Dangerous Corner

J. B. Priestley

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781840022513
• eBook ISBN: 9781849435970
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

At their stylish country retreat, Freda and Robert Caplan host a dinner party for their colleagues and friends, all executives at a transatlantic publishing company. Young, beautiful and successful they have the world at their feet. Then a cigarette box and and an ill-considered remark spark off a relentless series of revelations and other, more dangerous secrets are painfully exposed. As the truth spills out about the suicide of Robert's clever, reckless brother, and the group's perfect lives begin to crumble, the cost of professional and social success becomes frighteningly plain.

ACT ONE

The drawing room of the CAPLANS’ house at Chantbury Close. It is after dinner.

The curtain rises on the stage in darkness. There is a sound of a revolver shot, somewhat muffled, followed by a woman’s scream. After a small interval of silence, FREDA says, with a touch of irony, ‘There!’ and switches on the lights at the mantelpiece, where she remains standing for a minute or two.

OLWEN is discovered sitting in the armchair below the fireplace, left. BETTY is sitting on the settee down centre. MISS MOCKRIDGE is in the armchair, right centre, smoking a cigarette from a long cigarette-holder.

FREDA CAPLAN is in her late twenties or early thirties, rather tall and fair. She is very smart and self-possessed, superficially rather hard, but capable of showing signs of deep emotion.

OLWEN PEEL is about the same age as FREDA, dark, not so smart, but quite trim. She has a pleasant open manner, but is just a trifle aloof.

BETTY WHITEHOUSE, in her early twenties, is very pretty, preferably rather small, and a decided blonde. She should be dressed to emphasize her youthfulness. Petulant, kittenish, in lighter scenes, and shrill and hysterical in the emotional passages.

MISS MOCKRIDGE, between forty-five and fifty, is a heavy, sophisticated woman, well-dressed. She has an authoritative manner and a speculative eye.

They are all in evening dress, and have obviously been listening to the wireless, on the table up right, and waiting for the men to join them. FREDA starts to move across to switch off the set when the wireless announcer, speaking in the accents of his kind, begins.

ANNOUNCER: You have just been listening to a play in eight scenes, specially written for Broadcasting, by Mr Humphrey Stoat, called The Sleeping Dog.

FREDA: (Crossing slowly to the radio set.) And that’s that. I hope it didn’t bore you, Miss Mockridge?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Not in the least.

BETTY: I don’t like the plays and the stuffy talks. I like the dance music, and so does Gordon.

FREDA: (Switching off the radio.) Dance fiends! You know, Miss Mockridge, every time my brother Gordon comes here, he annoys us by fiddling about trying to get dance music. (She comes down and switches on the lamp on the piano.)

BETTY: I adore switching off the solemn pompous lecturers – just extinguishing them.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: What did they call that play?

OLWEN: The Sleeping Dog.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Why the ‘sleeping’ dog?

BETTY: Because you had to let him lie.

FREDA: Let who lie? (She takes a cigarette from the box on the piano, then crosses behind MISS MOCKRIDGE’s chair to the table, centre.)

BETTY: Well, they were all telling lies, weren’t they? Or they had been.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: How many scenes did we miss?

OLWEN: Five, I think.

(FREDA lights her cigarette from a match on the table.)

MISS MOCKRIDGE: I suppose they must have been telling a lot of lies in those scenes. That’s why that man was so angry – the husband, I mean.

BETTY: But which was the husband? Was it the one with the adenoidy voice?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: (Briskly.) Yes; the one with the adenoidy voice: and he went and shot himself. Very pathetic, I’m sure.

FREDA: Rather too many adenoids. (She sits on left arm of the armchair, left centre.)

MISS MOCKRIDGE: They’re rather pathetic, too.

(They laugh, and then there comes a subdued burst of laughter from the men in the dining room, somewhere off back.)

BETTY: Listen to the men.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: They’re probably laughing at something very improper.

BETTY: No, just gossip. Men gossip like anything.

FREDA: Of course they do.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Quite right. People who don’t like gossip aren’t interested in their fellow creatures. I insist upon my publishers gossiping.

BETTY: Yes, but the men pretend it’s business.

FREDA: They’ve got a marvellous excuse now that they’re all three directors of the firm.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Yes, of course. Miss Peel, I think you ought to marry Mr Stanton.

OLWEN: Oh, why should I?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: To complete the pattern here. Then there’d be three pairs of adoring husbands and wives. I was thinking so all through dinner.

FREDA: There you are, Olwen.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: I’m almost prepared to marry Charles Stanton myself to be one of your charmed circle. What a snug little group you are.

FREDA: Are we?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Well, aren’t you?

FREDA: (With a laugh, rising.) Snug little group. (Moving over to the piano.) How awful!

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Not awful at all. I think it’s charming.

FREDA: (Smiling.) It sounds disgusting.

BETTY: Yes. Like Dickens or a Christmas card.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: And very nice things to be. In these days almost too good to be true.

FREDA: (Apparently amused.) Oh, why should it be?

OLWEN: I didn’t know you were such a pessimist, Miss Mockridge.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Didn’t you ? Then you don’t read the reviews of my books – and you ought to, you know, being an employee of my publishers. I shall complain of that to my three directors when they come in. (She gives a slight laugh.) Certainly I’m a pessimist. But I didn’t mean it that way, of course. I think it’s wonderful.

FREDA: It is rather nice here. We’ve been lucky.

OLWEN: Enchanting. I hate to leave it. (To MISS MOCK-RIDGE.) You know, I’m in the town office now – not down here at the press – but I come back as often as I can.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: I’m sure you do. It must be so comforting to be all so settled.

BETTY: Pretty good.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: (To FREDA.) But I suppose you all miss your brother-in-law. He used to be down here with you too, didn’t he?

FREDA: (Embarrassed, turning to MISS MOCKRIDGE.) You mean Robert’s brother, Martin.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Yes, Martin Caplan. I was in America at the time, and never quite understood what happened. Something rather dreadful, wasn’t it ? (There is a pause, and BETTY and OLWEN look at FREDA. MISS MOCKRIDGE looks from one to the other.)

Oh, have I dropped a brick? I always am dropping bricks.

FREDA: (Sitting on the piano stool, and speaking very quietly.) No, not at all. It was distressing for us at the time, but it’s all right now. Martin shot himself. It happened nearly a year ago – last June, in fact – not here, but at Fallows End, about twenty miles away. He’d taken a cottage there.

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Oh yes – dreadful business, of course. I only met him twice, I think. I remember I thought him very amusing and charming. He was very handsome, wasn’t he ?

(CHARLES STANTON and GORDON WHITEHOUSE come in right. STANTON is about forty, dark, with a small moustache. He has a deep voice and a manner that is rather harsh and authoritative. GORDON, about twenty-four or twenty-five, is fairly tall, sliqht and good-looking. He has an indolent, graceful, Oxford-ish manner in lighter scenes, but with frequent suggestions of underlying hysteria. Both men wear well-cut dinner jackets.)

OLWEN: Yes, very handsome.

(STANTON crosses below the settee and takes up a position in front of the fireplace. GORDON goes to the settee, sits at right end with his back to the audience, and takes BETTY’s hand.)

STANTON: (With jovial condescension.) Who’s very handsome?

FREDA: Not you, Charles.

STANTON: May we know, or is it some grand secret between you?

GORDON: They were talking about me. Betty, why do you allow them all to talk about your husband in this fulsome fashion? Have you no shame, girl?

(Everybody talks ad lib. here, until the entrance of ROBERT.)

STANTON: How’s the new novel going?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: Splendidly, thanks.

STANTON: Is it as naughty as the last?

MISS MOCKRIDGE: I’m afraid it is.

BETTY: (Squeezing his hand.) Darling, I’m sure you’ve had too much manly gossip and old brandy. You’re beginning to look purple in the face and bloated – a typical financier.

(GORDON kisses her hand.

ROBERT CAPLAN comes in at back, switching on the light at the doorway as he enters. He is between thirty and thirty-five, of medium height and build, clean-shaven, with a ple...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• J B PRIESTLEY
• ‘YOU TALK LIKE A FISH!’
• J(OHN) B(OYNTON) PRIESTLEY
• Author’s Note
• Characters
• ACT ONE
• ACT TWO
• ACT THREE
• ALTERNATIVE VERSION