Kitabı oku: «The Honeymoon», sayfa 5

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Turning to Flora again, pained.) You are forgetting the terrible scandal that will ensue if you persist in your present course, dear Flora. The honeymoon actually begun! and then – this bombshell! How shall we break it to the Bishop? How can I ever look the Bishop in the face again! How can I ever look anybody in the face again?.. To-day of all days, when my new book has just come out! And with my article to finish, on the decline of the birthrate among the well-to-do classes!.. How can we explain to people that the marriage is broken off when there's certain to be an account of the wedding in every paper to-morrow morning?

Flora. That, at any rate, isn't my fault. By-the-way, how did that paragraph get into the "Piccadilly Gazette"? (Mischievously.) I suppose it must have slipped in while you were looking the other way.

Mrs. R. Haslam. (With controlled acerbity.) When you begin to figure prominently in the life of your country, Flora, you'll understand, perhaps, a little better than you do now that newspaper reporters, whatever their sex, simply will not be denied. They reside on the doorstep. One cannot be rude. At least I can't.

Flora. I hope I never shall figure prominently in the life of my country. But I want to figure prominently in the life of my husband.

Mrs. R. Haslam. The newspapers —

Cedric. Excuse me, mater, but isn't this right off the point?

Mrs. R. Haslam. (To herself.) And I was looking forward to a quiet half hour with my press-cuttings!

(Silence.)

(Enter Mr. Reach Haslam cautiously, back.)

Mr. R. Haslam. (Mildly cheerful.) Well, where have you got to?

Flora. I think we're gradually working back again to the importance of marriage in the life of the husband.

Mr. R. Haslam. That's better! That's better! (Sits.)

Mrs. R. Haslam. Flora, you'll pardon me offering my opinion, as an experienced student of human nature, but when you say "the importance of marriage," I think you really mean your own individual importance. Personal vanity is very misleading.

Flora. Oh! It is.

Mrs. R. Haslam. Your attitude might be more defensible if you were a different kind of woman. I don't say it would be more defensible, but it might be.

Cedric. Oh, look here, mater —

Mrs. R. Haslam. Cedric, may I venture to converse in my own study?

Flora. (To Cedric.) Don't you understand that this is not your act? (Rising.) How a different kind of woman?

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Quietly courteous.) I mean, if you brought more to the marriage.

Flora. Money? I'm not rich, but you see I'm rich enough to despise ten thousand pounds.

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Protesting.) Flora! Please don't mention such a thing! Have I mentioned it? I think we Haslams are as capable as anybody of despising ten thousand pounds. (Very kindly.) No, I mean, if you had more to show in the way of – shall I say? – striking personal talent. You can have no rôle except that of wife, purely social and domestic. And yet your attitude seems somehow to claim the privileges of a – a great singer, or a great pianist, or —

Flora. A great novelist?

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Imperturbable.) No, no. I was thinking more of public performers… Genius… If you had genius, talents. Mind, I'm not blaming you for not having them. I make no reflection whatever… Of course you are good, I hope, and you're beautiful.

Flora. So they say.

Mrs. R. Haslam. But beauty is a mere gift – from heaven.

Flora. My dear, what's the difference between a talent, and a gift from heaven? I remember not very long since you were really quite annoyed because the "Saturday Review," I think it was, referred to you as "Mrs. Reach Haslam, the talented novelist." Whereas you are constantly being called the "gifted novelist," and you like it. (She begins to sit down.)

Mr. R. Haslam. Pardon me. "Like" is too strong a word. My wife prefers to be mentioned as "Mrs. Reach Haslam," simply – don't you, dear? One doesn't expect to read in the papers "Mr. Balfour, the talented statesman," "Lord Northcliffe, the talented statesman." One expects only "Mr. Balfour," "Lord Northcliffe."

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Waving him graciously into silence. To Flora.) I willingly admit, dear, that in its origin a talent – like mine, if you insist —is a gift from heaven. But what years of study are necessary to perfect it! Whereas mere beauty, charm —

Flora. (Having sat down, and finally arranged her fan and shawl, etc.) It's taken me at least seven years of intense study to learn to sit down like that – and in another two years I shall do it even better. (With a delightful smile.)

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Graciously lenient.) But seriously —

Flora. Seriously? (Stopping, in a different tone.) My dear, did the Bishop say anything when I left the room?

Mrs. R. Haslam. Say anything! About what?

Flora. About me.

Mr. R. Haslam. He remarked that you were a ravishing creature.

Flora. Jokingly?

Mr. R. Haslam. No. He was quite serious.

Flora. That's just it. If it was only frivolous, empty-headed boys who were serious about it, but it isn't. The most high-minded, middle-aged men are serious about it. Why, even chaffeurs and policemen are serious about it. There must be something in it. Wherever I go people are more serious about me than about anybody else – even if singers and pianists happen to be present. If I arrive late at the theatres I'm the play for at least two minutes. And I assure you in the streets it often occurs that men I don't know hurry after me very seriously about it – even if I'm veiled. And yet you and I have the same dressmaker! It's always been like that – ever since my first marriage. And it's getting more and more marked. I don't mind telling you, my dear, that my own secret view of my importance is perhaps as modest as yours is of yours – but what can you and I do against the universal opinion? I've begin to bow before the storm. It's the wisest course. You talk about what I bring to the marriage (proudly). I bring to the marriage the gift of heaven, cultivated by the labour of a lifetime, and, as to its value, there's only one estimate, except yours (with a catch in her voice) – and Cedric's! Cedric puts an aeroplane higher.

Cedric. I beg your pardon —

Flora. (With emotion.) Yes, you do! Yes, you do! When there came a conflict between my honeymoon and your aeroplane, you decided instantly against the honeymoon, before I'd even been asked! You didn't even consult me.

Cedric. Aeroplane! Aeroplane! You keep on saying aeroplane, but —

Flora. (Calmer.) Listen. I know you've given way. I know you've offered not to sacrifice the honeymoon, but don't you really think still in your own mind that the honeymoon ought to be sacrificed? (Cedric does not answer – pause.) You know perfectly well it's a relief to you that I've cried off! Come, honestly now?

Mr. R. Haslam. (Warningly, under his breath.) Not too honestly.

Cedric. (Quietly.) Yes, I do think part of the honeymoon ought to be sacrificed. And I never dreamed that you would think otherwise. It's a difference of opinion that simply staggers me. It doesn't only stagger me – it frightens me. It makes one reflect, you know.

Flora. Then you are relieved? You're grateful.

Cedric. (Moved and stammering.) I ought to be. Of course you're the only person who could cry off.

Flora. What do you mean?

Cedric. Some things a man can't do.

Flora. Do you sit there and say that if I hadn't cut the knot, you'd have gone on, and you'd have let me go on, with a marriage you didn't believe in? Because you're a man, and there are some things a man can't do! Can't a man show as much pluck as a woman? That does settle it! (Controlling herself.)

Mrs. R. Haslam. Flora, you'll regret you've thrown Cedric over. You'll certainly want to come back to him.

Flora. (Disdainfully.) Shall I! (Politely.) Good-night, Mrs. Haslam.

Mrs. R. Haslam. But where are you going?

Flora. I don't know. How can I stay here? My official connection with this house is ended. I shall go to a hotel. Good-night. So many thanks!

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Rising and going to her; firmly.) I'm sure you'll oblige me by not scandalising the servants. You can choose a hotel to-morrow morning. I'll go with you to your room, if I may. All your trunks will be up there by this time.

(Exeunt Flora, submissive, and Mrs. Reach Haslam, back.)

(Mr. Reach Haslam slowly prepares for work at desk.)

Cedric. I'm off into the garden. (Pulls out his cigarette case.) (Exit, L.)

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Aside as Cedric goes.) Nincompoop!

(Enter Mrs. Reach Haslam.)

Mrs. R. Haslam. Dear, before I go on with that article, I should like to make a few notes on Flora's demeanour, while the thing's fresh in my mind. One never knows when that kind of stuff won't come in useful.

Mrs. R. Haslam. Where's the boy?

Mr. R. Haslam. In the garden. (Half to himself.) Of all places!

Mrs. R. Haslam. (Collecting her thoughts and beginning to dictate.) "Essentially hysterical in a crisis, but does not pull a face before weeping, probably owing to advice from toilette specialist." Yes, full stop.

(Curtain.)

ACT III

Garden of the Reach Haslams' house in Palace Gardens. House front to the left. At the back, shrubberies and trees. In centre, an arbour or pergola, with the open side to the footlights. Under the shelter of this a table, with remains of a meal.

Time: Next morning 4 a.m. Magnificent sunrise.

Cedric is sitting at the table, having finished eating. He is still in evening dress, and dishevelled.

(Enter Charles through shrubberies from back. He wears the same costume as in previous act, with hat, stick, etc.)

Cedric. Hello?

Charles. So you're here, are you?

Cedric. (Wiping his mouth.) I am.

Charles. Well, what's happened?

Cedric. What do you mean?

Charles. What do I mean? You and Flora, of course!

Cedric. Nothing more.

Charles. Then is it off?

Cedric. (With a nervous laugh.) Right bang off! (Pause.)

Charles. You look as if you'd been up all night.

Cedric. (Nods.) What time is it? My watch has stopped.

Charles. About four. I'm a trifle late. (Sits down to table.) Well, my boy, I've got a bit of news for you. I don't know whether it'll influence you, but – (startled). Look here, have you been eating my supper?

Cedric. Was it for you?

Charles. I must say this really is a bit too thick!

Cedric. How should I know it was for you?

Charles. Of course you knew!

Cedric. It was all laid here. The fact is, I went off to sleep. I must have slept solid for about four hours. When I woke up just now, I was as hungry as a dog, so I just – I never thought —

Charles. Never thought be damned!

Cedric. Awfully sorry. Here's some bread. What's this news?

Charles. (Taking bread.) What's the good of being sorry? It was entirely on account of you I had no tea yesterday and no dinner either, and now I'm dashed if you haven't gone and eaten my supper too!

Cedric. What's this news?

Charles. (Eating.) If I hadn't had some sultana at the office I don't know what I should have done. I've a good mind not to tell you! (Taking paper from his pocket.) Here! This is a second edition, just off the machines (opening paper). Oh, curse! Mind the ink! (Looking at his hands, after giving paper to Cedric, who examines it.) There you are! (indicating a paragraph in the paper).

(Cedric reads, then rises.)

Cedric. (After reflection.) See here, boy. You just go to bed out of the way and don't ever let on that you've shown me this paper or even knew what there was in it. Do you hear? (Putting paper in his pocket.)

Charles. I hear. But why?

Cedric. Never mind why.

Charles. But the newsagent will deliver the mater's copy here at eight o'clock, and by half-past eight you may bet everybody in the place —

Cedric. I'm going to do something long before eight o'clock.

Charles. What are you going to do?

Cedric. I'm going to see Flora, and tell her I've altered my view completely. If she knew I'd seen the paper she'd be bound to think I'd only come round because of that, and she wouldn't listen to me – don't you see, idiot?

Charles. I see. But haven't you altered your view because of that?

Cedric. (Coldly.) What's that got to do with you? The point is that at any rate I can go honeymooning now with a free mind. That's the point.

Charles. And do you reckon all this'll be on the straight?

Cedric. I don't care whether it's on the straight or not. (Savagely.) I've got to have that woman– confound her! and I'm going to.

Charles. Where is she?

Cedric. She's in the spare room next to the mater's.

Charles. And how do you intend to get at her?

Cedric. I'm going to call her, and ask her to dress and come down at once. Then I shall talk to her, here. With a bit of luck I may be off with her and on the way to Colchester at six o'clock. Is there plenty of petrol in the stable?

Charles. Yes. I say – it's not right, you know!

Cedric. Shut up. (Going.) Did Fisher clean the car last night?

Charles. How do I know? He ought to have done. I say —

Cedric. (Stopping.) Well?

Charles. I suppose you don't want any advice from me?

Cedric. No. (Turns and stops again.) What?

Charles. I was only going to say that you'd better change those clothes and make yourself look less of an absolute waster.

Cedric. Well, of course! I expect I can dress quicker than she can, can't I? I've thought of all that.

(He turns finally to leave.)

(Enter Flora from house, meeting him. She is fully dressed in morning street attire, and carries a handbag.)

Flora. (Staggered.) Good morning!

Cedric. (Staggered.) Good morning!

Charles. Hello, Flo! What's the meaning of this?

Flora. Couldn't sleep.

Cedric. (Hastily and nervously.) I shall be down in two jiffs. (Aside to Charles.) See you don't let her go. (Exit into house.)

Flora. I guessed you'd be having your supper just about now. That's why I came down here.

Charles. (Pleased.) That's fine. Only I'm not having my supper. Cedric's eaten it all. He's been out here all night, and he's eaten it all – except this (showing bread).

Flora. My poor boy! But here's a couple of bananas. Have you ever tried banana sandwiches?

Charles. No. Are they any good?

Flora. Are they any good! Never had a banana sandwich! Shall I make you some?

Charles. I wish you would. (Silence, while she sets about sandwiches.)

Flora. Well, how long shall I have to wait?

Charles. Wait?

Flora. To hear what happened to Mr. Frampington, of course. Did they take him in at Bow Street?

Charles. Oh, yes.

Flora. Do you know – I'm rather sorry. Somehow I should have liked him to get clear away. Here! (Gives him a sandwich, which he eats. Then solemnly) Now, Charlie, I'm going. I want to be gone before anybody's up.

Charles. What occurred last night?

Flora. Oh! terrific scenes! terrific scenes! and I really can't face your mother this morning at breakfast. I couldn't do it. And it's quite unnecessary. So I'm going to the Great Western Hotel. I shall pretend I've arrived by a night train. And I want you to see that my trunks are brought there later. Here! (Gives him another sandwich.)

Charles. All serene! Thanks! (After thought.) I say —I rather like Frampington, too.

Flora. Why?

Charles. I don't know. It's due to him – somehow – I feel like you feel… I say, Flora, has it ever occurred to you that I'm a mere cipher in this house?

Flora. Really?

Charles. I'm nobody. I'm pitched about everywhere.

Flora. You don't mean – my trunks?

Charles. Not a bit. Of course I don't. I mean the way they treat me. Here Cedric's a perfect duke, in his own line. But will he have me on the works? Not much. Says I must strike out for myself, and all sorts of tommyrot. And in the end I'm set to night-work like a blooming nigger. People might think we were hard up for five quid a week, instead of simply rolling in coin – rolling in it! Why shouldn't I go round the world or something! I'm only twenty-two.

Flora. That all?

Charles. I go out and work all night. Then I come home and discover Cedric couldn't find anything better to do than eat my supper. Five servants in this house. But do you suppose there'd have been the least chance of me getting anything to eat before eight o'clock, at the earliest, if you hadn't invented these sandwiches? Not much! Thanks! (Takes two more.) But that's not what I meant. What I really meant was – who introduced my people to you? I did. I knew you at the Baths Club six months before his lordship Cedric and the mater kindly invited themselves to have tea with me there, and then I didn't count any more! Cedric simply shovelled me up and chucked me into a corner. In less than twenty-four hours he was in love with you. But did he ask my permission? Did he think about me for one instant? Not much! The fact is, they simply make use of me … and so – I rather like Frampington. Understand?

Flora. Yes.

Charles. Of course, I'm sorry about what's happened – as far as you are concerned. But as far as Cedric's concerned, I can't help thinking it serves him jolly well right. Cedric's too cocksure – in everything.

Flora. That's quite true.

Charles. (Hesitating.) Yes.

Flora. What else have you got on your mind?

Charles. Well, I don't know if I ought to tell you.

Flora. Certainly you ought to tell me.

Charles. You think so?

Flora. Unless, of course, you agree with all the things your dear mother's been saying to me.

Charles. It's about Klopstock.

Flora. About Klopstock?

Charles. He's had an accident.

Flora. What?

Charles. Broken his leg.

Flora. How? Came down too quickly?

Charles. No. Driving to his hotel last night his motor ran into a statue of Bismarck, and he was thrown out.

Flora. Motor cars are really too dangerous. I wonder any aviator cares to trust himself to them.

Charles. (Admiringly.) Now it's very funny. I often want to say things like that, only I can never think of them. Cedric – he can come out with them sometimes, and so can the dad. But you're the only woman I ever struck that could.

Flora. Charlie, you're a dear. I suppose he'll be laid up for five or six weeks.

Charles. Who? Klopstock? You bet. You see what it means?

Flora. Quite. What I don't see is why you should have hesitated to tell me about it. I suppose you've told Cedric?

Charles. Yes. I brought an early copy of the paper with it in.

Flora. Where is it?

Charles. Cedric's cleared off with it.

Flora. Well, if Cedric knows, why shouldn't I?

Charles. Ask me another! Look here, I'm giving the show away, but I've got my conscience to think of. This is a serious matter. I mean – really serious! I don't like it, but it's my duty to warn you.

Flora. Well?

Charles. Cedric told me I wasn't to say a word. He said I wasn't to let on that I'd told him.

Flora. And did you promise?

Charles. I should think I didn't. Not me!

Flora. Had Cedric been out here all night?

Charles. Yes. Told me he slept like a top in that chair, then woke up and ate my supper.

Flora. But why should he want you not to say anything about Klopstock? (Enter Cedric, in a lounge suit, somewhat awry, with a hat. Flora continues in the same tone to Charles.) Here, have this last one (offering him another sandwich. To Cedric). It appears you've been eating what doesn't belong to you. So I've done my best with bananas and stale bread to fill the breach.

Charles. (Nervous.) You've forgotten your hair, my boy.

Cedric. (With a gesture; low to Charles.) Hook it! (He repeats the gesture.)

(Exit Charles unwillingly, into house.)

Flora. (Primly.) I'm just going. I meant to leave before any of you were up. I thought that would be the wisest thing to do. But Charles begged me to stop and look after him a bit.

Cedric. What's he been entertaining you with?

Flora. Oh! his grievances. They're rather real, you know.

Cedric. Do you know, when I went in just now I was meaning to knock at your door and ask you to get up at once. Curious thing, that you should have been coming downstairs at that very moment!

Flora. Why this desire to begin the day so early?

Cedric. Look here, Flora, let's go, now! Fisher won't be up, but the car's cleaned and there's plenty of petrol. Come on. Just you and I.

Flora. (Innocently.) Where?

Cedric. Chelmsford. I can wake the Bishop and tell him we want the job done at eight o'clock instead of twelve. Any old verger and charwoman will do for witnesses. The thing will be all over before the mater's out of bed. We can telephone to 'em from Chelmsford with the pleasing news. (Pause. As Flora says nothing, he continues, rather less confidently.) It'll give 'em an appetite for breakfast.

Flora. (Ironically.) Any other details?

Cedric. (With rough persuasiveness.) Come on!

Flora. (Ironically.) Then you've decided that we are to get married, after all?

Cedric. Well, a marriage can't be broken off like – like this! It's unthinkable. What would any unprejudiced outsider say, if he was asked? He'd say we were off our blooming heads. The thing simply won't bear examination. (Moves towards her.) Come —

Flora. And I'm to be carried by storm?.. Great saving of argument!

Cedric. Now listen —

Flora. Well?

Cedric. Will you talk man to man? Straight?

Flora. As one honest Injun to another!

Cedric. (Picking up a dish off the table.) If you make one more joke, I'll smash every darned bit of crockery on this table. (Gesture of destruction.)

Flora. (Coldly.) Now if I agree to listen quietly and talk reasonably, it mustn't be understood that I'm open to argument. (Sits down.)

Cedric. All right, all right!

Flora. Because I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. The thing that's – that's really upset our applecart may seem perfectly childish to the unprejudiced outsider. But I don't propose to consult the unprejudiced outsider. Might as well take the case before a jury and engage a couple of K.C.'s. You know as well as I know that it isn't perfectly childish. It isn't childish at all. Its fundamental. We've been unlucky. But then in another sense we've been lucky. We're free. We aren't tied, thank Heaven. Man to man, Cedric, it would be too much humiliation – yes, humiliation – for me to marry anybody that looks on marriage as you look on it. And as it's just as impossible for you to change your opinion as it is for me to change mine, we shan't exactly go down to Colchester this morning… More's the pity.

Cedric. Well, I have changed my opinion. So let's go.

Flora. You've changed your opinion? How have you changed your opinion?

Cedric. I've sat there all this blessed night thinking it over.

Flora. Really?

Cedric. Yes. Do you suppose I could sleep any more than you could? What do you take me for? The more I thought it over, the more I saw I'd been mistaken. Now – half a minute! I can't honestly blame myself, you know. And so I won't pretend to – especially as we're talking straight. I told you what I felt, right out, and then I offered to give way. I couldn't do anything else. Well, you wouldn't have that. Mind you, I think you were quite right in refusing to let me give way against my better judgment. I admire you for that even more than I did. But I don't give way now against my judgment – I give way with it.