Priestley Plays Four (5 page)

CAPT. P.:
(Triumphantly.)
There you are, dear. What did I say? He knew me all right. Everybody does. What’s the date?

SAM: Thirty-first of June.

CAPT. P.: And about time too. Ought to be in Genoa now. I’ve got eighty cases of damaged custard powder there. Bought ’em off a fella in Barcelona. He was plastered. So was I. What the hell can you do with damaged custard powder?

SAM:
(Thoughtfully.)
Turn it into damaged custard, I suppose. You’d need an advertising campaign – for the new flavour. Try Mr Dimmock of Wallaby, Dimmock, Paly and Tooks. Ignore Tooks.

CAPT. P.: Thanks for the tip, old boy. How’d you feel about a half-share in a disused Portuguese light-house?

SAM: It would have to be the top half – and very cheap.

CAPT. P.: Drop me a line week after next. Care of the Albanian Sports Club, Old Compton Street. Know it?

SAM: No.

CAPT. P.: Filthy hole. What did you say your name was?

SAM: I didn’t. But it’s Penty – Sam Penty.

CAPT. P.: Of course. Knew your brother in Nairobi.

SAM: I haven’t got a brother.

CAPT. P.: It was somebody else then. But it just shows you what a damned small world we live in.
(To BARMAID.)
Where’s the telephone, dear?
(Swallows drink.)

BARMAID: In the passage, back of the Saloon. You’ll have to go out, then in again.

CAPT. P.: Anybody know the number of the Panamanian Legation? No? Never mind.
(Goes to door, then turns.)
What do you think about this deal? I’ve a third share in an electric band arriving from Venezuela next Thursday. Now a fella I met in Polperro night before last – he was a bit plastered – offered me in exchange a thirty percent holding in a pilchard canning company. You’re a keen fella. What do
you
feel?

SAM: I must give it some thought, Captain Plunket. By the way, what would
you
feel if you kept seeing a dwarf in red and yellow doublet and hose?

CAPT. P.:
(Not surprised.)
Oh – he’s looking for you, is he?

SAM:
(Staggered.)
Do you mean he’s
here
?

CAPT. P.: Outside a minute ago, old boy. Shan’t be long. Don’t go.

He goes out. Sam looks at the BARMAID, who looks vacantly at nothing
.

SAM:
(After a moment or two.)
Quiet, isn’t it?

BARMAID: That’s ri’.

After a moment GRUMET looks in, sees SAM and recognises him, grinning broadly. SAM now sees him, gives a start and an exclamation. GRUMET disappears
.

SAM:
(Excitedly.)
Did
you
see a dwarf in red and yellow?

BARMAID: No. Saw the door blow open, that’s all.

SAM:
(With a sigh.)
A double gin and a pint of mild, please?

BARMAID:
(As she gets drinks.)
You think I’m stupid, don’t you?

SAM:
(Taken by surprise.)
Well – not exactly – no. But – er –

BARMAID: Of course you do. Well, let me tell
you
something. If I didn’t make myself stupid on this job, in a week I’d be round the bloody bend. That’ll be four and ten.

As he pays and takes drinks MALGRIM enters. He is exactly as before except he is in modern clothes, of a cut and style that suggests an elderly performer. In fact, he looks like an older conjurer in the grand style
.

MALGRIM:
(Smiling.)
Good morning, Sam!

SAM:
(Surprised.)
Oh – hello! – Let’s see – did we meet you at one of Natasha’s parties – theatrical types – Not an illusionist, are you?

MALGRIM: How clever of you, Sam. That is exactly what I am. Malgrim is the name.
(To the BARMAID.)
I will have that bottle there – the green one –

BARMAID: The creem de men-thy? But not the whole bottle?

MALGRIM: If you please. And the tankard.
(Pointing.)
You want money of course –
(He produces a vast wad of notes and throws it down.)

BARMAID: ’Ere, steady on!

MALGRIM: Don’t keep them long, that’s all. They’ll be dead leaves soon.
(He now begins emptying the crème-de-menthe bottle into the tankard, to the astonishment of the other two.)
But they won’t change while it’s still the thirty-first.

SAM: The thirty-first, eh? Did you see a dwarf out there?

MALGRIM: I did. Grumet’s his name. He’s in my employment for the time being.

SAM:
(Indignantly.)
He ran away with my painting.

MALGRIM: Ah – yes – the portrait of Princess Melicent. Well, she’s seen it – she’s delighted with it – and is longing to make your acquaintance, Sam. That’s why I’m here.
(Raises the tankard.)
My respects and good wishes, Sam.
(To the astonishment of the other two, he drains it slowly.)

BARMAID:
(Alarmed.)
Stop him – ’e’ll be unconscious in a minute. A whole bottle of creem-de-menthy!

MALGRIM:
(Smiling as he puts down tankard.)
Very refreshing. Now Sam – I want to keep our talk free from any professional pedantry, if I can – but how familiar are you with the problems of higher space?

SAM: Not at all. Who’s Princess Melicent?

MALGRIM: Suppose we assume a universe of six dimensions. The first three are length, breadth and thickness. The next three might be called – first, the sphere of attention and material action; second, the sphere of memory; third, the sphere of imagination.

SAM: What do you mean when you say you’re here because this princess wants to make my acquaintance?

MALGRIM: Whatever is imagined must exist somewhere in the universe. Now you probably think Princess Melicent is an imaginary figure –

SAM: I do and I don’t.

MALGRIM: Quite right. Because of course she is and she isn’t. And while she knows that she herself is in real life, she feels that you must be outside it – as of course I do.

SAM:
(Rather indignantly.)
You mean you don’t call this real life?

MALGRIM: Of course not. A horrible confused botch of dreams, nightmares, phantasies, and mixed partial enchantments. But of course it exists, just as you exist in it – and you too of course, my dear –
(To BARMAID.)

BARMAID: Much obliged. I was getting worried.

SAM: Where does my painting come in?

MALGRIM: It doesn’t yet. I’m now explaining how it’s possible to move – once you know the trick – from our world to yours, yours to ours. I leave real life for imaginary life and meet you. When you go back with me, as you will do shortly, then
you
leave real life for imaginary life, to meet the princess. Which is real, which is imaginary, depends on the position of the observer. It could truthfully be said that both are real, both are imaginary.

SAM: What about the dwarf – which is he?

MALGRIM: Not quite either at the moment – I’ve sent him home.

Enter CAPTAIN PLUNKET, as before
.

BARMAID:
He’s
back. That’s all we needed.

CAPT. P.: Two double Scotches, dear. What about you two?

SAM: No thanks. Got one. Captain Plunket – Mr Malgrim – the illusionist –

CAPT. P.: Of course. Couldn’t place you for a moment. Seen you at the Savage Club. Remember you at the old Holborn Empire, too. Wonderful act.
(To BARMAID as she produces drinks, tossing ten shilling note again.)
Thank you, dear. Keep the change.
(Drinks.)

SAM: You sent the dwarf home? Where’s that?

MALGRIM: The Kingdom of Peradore.

CAPT. P.: Don’t know it – but knew a fellow called Peradore. He’d six fingers on each hand. Never kept his hands still, though. Fellas nearly went barmy trying to count his fingers.

SAM:
(To MALGRIM.)
Peradore? Sounds to me like something out of Arthurian legends. So how can anybody
go
there?

MALGRIM:
(Smoothly.)
In the third sphere are parallel times, diverging and converging times, and times spirally intertwined.

CAPT. P.: It just shows you. And talking of times, I can put you on to a fella who has four gross of Swiss watches in the spare tank of his motor yacht. Daren’t land ’em. He’s hot as a stove.
(Drains his other glass.)
Let’s have a spot of lunch. Troc or somewhere. On me.

MALGRIM:
(Gravely.)
Sam and I must go to Peradore.

CAPT. P.: Been closed for years, old boy, if it’s the place I think you mean. Anyhow, you wouldn’t try and ditch Good Old Skip Plunket, would you?

MALGRIM: Yes.

CAPT. P.:
(Linking himself with SAM.)
Can’t be done, old boy. Sam and I are up to our necks in a custard powder deal and a Portuguese lighthouse. If you want to try the old Peradore, I’m game, though ten to one we’ll end up in the Troc, but where Sam goes – I go.

MALGRIM:
(Sharply.)
Then take the consequences.

CAPT. P.: Old Skip Plunket is always ready –

MALGRIM:
(Commandingly.) Silence!

He waves his hand and the stage darkens. A lute is heard faintly. He waves a hand at the panelled wall, which opens. MALGRIM stands at the opening, waving them in
.

Gentlemen – welcome to Peradore!

We hear the rushing wind sound as all three move in, the light fades here, the panelling is closed, and light comes up in the private bar. The BARMAID, who has fainted across bar counter, now slowly recovers. ANNE DUTTON-SWIFT and PHILIP SPENCER-SMITH, both keen and brisk, enter
.

ANNE:
(Brightly.)
Good-morning!

PHILIP:
(Brightly.)
Good-morning!

BARMAID:
(Faintly, with an effort.)
’Morning. Turned-out – nice – again –

ANNE:
(Smiling, brightly.)
We’re looking for a friend of ours –

PHILIP:
(Same.)
He said he was coming along here –

ANNE: Mr Sam Penty.

PHILIP: Have you seen him this morning?

BARMAID:
(With an effort.)
Yes. ’E’s bin in.

PHILIP:
(Brightly.)
Oh – jolly good!

ANNE:
(Brightly.)
But what’s happened to him?

BARMAID:
(Faintly, with an effort.)
Come closer. Just ’ad a nasty turn.

PHILIP:
(Brightly, closer.)
Oh – rotten luck!

ANNE:
(Closer.)
Don’t force yourself.

BARMAID:
(As before.)
I’ll ’ave to. ’Im an’ two other crackpots went off together – something about a princess – in a Portuguese lighthouse – with six fingers for Swiss watches –

PHILIP: Sorry, but you’re not making this awfully clear –

ANNE: But don’t worry – just tell us
where
they went –

BARMAID:
(Pointing feebly at panelling.)
Through the wall.

She collapses as light fades and we hear the sound of the electric drill again
.

Room in advertising agency again. As before. Pneumatic drill is still heard. DIMMOCK is discovered trying to talk at telephone. He has a glass of milk and some sandwiches at his elbow. He looks very worried
.

DIMMOCK:
(Into telephone, shouting above drill.)
…They showed me a lay-out this morning – but I said it wasn’t good enough – dead wrong for your products – not properly aimed at the Chunky Chat public – I say –
(Here the drill stops abruptly, so he goes on shouting.)
Not properly aimed at your Chunky Chat public… I’m sorry – there’s a damned drill keeps starting up here… Well, we’ll try to have something to show you by the end of the week – ’Bye.

Puts down telephone. Drinks a little milk and begins nibbling sandwich, all in an abstracted worried way. After a moment or two, a large brown rat pops out of the cupboard, far enough to be seen but keeping close. Then, as DIMMOCK sees it and rises in horror, we hear the sound of MARLAGRAM’s ‘he-he-he’ laugh. Furious, DIMMOCK hurls a notebook or pad at it and misses. We hear the ‘he-he-he’ again, and rat goes back into the cupboard
.

DIMMOCK:
(Into intercom, controlling his fury.)
Peggy, come in.
(He stands up again, tries to eat more sandwich but finds it distasteful, perhaps tries another. PEGGY enters.)
Peggy, we’ve got rats here.

PEGGY: I’ve tried to tell you that, Mr Dimmock. I could name two of them – downright disloyal to the firm –

DIMMOCK: No, I mean real rats. I’ve just seen one. Came out of that cupboard. A big fat brown rat – cheeky as hell. He stood there – laughing at me. What do you think of that?

PEGGY:
(Earnestly.)
I think you ought to go home, Mr Dimmock.

DIMMOCK: Go home? What are you talking about?

PEGGY:
(Pleading.)
Mr Dimmock, your health comes first. Business isn’t everything. Wouldn’t you like me to send for the car and then ring up Mrs Dimmock?

DIMMOCK:
(Angrily.)
No, I wouldn’t. Just because I saw a rat!

PEGGY: Not just the rat. You said you saw a dwarf –

DIMMOCK: Well, I
did
see a dwarf. Now, you get on with your work, Peggy, and let me get on with mine.
(As she goes.)
And tell ’em next time I don’t want sandwiches that taste like sawdust.

PEGGY:
(Turning at door, reproachfully.)
Oh – Mr Dimmock – it’s not the sandwiches – it’s
you –

When she goes, he opens the cupboard cautiously. It is solidly filled with big books, files etc. as before. He stares at it thoughtfully, closes doors, then walks slowly away, and, turned away from the cupboard, tries his sandwiches and milk again. Out of the cupboard comes MELICENT, looking very beautiful, expectant, gay, in a costume we have not seen before. DIMMOCK turns and sees her and is astonished
.

DIMMOCK: Now what’s this?

MELICENT:
(Smiling sweetly.)
It’s me. Who are you?

DIMMOCK: Seeing this is my room, I ought to be asking
you
that. However, as you’re new – I’ll tell you. I’m Mr Dimmock, one of the directors here. And though you look very nice, my dear, you must understand we can’t have models in costume roaming about just as they like.