Love in Idleness / Less Than Kind

by Terence Rattigan

  JOHN. I fail to see the connection. I’m sorry.

  OLIVIA (smoothing her dress, vaguely). Don’t you, darling? Back in a minute.

  She blows him a kiss and goes out. Left alone, JOHN finishes off his drink, then opens the heavy, official-looking envelope which he received from the MOI. He pulls some papers out and runs his eye over them briefly. He utters an ejaculation, reaches for the telephone and quickly dials a number.

  JOHN (into telephone). Parker… Fletcher here. Listen – those idiots at the RMB3 have sent the wrong report… Yes. Ring them up and give them hell, will you? Tell them that they’re a bunch of incompetent halfwits who’d be sacked in a week from any decently run business concern… I don’t care if they’re all field marshals, it’s the truth – so pitch it as strong as you like. And tell them to have the correct report sent to me in half an hour at The Savoy. No. My secretary’s gone home. They’ll have to send a messenger… That’s right.

  He rings off, and is still sitting down, angrily stuffing the papers back into the envelope, when MICHAEL comes in with a grim, set expression on his face. He advances on JOHN and stands opposite him, glaring down at him.

  MICHAEL. Now, look here, Fletcher –

  JOHN. What did you call me?

  MICHAEL. Fletcher. That’s your name, isn’t it?

  JOHN. What the devil –

  MICHAEL. You’d better listen to me. There’s something jolly fishy going on in this house and by gosh, I’m going to get to the bottom of it, if it’s the last thing I do.

  JOHN, who has half-risen from his chair in anger, sinks back down.

  JOHN. What exactly do you mean?

  MICHAEL. I’ve just been having a talk with that old girl – what’s her name?

  JOHN. Polton.

  MICHAEL. That’s right, Polton. Anyway, I just asked her how long she’d been with Mum and whether she was with her at Swiss Cottage, and she said she hadn’t worked for Mum before she came to live in this house, but that she’d been with you for fifteen years.

  JOHN (mildly). That, of course, is true –

  MICHAEL. What’s more, she admitted, after I’d cross-examined her a bit, that the whole house belongs to you and every darned thing in it. Is that true too?

  JOHN. Yes, that’s true, too.

  MICHAEL. So then I went into Mum’s room, and by gosh, in the wardrobe there I found about fifty dresses which I’d never seen before and which I know jolly well she never had the money to pay for herself. Did you pay for those fifty dresses?

  JOHN. You exaggerate the number, Michael. With clothes rationing there couldn’t possibly –

  MICHAEL (furiously). By gosh, Fletcher, don’t you trifle with me. Did you or did you not pay for them.

  JOHN (at length). Yes. I paid for them.

  MICHAEL. And all those jewels and things on her dressing table?

  JOHN. Yes, those too.

  MICHAEL. And that weighing machine in the bathroom?

  JOHN. No. I think she paid for that herself.

  MICHAEL. But with money you gave her?

  JOHN. That is possible.

  MICHAEL. All right, then. I don’t need to hear any more. I understand the situation perfectly.

  JOHN (mildly). I don’t think you do, Michael. If I might suggest it, I think it would be better for you to wait until you hear what your mother has to say to you before you come to any conclusions.

  MICHAEL. Good gosh, what do you think I am – a babe in arms? What other conclusions are there to come to, except that you are my mother’s paramour –

  OLIVIA come in and again stops short as she looks from one to the other.

  OLIVIA. Oh Lord! What’s up now?

  JOHN. He knows.

  OLIVIA. About us?

  JOHN. Yes.

  OLIVIA. How?

  JOHN. Polton.

  OLIVIA. Oh. (Turns to MICHAEL.) Michael, darling, I was going to tell you, you know, only –

  MICHAEL. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not hear anything more from either of you until I’ve had time to think this thing out.

  OLIVIA. Darling, I so understand it must be a terrible shock for you, but do please reserve judgement until you’ve heard the whole story…

  JOHN. I asked him to do that, too.

  OLIVIA. I don’t think I need to hear the whole story. I know it before you start. It’s an old story. A ruthless multi-millionaire with no scruples and no morals, who’s prepared to ride roughshod over human lives to reach his goal, and a poor, weak, unprotected widow –

  OLIVIA (laughing). Darling, really! What on earth have you been reading?

  MICHAEL. Oh, I don’t expect you to see the truth as I see it, Mum. You’re probably infatuated with the man. Besides, I don’t blame you nearly as much as I blame him. You’ve just been weak. He’s been vile.

  OLIVIA. Michael, really! Stop it at once! You’re not to talk to us like that – do you hear?

  MICHAEL (with dignity). Very well. I shan’t say another word until I’ve thought out what I’m going to do.

  He folds his arms and stands in grim silence, glaring at JOHN, who looks despairingly at OLIVIA for help. OLIVIA, meeting his glance, seems as nonplussed as he. It is nevertheless she who breaks the silence.

  OLIVIA. I tell you what. Let’s go out now – the three of us – and have our dinner, and over dinner John and I will tell you the whole story from beginning to end. How’s that?

  MICHAEL. Very well. We’ll go and have dinner. (Gets halfway to the door and then turns.) Only there’s one condition I’ve got to make. This dinner’s on me.

  OLIVIA. Oh. That’s very sweet of you, darling, but surely, wouldn’t it be better if –

  MICHAEL (pointing at JOHN). I’m not going to let him pay for dinner.

  JOHN (to OLIVIA). I’ll go to my Club.

  MICHAEL (in even tones). No. I shall want you to come along. There’ll be some questions I shall have to ask you.

  JOHN. Oh, very well.

  OLIVIA. Darling, it’s all too absurd, as you’ll soon see when I tell you the story. Still, if you insist, you’d better let me pay for dinner –

  MICHAEL (gently but firmly). No, Mum. I’m sorry, but that would be equivalent to letting him pay.

  OLIVIA. But, darling, I’m quite sure you can’t possibly afford to take us to The Savoy.

  MICHAEL. No, that’s quite true. We’ll have to think of somewhere else. (Ponders a moment.) I know. The Tuck Inn.

  OLIVIA. The Tuck Inn?

  MICHAEL. You remember it – in Puffin’s Corner, off Belvedere Road, Barons Court.

  OLIVIA. Oh yes. But, darling, are you sure that’s quite the best place –

  MICHAEL. It’s a corking place. We used to get a jolly good three-course meal there for one and fourpence. Don’t you remember – you used to take me there on Annie’s afternoon out.

  OLIVIA. I know, darling, but don’t you think it would be better to look for a place somewhere round here?

  MICHAEL. Oh no. You don’t get nearly such good value for money round here. Besides, they’ll know me there, and we’ll get service.

  OLIVIA. But, Michael, dear, it’s such an awfully long way to go –

  MICHAEL. Oh no. Not by bus. We’ll be there inside of half an hour.

  OLIVIA. Oh, but we wouldn’t need to go by bus. John’s car is outside, isn’t it, John?

  JOHN, evidently in something of a daze, merely nods.

  MICHAEL. I’m sorry – I’m afraid we can’t use his car. (Firmly.) We’ll go by bus.

  OLIVIA. I don’t think I know how to get there by bus.

  MICHAEL. Oh, I do. We’ll get a number 2 to Trafalgar Square. Then we’ll change onto a number 96. At South Kensington we’ll get a number 49. That’ll take us to the top of Belvedere Road. We can walk the rest of the way. It isn’t far from there, is it?

  OLIVIA (also now in a daze). No, darling. It isn’t far from there.

  OLIVIA and JOHN look at each other. JOHN goes quickly to the telephone.

  JOHN (as he d
ials). Excuse me a moment. (Into receiver.) Hullo, Parker? About that report. Instead of The Savoy, will you have it sent to – (Speaking very slowly.) The Tuck Inn, Puffin’s Corner, off Belvedere Road, Barons Court… Puffin’s Corner. That’s right. Only don’t have it sent for half an hour, as I gather we shall be a little time getting there… No, no, no, Parker. Tuck Inn. Tuck… That’s right. (Rings off).

  MICHAEL. Okay. Let’s go.

  OLIVIA, with a sigh, goes into the hall. JOHN and MICHAEL both wait at the door for the other. MICHAEL indicates to JOHN to go out first. JOHN obeys. MICHAEL follows him out and closes the door.

  Curtain.

  End of Act One.

  ACT TWO

  The same, a few days later.

  OLIVIA sits at her desk, writing letters. JOHN is walking up and down the centre of the room, dictating a speech to MISS DELL. The time of day is about 7 p.m.

  JOHN (dictating). And now, in conclusion, let me turn for a few moments to a subject that is very much uppermost in all our minds at the moment – a vexed subject and one on which I am perhaps little qualified to speak – but a subject nevertheless – (Breaking off.) Is that too many subjects, Miss Dell?

  MISS DELL. I don’t think so, Sir John. We’ve often had more.

  JOHN. Very well. (Dictating.) – But a subject nevertheless on which I have at least as much right to hold and express an opinion as any other subject –

  MISS DELL. Subject.

  JOHN. Quite so. (Dictating.) – As any other citizen of this Empire. I refer, of course, to the question of the future of British industry in the years immediately following this peace. Now before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –

  The telephone rings. OLIVIA gets up to answer it.

  If that telephone rings once more I shall go mad.

  OLIVIA. Sorry, dear.

  JOHN. Why can’t Polton answer it in the hall?

  OLIVIA. It still wouldn’t stop it ringing in here, would it? Besides, it might be important – you never know. (Into receiver). Hullo… Oh, hullo, Joan darling …

  JOHN (with a gesture of despair). That means half an hour, Miss Dell.

  OLIVIA. Darling, I mustn’t talk for long because John’s in here working… Yes, I’m having his study redecorated, poor pet, and he’s got nowhere else to go… No, apple-green – it’s so much more restful for a study, don’t you think?… Yes, well, I had thought of a very pale, pale blue with just the tiniest hint of grey – you know the colour, don’t you, darling, it’s what Laura Ryde-Davies had for her dining room. Though I must say that room of hers is such a hideous shape that I don’t think anything can stop it looking a mess…

  JOHN makes another gesture of despair. OLIVIA sees it.

  No, really? She didn’t?… Darling, I really must stop or John’ll throw something at me. Was there anything important?… Michael?… Oh, did you, darling, I’m so glad… Yes, he is rather a lamb, isn’t he?… Well – just over sixteen… (Lowering her voice confidentially.) Yes, well, I told you about that, didn’t I? – What trouble there was when he first arrived… No, I’m glad to say he’s settling down quite nicely. He seems to accept things a bit better now, if you see what I mean… Of course, I had to explain it all to him for hours – you know how young he is…

  JOHN coughs warningly and indicates MISS DELL with his head. MISS DELL is reading her notes, apparently oblivious of the conversation.

  (Out of the corner of her mouth.) Darling, I can’t speak very freely at the moment. Il y une personne ici… oui, c’est ça… Yes. Goodbye, darling – thanks so much for calling…

  She rings off.

  Sorry, John dear, only you know how that woman talks.

  JOHN (meaningly). Quite so.

  OLIVIA (indignantly). Well, short of slamming the receiver down in her face, I don’t see I could have done much more. (Going back to her desk.) She simply adored Michael.

  JOHN. Really?

  OLIVIA. She said he was the most fetching thing she’d seen for months.

  JOHN. Indeed?

  OLIVIA. All right, dear, go on with your speech. It sounds awfully good. Where are you making it?

  JOHN. At Dumfries.

  OLIVIA (busy writing again). Oh. How nice.

  JOHN. Why do you consider it nice for me to make a speech at Dumfries?

  Pause. OLIVIA, deep in her work, does not reply.

  (Repeating louder.) I said, why do you consider it nice for me to make a speech at Dumfries?

  OLIVIA. What? Oh, I don’t know. Don’t interrupt me, do you mind, dear. I’m in the middle of accounts.

  JOHN meets MISS DELL’s sympathetic glance. He sighs.

  JOHN. Where did I get to, Miss Dell?

  MISS DELL (reading from her notes). Before I begin I would like to make it quite clear –

  JOHN. Oh yes. Now let me see. I would like to make it quite clear –

  MICHAEL comes in.

  OLIVIA. Oh, hullo, darling. Had a nice day at the office?

  MICHAEL. Not bad, thanks. (Stares moodily at JOHN.)

  JOHN (for MISS DELL’s benefit). Good evening, Michael.

  MICHAEL (with a stiff little bow). Good evening.

  OLIVIA has risen from her accounts, to greet MICHAEL.

  OLIVIA. They’re not working you too hard, I hope, dear. Nine till seven seems awfully long somehow for a boy of your age –

  MICHAEL. Well, of course, it’s just jolly silly their keeping us there till seven. There’s never any work to do after six. We just sit about and do nothing.

  OLIVIA. Yes, that does seem silly. John, dear, couldn’t you do something about that?

  JOHN (controlling himself with difficulty). Olivia, my dear, roughly five thousand people work in my Ministry. I’m afraid that, at this stage in the war, I can hardly see my way to ordering the loss of some thirty thousand man-hours per week in order that Michael may get back home a little sooner.

  OLIVIA. Oh well, of course, if you put it like that –

  JOHN. I’m afraid I must put it like that.

  MICHAEL. Mark you, not everyone seems to have to stay there till seven – not by a long chalk. I notice quite a few people seem to be able to manage to sneak off home early.

  He shoots a meaningful look at JOHN as he says this. JOHN’s patience, as we can see from his twitching fingers, is on the point of exhaustion.

  JOHN. If you should be referring to myself, Michael, it might interest you to learn that I’m in the middle of some rather trying and responsible work at this very moment – (Raising his voice.) and I’d be awfully grateful if you and your mother would allow just a few brief moments of – (Roaring.) peace and bloody quiet.

  MICHAEL. Go ahead. I won’t disturb you.

  OLIVIA. Nor will I, dear.

  OLIVIA, smiling at MICHAEL, puts her fingers on her lips, enjoining silence. Then she tiptoes back to her desk.

  JOHN (to MISS DELL). I’m extremely sorry, Miss Dell.

  MISS DELL. Not at all, sir.

  JOHN. Now where was I?

  MISS DELL. – Before I begin I would like to make it clear –

  JOHN. Oh yes. Before I begin –

  MICHAEL has gone to the desk and is whispering something to his mother. JOHN stops dictating and glares at them.

  OLIVIA. All right, dear. He only wanted his book. He left it in a drawer. Here you are, darling.

  She hands him the book. MICHAEL takes it and goes towards the sofa, where he throws himself down, facing JOHN.

  JOHN (to MISS DELL). I would like to make it quite clear that I am no politician. It was as a businessman that I was brought into the Government, and it is as a businessman, pure and simple, that I address you now.

  MICHAEL has lowered his book, and is staring fixedly at JOHN.

  (To MISS DELL). Cut that pure and simple. It is as a plain businessman that I address you now.

  MICHAEL nods. JOHN pretends not to see him.

  As many of you will know, I am of Canadian birth. All my life I have stood for a policy of closer
industrial union and coordination within the Empire. (Defiantly, at MICHAEL.) Our left-wing friends have dubbed this policy reactionary and imperialistic. Very well, then. If this is reaction, if this is imperialism, then I am a reactionary and I am an imperialist. Do I feel ashamed of so being? (With a proud laugh.) Far from it. Very far from it indeed. I glory in my unrepentance.

  MICHAEL, with no change of expression, remains staring fixedly at JOHN.

  So let our young pink intellectuals scoff and sneer, let them hurl their odium at my head. I stand still where yet I stood. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

  MICHAEL. Harm me.

  JOHN (with cold fury). Harm me, Miss Dell.

  MISS DELL. I think you were right, Sir John. It’s hurt me.

  MICHAEL. I’m pretty sure it’s harm me.

  OLIVIA (from the desk). I learnt it as injure me.

  MICHAEL. Oh no, Mum. Injure me wouldn’t scan. It’s harm me.

  MISS DELL. Hurt me, I think. Words can never hurt me.

  JOHN (with controlled fury). It is possible that the dictum is true of yourself, Miss Dell, but I can assure you that the words that you, Olivia and Michael are uttering at this moment are hurting or harming or injuring me like blue hell. Now may I please, please be allowed ten minutes of comparative quiet. That is all I ask, and it is not very much – and I shall have finished my speech.

  MISS DELL. I’m so sorry, Sir John.

  OLIVIA. Terribly sorry, John, dear. (Turns back to the desk, muttering metrically.) But words – can nev – er – inj – ure – me.

  She shakes her head, puzzled, and is about to repeat it when she meets JOHN’s glare and hurriedly turns back to the desk.

  JOHN (continuing). So let me turn to a brief outline of the industrial and economic policy for which I stand. The Empire is a family – a family which – a family whose – no – a family from which – (To MICHAEL, suddenly.) Must you stare at me like that?

  MICHAEL. I was thinking. (Returns his gaze to his book.)

  JOHN. You know, if you turned the other way round, the light would be much better for you.

  MICHAEL. I can see all right, thanks.

  OLIVIA, turning from the desk, signals to MICHAEL by elaborate and smiling pantomime to humour JOHN, by changing his position. MICHAEL, with a patient shrug, agrees and twists himself around acrobatically so that his back is to JOHN. JOHN waits until these manoeuvres are completed before continuing.