by David Hare
Charleson smiles.
Charleson I understand.
Susan But I find for the first time in my husband’s career I am beginning to feel some need to intervene.
Charleson I had a message, yes.
Susan I hope you appreciate my loyalty …
Charleson Oh yes.
Susan Coming here at all. Brock is a man who has seen me through some very difficult times …
Charleson I am told.
Susan But this is a matter on which I need to go behind his back.
Charleson gestures reassurance.
My impression is that since our recall from Iran he is in some way being penalized.
Charleson makes no reaction.
As I understand it, you’re Head of Personnel …
Charleson I’m the Chief Clerk, yes …
Susan I’ve come to ask exactly what my husband’s prospects are.
Pause.
I do understand the foreign service now. I know that my husband could never ask himself. Your business is conducted in a code, which it’s considered unethical to break. Signs and indications are all you are given. Your stock is rising, your stock is falling …
Charleson Yes.
Susan Brock has been allocated to a fairly lowly job, backing up the EEC negotiating team …
Charleson He’s part of the push into Europe, yes.
Susan The foreign posts he’s since been offered have not been glittering.
Charleson We offered him Monrovia.
Susan Monrovia. Yes. He took that to be an insult. Was he wrong?
Charleson smiles.
Charleson Monrovia is not an insult.
Susan But?
Charleson Monrovia is more in the nature of a test. A test of nerve, it’s true. If a man is stupid enough to accept Monrovia, then he probably deserves Monrovia. That is how we think.
Susan But you …
Charleson And Brock refused. (He shrugs.) Had we wanted to insult him there are far worse jobs. In this building too. In my view town-twinning is the coup de grâce. I’d far rather be a martyr to the tsetse fly than have to twin Rotherham with Bergen-op-Zoom.
Susan You are evading me.
Pause. Charleson smiles again.
Charleson I’m sorry. It’s a habit, as you say. (He pauses to rethink. Then with confidence) Your husband has never been a flyer, Mrs Brock.
Susan I see.
Charleson Everyone is streamed, a slow stream, a fast stream …
Susan My husband is slow?
Charleson Slowish.
Susan That means …
Charleson What is he? First Secretary struggling towards Counsellor. At forty-one it’s not remarkable, you know.
Susan But it’s got worse.
Charleson You think?
Susan The last six months. He’s never felt excluded from his work before.
Charleson Does he feel that?
Susan I think you know he does.
Pause.
Charleson Well, I’m sure the intention was not to punish him. We have had some trouble in placing him, it’s true. The rather startling decision to desert his post …
Susan That was not his fault.
Charleson We were told. We were sympathetic. Psychiatric reasons?
Susan I was daunted at the prospect of returning to Iran.
Charleson Of course. Persian psychiatry. I shudder at the thought. A heavy-handed people at the best of times. We understood. Family problems. Our sympathy goes out …
Susan But you are blocking his advance.
Charleson thinks, then changes tack again.
Charleson I think you should understand the basis of our talk. The basis on which I agreed to talk. You asked for information. The information is this: that Brock is making haste slowly. That is all I can say.
Susan I’m very keen he should not suffer on my account.
Susan’s voice is low. Charleson looks at his hands.
Charleson Mrs Brock, believe me I recognize your tone. Women have come in here and used it before.
Susan I would like to see my husband advance.
Charleson I also have read the stories in your file, so nothing in your manner is likely to amaze. I do know exactly the kind of person you are. When you have chosen a particular course … (He pauses.) When there is something which you very badly want … (He pauses again.) But in this matter I must tell you, Mrs Brock, it is more than likely you have met your match.
The two of them stare straight at each other.
We are talking of achievement at the highest level. Brock cannot expect to be cosseted through. It’s not enough to be clever. Everyone here is clever, everyone is gifted, everyone is diligent. These are simply the minimum skills. Far more important is an attitude of mind. Along the corridor I boast a colleague who in 1945 drafted a memorandum to the government advising them not to accept the Volkswagen works as war reparation, because the Volkswagen plainly had no commercial future. I must tell you, unlikely as it may seem, that man has risen to the very, very top. All sorts of diplomatic virtues he displays. He has forbearance. He is gracious. He is sociable. Perhaps you begin to understand …
Susan You are saying …
Charleson I am saying that certain qualities are valued here above a simple gift of being right or wrong. Qualities sometimes hard to define …
Susan What you are saying is that nobody may speak, nobody may question …
Charleson Certainly tact is valued very high.
Pause. Susan very low.
Susan Sir Andrew, do you never find it in yourself to despise a profession in which nobody may speak their mind?
Charleson That is the nature of the service, Mrs Brock. It is called diplomacy. And in its practice the English lead the world. (He smiles.) The irony is this: we had an empire to administer, there were six hundred of us in this place. Now it’s to be dismantled and there are six thousand. As our power declines, the fight among us for access to that power becomes a little more urgent, a little uglier perhaps. As our influence wanes, as our empire collapses, there is little to believe in. Behaviour is all.
Pause.
This is a lesson which you both must learn.
A moment, then Susan picks up her handbag to go.
Susan I must thank you for your frankness, Sir Andrew …
Charleson Not at all.
Susan I must, however, warn you of my plan. If Brock is not promoted in the next six days, I am intending to shoot myself.
Susan gets up from her seat. Charleson follows quickly.
Now thank you, and I shan’t stay for the drink …
Charleson (calls) Begley …
Susan I’m due at a reception for Australia Day.
Charleson moves quickly to the inner door. Susan begins talking very fast as she moves to go.
Charleson Begley.
Susan I always like to see just how rude I can be. Not that the Australians ever notice, of course. So it does become a sort of Zen sport, don’t you think?
Begley appears.
Charleson John, I wonder, could you give me a hand?
Begley Sir.
Susan stops near the door, starts talking yet more rapidly.
Susan Ah the side-kick, the placid young man, now where have I seen that character before?
Charleson If we could take Mrs Brock down to the surgery …
Susan I assure you, Sir Andrew, I’m perfectly all right.
Charleson Perhaps alert her husband …
Begley If you’re not feeling well …
Susan People will be waiting at Australia House. I can’t let them down. It will be packed with angry people all searching for me, saying where is she, what a let-down. I only came here to be insulted and now there’s no chance.
Charleson looks at Begley as if to co-ordinate a move. They advance slightly.
Charleson I think it would be better if you …
Susan starts to shout.
Susan Please. Please leave me
alone.
Charleson and Begley stop. Susan is hysterical. She waits a moment.
I can’t … always manage with people.
Pause.
I think you have destroyed my husband, you see.
SCENE TEN
Knightsbridge. Easter 1962.
From the dark the sound of some stately orchestral chords: Mahler, melodic, solemn. It is evening. The room has been restored to its former rather old-fashioned splendour. The curtains are drawn. At a mahogany table sits Alice. She is putting a large pile of leaflets into brown envelopes. Very little disturbs the rhythm of her work. She is dressed exactly as for Scene One.
Brock is sitting at another table at the front of the stage. He has an abacus in front of him and a pile of ledgers and cheque stubs. He is dressed in cavalry twills with a check shirt open at the neck.
The music stops. The stereo machine switches itself off.
Brock Well, I suppose it isn’t too bad. Perhaps we’ll keep going another couple of years. A regime of mineral water and lightly browned toast.
He smiles and stretches. Then turns to look at Alice. There is a bottle of mineral water on the table in front of her.
I assume she’s still in there.
Alice She paces around.
Brock gets up and pours some out.
Brock I told her this morning … we’ll have to sell the house. I’m sure we can cope in a smaller sort of flat. Especially now we don’t have to entertain.
He takes a sip.
I can’t help feeling it will be better, I’m sure. Too much money. I think that’s what went wrong. Something about it corrupts the will to live. Too many years spent sploshing around.
He suddenly listens.
What?
Alice Nothing. She’s just moving about.
He turns to Alice.
Brock Perhaps you’d enjoy to take the evening off. I’m happy to do duty for an hour or two.
Alice I enjoy it. I get to do my work. A good long slog for my charity appeal. And I’ve rather fallen out with all those people I knew. And most of them go off on the Aldermaston March.
Brock Really? Of course. Easter weekend.
He picks his way through the remains of an Indian takeaway meal which is on Alice’s table, searching for good scraps.
Alice Except for Alistair and I’ve no intention of spending an evening with him – or her, as he’s taken to calling himself.
Brock How come?
Alice Apparently he’s just had his penis removed.
Brock Voluntarily? It’s what he intended, I mean?
Alice I believe. In Morocco. And replaced with a sort of pink plastic envelope. I haven’t seen it. He says he keeps the shopping list in there, tucks five pound notes away, so he says.
Brock I thought that strange young girl of yours would ring.
Alice looks up for a moment from her work.
Alice No, no. She decided to move on. There’s some appalling politician, I’m told. On the paedophiliac wing of the Tory party. She’s going to spend the summer swabbing the deck on his yacht. Pleasuring his enormous underside. It’s what she always wanted. The fat. The inane.
She looks up again.
If you’ve nothing to do, you could give a hand with these.
Brock takes no notice, casts aside the scraps.
Brock Looking back, I seem to have been eating all the time. My years in the Foreign Service, I mean. I don’t think I missed a single canapé. Not one. The silver tray flashed and bang, I was there.
Alice Do you miss it?
Brock Almost all the time. There’s not much glamour in insurance, you know.
He smiles.
Something in the Foreign Office suited my style. Whatever horrible things people say. At least they were hypocrites, I do value that now. Hypocrisy does keep things pleasant for at least part of the time. Whereas down in the City they don’t even try.
Alice You chose it.
Brock That’s right. That isn’t so strange. The strange bit is always … why I remain.
He stands staring a moment.
Still, it gives her something new to despise. The sad thing is this time … I despise it as well.
Alice reaches for a typed list of names, pushes aside the pile of envelopes.
Alice Eight hundred addresses, eight hundred names …
Brock You were never attracted? A regular job?
Alice I never had time. Too busy relating to various young men. Falling in and out of love turns out to be like any other career.
She looks up.
I had an idea that lust … that lust was very good. And could be made simple. And cheering. And light. Perhaps I was simply out of my time.
Brock You speak as if it’s over.
Alice I’ve no doubt it is.
Pause.
Brock How long since anyone took a look next door?
Alice That’s why I think it may be time to do good.
Susan opens the door, standing dressed as for Scene One. She is a little dusty.
Susan I need to ask you to move out of here. I am in temporary need of this room. You can go wherever you like. And pretty soon also … you’re welcome to return.
She goes off at once to the desk where she picks items off the surface and throws them quietly into cubbyholes. Alice is looking at Brock.
Brock You’d better tell me, Susan, what you’ve done to your hands.
Susan I’ve just been taking some paper from the wall.
Brock There’s blood.
Susan A fingernail.
Pause.
Brock Susan, what have you actually done?
Brock gets up and goes to the door, looks down the corridor. Susan stands facing the desk, speaks quietly.
Susan I thought as we were going to get rid of the house … and I couldn’t stand any of the things that were there …
He turns back into the room. She turns and looks at him.
Now what’s best to be doing in here?
Brock looks at her, speaks as quietly.
Brock Could you look in the drawer please, Alice, there’s some Nembutal …
Alice I’m not sure we should …
Brock I shan’t ask you again.
Alice slides open the drawer, puts a small bottle of pills on the table. Brock moves a pace towards Susan.
Listen, if we’re going to have to sell this house …
Susan You yourself said it, I’ve often heard you say, it’s money that did it, it’s money that rots. That we’ve all lived like camels off the fat in our humps. Well, then, isn’t the best thing to do … to turn round simply and give the house away?
She smiles.
Alice, would this place suit your needs? Somewhere to set down all your unmarried mothers. If we lay out mattresses, mattresses on the floor …
Alice Well, I …
Susan Don’t your women need a place to live?
Without warning she raises her arms above her head.
By our own hands.
Pause.
Of our own free will. An Iranian vase. A small wooden Buddha. Twelve marble birds copied from an Ottoman king.
Pause.
How can they be any possible use? Look out the bedroom window. I’ve thrown them away.
She opens the door and goes at once into the corridor. At once Brock crosses the room to the desk to look for his address book. Alice starts clearing up the leaflets and envelopes on the table in front of her.
Brock I suppose you conspired.
Alice Not at all.
Brock Well, really?
Alice That was the first that I’ve heard.
Brock In that case, please, you might give me some help. Find out what else she’s been doing out there.
Susan reappears dragging in two packing cases, already half-full. She then starts gathering objects from around the room.
Susan Cutlery, crockery, lampshades and books, books, books. Encyclopedias. Clutter. Meaningless. A universe of things.
Mosquito nets, golf clubs, photographs. China. Marble. Glass. Mementoes in stone. What is this shit? What are these God-forsaken bloody awful things?
Brock turns, still speaking quietly.
Brock Which is the braver? To live as I do? Or never, ever to face life like you?
He holds up the small card he has found.
This is the doctor’s number, my dear. With my permission he can put you inside. I am quite capable of doing it tonight. So why don’t you start to put all those things back?
A pause. Susan looks at him, then to Alice.
Susan Alice, would your women value my clothes?
Alice Well, I …
Susan It sounds fairly silly. I have thirteen evening dresses, though.
Brock Susan.
Susan Obviously not much use as they are. But possibly they could be recut. Resewn?
She reaches out and with one hand picks up an ornament from the mantelpiece which she throws with a crash into the crate. A pause.
Brock Your life is selfish, self-interested gain. That’s the most charitable interpretation to hand. You claim to be protecting some personal ideal, always at a cost of almost infinite pain to everyone around you. You are selfish, brutish, unkind. Jealous of other people’s happiness as well, determined to destroy other ways of happiness they find. I’ve spent fifteen years of my life trying to help you, simply trying to be kind, and my great comfort has been that I am waiting for some indication from you … some sign that you have valued this kindness of mine. Some love perhaps. Insane.
He smiles.
And yet … I really shan’t ever give up, I won’t surrender till you’re well again. And that to me would mean your admitting one thing: that in the life you have led you have utterly failed, failed in the very, very heart of your life. Admit it. Then perhaps you might really move on.
Pause.
Now I’m going to go and give our doctor a ring. I plan at last to beat you at your own kind of game. I am going to play as dirtily and ruthlessly as you. And this time I am certainly not giving in.
Brock goes out. A pause.
Susan Well.
Pause.
Well, goodness. What’s best to do?
Pause.
What’s the best way to start stripping this room?
Susan doesn’t move. Alice stands watching.