Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind

by Terence Rattigan

  That’s better. There, take it back. (Puts the tie on his lap.) You can dress in black silk tights for all I care. (Goes towards the door.) Only you’d better not – it might annoy John.

  She goes out.

  POLTON (in the hall). Shall I do the napkins, ma’am, or will you?

  OLIVIA (also in the hall). You do them, would you mind? You do them so much better than I do. I’m going up to dress.

  MICHAEL goes up to the window, as POLTON comes in with a tray with a cocktail shaker, an ice bucket, and a napkin on it, which she puts on the drink table. MICHAEL moves towards her.

  MICHAEL. Polton, do you mind if I ask you a question?

  POLTON. Well, no, sir – if it isn’t too awkward –

  MICHAEL. Well, it may be a bit awkward. I just wanted to know what you felt about what’s going on in this house?

  POLTON (cautiously). You mean – Sir John and Mrs Brown, sir?

  MICHAEL. Yes.

  POLTON. Well, sir, I look at it like this. Mind you, I wouldn’t have no truck, in the normal way, with two people who carried on without being married. Living in sin, you might call it – begging your pardon, sir, if I’m taking a liberty –

  MICHAEL. No. After all, that’s what it is –

  POLTON. Oh no, sir, it’s not. Not with Sir John and Mrs Brown. It’s different with them. They behave just like two people who’ve been lawfully married for years and years, and to see them together you wouldn’t know they hadn’t been, bless ’em.

  MICHAEL (puzzled). But don’t you find that wrong?

  POLTON. Wrong? I wouldn’t be staying in this house if I did, I can tell you that straight. I don’t hold with no immorality, no unlicensed carryings-on in any shape nor form, and I don’t hold with those who do, neither. (Collecting her tray and preparing to go out.) Would that be all, sir?

  MICHAEL. Yes, thank you, Polton, that’s all.

  POLTON. Thank you, sir.

  She goes out.

  MICHAEL. Oh, crumbs!

  He goes quickly to the window. There is a ring at the door.

  It’s all right, Polton. Don’t bother, it’s for me. I’ll answer the door.

  He throws his tie on the ice bucket and goes out. Presently he is heard talking to DIANA FLETCHER, as they approach.

  (Off.) Would you come this way, please?

  DIANA (off). Thank you.

  MICHAEL (off). Shall I lead the way?

  DIANA (off). Hullo, I’m sure I’ve seen that picture before somewhere.

  MICHAEL (off). Yes. Do you mind hurrying. I don’t want anyone to see us.

  They come in. She is about twenty-five, and very decorative.

  DIANA. Are you the mysterious Mr Brown?

  MICHAEL. Yes, that’s right.

  DIANA. You sounded older on the telephone.

  MICHAEL. Did I? I’m much older than I look. Just in case of accidents, you are Lady Fletcher, aren’t you?

  DIANA. Yes.

  MICHAEL. The wife of Sir John Fletcher?

  DIANA (something in her eye). Yes, in a manner of speaking.

  MICHAEL. Won’t you sit down?

  DIANA. Thank you.

  MICHAEL. Dry them with this.

  DIANA. Dry what?

  MICHAEL. Tears.

  DIANA. I have some mascara in my eye.

  She crosses to the couch.

  MICHAEL. Oh, well, won’t you have a cigarette?

  DIANA (sitting). No, thank you. Look, would you mind awfully telling me what all this is about? I have rather an important engagement.

  MICHAEL. Yes. Right-ho. By the way, it’s jolly good of you to come.

  DIANA. Well, you said it was a matter of life or death, and that I was to learn something to my particular advantage.

  MICHAEL. Well, that’s true. I’ll tell you – (Realises suddenly that he has no tie.) Oh, excuse me a second. (Crosses to get it.) I’m frightfully sorry. I don’t know what you must have thought of me – without a tie.

  DIANA. Do you usually keep your ties on ice?

  MICHAEL. No. My mother took it away from me – so I threw it there.

  DIANA. Oh, I see.

  MICHAEL. As a matter of fact, it’s jolly lucky everyone’s out at the moment. I thought I’d probably have to smuggle you up to my bedroom –

  DIANA. Oh?

  MICHAEL. Oh!

  DIANA. Well, really –

  MICHAEL. I mean – that’s to say just to talk, you know – I didn’t mean – you know –

  DIANA. Look, Mr Brown, it’s been most awfully nice meeting you, but I think, if you don’t mind, I’d better be going –

  MICHAEL. Oh no. Please, Lady Fletcher. There’s no danger. You’ll regret it forever afterwards if you do.

  DIANA. Well, then, will you kindly say what you have to say to me.

  MICHAEL. Yes. Okay. Lady Fletcher, I hate to distress you unnecessarily, but I feel it my duty.

  DIANA. Oh –

  MICHAEL. Lady Fletcher, do you know whose house this is?

  DIANA. No – I don’t think so – whose?

  MICHAEL. Your husband’s.

  DIANA. John’s? (Rises hurriedly.) Now I’ve got to go. I’m definitely not going to run into him, if I can avoid it.

  MICHAEL. No, it’s all right. He’s at his office – he’ll be there for hours. I do understand how you must feel about seeing him again, after the way he’s treated you.

  DIANA. What?

  She drops her powder-puff. MICHAEL retrieves it.

  Oh, yes. Stupid of me. Thank you. (Looking around.) It doesn’t took like his taste.

  MICHAEL. You’re quite right. Do you know whose taste it is?

  DIANA. No. Whose? Yours?

  MICHAEL. No.

  DIANA. Whose, then?

  MICHAEL. I’m afraid what I have to say to you may come as a great shock – do you mind?

  DIANA. No.

  MICHAEL (sibilantly). It’s his mistress’s taste.

  DIANA. Mistresses’? In the plural?

  MICHAEL (shocked). No, in the singular.

  DIANA. Oh, I see. You mean this is where he lives with – oh, I’ve heard such a lot about her – Olivia Brown?

  MICHAEL. Exactly.

  DIANA. And you’re her brother?

  MICHAEL. No.

  DIANA. Oh, her son?

  MICHAEL (excitedly). Now, perhaps you see why I asked you to come round –

  DIANA. No, I don’t, I’m afraid.

  MICHAEL. I want you to meet her and talk to her.

  DIANA. Good Lord, no!

  MICHAEL. Please, Lady Fletcher. Swallow your pride and confront her.

  DIANA. Confront her?

  MICHAEL. Yes, reason with her. I’m sure you could get her to see how wrong it all is.

  DIANA. How wrong all what is?

  MICHAEL. What she’s doing, of course.

  DIANA. Oh, do make sense! What is she doing – for heaven’s sake?

  MICHAEL. Living in sin with your husband.

  DIANA begins to see daylight. She laughs softly.

  DIANA. Oh, that’s really rather charming.

  MICHAEL. How do you mean – charming?

  DIANA. You want me to confront your mother and reason with her?

  MICHAEL. Yes.

  DIANA. Get her to see the error of her ways?

  MICHAEL. Well – yes.

  DIANA. Tell her to stop being a wicked woman?

  MICHAEL (hurt). Don’t make a joke of it.

  DIANA (contrite). I’m sorry, Mr Brown. I didn’t mean to make a joke of it. Forgive me.

  MICHAEL. That’s all right. I understand your being hard and bitter. Anyone would be, after all you’ve been through.

  DIANA. Yes – but – I’m afraid I can’t very well confront Mrs Brown and reason with her, because, you see, it really isn’t any business of mine –

  MICHAEL. But, of course it’s your business. You don’t seem to understand. After all, it’s your husband who’s her paramour.

  DIANA laughs.

  What ar
e you laughing at?

  DIANA. Nothing. It just seemed a funny word to use in connection with John, that’s all.

  MICHAEL. Well, it’s true, anyway, isn’t it?

  DIANA. Oh, yes, it’s true. Delightfully true. You’re not shocked, Mr Brown?

  MICHAEL (shocked only at the suggestion). Me, shocked? It’d take more than that to shock me. I know all about life. Nelson and Lady Hamilton. Louis XV and Madame Pompadour – all that, all right. But this is different.

  DIANA. Why?

  MICHAEL. Well, she can’t be in love with him.

  DIANA. Why not?

  MICHAEL. But she can’t be. She’s too old.

  DIANA. Really? How old? As old as John?

  MICHAEL. Good Lord, no, not nearly as old as that. I can’t understand what any woman can see in him, unless it’s his money.

  DIANA. That was one of John’s good points.

  MICHAEL (violently). I hate her being the parasite of a rich old voluptuary!

  DIANA bursts out laughing again.

  (Contrite.) I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to speak about your husband like that.

  DIANA. That’s all right. Thank you, Mr Brown.

  MICHAEL. You’re not in love with him any more?

  DIANA. No, it’s a moot point whether I ever was.

  MICHAEL. Are you sure you don’t want him back?

  DIANA. Quite, quite sure.

  MICHAEL. Oh, crumbs!

  DIANA. What, Mr Brown?

  MICHAEL. I thought you could have appealed to my mother to give him back to you.

  DIANA. Poor Mr Brown! Are you very unhappy about it all?

  MICHAEL. Oh no, not really. Thanks very much.

  DIANA. Well, that’s a relief. (Begins to laugh again.)

  MICHAEL. How old are you?

  DIANA (her laughter stopping rather abruptly). Is that awfully important?

  MICHAEL. No. I suppose I shouldn’t ask. Only you’re so much younger than I thought you were going to be – I suppose I shouldn’t say that, either.

  DIANA (radiant again). Oh, yes, you should. Thank you, Mr Brown.

  OLIVIA comes in.

  OLIVIA. Oh, darling, I didn’t know you had someone here.

  MICHAEL. This is my mother – Lady Fletcher.

  OLIVIA (with barely a flicker of surprise). Oh, how do you do?

  DIANA (greatly relieved at this reception). How do you do? (Perhaps she overdoes it just a fraction.)

  MICHAEL (annoyed at his mother’s composure). Lady Fletcher is Sir John’s wife, Mum.

  OLIVIA (with a gay smile). Yes, dear, of course. (To DIANA.) How nice of you to drop in on us like this!

  DIANA. Well, the truth is, Mrs Brown, I didn’t really drop in on you. I was invited, by your son –

  OLIVIA. Oh, really? Where did you two run into each other?

  MICHAEL. We didn’t –

  DIANA (quickly, drowning his voice). In Hyde Park. Wasn’t it funny?

  OLIVIA. Amazing. Quite amazing.

  DIANA. Of course, I had simply no idea – when he said his name was Brown that he –

  OLIVIA. Yes, of course, I do understand. So many Browns. Won’t you sit down, and have a drink –

  DIANA. It’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I will, if you don’t mind –

  OLIVIA (crossing to the drink table). It’s no trouble, really. I’m making one, anyway. We’re having a party tonight. Such a strain on the rations, but John does love to entertain his friends, so, of course, I have to try and cope –

  DIANA. I know. Such a bore, isn’t it, in wartime, trying to do anything in the way of entertaining? Still, if you’ll forgive me, I think I really must begin to wend my way home. I have a few friends coming in to see me.

  OLIVIA. Oh, well, in that case, it would be wrong of me to keep you. (Extending her hand, gaily.) Well, it’s been so nice to have met you at last.

  They shake hands again.

  DIANA. It’s been charming. Perhaps you’ll drop in on me, one day.

  OLIVIA. I’d love to – where do you live now?

  DIANA. Grosvenor House. The number’s in the book. Your son knows it, as a matter of fact.

  OLIVIA. Oh, really? That’s fine. My dear – may I say it? I do so admire that hat.

  DIANA (more than pleased). Oh, do you? Aage Thaarup made it for me. He’s so clever, don’t you think?

  OLIVIA. Brilliant, positively brilliant! I must start going to him again.

  DIANA (turning and shaking hands again). Goodbye.

  OLIVIA. Well, goodbye.

  They are beaming at each other when JOHN walks in.

  JOHN. Diana!

  DIANA. Hullo, John!

  JOHN. What is the meaning of this?

  OLIVIA (quickly). The most amazing coincidence, dear. She ran into Michael in the park and came back with him without the least idea in the world –

  MICHAEL (defiantly). That’s not true. She only said that to shield me. I rang her up and asked her to come round.

  OLIVIA (quickly). Silly boy! What does it matter whether you rang her up or ran into her in the park? (To DIANA.) I have a lunatic son, Lady Fletcher. You really must forgive him. (Her arm on MICHAEL’s shoulder.)

  DIANA. But of course I forgive him. I’m really very grateful to him for giving me the chance of meeting you.

  OLIVIA. Most kind.

  DIANA. I really must fly.

  OLIVIA. Lady Fletcher has some friends waiting for her, John.

  JOHN. Oh. Well – remember me to him, will you?

  DIANA. Yes, I will. How are you, John?

  JOHN. Very well, thank you, Diana. How are you?

  DIANA. Bearing up.

  JOHN. I want to apologise if this incident has caused you any embarrassment.

  DIANA. Oh, but not at all. I’ve enjoyed it, really. I must go now.

  OLIVIA. Show Lady Fletcher out, Michael.

  MICHAEL goes out.

  DIANA (shaking hands yet again). Goodbye, John. Nice seeing you again. Goodbye once more, Mrs Brown. Don’t be too angry with your son, will you? He means awfully well, you know.

  She goes.

  OLIVIA (in a dead voice). Why did you say that about embarrassment, John?

  JOHN. Well – what is the point of trying to pass off a situation like that with small talk?

  OLIVIA. There isn’t a situation in the world that can’t be passed off with small talk. (Sits.) Gosh, I’ve never had a worse five minutes in all my life.

  JOHN (taking her hand). It must have been awful for you. I’m most terribly sorry.

  OLIVIA. Whatever possessed him to do a thing like that?

  JOHN. Play-acting again, I suppose.

  OLIVIA. Oh, John, you may be wrong about that.

  JOHN. Don’t worry about it.

  OLIVIA (desperately). I must, I must worry.

  MICHAEL comes back.

  MICHAEL (sullenly). Well, it didn’t work, did it?

  JOHN. No, Michael, it didn’t work. Now look here, young man, you and I are going upstairs to have a little talk –

  MICHAEL (pathetically insolent). Really? That will be interesting. (Turns away and puts his hands in his pockets.)

  JOHN (crossing to him). It’s going to be a good deal more – Michael, when I speak to you – don’t turn your back on me – take your hands –

  OLIVIA rises and crosses to JOHN.

  OLIVIA. Darling, will you go upstairs and get ready for dinner. Michael, come and sit down.

  JOHN goes out.

  I wish I knew what was in your mind.

  MICHAEL (murmuring). I don’t think you’d like it if you did.

  OLIVIA. I might and – I might not. Sometimes you seem to be playing a game with John and me and yourself – and that’s when I’m angry with you. At other times – well – I’m not so sure. I don’t want you to be unhappy, you know.

  MICHAEL. I’m not. Don’t worry.

  OLIVIA. John says you’re not, too. He says you’re enjoying every moment of it.

  MICHA
EL. Did he say that?

  OLIVIA. Yes, he did. He said you were play-acting, and I must say I agreed with him.

  MICHAEL. I may have been play-acting sometimes – I don’t know.

  OLIVIA. Darling – there you are, you see.

  MICHAEL. But if I have, it’s because I’ve had to. What chance have I got fighting a man like that on level terms?

  OLIVIA. Why do you feel you have to fight him?

  MICHAEL. Because I hate him.

  OLIVIA. Oh no, Michael, you don’t hate him. You’ve just worked yourself up into thinking a lot of ridiculous things about him, but you don’t hate him. Nobody could hate John.

  MICHAEL. I hate him more than anything on earth. I hate him for what he’s done to you.

  OLIVIA. What do you mean?

  MICHAEL (passionately). Don’t you know what he’s done to you? He’s changed you – so that you’re no more like my mother than – than any of a hundred society women I could pick out for you any day of the week at The Dorchester. You’re not you any more. That’s why I hate him.

  OLIVIA. Darling, that’s a bad thing to say. Are you sure it’s true?

  MICHAEL. Don’t you know it’s true? Think back to Sandringham Crescent, when Dad was alive, and there were just the three of us. You were happy then, weren’t you?

  OLIVIA. I wasn’t unhappy, Michael.

  MICHAEL. But you were in love with Dad, weren’t you?

  OLIVIA. Darling, it’s a long, long time ago. It’s hard to remember what one felt like at the beginning –

  MICHAEL. You mean you didn’t stay in love?

  OLIVIA. No, darling, I’m afraid we didn’t.

  MICHAEL. Oh, Mum, but why?

  OLIVIA. There isn’t any why about these things, Michael. They happen, and that’s all. Perhaps we married too young, or perhaps it was the difficult, struggling life we led that made it so hard to stay in love.

  MICHAEL. But surely Dad made an awful lot of money out of his practice, didn’t he?

  OLIVIA. Not an awful lot, Michael. And less and less as the years went on.

  MICHAEL. You mean he wasn’t a success.

  OLIVIA. He was unlucky.

  MICHAEL. But, Mum, I thought – that he –

  OLIVIA. Of course you did, you were only a little boy. Thank God we managed to keep it from you. Don’t think I ever resented his not being a success. I never asked for nor expected another sort of life. With you and him – I suppose it was you who turned the scales – (Kisses him.) I would have been quite content to have lived the rest of my life as the wife of an unsuccessful doctor in Barons Court.