by David Mamet
DICKIE: Righto, Mother.
GRACE goes out. DICKIE follows her. CATHERINE’s hair falls. She sighs and starts to put it up again. She heads into the dining room toward the terrace. ARTHUR follows.
64. INT./EXT. WINSLOW DRAWING ROOM/TERRACE. DAY.
ARTHUR: Are we going to lose the case, Kate?
CATHERINE does not reply. She sips her cup of tea and lights a cigarette.
ARTHUR: (Cont’d.) How is Sir Robert? The papers said that he began today by telling the judge he felt ill and might have to ask for an adjournment. I trust he won’t collapse—
CATHERINE: He won’t. It was just another of those brilliant tricks of his that he’s always boasting about. It got him the sympathy of the Court and possibly—no, I won’t say that—
ARTHUR: Say it.
CATHERINE: (Slowly) Possibly provided him with an excuse if he’s beaten.
ARTHUR: … I see.
CATHERINE looks out at the garden.
ANGLE, CATHERINE’S POV.
DESMOND appears at the garden gate. CATHERINE and ARTHUR turn and see him.
DESMOND: I trust you do not object to me employing this rather furtive entry. The crowds at the front door are most alarming—
ARTHUR: Come in, Desmond. Why have you left the Court?
DESMOND: My partner will be holding the fort. He is perfectly competent, I promise you.
ARTHUR: I’m glad to hear it.
DESMOND: I wonder if I might see Catherine alone. I have a matter of some urgency to communicate to her—
ARTHUR: Oh. Do you wish to hear this urgent matter, Kate?
CATHERINE: Yes, Father.
ARTHUR: Very well. I shall finish my lunch.
ARTHUR retires.
65. EXT. WINS LOW GARDEN. DAY.
Pause.
DESMOND: (Checks his watch) I have to be back in Court. Perhaps you would stroll with me. Out in the garden.
DESMOND and CATHERINE walk and then sit down.
CATHERINE: Yes, Desmond?
DESMOND: It occurred to me during the lunch recess that I had far better see you today.
CATHERINE: (Her thoughts far distant) Why?
DESMOND: I have a question to put to you, Kate, which, if I had postponed putting until after the verdict, you might—who knows—have thought had been prompted by pity—if we had lost. Or—if we had won, your reply might—again who knows—have been influenced by gratitude. Do you follow me, Kate?
CATHERINE: Yes, Desmond. I think I do.
DESMOND: Ah. Then possibly you have some inkling of what the question is I have to put to you?
CATHERINE: Yes. I think I have.
DESMOND: Oh.
CATHERINE: I’m sorry, Desmond. I ought, I know, to have followed the usual practice in such cases, and told you I had no inkling whatever.
DESMOND: No, no. Your directness and honesty are two of the qualities I so much admire in you. I am glad you have guessed. It makes my task the easier—The facts are these: that you don’t love me, and never can. And that I love you, and I always will. (Pause) It is a situation which, after most careful consideration, I am fully prepared to accept. I reached this decision some months ago, but thought at first it would be better to wait until this case, which is so much on all our minds, should be over. Then at lunch today I determined to anticipate the verdict tomorrow.
Pause.
CATHERINE: (At length) I see. Thank you, Desmond. That makes everything much clearer.
DESMOND: There is much more that I had meant to say, but I shall put it in a letter.
CATHERINE: Yes, Desmond. Do. Will you give me a few days to think it over?
DESMOND: Of course. Of course.
CATHERINE: I need hardly tell you how grateful I am, Desmond.
DESMOND: (A trifle bewildered) There is no need, Kate. No need at all—
They walk out of the garden.
66. EXT. ALLEYWAY TO STREET. DAY.
CATHERINE and DESMOND enter an alleyway, at the end of which is a taxi.
CATHERINE: You mustn’t keep your taxi waiting—
DESMOND: Then I may expect your answer in a few days?
CATHERINE: Yes, Desmond.
DESMOND: (Looking at his watch) I must get back to Court. (Pause) How did you think it went this morning?
CATHERINE: I thought the postmistress restored the Admiralty’s case with that point about Ronnie’s looks—
DESMOND: Oh, no, no. Not at all. There is still the overwhelming fact that she couldn’t identify him. What a brilliant cross-examination, was it not?
CATHERINE: Brilliant.
DESMOND: A strange man, Sir Robert. At times, so cold and distant and—and—
CATHERINE: Passionless.
DESMOND: And yet he has a real passion about this case.
CATHERINE: Does he?
DESMOND: I happen to know—of course this must on no account go any further—but I happen to know that he has made a very, very great personal sacrifice in order to bring it to Court.
CATHERINE: Sacrifice? What? Of another brief?
DESMOND: No, no. That is no sacrifice to him. No—he was offered—you really promise to keep this to yourself?
CATHERINE: My dear Desmond, whatever the Government offered him can’t be as startling as all that; he’s in the opposition.
DESMOND: Indeed. Therefore, a most, most gracious compliment.
CATHERINE: … and what position was he offered …?
DESMOND looks around, leans forward, and whispers to CATHERINE.
Pause.
CATHERINE’s eyes widen.
DESMOND: Yes. That’s right. And he turned it down. Simply in order to carry on with the case Winslow Versus Rex. Strange are the ways of men, are they not? Good-bye, my dear.
DESMOND gets in the taxi and drives off. Hold on CATHERINE.
67. INT. WINSLOW STUDY. DAY.
ARTHUR is perched on the table reading his Bible.
CATHERINE enters and wanders through to the hallway.
CATHERINE: Father, I’ve been a fool.
ARTHUR: Have you, my dear?
CATHERINE: An utter fool.
ARTHUR: In default of further information, I can only repeat, have you, my dear?
CATHERINE: There can be no further information. I’m under a pledge of secrecy.
ARTHUR: What did Desmond want?
CATHERINE: To marry me.
ARTHUR: I trust the folly you were referring to wasn’t your acceptance of him?
CATHERINE: Would it be such folly, though?
ARTHUR: Lunacy.
CATHERINE: I’m nearly thirty, you know.
ARTHUR: Thirty isn’t the end of life.
CATHERINE: … is that so …?
ARTHUR: Better far to live and die an old maid than to marry Desmond.
CATHERINE: Even an old maid must eat.
Pause.
ARTHUR: Did you take my suggestion as regards your Suffrage Association?
CATHERINE: Yes, Father.
ARTHUR: You demanded a salary?
CATHERINE: I asked for one.
ARTHUR: And they’re going to give it to you, I trust?
CATHERINE: Two pounds a week. (Pause) No, Father. The choice is quite simple. Either I marry Desmond and settle down into quite a comfortable and not really useless existence—or I go on for the rest of my life earning two pounds a week in the service of a hopeless cause.
ARTHUR: A hopeless cause? I’ve never heard you say that before.
CATHERINE: I’ve never felt it before. (Pause) John’s going to get married next month.
She moves to the hallway and sits. ARTHUR follows.
68. INT. WINSLOW HALLWAY. DAY.
CATHERINE is sitting on the stairs. ARTHUR stands next to her.
ARTHUR: Did he tell you?
CATHERINE: Yes. He was very apologetic.
ARTHUR: Apologetic!
CATHERINE: He didn’t need to be. It’s a girl I know slightly. She’ll make him a good wife.
ARTHUR:
Is he in love with her?
CATHERINE: No more than he was with me. Perhaps, even, a little less.
ARTHUR: Why is he marrying her so soon after—after—
CATHERINE: After jilting me? Because he thinks there’s going to be a war. If there is, his regiment will be among the first to go overseas. She’s a general’s daughter. Very, very suitable.
ARTHUR: Poor Kate. I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m so sorry.
CATHERINE: We both knew what we were doing. (She looks at her watch and gets up to go outside.) If you could go back, Father, and choose again—would your choice be different?
ARTHUR: Perhaps.
CATHERINE: I don’t think so.
ARTHUR: I don’t think so, either.
CATHERINE: I still say we both knew what we were doing. And we were right to do it.
ARTHUR kisses the top of her head.
ARTHUR: Dear Kate. Thank you.
There is silence. A NEWSBOY can be heard dimly, shouting from the street outside.
ARTHUR: (Cont’d.) You aren’t going to marry Desmond, are you?
CATHERINE: In the words of the Prime Minister, Father—wait and see.
He squeezes her hand. The NEWSBOY can still be heard—now a little louder.
ARTHUR: What’s that boy shouting, Kate?
CATHERINE: Only—“Winslow Case—Latest.”
ARTHUR: It didn’t sound to me like “Latest.”
69. ANGLE. EXT. WINSLOW HOUSE. DAY.
On the street, a BOY hawking papers, shouting, “Winslow Case Result.”
ANGLE. INS. THE BANNER HEADLINE “WINSLOW CASE RESULT.”
70. INT. WINSLOW HALLWAY/DRAWING ROOM/STUDY. DAY.
ARTHUR: Result?
CATHERINE: … there must be some mistake.
There is a noise in the hall, and they turn to look as VIOLET comes in the back door with a bundle of newspapers.
VIOLET: Oh, sir, oh sir …
ARTHUR: What’s happened?
VIOLET heads into the drawing room and puts down the newspapers. ARTHUR follows. CATHERINE remains in the hallway.
VIOLET: Oh, Miss Kate. Oh, Miss Kate. Just after they come back from lunch, and Mrs. Winslow she wasn’t there neither, nor Master Ronnie. The shouting and the carrying-on—you never heard anything like it in all your life—and Sir Robert standing there at the table with his wig on crooked and the tears running down his face—running down his face they were. Cook and me we did a bit of crying too. Everyone was cheering and the judge kept shouting, but it wasn’t any good, because even the Jury joined in, and some of them climbed out of the box to shake hands with Sir Robert. And then outside in the street it was just the same—you couldn’t move for the crowd, and you’d think they’d all gone mad the way they were carrying on. Some of them were shouting, “Good old Winslow!” And singing, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and Cook had her hat knocked off again. Oh, it was lovely! (To ARTHUR) Well, sir, you must be feeling nice and pleased, now it’s all over?
ARTHUR: Yes, Violet. I am.
VIOLET: That’s right. I always said it would come all right in the end, didn’t I?
ARTHUR: Yes. You did.
VIOLET: Two years it’s been, now, since Master Ronnie come back that day. Fancy.
ARTHUR: Yes.
VIOLET: I don’t mind telling you, sir, I wondered sometimes whether you and Miss Kate weren’t just wasting your time carrying on the way you have all the time. Still—you couldn’t have felt that if you’d been in Court today—(She turns to go and stops.) Oh, sir, Mrs. Winslow asked me to remember most particular to pick up some onions from the greengrocer, but—
CATHERINE: That’s all right, Violet. I think Mrs. Winslow is picking them up herself, on her way back—
VIOLET: I see, miss. Poor Madam! What a sell for her when she gets to the Court and finds it’s all over. Well, sir—congratulations, I’m sure.
ARTHUR: Thank you, Violet.
VIOLET leaves the room, and CATHERINE enters.
ARTHUR: (Cont’d.) It would appear, then, that we’ve won.
CATHERINE: Yes, Father, it would appear that we’ve won.
ARTHUR: (Slowly) I would have liked to have been there.
Enter VIOLET.
VIOLET: (Announcing) Sir Robert Morton!
SIR ROBERT walks into the room, mopping his brow. Exit VIOLET.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: I thought you might like to hear the actual terms of the Attorney General’s statement—(He pulls out a scrap of paper from his cigarette case and moves toward the study.) So I jotted it down for you. (Reading) “I say now, on behalf of the Admiralty, that I accept the declaration of Ronald Arthur Winslow that he did not write the name on the postal order, that he did not take it, and that he did not cash it, and that consequently he was innocent of the charge which was brought against him two years ago. I make that statement without any reservation of any description, intending it to be a complete acceptance of the boy’s statements.”
He folds the paper up and hands it to ARTHUR.
ARTHUR: Thank you, sir. It is rather hard for me to find the words I should speak to you.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Pray do not trouble yourself to search for them, sir. Let us take these rather tiresome and conventional expressions of gratitude for granted, shall we? Now, on the question of damages and costs. I fear we shall find the Admiralty rather niggardly. You are likely still to be left considerably out of pocket. However, doubtless we can apply a slight spur to the First Lord’s posterior in the House of Commons—
ANGLE, INS.
ARTHUR removes the offending letter from, beneath the magnifying glass. He moves into his study and stands by the terrace door. CATHERINE moves to join SIR ROBERT.
ARTHUR: Please, sir—no more trouble—I beg. Let the matter rest here. (He shows the piece of paper.) This is all I have ever asked for.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: (Turning to CATHERINE) A pity you were not in Court, Miss Winslow. The verdict appeared to cause quite a stir.
CATHERINE: So I heard. Why did the Admiralty throw up the case?
SIR ROBERT MORTON: It was a foregone conclusion. Once the handwriting expert had been discredited—not for the first time in legal history—I knew we had a sporting chance, and no jury in the world would have convicted on the postmistress’s evidence.
CATHERINE: But this morning you seemed so depressed.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Did I? The heat in the courtroom was very trying, you know. Perhaps I was a little fatigued.
SIR ROBERT mops his brow and sits down. Enter VIOLET.
VIOLET: (To ARTHUR) Oh, sir, the gentlemen at the front door say please will you make a statement. They say they won’t go away until you do.
ARTHUR: Very well, Violet. Thank you.
VIOLET: Yes, sir.
Exit VIOLET.
ARTHUR: What shall I say?
SIR ROBERT MORTON: (Indifferently) I hardly think it matters. Whatever you say will have little bearing on what they write.
ARTHUR: What shall I say, Kate?
CATHERINE: You’ll think of something, Father.
ARTHUR: (To CATHERINE) May I have my stick, please?
CATHERINE: Yes, Father.
CATHERINE gets his stick for him.
ARTHUR: How is this? I am happy to have lived long enough to have seen Justice done to my son—
CATHERINE: It’s a little gloomy, Father. You’re going to live for ages yet—
ARTHUR: Am I? Wait and see. I could say: This victory is not mine; it is the people who have triumphed—as they will always triumph—over despotism. How does that strike you, sir? A trifle pretentious, perhaps.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Perhaps, sir. I should say it, nonetheless. It will be very popular.
ARTHUR: Perhaps I shall just say what I feel, which is, Thank God We Beat ’Em … (He starts toward the door.)
71. INT. WINSLOW STUDY. DAY.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Miss Winslow—might I be rude enough to ask you for a little more of your excellent whiskey?
CAT
HERINE: Of course.
She goes to get the whiskey. SIR ROBERT, left alone, subsides into a chair. When CATHERINE comes back with his whiskey, he does not rise.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: That is very kind. Perhaps you would forgive me not getting up? The heat in that courtroom was really so infernal.
He takes the glass from her and drains it quickly. She notices his hand trembling slightly.
CATHERINE: Are you feeling all right, Sir Robert?
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Just a slight nervous reaction—that’s all. Besides, I have not been feeling myself all day. I told the Judge so, this morning, if you remember, but I doubt if he believed me. He thought it was a trick. What suspicious minds people have, have they not?
CATHERINE: Yes.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: (Handing her back the glass) Thank you.
CATHERINE puts the glass down, then turns to face him.
CATHERINE: Sir Robert—I’m afraid I have a confession and an apology to make to you.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Dear lady, I’m sure the one is rash and the other is superfluous. I would far rather hear neither—
CATHERINE: I am afraid you must. This is probably the last time I shall see you, and it is a better penance for me to say this than to write it. I have entirely misjudged your attitude to this case, and if in doing so I have ever seemed to you either rude or ungrateful, I am sincerely and humbly sorry.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: (Indifferently) My dear Miss Winslow, you have never seemed to me either rude or ungrateful. And my attitude to this case has been the same as yours—a determination to win at all costs. Only—when you talk of gratitude—you must remember that those costs were not mine, but yours.
CATHERINE: Weren’t they also yours, Sir Robert?
SIR ROBERT MORTON: I beg your pardon?
CATHERINE: Haven’t you too made a certain sacrifice for the case?
Pause.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: The robes of that office would not have suited me.
CATHERINE: Wouldn’t they?
SIR ROBERT MORTON: And what is more, I fully intend to have Curry censured for revealing a confidence. I must ask you never to divulge it to another living soul, and even to forget it yourself.
CATHERINE: I shall never divulge it. I’m afraid I can’t promise to forget it myself.
SIR ROBERT MORTON: Very well. If you choose to endow an unimportant incident with a romantic significance, you are perfectly at liberty to do so.