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Act One
SCENE I
The living room of a house in North London. It is designed to serve as both dining room and drawing room, the walls slanting in the centre towards the footlights and back again, so as to form an inner room rather than an alcove, where the men in the party now in progress are sitting over the wine. There is a sideboard and upstage from the sideboard a door. The men are in dinner jackets.
At the back of the living room tall windows open on to a small garden, but the curtains are drawn. A door opposite the dining room leads to the hall and stairs.
The host, Victor Rhodes, is a man in his middle forties. He has a plump round face, now a little flushed with wine, an air of happiness and good nature. Throughout the scene we are a little haunted by the thought that we have encountered him somewhere before; his anecdotes, of which he has so many, have surely at one time fallen into our own ears. He is on his feet half-way between sideboard and table.
On the right of his empty chair sits William Howard, a local bank manager, a man in his late fifties. The third man, the youngest there, is in his late thirties, with sullen good looks and an air of being intellectually a little more interesting than his companions. He runs, as we soon learn, a local antiquarian bookshop: his name is Clive Root; but the profession of Victor Rhodesāand it is perhaps a professional air which we are trying to identifyāremains unknown until later in the scene.
The women are upstairs, but they will soon drift down to the drawing room. There is Mrs. Howard, a woman in her early fifties, quiet and kindly; her daughter Ann, a girl of nineteen, pretty and immature, and Mary Rhodes, a woman in the middle thirties, who moves quickly, nervously, with unconscious beauty.
When the curtain rises only the men are there. From the attitude of the men Victor is obviously concluding a long address.
VICTOR: Off on the wrong foot, arse over tip, and there I was looking up at the starsāI mean Oxford Circus. And what did my wife sayāāThat word in nine letters was escalator.ā Ha, ha, ha. If thereās one thing I thank God for, Mr. Root, itās a sense of humour. Iāve attained a certain position in life. There are not many men in my profession I would acknowledge as my masters, but I would sacrifice all thatāthis house and garden, that chair you are sitting on, Mr. Rootāit cost me no mean figure at Christieās, I like beautiful things around meāwhat was I saying, William?
HOWARD: You were telling Mr. Root and me about your sense of humour.
VICTOR: Thatās right. A sense of humour is more important than a balance at the bankāwhatever William may say.
HOWARD: I donāt say anything, Victor, you never let me.
VICTOR: Ah-ha, William has a sense of humour too, you see. Perhaps itās not so important in a bank manager as in a man of my profession, but itās not our professions that I have in mind. Mr. Root, you are looking tonight at a very rare phenomenonātwo men who are happily married. And why are we happily married?
HOWARD: Because we happen to like our wives.
VICTOR: Thatās not enough. Itās because weāve got a sense of humour. A sense of humour means a happy marriage.
CLIVE: Is it as simple as that, Mr. Rhodes?
VICTOR: I can assure you there are very few situations in life that a joke wonāt ease.
HOWARD: You were going to let us have some port, Victor.
VICTOR: Port? (He looks at the decanter.) Oh yes. (He sits down.) You, William?
HOWARD: Thanks. You, Mr. Root?
CLIVE: Thanks.
VICTOR: Do you know how this business of passing the port clockwise originated?
HOWARD: Yes, Victor. I learnt it from you. Last week.
VICTOR (unabashed): Ha, ha, thatās good. Iāll remember that to tell my victims.
HOWARD: How are the second-hand books, Root?
VICTOR: You ought to call them antiquarian, William. Itās more expensive. Do you know the first thing Dr. Fuchs found in the Antarctic?
HOWARD (wearily): No, Victor.
VICTOR: A second-hand Penguin.
He looks from one to the other, but nobody laughs.
CLIVE: The second-hand books would gather a lot more dust, Mr. Howard, if it wasnāt for your daughter.
HOWARD: I never thought of Ann as a great reader.
Ann has come down first of the women. She stands a moment as though listening and then picks up a magazine.
CLIVE: Her interests are specialized. The early Western. We are talking of you, Ann.
ANN: Only Zane Greys.
VICTOR: Not highbrow, anyway. Sheās too pretty, William, to be highbrow.
CLIVE (who obviously has some hidden antipathy to Rhodes): Brows are a matter of opinion, Mr. Rhodes. The early Zane Greys cost quite a lot already and they are a good investment.
VICTOR: Investment? Thatās an idea. A man says to meāthey often do if I give them the chanceāāIām buying tobacco now for a rise. What do you say?ā And now of course Iāll tell him āPut your money into Zane Greys.ā
CLIVE: Youād be giving perfectly good advice. Unless someone discovers that books are a cause of cancer.
HOWARD: At the bank I tell my customers, āHold on to gold.ā
VICTOR: Send the port round again, Root.
Mrs. Howard has come down, closely followed by Mary Rhodes.
MARY: She will bring in the coffee before I ring. I suppose itās nearly cold.
MRS. HOWARD (feeling the pot): Oh, no.
MARY (with her eyes on the other part of the room): I wish youād pour out.
MRS. HOWARD: Of course I will. Sugar?
MARY: Please.
ANN: Oh, Motherānot in mine.
MRS. HOWARD: I forgot sheās on a diet. Look up what time the Larkins are on, dear. Your father wonāt want to miss them. (Handing Mary her cup.) Thank God Iām past dieting. Iāve got my man.
MARY: We both have, havenāt we? (She takes her cup and goes to watch the men.)
Her ...
