didn't care how.
It was all part of this insane jealousy. Anyway, she's
leaving. She's just given me fifty-two weeks' notice.
MONICA: Poor dear. I suppose she sees herself as
the other woman. I've a good mind to tell her to
stay.
ALEC: I shouldn't bother.
580
BIR1HDAY HONOURS
MONICA: I won't. It would be too ciucl. I'll leave
her with hei little illusions— she hasn't much else.
ALEC • Don't let's talk about either of them any moi c.
Let's 'just concentrate on us. We're back together
again. .
MONICA: For keeps. (She rests bet head //#//« r/ bis
shoulder.} Will you love me when I'm old and gtcy •»
ALEC: I am quite suie 1 shall love you even more
then.
MONICA (sighing): It's just like old times again.
ALEC: I must go and do some more work.
MONICA: All right, dailing. I won't keep you.
ALEC (kissing her) : Angel.
MONICA (kissing him} : Sweetheart.
ALEC: Everything's worked out much better than
I ever dared to hope for.
MONICA: I'm so happy now.
ALEC : So am I.
[At the door right he turns and blows her a kiss, Monica
blows him one back; and then, smiling broadly, Alee
disappears into the consulting room. Directly the door has
closed, Monica turns and darts to ihti telephone and begins
to dial a number. She glances over her shoulder, then speaks
into telephone.}
MONICA: Is that you, Peter? . . . Darling, it's me,
Monica. Oh, sweet, such good news. . . . It's all
right. Everything's fine. Alec loves me. When can
I see you? . . •
\The door right is opened and Mary comes slowly out of the
consulting room leaving the door slightly open behind her.
Monica doesn't see her, but continues talking into telephone.}
Darling, stop chattering. Listen, I've told you it's all
581
ACT THREE
right. We'll go to Venice. Make up for all these
dreadful weeks of separation. . . . Darling, have
you missed me dreadfully? ... I said are you
missing me? ... Darling, are you light headed?
. The day alter tomorrow? . . . But this is
fantastic. Who to? ... Beatrice 1 . . . Beatrice who?
. . . WHAT! Oh, no, I can't behove it. ... (She
stands da^ed, the telephone to her ear.} The simple life . . .
worthwhile. . - . Good with dogs, too. ... I
think I shall have hysterics in a moment. . . . Peter,
listen, listen before it's too late. . . . You don't
know what you're doing. . . . Peter. . . . Peter.
[Monica stands quite still staring m front of her, then, as if
in a dream, she slowlj replaces the receiver.}
MARY: That's what I was trying to tell you.
MONICA (looking at her) : You knew ?
MARY: I shall never forgive Beatrice for doing this
to me as long as I live.
MONICA: I shall never forgive her, either.
MARY: You're all right. Alec just came in and told
me that everything was all right between you and
him again.
MONICA: Oh, damn Alec. It's Peter I'm thinking
about. Whatever shall 1 do without him ?
MARY: Oh, stop thinking only of youiself. Spare a
thought for me. Whatever shall I do without her?
MONICA: I loved Peter.
MARY (indignantly] : I loved Beatrice.
[They both look miserably at each other for a moment.}
MONICA: What are we going to do?
MARY: God knows.
MONICA: I feel too miserable to cry.
582
BIRTHDAY HONOURS
MARY: I can't stand this place any longer. Her ghost
will be everywhere. What I need is a long holiday.
MONICA: So do I. Anything to get away from here.
MARY: Where shall we go?
MONICA: The South of France?
MARY: No, too common.
MONICA : Let's go to Venice then.
MARY: Yes, I think I should like that. I haven't been
there for twenty years.
MONICA: We'll go as soon as possible. I'll have to
have some new clothes, of course.
MARY: And I must have my hair done.
MONICA: I wonder if I shall be able to get anything
to fit me ready made?
MARY: I want some large straw hats.
MONICA: Let's go along to the Ritz bar now and
talk about it over a drink.
MARY: Then we'll plan where we're going to stay
MONICA: And what we're going to do.
MARY: Shall we fly?
MONICA: Oh, I think so.
MARY: Venice— Queen of the Adriatic!
MONICA : Dinner at Guiseppe's every night !
MARY: Darling, let's be utterly selfish for once and
really enjoy ourselves, shall we?
MONICA: Oh, Mother! It'll do us the world of good.
MARY: And certainly no one deserves it more. Come
along, darling. There's not a moment to lose !
[Mary and Monica go hurrying off centre. Alec comes out
of the consulting room and walks to the centre doors and
closes them. Then he picks tip telephone.]
ALEC: Hello, Miss Wilton. Would you care for a
drink? Good.
583
ACT THREE
[He rep/aces telephone and humming complacently crosses to
sideboard. After a moment Elizabeth joins
(Pouring?) After careful deliberation, I have decided
that I have been working much too hard, and that
what I need is a good holiday.
ELIZABETH : It would seem to be a fitting reward for
all your endeavours.
ALEC: And after fuithei careful deliberation I have
decided that you also have been working much too
hard and are in need of a good holiday. What will
you drink?
ELIZABETH : Gin, please.
ALEC : Gin and water ^
ELIZABETH: Gin and sherry.
ALEC: So will I.
ELIZABETH: I see that you have already mixed them.
ALEC: After what I've done to achieve victory I
couldn't bear even to consider defeat.
[He hands Elizabeth her drink and they face each other,~\
ELIZABETH : Where shall we go ?
ALEC : What about Venice — Queen of the Adriatic ?
ELIZABETH: I believe it gets awfully crowded there
at this time of year.
ALEC (smiling) : I believe it does. (He raises his glass.}
To England.
{They touch their glasses and are drinking as
The curtain falls]
584
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