DAPHNE. Confidential? Oh, well – that’s quite all right. (Gets up.) You give me suspicions, you know –
MARK. What suspicions?
DAPHNE. I’ll tell you later. (Goes into the bedroom.)
MARK lifts the telephone.
MARK. Sloane 7838, please… (Waits for the answer in some evident trepidation, but when he speaks, his voice is certainly solicitous.) Hullo, darling. Did you ring me? I was out having a cup of coffee and a bun… Oh, plodding ahead, you know, plodding ahead. Who?… Your father?… Oh, does he? All right… Oh, good evening, sir… What? Full moon? Yes, I think there is… Why?… Zeppelins. Oh no, sir. The zeppelin threat, I assure you, is now finally over… Cellar? Oh, no sir. The boy is perfectly safe where he is unless there is an alarm… But he’s not afraid of the zeppelins. As a matter of fact I happen to know he even enjoys the zeppelins… Well, sir, why not? Searchlights in the sky and a lot of lovely bangs, what more can any child want?… I’m not being callous, sir, Denis told me himself… Yes, he told me that Nanny makes him put in his prayers ‘God keep the zeppelins away’ and he cheats every night and says under his breath ‘God don’t you do anything of the kind’… (Alarmed.) No, sir, you mustn’t… It’s not blasphemy… No, sir, please don’t. Please don’t say a word to him. He wouldn’t understand… Well, yes, if they do come, but you can take it from me they won’t… Goodnight.
He rings off, and is evidently a little put out by the conversation. A trifle abstractedly he opens the bedroom door, and calls.
It’s all right now. I’m finished.
DAPHNE comes back. He holds her chair for her as she sits.
I’m so sorry for the interruption.
DAPHNE. No trouble at all, I assure you.
MARK. Excuse me, a moment.
He goes to the window and, taking care of the blackout, peeps through the curtains.
DAPHNE watches him steadily.
I just wanted to see if there were any searchlights on.
DAPHNE. Got wind of something?
MARK (with his head through the curtains). No, not ‘wind’ exactly. Just something that was said on the telephone a moment ago, made me think of it. Not a sign of anything, as I thought. (Comes back from the window.)
While MARK is arranging the next course, DAPHNE is staring hard at him.
DAPHNE. Of course, now I don’t just suspect, I think I know –
MARK turns nervously with trifle poised.
MARK. Know what?
DAPHNE. You’re thirty-two, you’re not in uniform, sculptors aren’t exempt I wouldn’t suppose, and anyway, no one’s ever made a living at just sculpture –
MARK. Oh, surely. Some people have, haven’t they? Rodin, for instance –
DAPHNE. Champagne and caviar?
MARK places the dish before her.
MARK. Oh, I should think so.
DAPHNE (scornfully). Don’t tell me! I know the way artistical people live, and it’s not like this. No, there’s something else you don’t want me to know about, but you needn’t fuss, because I do.
MARK. Oh?
DAPHNE. You’re Secret Service, aren’t you?
MARK. Well –
DAPHNE (interrupting). That’s all right, dear. I know you’re not allowed to tell.
MARK (after a pause). You think that Secret Service agents live on champagne and caviar?
DAPHNE. Oh yes, of course. Ever so well paid, I should think – what with the danger and all –
MARK (lightly). Oh, I don’t know there’s all that much danger, you know. Just a job, like any other.
DAPHNE. Don’t tell me! I know what goes on. Well, it’s really quite a thrill, isn’t it? (Gazes at him in awe and wonder.)
MARK. You think spies are nice?
DAPHNE. Oh, you’re not a spy. Germans are spies. British are agents. (Continues to gaze at him, not touching her food.)
MARK. Look, you’re not eating your trifle –
DAPHNE. Oh, I couldn’t. I couldn’t touch another thing. Excitement always gets me like that, you know – it goes straight to my stomach.
MARK. Oh, I’m so sorry. (Gets up and hovers over her, a shade conscience-stricken.) Look, supposing I were to tell you –
DAPHNE (stopping her ears). Oh no – you mustn’t tell me a thing. Not a thing. I know it’s wrong. They shoot you for it.
He looks down at her in doubt. She smiles up at him. He gently takes her hands off her ears.
MARK. You don’t have to stop your ears to what I’m going to tell you now, Daphne. I think you’re the most enchanting and attractive and adorable creature in the world and if you would allow me to, I could be very, very fond of you.
DAPHNE (gently). Saucy, aren’t you?
She closes her eyes and puts her head back in undisguised invitation. MARK avails himself of it gently, at first, and then with warmth.
MARK (murmuring). Daphne – my darling Daphne –
There is a sudden sharp noise at the window, as of a stone being thrown.
What was that?
DAPHNE. Sounded like a stone at the window.
There is the sound of a voice calling ‘Hi!’ from the street outside.
Someone shouting too.
DAPHNE rises.
SIDNEY (off). Hi!
MARK crosses room quickly and goes to the window.
MARK. Hullo, what is it?
SIDNEY (off). Is anyone there?
MARK. What?
SIDNEY (off). I’m looking for Daphne Prentice.
MARK. I can’t hear.
MARK draws the curtains and opens the window. The light has now gone from the sky.
(Out of the window.) What do you want?
SIDNEY (off. In shrill, cockney tones). I been ringing the bell and nothing happened.
MARK. Well, who are you? Go away!
SIDNEY (off). Is Daphne in there? Daph? Are you in there?
DAPHNE (in alarm). Goodness gracious! It’s Sidney.
MARK. Who’s Sidney?
DAPHNE. My young brother. Oh, dear! I wonder what it is. Could you let him in, Mr Wright?
MARK. I suppose so.
He leans out of window.
Here, catch.
He throws a bunch of keys.
The big one’s the downstairs door. It’s Flat No. 2 on the first floor.
SIDNEY (off). Right-ho!
DAPHNE. Well, I never. What could he be wanting?
MARK. I suppose he’s not expecting to come to supper too, is he?
DAPHNE. Well, I don’t know, I’m sure. Perhaps everyone’s out at home and he felt lonely –
MARK. Oh, dear –
DAPHNE. Oh, he’s such a clever little boy, doing ever so well for his age, Mr Wright. He’s in munitions now.
MARK. Is he?
The front door is heard to slam.
Oh, there he is.
DAPHNE. You’ll like him ever so much, I know.
MARK. I’m sure I shall.
MARK opens doors. SIDNEY comes in, gives MARK his keys, then confronts DAPHNE.
DAPHNE. Sidney! What are you doing here?
SIDNEY. Dad says you’re to come home. Mum’s back unexpected and she’s creating –
DAPHNE (angrily). Oh, really! Isn’t Mum awful! What – is she in one of her moods, or something?
SIDNEY. Terrible. She told Dad if he wasn’t careful ’is daughter’d grow up an old tart like Auntie Mabel.
DAPHNE. Oh, Sidney, be quiet! (Suddenly conscious of her social duties.) Oh, Mr Wright, I’m so sorry, but I’m sure you understand about these little family squabbles. (Tone changes as she turns back to her brother.) Now listen, Sidney. You just go straight back to Mum and tell her she and Dad are making a fuss about nothing. Tell her I haven’t even finished my dinner yet, and I’ll come back when I’m ready and not before.
SIDNEY. Mum said I was to wait and see you home.
DAPHNE. That’s ridiculous. Mr Wright will see me home – won’t you, Mr Wright?
MARK. Of course.
&
nbsp; SIDNEY. Mum said to remember what happened the last time, when Mr Pennyfeather saw you home.
DAPHNE. Oh, Sidney, really! (Turns back to MARK) Well, I don’t know what to say, I’m sure, Mr Wright. It rather looks as if I shall have to go, I’m afraid.
MARK. Oh dear. I tell you what – I’ve got an idea. Why couldn’t Sidney go back and say he hadn’t been able to find the address?
SIDNEY. Cos it wouldn’t be true.
MARK. You’re a little lacking in creative imagination, aren’t you?
DAPHNE. I really think I’d better go. Oh, it’s ever so vexing. I am sorry. I’ll get my hat. (Goes into the bedroom.)
MARK. Very well, my dear. If you must, you must, I suppose. Run and get a taxi, Sidney.
SIDNEY. What for?
MARK. To take your sister home in, of course.
SIDNEY. Who’s going to pay for it?
MARK. I am going to pay for it.
SIDNEY. Why?
MARK (taking SIDNEY out). Never mind these abstruse questions of etiquette, Sidney. Just go and get that taxi. Turn right and right again and stand on the corner, until one passes.
DAPHNE reappears from the bedroom. MARK comes back in.
I’ve just sent Sidney for a taxi.
DAPHNE (anxiously). Oh, I do hope you didn’t take seriously what Sidney let out about Mr Pennyfeather.
MARK. My dear, I can assure you, Mr Pennyfeather is the least of my worries at the moment. I’m only so upset that our evening should have ended so unsatisfactorily.
DAPHNE. Oh, well – there are other evenings, aren’t there?
MARK. I hope so. Oh, indeed I hope so.
He kisses her.
Damn Sidney.
DAPHNE. It’s Mum you should damn. Not little Sidney.
MARK. Having met little Sidney I prefer to damn little Sidney. (Turns to the door.) I’ll just slip along to the kitchen and leave a note for the servant. (At the door.) I suppose we couldn’t take two taxis, one for Sidney and one for ourselves?
DAPHNE. Well – it might took a little odd, mightn’t it?
MARK. No odder than the other alternative, which is to take one taxi and put Sidney on the roof.
He goes out, leaving doors open.
DAPHNE, left alone, heaves a sigh, then sits on the sofa dejectedly. A door slams off and a very vivid lady (ETHEL) appears, in evening dress of extremely daring style, and a face like an exotic mask. She has evidently opened the front door with a latchkey, because she is slipping it into her bag on entering. She nods pleasantly at DAPHNE, who has risen, alarmed at the apparition.
ETHEL. Hot, isn’t it?
DAPHNE. Yes, it is, isn’t it. Quite sultry, really –
Her voice trails into astonished silence as she gazes at ETHEL, who has wandered over to a cupboard which she now opens as from long practice and from which she brings a bottle of whisky and a tumbler. She pours out quite deliberately about a third of a tumblerful of the whisky, and then, with little finger genteelly curled, lifts her veil. Suddenly in one vast swallow she flings the drink down her gullet. No expression whatever crosses her countenance as she waits for a moment, savouring the drink. Then she politely holds out the bottle towards DAPHNE.
ETHEL (with eyebrows courteously raised). Do you indulge?
DAPHNE. Oh no – thank you ever so.
ETHEL nods pleasantly and pours herself out another vast drink. Holding it undrunk, at the moment, she wanders to the mantelpiece. Then she takes a cigarette from a box and prepares to light it.
Excuse me asking, won’t you – but would you mind telling me who you are?
ETHEL (as if that explained everything). Ethel.
DAPHNE. Oh. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me more than that. Haven’t you got a surname?
ETHEL (after due thought). Yes.
DAPHNE. What is it – if I might make so bold?
ETHEL. Skeffington-Rivers, I think. Yes. I’m almost sure it’s that.
She flings back her drink, puts the glass and bottle back in the cupboard, and wanders to the bedroom door.
(Conversationally.) They say he went to Borneo.
She smiles vaguely and politely at DAPHNE and drifts into the bedroom.
DAPHNE (aghast). Well!
MARK comes in from the hall.
MARK. There we are, that’s done.
DAPHNE. Well, really, Mr Wright, you have some very funny friends – I have to say.
MARK. Oh?
DAPHNE. Who was that woman who’s just gone into your bedroom?
MARK. Has a woman just gone into my bedroom?
DAPHNE. Certainly. What’s more she carried on as if she owned the whole flat – she had a latchkey, too –
MARK. Oh, did she tell you her name?
DAPHNE. Well – she didn’t seem quite sure of her surname, but her Christian name was Ethel.
MARK. Ethel? Ethel? (Suddenly realising.) Oh, Lord! Ethel! (After a moment of doubt, he laughs.) That’s easily explained. Ethel isn’t my friend at all. In fact I’ve never met her –
DAPHNE. Then what’s she doing wandering about your flat – making free with your whisky and –
MARK. She’s a friend of Oscar Philipson. He’s a friend of mine who usually stays here when he’s on leave. I suppose he must have given her a latchkey.
DAPHNE. It’s very careless of him, I must say. He’s not on leave now, though, is he?
MARK. No, he’s not. But I expect –
He breaks off as there comes a noise from the hall.
OSCAR (off). All right, cabby. No, don’t bring them in. Stick them down there. My man will look after them. Goodnight. Thank you.
There is the sound of the front door slamming.
MARK. This only goes to show, my dear, how wrong one can sometimes be. It appears that Oscar Philipson is on leave.
OSCAR PHILIPSON comes in. Three years older than MARK, he is dressed in the uniform (Captain’s)of the Coldstream Guards.
OSCAR (with surprise). Hullo, Mark. This is extremely good of you, I must say. How did you know?
MARK. I didn’t know, that’s just the trouble.
They shake hands.
(Bitterly.) Why on earth didn’t you warn Williams?
OSCAR. Oh. Didn’t I?
MARK. No, you didn’t, you idiot. It’s an absolutely lunatic way to behave, suddenly to arrive on leave in the middle of the night like this without warning anybody at all.
OSCAR. But it’s not the middle of the night. It’s 8:35 exactly. And anyway, I wired Ethel. Has she turned up? MARK. Yes. She’s in there.
OSCAR. Good.
MARK. But why did you only wire Ethel? Why didn’t you wire me?
OSCAR. Well, I hope you’ll forgive me saying so, old chap, but after six months in the trenches I thought that Ethel might provide the more convivial evening.
MARK. I see. Well, now, let me introduce Miss Prentice –
Captain Philipson.
OSCAR (eyeing her appreciatively). How do you do?
DAPHNE. Pleased to meet you.
MARK (meaningly). Miss Prentice and I have been having a little dinner here – in my flat –
OSCAR. In your –
MARK (firmly cutting him short). Miss Prentice, incidentally, has been very kind about my flat, haven’t you, Daphne?
DAPHNE. Oh yes. I think it’s ever such a nice flat –
OSCAR. Splendid.
MARK. Well, anyway, as I was saying, Miss Prentice and I have been having a little dinner here – in my –
OSCAR. Yes. I’ve got as far as that. Go on.
MARK. And only a moment or two ago we were talking about you. I was telling her how you always stay here when you’re on leave.
OSCAR. Yes, I do, don’t I?
MARK. And she thought it was rather careless of you to let people like Ethel have a latchkey to my flat, but I said – or was going to say – that I didn’t mind, because you and I have always been such very close friends ever since Eton – and in fact it was re
ally you who made me take up sculpture as a profession –
OSCAR (listening very carefully). Ah, yes. How well I remember that.
MARK. You always had faith in me as a sculptor, didn’t you, Oscar?
OSCAR. Profound.
MARK. I remember him saying to me once – I know that the name of Mark Wright is going to be famous one day. People will nudge each other in the street and say – there goes Mark Wright – the sculptor.
OSCAR (slowly and understandingly). And on the front of 12 Wilbraham Terrace, there’ll be a little plaque saying ‘Mark Wright, the sculptor, once owned a flat here’ –
MARK. That’s it. That’s what you said –
OSCAR. I thought so. Well, now – may I help myself to a drink?
MARK. What? Oh yes, of course. Make this flat your own, my dear Oscar. You always do, anyhow.
OSCAR. Thank you very much.
ETHEL emerges from the bedroom.
Ethel, my dear. How very pleasant to see you again.
ETHEL manages a faint and stately smile, and then extends him her cheek to kiss in the most sisterly manner.
You’ve met the assembled company, haven’t you?
ETHEL. The lady, yes. The gentleman is quite new to me.
OSCAR. Oh. This is Mark Wright – the famous sculptor. This is Ethel…? Ethel! Now I’ve got a wonderful idea. It’s such a hot night – why don’t you two ladies go and cool yourselves in the garden, for a moment – while I have a word with Mark –
MARK. Well – the fact is Miss Prentice and I were just on the point of leaving. Her brother has gone for a taxi –
OSCAR (puzzled). Her brother?
MARK. Yes. Her little brother, Sidney.
OSCAR. Well, well. We’ll straighten that out later. Still, I’m afraid, Miss – Prentice, whatever Mark says, Ethel and I can’t allow you both to dash off like this – on the very first night of my leave. You must at least stay and help me crack a bottle of champagne. Now, Ethel – take Miss Prentice and show her the garden by moonlight. (To MARK.) You don’t mind Ethel showing Miss Prentice your garden by moonlight, do you, old chap?
MARK. Not a bit. I think it’s a splendid idea –
DAPHNE. But do you think I should, really? Sidney’ll be back any minute.
MARK. We can keep the taxi waiting. The fact is – (Lowers his voice.) Oscar and I have something to discuss – of a very confidential nature.
Who is Sylvia? and Duologue Page 8
