Harold Pinter Plays 2 (22 page)

Not worth talking about. Handy between trains, nothing more.

SARAH.
You don’t travel by train. You travel by car.

RICHARD.
Quite. A quick cup of while cocoa they’re checking the oil and water.

Pause.

SARAH.
Sounds utterly sterile

RICHARD.
NO.

Pause.

SARAH.
I must say I never expected you to admit it so readily.

RICHARD.
Oh, why not? You’ve never put it to me so bluntly before, have you? Frankness at all costs. Essential to a healthy marriage. Don’t you agree?

SARAH.
Of course.

RICHARD.
You agree.

SARAH.
Entirely.

RICHARD.
I mean, you’re utterly frank with me, aren’t you?

SARAH.
Utterly.

RICHARD.
About your lover. I must follow your example.

SARAH.
Thank you.

Pause.

Yes, I have suspected it for some time.

RICHARD.
Have you really?

SARAH.
Mmnn.

RICHARD.
Perceptive.

SARAH.
But, quite honestly, I can’t really believe she’s just … what you say.

RICHARD.
Why not?

SARAH.
It’s just not possible. You have such taste. You care so much for grace and elegance in women.

RICHARD.
And wit.

SARAH.
And wit, yes.

RICHARD.
Wit, yes. Terribly important, wit, for a man.

SARAH.
Is she witty?

RICHARD
(
laughing
).
These terms just don’t apply. You can’t sensibly inquire whether a whore is witty. It’s of no significance whether she is or she isn’t. She’s simply a whore, a functionary who either pleases or displeases.

SARAH.
And she pleases you?

RICHARD.
Today she is pleasing. Tomorrow …? One can’t say.

He
moves
towards
the
bedroom
door
taking
off his
jacket.

SARAH.
I must say I find your attitude to women rather alarming.

RICHARD.
Why? I wasn’t looking for your double, was I? I wasn’t looking for a woman I could respect, as you, whom I could admire and love, as I do you. Was I? All I wanted was … how shall I put it … someone who could express and engender lust with all lust’s cunning. Nothing more.

He
goes
into
the
bedroom,
hangs
his
jacket
up
in
the
ward
robe,
and
changes
into
his
slippers.

In
the
living-room
SARAH
puts
her
drink
down,
hesitates
and
then
follows
into
the
bedroom.

SARAH.
I’m sorry your affair possesses so little dignity.

RICHARD.
The dignity is in my marriage.

SARAH.
Or sensibility.

RICHARD.
The sensibility likewise. I wasn’t looking for such attributes. I find them in you.

SARAH.
Why did you look at all?

Slight
pause.

RICHARD.
What did you say?

SARAH.
Why look … elsewhere … at all?

RICHARD.
But my dear, you looked. Why shouldn’t I look?

Pause.

SARAH.
Who looked first?

RICHARD.
You.

SARAH.
I don’t think that’s true.

RICHARD.
Who, then?

She
looks
at
him
with
a
slight
smile.

Fade
up.
Night.
Moonlight
on
balcony.
The
lights
fade.

RICHARD
comes
in
bedroom
door
in
his
pyjamas.
He
picks
up
a
book
and
looks
at
it.
SARAH
comes
from
bathroom
in
her
nightdress.
There
is
a
double
bed.
 
SARAH
sits
at
the
dressing-
table.
Combs
her
hair.

SARAH.
Richard?

RICHARD.
Man?

SARAH.
Do you ever think about me at all … when you’re with her?

RICHARD.
Oh, a little. Not much.

Pause.

We talk about you.

SARAH.
You talk about me with her?

RICHARD.
Occasionally. It amuses her.

SARAH.
Amuses her?

RICHARD
(
choosing
a
book
).
Mmnn.

SARAH.
How … do you talk about me?

RICHARD.
Delicately. We discuss you as we would play an antique music box. We play it for our titillation, whenever desired.

Pause.

SARAH.
I can’t pretend the picture gives me great pleasure.

RICHARD.
It wasn’t intended to. The pleasure is mine.

SARAH.
Yes, I see that, of course.

RICHARD
(
sitting
on
the
bed
).
Surely your own afternoon pleasures are sufficient for you, aren’t they? You don’t expect extra pleasure from my pastimes, do you?

SARAH.
No, not at all.

RICHARD.
Then why all the questions?

SARAH.
Well, it was you who started it. Asking me so many
questions about … my side of it. You don’t normally do that.

RICHARD.
Objective curiosity, that’s all.

He
touches
her
shoulders.

You’re not suggesting I’m jealous, surely?

She
smiles,
stroking
his
hand.

SARAH.
Darling. I know you’d never stoop to that.

RICHARD.
Good God, no.

He
squeezes
her
shoulder.

What about you? You’re not jealous, are you?

SARAH.
No. From what you tell me about your lady I seem to have a far richer time than you do.

RICHARD.
Possibly.

He
opens
the
windows
fully
and
stands
by
them,
looking
out.

What peace. Come and look.

She
joins
him
at
the
window.

They
stand
silently.

What would happen if I came home early one day, I wonder?

Pause.

SARAH.
What would happen if I followed you one day, I wonder?

Pause.

RICHARD.
Perhaps we could all meet for tea in the village.

SARAH.
Why the village? Why not here?

RICHARD.
Here? What an extraordinary remark.

Pause.

Your poor lover has never seen the night from this window, has he?

SARAH.
No. He’s obliged to leave before sunset, unfortunately.

RICHARD.
Doesn’t he get a bit bored with these damn afternoons? This eternal teatime? I would. To have as the constant image of your lust a milk jug and teapot. Must be terribly dampening.

SARAH.
He’s very adaptable. And, of course, when one puts the blinds down it does become a kind of evening.

RICHARD.
Yes, I suppose it would.

Pause.

What does he think of your husband?

Slight
pause.

SARAH.
He respects you.

Pause.

RICHARD.
I’m rather moved by that remark, in a strange kind of way. I think I can understand why you like him so much.

SARAH.
He’s terribly sweet.

RICHARD.
Mmn-hmmnn.

SARAH.
Has his moods, of course.

RICHARD.
Who doesn’t?

SARAH.
But I must say he’s very loving. His whole body emanates love.

RICHARD.
How nauseating.

SARAH.
No.

RICHARD.
Manly with it, I hope?

SARAH.
Entirely.

RICHARD.
Sounds tedious.

SARAH.
Not at all.

Pause.

He has a wonderful sense of humour.

RICHARD.
Oh, jolly good. Makes you laugh, does he? Well,
mind the neighbours don’t hear you. The last thing we want is gossip.

Pause.

SARAH.
It’s wonderful to live out here, so far away from the main road, so secluded.

RICHARD.
Yes, I do agree.

They
go
back
into
the
room.
They
get
into
the
bed.
He
picks
up
his
book
and
looks
at
it.
He
closes
it
and
puts
it
down.

This isn’t much good.

He
switches
off his
bedside
lamp.
She
does
the
same.
Moonlight.

He’s married, isn’t he?

SARAH.
Mmmmn.

RICHARD.
Happily?

SARAH.
Mmmmn.

Pause.

And you’re happy, aren’t you? You’re not in any way jealous?

RICHARD.
No.

SARAH.
Good. Because I think things are beautifully balanced, Richard.

Fade.

Fade
up.
Morning.
SARAH
putting
on
her
negligee
in
the
bedroom.
She
begins
to
make
the
bed.

SARAH.
Darling.

Pause.

Will the shears be ready this morning?

RICHARD
(
in
bathroom,
off
). The
what?

SARAH.
The shears.

RICHARD.
No, not this morning.

He
enters,
fully
dressed
in
his
suit.
Kisses
her
an
the
cheek.

Not till Friday. Bye-bye.

He
leaves
the
bedroom,
collects
hat
and
briefcase
from
hall.

SARAH.
Richard.

He
turns.

You won’t be home too early today, will you?

RICHARD.
Do you mean he’s coming again today? Good gracious. He was here yesterday. Coming again today?

SARAH.
Yes.

RICHARD.
Oh. No, well, I won’t be home early. I’ll go to the National Gallery.

SARAH.
Right.

RICHARD.
Bye-bye.

SARAH.
Bye.

The
lights
fade.

Fade
up.
Afternoon. 
SARAH
comes
downstairs
into
living-
room.
She
wears
a
very
tight,
low-cut
black
dress.
She
hastily
looks
at
herself
in
the
mirror.
Suddenly
notices
she
is
wearing
low-heeled
shoes.
She
goes
quickly
to
cupboard
changes
them
for
her
high-heeled
shoes.
Looks
again
in
mirror,
smooths
her
hips.
Goes
to
window, pulls
Venetian
blinds
down,
opens
them,
and
closes
them
until
there
is
a
slight
slit
of
light.
There
are
three
chimes
of
a
clock.
She
looks
at
her
watch, goes
towards
the
flowers
on
the
table.
Door
bell.
She
goes
to
door.
It
is
the
milkman,
JOHN
.