by Ian Shimwell
MAX: I warned you, Dominic that it would be too dangerous here. And as for you and that fancy box of tricks… I knew it wouldn’t work.
DOMINIC: Max, do us all a favour, will you? And shut up.
SALLY-ANNE: Wait, before they go, I think Editor Law wants to do something right in front of their eyes.
EDITOR LAW: Do I, Sally? Yes, of course I do. This is – or was the contract selling the Stokeham Herald to your bad selves.
(We can hear EDITOR LAW gleefully tearing the contract to pieces, with TRENCH and SALLY-ANNE cheering on.)
(Lighter music ends the scene.)
SALLY-ANNE: I’ve said goodbye to Editor Law, now it’s your turn, Trench.
TRENCH: First, Sally-Anne, there is something I must do.
(We hear TRENCH grab SALLY-ANNE and give her a long kiss.)
TRENCH: Maybe I should have done that when we first met. Maybe things would have turned out differently…
SALLY-ANNE: You know, if you would have knocked on my door at Fisherman’s Cove, you would have found it open… But you were too wrapped up in Old Tom’s latest mystery.
TRENCH: That just about sums us up.
SALLY-ANNE: With Old Tom around in spirit, at least, meant that me and you never had a chance.
TRENCH: But now you are going to have a new life with Jonathan in London. What are you actually going to do there?
SALLY-ANNE: I was going to ask around for a job as a television news reporter, maybe at Globelink News, but a little addition to our lives has forced us to change plans.
TRENCH: An addition to you and Jonathan? Are you going to have a threesome? (He then takes off DARNIA:) I adore threesomes!
SALLY-ANNE: (Who laughs:) Yes, ‘Darnia’. It is a threesome in a way, I suppose. Me and Jonathan are going to have a baby.
TRENCH: That’s great, truly great.
SALLY-ANNE: Goodbye, Trench.
(Music tinged with sadness closes the scene.)
OLD TOM: Come in, young man, the door is open.
(TRENCH enters the flat.)
TRENCH: Now there’s nothing left in the whole flat apart from your armchair – and my chair. What is going on, Old Tom?
OLD TOM: First, Trench, sit down and tell me what happened.
TRENCH: (Who sits down.) Your plan worked a treat, old timer. Max and Dominic are arrested and the Stokeham Herald is saved. Sally-Anne has left for pastures new and nest building in London. And Editor Law has found a way to play more golf without selling the Paper: he’s promoted me to be Assistant Editor.
OLD TOM: Congratulations. I suppose you will need to employ some new reporters?
TRENCH: Yes, interviews start very soon for one vacancy. The other, I’ve offered to Geoffrey. Well, he’s obviously lost his job at the Gazette and his insurance work has dried up.
OLD TOM: So, he said yes?
TRENCH: Well, Geoffers actually said, ‘message…’ – never mind, he starts next week. He’ll probably drive me mad, but after Dominic I’ll take the chance. And now, are you going to tell me about the mystery of your vanishing furniture?
OLD TOM: First, look under your chair.
TRENCH: Two cups of cold tea. Here’s yours. (They start drinking.)
OLD TOM: I’m moving on, Trench. You’ve been promoted, your partner’s left. It is the end of an era. You don’t need me anymore. I can be of no further use to you. You have come a long way, my boy, learnt a great deal. You will not look at things quite the same from hence forth. My work here is complete. You will not see me again.
TRENCH: But who are you, Old Tom? You have never said.
OLD TOM: I think that some mysteries are best left unsolved. Don’t you think that knowing would somehow spoil the magic?
TRENCH: Yes, yes I suppose it would. So, the armchair detective has solved his last ever case, then?
OLD TOM: You have finished your tea, Trench – it is time.
TRENCH: Yes, I’m sorry – I’d better go.
OLD TOM: We’ve had some fun, though.
(‘The Armchair Detective’ mystery music starts playing in the background.)
OLD TOM: We discovered that it was Jill Masterson manipulating events behind Mayflower Court…
TRENCH: … and that Marcus Dreadbury’s missing fiancé was a lot closer to his manor-house home than we first suspected…
OLD TOM: … and the best celebrity stalkers always turn out to be the spouse…
TRENCH … the brothers Quinn mystery at Fisherman’s Cove was a family affair…
OLD TOM: … and we unlocked Gordon’s psychological secret…
TRENCH: - and shopped a shoplifter! And, finally, found that it was Max and Dominic who were behind a dastardly revenge plot to pave paradise – err the Stokeham Herald – and put up a parking lot. Funny, that sounds like a song.
(The background music fades away.)
(We hear the remarkable sound of OLD TOM rising…)
TRENCH: Old Tom, you’ve stood up – from your armchair! What’s happening?
OLD TOM: I cannot abide people lolling around on chairs all day! Come on, stand up man – I’m here to shake your hand.
TRENCH: I’m speechless, but I will rise to the occasion.
(TRENCH gets up, and they warmly shake hands.)
TRENCH: Old Tom, I would like to thank…
OLD TOM: No, Trench – there’s really no need. There is only one more thing we need to say to each other – and we don’t require a clue from any black box to know what that is, do we?
TRENCH: No, no we don’t. Here goes then…
TRENCH & OLD TOM: Farewell, old friend.
CLOSING MYSTERY MUSIC
CAST LIST (continued):
DOMINIC JENKINS
MAX STERLING
BLACK BOX
JILL MASTERSON
SAWN-OFF
DARNIA STORM
GORDON
GEOFFREY
MOTHER
SHOPPER
SERGEANT STRONG
Series Two
The
Armchair
Detective
Returns
INTRODUCTION
A major sponsor of the Stokeham Herald, a gadgets factory, severs its ties with the newspaper.
Trench finds his new colleague, Debsy infuriating, exasperating and dizzy in turn - but can she somehow help?
What is the reason for all the sudden changes at the factory?
And will Trench, once more, seek guidance from an old friend with a fondness for armchairs..?
Cast List
TRENCH
OLD TOM
DEBSY
EDITOR LAW
GILCREST
MARCONI
KATHY
GILCREST SENIOR
SECURITY GUARD
SECRETARY
Act One
OPENING MYSTERY MUSIC
(There is a slightly desperate rattling of the front door.)
TRENCH: What am I doing? I give up.
OLD TOM: Come in, young man, the door is open.
TRENCH: What the..?
(TRENCH pushes the front door open and enters the flat.)
TRENCH: I don’t believe it – everything is as it was.
(TRENCH enters the living room.)
TRENCH: The armchair, you… nothing’s changed.
OLD TOM: Ah, Trench, good to see you – sit down.
TRENCH: Two cups of tea.
OLD TOM: Or tea for two.
TRENCH: Two cups of tea – just made and ready for me and you to drink, when they’re cold enough of course. I think I’m going crazy.
OLD TOM: If you look closer, you will also find two pieces of stale cake.
TRENCH: Just in case, eh? Oh dear. It’s been a long time, Old Tom.
OLD TOM: Two years in fact. Two years and seventeen days.
TRENCH: Really, that long?
OLD TOM: And what, pray Trenchy, can I do for you today?
TRENCH: Wait a minute, Old Tom – last time we did meet, I se
em to recall you saying that I would never see you again…
OLD TOM: I sincerely believed that to be the case – but things have changed, haven’t they?
TRENCH: You also said you were ‘moving on’, leaving. Where did you go to? Why did you come back?
OLD TOM: Let me tell you something, young Trench. I have never left this flat – not in the last two years – not ever. I will always be here… waiting – in case you need me.
TRENCH: But why all the theatrics?
OLD TOM: You were being promoted to Assistant Editor and I… I sensed I was no longer required. I just did not wish to stand – or rather sit – in your way.
TRENCH: That was very… considerate of you.
OLD TOM: Now, as I said, things have changed. As you can see, I’m really the same old duffer, so that only leaves you. What has changed, Trench? Something to do with the Stokeham Herald?
TRENCH: Yes… and yes. I might as well start at the beginning of recent events. Geoffers, I mean Geoffrey, left us a month ago to return to his specialised insurance role full-time. Moved up to Scotland… poor thing. I thought it would be a piece of cake to find a new reporter to partner Debsy.
OLD TOM: Debsy? Sally-Anne’s replacement, I presume.
TRENCH: Yes Debsy, or should I say dizzy Debsy. She’s fickle, fussy and…
OLD TOM: …fun?
TRENCH: She might have replaced Sally-Anne but her personality is as far removed from Sal as you could possibly imagine. I really don’t know how she and Geoffers survived for so long. They were very nearly as bad as each other.
OLD TOM: And when Geoffers, I mean Geoffrey left, what happened then?
TRENCH: A major and long-standing sponsor of the Stokeham Herald suddenly pulled out and terminated their contract with us. And before you even suspect it, there is absolutely no connection with that and Geoffrey’s departure.
OLD TOM: So, the Herald was short of money?
TRENCH: Yes, so I had to step back in my old reporter’s shoes and dear old Editor Law has been unceremoniously recalled from the golf course.
OLD TOM: I see. Who was this marvellous sponsor?
TRENCH: Gilcrest Gadgets Limited. A family firm that took the world by storm with inventive products such as the everlasting pencil. The lead is astonishingly self-renewable. Its association with the Stokeham Herald dates back twenty years.
OLD TOM: So, why cut off ties now? Is the company struggling?
TRENCH: I don’t think so. In fact their share price has recently doubled.
OLD TOM: Has it really? How fascinating…
TRENCH: So, Old Tom, after all this time – will you help me again?
OLD TOM: To investigate Gilcrest Gadgets..?
TRENCH: So… what do you say?
OLD TOM: Pass the tea; it should be cold enough by now. Oh, and don’t forget the cake.
(Whimsical music changes scene.)
EDITOR LAW: Good morning Trench – well what’s left of it.
(TRENCH shuffles some papers on his office desk.)
TRENCH: Yes, I see what you mean time is cracking on. We must have words about your lateness, Editor Law.
EDITOR LAW: Impertinence doesn’t suit you, Trench.
TRENCH: I take it we lost at golf then..?
EDITOR LAW: Talking of lateness, where’s that damned girl, Deborah?
TRENCH: Debsy, you mean. Knowing her, she probably walked all the way to the train station – and then realised she had forgotten her money – and in her panic to return home, somehow dropped her keys down a grid. Or something like that. It usually is.
EDITOR LAW: I’m at a loss to explain how Geoffrey put up with her. Mind you, he was just as bad…
TRENCH: Geoffrey?! What about me? How am I supposed to work with dizzy Debsy?
(The office door is flung open; there are startled cries and a tearing sound.)
DEBSY: I’m most dreadfully sorry, Editor Law. I was rushing to start work and…
EDITOR LAW: I know what you were doing Deborah. Somehow, on your way down to the floor, you have managed to tear my shirt, completely ruining it.
DEBSY: It was the carpet – I tripped over it.
EDITOR LAW: Debsy, err Deborah; it is actually not that unusual to find carpets in offices. And if you weren’t so late in the first place, you wouldn’t have to rush around like an insane bull. Why were you late?
DEBSY: I forgot my money, but still had my train pass. Unfortunately, as I reached the station a gust of wind blew my pass…
EDITOR LAW: All right, all right – I’ve had enough. Trench, what story are you working on today?
TRENCH: I thought I’d look at Gilcrest Gadgets. Try and find out why they’ve severed links with our paper.
EDITOR LAW: They don’t have to explain themselves, but… all right – just don’t mither them. I’ll be in my office if you want me.
(We hear EDITOR LAW leave the office.)
DEBSY: Yeah, he’s probably going to play with his office putting set.
TRENCH: Debsy, don’t you think you’re in enough trouble?
DEBSY: The old swinger can’t hear through walls, you know. Where were you this morning, anyway? Just because you arrive just before the boss doesn’t make you any less late.
TRENCH: How do you know I was late in?
DEBSY: Your hurried signature on the signing-in board made me suspicious.
TRENCH: You deduced all that from my signature?
DEBSY: Well, not quite. Not receiving an answer to my telephone call to inform you of my impending lateness also gave me a clue. I needn’t have bothered – you were late yourself! Where were you?
TRENCH: Nosey, aren’t we?
DEBSY: Occupational hazard of being a journalist. Well Trenny?
TRENCH: Trenny? Never mind. I was visiting an old friend if you must know, Debsy.
DEBSY: Do I know him?
TRENCH: No, you don’t. But how did you know he was a him?
DEBSY: Lucky guess. I did have a fifty per cent chance of success. And when are we visiting Gilcrest Gadgets this afternoon?
TRENCH: Not we Debsy – me. I am going to visit them right now. You can man the ‘phones; catch up on your work or something.
DEBSY: Oh, old swingers, gadgets – and take a hike, Trenny!
(Comical music ends this scene.)
GILCREST: Did you enjoy the factory tour, Mr err… Trench?
TRENCH: Yes, actually I found it fascinating. The lines seem virtually fully automated.
GILCREST: Please sit down – and don’t worry. The rather plush leather armchair is simply that – not a gadget that will swallow you up!
TRENCH: (Who laughs rather nervously.) Quite. Stunning office, by the way, Mr Gilcrest. It seems so modern, yet traditional all at the same time.
GILCREST: Thank-you, I like it too. The old represents Daddy’s influence, which is Gilcrest Senior.
TRENCH: Who has recently retired?
GILCREST: And the new is my challenging ideas and tastes. Coffee?
TRENCH: Is it fresh and really hot?
GILCREST: Err, yes.
TRENCH: Yes please then.
GILCREST: (Who presses a buzzer.) Two coffees.
TRENCH: Now, where were we?
GILCREST: I think, Trench, you were enthusing about our automated manufacturing lines.
TRENCH: Yes boss, I mean Mr Gilcrest. In fact, the only people I actually saw were the packing girls.
GILCREST: Packing girls? In these enlightened times, we would rather refer to them as Dispatch Technicians.
TRENCH: But they did seem to be all girls though, or rather young women.
GILCREST: What would you have me do? Sack one and replace her with a man just to please the PC brigade?
TRENCH: Well, no.
GILCREST: As stimulating as this conversation is, I’m afraid your trip here will be an ultimately wasted one.
TRENCH: Really?
GILCREST: I am afraid that Gilcrest Gadgets will not reconsider sponsoring your paper
, the Stokeham Herald.
TRENCH: Oh that? I realise that. I’m here just to publicise your company in gratitude, if you like, of your support from previous years.
GILCREST: Very kind, I’m sure - but this company is going in new and exciting directions – and with all due respect, an article in the local rag… paper does not exactly fit it with our vision.
TRENCH: I see. ‘Our’ and you said ‘we’ before. I thought you were running this company on your own now, Mr Gilcrest.
(There is a muffled knock on the door.)
GILCREST: Ah, coffee.
TRENCH: Your secretary?
GILCREST: Oh no, Mr Trench. Here at Gilcrest Gadgets, we can come up with something a bit better than that.
(We hear a mechanical device lurch into the office.)
TRENCH: (Amazed.) A robot?
GILCREST: A robot that makes coffee…
(Intriguing music closes the scene.)
(Having just left the factory, TRENCH is walking out through the gates.)
TRENCH: Security is tight as well.
SECURITY GUARD: Good afternoon, sir – I hope you enjoyed your visit.
TRENCH: Err, yes – bye.
(TRENCH starts walking briskly.)
TRENCH: It might have been coffee by automaton but, somehow, it didn’t quite taste the same. Still it was a change drinking a hot drink!
(TRENCH and DEBSY collide on the pavement. They crumble to the ground in an undignified heap. Both moan as they struggle to get up again.)
DEBSY: We weren’t watching where we were going, were we?
TRENCH: Me? I think you find it was you, Debsy who walked into me.
DEBSY: Nonsense.
TRENCH: What are you doing out here, anyway?
DEBSY: Going to work, that’s all.
TRENCH: Debsy, I know you can be a bit… how can I put this kindly? Hah yes, ‘eccentric’ – but you may have completely lost the plot this time. You happen to be walking away from the Stokeham Herald offices.
DEBSY: How perceptive of you, Trench.
TRENCH: And..?
DEBSY: Oh, I’m starting a new job – right now, in fact.
TRENCH: It’s probably me, but I don’t understand.
DEBSY: I’ve been to the temps’ agency and landed a temporary position at, wait for it, Gilcrest Gadgets.
