OLIVIA. That’s right. The old one was so heavy. How do you like the rest of the room?
MICHAEL. Swell. The landlady seems a decent old girl.
OLIVIA. Landlady?
MICHAEL. The old girl that let me in, isn’t she the landlady?
OLIVIA. Well – no, darling. She’s more of a sort of – parlourmaid.
MICHAEL. She’s a funny old thing. (Pointing to sofa.) I suppose that becomes a bed, does it?
They both move down to the back of the sofa.
JOHN rises. OLIVIA. Er – no, darling.
MICHAEL. Where do you sleep, then? (Looks round the room.)
OLIVIA (faintly). Upstairs.
MICHAEL. You’ve got another room upstairs?
OLIVIA. Yes, darling –
MICHAEL. I’ll sleep here tonight, then. I thought I’d probably have to sleep out.
OLIVIA. Well – as a matter of fact, darling, there’s quite a nice little room for you upstairs.
MICHAEL. Another room?
OLIVIA. Yes, dear.
MICHAEL. Gosh! How much are you paying for all this?
OLIVIA (kissing him). Oh – not an awful lot.
MICHAEL. Are you sure you can afford it?
OLIVIA (taking him by the arm). Darling – don’t let’s talk about such things at the moment. Remember, there’s someone else in the room.
MICHAEL. Oh, yes. Sorry. (To JOHN.) Can I get you a drink, sir?
JOHN. What? Oh, no, thanks. I don’t think I’ll have another. (To OLIVIA.) Olivia – I know you and Michael want to be alone. But I can’t very well leave until these papers arrive. Would you mind if I went into – our – this room here – (Points to the study door.) and did a little work meanwhile?
OLIVIA. No, of course not, John.
JOHN. I’ll make myself scarce as soon as these papers arrive.
OLIVIA. Oh no, there’s no need to do that. Remember, we’re having dinner together.
JOHN. Yes, I know, but wouldn’t you rather – ?
OLIVIA. Oh no. That’s all right. We’ll all three have dinner together. That’ll be fun, won’t it, Michael?
MICHAEL (without enthusiasm). Yes, corking.
OLIVIA ( with a triumphant look at JOHN). There you are, you see, John. Corking.
JOHN (meaningly). But are you sure you have time to say all you have to say to each other before dinner?
OLIVIA. Don’t you worry about that, John.
JOHN. Oh, well, that’s splendid. (To MICHAEL.) I’ll see you later, then.
MICHAEL. Yes, sir.
JOHN. By the way, how old are you, Michael?
MICHAEL. Seventeen and eight months.
JOHN. Really? As old as that? Well, one can hardly call you a little boy then, can one?
MICHAEL (explosively). I should bloody well hope not!
OLIVIA (sharply and reprovingly). Michael!
Delighted, JOHN goes into the study.
MICHAEL (furiously). Now what was all that about my being a little boy?
OLIVIA. Darling –
MICHAEL. What did the silly old poop mean?
OLIVIA (gently reproving). He said you weren’t a little boy. Besides, he’s not a silly old poop.
MICHAEL. That’s what you say.
OLIVIA. You know who he is, don’t you?
MICHAEL. He’s the Minister for Tank Production.
OLIVIA. That’s right. He’s in the Cabinet.
MICHAEL. That doesn’t make him any the less of an old poop.
OLIVIA. Michael!
MICHAEL. You should hear what my organisation in Canada says about him.
OLIVIA. But, surely, your organisation in Canada speaks very highly of him?
MICHAEL. Oh no, they don’t. Not my friends, anyway. They say he’s a menace to world industrial reorganisation.
OLIVIA (sinking onto sofa). Oh. Do they say that?
MICHAEL. Have you read his book?
OLIVIA. No, I haven’t had time yet –
MICHAEL. A Defence of Private Enterprise?
OLIVIA. – what with the Red Cross –
MICHAEL. Well, I have, and it nearly made me sick.
OLIVIA. Oh, dear!
MICHAEL. We had a debate on his policy the other day, and do you know what the vote was?
OLIVIA. No.
MICHAEL. That he was nothing but a rank monopolistic reactionary.
OLIVIA. Oh.
MICHAEL. Disgusting!
OLIVIA. Oh.
MICHAEL (sitting). Anyway, don’t let’s talk any more about him. Tell me about yourself. How have you been?
OLIVIA. Oh, all right.
MICHAEL. You don’t look awfully well.
OLIVIA. Don’t I?
MICHAEL. No. A bit – sort of – haggard, somehow.
OLIVIA. Haggard?
MICHAEL. Well – I expect it’s just your being older.
OLIVIA. Well, darling – I am older.
MICHAEL (cheerfully). Oh, well – not as old as all that. You’ve still got plenty of time ahead of you –
OLIVIA. Thank you, Michael.
MICHAEL. Poor old Mum! I bet you’ve had a pretty rotten time of it. Are you glad to have someone to take care of you at last?
OLIVIA (tearfully). Oh, Michael!
MICHAEL (puts his arm around her). What’s the matter? OLIVIA (recovering herself). It’s nothing. I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re not quite how I expected you, somehow.
MICHAEL. I’m older, you know.
OLIVIA. Oh, darling, you don’t look any older –
MICHAEL. Oh, Mum, I must –
OLIVIA. No, you don’t. (Puts her arms around him.) You still look like my little Michael. How was Canada?
MICHAEL. Corking.
OLIVIA. You haven’t got a Canadian accent.
MICHAEL. Haven’t I? Well, you see, there were quite a lot of us English boys in the school, and we rather kept together.
OLIVIA (smiling). They took good care of you, anyway?
MICHAEI. Take care of us? They were wonderful to us – they really were. I told you all about the house and everything, didn’t I? Wasn’t I good about writing?
OLIVIA. You were marvellous.
MICHAEL. I bet you didn’t read any of them.
OLIVIA. Oh, Michael, I have all your letters in a drawer upstairs, and I read them over and over. I can tell you all about the house, and the Wilkinsons, and the neighbours, and Professor Mason who stammers and caught you imitating him one day – that was naughty of you, darling – and the Wilburs who live in the big house on the lake, and let you go fishing. There!
MICHAEL. Not bad. I take it all back.
OLIVIA. They do seem to have been most terribly kind to you, anyway.
MICHAEL. You don’t know the half of it. Do you know that when Dad died, old Mrs Wilkinson, who didn’t know anything about him at all, except through me – of course, I had talked about both of you quite a bit – well, she cried. She really cried. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that, somehow –
OLIVIA. She wrote me an awfully nice letter.
MICHAEL. Can you tell me anything more about it, or would you rather not?
OLIVIA. Well, darling, there really isn’t much to tell. You know how ill he was before you went away – overwork, of course, and then because of the war there was even more work. I tried to get him to let up, but you know him, he wouldn’t. I suppose I should have tried more – I don’t know.
MICHAEL. I bet you did everything you could.
OLIVIA. I hope so, Michael. I do hope so.
MICHAEL. Poor old Mum. I’m most terribly sorry.
OLIVIA. Thank you, darling.
He pats her sleeve, then strokes the material admiringly.
MICHAEL. By Jove! That’s a jolly nice bit of stuff!
OLIVIA. Do you like it?
MICHAEL. I bet you didn’t get that at Pontings.
OLIVIA. No, darling, I didn’t.
MICHAEL. I bet it was Derry & Toms –
OLIVIA. No, it wasn’t Der
ry & Toms, either.
MICHAEL. Where was it, then?
OLIVIA. Oh, a little shop – you wouldn’t know it –
MICHAEL. What’s it called?
OLIVIA. Molyneux.
MICHAEL. Never heard of it.
OLIVIA. Really?
MICHAEL. What’s the matter with Derry & Toms?
OLIVIA. Nothing’s the matter with Derry & Toms. Derry & Toms is very nice, too – only Molyneux is a bit – er – nearer.
The telephone rings. She gets up to answer it.
Oh, dear, that telephone never stops ringing. You’ll have to be my secretary, Michael. (Lifting receiver.) Hullo – oh, hullo, Freddy… Oh, I haven’t for– forgotten lunch… He’s charming… Yes, I met him at Bobby’s party…
MICHAEL rises and watches OLIVIA.
… Yes, do bring him… I’d love to meet him again… Right. One fifteen at The Dorchester… No, no, I won’t forget this time. Goodbye. (Rings off and picks up her engagement book.)
MICHAEL is still staring at her.
Penny for your thoughts.
MICHAEL. I was just thinking how much you’d changed.
OLIVIA. Changed? For the better or the worse?
MICHAEL. I don’t know. Just changed.
OLIVIA (sitting). Oh!
MICHAEL. Even your voice has changed. When you were speaking to that chap on the phone, it might have been Aunt Ethel talking –
OLIVIA. Aunt Ethel has a nice voice.
MICHAEL. A bit Park Lane, isn’t it?
OLIVIA (testily). She lives in Park Lane.
MICHAEL. I know. Tell me – what made you leave Barons Court?
OLIVIA. Well – it was rather a gloomy flat, didn’t you think? And then the blitz was on, so I took a basement bedsit. In – er – Swiss Cottage.
MICHAEL. Then you came on here?
OLIVIA. Yes. (Fans herself with the engagement book.)
MICHAEL. Did you ever manage to let the old flat?
OLIVIA. It’s in the hands of the agents, and I haven’t heard from them for ages.
MICHAEL. But you must find out. After all, an extra two or three pounds a week would be very useful wouldn’t it?
OLIVIA. Well, yes.
MICHAEL. Did Dad leave very much?
OLIVIA. No, not much.
MICHAEL. I can see I shall have to make some money for you pretty quickly.
OLIVIA. Michael – that reminds me – you know all those letters you wrote me about wanting to get a job between now and the time you’re called up – ?
MICHAEL (eagerly). Yes. Have you found me anything?
OLIVIA. Well, I think I have found you something – and rather nice, too.
MICHAEL. How much money?
OLIVIA. About seven or eight pounds a week.
MICHAEL. Oh, gosh! Oh, gosh! What is it?
OLIVIA. Well, you’re to go tomorrow morning and see a Mr Symonds. He hasn’t promised anything, but if you make a good impression, he may give you something in the Ministry of Tank Production.
MICHAEL. Has he got anything to do with it? (Rises.)
OLIVIA. Yes, he has, darling, he’s gone to a great deal of trouble, and I want you to thank him, very nicely.
MICHAEL. Gosh, seven or eight pounds! Well, I suppose one can’t afford to be too choosey, if the job’s worth all that money. Still, I can’t say I care for the thought of having him as my boss, all the same.
OLIVIA. Oh, darling, he is the Minister. I don’t suppose you’re likely to bump into him very much in your work.
MICHAEL (squarely defiant). I shall take jolly good care I don’t.
Pause.
OLIVIA (kneeling beside him). Oh, Michael, I wish you’d forget all these tiresome prejudices of yours and try and like him just a little. Believe me, it’s terribly important for me that you do.
MICHAEL. Why?
OLIVIA. Well – he’s such a very old friend.
MICHAEL. Let’s talk about that some other time.
OLIVIA. Darling, there’s something I have to say to you.
MICHAEL. Yes, Mum, what is it?
OLIVIA (getting up). Oh, dear, this is so difficult. (Bending down to kiss him.) It’s so wonderful to have you back –
MICHAEL. It’s nice to be back.
She wanders away from him.
OLIVIA. Michael, do you think of me as being terribly old?
MICHAEL (reassuringly). Oh no, Mum. Not old at all. Sort of middle-aged, really –
OLIVIA. Yes, I see. Well, now, you know how fond I was of your father, don’t you?
MICHAEL. Yes, Mum, of course I know.
OLIVIA. Well, after all, that’s really no reason why I should think of spending the rest of my life entirely alone –
MICHAEL. Of course you won’t be alone. You’re going to have me from now on.
OLIVIA. I know, dear, and I’m more grateful than I can say to have you with me. But, darling, you’ll get married yourself one day, and then I shall have no one –
MICHAEL. Don’t worry about that. We’ll have you to live with us.
OLIVIA. Oh, I see –
MICHAEL. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to get married.
OLIVIA. Why not?
MICHAEL. It’s a bit frustrating, I think.
OLIVIA. Oh, is it?
MICHAEL. Yes. Go on, Mum. What were you going to tell me?
OLIVIA (with a sudden access of courage). Michael, what would you say if I told you that I was thinking of getting married again?
MICHAEL. What? (Begins to laugh.)
OLIVIA (bewildered). What are you laughing at?
MICHAEL. Oh, Mum; oh, Mum! Poor old Mum!
OLIVIA. Why ‘poor old Mum’?
MICHAEL (contrite). I’m awfully sorry. Most rude of me – only – (Chokes with laughter again.)
OLIVIA. Only what?
MICHAEL. Nothing. Yes, of course, go ahead and get married. We’ll just have to find the right man for you, that’s all. Poor old Mum!
OLIVIA (with sudden fury). Don’t call me poor old Mum!
POLTON comes in with a Ministry dispatch box.
Oh, Polton?
POLTON. Oh, pardon me, madam, but I thought Sir John was here. Miss Dell has left these papers from the Ministry of Information.
She gives the box to OLIVIA and goes out.
OLIVIA. Oh, yes, thank you, Polton. (Calling.) John, your papers have come.
JOHN (off). Thank you, I’ll be right out.
MICHAEL. Is that all you’ve got to say to me?
OLIVIA. Yes – that’s all I’ve got to say to you.
MICHAEL (taking cigarette from box). Do you mind if I have a cigarette?
OLIVIA. Oh, Michael, you don’t smoke?
MICHAEL. Oh, yes. Four or five a day.
OLIVIA. Oh, Michael! Four or five a day? That’s an awful lot.
He lights his cigarette and blows a couple of nonchalant smoke rings.
Oh, darling!
MICHAEL. What’s the matter?
OLIVIA. Nothing. It’s just that I can’t bear to see you smoke. It does something to me here.
JOHN comes in from the study.
JOHN (delighted). Smoking? Whisky and soda? (Crosses to drinks table.)
OLIVIA. Don’t be absurd, John.
MICHAEL. I’ll have a whisky. I quite like it.
OLIVIA. No, indeed, you’ll do nothing of the kind. If you have anything at all, you’ll have a glass of sherry.
MICHAEL. Oh, all right. I thought sherry was very difficult to get in England.
JOHN. Difficult, but not impossible.
MICHAEL. Thank you. (Takes drink from JOHN.)
JOHN. I think I’ll have a drink myself, if you don’t mind.
MICHAEL and OLIVIA. Go ahead.
MICHAEL has wandered up to the window, and for a moment he has his back to the other two. JOHN, in soundless speech and pantomime, asks OLIVIA if she has told him. OLIVIA shakes her head. JOHN, still soundlessly, asks why not. OLIVIA shrugs her shoulders despairingly. JO
HN, by gesticulation and pantomime, implies that she must do it now, or he’ll be very angry, and that he is going into the study again. OLIVIA shakes her head violently. JOHN continues his gesticulations, stopping abruptly as MICHAEL turns round.
MICHAEL. You know, Mum, it’s funny how small London looks after Montreal.
JOHN. Well –
OLIVIA. Darling – it’s much bigger.
MICHAEL. But the houses are so mean-looking. You ought to see the Mount Royal Hotel, Montreal. There’s a building for you. (To JOHN.) Of course, you must know it – I was forgetting.
JOHN. It’s some time since I’ve seen it, though. (Crossing to pick up the Ministry box.) Well – I think I’d better go and read this report.
OLIVIA gets up very quickly from her chair and goes up to the door.
OLIVIA. No. You stay here and talk to Michael. I have to go and change for dinner.
JOHN. Oh, but surely – haven’t you got a lot more to say to Michael – a lot more.
OLIVIA. Yes, after dinner. He has something to say to you. He wants to thank you, very nicely. I’m sure you two are going to get on – quite corkingly.
She goes out. JOHN takes MICHAEL’s glass.
JOHN. Another?
MICHAEL. No, thank you.
JOHN. No, of course not.
MICHAEL. You know, I’m very interested to meet you, Sir John.
JOHN. Oh, well, I’m very interested to meet you.
MICHAEL. You see, our organisation discussed you the other day.
JOHN. Oh, really? How nice.
MICHAEL. Yes.
JOHN. Come to any conclusions?
MICHAEL. Oh, yes. Lots. I won’t tell you what they were, though.
JOHN. Oh? Why not?
MICHAEL. Isn’t that obvious?
JOHN. Is it?
MICHAEL. I told Mum, as a matter of fact.
JOHN. What did she say?
MICHAEL. She said ‘oh’.
JOHN. You have a very remarkable mother, Michael.
MICHAEL. Do you think so?
JOHN. Very remarkable indeed.
MICHAEL. Oh, I don’t know.
JOHN (extending his case). Will you have a cigarette?
MICHAEL. No, thanks. I’ve just finished one.
JOHN. Oh, yes, of course. Mustn’t encourage you to smoke too much, must I?
MICHAEL. No.
JOHN. Well, Michael, did your mother tell you that there was a possibility of your coming to work for me?
MICHAEL. Yes, thank you.
JOHN. Not at all.
MICHAEL. What is the job?
JOHN (motioning MICHAEL to sit). You’ll be in Symonds’ department, that is, if he likes you. He’s one of my under-secretaries. I don’t imagine he’ll try you too heavily at first. You’ll probably spend the first couple of weeks making tea for the office.
Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind Page 8
