I’m so glad the night’s not wet for Jill’s drive.
Owen: It’s turned colder though, hasn’t it?
Caroline: Let’s have a little window open, and see.
Owen: Shall I ——
[He draws back the curtain and opens the window. The wind outside flutters the curtains.
Caroline: It’s certainly much colder.
[She comes and looks out beside him. They turn round to watch Emma’s exit. Owen draws the curtain again, and crosses to close the door. Then he picks up Caroline’s wrap from settee and, going to her, pats it round her shoulders.
Owen: What possessed you to do that? You’re shivering. You’ll make your cold much worse.
Caroline: It was rather foolish, I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say while Emma was in the room. I’m so terrified she’ll give notice, because of the strike or something. You don’t know what it’s like to have the servants on one’s mind day and night.
Owen: I’m beginning to have some idea.
Caroline: You think I’m a fool, of course.
Owen: You know I don’t. I say, Caroline, I’ve got an inspiration.
Caroline: What?
Owen: Let’s sit down. It’s always so much easier to talk sitting than standing, don’t you think?
[They return to the sofa.
Look here — just till the others come back — let’s — play a kind of game. Let’s pretend there are no such things as servants — or houses — or husbands — and that you’re a completely unattached person of — say — twenty-five years old.
Caroline (hesitating): Like Jill?
Owen: Yes, if you like. Only, of course, you’re not a bit like Jill really.
Caroline: No, that’s quite true. Jill’s got a much better brain than I’ve ever had — and perhaps less imagination.
Owen: In some ways, Jill has a brain like a man’s.
Caroline: A brain like a man’s. Whenever a man says that to a woman he thinks he’s paying her a tremendous compliment. But go on about the game we’re going to play.
Owen: We are playing it, already. You’re twenty-five — and I’m just beginning to fall in love with you.
Caroline (frightened): Oh — no, Owen, not that.
Owen: Oh, I think I should be. You know, we must pretend properly.
Caroline: You’re in love with Jill.
Owen: I haven’t met Jill yet — in the game, I mean. Remember, we’ve gone back some years.
Caroline (slowly): I don’t think — I want to play this game.
Owen (gently): Just for one evening, Caroline. You know, you like pretending.
Caroline: I’ve always done it by myself before.
Owen: So have I. Now we’re going to do it together, that’s all. I think we’ve just got to the stage of feeling that there’ll never be time to say all the things we want to say to one another.
Caroline (entering into the spirit of the thing at last): We’re past telling one another that we must have met in a former life, though.
Owen: Oh dear yes, that was quite early on. And we’ve compared our favourite books, and agreed that there’s an extraordinary mental affinity between us.
Caroline: We talk about ourselves, of course?
Owen: Naturally.
Caroline: Where shall we begin? There are so many things to be said.
Owen: Actually, I think, only one. But, of course, there are a great many different ways of saying it.
Caroline: Let’s not go too quickly, if you don’t mind.
Owen: Oh, all right. Caroline, you’re doing this perfectly. Tell me — have you ever been in love?
Caroline: I’ve thought myself so.
Owen: One does. Quite often, in fact. I wonder what it was like for the men you thought yourself in love with, Caroline.
Caroline: Rather a trial, I’m afraid. I always expected so much too much of them.
Owen: You would, of course, being a romantic.
Caroline (reminiscently): I was always thinking of things that they might say — or do — or write. Wonderful, beautiful things, that would make heaven open for any woman. But, of course (with a change of tone), the things never came true.
Owen: And so you were disappointed. Always, Caroline?
Caroline: Always. It was my own fault.
Owen: Only the penalty of living in your imagination. You see, most men lack imagination.
Caroline: And yet if a man says the absolutely right thing to a woman even once, at the absolutely right moment — he can do anything he likes with her ever afterwards.
Owen: That explains a good many affairs, doesn’t it? But, you know, I think you’re making the mistake of judging all women by yourself.
Caroline: Aren’t most of us very much alike?
Owen: You’re different from any other woman I’ve ever known.
Caroline: Oh! That’s exactly what I wanted you to say!
Owen: Of course.
Caroline (disconcerted): Did you know I wanted you to say it?
Owen: Naturally.
[Caroline does not know how to take this.
Caroline: What?
Owen: But, my dear, even though I did know you wanted me to say it, that doesn’t mean that it’s any the less true.
Caroline: I shouldn’t like you to say anything to me that wasn’t true, Owen.
Owen (after looking at her reproachfully for an instant): Think again, Caroline.
Caroline: Good heavens. . . . How dreadful. . . . Have I got to be as honest as all that with you?
Owen: I want you to let yourself be the real Caroline, that’s all.
Caroline: It’s such a very long while since I’ve been that — I’ve, almost forgotten what the real Caroline is like.
Owen: I could tell you.
Caroline: But I’m not sure that I want you to know me too well. If you did, you mightn’t like me so much.
Owen: On the other hand, I might like you even better.
Caroline (ironically): Could a man pay any woman a greater compliment than to know her as she really is — and like her just the same?
Owen: No man knows any woman as she really is. The thing’s impossible. Any more than any man can ever make any woman really happy.
Caroline (softly): None of the others ever said that. It never seemed to occur to them that there could be any doubt about it.
Owen: Fools! But at least, Caroline, if I couldn’t make you always happy, I should notice it when you were unhappy.
Caroline (looking at him, half dazed): I — almost — believe that you would, Owen.
[Owen springs to his feet and takes her by both hands.
Owen (excitedly): After all, there comes a moment when it’s — not so easy to talk sitting down.
[He draws her to her feet. They look at one another then Owen slowly draws Caroline into his arms, and, with a gesture of equal abandonment on either side, they kiss. Caroline is, of course, the first to return to earth, and draws away from him in dismay.
Caroline: But — we can’t — we mustn’t ——
Owen (watching her): Are you angry?
Caroline: I don’t know. I don’t think I am. (Turning) But we’re not going to pretend any more, Owen. It’s — a dangerous game.
Owen (moving to the fireplace): Yes.
Caroline (still agitated): It’s not fair, either, on Jill — or Freddie.
Owen: If it hadn’t been — for them — Caroline . . . ?
Caroline: Don’t. What’s the use?
Owen: The only possible use would be if it gave you the courage to rebel — before it’s too late.
Caroline: Rebel? Against what?
Owen (taken aback): Why — why, against the limitations of your surroundings.
[A motor horn sounds outside.
Caroline: Hark! They’re here! We’re back in real life again. You asked me if I was angry just now. I’m not. It was — just for a few minutes — the schoolgirl’s day-dream come true — that’s all.
<
br /> Owen: Shall we call it — one glimpse of the Alhambra by moonlight?
Caroline: Yes. Yes. Let’s call it that, Owen — and forget it. Promise me that you’ll forget it.
Owen: Caroline ——
Caroline: It was only a game — you said so yourself. It never happened at all.
Owen: Is that what you want?
Caroline: Yes.
Owen: Then — you’re going to accept the limitations of your surroundings?
Caroline: Don’t you understand? It isn’t the limitations of one’s surroundings that matter. It’s one’s own limitations.
[As she concludes the sentence, Jill enters.
Jill: The strike’s off. They’ve settled everything.
Caroline: Where’s Freddie?
Jill: Just coming. He’s putting away the car. Yes — it all fizzled out from the moment I got to the police-station, and incidentally found out on the way that your line is temporarily out of order, and will be all right to-morrow.
Caroline: Then they hadn’t cut the wire after all?
Jill: I’m afraid not. Life is full of anti-climax. Even the strike wasn’t really imminent. Your fellow-countryman, Owen — the Welsh manager — got into a panic, that’s all. Freddie settled things quite nicely and quickly. Have you been dreadfully worried, Caroline darling, thinking all kinds of things were happening?
Caroline: No — yes — I — I don’t think so. I don’t know ——
Jill (looking at her): Oh — why — what’s happened?
Caroline (her face averted): My cold is rather bad, I think. (She holds her handkerchief before her face.)
Owen: I knew that window was a mistake. We had it open for a bit after dinner.
Caroline (seizing on this as a pretext): Dinner! You haven’t had any, Jill. I’ll go and see about it.
[Jill makes a protesting movement.
It’s no trouble. I asked Emma to have a tray ready. (Owen goes towards the bell.) No, really — I’d rather not ring.
[Exit Caroline.
Jill: What have you been doing, Owen?
Owen: Behaving like a cad, I rather think.
Jill (reflectively): One does sometimes. But I’m sorry, if it’s been at Caroline’s expense.
Owen: You’re rather an understanding person, aren’t you?
Jill: Only sensible. Shall we talk about it, or not?
Owen: There’s really frightfully little to talk about.
Jill: I know just what you mean. And I suppose propinquity, that you were so eloquent about earlier in the evening, did it’s usual work.
Owen: That’s about it. No — I’ll be honest. There was more to it than that. Just for a moment.
Jill (with sudden fire): I’m glad to hear it! Caroline’s worth the real thing — even if it is only for a moment.
Owen: But, Jill —— (He stops, perplexed.)
Jill (impatiently): Well? Go on!
Owen: Don’t you — don’t you mind?
Jill: Mind? Yes, I do. But you and I are real people, and so I can mind, and understand, at one and the same time.
Owen: Jill, you’re wonderful!
Jill: I know I am. And, apart from that, it was my idea that you might take Caroline’s mind off the fish.
Owen: To be accurate, you said: Off the fish and Freddie. I do think I succeeded in displacing the fish — but not Freddie.
Jill: I suppose not. Caroline’s like that. I hope you haven’t made everything much worse than it was before.
Owen: How?
Jill: Caroline’s imagination is so much too strong for her. Supposing she gets all worked up, and decides to tell Freddie that she’s let another man make love to her?
Owen: But, my dear, she didn’t, in any serious sense of the word.
Jill: I know, I know. But it’s feeling that counts, with women like Caroline — not fact.
Owen: Choosing the hymns for the funeral.
Jill: Exactly. And I expect, by this time, she’s been through the Divorce Court, and Freddie has had his decree made absolute.
Owen: I suppose you’re right, as usual. Look here, hadn’t I better go and help Freddie put away the car or something?
Jill: It’s extraordinary how little demand there is for the society of those who are usually right.
Owen: Jill, it isn’t that ——
Jill: I know it isn’t. I’m sorry I’m being like this. I know it’s unreasonable, and unjust, and all the rest of it — but you’ve made me cross.
Owen: Then you do care?
Jill: Care! I rather think I hate you just at the moment.
[Enter Freddie, more exhilarated than we have seen him yet, and rubbing his hands together with mingled cold and satisfaction.
Freddie: Settled the whole thing! I told you there was nothing to panic about. I suppose there’s some dinner for us.
Jill: Caroline has gone to see about it.
Freddie: See about it! Haven’t we got any servants in the house? (Crosses to the bell and rings it, then goes to warm himself at the fire.) Extraordinary how chilly it’s turned.
Owen: Yes. I’m afraid it’s made Caroline’s cold worse.
Freddie (to Jill): What about having dinner in here in front of the fire?
Jill: Certainly.
[Enter Emma.
Emma: Did you ring, sir?
Freddie: Yes. Bring some soup or sandwiches — or whatever’s ready — in here, please, and — I say — bring that bottle of champagne out of the wine-cooler, and four glasses.
Emma: Very good, sir. (Exit Emma.)
Freddie: Must celebrate the occasion, eh?
Owen (to Freddie): Well — what happened?
Freddie: It was — but where’s Caroline? I want her to hear this.
Jill: She went to tell the maids about supper.
Freddie: Running after the servants! What’s the good of keeping a dog and barking yourself?
Jill: She’ll be here in a minute.
[Enter Caroline and Emma.
Caroline: Freddie, do you really want dinner in here?
Freddie (jocosely): Shouldn’t have ordered it if I didn’t should I?
Owen (rising): Can I help?
Caroline: No, no, we can manage.
Jill: Must I help, is what I always say.
[Emma and Caroline complete the table preparations, and Freddie draws up his armchair.
Freddie (cheerfully): Come along, Jill. It’s all ready.
Caroline: You need not wait, Emma.
[Exit Emma. In the conversation that ensues, Freddie alone is exuberantly cheerful, not perceiving that the others are pre-occupied; Jill out of temper, Owen uneasy, and Caroline extremely upset.
Freddie: Upon my soul, I’m hungry — I expect you are too, Jill. Start with some soup; that’s right. Well, it really was a most extraordinary thing — that fellow Williams absolutely had the wind up. Scared, that’s what he was. Simply scared stiff.
Owen (absently): Was he really?
Freddie: Not a doubt about it. You remember my telling you, Caroline, that it wasn’t too easy to get Devonshire men to work under a Welsh manager, don’t you? (To Owen) I say, I beg your pardon.
Owen: Oh, that’s all right.
Caroline (starting violently): Yes — yes, of course I do.
Freddie (shaking a forefinger impressively): That was the whole trouble. That and absolutely nothing else.
Caroline: Really — absolutely nothing else.
Freddie: Of course, the men didn’t say so. That’s not their way at all. But I spotted it directly, although they brought out some vamped-up grievance about our having had to make a reduction on tonnage-rate.
[A silence. No one is attending. Jill realises this, and automatically repeats Freddie’s last words.
Jill: — a reduction on tonnage-rate — yes?
Freddie: As a matter of fact, that really only affects one or two of them.
Jill: Oh! of course.
Freddie: I don’t know what you mean by “Of course.�
�� But you’re not eating anything — take a sandwich. And we must have a drink all round to celebrate the collapse of the strike. Ha-ha! (He opens the champagne.) Upon my soul, I don’t know when I’ve heard of a more ridiculous storm in a tea-cup. If you could have seen that ass Williams’ face!
[Freddie laughs heartily. Gradually he perceives that his mirth is not being joined in by the others.
(Puzzled) Yes. I suppose, really, it doesn’t seem quite so amusing unless one knows the ins and outs of it as I do.
Caroline (trying to atone): Oh, but it does, Freddie. I — I can quite see how funny it must have been — Williams getting into a panic — and — and you going to talk to the men and — and everything.
Owen (with pseudo-heartiness): Rather!
Freddie (drinking his champagne): Well, here’s to the strike! And may all our troubles disperse as easily!
Jill (looking at Owen): May all our troubles disperse as easily!
Owen (hastily): Tell us what you said to the men, Freddie.
Freddie: Well, I started in about the tonnage, rate question, of course. Williams was under the impression that they felt strongly about it, because up to now we’ve been having a bonus on tonnage-rate. As a matter of fact, the men are really getting very high pay, without a sufficient increase in production. The tonnage-rate was badly calculated. I don’t know if you see what I mean? (Turning to Owen.)
[A silence. None of the other three has been attending.
Eh?
Owen (starting): What? — Of course — yes.
[Freddie stares at him, then turns and looks at Jill, who also starts.
Jill: No, naturally not. I mean — I quite agree with you, Freddie.
Caroline: So do I.
Freddie (stiffly): There isn’t anything to disagree about, exactly. Well ——
Caroline: No, no, do go on. Go on talking, Freddie.
Freddie: Talking isn’t very much in my line, is it? And I must say Caroline, you don’t seem to me to pay very much attention when I do speak.
Caroline: But I am —— (Her voice falters, and she puts her handkerchief to her face.) It’s only my cold.
Freddie: You’d better go to bed, I should think.
Caroline: No, no. You haven’t nearly told us about the strike yet.
Freddie: I’ve been telling you for the last quarter of an hour, only you’ve not been listening.
Owen: I’m afraid it’s my fault.
Collected Works of E M Delafield Page 591