MICHAEL. It’s a bet. You’ll make a good foreman.
He comes out of the kitchen, moodily munching his bread.
Gosh! Aren’t women hell! We men sell our souls for them, and what do we get in return? Damn all!
JOHN. Red revolutionaries should stay away from women, Michael.
MICHAEL (with a grin). So should blue reactionaries, if it comes to that. Here, let me dry those for you.
He goes into the kitchen and dries the plates JOHN hands to him. OLIVIA comes out of her bedroom, changed into a smart dress.
She looks round the room.
JOHN (from the kitchen). You know what I hate most about women,
Michael old chap? It’s their constant, mulish reluctance to make up their own silly minds.
MICHAEL (from the kitchen). Gosh! I don’t think any woman has even a silly mind to make up, has she?
OLIVIA approaches the kitchen wonderingly.
OLIVIA. What on earth are you two doing in there?
JOHN. Just washing up.
MICHAEL. We’ve finished now.
He comes out into the sitting room, followed by JOHN.
I say, Mum, what a smashing dress!
OLIVIA. Do you like it, darling?
MICHAEL. Gosh, yes. I should say I do. Are you going anywhere?
OLIVIA (nervously). No, darling. Just round the corner to have a snack. Antoine’s, you know.
MICHAEL. Oh, that old place. Still, I’m glad to see you dressed up for once. I’ve been getting quite worried about how dowdy you’ve been looking lately.
OLIVIA (faintly). Have you, darling?
MICHAEL. Yes. No offence, but you look ten years younger in that dress.
OLIVIA. Do I, darling?
MICHAEL. Yes. Look, Mum, may I go and lie on your bed for a second? I want to have a think.
OLIVIA. Yes, darling. What about?
MICHAEL. Oh, lots of things. This is a turning point in my life and I don’t want to take the wrong turning. (At the door.) Gosh, Mum, you look corking!
He goes out. OLIVIA turns slowly on JOHN.
OLIVIA. Now, will you kindly tell me what has been going on in here while I’ve been having a bath?
JOHN (excitedly). It’s love, Olivia! The beautiful, softening, soothing influence of love.
OLIVIA. Love! You don’t mean that absurd infatuation he has for that horrible –
JOHN. Don’t say a word against her, Olivia. Not one single word. She’s a wonderful woman.
OLIVIA. Wonderful woman my foot – making up to a boy of that age!
JOHN (gleefully). Precisely, precisely, and for just that reason. OLIVIA. What are you gibbering about?
JOHN. Michael and I are firm friends. He’s going to work in my firm. In six months’ time, perhaps sooner, he’ll agree to our marriage. Will you take a bet, Olivia? The battle is won – so nearly won. And all thanks to that wonderful Diana. (Thoughtfully.) Only she must go on working. She hasn’t earned her full five hundred yet.
Pause.
OLIVIA (slowly). What do you mean, ‘she hasn’t earned her full five hundred yet’?
JOHN (nervously). Oh, nothing. Nothing.
OLIVIA approaches JOHN slowly.
OLIVIA (in tones of the deepest reproach). Oh, John!
JOHN (innocently). What do you mean, ‘Oh, John!’
OLIVIA. You wicked, wicked man!
JOHN. I fail to understand you, Olivia.
OLIVIA. The Barton and Burgess affair. Oh, you viper!
JOHN. Come, come, Olivia. This is no way to talk –
OLIVIA. So you deliberately went and bribed your wife to encourage my son, just so that you –
JOHN (testily). No, no, no. Not bribed at all. It so happened that I ran into Diana one night at Ciro’s and during the course of a straightforward business chat on the Barton and Burgess affair, she chanced to mention to me that your son had been ringing her up from time to time, and asking her out. She also added that she had not yet accepted any of these invitations. Well, I know myself something of the ennobling effect of love on even the stoniest of characters and it occurred to me to suggest to Diana that she might be doing the boy a kindness – not of course to encourage his advances, but not exactly – how shall I put it – not exactly to discourage them. This she agreed to do as a personal favour to myself – feeling, as she naturally was, rather grateful at the happy solution of the Barton and Burgess affair. (With dignity.) There was never at any time, at any place, or in any form or manner the remotest question of hanky-panky.
OLIVIA. So that was the joke you and your beautiful wife were enjoying that evening at Ciro’s!
JOHN. Certainly not. We were both smiling politely at the camera.
OLIVIA. Oh, you – you cobra!
JOHN. Olivia, really!
OLIVIA. And so a poor little boy’s heart was to be broken so that you could wreak your will on his unsuspecting mother.
JOHN. Don’t exaggerate the affair, Olivia. It happens that things have fallen out luckily –
OLIVIA. Things always do fall out luckily for you, John. And why? Because you take good care to make them. Oh, now I can believe everything that’s ever been said about you. You’re a wizard schemer and intriguer, a vile exploiter, a cruel and despotic tycoon –
JOHN (stopping his retreat and facing her proudly). Very well, then. At last you see me in my true light. I am a ruthless multimillionaire, with no scruples and no morals, prepared – what was the phrase? – to ride roughshod over human lives to reach my goal. She stands before me. What is she going to do now?
OLIVIA. What chance has a poor, weak, defenceless widow got?
He kisses her passionately.
(At length.) Oh, but when the Century of Common Man comes and you’re swept aside like so much –
JOHN. Chaff –
OLIVIA. Like so much chaff – when your head decorates the flagpole of the Fletcher-Pratt Works – how richly you’ll deserve it!
JOHN. Darling, your head will be there with mine.
OLIVIA (murmuring). I hope so.
They embrace. MICHAEL walks in moodily, and is well past OLIVIA and JOHN before they notice his presence. They break apart abruptly and watch him uneasily. MICHAEL, in silence, looks up a telephone number, then dials.
MICHAEL (as he dials). I say. Could you lend me a fiver?
JOHN dashes forward with an open wallet.
JOHN. Yes, of course, old chap. Take more. Take a tenner.
MICHAEL. No, a fiver will be enough, thanks. (Into phone.) Hullo, Dorchester? This is Mr Michael Brown speaking. Would you book me a table for one?… All right. I’ll wait…
OLIVIA (to JOHN). Are you awfully set on Antoine’s?
JOHN. Not awfully.
OLIVIA. Ask for another table for us, would you, darling?
MICHAEL. Oh, all right. (Into phone.) Hullo? Yes, thanks. Look, I’ll want another table for two, please. Sir John Fletcher… Right… Oh, wait a moment, on second thoughts you might as well make that one table for three… That’s right. Goodbye.
Curtain.
The End.
TERENCE RATTIGAN
Born in 1911, a scholar at Harrow and at Trinity College, Oxford, Terence Rattigan had his first long-running hit in the West End at the age of twenty-five: French Without Tears (1936). His next play, After the Dance (1939), opened to euphoric reviews yet closed under the gathering clouds of war, but with Flare Path (1942) Rattigan embarked on an almost unbroken series of successes, with most plays running in the West End for at least a year and several making the transition to Broadway: While the Sun Shines (1943), Love in Idleness (1944), The Winslow Boy (1946), The Browning Version (performed in double-bill with Harlequinade, 1948), Who is Sylvia? (1950), The Deep Blue Sea (1952), The Sleeping Prince (1953) and Separate Tables (1954). From the mid-fifties, with the advent of the ‘Angry Young Men’, he enjoyed less success on stage, though Ross (1960) and In Praise of Love (1973) were well received. As well as seeing many of his plays turned into success
ful films, Rattigan wrote a number of original plays for television from the fifties onwards. He was knighted in 1971 and died in 1977.
Other titles by the same author published by Nick Hern Books
After the Dance
The Browning Version and Harlequinade
Cause Célèbre
The Deep Blue Sea
First Episode
Flare Path
French Without Tears
In Praise of Love
Rattigan’s Nijinsky
(adapted from Rattigan’s screenplay by Nicholas Wright)
Separate Tables
Who is Sylvia? and Duologue
The Winslow Boy
A Nick Hern Book
This edition of Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind first published in Great Britain in 2011 by Nick Hern Books, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP. Love in Idleness was first published in 1953 by Hamish Hamilton Ltd.
Less Than Kind is published here for the first time.
This ebook edition first published in 2014
Love in Idleness Copyright © 1953 The Sir Terence Rattigan Charitable Trust
Less Than Kind Copyright © 2011 The Sir Terence Rattigan Charitable Trust
Introduction copyright © 2011 Dan Rebellato
Front cover photo copyright © Hulton Deutsch Collection
Cover design by Ned Hoste, 2H
Typeset by Nick Hern Books, London
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 78001 387 9 (ebook edition)
ISBN 978 1 84842 164 6 (print edition)
CAUTIONThis ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Amateur Performing RightsRights of performance by amateurs are controlled by Samuel French Ltd, 52 Fitzroy Street, London W1T 5JR, tel +44 (0)20 7255 4302, e-mail [email protected]; and they, or their authorised agents, issue licences to amateurs on payment of a fee.
Professional Performing RightsApplication for performance by professionals in any medium and in any language throughout the world (except by stock companies in the United States of America and Canada) should be addressed to Alan Brodie Representation Ltd, Paddock Suite, The Courtyard, 55a Charterhouse Street, London EC1M 6HA, tel +44 (0) 20 7253 6226, fax+44 (0)20 7183 7999, web www.alanbrodie.com
No performance of any kind may be given unless a licence has been obtained. Applications should be made before rehearsals begin. Publication of this play does not necessarily indicate its availability for amateur performance.
Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind Page 26
