There is a pause. OLIVIA, deep in her work, does not reply.
(Repeating louder.) I said, why do you consider it nice for me to make a speech at Dumfries?
OLIVIA. What? Oh, I don’t know. Don’t interrupt me, do you mind, dear? I’m in the middle of my accounts.
JOHN. I’m most terribly sorry, Miss Dell.
MISS DELL. Not at all, Sir John.
JOHN. Where did I get to?
MICHAEL comes in.
MISS DELL (reading from her notes). Before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –
JOHN. Oh, yes. Before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –
MICHAEL (going to his mother and kissing her). Hullo, Mum.
OLIVIA. Oh, hullo, Michael. Had a nice day at the office?
MICHAEL. Not bad, thanks.
JOHN (who has risen when MICHAEL came in). Good evening, Michael.
MICHAEL (with a stiff little bow). Good evening.
OLIVIA. I hope they’re not working you too hard at the office, darling. Nine to seven seems awfully long for a boy of your age –
MICHAEL (sitting down). Well, of course, it’s jolly silly their keeping us there till seven. There’s never any work to do after six. We just sit about doing nothing.
OLIVIA. Yes, that does seem silly. John, darling, couldn’t you do something about that?
JOHN (controlling himself with difficulty). Olivia, my dear, roughly five thousand people work in my Ministry. I’m afraid I can’t see my way to ordering the loss of some thirty thousand man-hours per week in order that Michael may get home a little sooner.
OLIVIA. Oh, well, of course, if you put it like that –
JOHN. I’m afraid I must put it like that.
MICHAEL. Mark you, not everyone seems to have to stay there till seven – not by a long chalk. I notice quite a few people seem to be able to manage to sneak off home early.
He shoots a meaningful glance at JOHN, as he says this. JOHN’s patience, as we can see from his twitching fingers, is on the point of exhaustion.
JOHN. If you are referring to me, Michael, it may interest you to know that I’m in the middle of some rather trying and responsible work, and I’d be grateful for a few brief moments of peace and bloody quiet. (To MISS DELL.) Now, where did I get to?
MISS DELL. – Before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –
JOHN. Oh, yes. Haven’t I got beyond that?
MICHAEL is tiptoeing up to the desk. JOHN notices this.
(To MISS DELL.) What in the world is going on?
OLIVIA. All right, dear. He only wanted his book. He left it in a drawer. Here you are, darling.
She gives him the book from a drawer in the desk, and then by accident bangs the drawer as she shuts it.
Ssh! Be quiet, Michael.
MICHAEL tiptoes back to the chair. When he has sat down again, JOHN looks at MISS DELL.
MISS DELL (whispering). Before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –
She then realises she is whispering, and repeats the sentence in a normal voice.
JOHN. I would like to make it quite clear that I am no politician. It was as a businessman that I was brought into this Government, and it is as a businessman, pure and simple, that I address you now.
He exchanges a glance with MICHAEL, who has stopped reading and is glaring at him.
(Abruptly.) Cut out ‘pure and simple’, Miss Dell. It is as a plain businessman that I address you now.
MICHAEL nods. JOHN pretends not to see him.
As many of you know, I am a Canadian by birth. All my life I have stood for a policy of closer industrial union and coordination within the Empire. Our left-wing friends have dubbed this policy as reactionary and imperialistic. Very well, then. If it is reaction, if it is imperialism, then I am a reactionary, and I am an imperialist. Am I ashamed of being so? Far from it. Very far from it, indeed. I glory in my unrepentance.
MICHAEL, with no change of expression, remains staring fixedly at JOHN.
So let our young intellectuals scoff and sneer, let them hurl their odium at my head. I still stand where yet I stood.
OLIVIA and MISS DELL (together). Stand still –
JOHN. I do not stand still. I still stand. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
MICHAEL. Harm me.
MISS DELL. Hurt me. I think Sir John was right, it’s hurt me.
MICHAEL (rising). I’m pretty sure it’s harm me.
MISS DELL. Oh no, Mr Brown, it’s hurt me.
MICHAEL. I ought to know, it’s harm me.
OLIVIA (coming down to the sofa). I learnt it as injure me.
MICHAEL. Oh no, Mum. Injure me wouldn’t scan. It’s harm me, I know.
MISS DELL (firmly). Hurt me. Words can never hurt me.
JOHN (with controlled fury). It is quite possible that the dictum may hold true of yourself, Miss Dell, but I can assure you that the words that Mrs Brown and her son are muttering are hurting and harming and injuring me like blue hell. (Gets up.) Now, may I please, please have ten minutes of quiet. That’s all I ask, and it is not very much – and I shall have finished my speech.
MISS DELL. I’m so sorry, Sir John.
JOHN. It’s quite all right, Miss Dell. We can continue now.
MICHAEL goes back to the chair. JOHN sits on the couch. He then catches sight of OLIVIA, who is doing a five-finger exercise on her cheek.
OLIVIA (murmuring). But words – can – nev – er – inj – ure me.
She shakes her head, and is about to repeat all this when she meets JOHN’s glare and hurriedly turns back to her desk.
JOHN (continuing). So let me turn to a brief outline of the economic policy for which I stand. The Empire is a family – a family which – a family whose – no – a family from which – (To MICHAEL, suddenly.) Do you mind not staring at me like that?
MICHAEL. I was thinking.
JOHN. You know, if you turned the other way round, the light would be much better for you.
MICHAEL. I can see all right, thanks.
OLIVIA, from her desk, signals to MICHAEL, by elaborate and smiling pantomime, to humour JOHN by changing his position. MICHAEL, with a patient shrug, agrees, and twists himself around acrobatically so that his back is to JOHN. JOHN is startled by all this, and rises.
JOHN. The Empire is a family whose branches reach out over a quarter of the known earth. As a child is bound to his mother by eternal yet invisible ties of blood and affection, and woe betide any interloper who tries to break them, so too, in the larger sphere of world economics, the sanctity of family life –
MICHAEL emits a short, sharp laugh. JOHN turns to OLIVIA.
May we go into the dining room, Olivia?
OLIVIA (rising and crossing to him). Oh, darling, I’m afraid the servants are in there, laying the table for the party tonight –
JOHN. Very well. Thank you, Miss Dell. That’ll be all for today.
MISS DELL (rising). Very good, Sir John.
JOHN. I’ll do the whole thing over tomorrow morning.
MICHAEL (crossing to the door). If I’m disturbing you, don’t worry. I was going upstairs, anyway.
MICHAEL goes out.
MISS DELL looks enquiringly at JOHN.
MISS DELL. In that case, shall we continue?
JOHN. No, thank you, Miss Dell. It’s hardly worth going on now. I’m rather out of the mood. It wasn’t very good, anyway.
MISS DELL. Very well, Sir John. Goodnight, Mrs Brown. Goodnight.
JOHN. Goodnight, Miss Dell.
MISS DELL goes out.
OLIVIA (embracing him). Poor John! Don’t worry, darling; your study will be ready for you tomorrow.
JOHN. It’s all right. I never should try to do a thing like that when I’m so dead tired. That’s the trouble, really.
OLIVIA. Poor lamb!
JOHN (nuzzling her cheek). Is that a new scent you have on?
OLIVIA. Yes, darling. Do you like it?
JOHN. I like it very much
indeed, indeed I do.
MICHAEL comes in and goes up to the desk at the back. JOHN and OLIVIA do not notice him at once.
OLIVIA. Well, darling, I got it – (Turns and sees MICHAEL.) Hullo, Michael.
MICHAEL. Can I borrow this? (Holds a pad and pencil which he has taken from the desk.)
OLIVIA. Yes, darling. Going to write a letter?
MICHAEL. No, some notes.
OLIVIA. What on?
MICHAEL. This book I’m reading.
OLIVIA. What is the book? (Takes it from under his arm and glances at the title.) Diagnosis and Treatment of Poisoning. Darling – what are you reading this for?
MICHAEL (with a glance at JOHN). Because I’m interested in the subject.
He goes out.
OLIVIA. Is he going to poison you, do you think?
JOHN. I shouldn’t be surprised. The only thing is, he’d better watch out I don’t get in first.
OLIVIA (worried). Do you think he’s still terribly unhappy about it all.
JOHN. Unhappy? I should say not. He’s having the time of his life.
OLIVIA (doubtfully). I’m not so sure.
JOHN. He’s enjoying every minute of it.
OLIVIA. I don’t know, darling. I thought at first he’d got over it, but the last day or so he’s been so – sort of moody.
JOHN. Moody – exactly. He’s playing Hamlet.
OLIVIA. Hamlet? What do you mean?
JOHN. Haven’t you noticed? You watch him.
OLIVIA. I have noticed an odd look about him at moments. Do you think that’s what it is?
JOHN. Certainly. That’s his ‘antic disposition’. He does it at the office, too, so Symonds tells me. He’s always coming in, giving the typists a demoniac glare. It scares them out of their wits. And then what about that black tie?
OLIVIA. Isn’t there an office rule about that?
JOHN. Darling, he can wear any damn tie he likes. That’s his ‘inky cloak’.
OLIVIA. Oh, John! Then he must be upset about it.
JOHN. Nonsense. You told me yourself he never cared for his father. Besides, it’s well over three years since he died. It’s just sheer play-acting – for our benefit.
OLIVIA. Come to think of it, I believe his school did do Hamlet once.
JOHN (triumphantly). There you are! And I bet he played the Prince.
OLIVIA. No, I don’t think so. I think he played a lady-in-waiting.
JOHN. Well, it doesn’t matter. He knows the play, anyway. You’d better watch out for a closet scene, Olivia. He’ll be telling you to throw away the worser part of your heart and live the purer with the other half.
OLIVIA. I’ll smack his bottom for him, if he does. (Laughs.) Oh, it really is rather sweet, isn’t it?
JOHN. It isn’t so sweet if you remember how the play ends. (Laughs as a thought strikes him.) That book! Don’t you see?
OLIVIA. No, what?
JOHN. Well, you remember how he tried to get me to admit I’d known his father?
OLIVIA. Yes, that’s true. I had to deny it, too, you know. Then he suggested that Jack had probably been your doctor without my knowing it – as if I wouldn’t have known it.
JOHN. Don’t you see? In default of a ghost he’s trying to find out how I poisoned him.
OLIVIA. Oh, darling! Really!
JOHN. Your son has a very lively imagination. He’s having a lovely time. He’s up to tricks. Still, at least, he means to absolve you from complicity in the crime… (Chuckling.) ‘Nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught.’ I’m the villain – the ‘bloody, bawdy villain. Remorseless, lecherous, treacherous, kindless villain! Oh, vengeance!’ (Shudders.) By Jove! I’ve scared myself now.
OLIVIA. Oh, but it’s too absurd! I’m sure he couldn’t really believe –
JOHN. You know your own son, my dear.
OLIVIA. I’ll just have to give him a good talking-to, that’s all.
JOHN (derisively). Ha, ha!
OLIVIA. What’s so funny about that?
JOHN. Nothing. Darling, if you’re going past the whisky decanter, I think I’d love a little whisky in that.
OLIVIA (rising). Did your wife wait on you hand and foot as I do?
JOHN. No. I had to wait on her.
OLIVIA. Is that why you left her?
JOHN. Partly. And partly because she preferred the embraces of a certain Young Guards’ officer to my own. (Lies down full length on the couch.)
OLIVIA. How long were you in love with her?
JOHN. About ten days.
OLIVIA. How long was she in love with you?
JOHN. You’re very inquisitive, this evening, aren’t you?
OLIVIA. Am I? Not specially. Why? Have I asked you that question before?
JOHN. You certainly have.
OLIVIA. Well, then – I forget the answer.
JOHN. You don’t forget it. You just like to hear me say it. She was never in love with me. She married me for my money.
She gives him the glass.
OLIVIA. Oh – that reminds me. Have you done anything about that racing debt of hers?
JOHN. No.
OLIVIA. Are you going to?
JOHN. No.
OLIVIA. What’ll happen, then?
JOHN. Barton and Burgess will just have to write off eight hundred pounds. Or else post her at Tattersall’s.
OLIVIA. You’re a hard man, aren’t you? Has it ever occurred to you that I might be living with you for your money?
JOHN. That thought is never absent from my mind.
OLIVIA. Seriously, I mean it. Have you ever thought that?
JOHN. I refuse to answer such a lunatic question seriously.
OLIVIA. It’s not such a lunatic question, really. Michael thinks I am.
JOHN. Michael thinks I poisoned his father.
OLIVIA. Yes, but he may be right about me.
JOHN. You’re not putting on an antic disposition, too, are you?
OLIVIA. No, Michael’s put the idea into my head.
JOHN (rising and crossing to her). Just put it out of your head, will you.
OLIVIA. It’s not that I don’t love you. I know I love you. But – I love all this, too.
JOHN. Well, who wouldn’t?
OLIVIA. Lots of people. Michael for one.
Pause.
JOHN. Oh, damn Michael! (Takes her hand.)
OLIVIA. He thinks I’m a useless parasite.
JOHN. Does it really matter what a crazy adolescent thinks of you?
OLIVIA (unhappily). He’s my son.
MICHAEL comes in and walks slowly to the desk.
JOHN. Hullo, Michael.
OLIVIA. Hullo, darling.
They watch him for a moment.
JOHN. Made some nice notes?
MICHAEL (leaning on the desk, his back to them). Thank you.
JOHN sits down in the traditional ‘Hamlet’ pose.
JOHN (whispering). ‘To be or not to be.’
OLIVIA motions to him angrily to stop.
OLIVIA (cheerfully). Well, Michael, how about a nice glass of sherry?
MICHAEL (moving slowly from the desk towards the door). No, thank you, Mum. Not at the moment.
OLIVIA. Where are you going, darling?
MICHAEL. Upstairs.
OLIVIA. But you’ve only just come downstairs.
MICHAEL. Yes, I know.
OLIVIA. Well, before you disappear altogether, darling, don’t forget to put on a dark suit for the party tonight.
MICHAEL. Party? What party?
OLIVIA. Don’t be so vague and tiresome. I told you we were having a dinner party tonight.
MICHAEL. Do you mind if I don’t come?
OLIVIA. Oh, darling. I wanted to show you off.
MICHAEL. I’d rather be alone.
OLIVIA. Oh, all right.
He has arrived at the door when JOHN rises.
JOHN (in lugubrious tones). Michael, you needn’t go upstairs again, I’m going out.
OLIVIA. Have you got to go, d
ear?
JOHN. Yes, I’ve a few things to do at the office.
OLIVIA. Well, don’t be late for dinner.
JOHN. No.
OLIVIA. That reminds me – I’d better be getting a move on myself.
MICHAEL (sharply). You’re not going out, are you.
OLIVIA. No, darling. Just upstairs, to dress for dinner. Why?
MICHAEL. Nothing. By the way, are either of you doing anything tomorrow night?
OLIVIA. I’m not. Are you, John?
JOHN. I don’t think so. Why?
MICHAEL. How would you both like to come and see a show with me?
OLIVIA and JOHN exchange a glance. OLIVIA is patently delighted.
OLIVIA. Darling, what a charming thought! We’d both love it. (Suddenly cautious.) Oh, you don’t expect John to queue up for the gallery.
MICHAEL. Oh no, that’s all right. I’ve already got the seats. Good ones, too – in the front row of the stalls.
JOHN. What is the show, Michael?
MICHAEL. Well – it’s a sort of thriller, I think. It’s called Murder in the Family.
JOHN guffaws, with evident enjoyment. He goes out without replying.
(Furiously.) Oh, crumbs!
OLIVIA (sharply). Michael, you’re to stop this ridiculous nonsense at once, do you hear?
MICHAEL (sulkily). What nonsense?
OLIVIA. This Hamlet nonsense.
MICHAEL. I don’t know what you mean.
OLIVIA. Yes, you do, and I’m warning you, Michael. It’s getting beyond a joke. (Pointing to his tie.) And take that ridiculous thing off.
MICHAEL. What ridiculous thing?
OLIVIA. That ridiculous black tie. (As to a small child.) Go on, take it off this minute.
He pulls off his tie quickly and gives it to her.
That’s better. And in future I want you to behave less like a moonstruck little halfwit and more like a human being. Is that understood?
MICHAEL. Yes, Mum.
OLIVIA. Good.
OLIVIA has achieved the door in a stern and dignified exit, when she suddenly relents and goes back to him.
Darling, I didn’t mean to be unkind. Here – take it back.
She holds out the tie, but MICHAEL makes no move to take it.
MICHAEL. I don’t want it, thanks.
OLIVIA. Go on, take it.
MICHAEL. No, you keep it.
OLIVIA. Darling – Michael, Michael –
MICHAEL. Yes?
OLIVIA. Smile at me. Go on, smile at me.
MICHAEL gives her a very quick, mirthless smile. She laughs.
Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind Page 10
