Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)
Page 353
Penelope.
The fact is, papa, that as a guide for the young you have rather advanced views.
Golightly.
[With a grotesque, dramatic flourish.] Ungrateful child! And I, like the pelican, have offered you my very heart to dine on.
[Dickie comes in. He is a little embarrassed and uncomfortable.
Dickie.
May I come in?
Penelope.
Yes, do!
Dickie.
[Nodding to the Golightlys.] How d’you do?
Golightly.
[To his wife.] Are you ready?
Mrs. Golightly.
[Getting up.] Yes.
Dickie.
I hope I’m not driving you away.
Golightly.
Oh no, we only came in for ten minutes to say good-bye to Penelope.
[Dickie, rather puzzled at this, gives Penelope a quick look.
Dickie.
Are you ...? [He stops.]
Golightly.
I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, dear.
Penelope.
Oh, I’m sure I shall.
Mrs. Golightly.
Good-bye, darling.
Penelope.
[Kissing her mother.] Good-bye.
[She goes to the bell and rings it.
Golightly.
We can find our way out. Don’t bother about Peyton.
Penelope.
I want to speak to her.
Golightly.
Oh, I see. [Nodding to Dickie.] Good-bye.
[The Golightlys go out. Penelope, with a slight smile, lies down on the sofa and takes up a magazine. She pays no attention to Dickie. He gives her a sidelong glance and arranges his tie in the glass. Peyton comes in.
Penelope.
[Looking up from her magazine.] Oh, Peyton, you might pack up some things for me in that little flat portmanteau of the doctor’s. Put my green charmeuse in.
Peyton.
Very well, ma’am.
Penelope.
You can call a cab in half an hour.
Peyton.
Very well, ma’am.
[Exit.
Dickie.
Are you going away?
Penelope.
Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you?
Dickie.
[Stiffly.] No.
Penelope.
How stupid of me! You see, I was expecting you to spend two or three days in Paris with Ada, and I arranged to motor down to Cornwall with the Hendersons.
Dickie.
But I gave up the trip to Paris so as not to annoy you.
Penelope.
[Smiling.] It wouldn’t have annoyed me a bit, darling.
Dickie.
It ought to have annoyed you.
Penelope.
In any case I’m afraid I can’t throw the Hendersons over. They’ve made up a little partie carrée so that we can play bridge in the evenings.
[Dickie goes up to Pen and sits on the sofa beside her.
Dickie.
Look here, Pen, let’s make it up.
Penelope.
[Quite pleasantly.] But we haven’t quarrelled, have we?
Dickie.
[With a smile.] I don’t know whether I want to shake you or hug you.
Penelope.
Well, if I were you, I’d do neither.
Dickie.
[Taking her hands.] Pen, I want to talk seriously to you.
Penelope.
[Releasing them, with a look at the clock.] Have you time?
Dickie.
What on earth d’you mean?
Penelope.
You generally start off for Mrs. Mack’s about now.
[Dickie gets up and walks up and down the room.
Dickie.
[Resolutely.] Mrs. Mack’s dead.
Penelope.
[Jumping off the sofa.] Dead! When’s the funeral?
Dickie.
The date hasn’t been settled yet.
Penelope.
Well, now you’ll be able to send in your bill.
Dickie.
[Nervously.] Pen, Mrs. Mack never existed.
Penelope.
[With a smile.] I never thought she did, darling.
Dickie.
What!
[Penelope giggles.
Dickie.
D’you mean to say you knew all the time that I’d invented her?
Penelope.
I thought it was very nice of you to make up a plausible excuse for being away so much.
Dickie.
Then, when you bought all those things because I was making such a pot of money, you were just pulling my leg.
Penelope.
[With a smile.] Well....
[Dickie suddenly bursts into a shout of laughter.
Dickie.
[When he recovers.] I say, you have scored us off. Upon my soul, you are a wonderful little woman. I can’t think how I ever saw anything in Ada Fergusson.
Penelope.
Oh, but I think she’s charming.
Dickie.
What nonsense! You know you don’t. If you only knew the life she led me!
Penelope.
I suppose she often asked you if you really loved her?
Dickie.
Ten times a day.
Penelope.
And when you left her, did she want to know exactly at what time you’d come back?
Dickie.
How did you know?
Penelope.
I guessed it.
Dickie.
[Going towards her as if to take her in his arms.] Oh, Pen, let’s forget and forgive.
Penelope.
[Getting out of his way.] There’s nothing to forgive, darling.
Dickie.
[Making a step towards her.] I suppose you want me to eat the dust.... I have behaved like a perfect brute. I’m awfully sorry, and I’ll never do it again.
Penelope.
[Eluding him as though by accident.] I daresay the game isn’t worth the candle.
Dickie.
[Trying to intercept her.] Don’t speak of it.
Penelope.
[Keeping out of his reach.] And I was under the impression you were having such a good time.
Dickie.
I was feeling awfully conscience-stricken.
Penelope.
That’s where women have such an advantage over men. Their conscience never strikes them till they’ve lost their figure and their complexion.
Dickie.
[Stopping.] I say, what are you running round the room for in that ridiculous fashion?
Penelope.
I thought we were playing touch-last.
Dickie.
Don’t be a little beast, Pen. You know you love me, and I simply dote upon you.... I can’t do more than I have done.
Penelope.
What d’you want me to do?
Dickie.
I want you to kiss and make friends.
Penelope.
[Quite good-naturedly.] I think you’re a little previous, aren’t you?
Dickie.
I suppose you’re thinking of Ada Fergusson.
Penelope.
I confess she hadn’t entirely slipped my mind.
Dickie.
Hang Ada Fergusson!
Penelope.
I think that’s rather drastic punishment. After all, she did nothing but succumb to your fatal fascination.
Dickie.
That’s right, put all the blame on me. As if it were men who made the running on these occasions! I never want to see her again.
Penelope.
How changeable you are.
Dickie.
[Going towards her eagerly.] I’m never going to change again. I’ve had my lesson, and I’m going to be good in future.
Penelope.
[Getting a chair between herself and him.] Anyhow, don’t you think you’d better be off with the old love before
you get on with the new?
Dickie.
Yes, but you might help me.
Penelope.
You don’t want me by any chance to tell Ada Fergusson that you don’t care for her any more?
Dickie.
It’s a devilish awkward thing to say oneself.
Penelope.
I can imagine that the best-tempered woman would take it a little amiss.
Dickie.
I say, can’t you suggest something to help me out?
Penelope.
[With a shrug of the shoulders.] My dear, since the days of Ariadne there’s only been one satisfactory way of consoling a deserted maiden.
Dickie.
[With a jump.] Uncle Davenport!
Penelope.
What about Uncle Davenport?
Dickie.
He told me yesterday he thought she was a devilish fine woman.
Penelope.
Oh, no, Dickie, I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice my only uncle.
Dickie.
I’ll just ring him up and tell him she’s not gone to Paris.
Penelope.
No, Dickie. No, Dickie. No, Dickie!
Dickie.
[At the telephone.] Mayfair 7521. I promise you he shall come to no harm. Before it gets serious we’ll tell him that she’s not a Jones of Llandudno, but a Jones of Notting Hill Gate.
Penelope.
[With a giggle.] I don’t think it’s quite nice what you’re doing.
Dickie.
I think it’s horrid. I shall blame myself very much afterwards.
Penelope.
With your moral sense too.
Dickie.
Hulloa, can I speak to Mr. Barlow? Hulloa, is that you, Uncle Davenport? No, I didn’t go to Paris after all. [With a wink at Penelope.] Mrs. Mack had a sudden relapse, and couldn’t be moved. No, Mrs. Fergusson hasn’t gone either.
[Peyton comes in.
Peyton.
Mrs. Fergusson is in the drawing-room, ma’am.
Dickie.
[Speaking down the telephone.] What! Half a minute. Hold on.
Penelope.
I’ve been expecting her all the afternoon. Ask her if she wouldn’t mind coming up here.
Peyton.
Very well, ma’am.
[Exit.
Dickie.
I say, there’s no getting out of it. [At the telephone.] Hulloa. Why don’t you come round? Mrs. Fergusson is calling on Pen, and you can arrange about your luncheon party then.... All right. Good-bye.... I say, I’m going to bolt.
Penelope.
You coward!
Dickie.
[Pretending to be very dignified.] I’m not a coward, Penelope. I shall be back in two minutes. But I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a brandy and soda.
[He bends down to kiss her, but she moves away.
Dickie.
I say, hang it all, you needn’t grudge me one kiss.
Penelope.
[Smiling.] Wait till you’re off with the old love, my friend.
Dickie.
I think it’s a bit thick that a man shouldn’t be allowed to embrace the wife of his bosom.
Penelope.
You shall afterwards, if you’re good.
Dickie.
I say, she’s just coming. What a blessing this room has two doors!
[He goes out. Penelope gets up, looks at herself in the glass, arranges a stray lock of hair, and powders her nose. Ada Fergusson comes in.
Penelope.
[Kissing her effusively.] Dearest ... I hope you don’t mind being dragged up here.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Of course not. I like this room. I always think it’s just the place for a heart-to-heart talk.
Penelope.
How nice you’re looking!
Mrs. Fergusson.
D’you like my frock?
Penelope.
I always think it suits you so well.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Acidly.] It is the first time I have put it on.
Penelope.
Oh, then I suppose I’ve seen one just like it on other people.
Mrs. Fergusson.
You’ll think I’m coming here a great deal, dearest.
Penelope.
You know that Dickie and I are always glad to see you.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Is Dr. O’Farrell at home? I wanted to ask him something about the medicine he prescribed for me yesterday.
Penelope.
Now don’t say you’ve come to see Dickie. I was hoping you’d come to see me.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.
Penelope.
That is a feat of marksmanship which always gives one satisfaction.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I forget if you said that Dr. O’Farrell was at home.
Penelope.
You know, I think you must be the only person who’s known him ten minutes without calling him Dickie.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I should have no confidence in him as a doctor if I did.
Penelope.
I never employ him myself. I always go to Dr. Rogers.
Mrs. Fergusson.
You look as if you had robust health, dearest.
Penelope.
Oh, I just manage to trip along above ground to save funeral expenses.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Is Dr. O’Farrell quite well?
Penelope.
Tired.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Wondering why.] Oh?
[A slight pause.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I suppose you haven’t the least idea when he’ll be home?
Penelope.
I didn’t know he was out.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said he was out.
Penelope.
No.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I must have misunderstood you.
Penelope.
I think he’s lying down. You see he was with poor Mrs. Mack till twelve o’clock last night.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[With a slight start.] Was he?
Penelope.
It’s so bad that she should have had a relapse when she seemed to be going on so well.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Puzzled, but trying not to show it.] I was more distressed than I can say.
Penelope.
And it must have been so inconvenient for you after you’d made all your arrangements for going to Paris.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, of course, I didn’t think of my convenience at all.
Penelope.
Dickie says the way you’ve nursed her is beyond all praise.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I think in this life we ought to do what we can for one another. I only did my duty.
Penelope.
So few of us do that.
Mrs. Fergusson.
When I think of my husband bravely serving his country in a foreign land, I feel that I ought to do anything I can to help others.
[Penelope meditatively winks to herself.
Penelope.
Were you there at the end?
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Astounded.] What end?
Penelope.
You don’t mean to say you don’t know?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Penelope, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.
Penelope.
But Dickie was with Mrs. Mack all this morning.
Mrs. Fergusson.
That’s absurd.
Penelope.
I wonder you weren’t sent for.
Mrs. Fergusson.
But....
[She is speechless with anger and amazement.
Penelope.
Then you really don’t know?
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Desperately.] I know nothing.
Penelope.
My poor, dear Ada. I’m distracted that I should have to give you this bitter, bitter blow. Mrs. Mack is — dead.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Dead!
Penelope.
She died in Dickie’s arms, thanking him for all he’d done for her.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Impossible!
Penelope.
I don’t wonder you say that. She was quite frisky a day or two ago.... Sit down, dear. You’re quite upset. You were very fond of her, weren’t you?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Dead!
Penelope.
Why don’t you have a good cry? Can’t you find your handkerchief? Take this. It’s very sad, isn’t it? And after all you’d done for her?
[Mrs. Fergusson dabs her eyes with the handkerchief.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Forcing herself to be natural.] It’s a great blow.
Penelope.
Oh, I know. I feel for you, dear. Dickie was devoted to her. He said he’d never had such a patient. [Putting her handkerchief to her own eyes.] She died, with a smile on her lips, mentioning her dead husband’s name. Dickie was so moved, he couldn’t eat any lunch, poor boy; and we’re going to have a new landaulette.
[Dickie comes in and stops at the door for a moment as he sees the two women apparently in tears.
Dickie.
I say, what’s up?
Penelope.
[With a sob.] I’ve just broken the news to poor Ada.
Dickie.
What news?
Penelope.
She didn’t know that Mrs. Mack was — no more.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Trying to conceal her rage and mystification.] I certainly didn’t!
Penelope.
You ought to have let her know, Dickie. She would have liked to be — in at the death.
Dickie.
I wanted to spare you.
Mrs. Fergusson.
It’s too kind of you.
Penelope.
I knew that was it. Dickie has such a kind heart.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[With restrained anger.] I have already noticed it.
Penelope.
[To her husband.] And you were so fond of her, weren’t you?
Dickie.
I looked upon her as a real friend.
Penelope.
I’ve told Ada that she expired in your arms, darling.
Dickie.
With a smile on her lips.
Penelope.
That’s just what I said. Murmuring the name of her husband, who’d been dead for forty years. What did you say the name was, Dickie?
Dickie.
Walker, darling.
Penelope.
Tell Ada more. She wants to hear the details.
Dickie.
She asked to be remembered to you. She sent her love to your husband.
Penelope.
She seems to have thought of everything. You must go to the funeral, Dickie.
Dickie.
Yes; I should like to show her that sign of respect.
Penelope.