Separate Tables

by Terence Rattigan

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Does she? Whatever for?

  MISS COOPER. I don’t know, I’m sure. There’s not a lot that goes on in the world – even in West Hampshire – that she likes to miss. And she can afford fourpence for the information, I suppose.

  MAJOR POLLOCK (laughing jovially). Yes, I suppose so. Funny, though – I’ve never seen her reading it.

  MISS COOPER. Oh, she gets a lot of things sent in to her that she never reads. Most of the stuff on that table over there is hers –

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Yes. Yes, I know. She’d have had hers this morning then, I suppose?

  MISS COOPER. Yes. I suppose so.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Oh. Dash it all. Here I’ve gone and spent fourpence for nothing. I mean I could have borrowed hers, couldn’t I?

  He laughs heartily. MISS COOPER smiles politely and having finished her tidying up, goes to the door.

  MISS COOPER. I know you don’t like venison, Major, so I’ve ordered you a chop for lunch tomorrow. Only I must ask you to be discreet about it, if you don’t mind.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Yes, of course. Of course. Thank you so much, Miss Cooper.

  MISS COOPER goes out. MAJOR POLLOCK opens the paper quickly and stares at it for some time, reading avidly. Then he suddenly rips out the whole page, crumpling it up and thrusting it into his pocket. Then he goes quickly to the table, and, after a feverish search. finds the ‘West Hampshire Weekly News’. He has turned it over to find the evidently offending page when MRS. RAILTON-BELL walks into the room from the hall, followed by her daughter SIBYL. The latter is a timid-looking, wizened creature in the thirties, bespectacled, dowdy and without make-up.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (as she enters). Well, if that’s what you meant, you should have said so, dear. I wish you’d learn to express yourself a little bit better – Good afternoon, Major Pollock.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Good afternoon, Mrs. Railton-Bell. (Jovially to SIBYL.) Afternoon, Miss R.B.

  He is holding the paper, unable to hide it, or put it back on the table. He sees that MRS. RAILTON-BELL has noticed it.

  I’m so sorry. I was just glancing through your West Hampshire News. I wonder if you’d let me borrow it for a few moments. There’s something in it I want to see.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Very well, Major. Only please return it.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Of course.

  He goes to the door. MRS. RAILTON-BELL has moved to her seat. As she does so she picks up the other copy of the ‘West Hampshire Weekly News’ from the floor, where MAJOR POLLOCK has dropped it.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. What’s this? Here’s another copy

  MAJOR POLLOCK (feigning astonishment). Of the West Hampshire Weekly News?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Yes.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Well I’m dashed.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. It was on the floor over here.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. Must be one of the casuals, I suppose.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. You’d better take it, anyway, and leave me mine.

  MAJOR POLLOCK (doubtfully). You don’t think, whoever owns it, might –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. If it’s been thrown down on the floor, it’s plainly been read. I’d like mine back, if you don’t mind, please, Major.

  MAJOR POLLOCK (conceding defeat). Righty-oh. I’ll put it back with the others.

  He does so, and takes the other copy from MRS. RAILTON-BELL.

  Think I’ll just go out for a little stroll.

  SIBYL (shyly). You don’t happen to want company, do you, Major Pollock? I haven’t had my walk yet.

  MAJOR POLLOCK (embarrassed). Well, Miss R.B. – jolly nice suggestion and all that – the only thing is I’m going to call on a friend – you see – and –

  SIBYL (more embarrassed than he). Oh yes, yes. Of course. I’m so sorry.

  MAJOR POLLOCK. No, no. I’m the one who’s sorry. Well, cheerie-bye till dinner.

  He goes out.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I wish he wouldn’t use that revolting expression. It’s so common. But then he is common –

  SIBYL. Oh no, Mummy. Do you think so? He was in a very good regiment.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. You can be in the Horse Guards and still be common, dear. (Gently.) Sibyl, my dearest, do you mind awfully if your tactless old mother whispers something in your ear?

  SIBYL (resigned). No.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I didn’t think it was terribly wise of you to lay yourself open to that snub just now.

  SIBYL. It wasn’t a snub, Mummy. I’m sure he really was going to see a friend –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL smiles understandingly and sympathetically, shaking her head ever so slightly.

  Well, I often do go for walks with the Major.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I know you do, dear. What is more quite a lot of people have noticed it.

  Pause. SIBYL stares at her mother.

  SIBYL (at length). You don’t mean – you can’t mean – (She jumps up and holds her cheeks with a sudden gesture.) Oh no. How can people be so awful!

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. It’s not being particularly awful when an unattached girl is noticed constantly seeking the company of an attractive older man.

  SIBYL (still holding her cheeks). They think I chase him. Is that it? They think I run after him, they think I want – they think – no it is awful. It is. It is. It is.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (sharply). Quieten yourself my dear. Don’t get into one of your states, now.

  SIBYL. It’s all right, Mummy. I’m not in a state. It’s just – well – it’s just so dreadful that people should believe such a thing is even possible. I hate that side of life. I hate it.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (soothingly). I know you do, dear. But it exists, all the same, and one has to be very careful in this world not to give people the wrong impression. Quieter now?

  SIBYL. Yes, Mummy.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Good. You must try not to let these things upset you so much, dear.

  SIBYL. I only go for walks with the Major because I like hearing him talk. I like all his stories about London and the war and the regiment – and – well – he’s seen so much of life and I haven’t –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I don’t know what you mean by that, dear, I’m sure.

  SIBYL. I only meant – (She checks herself.) I’m sorry.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (relentlessly pursuing her prey). Of course I realize that you must occasionally miss some of the gaieties of life – the balls and the cocktail parties and things – that a few other lucky young people can enjoy. I can assure you, dearest, if I could possibly afford it, you’d have them. But I do do my best, you know.

  SIBYL. I know you do, Mummy.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. There was Rome last year, and our Scandinavian cruise the year before –

  SIBYL. I know, Mummy. I know. Don’t think I’m not grateful. Please. It’s only – (She stops.)

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (gently prompting). Only what, dear?

  SIBYL. If only I could do something. After all, I’m thirty-three –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Now, my dear. We’ve been over this so often. Dearest child, you’d never stand any job for more than a few weeks. Remember Jones & Jones?

  SIBYL. But that was because I had to work in a basement, and I used to feel stifled and faint. But there must be something else.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (gently patting her hand). You’re not a very strong child, dear. You must get that into your head. Your nervous system isn’t nearly as sound as it should be.

  SIBYL. You mean my states? But I haven’t had one of those for a long time –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. No, dear – you’ve been doing very well. Very well, indeed. But there’s quite a big difference between not having hysterical fits and being strong enough to take on a job. (Concluding the topic decisively.) Hand me that newspaper, would you, dear?

  SIBYL. Which one?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. The West Hampshire Weekly News. I want to see what the Major was so interested in.

  SIBYL hands her the paper. MRS RAILTON-BELL fumbles in her pockets.

&
nbsp; Oh, dear me, what a silly billy! I’ve gone and left my glasses and my book in the shelter at the end of Ragusa Road. Oh dear, I do hope they’re not stolen. I expect they’re bound to be. Now – doesn’t that show how dependent I am on you, my dear? If you hadn’t had that headache you’d have been with me this afternoon, and then you’d never have allowed me to –

  SIBYL. I’ll go and look for them.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Oh, would you, dear? That really is so kind of you. I hate you to fetch and carry for me, as you know – but my old legs are just a wee bit tired – it was the far end of the shelter, facing the sea.

  SIBYL. Where we usually sit? I know.

  She goes out. MRS. RAILTON-BELL opens the paper and scanning it very close to her eyes, she turns the pages to what she plainly knows, from past experience, to be the interesting section. Suddenly she stops moving the paper across her eyes. We do not see her face but the paper itself begins to shake slightly as she reads. LADY MATHESON comes in.

  LADY MATHESON. Oh, hullo dear. It’s nearly time for the newsreel.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (in a strained voice). Gladys, have you got your glasses?

  LADY MATHESON. Yes, I think so. (She feels in her pocket.) Yes, here they are.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Then read this out to me.

  She hands her the paper and points.

  LADY MATHESON (unsuspecting). Where, dear? Lorry driver loses licence?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. No, no. Ex-officer bound over.

  LADY MATHESON (brightly). Oh yes. (Reading.) ‘Ex-officer bound over. Offence in cinema.’ (Looking up.) In cinema? Oh dear – do we really want to hear this?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (Grimly). Yes, we do. Go on.

  LADY MATHESON (reading, resignedly). ‘On Thursday last, before the Bournemouth Magistrates, David Angus Pollock, 55, giving his address as (She starts violently.) the Beauregard Hotel, Morgan Crescent – ’ (In a feverish whisper.) Major Pollock? Oh!

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Go on.

  LADY MATHESON (reading). ‘Morgan Crescent – pleaded guilty to a charge of insulting behaviour in a Bournemouth cinema.’ Oh! Oh! ‘On the complaint of a Mrs. Osborn, 43 (Breathlessly.) of 4 Studland Road.’ He must have been drinking –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. He’s a teetotaller.

  LADY MATHESON. Perhaps just that one night.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. No. Read on.

  LADY MATHESON. ‘Mrs. Osborn, giving evidence, stated that Pollock, sitting next to her, persistently nudged her in the arm, and later attempted to take other liberties. She subsequently vacated her seat, and complained to an usherette. Inspector Franklin, giving evidence, said that in response to a telephone call from the cinema manager, Pollock had been kept under observation by police officers from three fifty-three p.m. until seven-ten p.m. by which time he had been observed to change his seat no less than five times, always choosing a seat next to a female person. There had, he admitted, been no further complaints, but that was not unusual in cases of this kind. On leaving the cinema Pollock was arrested and after being charged and cautioned stated: ‘You have made a terrible mistake. You have the wrong man. I was only in the place half an hour. I am a colonel in the Scots Guards.’ Later he made a statement. Appearing on behalf of the defendant, Mr. William Crowther, solicitor, stated that his client had had a momentary aberration. He was extremely sorry and ashamed of himself and would undertake never to behave in so stupid and improper a manner in future. He asked that his client’s blameless record should be taken into account. He had enlisted in the army in 1925 and in 1939 was granted a commission as second lieutenant in the Royal Army Service Corps. During the war, he had held a responsible position in charge of an Army Supply Depot in the Orkney Islands, and had been discharged in 1946 with the rank of full lieutenant. Pollock was not called. The Chairman of the Bench, giving judgment, said: “You have behaved disgustingly, but because this appears to be your first offence we propose to deal leniently with you.” The defendant was bound over for twelve months.’

  She lowers the paper, disturbed and flustered to the core of her being.

  Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (perfectly composed but excited). Thursday. It must have happened on Wednesday. Do you remember – he missed dinner that night?

  LADY MATHESON. Did he? Yes, so he did. Oh dear. It’s all too frightful! I can hardly believe it. Persistently. It’s so dreadful.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. On the Thursday he was terribly nervous and depressed. I remember now. And then on the Friday, suddenly as bright as a button. Of course he must have read the papers and thought he’d got away with it. What a stroke of luck that I get this weekly one sent to me.

  LADY MATHESON. Luck, dear? Is it luck?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Of course it’s luck. Otherwise we’d never have known.

  LADY MATHESON. Wouldn’t that have been better?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Gladys! What are you saying?

  LADY MATHESON. I don’t know, oh dear. I’m so fussed and confused. No, of course, it wouldn’t have been better. One has to know these things, I suppose – although sometimes I wonder why.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Because if there’s a liar and a fraudulent crook and a – I can’t bring myself to say it – wandering around among us unsuspected, there could be – well – there could be the most terrible repercussions.

  LADY MATHESON. Well, he’s been wandering around among us for four years now and there haven’t been any repercussions yet. (With a faint sigh.) I suppose we’re too old.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (coldly). I have a daughter, you know.

  LADY MATHESON. Oh. Poor Sibyl. Yes. And she’s such a friend of his, isn’t she? Oh dear.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Exactly.

  LADY MATHESON (after a moment’s troubled reflection). Maud, dear – it’s not my business, I know, and of course you have a mother’s duty to protect your child, that of course I do see – and yet – well – she’s such a strange girl – so excitable and shy – and so ungrownup in so many ways –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Come to the point, Gladys.

  LADY MATHESON. Yes, I will. It’s this. I don’t think you ought to tell her this.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Not tell her?

  LADY MATHESON. Well, not all of it. Not the details. Say he’s a fraud, if you like, but not – please, Maud – not about the cinema. (Suddenly distressed by the thought herself.) Oh dear! I don’t know how I shall ever look him in the face again.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. You won’t have to, dear. (She has risen purposefully from her chair.) I’m going to see Miss Cooper now, and insist that he leaves this hotel before dinner tonight.

  LADY MATHESON. Oh dear. I wonder if you should?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Gladys, what has come over you this evening? Of course I should.

  LADY MATHESON. But you know what Miss Cooper is – so independent and stubborn sometimes. She might not agree.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Of course she’ll agree. She has to agree if we all insist.

  LADY MATHESON. But we don’t all. I mean it’s just the two of us. Shouldn’t we consult the others first? (Suddenly realising the implication.) Oh gracious! Of course that means we’ll have to tell them all, doesn’t it?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (delighted). An excellent idea, Gladys. Where’s Mr. Fowler?

  LADY MATHESON. In his room, I think.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. And the young people? Shall we have them? They count as regulars by now, I suppose. Yes. We’ll have them too.

  LADY MATHESON. Oh dear. I hate telling tales.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Telling tales? (She points dramatically to the ‘West Hampshire Weekly News’.) The tale is told already, Gladys – to the world.

  LADY MATHESON. Well, strictly speaking – only to West Hampshire.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Don’t quibble, Gladys. (At the french windows.) Miss Meacham’s in the garden. I really don’t think we need bother about Miss Meacham. She’s so odd and unpredictable – and getting odder and more unpredictable every day.
Here comes Sibyl. Go up and get the others down, dear. I’ll deal with her.

  LADY MATHESON. Maud, you won’t –

  SIBYL comes in.

  You’ll remember what I said, won’t you?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Yes, of course. Go on, dear.

  LADY MATHESON goes out.

  (To SIBYL.) Clever girl. You found them, did you, darling?

  She takes the book and the glasses from SIBYL. There is a pause.

  (At length.) Sibyl dear, I think you’d better go to your room if you don’t mind.

  SIBYL. Why, Mummy?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. We’re holding a meeting of the regulars down here to discuss a very urgent matter that has just cropped up.

  SIBYL. Oh, but how exciting. Can’t I stay? After all, I’m a regular, too –

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I know, dear, but I doubt if the subject of the meeting is quite suitable for you.

  SIBYL. Why, Mummy? What is it?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Oh dear! You’re such an inquisitive child. Very well, then. I’ll tell you this much – but only this much. We are going to discuss whether or not we think that Miss Cooper should be told to ask Major Pollock to leave this hotel at once and never come back.

  SIBYL (aghast). What? But I don’t understand. Why, Mummy? (MRS. RAILTON-BELL does not reply.) Mummy, tell me, why?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. I can’t tell you, dear. It might upset you too much.

  SIBYL. But I must know, Mummy. I must. What has he done?

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (after only the slightest hesitation). You really insist I should tell you?

  SIBYL. Yes, I do.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL. Even after my strong warning?

  SIBYL. Yes.

  MRS. RAILTON-BELL (with a sigh). Very well, then, dear. I have no option, I suppose.

  With a quick gesture she hands the paper to SIBYL.

  Read that. Middle column. Half-way down. Ex-officer bound over.

  SIBYL reads. MRS. RAILTON-BELL watches her. Suddenly SIBYL sits, her eyes staring, but her face blank. LADY MATHESON comes in. She sees SIBYL instantly.