Part 5
MYRA: Yes, ten minutes. (_She goes off with JACKIE._)
SANDY: Righto. (_He rushes out._)
[_CLARA re-enters._
CLARA: ’Allo, where’s everybody gone?
RICHARD: They’ve gone to get ready. We’re leaving in Mr. Tyrell’s car.
CLARA: A bit sudden, isn’t it?
RICHARD (_pressing money into her hand_): This is from all of us, Clara. Thank you very much for all your trouble.
CLARA (_surprised_): Aren’t you a dear, now! There wasn’t any trouble.
RICHARD: There must have been a lot of extra work.
CLARA: One gets used to that ’ere.
RICHARD: Good-bye, Clara. (_He goes upstairs._)
[_CLARA proceeds to clear away the dirty breakfast things, which she takes out. She returns with a fresh pot of coffee, and meets JUDITH coming downstairs._
JUDITH: Good morning, Clara. Have the papers come?
CLARA: Yes—I’ll fetch them. (_She goes out._)
[_JUDITH pours herself out some coffee, and sits down._
[_CLARA re-enters with papers._
JUDITH: Thank you. You’ve forgotten my orange juice.
CLARA: No, I ’aven’t, dear; it’s just outside. (_She goes out again._)
[_JUDITH turns to the theatrical column of the “Sunday Times.”_
[_SOREL comes downstairs and kisses her._
SOREL: Good morning, darling.
JUDITH: Listen to this. (_She reads_) “We saw Judith Bliss in a box at the Haymarket on Tuesday, looking as lovely as ever.” There now! I thought I looked hideous on Tuesday.
SOREL: You looked sweet. (_She goes to get herself some breakfast._)
[_CLARA reappears, with a glass of orange juice._
CLARA (_placing it in front of JUDITH_): Did you see that nice bit in _The Referee_?
JUDITH: No—_The Times_.
CLARA: _The Referee’s_ much better. (_She finds the place and hands it to SOREL._)
SOREL (_reading_): “I saw gay and colourful Judith Bliss at the Waifs and Strays Matinée last week. She was talking vivaciously to Producer Basil Dean. ‘I’ sooth,’ said I to myself, ‘where ignorance is Bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’”
JUDITH (_taking it from her_): Dear _Referee_! It’s so unself-conscious.
CLARA: If you want any more coffee, ring for it. (_She goes out._)
SOREL (_sitting down_): I wish I were sitting on a lovely South Sea island, with masses of palm trees and cocoanuts and turtles——
JUDITH: It would be divine, wouldn’t it?
SOREL: I wonder where everybody is?
JUDITH (_still reading_): I wonder.... Mary Saunders has got another failure.
SOREL: She must be used to it by now.
[_SIMON comes downstairs with a rush._
SIMON (_kissing JUDITH_): Good morning, darling.—Look! (_He shows her a newly completed sketch._)
JUDITH: Simon! How lovely! When did you do it?
SIMON: This morning—I woke early.
SOREL (_rising and craning over JUDITH’S shoulder_): Let’s see.
SIMON (_over the other shoulder_): I’m going to alter Helen’s face; it’s too pink.
SOREL (_laughing_): It’s exactly like her.
JUDITH: What a clever son I have!
SIMON: Now then, Mother!
JUDITH: It’s too wonderful—when I think of you both in your perambulators.... Oh dear, it makes me cry! (_She sniffs._)
SOREL: I don’t believe you ever saw us in our perambulators.
JUDITH: I don’t believe I did.
[_DAVID comes downstairs._
DAVID (_hilariously_): It’s finished!
JUDITH: What, dear?
DAVID: _The Sinful Woman._
JUDITH: How splendid. Read it to us now.
DAVID: I’ve got the last chapter here.
JUDITH: Go on, then.
[_SANDY rushes in from the front door. On seeing everyone, he halts._
SANDY: Good morning. (_He bolts upstairs two at a time._)
JUDITH: I seem to know that boy’s face.
DAVID (_preparing to read_): Listen. You remember when Violet was taken ill in Paris?
JUDITH: Yes, dear.—Marmalade, Simon.
DAVID: Well, I’ll go on from there.
JUDITH: Do, dear.
DAVID (_reading_): “Paris in spring, with the Champs Elysées alive and dancing in the sunlight; lightly dressed children like gay painted butterflies——”
SIMON (_whispering to SOREL_): What’s happened to the barometer?
SOREL (_sibilantly_): I don’t know.
DAVID: Damn the barometer!
JUDITH: Don’t get cross, dear.
DAVID: Why can’t you keep quiet, Simon, or go away!
SIMON: Sorry, Father.
DAVID: Well, don’t interrupt again.... (_Reading_) “... gay painted butterflies; the streets were thronged with hurrying vehicles, the thin peek-peek of taxi-hooters——”
SOREL: I love “peek-peek.”
DAVID (_ignoring her_): “——seemed to merge in with the other vivid noises weaving a vast pattern of sound which was Paris. Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——”
JUDITH: She couldn’t have.
DAVID: Why?
JUDITH: The Rue St. Honoré doesn’t lead into the Place de la Concorde.
DAVID: Yes, it does.
SOREL: You’re thinking of the Rue Boissy d’Anglas, Father.
DAVID: I’m not thinking of anything of the sort.
JUDITH: David darling, don’t be obstinate.
DAVID (_hotly_): Do you think I don’t know Paris as well as you do?
SIMON: Never mind. Father’s probably right.
SOREL: He isn’t right—he’s wrong!
DAVID: Go on with your food, Sorel.
JUDITH: Don’t be testy, David: it’s a sign of age.
DAVID (_firmly_): “Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——”
JUDITH: That sounds absolutely ridiculous. Why don’t you alter it?
DAVID: It isn’t ridiculous; it’s perfectly right.
JUDITH: Very well, then; get a map, and I’ll show you.
SIMON: We haven’t got a map.
DAVID (_putting his MS. down_): Now, look here, Judith—here’s the Rue Royale—(_He arranges the butter-dish and marmalade-pot._)—here’s the Crillon Hotel, and _here’s_ the Rue St. Honoré——
JUDITH: It isn’t—it’s the Boissy d’Anglas.
DAVID: That runs parallel with the Rue de Rivoli.
JUDITH: You’ve got it all muddled.
DAVID (_loudly_): I have _not_ got it all muddled.
JUDITH: Don’t shout. You have.
SIMON: Why not let Father get on with it?
JUDITH: It’s so silly to get cross at criticism—it indicates a small mind.
DAVID: Small mind my foot!
JUDITH: That was very rude. I shall go to my room in a minute.
DAVID: I wish you would.
JUDITH (_outraged_): David!
SOREL: Look here, Father, Mother’s right—here’s the Place de la Concorde——
SIMON: Oh, shut up, Sorel.
SOREL: Shut up yourself, you pompous little beast.
SIMON: You think you know such a lot about everything, and you’re as ignorant as a frog.
SOREL: Why a frog?
JUDITH: I give you my solemn promise, David, that you’re wrong.
DAVID: I don’t want your solemn promise, because I _know_ I’m right.
SIMON: It’s no use arguing with Father, Mother.
SOREL: Why isn’t it any use arguing with Father?
SIMON: Because you’re both so pig-headed!
DAVID: Are you content to sit here, Judith, and let your son insult me?
JUDITH: He’s your son as well as mine.
DAVID: I begin to doubt it.
JUDITH (_bursting into tears of rage_): David!
SIMON (_consoling her_): Father, how can you!
DAVID (_rising_): I’ll never attempt to read any of you anything again as long as I live. You’re not a bit interested in my work, and you don’t give a damn whether I’m a success or a failure.
JUDITH: You’re dead certain to be a failure if you cram your books with inaccuracies.
DAVID (_hammering the table with his fist_): _I am not inaccurate!_
JUDITH: Yes, you are; and you’re foul-tempered and spoilt.
DAVID: Spoilt! I like that! Nobody here spoils me—you’re the most insufferable family to live with——
JUDITH: Well, why in Heaven’s name don’t you go and live somewhere else?
DAVID: There’s gratitude!
JUDITH: Gratitude for what, I’d like to know?
SOREL: Mother, keep calm.
JUDITH: Calm! I’m furious.
DAVID: What have you got to be furious about? Everyone rushing round adoring you and saying how wonderful you are——
JUDITH: I am wonderful, Heaven knows, to have stood you for all these years.
SOREL: Mother, do sit down and be quiet.
SIMON: How dare you speak to Mother like that!
[_During this scene MYRA, JACKIE, RICHARD and SANDY creep downstairs, with their bags, unperceived by the family. They make for the front door._
JUDITH (_wailing_): Oh, oh! To think that my daughter should turn against me!
DAVID: Don’t be theatrical.
JUDITH: I’m not theatrical—I’m wounded to the heart.
DAVID: Rubbish—rubbish—rubbish!
JUDITH: Don’t you say Rubbish to me!
DAVID: I _will_ say Rubbish!
SOREL: } Ssshhh, Father! SIMON: } That’s right! Be the dutiful daughter and encourage your father—— DAVID: } Listen to me, Judith—— JUDITH: } Oh, this is dreadful—dreadful!
SOREL: } The whole thing doesn’t really matter in the least—— SIMON: } —to insult your mother—— DAVID: } The Place de la Concorde—— JUDITH: } I never realised how small you were, David. You’re tiny——
[_The universal pandemonium is suddenly broken by the front door slamming. There is dead silence for a moment, then the noise of a car is heard._
[_SOREL runs and looks out of the window._
SIMON: There now!
SOREL: They’ve all gone!
JUDITH (_sitting down_): How very rude!
DAVID (_also sitting down_): People really do behave in the most extraordinary manner these days——
JUDITH: Come back and finish your breakfast, Sorel.
SOREL: All right. (_She sits down._)
SIMON: Toast, please, Sorel.
SOREL (_passing it to him_): Here.
JUDITH: Go on, David; I’m dying to hear the end——
DAVID (_reading_): “Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue Boissy d’Anglas into the Place Vêndome——”
JUDITH: I meant to tell you before, David—I’ve made a great decision.
DAVID (_amiably_): What is it?
JUDITH: I really am going to return to the stage!
CURTAIN.
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