The scenery in the play was beautiful, but the actors got in front of it (ALEXANDER WOOLLCOTT)
She spoke as Morse came up to the first roundabout on his way towards Oxford: 'Have you got any decent music in this car?'
'Such as what?'
'Well, your nice sergeant played me some Mozart. Fellah playin' the. clarinet.'
'Jack Brymer, was it?'
'Dunno. He was great, though. It'd pay him to join a jazz group.'
'You think so?'
'If he's lookin' to the future.'
'He's about eighty.'
'Really? Ah well, you're no chicken yourself, are you?' Morse, unsmiling, kept his eyes on the road.
'Your sergeant said you was ttyin' to educate his musical tastes.'
'Did be T'
'You don't think I need a bit of educatin'?'
'I doubt it. I'd guess you're a whole lot better educated than you pretend to be. For all I know, you're probably quite a sensitive and appreciative lass--underneath.'
'Yeah? Christ! What the 'ell's that s'posed to mean?'
Morse hesitated before answering her. 'I'll tell you what your trouble is, shall I? You're suffering from a form of in-verted snobbery, that's all. Not unusual, you know, in girls---in young ladies of... in young ladies like you.'
'If that's supposed to be a bloody insult, mister, you couldn't a' done much bleedin' better, could you?'
'I'm only guessing--don't be cross. I don't know you at all, do I? We've never even spoken--'
'Except on the phone. Remember?'
Morse almost managed a weak smile as he waited at the busy Cutteslowe roundabout.
'I remember.'
'Great, that was. You know, pretendin' to be somebody else. I sometimes think I should a' been an actress.'
'I think you are an actress--that's exactly what I was saying.'
'Well, Fll tell you somethin'. Right at this minute there's one thing I'd swap even for an Oscar.'
'What's that?'
'Plate of steak and chips. I'm starvin'.'
'Do you know how much steak costs these days?'
'Yeah .3 pounds 99 penceat the King's Arms just down the road here: salad and chips chucked in. I saw it on the way up.'
'It says 'French Fries,' though, on the sign outside. You see, that's exactly what I meant about '
'Yeah, you told me. I'm sufferin' summat chronic from inverted snobbery.'
'Don't you ever eat?' demanded Ellie, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her blouse, and draining her third glass of red wine.
'Not very often at meal-times, no.'
'A fellah needs his calories, though. Got to keep his strength up--if you know what I mean.'
'I usually take most of my calories in liquid form at lunchtimes.'
'Funny, isn't it? You bein' a copper and all that--and then drinkin' all the beer you do.'
'Don't worry. I'm the only person in Oxford who gets more sober the more he drinks.'
'How do you manage that?'
'Years of practice. I don't recommend it though.'
'Wouldn't help you much with a bleedin' Breathalyser, would it?'
'No,' admitted Morse quietly.
'Do you know when you've had enough?'
'Not always.'
'You had enough now?'
'Nearly.'
'Can I buy you something?'
'You know, nineteen times out of twenty... But I've got to drive you home and then get back to give Sergeant Lewis his next music lesson.'
