Separate Tables

by Terence Rattigan

  JOHN has sat down again, this time without replying.

  Mind you, it could be a different Mr. Wilder, I suppose. If there’s one coincidence – why not another?

  ANNE comes back. She looks happy and unruffled.

  ANNE (to MISS COOPER). Thank you so much, Miss Cooper. I’m going to bed now. I’ve put down a call for 8.30 with hot water and lemon. I hope that’s all right?

  MISS COOPER. Quite all right, Mrs. Shankland.

  ANNE. Well, good night. Good night, Mr. Malcolm.

  JOHN gets up suddenly from his chair.

  JOHN. Stay here, Anne. Pat, you go.

  MISS COOPER (urgently). Not now, John. Leave it till the morning.

  JOHN. It’s got to be now.

  He holds the door open for her.

  Leave us alone, Pat, please.

  MISS COOPER goes out quietly. JOHN closes the door after her and turns to face ANNE.

  When fate plays as astounding a trick as this it must mean something, Anne, mustn’t it?

  ANNE. Yes, that’s what I said.

  JOHN (harshly). What did you tell Wilder?

  ANNE opens her mouth to speak.

  No, no. There’s no need to lie any more. I’ll quote you, shall I? My dear, our little plot’s gone off quite wonderfully. Thank you so much for your help. Ten minutes alone with him was all I needed to have him grovelling. My dear, it was too funny, but after only one kiss his hand was shaking so much he couldn’t even light my cigarette. You should have seen it. You’d have died laughing. Oh yes. He’s at my feet again, all right, and I can tread on his face just any time I like from now on.

  He has advanced on her slowly, and stands facing her. She stands her ground, but looks a little scared.

  ANNE (sincerely). John, please, don’t be so angry with me. It’s not as if I’d done anything so terrible. I had to see you again. I was desperate to see you again, and this was the only way I could think of –

  JOHN. The only way you could think of, of course. You wouldn’t have thought of writing me a letter, or ringing me up, or telling me the truth in there? (He points to the dining-room.) Oh no. You had to have your conquest, you had to have your unconditional surrender, and if you could do it by lying and cheating so much the better. It makes the greater triumph.

  ANNE. That’s not true. Really it isn’t. Oh yes, I should have told you, John. Of course I should have told you, but you see even now I’ve still got a little pride left –

  JOHN. And so have I, Anne, thank God. So have I.

  He puts his hands on her arms and pulls her close to him, staring at her face.

  Yes, I can see the make-up now all right. Yes, Anne, I can see little lines there that weren’t there before and it won’t be very long now before this face will begin to decay and then there’ll be nothing left to drive a man to –

  He has slipped his hands on to her throat.

  ANNE (quietly). Why don’t you?

  He stands looking down at her for a moment and then pushes her violently away. She falls from the chair on which she has been sitting, and in her fall knocks over an occasional table. JOHN goes to the french windows, pulls them open, and runs out. The wind blows the curtains into the room. She gets up from the floor and stands quite still, her face expressionless. There is a mirror over the fireplace and she stares at herself for a long time. She turns quickly away, and begins to sob, quietly at first, and then more violently until, as she makes her way blindly to the hall door, it is uncontrollable. MISS COOPER comes in before ANNE has reached the door. ANNE, seeing her barring the way, runs back into the room, still sobbing. MISS COOPER deliberately closes the windows, before turning to ANNE. Then she approaches her and puts her hand on her shoulder.

  MISS COOPER. Come to my room, won’t you, Mrs. Shankland? There’s a fire there and a nice comfortable chair and I’ve even got a little sherry, I think. We’ll be quite cosy there and no one can disturb us.

  She begins to move her towards the door.

  You see, someone might come in here and we don’t want that, do we? Come along now, Mrs. Shankland. Come along –

  She is leading her towards the door as

  The lights fade.

  Scene Three

  Scene: the dining-room, the following morning. MISS MEACHAM sits at her table, poring over the sporting page of a morning paper. The two undergraduates are at their table reading. The other tables have been occupied, except for the table by the window, and ANNE’s. MISS COOPER comes in from the lounge.

  MISS COOPER (talking into the lounge). Yes, Mrs. Railton-Bell, I promise I will.

  The murmur of MRS. RAILTON-BELL’s voice can be heard off.

  Yes, utterly disgraceful, I quite agree. I shall speak to him most severely.

  She closes the door with a faint sigh.

  (Brightly, to the two undergraduates.) Good morning, Miss Tanner. Good morning, Mr. Stratton.

  They reply with a polite murmur and plunge back into their books.

  Good morning, Miss Meacham. It looks as if we’re going to have a nice dry day at last.

  MISS MEACHAM. Is it going to be dry at Newbury? – that’s the point. Walled Garden’s a dog on heavy going.

  MISS COOPER. Ah, now there you have me, Miss Meacham.

  MABEL comes in.

  MABEL. Miss Cooper, Mr. Malcolm wasn’t in his room when I took his tea up, and his bed hadn’t been slept in.

  MISS COOPER (with a reassuring smile). Yes, I know, Mabel.

  MABEL. You know?

  MISS COOPER. I should have told you, of course, but I’m afraid I clean forgot. He had to go to London unexpectedly last night.

  MABEL. He won’t be in to breakfast, then?

  MISS COOPER. I don’t suppose so.

  The undergraduates go into the lounge.

  MABEL. That’s something anyway. It’s nearly ten, now. What about the new lady? She’s not down yet.

  MISS COOPER. Yes, she’s down, Mabel, but I don’t think she’s having breakfast.

  MABEL. Not having breakfast?

  MISS COOPER. She has to be very careful of her figure, you see.

  MABEL (with puzzled gloom). Can’t see what good a figure’s going to be to you, when you’re dead of starvation.

  She goes into the kitchen.

  MISS MEACHAM. She’s leaving, isn’t she, the new one?

  MISS COOPER. Yes. She is, how did you know?

  MISS MEACHAM. I heard her ask for her bags to be brought down. I knew she’d never stick it.

  MISS COOPER (coIdly). Stick it, Miss Meacham?

  MISS MEACHAM. Oh, I don’t mean the hotel. Best for the price in Bournemouth. I’ve always said so. I meant the life. All this – (She indicates the empty tables.) – She’s not an ‘alone’ type.

  MISS COOPER. Is any type an ‘alone’ type, Miss Meacham?

  MISS MEACHAM. Oh yes. They’re rare, of course, but you are for one, I’d say.

  MISS COOPER. Am I?

  MISS MEACHAM. Oh, I’m not saying you won’t fall in love one day, and get married, or something silly like that. I’m only saying that if you don’t you’ll be all right. You’re self-sufficient.

  MISS COOPER (a shade wearily, but polite). I’m glad you think so, Miss Meacham. Perhaps even a little gladder than you realize.

  MISS MEACHAM. What do you mean by that?

  MISS COOPER. I’ve no idea. I’m a bit tired this morning. I had very little sleep last night.

  MISS MEACHAM. Well – I don’t suppose you are glad, really. Probably you haven’t had to face up to it yet. I faced up to it very early on – long before I was an old wreck – while I was still young and pretty and had money and position and could choose from quite a few. (Reminiscently.) Quite a few. Well, I didn’t choose any of them, and I’ve never regretted it – not for an instant. People have always scared me a bit, you see. They’re so complicated. I suppose that’s why I prefer the dead ones. Any trouble from them and you switch them off like a television set.

  She rises.

&
nbsp; No, what I’ve always said is – being alone, that’s the real blessed state – if you’ve the character for it. Not Mrs. What’s-her-name from Mayfair, though. I could tell that at a glance. A couple of weeks here and she’d have her head in the gas oven. It’s pork for lunch, isn’t it?

  MISS COOPER. Yes, Miss Meacham.

  MISS MEACHAM. I loathe pork. Ah well. I’d have a bit on Walled Garden, dear, if I were you. He’s past the post if the going’s on top.

  She goes out. MISS COOPER, left alone, slumps wearily into the chair MISS MEACHAM has vacated. She washes out MISS MEACHAM’s cup and pours some coffee out for herself. She sips it, and then lets her head fall wearily forward on to her chest, in an attitude of utter exhaustion. After a moment JOHN comes in slowly from the hall. After a look round he walks up to her quietly.

  JOHN (in a low voice). Pat. I must see you a moment.

  MISS COOPER opens her eyes and looks up at him. She jumps to her feet as she takes him in.

  MISS COOPER. Are you all right?

  JOHN. Yes. I’m all right.

  MISS COOPER. Where did you go?

  JOHN. I don’t know. I walked a long way.

  MISS COOPER. Were you out all night?

  JOHN. No. I sat in a shelter for a time. Pat, I’ve got to have some money. I’m broke to the wide. I spent my whole week’s cheque in the Feathers last night –

  MISS COOPER. How much do you want?

  JOHN. Enough to get me on a train and keep me some place for a few days. Three, or four pounds, I suppose. Can you let me have it, Pat?

  MISS COOPER. You won’t need it, John. She’s going.

  JOHN. Are you sure?

  MISS COOPER. Yes.

  JOHN. Where is she now?

  MISS COOPER. In my office. It’s all right. She won’t come in here.

  She feels his clothes.

  Did you get very wet?

  JOHN. Yes, I suppose so. It’s dried off now.

  MISS COOPER. You’d better sit down and have some breakfast. Your hands are like ice. (She rings a bell.)

  JOHN. I don’t want anything to eat. Just some tea.

  MISS COOPER. All right. Now sit down. Straighten your tie a bit, and turn your collar down. That’s better. Now you look quite respectable.

  She pulls out a chair for JOHN to sit down at his table. DOREEN comes in.

  DOREEN. Yes, miss? (Seeing JOHN.) Oh, you back? I suppose you think you can have breakfast at this time?

  MISS COOPER. Just some tea, Doreen – that’s all.

  DOREEN. Okey doke.

  She goes into the kitchen.

  MISS COOPER. She’ll have to go, that girl. (She turns to JOHN.) Well, that was a fine way to behave, dashing out into the night, and scaring us out of our wits –

  JOHN. Us?

  MISS COOPER. Oh yes. She was scared too. I stopped her from calling the police.

  JOHN. So you talked, did you?

  MISS COOPER. Most of the night. She was a bit hysterical and needed quieting. I didn’t want to get a doctor.

  JOHN. Did I – Pat, tell me the truth – did I hurt her?

  MISS COOPER. Her throat? No.

  JOHN. She fell though, didn’t she? I seem to remember pushing her, and her falling and hitting her head – or perhaps I’m confusing it with –

  MISS COOPER (firmly). She’s as right as rain. There isn’t a mark on her of any kind.

  JOHN (murmuring). Thank God.

  DOREEN comes in with a pot of tea and a plate.

  DOREEN. I brought you some digestive biscuits. I know you like them.

  JOHN. Thank you. Thank you, Doreen, very much.

  DOREEN. Had a tumble or something? You’ve got mud all over your arm.

  JOHN. What? Oh yes. So I have. Yes, I remember now. I fell down last night in the dark.

  DOREEN. Give it to me after and I’ll get it off.

  She goes out.

  MISS COOPER. I should have seen that. I’m sorry.

  JOHN. It’s all right. They’ll just think I was drunk. How is she this morning?

  MISS COOPER. A bit shaky. Quieter, though. Did you know she took drugs?

  JOHN. Drugs? What sort of drugs?

  MISS COOPER. Oh, just those things that make you sleep. Only she takes about three times the proper dose and takes them in the day too.

  JOHN. How long has this been going on?

  MISS COOPER. About a year, I gather.

  JOHN. The damn little fool. Why does she do it?

  MISS COOPER (shrugging). Why do you go to the Feathers?

  Pause.

  Yes – there’s not all that much to choose between you, I’d say. When you’re together you slash each other to pieces, and when you’re apart you slash yourselves to pieces. All told, it’s quite a problem.

  Pause.

  JOHN. Why didn’t she tell me about this last night?

  MISS COOPER. Because she’s what she is, that’s why. If she’d shown you she was unhappy she’d have had to show you how much she needed you and that she’d never do – not her – not in a million years. Of course that’s why she lied about coming down here. I’ve got rather a bad conscience about that, you know, I should never have told you. Just a flash of jealousy, I suppose. I’m sorry.

  JOHN. What time is she leaving?

  MISS COOPER. She’s only waiting now to get some news of you. I was just going to start ringing up the hospitals. She asked me to do that.

  JOHN. I see. Well, when I’ve finished this I’ll slip out somewhere. You can tell her that I’m all right. Then when she’s gone you can give me a ring.

  MISS COOPER. You don’t think you might tell her that yourself?

  Pause.

  JOHN. No.

  MISS COOPER. It’s your business, of course, but I think if I were in your place, I’d want to.

  JOHN (savagely). You don’t know what it’s like to be in my place. You can’t even guess.

  MISS COOPER (quietly). I think I can. Gosh, I’m tired. I shouldn’t be sitting here gossiping with you. I’ve got work to do. You’d better let me tell her you’re here.

  JOHN. No, Pat, don’t. Give me one good reason why I should ever see her again. Just one reason –

  MISS COOPER. All right. Just one then. And God knows it’s not for me to say it. Because you love her and because she needs your help.

  Pause.

  JOHN (suspiciously). What went on between you two last night? How did she win you over?

  MISS COOPER. She didn’t win me over, for heaven’s sake. Feeling the way I do, do you think she could? Anyway, to do her justice she didn’t even try. She didn’t give me an act and I could see her as she is, all right. I think all you’ve ever told me about her is probably true. She is vain and spoiled and selfish and deceitful. Of course, with you being in love with her, you look at all those faults like in a kind of distorting mirror, so that they seem like monstrous sins and drive you to – well – the sort of thing that happened last night. Well, I just see them as ordinary human faults, that’s all – the sort of faults a lot of people have – mostly women, I grant, but some men too. I don’t like them but they don’t stop me feeling sorry for a woman who’s unhappy and desperate and ill and needing help more than anyone I have ever known. Well? Shall I call her in?

  JOHN. No. Pat. No. Don’t interfere in this. Just let her go back to London and her own life, and leave me to live the rest of mine in peace.

  MISS COOPER (quietly). That’d be fine, John, if you’d just tell me a little something first. Exactly what kind of peace are you living in down here?

  JOHN. A kind of peace, anyway.

  MISS COOPER. Is it? Is it even really living?

  He makes no reply.

  Is it, John? Be honest, now. Oh, I know there’s your work and your pals at the Feathers and – well – me – but is it even living?

  Pause.

  JOHN (shortly, at length). It’ll do.

  MISS COOPER (with a faint laugh). Thank you. I’m glad you didn’t hand me one of those
tactful tarradiddles. I did try – you know – when we first began – you and I – all that time ago – I did try to help you to get back into some sort of life. As a matter of fact I tried very hard –

  JOHN. I know you did.

  MISS COOPER. It didn’t take me long, though, to see I hadn’t a hope.

  JOHN. Don’t blame me for that, Pat. Circumstances, as they say, outside my control –

  MISS COOPER. Outside your control? Yes. That’s right. (Quite brightly.) When you think of it it seems really rather a pity you two ever met, doesn’t it?

  JOHN. Yes. A great pity.

  MISS COOPER (brightly). If you hadn’t, she’d have been a millionairess, and you’d have been Prime Minister, and I’d have married Mr. Hopkins from the bank, and then we’d have all been happy. I’m going into my office now and I’m going to tell her you’re here. I’ll have a word with Mr. Fowler first, about a room he didn’t take up, so if you want to skedaddle, you can. The door’s through there and the street’s outside, and down the street is the Feathers. It is a bit early, but I’ve no doubt they’ll open for you.

  She goes into the lounge.

  (As she goes.) Oh, Mr. Fowler, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just want to have a word –

  The door closes behind her. Left alone JOHN stands in evident doubt and irresolution. Then he sits down at his table. DOREEN comes in.

  DOREEN. Have you finished?

  JOHN. Not quite, Doreen.

  DOREEN. Make up your mind.

  She begins to clear some things from the other tables. ANNE comes in from the lounge. JOHN doesn’t look at her.

  Oh, hullo, Mrs. Shankland. You’re a bit late for breakfast, I’m afraid. I expect you didn’t know. There’s some coffee left, though, or tea if you’d rather, and I can get you some biscuits. Is that all right?

  ANNE. Thank you. That’s very kind. Coffee please. Not tea.

  DOREEN. Righty-oh.

  She goes into the kitchen.

  ANNE (standing by JOHN’s table, pleadingly). John. (He doesn’t look up.) John –