and dress now, because I’m
terribly late, but you’re dining here with Nicky and joining Tom Veryan and me at the Embassy afterwards.
| Bunty |
Tom Veryan? … |
| Florence |
Yes. Do you know him? |
| Bunty |
I did when I was a child—if it’s the same one. |
|
She takes off her cloak. |
| Florence |
Effusively.
Nicky—I don’t feel extraordinary about it any more—I’m delighted.
|
| Nicky |
Angel. |
| Florence |
Perhaps Bunty would like to come down to the house on Friday for the weekend? |
| Nicky |
Oh yes! Marvelous. |
| Bunty |
It’s awfully sweet of you, Mrs. Lancaster. |
| Florence |
You must call me Florence; I can’t bear Mrs. Lancaster. I must fly; Tom will be here at any moment—that’s him on the desk. |
| Bunty |
Going over to photograph.
Yes—it is the same one.
|
| Florence |
How too divine! …
Telephone rings.
Hallo! … Yes, speaking! … Elsa darling, how are you? … What? … Tonight? … How perfectly heavenly! Of course, I’d adore it. … Listen. Nicky’s just back from Paris. Can he come, too, with Bunty Mainwaring? … Yes, he’s here. … See you tonight, dear. …
Here, Nicky, talk to Elsa. …
She snatches up her handbag and fur coat and kisses Bunty effusively.
I’m so glad about you and Nicky—It’s too wonderful.
|
|
She rushes out. |
| Nicky |
At telephone.
Hallo, Elsa. … I’d no idea you were in London. I’m terribly thrilled. My dear, you haven’t. … All those lovely tunes you played to me in Paris? … How amazing! I am glad. … Have you done anything with that Tango? … You must play it tonight; I want Bunty to hear it. … It is perfect, isn’t it? … Goodbye, dear. He hangs up the receiver. Bunty.
|
| Bunty |
What? |
| Nicky |
I’m terribly happy. |
| Bunty |
So am I. |
| Nicky |
Do you remember how we planned all this—coming home together—and breaking it to mother—and everything? |
| Bunty |
Rather. |
| Nicky |
Do you really like her? |
| Bunty |
I adore her—she’s a perfect angel. |
| Nicky |
I told her your “heroic little boy” line; she loved it. |
| Bunty |
It’s true, you know—rather defiant too—laughing at Fate. |
| Nicky |
Doesn’t Paris seem ages away now? |
| Bunty |
A different life altogether. |
| Nicky |
That nasty little bit of Channel is such an enormous gulf, really. Did you put that dress on on purpose? |
| Bunty |
Smiling.
Perhaps.
|
| Nicky |
You are a devil. |
| Bunty |
It’s such fun being reminded of things. |
| Nicky |
And such agony, too. |
| Bunty |
Nicky darling—why agony? |
| Nicky |
It’s always agony being in love, and I started loving you in that dress. |
| Bunty |
Did you? |
| Nicky |
Don’t pretend you didn’t know. |
| Bunty |
I suppose one always knows—really. |
| Nicky |
From the very first moment. |
| Bunty |
Yes. |
| Nicky |
A sort of spark. |
| Bunty |
Your playing helped a lot. |
| Nicky |
I meant it to. |
| Bunty |
Calculating pig. |
| Nicky |
Have a cigarette? |
| Bunty |
All right. |
|
He hands her box, and she takes one. |
| Nicky |
Lighting her cigarette.
I wish we weren’t so free.
|
| Bunty |
Why? What do you mean? |
| Nicky |
I feel I should like to elope, or something violently romantic like that. |
| Bunty |
Laughing.
There wouldn’t be much point in it now, would there?
|
| Nicky |
Perhaps not. How much do you love me? |
| Bunty |
I don’t know. |
| Nicky |
It’s fun analyzing one’s emotions. |
| Bunty |
Marvelous fun. |
| Nicky |
And a comfort, too, when things go wrong—but it kills sentiment stone dead. |
| Bunty |
A good job, too. |
| Nicky |
You’re frightfully hard, Bunty. |
| Bunty |
Am I? |
| Nicky |
Much harder than me—really. |
| Bunty |
You’ve got so much hysteria. |
| Nicky |
I can’t help it. |
| Bunty |
Of course not; it’s your temperament. You burst out suddenly. |
| Nicky |
Not so badly as I used to. |
| Bunty |
You’re growing older. |
| Nicky |
God, yes! Isn’t it foul? |
| Bunty |
Hell, my dear. |
| Nicky |
It’s funny how mother’s generation always longed to be old when they were young, and we strain every nerve to keep young. |
| Bunty |
That’s because we see what’s coming so much more clearly. |
| Nicky |
Wouldn’t it be terrible to know exactly?—I feel frightened sometimes. |
| Bunty |
Why? |
| Nicky |
We’re all so hectic and nervy. … |
| Bunty |
It doesn’t matter—it probably only means we shan’t live so long. … |
| Nicky |
Suddenly.
Shut up—shut up. …
|
|
Enter Preston. |
| Preston |
Announcing.
Mr. Veryan.
|
|
Enter Tom. Nicky greets him and shakes hands. Exit Preston. |
| Nicky |
How are you? I’m Nicky—I came over today instead of tomorrow. … |
| Tom |
Oh! |
| Nicky |
Do you know Bunty Mainwaring? |
| Tom |
Bunty—I say—I am glad. |
|
They shake hands warmly. |
| Nicky |
We’d better have some cocktails.
He goes to the door and shouts.
Preston … bring us some cocktails. …
|
| Tom |
This is jolly. I didn’t know what had become of you. |
| Bunty |
I’ve been living in Paris a good deal. |
| Tom |
How many years ago is it since we? … |
| Bunty |
During the War. The last time I saw you you were at Sandhurst. |
| Nicky |
Such a pretty place. |
| Tom |
You’ve hardly altered a bit—more grown up, of course. |
| Nicky |
All this is most affecting. |
| Tom |
Bunty and I used to know each other awfully well. |
| Nicky |
What fun! |
| Bunty |
Warningly.
Nicky. …
|
| Nicky |
But it is—it’s thrilling—there’s nothing so charming as a reunion. |
| Bunty |
Nicky and I have been traveling all day. … Boats and trains get on his nerves. … |
| Nicky |
When the cocktails come, tell Preston to bring mine to me in father’s room. |
| Bunty |
Nicky, don’t be so silly. |
| Nicky |
Surely it’s not silly to want to talk to my aged father after a year’s debauch in Paris? I fail to see why you should have the monopoly of reunions. |
| Bunty |
Well, don’t be long. |
| Tom |
Cheerio! |
| Nicky |
Crossly.
Oh, God!
|
|
He goes out. |
| Tom |
What’s up? |
| Bunty |
These temperamental musicians. |
| Tom |
Silly ass. |
| Bunty |
He isn’t really—he’s only jealous. |
| Tom |
Why … is he? … |
| Bunty |
We’re by way of being engaged. |
| Tom |
What? |
| Bunty |
Why not? |
| Tom |
Are you … are you in love with him? |
| Bunty |
Lightly.
Yes—isn’t it damnable?
|
| Tom |
Good Lord! |
|
He laughs. |
| Bunty |
What are you laughing at? |
| Tom |
It seems so funny you being in love with that sort of chap. |
| Bunty |
What do you mean by “that sort of chap”? |
| Tom |
Oh—I don’t know, that type seems so unlike you. |
| Bunty |
Type? |
| Tom |
Yes, you know—up in the air—effeminate. |
| Bunty |
You’re more bucolic than you used to be, Tom. |
| Tom |
Here, I say. … |
|
Enter Preston with cocktails. |
| Bunty |
Will you please take Mr. Nicky’s in to him in his father’s room? |
| Preston |
Yes, miss. |
| Tom |
Is Mrs. Lancaster nearly ready? |
| Preston |
I think so, sir. |
| Tom |
Ask her to hurry. We shall be late. |
| Preston |
Yes, sir. |
|
He goes out. |
| Bunty |
I can laugh now. |
|
She does so. |
| Tom |
Why? |
| Bunty |
I’ve just realized something. |
| Tom |
What? |
| Bunty |
We shall meet again—over the weekend. |
| Tom |
Are you coming down to the house? |
| Bunty |
Yes. |
| Tom |
That’s splendid. Come for a tramp Sunday morning and we’ll talk. |
| Bunty |
What about? |
| Tom |
Oh, lots of things—old times. |
| Bunty |
Lifting her cocktail.
Old
|
