Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

  Freddie: Caroline’s work — which is the highest to which a woman can be called — is to be a wife and mother.

  Jill: Yes, poor darling. But, then, the choice of a career was awfully limited in her day, wasn’t it? However, it’s no good crying over spilt milk now ——

  Freddie: Spilt milk?

  Jill: — the point is, you and Caroline have got a wonderful opportunity of starting fresh. The strike, and her illness, and everything that’s happened, will all help to create the right atmosphere.

  Freddie: What atmosphere? Why?

  Jill: An exciting, romantic, stimulating sort of atmosphere. It’ll make it so much easier for you to begin saying things to Caroline.

  Freddie: I’m afraid I’m not very good at — er — saying a very great deal.

  Jill: I’ve noticed that.

  Freddie: If you’ll forgive my mentioning it, I’m afraid one looks upon all this putting-things-into-words as being rather bad form.

  Jill: Our Public Schools have a lot to answer for. Well, of course, I know it’s all rather difficult for you. Perhaps you’d better not begin by saying a great deal. There are lots of little things you can do.

  Freddie: But I’m always doing little things.

  Jill: Are you?

  Freddie: Yes! Why, only yesterday I spent twenty minutes putting a new washer on the bathroom tap.

  Jill: I see! I suppose you never give Caroline flowers?

  Freddie: Flowers? The garden’s full of them.

  Jill: I said give them to her.

  Freddie: Wouldn’t that be a bit pointless, when she can pick as many as she wants for herself?

  Jill (impatiently): Well, well, she can’t now, anyway. She hasn’t been out of her room for three days. You could have some ready to welcome her when she comes down this morning for the first time.

  Freddie (looking round him): Emma put fresh ones in here only yesterday.

  Jill: Hush! She’s coming down now. Never mind Emma’s. Go and pick some for her yourself, and bring them in to her. Quickly!

  Freddie (bewildered): But ——

  Jill: Oh, do go!

  [She hustles him out at the window as Caroline comes in at the door carrying her knitting. Caroline is pale, and moves slowly. Jill goes to meet her, and settles her on the sofa.

  Darling, do you feel shaky? Shall I close the window?

  Caroline: No, thank you, dear.

  Jill: Are you sure you ought to have come down?

  Caroline: Quite sure. I am so glad to be out of my room. (She looks round her.) I feel rather as if I had been dead and haven’t quite come to life again. It is absurd, really, when I was only ill such a very little while. It seems ages since I was last in this room.

  Jill: That was the night that Freddie and I went down to the mill.

  Caroline: Yes.

  [A silence.

  Did Owen ever say anything to you about that night, Jill?

  Jill (very gently): I think it was I who said something to him. Not anything that you would have minded, though.

  Caroline (with an effort): Do you want me to tell you?

  Jill (as before): No. I didn’t want Owen to tell me, either.

  Caroline: I made him promise that he’d forget — absolutely. Though there wasn’t anything real to forget, Jill. It was only that — I lost my way, for a few minutes, between reality and pretence.

  Jill: One does.

  Caroline: Owen didn’t. Not really. I — I am glad he didn’t, Jill.

  [A silence. Then Caroline resumes in a more natural voice:

  Being ill has made it all seem so long ago. I believe I was rather delirious that night.

  Jill: Perhaps.

  Caroline (vehemently): I know I was talking nonsense part of the time. I was hardly conscious of what I said. I am so thankful I can’t remember.

  Jill: Why?

  Caroline: Well, just think of what even one’s conscious thoughts are like, sometimes!

  Jill: You’re quite right there. I’m often thankful, as I was saying to Freddie just now, that women nowadays have so many things to think of besides their emotions.

  Caroline: Did you say that to Freddie?

  Jill: Yes.

  Caroline: You said a thing like that to Freddie, at eleven o’clock in the morning?

  Jill: Yes.

  Caroline: What did he say?

  Jill: Oh, that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, or something. That’s what he meant, anyway.

  Caroline: Jill, you ought to remember that Freddie can’t be expected to see things in exactly the same light that you do.

  Jill: Of course not. He’s so much older.

  Caroline: Yes, I expect that’s it.

  Jill: In fact, I was telling him so this morning.

  Caroline: That as well!

  Jill: Yes.

  Caroline: And after he stayed away from the mill on purpose to see the last of you and Owen!

  Jill: That’s a very nice idea — but I expect he really stayed at home because it was your first day downstairs.

  Caroline (wistfully): He hasn’t said so, has he?

  [Jill is silent, then suddenly speaks.

  Jill: Caroline darling, do you mind if I ask you a fearfully indiscreet question?

  Caroline: No — in fact, I should like it.

  Jill: I quite agree that indiscreet questions are the only ones really worth asking. It’s this: You do care for Freddie, don’t you? I mean fundamentally?

  Caroline (thoughtfully): Yes. (Gaining in assurance) Yes, I do. It may seem odd — in fact, I often think it is — but I do.

  Jill: I wonder why?

  Caroline: After a woman has lived with a man for years, day in and day out, and shared his home, and his children, and his interests, she’s bound to end either by hating him, or else by being fond of him. I don’t hate Freddie.

  Jill: And he’s fond of you, too.

  Caroline (sighing): I know. Husbands nearly always are fond of their wives — especially those that live in the country and don’t see anyone else. But they never show it.

  Jill: It’s a pity.

  Caroline: I expect I’m a fool, to feel that it matters.

  Jill (suddenly springing to her feet): No, you’re not. You’re just — romantic, and imaginative, and sentimental. So are most women. And they go on and on, waging a perpetual conflict between real life and the life of their secret dreams.

  Caroline: Jill!

  Jill: Yes. I’m getting it clear now — don’t stop me. It isn’t only you, it’s me as well, and most other women, I expect. We can’t learn to be content with — just glimpses of the Alhambra by moonlight. We want it there always, and all the time. And when we know it’s not there, instead of facing the fact, we screw up our eyes and try to see it still in — in the outline of the chicken-house.

  Caroline: Just — pretending?

  Jill (assenting): Just pretending. The schoolgirl’s day-dream, in which she’s her own heroine all the time.

  Caroline: But one doesn’t go on being a schoolgirl all one’s life.

  Jill: Are you quite sure of that?

  [A silence — and then Jill suddenly alters her tone and becomes matter-of-fact again.

  After all, personal relations are not everything. Women do know that nowadays.

  Caroline: We may know it. But do we feel it?

  Jill: We’re learning to. To face facts — make the best of things as they are — accept life as it really is ——

  [As she speaks, Emma enters.

  Emma: If you please, madam, the fish is here.

  Jill: That’s exactly what I meant! The fish! It’s all part of life ——

  Caroline (harassed): Oui, oui — mais pas maintenant. What has he brought, Emma?

  Emma: Soles, madam, and a piece of turbot.

  Caroline: Turbot, Emma?

  Emma: Cook don’t feel sure of the turbot, madam. She says soles are safer.

  Caroline: Then two small soles, please, Emma.


  Emma: Very good, madam. (Exit.)

  [Caroline leans back again, tired.

  Jill: You’re tired. It’s more than time we were off. I shall go and hurry up Owen.

  Caroline: No, no, don’t.

  Jill: He’ll come in and tell us as soon as the car’s ready.

  [A pause.

  Caroline: Of course, darling, I don’t want you to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.

  Jill: Don’t you?

  Caroline: Well, of course ——

  [They both laugh.

  Is it that you can’t make up your mind?

  Jill: I’m always making it up. First one way and then the other. That’s what I hate.

  Caroline: I daresay Owen doesn’t enjoy it much, either.

  Jill: You’re quite right; he doesn’t. I often think I shall lose him altogether.

  Caroline: Oh, Jill, do you really?

  Jill: No.

  Caroline: You’re in love with him, Jill?

  [Jill signs assent.

  Doesn’t that simplify things?

  Jill: I’m afraid it doesn’t. You see, I do try to face facts, and I know that, once the glamour has gone, it won’t come back again.

  Caroline: And it goes, with domestic life.

  Jill: Owen’s an only son — he’ll have to live at that place of theirs in Wales — do county business — look after the estate — his wife will have to pay calls — and run the Women’s Institute — and think about the servants — and talk about the garden.

  Caroline: Yes, yes — all that’s true.

  Jill: In a couple of years’ time, Owen will be going to sleep over his newspaper every evening and —— (Breaks off.) I didn’t mean that.

  Caroline: Yes, you did. It doesn’t matter. Jill, you’re wrong.

  Jill: Wrong?

  Caroline: You’re afraid that you and Owen will grow like Freddie and me. Don’t interrupt me — it’s true. But you’re wrong — absolutely wrong. You said just now that women were always pretending. Don’t you see that if you can say that, and realise it, it won’t be true about you? You’re not going to live in a make-believe world, that’ll never, never square with everyday life. You’ll know your day-dreams for what they are — the schoolgirl’s romance. You’ll even have the courage to laugh at them.

  Jill (thoughtfully): I’ve never thought of it like that. It makes a difference. But Owen . . . ?

  Caroline: It’s the woman who makes a marriage what it is — not the man.

  Jill: That’s true.

  Caroline: And then Owen — he has imagination — he’s a little bit different ——

  Jill: Perhaps . . .

  Caroline (bringing out her words with hesitation, as though struggling with a dim remembrance): Yes — I — I —— He’s the kind of man who might know . . . what a woman was really like . . . and yet . . . love her just the same. . . . (She passes her hand across her eyes.) I feel just as if I’d said all this before.

  Jill: You haven’t — but I’m glad you’ve said it now.

  Caroline: So am I. It came to me like an inspiration.

  Jill: That’s because it was somebody else’s problem. I was inspired, too, if you remember, when we were discussing yours.

  [Owen appears at the window. He is wearing garments suitable for his motor drive back to London.

  Owen: Good morning, Caroline. Splendid to see you downstairs. How are you? Really all right?

  Caroline: Quite, thank you. I’d have come down yesterday if Jill would have let me. You’ll be gone almost at once, I suppose, and I’ve been such a bad hostess.

  Owen: I hope you’ll let me come here again, one day.

  Caroline: We’d love to have you, any time you can get away. You mustn’t forget to write your name in the Visitors’ Book before you go.

  [Freddie appears at window.

  Freddie: Is Caroline there?

  Caroline: Yes, I’m here. It’s nice to be downstairs again.

  Freddie (comes in, carrying a bunch of roses): Look dear — I — I’ve brought you these.

  Caroline: Freddie! (She takes the roses.)

  Freddie: It was Jill’s idea.

  Jill: Oughtn’t we to be making a start, Owen?

  Owen: Yes, if you’re ready. The car’s O.K. now.

  Freddie: You must sign your name in the Visitors’ Book before you go. Let me see — it ought to be in here. (Goes to writing-table.) No. She must have put it in the hall — or in the study. (Goes towards the bell. Jill moves between him and the bell, looking at him, meaningly.)

  [Freddie turns slowly, without having rung.

  (Going to the door) I’ll see if I can find it myself.

  Caroline: Oh, Freddie — how good of you to think of Emma! It’s only just while we’re short-handed. (Gets up and follows him.) I believe I know where the Visitors’ Book is ——

  [Caroline goes out, Freddie following her.

  Jill: How do you think Caroline looks?

  Owen: Rather white, doesn’t she?

  Jill: I’m afraid so. Poor darling, I do hate leaving her.

  Owen (stiffly): If you really want to stay, and they can go on putting you up, please don’t bother about me.

  Jill: Thanks, but I’m due at the office to-morrow morning.

  Owen: So that’s that. By the way, I don’t know if you happen to remember that we came here partly in order that you might have an opportunity of making up your mind.

  Jill: I remember perfectly.

  Owen: I suppose I may conclude that you have made it up?

  Jill (ironically): And on what grounds are you basing your conclusion?

  Owen: Principally on the grounds that you have avoided, as far as possible, being left alone with me for one moment in the course of the past three days.

  Jill: So you’ve noticed that?

  Owen: I’m not Freddie Allerton, my dear.

  Jill: No. In fact, Caroline’s right. You’re not, really, even very like Freddie.

  Owen (indignantly): Did anyone ever suppose that I was?

  Jill: Well — I had a general idea that most men rather resembled one another, especially in their dealings with women.

  Owen: You were wrong — as you often are.

  Jill: Caroline says it may be the saving of us that we’re neither of us afraid of the truth.

  Owen: May I ask in what respect Caroline considers us to be in need of saving?

  Jill: I don’t know that I can begin explaining that just now. We ought to be starting.

  Owen: We can’t start until we’ve signed our names in that blasted book. Tell me what Caroline meant.

  Jill: She thinks you’re different, because you’ve got imagination.

  Owen: Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been trying to make you see all along?

  Jill: You have made me see it. Only a man with imagination could have fallen a victim to what you once described as propinquity quite as rapidly as you did on the night of the strike. Or have made quite such a mess of it.

  Owen: Are you more angry because I did fall a victim, or because I made a mess of it?

  [They look at one another, and both burst out laughing.

  Jill: I’m really angry for the oldest and most primitive reason in the whole world. I never realised before that I was capable of being jealous.

  Owen: Do you know that’s almost the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me?

  Jill: Oh, I could do much better than that, Owen. If you still want me to, that is.

  [They look at one another in silence.

  Owen (gravely): I want you to say that you’ll marry me. I know you’re afraid (looking round the room) of all this. Well, so am I.

  Jill: You too?

  Owen: Of course. Don’t you think that’s going to be a safeguard?

  Jill: It’ll help.

  Owen (suddenly practical): We ought to arrange to spend half a year, at least, away from home. Away from one another, in fact.

  Jill: Owen, that’s really splendid of you.

 
; Owen: It is, isn’t it?

  Jill: What shall I promise in return? That I’ll never talk to you about the servants?

  Owen: That you’ll never let me go to sleep after dinner over the newspaper.

  Jill: No! I’ll make it worth your while to keep awake. (Gravely) And I’m not going to let my whole life hinge on personal relationships, Owen. I’m going to keep lots of outside interests when I marry.

  Owen: Right! Then it is settled that we’re to give marriage a trial?

  Jill: It’s a risk — but at least we shall be taking it with our eyes open. And ——

  Owen: And what, sweetheart?

  Jill: The night of the strike showed me that — I can’t face the alternative.

  Owen: What alternative?

  Jill: The only alternative there is when one’s dealing with a man who has imagination — watching him fall in love with somebody else.

  Owen: Never! (He takes her in his arms.) You and I, my sweet, are not Freddie and Caroline. We’re different — we’ll always be different.

  Jill: I wonder just how many lovers have said that. I wonder . . . Oh, well — Owen!

  [They kiss.

  Freddie (off): They can easily use my fountain pen, dear.

  [Owen and Jill exeunt to porch. Freddie and Caroline, with Visitors’ Book and pen, enter.

  Hello, where have they got to?

  [Owen and Jill re-enter.

  Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you’d got to.

  Jill: Well, I’m afraid we ought to start, oughtn’t we, Owen?

  Owen: If you’re ready . . .

  Freddie: Let me give you a hand with these bags.

  Owen: No, no. . . . (Picks up a suit-case.)

  [Freddie exits with the other.

  Jill: Don’t come out, Caroline. Really you mustn’t. I’ve so loved being with you, darling. Good-bye.

  Owen: Thanks most awfully. It has been good of you. Good-bye.

  [He shakes hands with Caroline.

  Caroline: Mind you come again.

  [Owen exits.

  Jill: Caroline, I think it’s going to be all right!

  Caroline: Darling! (Kisses her.)

  [Jill exits.

  Caroline stands looking after her, then slowly turns back into the room again, and stands a moment, rather desolately, looking round. She goes to the sofa, and sits down again, resuming her knitting. The next moment Freddie — minus the suit-cases — fusses in at the window. He is followed by Jill and Owen.