[Butler enters the drawing room where Lady Bea is ringing her bell furiously]

Lady:
Am I a camel? Or perhaps an arid desert bereft of all vital juices and liquids?

[Butler places the tea tray on the table]

Butler:
I trust madam will be sufficiently irrigated.

Lady:
I had to ring my bell most violently, Butler.

Butler:
In which case I can only hope that madam's clanger doesn't drop off.

[Butler exits]

Dr:
You're being aggressive, Bea - you don't think I'm worth it.

Lady:
It's not that, Christopher, I mean, look - decrepit, antique, dusty, dilapidated, most crevices untouched for years ...

Dr:
But I love you, Bea.

Lady:
Not me, the house! The money I have accrued over the years of scrimping and saving was intended for use on the house. There seems little point in hosting a Murder Mystery Weekend only to squander the money I already have on your divorce!

Dr:
Squander? It's merely a loan, remember? Until we can get our hands on the trust fund.

[Lady Bea starts to pour him a cup of tea]

Dr:
I can claim the money that is rightfully mine in eighteen months. And then I can repay your loan.

Lady:
Refresh my memory - this trust fund, Christopher? Its terms state that you are to give half of the money to whomever is your wife at the time? Correct?

Dr:
Yes, should I happen to be married. But it's only money. It matters not a jot compared to our love.

Lady:
Well, as this is a temporary loan - and in view of our mutual love - I have decided that you may have my money.

Dr:
Oh, Bea.

Lady:
Let's sign.

Dr:
At once, my love.

[Doctor produces his contract once more, but is surprised to see that Lady Bea produces one also]

Dr:
Erm ... what is that?

Lady:
A legally binding document, my sweet, drawn up by my late husband's business partner, that stipulates that following your successful divorce you agree to marry me. You seem lost for words, snugglebunny? It's just as we agreed - signing this means that you agree to marry me within one month of divorcing Phillipa.

Dr:
I see. Well, of course I would sign such a document, but, eh, I need a pen ...

Lady:
There's one in your breast pocket, Christopher. I bought it for you the day we met.

Dr:
Oh, Bea.

Lady:
Do you remember that day? The day we met at the Henley Regatta? And you punted me up the estuary?

Dr:
How could I forget?

Lady:
You told me you loved me, as you sat there clutching your rollocks.

Dr:
I do love you, Bea.

Lady:
And you do need to borrow this money?

Dr:
Yes - so I can pay the solicitor and divorce Phillipa. And you do want to give me the money?

Lady:
Lend. Lend you the money. And you do want to marry me?

Dr:
But of course!

Lady:
Then we know what we must do.

[They offer their pens to each other, exchange contracts and sign]

Lady:
There we are, Christopher. Signed, sealed, delivered - I'm yours.

Dr:
Now we are legally in love.

Lady:
Pour me some tea, darling, and I'll just get rid of this [indicating contract].

[Lady Bea exits to the hall way while Doctor pours her some tea. Butler is in the hallway, spraying plants. Lady Bea spots him and clicks for his attention. He turns]

Butler:
Ah, Lady Beatrice. Forgive me, I thought I could hear an annoying old cockroach.

[Stan enters from the stairs]

Lady:
My dear Stanmam, how lovely to see you again - I was just coming to look for you. I wonder if you could do me a favour?

Stan:
I'll try, of course.

Lady:
Would you pop down to the gate and see if there are any thespians trying to get in.

Stan:
Thespians?

Lady:
You know? People of a similar inclination to myself.

Stan:
I hadn't realised ...

Butler:
She means the other actors.

Stan:
Oh. But of course - I'll go and have a look.

[Stan exits through the front door as Lady Bea turns her attention to Butler]

Lady:
Butler - next to the telephone is a number. Call it and ask to speak to Mr. Fitzbadly. Give him this message - 'Lady Bea has the signature, send the money over'.

[Lady Bea exits to the drawing room as Butler heads to the telephone to make the call. As she enters, Doctor has just managed to slip a pill from his secret bottle into Lady Bea's tea]

Lady:
All taken care of!

Dr:
Let's drink to the future!

[Lady Bea picks up the wrong cup]

Dr:
The other one, dearest.

Lady:
Why? Whatever is wrong with this one?

Dr:
Sugar!

Lady:
I don't take sugar.

Dr:
But I do.

[He reaches over and spoons sugar into her cup before taking it from her]

Lady:
For a medical man you have a very cavalier attitude to your calorie intake.

Dr:
It's my day off.

[He hands her the poisoned cup]

Dr:
Drink up, darling. By the way, do you have any idea when we could get the money? I'm keen to get the process started.

[Lady Bea is about to drink, but stops to talk instead, setting her cup down]

Lady:
Later on today, if my half-wit of a butler manages to make the phone call. And before long, you'll be divorced.

Dr:
Oh, how happy I'll be. Your tea is getting cold, darling.

Lady:
You've only just poured it.

Dr:
No, no - it's getting cold.

[He hands her the cup by the rim and burns himself]

Lady:
And in a few months, our wedding. I shall revitalise this old house for the ceremony. I shall start by redecorating throughout. I know a builder who is dying to touch up my alcove.

Dr:
Redecorate?

Lady:
With my share of the trust fund.

[Doctor drinks his tea in an exaggerated fashion]

Dr:
Mmm! Nice tea!

[He chokes on the sugar content. Lady Bea raises her cup]

Lady:
Here's to us!

Dr:
[raising his cup] To us!

[The couple, framed by the daylight streaming through the French windows, clink cups and raise them to their lips, smiling all the while]

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[Fanny is undeterred by the Doctor's hesitancy]

Fanny:
Charming. Isn't that charmimg, Prune?

Prune:
Charming.

Fanny:
I drive all the way from that dive in Dover to see if you need my help - and this is the thanks I get?

Dr:
[to Prune] This is a private conversation. Do you mind?

Prune:
No, I don't mind.

[Pause. Prune fails to move]

Fanny:
Prune, honey - would you fetch my luggage from the patio?

Prune:
Yes, I will.

[Pause. Prune fails to move]

Fanny:
Could you do it now?

Prune:
I'll do it now.

[Prune exits via the drawing room]

Fanny:
Well? Has the old crone fallen for it? Did she sign?

Dr:
I'm working on it ...

Fanny:
This is ridiculous - we're running out of time. Here ...

[She produces a small bottle of pills from her cleavage]

Fanny:
... get the signature, get her to take one of these and stop stalling.

Dr:
I don't need them!

Fanny:
Take them!

[Doctor takes the pills just as Butler enters from upstairs]

Butler:
Lady Bea will be down presently, madam.

[Prune re-enters with the luggage]

Dr:
Prune, would you be so good as to show Miss Teasingly-Poised through to the kitchen?

Fanny:
The kitchen?

Dr:
Yes - that research you wanted to do, remember?

Fanny:
Research?

Dr:
For that movie. [aside, to Fanny] Just go!

Fanny:
Yes, I need to research the kitchen.

Prune:
This way, Miss Fanny.

[Prune leads Fanny into the kitchen]

Fanny:
[over her shoulder, to Doctor] Don't be long!

[Butler goes to exit when Doctor gets his attention]

Dr:
Psssst!

Butler:
Was that psssst directed at me, Sir - or just any passing canine?

Dr:
I need a favour, Butler. There's a few things I need to iron out with Lady Bea in the drawing room.

Butler:
Wouldn't the laundry room be more appropriate?

Dr:
If you could send her in I'll be waiting. Oh, and bring some tea.

[Doctor exits to drawing room]

Butler:
I live to serve.

[In the kitchen Prune and Fanny enter and Cook is rolling some dough]

Cook:
My great and good glory - what have we here, Prune?

Prune:
This is Fanny.

Cook:
Hello Fanny - as you will doubtless have visually seen I'm up to knobbly elbows in dough. Sit up there and let your feet down.

[Butler enters]

Butler:
The Doctor requires tea for two.

Prune:
I'll do it.

Butler:
No, I'll do it.

Cook:
Very good, Mr. Butler - you carry on proceeding with the tea and I'll attempt to try and coax some life into me doagh. Nothing I like better than a good muffin. What do you say, Fanny? Oh, Prune! Look at the state of you! Whatever have you been involved in doing? He's only been herein present for not nearly about thirty minutes or thereabouts and look at the state he's in. I can't abide a dirty shirt. Go to the scullery and change!

Butler:
How do you like it, Fanny?

Fanny:
I'm sorry - are we talking tea, muffins or shirts?

Butler:
Tea.

Fanny:
Just a slice of lemon.

Butler:
Cook, where do you keep the lemons?

Cook:
I don't think we have any. I've got a banana tucked away.

Butler:
I expect the fruit and veg delivery has been unable to get past the police cordon in the high street.

Fanny:
Black will be fine.

Cook:
I don't think we have any black either, dear. I can offer you a yoghurt?

[Butler passes tea to Fanny]

Butler:
So madam is an actress?

Fanny:
Well ...

Cook:
Well, bless my soul!

Fanny:
I've been in a number of movies, I work mainly in the States. I'm giving it up, though. I'm at that difficult age. I'm going back to my cabaret roots. I used to do a show in Mexico.

Cook:
How wonderful! Mexico. I love the smell of petrol.

Butler:
That's Texaco.

[Prune calls from the scullery]

Prune:
Mum?

Cook:
Yes, Twinkle?

Prune:
Mum, I've got two big red spots on my back!

Cook:
That's your front dear and those are your nipples. Remember? Norman and Nigel Nip-Nip?

Prune:
Oh yeah.

Butler:
[to Fanny] So you worked in cabaret?

Fanny:
I toured all over.

Butler:
My first lover was a singer. Beautiful voice. She used to sing outside my window at dusk.

Fanny:
What happened?

Butler:
She got cold feet.

Cook:
No surprising wonder - standing outside singing at that hour. She should've worn thicker socks.

Butler:
No, no - she lost her nerve. Left the business altogether and went and joined a convent.

Fanny;
She became a nun?

Butler:
I still think of her sometimes. When I'm passing a church ...

Fanny:
... listening to music ...

Cook:
... poking the fire.

Butler:
Sometimes it's as if she's still with me. Just a swirl of black and white and she's here ... darling little Nancy.

[The mood is broken by the tinkle of a small bell. Butler picks up the tea tray and exits]

Butler:
Do excuse me.

Cook:
Ah, a nice man, Mr. Butler. Though I have to say it, I think there's more to him than meets the ear. I get the feeling he's as mad as a squirrel with an acorn up its bottom.

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[Phillipa descends the staircase with purpose]

Dr:
You know what I'm up to?

Phil:
Christopher Oncall, you are nothing but a conniving, double-crossing, two-faced swine. How long did you think you could keep up this charade?

Dr:
I'm sorry Phil - I thought I'd covered my tacks so well.

Phil:
Fancy sneaking off to place a bet over the telephone.

Dr:
You see it all started when ... pardon?

Phil:
You're like a naughty schoolboy, Christopher. I imagine it's the horses.

Dr:
Yes, yes that's it - horses. I simply couldn't help myself.

[Phil snatches his book from him]

Phil:
And I suppose this is your little book of hot tips?

Dr:
Yes. I mean, no. I mean yes ...

[Phillipa opens the front door and throws the book away]

Dr:
What are you doing? No! Phillipa! Oh, look - it's fallen in the pond.

Phil:
With the rest of the scum. I warned you, Christopher. That was your last chance. From now on - you're on your own!

Dr:
But that was ... oooh.

[Doctor rushes out of the door and Phil slams it after him. Stan enters from upstairs]

Stan:
Phil? What's happening?

Phil:
I've made up my mind. I'll help you, Stan. If my dim-witted ex-husband is double-crossing me then I am damn well going to double-cross him back. Not only is he flirting with decrepit old women, but he's already gambling away my share of the proceeds. I should have listened to my solicitor.

Stan:
That sounds like the Phillipa I used to know.

Phil:
Imagine Christopher divorcing me to be with that gnarled old hag.

Stan:
Forget about him - you and I can be together like we always should have been.

Phil:
Tell more about this plan of ours and the fortune it's going to make us.

[There is a knock on the door]

Phil:
Back upstairs - that's probably Christopher.

[They exit back upstairs just as Butler enters to answer the door. The door opens, but there is no one there. A second knock and Butler looks around. A third knock and Butler follows the sound which leads him to the drawing room and the French windows. He opens them and a woman steps in wearing dark glasses and a beret, looking around nervously. She closes the doors quickly after her and draws the curtains]

Butler:
And you must be the international spy we've been expecting.

[The figure removes her fur stoll and hands it to Butler. She speaks in a husky American drawl]

Fanny:
Take this and don't whitter. And take care of my luggage, will you? It's outside. I'm sorry for using these doors ...

Butler:
A door is a door, madam.

Fanny:
... but I asked my driver if he'd take me up the back way and he nearly crashed the car. I need to be inconspicuous. I can't be seen here.

Butler:
Forgive me, but who shall I announce?

Fanny:
Oh, silly me.

[Fanny removes her glasses and stares at Butler, as if this will make her identity clear]

Butler:
Again, who shall I announce?

Fanny:
Really? You don't recognise me? Maybe it's the lights.

Butler:
If I could just have your name ...

Fanny:
You never go to the movies?

Butler:
Ah ... the penny drops. You're an actress. I'm afraid I haven't attended the movies for many years. Your name, please.

Fanny:
Fanny. Fanny Teasingly-Poised.

Butler:
Charming. If you'd care to wait in the hall I'll attempt to locate the lady of the house.

[Butler leads Fanny into the hall]

Fanny
Don't forget about my luggage.

Butler:
Certainly not, madam.

[Butler exits upstairs just as Prune enters the hallway from the kitchen. Fanny can smell him]

Fanny:
What is that smell?

Prune:
It's called Dianthus caryo-phyllus.

Fanny:
Your fragrance?

Prune:
My carnation.

[Prune presents Fanny with a carnation that he has hidden behind his back]

Fanny:
A carnation? My favourite.

Prune:
I know. I saw you getting out of your car. You're an actress.

Fanny:
Thank God someone here knows.

Prune:
Fanny. Your name is Fanny. Are you here for the weekend?

Fanny:
That is what I intend to find out. What's your name?

Prune:
Prune.

Fanny:
Prune - do you have a light?

[She produces a cigarette]

Prune:
I do, yes.

[There is a pause]

Fanny:
May I have it?

Prune:
I'll have to take it down first. It's on the ceiling in my bedroom.

[The front door opens and a damp Doctor enters]

Dr:
Up to my knees in bloody mildew.

Fanny:
[to Doctor] There you are, darling.

Prune:
[to Fanny] And there you are, darling.

Dr:
[to Prune] Who are you calling darling?

Fanny:
He was calling me darling, darling.

[Doctor turns to see Fanny. She throws her arms around him and they kiss]

Fanny:
Surprised?

Dr:
Fanny? What the hell are you doing here? You'll ruin everything!

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[The figure hands the knife to Butler. She steps into the light and reveals herself to be a short, tubby woman wearing layers of clothes and a pair of filthy, thick spectacles. This is Cook Thoroughly. She removes her scarf. She removes her coat. She removes her cardigan. She removes her second cardigan. She hands each to Butler]

Butler:
Ah, you must be the strippogram. Do come in.

Cook:
Why thank you, my dear - and you must be Butler the butler.

Butler:
Indeed.

Cook:
Oh, I've taken to you already, straight away.

Butler:
Should I announce you, madam?

Cook:
Announce me? I should coco. I'm the cook.

[Butler dumps the pile of clothes on the floor]

Cook:
Mrs. Thoroughly. Here - have you seen my Prune?

Butler:
Not recently - where did you leave it?

Cook:
'Bout that big - he's a big lad.

Butler:
He's a person, is he?

[A young man - a large, strapping, tweed-clad gardener-type - ambles into the doorway. This is indeed Prune the Gardener]

Butler:
Would this be him?

Cook:
That's him, my son - the gardener. Come in Prune. Remember to wipe your feet.

[Prune enters in muddy boots and wipes them once indoors]

Butler:
Is it house trained?

Cook:
Here, Prune - look. Look here, look. Prune. We have a new friend. Say hello to Mr. Butler, Prune. Go on, say hello. Just say hello. Say it. Come on Prune. Say hello. That's it.

Prune:
Hello, Mr. Butler.

Cook:
There we go. That was no worse than having a turnip up your nose, now was it? [to Butler] I bet your mind and thoughts are awondering about us pair?

Butler:
Fleetingly.

Cook:
Well, this 'ere son of mine as I was previously introducing to you just this moment ago, well his name is Prune.

Butler:
So I gathered.

Cook:
But not no way at all was he called that because my own self had a premonition that he would enter the profession of the gardening trade. Oh no, I cannot fortell the forthcoming future, Mr. Butler. I'm not a medium.

Butler:
You surprise me.

Cook:
I called him Prune, 'cos about the time, or thereabouts, that he was born, or just after as it happens, my late husband Roger (who wasn't late when he spoke it, though he'd never been particularly early either) says to me in his own words, vocally - 'Pat!' says he, meaning me, 'Pat - this bain't be no babby. That be a prune!' And so it stuck.

Butler:
How delightful ...

Cook:
Mind you, he had the look of a Prune about him. 'Face like an elephant's saggin arse' his headmistress used to say.

[There is a pause. Butler is about to speak but Cook starts again]

Cook:
Gabble, gabble, gabble - that's me. Mrs. Gabble of Gabbling Avenue, Gabbleton they call me. But I can't stand stood here chitter-chattering all day, much as you'd like me to. We've already got ourselves a delayed lateness due to that policeman's bollards.

Butler:
I'm sorry?

Cook:
No, don't be sorry - the main road's been wholly closed up and off completely by the constabularies and as a direct resulting consequence I now have a cold hob. I'm hoping my baps still have time to rise - big turn out today, so I do hear tell that I'm told. So I'll go to it.

[Cook heads to the kitchen and then turns back]

Cook:
Incidentally, and purely as a passing footnote to what we was chatteringly conversing on then and now - I must apologise. Coming in through the front door and all. But 'fraid to say, and curse me sideways as the words pass me pearly tooths, but it's Betsy.

Butler:
Betsy?

Cook:
The cat. Dolloped on the back step. And our Prune has a well-known and reknown reputation for trailing dollops of all shades and hue through houses and homesteads all over the village. Prune? Go get your bucket and spade and set to and about clearing up all of the mess we have hereabouts and there.

Prune:
Will do.

[Prune exits through the front door, wiping his feet on the outside of the doorway this time]

Cook:
I feel a fraught day approaching, Mr. Butler. I can feel it. I have water on the knee and high blood pressure - you know what that means?

Butler:
Boiling water?

Cook:
Time to scrub up.

[Cook exits to the kitchen. Doctor Oncall enters from upstairs]

Dr:
Ah, Butler - might I use the telephone?

Butler:
To make a call?

Dr:
Naturally.

Butler:
You weren't intending, perhaps, to irreperably maim a cook with the receiver?

Dr:
No.

Butler:
Pity.

[Butler gestures towards the phone before exiting. Doctor takes a small book out of his pocket and searches for a number before dialling]

Dr:
Hello? Is that the Palace Hotel Dover? Could you put me through to the suite of Mr and Mrs Smith? Yes, room 401. I know he's left - this is Mr Smith, but Mrs Smith should still be there. Has she? Oh, I see. And when do you expect her back? I'll leave a message in that case. Just tell her not to book the tickets to Mexico as there may be a slight delay. What? Yes, I'll hold.

[Phillipa appears on the stairs, holding an empty wine bottle]

Phil:
Christopher!

Dr:
[to the phone] Phillipa?

Phil:
Christopher!

[He spins round and sees her on the stairs]

Dr:
Phillipa!

Phil:
Now I've caught you - I know exactly what you're up to!

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[Lady Bea and Doctor Oncall release their grip on each other under Phillipa's whithering stare]

Lady:
Oh, dear me. I feel terribly flushed and I need to lie down in my bedroom. If you'll excuse me Doctor, Mrs. Oncall. I'll just be lying down in my bedroom. Oh, dear, dear. Yes, my bedroom. That's the third bedroom on the left at the top of the stairs next to the bathroom with the mauve and pink door facing the original Monet.

[Lady Bea exits upstairs, visibly wilting]

Phil:
What on earth is going on?

Dr:
It's alright Phillipa, her ladyship has just been feeling a little dickie. Any way, I think maybe I should go after her.

[Doctor dashes upstairs]

Phil:
But Christopher - we must talk about .. oh!

[Phillipa crosses to the drawing room and enters just as Stan is about to exit through the French windows]

Phil:
Oh, good morning.

[Stan turns round just as Phillip sits down, her back to him]

Stan:
Good morning.

Phil:
Would you like to come away for the weekend?

Stan:
I'm sorry?

Phil:
I'll take you to a secluded romantic locale where we can rebuild our relationship.

Stan:
Are you talking to me?

Phil:
That's what he said to me. The good doctor - my husband.

Stan:
What? The doctor? He's your husband?

Phil:
Yes, well - no ... it's complicated. I am sorry, my name is ...

[She turns to face him, offering her hand]

Phil:
Stanley Upright!

Stan:
Well, what a coincidence - that's my name.

Phil:
Stanley! It's me - Phillipa!

Stan:
Phillipa? You?

Phil:
Yes!

Stan:
Oh my god. Phillipa!

[Phillipa is once again enraged]

Phil:
Fifteen years! Fifteen years, Stanley Upright ...

Stan:
Now, there was a good reason ...

Phil:
I promised myself that I would hit you if I ever saw you again.

Stan:
The car got lost on the High Street - just before the church.

Phil:
Don't make excuses! Fifteen years since you left me at the altar!

Stan:
What are you doing here?

Phil:
My husband and I are here for the rehearsals.

Stan:
Really? Well, it appears that I am here for the same thing! I'm an actor these days.

Phil:
That's a bit of a change of scene for you - rather different from robbing people's houses.

Stan:
Ssshh!

Phil:
Of course it was exciting in those days. A real life burglar, from our little village! You were an idol, Stanley, that's why I loved you. I dreamt of your glamorous life.

Stan:
It was hardly glamorous.

Phil:
It was to me, Stan - I was a nit nurse. You were the most exciting thing to happen in our little village since the vicar was arrested for poking an aubergene through a parishoner's letterbox and shouting 'The Martians are coming'. I remember papa reading of your daring exploits before we went to bed - and the day you were sent to prison the entire village gathered at midnight around the pond to sing Ivor Novello songs. I'll never forget that poignant moment, just as a golden dawn was breaking over the distant horizon, grandfather began to play 'We'll Gather Lilacs' on his washboard.

Stan:
I'm deeply touched.

Phil:
Why didn't you marry me, Stanley? Why? If you had I would never have been lumbered with Christopher.

Stan:
Don't you love him?

Phil:
Perhaps once. When I met him he had prospects. A young doctor, just returned from working in Mexico. He promised me we'd travel the world together ...

Stan:
What happened?

Phil:
He spent his inheritance. We ended up in this backwater, with him working as the GP. Fifteen years on and we're still here - still the Doctor and his wife from the tiny village of Much Ferreting On The Goe.

Stan:
I never stopped loving you, Phil. I was stupid to leave you. I need you.

Phil:
Do you?

Stan:
Now more than ever - I need someone I can trust to be by my side. I have a plan.

Phil:
Tell me all about it.

Stan:
Well, I happened to overhear Lady Bea and your husband talking and ...

[The door bell rings]

Phil:
Wait! We should talk elsewhere. Come up to my room - Christopher will still be tending to Lady Bea.

Stan:
Let's take some wine with us - it's a long plan.

[Phil drags Stan by the arm into the hallway where they bump into Butler who is heading for the front door]

Phil:
Oh, hello Butler.

Butler:
Madam?

Phil:
We were just looking for the kitchen.

Butler:
It's over there madam - deceptively hidden behind the door marked 'kitchen'.

[Stan and Phillipa exit into the kitchen as Butler heads to the front door. Once again he pulls the heavy door open and there, silhouetted against the sunlight, stands a figure with a large and deadly knife held threateningly above its head]

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[The Doctor and Lady Bea break their long embrace]

Dr
Oh, Bea. Do you know how long it is?

Lady:
Well ...

Dr:
Two days! Two days I've been parted from those dew drop eyes, those tranquil and inviting lips, your bobbly little nose ...

Lady:
Keep my bobbly little nose out of this.

Dr:
Bea, my darling. I've been yearning for this moment. Do you know how much I yearn?

Lady:
About forty thousand a year?

Dr:
Beatrice Goode, I come here with the solemn intention of declaring my undying passion for you and all you can do is be flippant.

Lady:
Oh, Christopher - I do love you. I've loved you from the very moment you spoke your first words to me, 'Open wide'.

Dr:
That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dining at the Ritz ... need I say any more?

Lady:
I think not.

Dr:
Oh my darling Bea - can you imagine my torment? Existing in this claustrophobic world and knowing how my heart longs to be free ... longs to romp in the giddy meadows of requited passion. I want to cavort, caper, bounce, frisk, frolic and lark. You are my hearts delight and where you are I long to be. You made me love you - I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Isn't it rich? Aren't we a pair? You with your feet on the ground, me in mid air. Love will never ever let you be the same.

Lady:
Oh do try and restrain yourself, Christopher. And please don't gesticulate on the carpet, you're a married man.

Dr:
But not for long, my darling.

Lady:
Whatever do you mean?

Dr:
I've been to my solicitor.

Lady:
I find all this divorce business so distressing.

Dr:
My solicitor seems to think that we have good grounds for divorce. If we could get started straight away, get the ball rolling as it were, we could be out of this damned mess and be free spirits within six months.

Lady:
Six months?

Dr:
Six months, home and dry.

Lady:
And rich.

Dr:
Rich?

Lady
Your trust fund, Christopher. The one that matures on your fiftieth birthday. We would have that between us.

Dr:
Yes, the trust fund.

Lady:
Christopher - tease me with you income. Tell me you have something large tucked away.

Dr:
About my trust fund ... how can I put this? We may never see the money - I have a blockage.

Lady:
In an artery?

Dr:
No, no - in my cash flow. I can't get my hands on the money for another eighteen months.

Lady:
But your birthday ...

Dr:
It's my solicitor, you see - he needs paying first. A lump sum up front. Bea, I don't have the kind of money he's asking ... one hundred thousand pounds.

Lady:
Great Scott!

Dr:
I know. But it's either pay the ludicrous fee or live a sad life of eternal heavy heartedness. For I could never be without you ... snugglebunny.

[As they gaze into each others eyes Stan enters through the French windows. He realises he is intruding on a tender scene and ducks behind the sofa]

Lady:
Christopher, I do love you. I take it that you are aware of this.

Dr:
Oh yes.

Lady:
I have never loved a man so much since I saw Mario Lanza's Rigoletto. You are indeed a fine, upstanding and resourceful gentleman and I am willing to spend the remainder of my dwindling days being courted and wooed by you.

Dr:
Jolly good.

Lady:
And to ensure this happens I am prepared to make a sacrifice.

Dr:
No, Bea, you mustn't.

Lady:
Oh, but I must, Christopher. I do have a little money in the bank.

Dr:
You do?

Lady:
I was saving it for a rainy day - and today I felt a plop on my head. Do you also feel the rain, Christopher?

Dr:
There's not a cloud to spoil the view, Bea, but it's raining, raining in my heart.

Lady:
Then it's decided. You may have my money.

[The Doctor produces from his pocket a contract]

Dr:
Excellent, Bea - now I've gone to the trouble of having a ...

Lady:
But it's not as much as you'd like.

Dr:
Oh. Eighty thousand?

Lady:
No, no.

Dr:
Seventy five?

Lady:
Gracious, no.

Dr:
I could do it for sixty?

Lady:
Forty five thousand pounds.

Dr:
Done.

Lady:
Done?

Dr:
Bea, I love you. Oh, you're so lovely Lady Bea Goode.

Lady:
Pure Gershwin. I realise your love for me has left you a little cliched. Shall we continue regardless?

Dr
Yes - if you would just sign here, where I've made a cross ...

Lady:
How vulgar! I don't transact business in the drawing room!

Dr:
Don't you?

Lady:
Let's take this to the bedroom.

Dr:
Oh, Bea. Let me take you upstairs and kiss you on the veranda.

Lady:
Lips would be fine.

[They exit in a rush and Stan appears from behind the sofa, watching. As Lady Bea and Doctor Oncall cross the hallway, hand in hand, Phillipa comes down the stairs and walks straight into them. She is furious]

Phil:
Christopher!

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[The man in the doorway turns round and hands his small medical bag to Butler]

Dr:
Doctor Oncall.

Butler:
I wasn't aware that we'd sent for a doctor?

Dr:
No, no, that's my name - Christopher Oncall. But you can call me Doctor. And this is my wife, Phillipa.

[Clearing the door the Doctor reveals his wife walking behind him, carrying the remainder of their luggage, which she dumps in the hallway]

Dr:
And you are ... now, don't tell me.

Butler:
Very well, sir.

Dr:
You're the new butler!

Butler:
So I am. I'm Butler.

Dr:
I guessed as much.

Butler:
No, no, that's my name - Butler. But you can call me as infrequently as possible.

Dr:
Very well. Is her ladyship about?

Butler:
It's 10:15. My guess is she's in the field slaughtering an ox.

Dr:
This Murder Mystery Weekend is going to be a riot, eh Butler?

Butler:
Indeed. I'm having difficulty containing myself.

Dr:
And my wife is just perfect for a role. What do you think, darling?

Butler:
It's scarcely my place to ...

Dr:
I was talking to my wife.

Butler:
Of course, sir.

Dr:
If you'll be so good as to nip these bags up to our room ...

Butler:
Yes, Doctor. I'll fetch her ladyship. Then I'll nip.

[Butler exits and, once out of sight, the timid Phillipa bursts in anger]

Phil:
'Darling'? 'Darling'!? I don't think you've called me 'darling' since I signed the divorce!

Dr:
Oh do be quiet. If this is to work we must appear to be happily married.

Phil:
We never were happily married.

Dr:
But we're getting along better than ever!

Phil:
We've been divorced for four months.

Dr:
Look, I'm sorry ...

Phil:
You were always sorry, Christopher. Sorry you gambled away the business, sorry you gambled away the car, sorry you gambled away the house. Thank God we never had children.

Dr:
Phillipa, I'm working on the ideal solution to my problems. And whatever financial recompense I gain will be half yours. But we must keep up the act - don't let me down now.

Phil:
I'm warning you ... I won't let you make a fool of me. If I find you making one single, solitary bet while we're here ...

[Lady Bea enters excitedly]

Lady:
Dr. Oncall - how lovely to see you!

Dr:
[kissing her lingeringly on the cheek] Lady Bea - a symphony in pink.

Lady:
Oh - I see you've brought someone with you.

Dr:
Lady Bea - this is my wife, Phillipa.

Lady:
Oh. [uncomfortably] How nice to meet you. Your name?

Phil:
Phillipa.

Lady:
Of course. Anyway, Doctor, I cannot begin to thank you for offering to help with my theatrical endeavours.

Dr:
Enlighten me, Lady Bea - why am I here?

Lady:
In your medical capacity, Doctor. The plot for this Murder Mystery Weekend has been hatched by my own creative resources - and a blood-chilling tale it is too. Little did I realise how calculating, vile and malevolent my mind was ... [turning to Phillipa] ... Lovely frock ... [turning back to the Doctor] ... however, as a lady of breeding I rarely encounter such occurences in real life and I need a practising professional to advise me.

Phil:
And that's Christopher, is it? A professional?

[Butler enters]

Lady:
Butler! Show Mrs. Oncall to the middle room, will you please? I just need to have a quick word with the good Doctor in the drawing room.

[Doctor and Lady Bea exit to the drawing room]

Phil:
He thinks he's so smart. He thinks he has it all sorted. I'll tell you this Butler, I'm not a complete moron.

Butler:
Really? Which part is missing?

[Lady Bea and the Doctor watch as Phillipa and Butler make their way up the staircase and, once the coast is clear, they close the drawing room door and lock together in a passionate embrace]

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

[Lady Bea steps over the body of the man on the carpet, ignoring him entirely, and closes the window]

Lady:
There. Snug as a bug.

[She steps back over the body as she exits the room, clapping her hands in delight at her own self sufficiency. On the floor Stan Upright begins to stir. He awakes and struggles to his feet, holding his head on the spot that met with the table edge. It takes him a moment to realise where he is and, as his surroundings come sharply into focus, he sees the mess he has created. He has just set about correcting the upset lamps and replacing the various ornaments when Lady Bea re-enters, this time accompanied by her austere butler, Butler, who carries a tray of nibbles. Stan grabs the nearest vase and freezes with it held menacingly above his head. Lady Bea and Butler walk past him]

Lady:
It was this window, you recalcitrant oaf.

Butler:
I see, my lady.

Lady:
Who knows what assorted wildlife may have wandered into my vestibule and taken up residence. Cat, dog, badger ...

Butler:
Cow.

Lady:
I beg your pardon?

Butler:
Fret no further, my lady - now that I am running the household such an oversight shan't happen again.

[Butler exits, leaving the tray on the coffee table, and Lady Bea takes a seat on the sofa, in front of the frozen Stan, whom she speaks to over her shoulder]

Lady:
I think you'll find that's Spode.

Stan:
[surprised] I'm sorry?

Lady:
No, don't be sorry - come and join me.

[Stan is unsure what to do, but replaces the vase and crosses timidly to the sofa]

Lady:
Could I press you to a sausage?

Stan:
I'm sorry?

Lady:
No, don't be sorry. [she gestures towards the tray of food] I know what you're thinking - you're thinking that I've got lovely nibbles.

Stan:
I am?

Lady:
You're not wrong - I'm reknowned throughout the Shire for them. And I know the bishop always finds my spread most gratifying. Now, let's get aquainted - what's your name?

Stan:
I'm sorry?

Lady:
No, don't be sorry - what's your name?

Stan:
Stan Upright. You can call me Stan, ma'am.

Lady:
I see, Stanmam. And do you this kind of thing often?

Stan:
Every so often, yes.

Lady:
I do so admire people who can divest themselves of their outer layers and lay themselves bare before an admiring throng.

Stan:
You do?

Lady:
You look like the type that doesn't mind holding his own in front of strangers?

Stan:
Well ...

Lady:
I do hope that I have the kind of parts you like? Do you like big parts or small parts? Or are you just happy to have something to get your teeth into?

Stan:
I think it's about time I was leaving ...

Lady:
Oh, forgive me, Stanmam. I don't mean to bully you and you are obviously very modest about your professional achievements, but I am so fascinated by acting.

Stan:
Acting? Oh, you think I'm some sort of actor?

Lady:
Come, come - don't be so modest. I am very perceptive. Now I've scheduled a rehearsal for this afternoon - the rest of the company should have arrived by then. Earl Grey and a crumpet and we'll set to.

Stan:
What are we rehearsing?

Lady:
Murder.

Stan:
Murder?

Lady:
I love the theatre. I adore it. I thrive on it. What's the word for something that gets into ones blood and simply won't go away?

Stan:
'Septic'.

Lady:
I was once in a Greek tragedy. Do you know Oedipus Rex? Of course it was years ago and I was beautiful then. People came from miles around to sit and gaze at my Jocasta. I very nearly played Mother Superior in the society's production of 'The Sound of Music' a few years ago - I still have the costume upstairs somewhere I think - but I hadn't sung for years and just couldn't get back into the habit. Of course, now I hardly have time for such persuits - not with this crumbling old mansion to maintain.

Stan:
It is a beautiful old house.

Lady:
It's been in my family for generations. It was from this very house that Cromwell supressed one of his uprisings. Churchill ruminated on the patio, you know. There's still a mark. But the place has fallen into disrepair - that's why he suggested a Murder Mystery Weekend.

Stan:
Who suggested a Murder Mystery Weekend?

Lady:
Why, the man who hired you. My late husband's old business partner, Mr. Fitzbadly. And of course - how could I refuse a weekend of theatricality? It's the perfect way to raise funds. I've missed acting so much. I have so little time and I did so enjoy being tied up with the G&S people.

[The door bell rings in the hallway]

Lady:
Butler! Butler! That tinkling noise is the door bell.

[Butler is in the hallway, already heading for the door]

Butler:
Thank you for clearing that up, ma'am. For one moment I thought I had succumbed to some form of howling hallucination.

[Lady Bea grabs Stan by the arm and leads him to the French windows]

Lady:
Come into the garden, Stanmam. I'll warrant you've never seen laburnums the size of mine before.

[They exit into the garden. Meanwhile, in the hallway, Butler opens the heavy, creaking door and there, with his back to the doorway, stands a figure carrying a small, serious-looking suitcase]

Butler:
And just who might you be?

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB & IB 1995

The dark drawing room of Sodham Hall, ancestral home of a long line of Sodhams. It is a black, black night - except for a beam of moonlight which spills through the French windows. All is quiet and still.

Then, a figure appears at the windows - a silhouette tries the doors but fails to open them. With practised ease the figure gains access to the room via another window. He lights a torch and scans the room. Making his way in the inky blackness, the silhouette trips on the corner of a rug and, falling over, he looses his torch.

The room is once more in complete darkness. The figure scrambles on the floor, dislodging ornaments and banging noisily against tables. He finds his torch again and, switching it on, illuminates a crowded hat stand in the hallway. The figure drops the torch again in surprise and, bending over to retrieve it, knocks himself out on the corner of a table. The figure slumps to the ground.

Many hours pass until dawn breaks.

Now fully lit by the sun's morning rays, the figure lies motionless in the centre of the drawing room exactly where he fell. This, ironically, is Stan Upright.

The living room door swings open with a theatrical flair, and there, bedecked entirely in her signature pink tafita stands the elderly lady of the house - Lady Bea Goode. She looks around the drawing room and spies the open window.

Lady:
Butler! Butler, you baffoon. I knew at once there was an open window. Am I an eskimo? Do I yearn for the chilling breeze of the arctic wastelands? No, I do not! Butler!

[Getting no response from the butler, Lady Bea takes the only course of action open to her - she enters the drawing room and heads straight for the offending window ... and the prostrate stranger in the middle of her floor]

TO BE CONTINUED ...
© PB and IB 1995