Rosie Help me. Help me get them off.
Sam You’re wearing your mother’s tights, for God’s sake?
Rosie (desperately) Help me! Just get the bloody things off me.
Sam Alright! Alright!
He struggles to pull off her tights. They are very tight tights and it’s not easy, given the couple’s current urgency.
Are these welded on or what?
Rosie Dear God, we’re behaving like animals. We’re no better than animals …
Sam Right, isn’t it wonderful?
Loudly, the phone starts to ring on the desk. They freeze.
Rosie Ignore it.
Sam You want to answer it?
Rosie Not now. Leave it.
The phone continues to ring.
Sam Don’t you have an answering machine?
Rosie I don’t think I can have. No.
The phone rings on.
Sam You’d better answer it.
Rosie Why should I answer it?
Sam Because it might be something important.
Rosie How could it possibly be important? How could it possibly?
Sam I don’t know. Perhaps it’s your mother. Demanding her tights back.
Rosie Oh, come on! I mean – it won’t be. It can’t be. It’s far too late – for anything important. They’ll ring off in a minute.
The phone rings on.
Oh, sod it.
Irritably, she struggles off the table. The top of her tights now down around her knees. She has Sam’s handprints clearly outlined on the back of her skirt. She walks with difficulty to the phone. Sam, equally hobbled by his trousers, staggers a couple of steps before remembering. He hauls them up and holds them without refastening them.
(as she does so) We’ll go in the bedroom, shall we?
Sam Right.
Rosie There’s a perfectly good bed. Let’s use it.
Sam I’ll turn all this off.
Sam goes to turn off the heat under the saucepan. Rosie picks up the phone. Sam, as he hears Rosie’s call, stops in mid-task and comes into the sitting room to listen.
Rosie (answering, crossly) Hello! (She listens.) Look, I have told you before. This is the wrong number. Now go away. I’m very busy. (She rings off.) Bloody woman. Keeps ringing me.
Sam Who does?
Rosie Some woman. I think she’s the same one who rang the doorbell earlier.
Sam (suddenly quite alert) When?
Rosie Earlier. Sounds like her.
Sam When was this?
Rosie Just before you arrived.
Sam You think it was the same one?
Rosie Sounded like her. Come on, let’s go to bed.
Sam What did she say? When you answered?
Rosie She asked me the time, that’s all?
Sam The time?
Rosie She’s a lunatic. What’s it matter? Come on, come to bed.
Sam She asked you the time?
Rosie Something like that. Can you give me the time? What’s it matter? Come on.
Sam Can you give me the time – or a time? Can you give me a time?
Rosie (getting angry again) Who cares?
Sam Please. Give it me exactly. You pick up the phone and then what?
Rosie I pick up the phone and I say hello. And she says, can you give me – a time, yes. It is a time. And I say bugger off and put the phone down.
Sam And this has happened twice?
Rosie Listen. I am going in the bedroom now, OK?
Sam And this was the same woman who was round here earlier, you think?
Rosie Yes, yes. I said. Are you coming or not?
Sam Can you describe her?
Rosie No.
Sam Did she say what she wanted?
Rosie She said she was looking for Mrs Somebody. I forget. Mrs Hall. Look, I’m going in the bedroom, alright?
Sam OK.
Rosie You coming then?
Sam Sure.
Rosie You’d better. I’d hate to be you if I have to come out to get you.
Sam I’ll just turn off the stove.
Rosie You have thirty-five seconds, alright? (She marches into the bedroom, still walking with difficulty. As she goes) It’ll take me that long to remove these bloody tights.
Rosie goes off to the bedroom. As soon as she is gone, Sam locates his mobile phone and punches in a memory code. He moves to the kitchen whilst it rings. He turns off the stove.
Sam (when it picks up) D – five – double-one – six – three – zero. (He waits.) We have a possible breach. Yes … What, now? … Now? … Alright, alright, alright. (Angrily he disconnects.) Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!
Rosie (off, calling from the bedroom) You have exactly five seconds left!
Sam hesitates for a brief second, apparently torn between two options. Then, re-fastening his trousers, he moves swiftly to the front door and leaves, closing it behind him.
(off, calling) Sam!
Silence.
Sam! I’m about to come out there and get you! (Pause.) Sam!
Silence.
Right! I’m coming out. (Rosie re-enters from the bedroom. She has on a bathrobe and apparently very little else.) Sam? (exploring around) Sam? (imagining some sort of game) Sam! I don’t believe this.
Another pleasure boat passes outside. Rosie goes out on to the balcony briefly.
Sam! (bewildered) Where the hell have you gone? Come on. This has to be a joke. SAM! (increasingly hurt) He cannot have gone. I don’t believe he could have done this to me. (She goes to the front door and opens it briefly. Calling) Sam! (Rosie realises she is in no state of dress to go much further and closes the door again. Close to tears now) He can’t have gone. He can’t have done. (She sits, utterly miserable.) He can’t have done. (starting to cry) What did I do this time? What did I do this time? The bastard. Bastard … How could he do this to me? What a day! What a bloody awful, lousy, fucking day!
She sits and cries for a while, rocking to and fro and hugging herself miserably. She just wants to die. Suddenly, the doorbell rings briefly. Rosie stops crying abruptly. She listens. The doorbell rings again. Rosie gets up and makes to run to the door.
(checking herself) Dignity! Dignity! (She walks to the door more slowly and opens it. As she opens it) If you think you can treat this place like a bloody hotel you’re very – What?
Tracy, a woman of about Rosie’s age, pushes past her and into the flat. Rosie turns, startled.
What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk in …
Tracy, without looking at Rosie at all, slides shut the window. Behind Rosie, Maurice, a man in his fifties, enters. He closes the front door, which causes Rosie to turn back startled.
(seeing Maurice) What is this?
Maurice (pleasantly) So sorry to intrude. This won’t take a moment, I promise.
Rosie (very indignant) What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?
Maurice Just a few seconds of your time. I promise.
Rosie Will you both get out of here? This is a private flat. Now get out, do you hear?
Tracy has moved a little closer to Rosie and is watching her attentively. Her face remains blank but there is about her a slightly tense, menacing air.
Maurice Oh, yes, we’re aware it’s a private flat, don’t worry. I’m sorry, we appear to have you at a disadvantage. Perhaps you’d care to pop a few clothes on before we have our chat …
Rosie I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. Now will you get out of my flat before I call the –
Maurice No, I don’t think you want to do that. If you don’t mind, Tracy there will come with you whilst you get dressed, just to make sure you don’t try to jump out of the window or something … Tracy, would you mind accompanying Miss Rupelford …
Tracy steps forward and takes Rosie by the elbow. Rosie whirls round, furious and affronted.
Rosie (pulling away) Will you take your hands off me at once? How dare you! Get out of my flat, both of you!
Tracy impassively steps in again to take her.
I said take your hands off!
Rosie shoves Tracy away somewhat violently. Tracy responds rather swiftly to this by seizing Rosie’s wrist and twisting her arm behind her. Before Rosie has time to respond, she has both her arms in a headlock.
Bloody hell!
Maurice Now, Tracy, don’t overreact, now, don’t overreact! Just take Miss Rupelford to the bedroom, will you? Help her sort out something to wear.
Tracy propels Rosie into the bedroom.
Rosie (as they go) What are you doing? What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Rosie and Tracy go into the bedroom. From off, a series of indignant squawks and squeaks from Rosie. It sounds as if Tracy may, rather forcibly, be helping her to get dressed.
Maurice (shaking his head disapprovingly, to himself) Really, Tracy! You’ll never make a lady’s maid. (Maurice takes a walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches on. Into intercom) 9–4. Check.
Walkie-Talkie (distorted) 9–4. Check.
Maurice (into intercom) Access achieved. Welcome fair to moderate. Check.
Walkie-Talkie (distorted) 9–4. Need me there? Check.
Maurice (into intercom) No, sit tight. Over and out.
He switches off the set and tucks it away in his coat pocket. Another yell from Rosie, off. Maurice frowns and wanders to the window to watch a pleasure craft go by. The sound is muffled by the closed window. Maurice tuts disapprovingly. He goes to the kitchen and inspects the debris of the uneaten meal. He shakes his head again. He moves back into the room and inspects the CD player. He picks up the Handel disc and inspects it.
(singing softly) Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet …
He sits in the armchair and waits. In a moment, Tracy returns with Rosie. Rosie now wears tracksuit and top and has her hands handcuffed behind her back.
Oh, come along, Tracy, is all that strictly necessary?
Tracy (sullenly) She tried to punch me.
Maurice I’m sure you can cope with that, for God’s sake, she’s only two teapots high …
Rosie (very angry) You are not going to get away with this. I am going to –
Tracy Shut up!
She pushes Rosie down on the sofa and then sits beside her.
Maurice Gently, Tracy, gently with Miss Rupelford. I think you’re unfortunately in Tracy’s bad books, Miss Rupelford. You weren’t to know, of course, but I think she feels you’ve rather stolen her thunder. But we mustn’t bear personal grudges, must we, Tracy? I’ve told you about that before. Now, this won’t take a moment, Miss Rupelford, as I say, just a few simple questions and then we’ll be on our way.
Rosie I’m not answering any questions while my hands are like this.
Tracy You’ll do as you’re fucking well told –
Maurice (quite sharply, for him) Tracy! Now I won’t warn you again. Alright, Miss Rupelford, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll offer you a deal. If I ask Tracy to take those things off, will you agree to talk to me?
Rosie (suspiciously) Why should I do deals with you?
Maurice Well, I don’t want to sound dispiriting, Miss Rupelford, but frankly I don’t think you’ve got an awful lot of choice at present, have you?
Rosie (considering this) What is it you want to ask me?
Maurice Oh, nothing too difficult, I promise.
Rosie (after a second) Alright.
Maurice Tracy …
Tracy If she tries –
Maurice Tracy. You’re being very naughty. Be a good girl now, or you’ll get a sound spanking, do you hear?
Tracy scowls and produces the key. She unfastens Rosie’s handcuffs and puts them away.
(as this happens) On occasions I have to be very firm with Tracy, you know, Miss Rupelford. She’s like that little girl in the poem. When she’s good she’s very, very good, but when she’s bad, she’s quite perfectly horrible.
Rosie I can imagine.
Maurice Take my tip and try not to get too much on the wrong side of her, will you? Thank you, Tracy.
Tracy sits on the sofa next to Rosie.
Is that more comfortable, Miss Rupelford? Are you ready to talk to me, now?
Rosie Not with her sitting here. I want her over there. (She indicates towards the windows.)
Tracy Listen, you just do as you’re –
Maurice Tracy! Go and sit over there, that’s a good girl.
Tracy reluctantly goes to the desk. She sits, with her back to them, ostensibly staring out of the darkened windows. One senses that she is, in fact, intently watching the subsequent proceedings reflected in the glass.
Now then. Is that better, Miss Rupelford? I wouldn’t try and make a run for it, by the way. You could no doubt lap me a couple of times but Tracy’s got the speed of a champion whippet. Poetry in motion. Right, Miss Rupelford. To business. You’ve had a few phone calls tonight, I understand.
Rosie (startled) How do you know?
Maurice It’s my business to know.
Rosie Who are you?
Maurice You also had a visitor, I understand.
Rosie What’s it to do with you? I don’t see why I should answer this –
Maurice Oh, Miss Rupelford, please –
Rosie – I’m not answering any of this, why the hell should I?
Maurice – don’t make all this difficult and unnecessarily unpleasant.
Rosie I refuse to talk to you. Why should I? Get stuffed.
Maurice (injured) What happened to our deal?
Rosie Forget it.
Silence. Maurice stares at her, somewhat reproachfully. At the desk, Tracy breathes in and out deeply.
Maurice There, you see. You’ve got Tracy going now. She’s practically growling over there, Miss Rupelford. We don’t want that, do we?
Rosie (sulkily) I don’t care what she does.
Maurice Rupelford. What sort of name is that? Unusual, wouldn’t you say? What is it, German? Danish? South African? Taiwanese?
Rosie No idea, I’m sure.
Maurice Oh, come along, now, Miss Rupelford, do brighten up. Try and contribute. You must be curious about your own name, surely?
Silence.
Rosie (softly) That’s not my name.
Maurice I beg your pardon? What did you say?
Rosie It’s not my name.
Maurice Ah. I see. Well, that does alter the complexion of things, doesn’t it? Are you sure about that?
Rosie Of course I am.
Maurice Only I understood this flat was leased by a Miss Rupelford. And when we first arrived a moment ago, you did claim to be her, did you not?
Rosie (a little triumphant) No. I didn’t! I never said I was her. You assumed I was her. I never said I was.
Maurice Perfectly true. But what you did say – and you will correct me if I’m wrong on this, won’t you, Tracy? – what you did say on I think two occasions, Miss Rupelford, was, get out of my flat. My flat. And since the flat is registered to a Miss Joanna Rupelford as sole lessee, somewhat understandably we assumed you to be her.
A silence.
Now there are a couple of alternatives here, aren’t there? Either you are Joanna Rupelford and you’re trying for some reason to deceive us. Or you are not her but someone else entirely, in which case we could well jump to the other conclusion that you have no right to be here whatsoever but have been caught red-handed, breaking and entering someone else’s property and impersonating the owner. Which one do you prefer?
Another silence.
Rosie Are you the police?
Maurice Let’s just say we’re the good guys.
Rosie The good guys! You’re joking!
Maurice Oh, you wait till you meet the bad guys. I promise you, they’re really scary.
Pause.
Rosie (quietly) My name is Rosie Seymore. I’m an actor. My uncle Sidney – Sidney Clarke – is the janitor here. He was in a car accident late yesterday, on his way back from holiday with my aunt. They’re being k
ept in for observation. He phoned to tell me and asked me to inform the managing agents. I spoke to Mrs Sefton-Wilcox and she asked if I’d mind filling in for my uncle until he returned. Apparently his normal deputy is also away. I came round at lunchtime and I met with Mrs Sefton-Wilcox. That’s all there is to it.
Maurice Well done. Pretty good so far, we’re all ears, aren’t we, Tracy? Carry on.
Rosie That’s it.
Maurice One or two loose ends, surely? I mean, why aren’t you busy janitoring? What are you doing in this flat?
Rosie I was – er – I was – watering the plants.
Maurice Oh dear! Suddenly the whole things falls to the ground, doesn’t it, Tracy? She was doing jolly well till then, too. Nearly convinced me.
Rosie It’s the truth.
Maurice You’ve been doing a damn sight more than watering the plants, old thing. From the state of that kitchen I’d say you were midway through cooking a slap-up meal. The whole place is a positive shambles. What’s the bedroom like, Tracy?
Tracy She’s tried on half the wardrobe, had a bath and used the bed.
Rosie I have not used the bed. I merely turned it down.
Maurice Still sounds a far cry from watering plants, though. If you don’t mind my saying, I don’t think the real Miss Rupelford’s going to thank you for trying on her undies, is she?
Rosie Oh, God.
Maurice (gently) Come on, Rosie. Tell us the rest.
Rosie (slowly) I – I was watering the plants – this morning. When this man came to the door.
Maurice What man?
Rosie His name was Sam. Sam Berryman.
Maurice I see.
Rosie He – er … God, this is embarrassing – I didn’t mean any harm – it was just that, like you did, he assumed that I was Joanna Rupelford, too. So I … didn’t – you know – disillusion him.
Maurice Why not?
No reply.
Easy enough, surely? No, sorry, my name is Rosie. Simple enough.
Damsels in Distress Page 11
