Scene: The living-room at ‘Miramar’, a villa in a small seaside town on the west coast of France.
Time: July Ist, about 9 a.m.
The room is rather bare of furniture. There is a large, plain table in the centre, surrounded by eight kitchen chairs. There are two dilapidated armchairs against the back wall. The wallpaper is grey and dirty-looking.
On the left, two French windows open out on to a small garden. They are open at the moment, and the sun is streaming through. There is a door back right leading into the hall, and another down-stage right leading into the kitchen.
The table is laid for breakfast, with an enormous coffee-pot in the middle and a quantity of rolls.
As the curtain rises KENNETH is discovered sitting at the table. He is about twenty, good-looking in a rather vacuous way. At the moment he is engaged in writing in a notebook with one hand, while with the other he is nibbling a roll. A dictionary lies open before him.
There is the sound of someone heavily descending the stairs. The door at the back opens and BRIAN comes in. He is older than KENNETH, about twenty-three or twenty-four, large, thick-set, and red-faced. He wears an incredibly dirty pair of grey flannel trousers, a battered brown tweed coat, and a white sweater.
BRIAN. Morning, Babe.
KENNETH doesn’t look up. BRIAN goes to the table, picks up a letter, and opens it.
KENNETH. (Looking musingly ahead.) She has ideas above her station.
BRIAN. What’s that?
KENNETH. How would you say that in French?
BRIAN. What?
KENNETH. She has ideas above her station.
BRIAN. She has ideas above her station. She has ideas . . .
He stuffs his letter in his pocket and goes to kitchen door calling.
Marianne!
VOICE. (From the kitchen.) Oui, Monsieur?
BRIAN. (With an appalling accent.) Deux oeufs, s’il vous plaît.
VOICE. (Off.) Bien, Monsieur.
BRIAN. Avec un petit peu de jambon.
VOICE. (Off.) Oui, Monsieur. Des oeufs brouillés, n’est-ce pas?
BRIAN. Brouillés? Ah, oui, brouillés. (He closes the door.) I’m getting pretty hot at this stuff, don’t you think? You know, nowadays it’s quite an effort for me to go back to English.
KENNETH. If you’re so hot, you’d better tell me how to say she has ideas above her station.
BRIAN. Oh, yes, I forgot. It’s fairly easy, old boy. Elle a des idées au-dessus de sa gare.
KENNETH. You can’t do it like that. You can’t say au-dessus de sa gare. It isn’t that sort of station.
BRIAN. (Pouring himself out a cup of coffee.) Well, don’t ask me.
KENNETH. I thought you were so hot at French.
BRIAN. Well, as a matter of fact, that wasn’t strictly the truth. Now if a Frenchman asked me where the pen of his aunt was, the chances are I could give him a pretty snappy come-back and tell him it was in the pocket of the gardener.
KENNETH. Yes, but that doesn’t help me much.
BRIAN. Sorry, old boy.
KENNETH. I suppose I’d better just do it literally. Maingot’ll throw a fit.
BRIAN. That doesn’t bother you, does it?
KENNETH. You’re not going into the diplomatic. He doesn’t really get worked up about you.
BRIAN. Well, I don’t know about that. The whole of his beard came off yesterday when I was having my lesson.
KENNETH. No, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s absolute physical agony to him when I do something wrong. He knows as well as I do that I haven’t got one chance in a thousand of getting in.
BRIAN. (Cheerfully.) Don’t say that, old boy. You’re breaking my heart.
KENNETH. (Gloomily.) Yes, but it’s true. (He starts to write again.)
BRIAN. As a matter of fact, Alan told me you had a pretty good chance.
KENNETH. (Looking up, pleased.) Did he really?
BRIAN nods.
BRIAN. He ought to know, oughtn’t he? Isn’t he Maingot’s red-hot tip for the diplomatic stakes?
KENNETH. If he was keener about getting in he’d walk it. He will anyway, I should think.
BRIAN. I think I’ll make a book on the result this year. I’ll lay evens on Alan – a class colt with a nice free action; will win if he can get the distance.
KENNETH. What about me?
BRIAN. I’ll lay you threes about yourself.
KENNETH. Threes? More like twenties.
BRIAN. Oh, I don’t know. Nice-looking colt – good stayer. Bit of a dog from the starting-gate, perhaps. Say seven to two, then.
Enter ALAN through the door at the back. He is about twenty-three, dark and saturnine. He wears carefully creased grey flannel trousers and a German ‘sport jacket’.
Morning, Alan. We were just talking about you.
ALAN. Good morning, Brian. Good morning, Babe. (He looks at his place at the head of the table.) Not one blood-stained letter. What were you saying about me?
BRIAN. I’m making a book on the diplomatic stakes. I’m laying evens about you.
ALAN. (Sitting down.) That’s not very generous.
BRIAN. Hell, you’re the favourite.
ALAN. What about the startling rumours that the favourite may be scratched.
KENNETH. (Looking up quickly.) Why, have they accepted your novel?
ALAN. Do I look as if they’d accepted my novel?
BRIAN. I don’t know how you do look when they accept your novels.
ALAN. I hope, my dear Brian, that one day you’ll have a chance of finding out.
KENNETH. Well, what’s this talk about your scratching?
ALAN. Perhaps just to give you a better chance, ducky.
BRIAN. You’re not serious about it though, old boy?
ALAN. Probably not.
KENNETH. But you must be mad, Alan. I mean even if you do want to write you could still do it in the diplomatic. Honestly, it seems quite crazy –
ALAN. You’re giving a tolerably good imitation of my father.
BRIAN. What does His Excellency have to say about the idea, by the way?
ALAN. His Excellency says that he doesn’t mind me choosing my own career a bit, provided always it’s the one he’s chosen for me.
BRIAN. Broad-minded, eh?
ALAN. That’s right. Always sees two sides to every question – his own, which is the right one; and anyone else’s, which is the wrong one.
KENNETH. But seriously, Alan, you can’t really be thinking –
ALAN. Oh, stop it, child, for God’s sake. I didn’t say I was going to scratch.
KENNETH. You said you were thinking of it.
ALAN. Well, you know that. I’m always thinking of it. I very rarely think of anything else. But I won’t do it, so don’t worry your dear little head about it.
He taps KENNETH on the head with a brioche. KENNETH sulkily returns to his work.
Enter MARIANNE, the maid, with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, placing them in front of BRIAN.
BRIAN. Ah, mes oeufs, as I live.
MARIANNE. (To ALAN.) Monsieur le Commandant, va-t-il aussi prendre des oeufs avec son déjeuner, Monsieur?
BRIAN. Oh, well – er – (To ALAN.) She’s talking to you, old boy.
ALAN. Je ne sais rien des habitudes de Monsieur le Commandant, Marianne.
MARIANNE. Bien, Monsieur. Alors voulez-vous lui demander s’il les veut, Monsieur, lorsqu’il descend?
ALAN. Bien.
Exit MARIANNE.
BRIAN. What did she want?
ALAN. She wanted to know if the Commander took eggs with his breakfast.
BRIAN. I meant to ask you. Did you see him when he arrived last night?
ALAN. Yes, I went to the station with Maingot to meet him.
BRIAN. What’s he like?
ALAN. Very naval commander.
BRIAN. Yes, old boy, but what’s that?
ALAN. You know. Carries with him the salty tang of the sea wherever he goes.
BRIAN. Pity he’s carried it here. Paucot-sur-mer could do without any more salty tang than it’s got already. Has he a rolling gait?
ALAN. He was sober when he arrived.
BRIAN. No, old boy, drunk or sober, all sailors have a rolling gait.
MONSIEUR MAINGOT comes in hurriedly through the door at the back. He is about sixty, with a ferocious face and a white beard.
MAINGOT. Bonjour – Bonjour – Bonjour!
All three rise. He shakes hands with each in turn, then sits down at the head of the table right at the opposite end to the three boys.
Mon Dieu, que je suis en retard ce matin! (He opens a letter.)
BRIAN. (Speaking in a whisper to ALAN.) What’s he like, though, really?
ALAN. (Also in a whisper.) Pretty hellish, I thought.
BRIAN. Po-faced, I suppose?
MAINGOT. (Roaring into his letter.) Français! Voulez-vous parlez français, Messieurs, s’il vous plaît.
Pause.
(Looking up from his letter.) Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça, po-faced?
ALAN. Nous disions que Monsieur le Commandant avait une figure de vase de nuit, Monsieur.
MAINGOT. Ah! Mais c’est pas vrai.
ALAN. Nous exaggérons un peu.
MAINGOT. Je crois bien.
He returns to his letters.
KENNETH surreptitiously pushes his notebook towards ALAN, pointing at a certain sentence. ALAN reads it and shakes his head violently. KENNETH looks pleadingly at him. ALAN considers and is about to speak when MAINGOT looks up.
Dîtes-moi, est-ce-que vous connaissez un Lord Heybrook? (Looking at letter.)
ALAN. Non, Monsieur.
MAINGOT. Il voudrait venir le quinze Juillet.
ALAN. (To BRIAN.) Do you know him?
BRIAN. Lord Heybrook? No, old boy. (Confidentially.) As a matter of fact, I knew a peer once, but he died. What about Lord Heybrook, anyway?
ALAN. He’s coming here on the fifteenth.
MAINGOT. (Roaring.) Français, Messieurs – français!
Pause.
MAINGOT takes up the Matin and begins to read. KENNETH again pushes his notebook towards ALAN, and ALAN again is about to speak.
(Roaring.) Ah! Ce Hitler! (Throwing paper on floor.) Quel phenomène!
ALAN closes his mouth and KENNETH pulls his notebook back quickly.
(To BRIAN.) Aha, Monsieur Curtis, vous étiez saôul au Casino hier soir, n’est-ce pas?
BRIAN. (Puzzled.) Saôul?
ALAN. Drunk.
BRIAN. Oh, non, Monsieur. Pas ça. Un peu huilé, peut-être.
COMMANDER ROGERS comes in. He is about thirty-five, dark, small, very neat, rather solemn. All get up.
MAINGOT. Ah, Bonjour, Monsieur le Commandant, et comment allez-vous? J’espère que vous avez bien dormi? Ah, pardon! (Introducing the others.) Monsieur Curtis – Monsieur le Commandant Rogers. Monsieur Lake – Monsieur le Commandant Rogers. Monsieur Howard – vous connaissez déjà.
BRIAN and KENNETH shake hands.
ALAN. Bonjour! (To ROGERS.)
ROGERS. Yes, we met last night. (Indicating a chair.) Shall I sit here?
ALAN. That’s Kit Neilan’s place, as a matter of fact. I think this is your place. (He shows a place next to MAINGOT.)
MAINGOT. (Rising.) Ah! Pardon, Monsieur le Commandant. Voilà votre place. Asseyez-vous donc et soyez à votre aise.
ROGERS. Thanks. (He sits.)
ALAN. I’ve been told to ask you if you like eggs with your breakfast.
MAINGOT. Oui, Monsieur. Mais voulez-vous parlez français, s’il vous plaît.
ROGERS. (Smiling apologetically.) I’m afraid I don’t speak your lingo at all, you know.
MAINGOT. Lingo? Ah, oui, langue. C’est ça. Mais il faut essayer. You – must – try.
ROGERS. (Turning to MAINGOT, then to ALAN.) Oui – Non.
ALAN. What?
MAINGOT. Pardon?
ROGERS. Oui, je ne – want any eggs.
ALAN. Right, I’ll tell Marianne. (He gets up and goes into the kitchen.)
MAINGOT. (To ROGERS.) Il faut dire: Je ne veux pas des oeufs pour mon petit déjeuner.
ROGERS smiles vaguely. MAINGOT laughs.
Ça viendra, ça viendra.
Re-enter ALAN.
BRIAN. I say, sir, did you have a good crossing?
ROGERS. Pretty bad, as a matter of fact. Still, that didn’t worry me.
BRIAN. You’re a good sailor?
ALAN laughs.
Oh, of course you would be. I mean you are, aren’t you?
MAINGOT gets up.
MAINGOT. Eh, bien. Par qui vais-je commencer?
KENNETH. Moi, Monsieur.
MAINGOT. Par Moi. (Rising.) Alors, allons dans le jardin. (Bowing.) Messieurs!
He goes out into garden, followed by KENNETH.
ALAN. Poor Babe! He’s going to be slaughtered.
ROGERS. Really. Why?
ALAN. (Shaking his head sadly.) Elle a des idées au-dessus de sa gare.
ROGERS. What does that mean?
ALAN. It doesn’t mean she has ideas above her station.
ROGERS. The Professor is pretty strict, I suppose.
ALAN. Where work is concerned, he’s a sadist.
ROGERS. I’m glad to hear it. I want to learn as much French as I can, and I’m starting from scratch, you know.
BRIAN. Are you learning it for any special reason, sir?
ROGERS. Yes. Interpretership exam in seven months’ time.
ALAN. If you stay here for seven months you’ll either be dead or a Frenchman.
ROGERS. How long have you been here?
ALAN. On and off for a year, but then, I have a way of preserving my nationality. I wear a special charm. (He indicates his German coat.)
ROGERS. Are you very pro-German, then?
BRIAN. He only wears that coat to annoy Maingot.
ROGERS. Oh, I see. What do you wear in Germany?
ALAN. A beret usually. Sabots are too uncomfortable.
ROGERS laughs politely. There is a pause, broken suddenly by a roar coming from the garden.
MAINGOT. (Off.) Aha, ça c’est formidable! Qu’est ce que vous me fichez là donc? ‘Elle a des idées au-dessus de sa gare’. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
The noise subsides. ALAN shakes his head.
ALAN. Poor Babe. But he had it coming to him.
BRIAN. The Babe was having the horrors this morning before you came down. He said he hadn’t one chance in a thousand of getting in.
ALAN. He hasn’t.
ROGERS. Of getting in what?
ALAN. The diplomatic.
ROGERS. Oh, I suppose you’re all budding diplomats?
BRIAN. All except me. I’m learning French for – er – commercial reasons.
ALAN. He’s learnt a lot already. He can say ‘How much?’ in French, and you know how valuable that phrase is in the world of – er – commerce.
BRIAN. (Laughing heartily.) Yes, old boy, and that’s not all. I can say, ‘Five francs? Do you think I’m made of money?’
ALAN. (Laughing too.) ‘Cinq francs? Crois-tu que je sois construit d’argent?’
They both suddenly become aware that ROGERS isn’t laughing. They stop and there is rather an awkward pause. ALAN and BRIAN exchange a brief glance. BRIAN silently frames the word ‘Po-faced’ in his mouth.
ROGERS. (With a wooden face.) Who else is staying here at the moment?
ALAN. There’s only Kit Neilan, I think, that you haven’t met.
ROGERS. Oh! Is he going into the diplomatic, too?
ALAN. Yes. (To BRIAN.) By the way, Brian, what odds did you lay against Kit in your book?
BRIAN. I didn’t, but I should think five to two against would about meet the case.
ALAN. I don’t know. The odds must have lengthened considerably these last few weeks.
BRIAN. Why? Oh, you mean Diana. I say, old boy, I hadn’t thought of that. You don’t think there’s a chance of a well-fancied colt being withdrawn before the big contest?
ALAN. No. She won’t marry him. That is, not until she’s exhausted other possibilities.
ROGERS. Er – who is this girl?
BRIAN. Diana? She’s Babe’s – Kenneth Lake’s sister. She’s staying here.
ROGERS. Oh! Is she learning French, too?
BRIAN. No. She just stops us from learning it. No, she’s staying here because her people live in India and she’s got nowhere else to go.
ROGERS. Pretty dull for her here, I should think.
ALAN. That girl wouldn’t find it dull on a desert island.
BRIAN. Unless it was deserted.
ALAN. True. But one feels somehow it wouldn’t be deserted long if she were on it.
ROGERS. What do you mean by that?
ALAN. I’ve no idea. She’s a nice girl. You’ll love her.
BRIAN hides a smile.
At least, it won’t be her fault if you don’t.
ROGERS. (Politely.) I don’t quite follow you, I’m afraid.
ALAN. I’m sorry, sir. I was forgetting you’re of an age to take care of yourself.
ROGERS. (Testily.) There’s no need to call me ‘sir’, you know.
ALAN raises his eyebrows.
What you’re implying is that this girl is – er – rather fast.
ALAN. I’m not implying it. I’m saying it. That girl is the fastest worker you’re ever likely to see.
ROGERS. Oh! (He goes back to his food.)
BRIAN. (Conciliatorily.) What he means is that she’s just naturally full of joie de vivre and all that. She’s all right really. She just likes company.
ALAN. (Under his breath.) A battalion, you mean.
ROGERS. You sound embittered.
ALAN. Embittered? Oh, no. Oh, dear me, no. (He breaks a roll open rather violently.) Both Brian and I, for reasons that I won’t go into now, are immune. Only I thought it just as well to let you know before you met her that Diana Lake, though a dear girl in many ways, is a little unreliable in her emotional life.
ROGERS. You mean she isn’t in love with this chap Kit What’s-his-name, who wants to marry her?
ALAN. The only reason I have for supposing she isn’t is that she says that she is. But that’s good enough for me.
Pause. BRIAN gets up.
BRIAN. Well, Maingot’s simple French Phrases are calling me.
ROGERS. (Evidently glad to change the subject.) Maingot’s Phrasebook. He’s given me that to do, too.
BRIAN. Good. Then very soon now you will be able to walk into a chemist’s and say in faultless French, ‘Please, sir, I wish a toothpaste with a slightly stronger scent.’
ROGERS. Oh, really.
ALAN. Then think how nice it’ll be if you’re in a railway carriage, and you’re able to inform a fellow traveller that the guard has just waved a red flag to signify that the locomotive has run off the line.
ROGERS. Sounds a bit out of date, I must say.
BRIAN. Maingot’s grandfather wrote it, I believe.
The telephone rings. BRIAN turns round.
Do you know, I have a nasty feeling that’s Chi-Chi.
ROGERS. Who’s Chi-Chi?
BRIAN. That’s not her real name.
MAINGOT’s voice is heard from the garden.
MAINGOT. (Off.) Monsieur Howard.
ALAN. (Getting up, calling.) Oui, Monsieur?
MAINGOT. (Off.) Voulez-vous répondre au téléphone, je vous en prie?
ALAN. Bien, Monsieur. (He goes to telephone and takes off the receiver.) Hullo . . . Bien. (He holds out the receiver to BRIAN.)
BRIAN. Me? Hell! (He takes the receiver.) Hullo . . . Ah hullo, Chi-Chi, comment ça va? Comment-allez-vous? . . . Quoi? . . . Quoi? . . . Wait a moment, Chi-Chi. (Lowers receiver.)
(To ALAN.) Take it for me, old boy. I can’t hear a word the girl’s saying.
ALAN comes and takes it.
ALAN. Hullo, Oui, il ne comprend pas . . . Bien. Je le lui demanderai.
(To BRIAN.) Can you see her tonight at the Casino? She wants you to meet her sister.
BRIAN. Ask her if it’s the same one I met on Tuesday.
ALAN. (In phone.) Il voudrait savoir s’il a déjà rencontré votre soeur . . . Bon. (To BRIAN.) She says it’s a different one.
BRIAN. Tell her it’s O.K. I’ll be there.
ALAN. (In phone.) Il dit qu’il sera enchanté . . . Oui . . . au revoir. (He rings off.)
BRIAN. I told that damn woman not to ring up here. (MAINGOT enters from window.)
MAINGOT. Alors. Qui est ce qui vient de téléphoner?
BRIAN. (Apologetically.) C’était quelqu’un pour moi, Monsieur.
MAINGOT. Pour vous?
BRIAN. Oui, une fille que je connais dans la ville.
MAINGOT. Une fille. (He bursts into a stentorian roar of laughter and goes back into the garden.) Une fille qu’il connait! Ho! Ho!
BRIAN. Now what’s bitten him?
ALAN. A fille doesn’t mean a girl, Brian.
BRIAN. It says so in my dictionary. What does it mean, then?
ALAN. A tart.
BRIAN. Oh! (He considers a second.) Well, I hate to have to say it, old boy, but having a strict regard for the truth that’s a fairly neat little description of Chi-Chi. See you two at lunch time.
He goes out.
ALAN. There in a nutshell you have the reason for Brian’s immunity to the charms of Diana Lake.
ROGERS. (Icily.) Really?
ALAN. (Easily.) Yes. (Pause. He takes a cigarette.) This place is going to be rather a change for you after your boat, isn’t it?
ROGERS. (Stung.) You mean my ship, don’t you?
ALAN. Oh, is there a difference?
ROGERS. There is.
ALAN. Of course. It’s a grave social error to say boat for ship, isn’t it? Like mentioning a lady’s name before the royal toast or talking about Harrow College.
ROGERS. Yes, that would be very wrong.
DIANA LAKE comes in from the garden. She is in a bathing wrap which she wears open, disclosing a bathing dress underneath. She is about twenty, very lovely.
DIANA. Good morning. (She stops at the sight of ROGERS, and decorously pulls her wrap more closely about her.)
ROGERS and ALAN get up.
ALAN. Good morning, Diana. I don’t think you’ve met Commander Rogers.
DIANA comes forward and shakes hands.
DIANA. How do you do?
ROGERS. How do you do?
DIANA. (To ROGERS.) I didn’t know you’d – you must have arrived last night, I suppose?
ALAN. Don’t you remember? You asked me what train he was coming by.
DIANA comes round the table; kisses him on the top of his head.
DIANA. Do sit down, Commander Rogers. (He sits.) How are you this morning, Alan?
ALAN. (Feeling her bathing dress.) I’ll bet you didn’t go in the water.
DIANA. Yes, I did.
ALAN. Right in?
DIANA. Yes, right in. Ask Kit.
ALAN. (Really surprised.) Kit? You don’t mean to say that you got Kit to go bathing with you?
DIANA. Yes, I did. He’s fetching my towel. I left it behind.
ALAN. God! you women.
DIANA. What?
ALAN. Without the slightest qualm and just to gratify a passing whim, you force a high-souled young man to shatter one of his most sacred principles.
ROGERS. What principle is that, if I might ask?
DIANA. (Emphatically.) Never, under any circumstances, to do anything hearty.
ROGERS. (Challengingly.) Personally, I rather like an early morning dip.
ALAN. (As if the words burnt his mouth.) An – early – morning – dip?
ROGERS. Certainly. That’s hearty, I suppose.
ALAN. Well –
DIANA. I quite agree with you, Commander Rogers. I don’t think there’s anything nicer than a swim before breakfast. Ashtray? (Hands it to ROGERS.)
ALAN. You’d like anything that gave you a chance to come down to breakfast in a bathing dress.
DIANA. Does it shock you, Alan?
ALAN. Unutterably.
DIANA. I’ll go and dress then.
ALAN. No. There’s no point in that. You’ve made one successful entrance. Don’t spoil it by making another.
ROGERS. I don’t think I quite understand you.
ALAN. Diana does, don’t you, angel?
DIANA. (Sweetly.) Has another publisher refused your novel, Alan?
ALAN, momentarily disconcerted, can find nothing to say. Pause.
Enter KIT through the French window. He is about twenty-two, fair and good-looking. He wears a dressing-gown over his bathing dress, and carries two towels over his arm.
KIT. (Sullenly.) Morning.
ALAN. (In gentle reproof.) Well, well, well.
KIT. (Shamefacedly.) Well, why not?
ALAN shakes his head sadly.
ALAN. I don’t think you’ve met Commander Rogers.
KIT. (Shaking hands.) How do you do? I heard you were coming. (He begins to dry his hair on a towel, throwing the other one to DIANA.)
ALAN. Did Diana go in the water?
KIT. No.
DIANA. Kit, you dirty liar.
KIT. I’ve done enough for you already this morning I’m not going to perjure myself as well. (He sits down gloomily and pours himself out a cup of coffee.) I had hoped you wouldn’t be here, Alan, to witness my shame.
ALAN. You of all people an early morning dipper.
KIT. (Shuddering.) Don’t put it like that. You make it sound worse than it is. Say a nine o’clock bather. Oh, hell, this coffee’s cold. Marianne!
ALAN. Mere toying with words can’t hide the truth. Do you know I think that girl could make you go for a bicycle tour in the Pyrenees if she set her mind to it.
KIT. She could you know, Alan, that’s the awful thing.
Slight pause.
ROGERS. I once went for a bicycle tour in the Pyrenees.
ALAN. Really?
KIT splutters into his coffee simultaneously.
JACQUELINE comes out of the kitchen. She is about twenty-five or twenty-six, not unattractive, but nothing in looks to compare with DIANA. She wears an apron and has a handkerchief tied over her hair.
JACQUELINE. Marianne’s upstairs. Do you want anything? (She speaks with only the barest trace of accent.)
KIT. Hello, Jack.
ALAN. Good morning, darling.
JACQUELINE. (Going to ROGERS.) How do you do, Commander Rogers. I’m so glad you could come to us.
ROGERS. (Shaking hands.) Er – how do you do?
JACQUELINE. I hope you’ve found everything you want.
ROGERS. Yes, thank you.
JACQUELINE. Did Marianne ask you if you wanted eggs for breakfast?
ROGERS. I don’t want any, thanks.
JACQUELINE. I see. Well, don’t worry about asking for anything you need. By the way, do you drink beer at meals or do you prefer wine?
ROGERS. (Sitting.) Beer, please. Nothing like a can of beer.
ALAN. No, I suppose there isn’t.
JACQUELINE. (To KIT.) What were you shouting about, by the way?
KIT. Jack, darling, the coffee’s cold.
JACQUELINE. Of course it’s cold. You’re half an hour late for breakfast.
KIT. Yes, but . . .
JACQUELINE. You can’t have any more because Marianne’s doing the rooms.
KIT. I thought perhaps, Jack, darling, knowing how much you love me, you might be an angel and do something about it.
JACQUELINE. Certainly not. It’s against all the rules of the house. Besides, you’d better go and get dressed. I’m giving you a lesson in five minutes.
KIT. In the near future, when I am Minister of Foreign Affairs, this incident will play a large part in my decision to declare war on France.
JACQUELINE pushes him back into his chair and grabs the coffee-pot.
JACQUELINE. Ooh! This is the last time I’m going to do this for you.
She goes back into the kitchen.
KIT. (To DIANA.) You see what a superb diplomat I should make.
ALAN. Rather the Palmerston tradition, wasn’t it?
ROGERS. Was that Maingot’s daughter?
KIT. Yes. Her name’s Jacqueline.
ROGERS. Jacqueline? (Brightly.) I see. That’s why you call her Jack.
KIT. (Looking at him distastefully.) Yes, that’s why we call her Jack.
ROGERS. She speaks English very well.
KIT. She’s been in England half her life. I believe she’s going to be an English school-marm. You’ll like her. She’s amusing. (He continues to dry himself.) Hell! I still feel wet.
He glares at DIANA who comes behind his chair and dries his hair with her own towel.
DIANA. You’ve got such lovely hair, darling. That’s why it takes so long to dry.
KIT. (To ALAN.) You know, Alan, this is a nice girl.
ALAN. (Tilting his chair back and gazing at DIANA.) Yes, she’s nice. She’s good, too.
ROGERS gets up.
ROGERS. Well, I must go upstairs. I want to get my room shipshape.
ALAN. And above board?
ROGERS. (Turning savagely on ALAN.) Yes, and above board. Any objection?
ALAN. (Airily.) No, no objection at all. Make it as above board as you like.
ROGERS. (Bowing stiffly.) Thank you. I’m most grateful.
Exit ROGERS.
ALAN. (Pensively.) Do you know, I don’t think he likes me.
KIT. Who does? I’m the only one who can stand you and then only in small doses.
DIANA. Kenneth adores you, anyway. He’s quite silly the way he tries to imitate you.
ALAN. Your brother shows remarkable acumen sometimes.
DIANA. And then, of course, I adore you too. You know that.
KIT swings his chair round and pulls her roughly down on to his knee.
KIT. Hey! I’m not going to have you adoring anybody except me. Do you understand? (He kisses her.)
DIANA. Darling, you’re not jealous of Alan, are you?
KIT. I’m jealous of anyone you even look at.
DIANA. All right, then in future I won’t look at anyone except you.
KIT. That’s a promise?
DIANA. That’s a promise.
ALAN, still leaning back in his chair, whistles a tune softly.
(Feeling KIT’s hands.) Darling, you are cold.
KIT. Yes, I know. I think I’ll go and dress and not wait for the coffee. (He gets up.) You’ve probably given me pneumonia. But I don’t mind. You could tear me up in little pieces and trample on them, and I’d still love you.
DIANA. Sweet little thing. Take these things upstairs, darling, will you? (Gives him towels.)
KIT goes out.
ALAN. That’s no reason why you should, you know.
DIANA. Should what?
ALAN. Tear him up in little pieces and trample on them.
DIANA crosses over to the window where she stands, looking out.
So you’re not going to look at anyone except Kit.
DIANA doesn’t answer. ALAN gets up and walks over to the window. He puts his arm round her waist and his cheek against her.
(After a pause.) This doesn’t mean I’m falling for you.
DIANA. (Gently.) Doesn’t it, Alan?
ALAN. No, it doesn’t.
He walks over to the armchair and sits.
DIANA. I am disappointed.
ALAN. What do you think of the Commander?
DIANA. I think he’s quite nice.
ALAN. Yes. (Gently.) Yes. I want to tell you, it’s no good starting anything with him.
DIANA. Don’t be silly, Alan.
ALAN. It really isn’t any good, darling, because you see I’ve warned him against you.
DIANA. You warned him? (Coming to ALAN.) What did you say?
ALAN. I told him what you are.
DIANA. (Quietly.) What’s that?
ALAN. Don’t you know?
DIANA. Alan, much as I like you there are times when I could cheerfully strangle you.
ALAN. Is this one of them, darling?
DIANA. Yes, ducky, it is.
ALAN. Good, that’s just what I hoped.
DIANA. This is rather a new rôle for you, isn’t it, playing wet nurse to the Navy?
ALAN. You don’t think it suits me?
DIANA. No, darling, I’m afraid I don’t. What are you doing it for?
ALAN. It’s not because I’m fond of the Commander. As a matter of fact it would rather amuse me to see you play hell with the Commander. But I do like Kit, that’s why. So no hanky-panky with the Navy or . . .
DIANA. Or what?
ALAN. Or I shall have to be rather beastly to you, darling, and you know you wouldn’t like that.
DIANA. You don’t understand me at all, Alan.
ALAN. I understand every little bit of you, Diana, through and through. That’s why we get along so well together.
DIANA. (Tearfully.) I ought to hate you.
ALAN. Well, go on trying, darling, and you may succeed. (He kisses her on the back of the neck.) I’ve got to go and finish some stuff for Maingot. See you at lunch time. (He goes to the door.)
DIANA. Alan?
ALAN. (Turning at door.) Yes?
DIANA. What do you mean by hanky-panky?
ALAN. I should tell you.
He goes out.
DIANA kicks petulantly at the window. She goes to the table, opens her handbag, takes out a small mirror and looks at herself.
Enter JACQUELINE from the kitchen with the coffee-pot.
DIANA. Oh, thank you so much.
JACQUELINE. Where’s Kit?
DIANA. He’s gone up to dress. He felt cold.
JACQUELINE. Isn’t that like him. Well, you can tell him that I’m not going to make him any more coffee however loud he screams.
DIANA. Yes, I’ll tell him, and I think you’re quite right.
Enter ROGERS through the door at the back.
ROGERS. (Nervously.) Oh, hullo.
JACQUELINE goes out into the kitchen.
DIANA. (Brightly.) Hullo, Commander Rogers.
ROGERS goes over to the bookcase at the back.
Looking for something?
ROGERS. Yes, Maingot’s Phrase Book, as a matter of fact. (He bends down and pulls a book out.) Here it is, I think. (He looks at the title.) No, it isn’t.
DIANA. Let me help you. I think I know where it is.
ROGERS. Oh, that’s very good of you.
DIANA bends down at the bookcase and pulls a book out.
DIANA. Here. (She hands it to him.)
ROGERS. Oh, thanks most awfully.
DIANA. (Going back to the table.) Well, what are your first impressions of Monsieur Maingot’s establishment?
ROGERS. Oh, I – er – think it ought to be very cheery here.
DIANA. I’m sure you’ll love it.
ROGERS. Yes, I’m sure I will.
DIANA. The boys are so nice, don’t you think?
ROGERS. Er – yes, I think they are – some of them. (He makes a tentative move towards the door.)
DIANA. (Quickly.) I suppose you find Alan a bit startling, don’t you?
ROGERS. Alan?
DIANA. The one with the German coat.
ROGERS. Oh, yes. Yes, he is a bit startling. Well, I ought to be getting along.
DIANA. Why? You’ve got your room pretty well shipshape by now, haven’t you?
ROGERS. Oh, thanks, yes, I have.
DIANA. Well, don’t go for a bit. Stay and talk to me while I have my coffee. Have you got a cigarette?
ROGERS. (Coming to her.) Yes, I have. (Offers her one.)
DIANA. (Takes one.) Thanks. I was saying about Alan –
ROGERS. Match?
DIANA. Thanks. (He lights it.) What was I saying?
ROGERS. About Alan.
DIANA. Oh, yes, about Alan – he’s really very nice but you mustn’t take everything he says seriously.
ROGERS. Oh. Oh, I see. No, I won’t.
DIANA. He’s just the tiniest bit – you know (She taps her forehead significantly.) unbalanced.
ROGERS. Oh, really.
DIANA. I thought it as well to warn you.
ROGERS. Yes. Thank you very much.
DIANA. Otherwise it might lead to trouble.
ROGERS. Yes, it might.
Pause.
DIANA. Poor Alan. I’m afraid he’s got it very badly.
ROGERS. Er – got what?
DIANA. Well – (She leans back and blows a puff of smoke into the air.) Of course I oughtn’t to say it. (Pause. She throws him a quick glance to see if he has caught her meaning. Evidently he hasn’t.)
ROGERS. Oh.
DIANA. I’m awfully sorry for him of course.
ROGERS. (Puzzled, but polite.) Of course.
DIANA. It’s so funny, because from the way he behaves to me and the things he says about me, you’d think he hated me, wouldn’t you?
ROGERS. Yes, you would. (Pause.) Doesn’t he?
DIANA. (Laughing.) No. Oh no. Far from it.
ROGERS. (The light of understanding in his face at last.) Oh, I see. You mean he’s rather keen on you?
DIANA. I mustn’t give him away. It wouldn’t be fair. But if he ever talks to you about me, as he probably will, and tries to give you the impression that I’m a (smiling) scheming wrecker of men’s lives, you needn’t necessarily believe him.
ROGERS. No – no, I won’t, of course. But I don’t see why he should, you know.
DIANA. (Embarrassedly.) Well, you see, Commander Rogers, I like Alan, but I don’t like him as much as perhaps he wants me to, and I suppose that makes him feel rather embittered.
ROGERS. Ah, yes. I see.
DIANA. (Gaily.) Well, don’t let’s talk any more about it, because it’s not a very pleasant subject. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about the Navy. I’m always thrilled to death by anything to do with the sea.
ROGERS. Really, that’s splendid.
Pause.
DIANA. It must be a wonderful life.
ROGERS. Yes, it’s a pretty good life on the whole.
DIANA. Marvellously interesting, I should think.
ROGERS. Yes, pretty interesting.
DIANA. I bet you’ve had any amount of wildly exciting experiences.
ROGERS. Oh, well, you know, things have a way of happening in the Navy.
DIANA. Yes, I’m sure they have. (Pause.) You naval people never talk about yourselves, do you?
ROGERS. Well, you know, silent service and all that.
DIANA. Yes, I know, but I do hope you’re not going to be too silent with me, because honestly, I am so terribly interested.
ROGERS. (Smiling.) I’ll try not to be too silent then.
DIANA. What are you doing this morning?
ROGERS. Nothing special. Why?
DIANA. How would you like to have a look round the town?
Enter JACQUELINE from the kitchen.
JACQUELINE. Hasn’t Kit come down yet?
ROGERS. (To DIANA.) Oh, I’d love to.
DIANA. Good. I’ll go and get dressed and we’ll go for a little stroll.
ROGERS. But isn’t it rather a bore for you?
DIANA. No, of course not. I’d love it. (She goes to the door.)
JACQUELINE. Diana?
DIANA. Yes?
JACQUELINE. (Pouring out a cup of coffee.) If you’re going past Kit’s room you might give him this. (She hands her the cup.)
DIANA. Right, I will. (To ROGERS.) Are you sure I’m not dragging you away from your work or anything?
JACQUELINE goes back into the kitchen.
ROGERS. Oh, no. That’s quite all right. I haven’t been given anything to do yet.
DIANA. Good. Well, I’ll go and put some clothes on.
She turns to go. ALAN comes in and almost collides with her in the doorway.
(Turning.) I’ll meet you down here then in about a quarter of an hour?
ROGERS. Right.
DIANA smiles at ROGERS, walks past ALAN without glancing at him and goes out.
ALAN. (Going to the table and sitting.) Going for a little constitutional, Commander? (He has some books in his hands. He places them on the table in front of him and opens a notebook.)
ROGERS. Yes. (He turns his back.)
ALAN. (Taking a fountain pen from his pocket and unscrewing the top.) You’ve got a nice day for it. (Pause. He writes in his notebook and begins to sing the Lorelei. Without looking up.) It’s a lovely song, the Lorelei, don’t you think?
ALAN. True. (He continues to write.) It’s a stupid fable anyway. I ask you, what sailor would be lured to his doom after he had been warned of his danger?
ROGERS. (Turning quickly.) If you think that’s funny, I don’t.
Enter KENNETH through the window.
KENNETH. Oh, Commander Rogers, Maingot wants to see you a moment.
Pause. ROGERS is standing facing ALAN across the table, and ALAN is still writing.
ROGERS. Right. Thank you. (He marches out into the garden.)
ALAN. (After a pause.) Well, Babe, I suppose you were murdered by the old man.
KENNETH. (Wearily.) More so than usual this morning.
Pause. ALAN goes on writing.
ALAN. (Without looking up.) Babe, I don’t like your sister.
KENNETH. (Walking round the table and looking over ALAN’s shoulder at what he is writing.) Don’t you? I thought you did like her, rather a lot.
ALAN looks up. Pause.
Enter JACQUELINE from the kitchen. She has taken off her apron and the handkerchief over her hair.
JACQUELINE. Good morning, Kenneth.
KENNETH. Good morning, Mam’selle.
JACQUELINE. Had your lesson?
KENNETH. Yes. I’ve got to do the whole damn thing again. (He goes to the door.) Alan, I wish to God I had your brains.
He goes out. ALAN looks after him a moment, then goes back to his work.
JACQUELINE. (Looking at her watch.) Kit is a monster. He’s never been on time for his lesson yet. (She goes to the window and looks out.)
ALAN. (Looking up from his work.) What have you done to your hair: Jack?
JACQUELINE. (Turning round.) Do you like it? (Her hair is done in the same way as DIANA’s.)
ALAN. (He gets up and walks over to her, holding her out at arm’s length and studying her hair. Doubtfully.) No, it’s a mistake, Jack. You won’t beat her by copying the way she does her hair.
JACQUELINE. He’ll like it, Alan, I’m sure he will.
ALAN. He won’t notice it.
JACQUELINE. He will, you see.
ALAN. I’ll bet you five francs he doesn’t.
JACQUELINE. All right. That’s a bet.
ALAN. Go and change it while there’s still time. Make it look hideous like it used to.
JACQUELINE. (Laughing.) No, Alan.
Pause.
ALAN. Poor Jack. I must find you someone else to fall in love with.
JACQUELINE. So long as you don’t tell him that I adore him, I don’t mind what you do.
ALAN. Anyone less half-witted than Kit would have seen it years ago.
JACQUELINE. Am I very obvious, Alan? I don’t want to bore him.
ALAN. Go and change that hair.
JACQUELINE. Do you think if Diana were out of the way I should stand a chance?
ALAN. You’re not thinking of putting her out of the way, are you?
JACQUELINE. (Smiling.) I’d do it painlessly, Alan.
ALAN. Why painlessly?
JACQUELINE. I’m not jealous of her really, though.
ALAN. Oh, no. Not a bit.
JACQUELINE. Honestly, Alan, I wouldn’t mind if she made him happy. But she doesn’t. She seems to enjoy making him miserable. And now that the Commander’s here it’s going to be much worse. You know what I mean, don’t you?
ALAN. I have an idea.
JACQUELINE. Can’t we do anything about it, Alan?
ALAN. Yes. Go and change that hair, Jack. It’s the only chance.
JACQUELINE. No, I won’t do anything of the sort.
Enter KIT, dressed.
KIT. (Walking right up to JACQUELINE and taking her hands earnestly.) Jack, I have something to tell you. (To ALAN.) Go away, Alan, this is confidential.
ALAN goes back to the table and his work.
JACQUELINE. What is it, Kit?
KIT. I haven’t done that work you set me.
JACQUELINE. Oh, Kit. Why not?
KIT. Well, I took Diana to the Casino last night, and –
JACQUELINE. Kit, really –
KIT. But as a great treat I’ll translate you some La Bruyère this morning. Come on. (He pulls her towards one of the armchairs.)
JACQUELINE. I set you that work specially because I thought it would interest you, and anyway you can’t afford to slack off just now before your exam.
KIT. (Hands a her book.) Now sit down and read your nice La Bruyère and be quiet. Are you comfortable? (Opening his own book.) Page one hundred and eight. Listen, Alan. You can learn a lot from hearing French beautifully translated. Chapter four. (Translating.) Of the heart . . .
JACQUELINE. Of love.
KIT. Of love, then. (Translating.) There is a fragrance in pure love . . .
JACQUELINE. In pure friendship.
KIT. (Translating.) Friendship can exist between people of different sexes.
ALAN. You don’t say.
KIT. I don’t. La Bruyère does. (Translating.) Friendship can exist between people of different sexes, quite exempt from all grossness.
JACQUELINE. Quite free from all . . .
ALAN. Hanky-panky.
JACQUELINE. Quite free from all unworthy thoughts.
KIT. Quite exempt from all grossness. (Looking up.) I know what it is. It’s been bothering me all the time. You’ve changed your hair, haven’t you, Jack?
JACQUELINE. (Giving ALAN a quick glance.) Yes, Kit, I’ve changed my hair.
KIT. Alan, do look at Jack. She’s changed her hair.
ALAN. (Looking up.) So she has. Well – well – well.
KIT. I knew you’d done something to yourself. (He studies her.) It’s queer, you know. It makes you look quite . . .
JACQUELINE. (Eagerly.) Quite what, Kit?
KIT. I was going to say alluring.
He laughs as if he’d made a joke; JACQUELINE laughs, too.
JACQUELINE. You do like it, anyway, Kit?
KIT. Yes, I do. I think it’s very nice.
JACQUELINE. You think I ought to keep it like this?
Before KIT can answer, ROGERS has appeared from garden.
ROGERS. Sorry, Maingot wants to take me now, so would one of you mind telling Diana – er – I mean Miss Lake, that we’ll have to postpone our walk?
Pause.
ALAN. Yes, I’ll tell her.
ROGERS. Thank you.
He goes back into garden.
JACQUELINE. (Breaking a silence.) You think I ought to keep it like this?
KIT. (Turning slowly.) Keep what?
JACQUELINE. My hair.
KIT. Oh, don’t be such a bore about your hair, Jack. Yes, keep it like that. It’ll get a laugh anyway.
He goes out quickly. Pause. JACQUELINE closes her book with a slam and rises.
JACQUELINE. Five francs please, Alan.
Curtain.