  A RADIO PLAY by W. G. STANTON.
60 Minutes
SYN0PSIS Cyril Meggitt, rising forty, balding, heavily overweight is employed as chief clerk in the firm of Craddock's Ltd., steel stockholders. He in a conscientious though not ambitious worker. A bachelor, he lives with his mother in reasonably comfortable circumstances, his father having died of a coronary thrombosis so" years before, leaving his widow well provided for. Me implication is that Lilian, the mother, having overfed her husband. into his grave is now in the process of repeating the performance with Cyril. He is slowly being reduced (or rather expanded) to a chronically dyspeptic bladder of lard. Me chances of his marrying grow less with every year. A departmental manager at Craddock's having died suddenly, the almost extinct embers of ambition begin to glow again in Cyril, who in incapable of seeing that he has really wither the desire nor the ability to hold down a more responsible job than the one he is doing. Unfortunately for his, there art two people who encourage him in this ambition; his mother, who fondly imagines that to her son all things are possible and Prunella Savage, a typist with Craddock's, for whom Cyril represents perhaps her last chance of marriage. Cyril's rival for the post of Departmental Manager in Bruce Mainwaring, an unpleasant individual, but a more obvious choice than Cyril.. Moreover, he moves in the same social circle as Simpson, their immediate superior. Whilst the whole question is in the balance, Cyril ruins his chances. Simpson has told him that a certain acknowledgement to an important order must go that evening. Cyril gives it to Prue to type, and Prue makes a vital error in the price before leaving it on Simpson's desk that afternoon for signature. It transpires that Simpson has noticed this, and leaves the acknowledgement unsigned for correction the next morning. Prunella finds the acknowledgement unsigned on Simpson's desk and realises why. But the opportunity is too good to mine. She now has a pretext for calling on Cyril at home, and takes the acknowledgement along for him to sign, knowing that in fact he has no authority to do so. However, since she fully intends to re-type it the next morning, she feels that there is no danger in this. Cyril jibs at signing, but she points out the urgency and how it will cause Cyril to stand well in Simpson's eyes if he uses his initiative. (It in made clear to the listener that this is all a ploy). Cyril signs. Prunella contrives to worm an invitation to the cinema out of Cyril, her evening having 'loon otherwise spoiled. Whilst he is getting the tickets she waken a pretext of slipping round the corner to post the acknowledgement though in fact she does nothing of the kind. But the whole incident has served to make Prunella and Lilian implacable enemies the war for Cyril in on. Prue's strategem comes to grief when Simpson notices that the acknowledgement in missing before she has had time to type the replacement. Cyril in questioned, and confesses to his supposed Milt. Simpson tells him that, "eon he can undo the mischief, the directors will take a serious viewl dismissal is hinted at. Whilst Cyril is thus being called over the coals Prunella in her anxiety tells Mainwaring. Mainwaring sees his opportunity. Telling her that she met not breathe a word or she will be held fully responsible he effectively silences her. Then he hams on to the acknowledgement and toile no one, whilst Cyril sweats It out. He desperately trios to undo the harm he thinks he has brought about by ringing his opposite number at the I customer's works, only to find that the acknowledgement has not arrived; a delay in the post in suspected. When after several days it is assumed by Simpson that the acknowledgement has gone astray and that there will be no repercussions. Simpson informs Cyril that he is prepared to overlook the offence, but that a" question of promotion is ruled out. At this point Mainwaring produces the document and says he has just found it, Cyril knows this to be impossible and challenges Prunella. Me has to confess, and her hopes are in ruins. Cyril goes home to mother, who cooks him his favourite carbohydrate, rejoicing in the knowledge that after such a scare he will never want to escape again. TREATMENT Cyril has two hobbies, his mother's cooking and writing, for which he has a small talent. His mother encourages him in both since they anchor him to her* I propose to develop these by interior monologue between the scenes of the play. lose interludes will also establish his chronic dyspepsia. (Is a burp permitted as a sound effect Simpson and Mainwaring are rather flat characters, designedly so* But I feel that the desperation of both Lilian and Prunella will provide a rich source of conflicts Cyril being the ball in their game of tennis. I want to suggest throughout that his life with mother has gradually eroded his will, and that in fact the end of the story is inevitable. | |||||||||
| DAEMON | Listen ! | ||||||||
(SOUND OF PEN SCRATCHING) | |||||||||
The moving finger writes. Or rather pen. | |||||||||
(SCRATCHING AGAIN) | |||||||||
That's Cyril. Cyril Meggitt. He has the writer's itch. | |||||||||
(MORE SCRATCHING) | |||||||||
And when he itches, he scratches. | |||||||||
(STILL MORE SCRATCHING) | |||||||||
But it never gets any better. | |||||||||
(SCRATCHING BEGINS AGAIN, THEN STOPS) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | (SIGHS) | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Nor does his writing. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, damn ! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Cyril Meggitt. Fortyish, baldish, fattish. No, not fattish. Fat. Five years ago his waist measurement passed his chest. Five years more, he'll double for Falstaff. Cyril Meggitt. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | The ribbon round the old hat - | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Old ? Antique. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Antique ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Well, ancient. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Ancient ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Ancient. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, all right. | ||||||||
(SCRATCHING BEGINS AGAIN. VOICE OF DAEMON OVER) | |||||||||
| DAEMON | I'm his daemon. D.A.E.M.O.N. Every writer has one. Shakespeare, Moliére..... Cyril Meggitt. | ||||||||
(SCRATCHING STOPS) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | And the ribbon round the ancient hat bore the marks of great age. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You said 'great age'. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Did I ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Ancient. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Oh, yes. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Tautology. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Tautology ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Meaning you've said it once. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (SIGHS) | ||||||||
| DAEMON | He may well sigh. Cyril's like the rest of them. He deludes himself that his hand directs the pen. Ha, ha! We are the writers. The daemons. They ? Mere instruments. That's all. Instruments. It's the daemon's talent the writer gets credit for. The quality of the daemon determines the talent of the instrument. | ||||||||
(PAUSE) Poor Cyril! I'm terrible. | |||||||||
(CYRIL SIGHS. SCRATCHING BEGINS AGAIN) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | Cyriiil ! (SHE TRILLS IT LA NYMPHS AND SHEPHERDS) Cyriiil ! | ||||||||
(SCRATCHING STOPS) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | (ANNOYED) Yes, mother ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Supper, dear ! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (PLEASED, TO HIMSELF) Ah! (ALOUD)Coming! | ||||||||
(SOUND OF FAT MAN RISING) | |||||||||
Bit peckish, come to think. | |||||||||
(YET DESCEND STAIRS, HEAVILY. T.V. SOUND APPROACHES, AND IS SWITCHED OFF) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | (APPROACHING) Come along, dear ! It's your favourite. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Toad in the hole. And some nice thin bread and butter. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Cyril is the product of a mother's love. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | And very nice, too. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | A love which manifests itself in large dollops of carbohydrate. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Ha! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | She's the divinity that is ending his shape. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF CYRIL SITTING) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | Careful, dear. Me plate's hot. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Right. Bating irons - at the ready! Tuck in the old serviette. Rub hands together smartly. And what ho ! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You see ? Mother loves Cyril. Cyril loves his food. | ||||||||
(THERE IS A BRIEF SOUND OF PIGS TROUGHING) | |||||||||
She has theories, too. About food values. | |||||||||
| LILIAN | That's right, dear. Strength goes in at the mouth. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | There is no evidence for this. Certainly not in Cyril. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF PIGS TROUGHING MAKES ITSELF HEARD AND CONTINUES UNTIL THE END OF LILIAN'S NEXT SPEECH) | |||||||||
| DAEMON | But she does take an interest in her son. Other than food, that is. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Had a good day at the office, dear ? Did you have a nice lunch ? I do wish you could manage to get home. I had a piece of hake. Lovely it was. I did think of bringing you a bit, but then I thought, well, he does enjoy his toad-in-the-hole. And it's very light. Fish. Not filling, I mean. Mr. Grierson's got a new assistant. But the price! Would you believe it, four and nine ? Four and nine ! I ask you. Oh, I know we can afford it. But I mean. When your father was alive I could get a whole skate well practically a whole skate for eighteenpence. Eighteen pence. Not that I blame Mr. Grierson. It's all these middlemen…. | ||||||||
(THE TROUGHING COMES TO AN END, AND THERE IS A BURP AND A SIM OF SATISFACTION FROM CYRIL) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Thompson's dead. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Thompson ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Office Manager. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Oh. Oo, fancy, dead! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Sudden, was it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Found him this morning. In bed. Dead. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Well! His wife, was it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mmm. Took his tea up. Waste of time. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Well, if you've got to go..... | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Be a new appointment. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | New appointment ? His wife ? Oh. Oh, I see. At the office. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mmm. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | It's an ill wind, dear. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Humph. (PAUSE) Talk about wind, you seen my tablets ? (BUR P) I'm not the only clerk at Craddock's, you know. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Not clerk, dear. Still, been with them a long time, haven't you ? Oh, you'll get it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mere's Mainwaring. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Ah, Mainwaring. Mainwaring, the patrician. A product of one of our minor public schools. Mick and smooth. Smoothnesse oblige. Mainwaring, with the coveted button in his lapel, and his hankie up his sleeve. Strutting around his lodge like Big Chief Sitting Bull. And just about as civilized. | ||||||||
(SUDDEN SOUND OF TYPEWRITERS) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Morning, Meggitt | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mr. Meggitt. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | They tell me you're putting in for Thompson's job ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | That's right. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Really ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Any objections ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Me ? Seriously ? Competition from a penpusher ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Good day, Mainwaring! | ||||||||
(SLAM OF DOOR, SCRATCHING OF PEN HEARD OVER SOUND OF DISTANT T.V.) | |||||||||
Management nowadays - hmm, management today is becoming less adept - skilled ? - less skilled in the control of large-scale undertakings - don't care for that, sounds like mass funerals - industrial complexes ? since the very qualities - attributes ? qualities demanded by such control are necessarily inhumane, and tend to vitiate warm, human associations. Or, in other words, Mainwaring's a bastard. | |||||||||
| DAEMON | Tsk, tsk. Cyril! What a thing to say! Tsk, tsk. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | It's true. He'll wipe the floor with me. Mainwaring's the type to get on. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Mr. Simpson, may I have a word ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Is it important, Mainwaring ? I'm rather tied up. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'd like to be considered for the vacant post, sir. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Thompson's ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes, sir. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Bit sharp, aren't you, Mainwaring ? The poor devil's hardly cold. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I had thought of that. But I'm anxious to get ahead. I believe you know that. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Yes, I do. Can't blame you for that. But it's not quite as simple as that. I must think of my own position. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I don't follow, sir. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | You've just joined my lodge, Mainwaring. Oh, I'm sure that has no connection with this situation, but you see my problem. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | No, sir. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | I should want solid reasons for preferring you to people who've had more experience. Otherwise, it might just - er, smack of wheels within wheels, you know ? Me Old Pals Act ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes, I see that, sir. But - | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | I'll put your name forward, Mainwaring. Don't worry. But there are - others, you understand. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Of course, sir. I hope you didn't mind my asking ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Oh, no, no. No harm in that, Mainwaring. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Thank you, Mr. Simpson. And thank you for giving me your time. I wonder if I might venture - just one more thing ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Well ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | May I know the competition, sir ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | That's up to the board, Simpson. They'll have my recommendations, naturally. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Meggitt, sir ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Now you know better than that, Mainwaring. You'll be told at the right time. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'm sorry, sir. No offence intended. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | That's all right, Mainwaring. Close the door as you go. | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES. PAUSE. SOUND OF SCRATCHING OF PEN) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Not that I want the job all that much. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh no ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Well, only for one thing. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Yes ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I wouldn't like Mainwaring for a boss. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | (DISTANT) Cyriiil! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, mother ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Supper, dear | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Good. Let's see, what day is it ? Tuesday. Stew and dumplings, then. | ||||||||
(SUDDEN BURST OF T. V. PROGRAMME. TURNED DOWN. VOICES OVER) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | Any more, dear? About the job, I mean. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Job ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | You know. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I saw Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Mr. Simpson ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | The director. Any more dumplings ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Help yourself, dear. (SOUND OF GENEROUS HELPING BEING LADLED OUT) | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They'll consider me, he says. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Oooh, Cyril! There's nice. You a manager! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Here, steady on ! | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Have to be careful now. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Careful ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Making up to you. Making a fuss. Trying to get round you. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Get round me ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Women. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Women ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | What's-her-name. You know. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What's-her-name ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Your office. Forward thing! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I don't know what / you're on about. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Things you've said. Prudence. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Not Prudence. Prunella. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | There's a name. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Just a typist. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Making up to you. All the time. More now. You want to watch. Prunella ? I thought it was Prudence. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF TYPEWRITERS) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I was ever so pleased, Cyril. Ever so. To hear. Oh, not about Mr. Thompson, good heavens. You. Shan't be able to say that much longer. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Say what ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Cyril. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It's a nice name. Cyril. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Prunella. Prunella Savage. Admits to thirty-two. Thirty-two rising forty. A single-minded maiden. Or perhaps marriage-minded is more the word. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Meggitt's a nice name, too. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Anyway, I haven't got the job yet. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, but you will. I know you will. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Not even sure I want it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Course you do, silly. Settle down. Get a nice house. In a nice part. Nice. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Not sure I'm the settling-down type. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Plenty of time for that. Men you find the right one. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes. You can drop a lot of money on houses. | ||||||||
(PAUSE) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I don't care for Mr. Mainwaring, anyway. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Er - have you typed that acknowledgement ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He's so bossy. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | To Spurley Engineering ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Always wanting personal stuff typed. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | The acknowledgement for Spurley. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, that ! I'm doing something for Mr. Mainwaring. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I'll do yours first, though, if you like. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Which came first ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Well, his, actually. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Better do that first, then. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He did say he must have it this morning. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Righto. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It was important, he said. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Very well. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes. (PAUSE) It's the guest list for the Ladies' Evening. At his lodge. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Well, of all the | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He gave it to me yesterday. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You'd better do that acknowledgement. Now. Business first. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Will you tell him ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Has he come yet ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Are you serious ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | The acknowledgement. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Righto. | ||||||||
(SLAM OF OUTER DOOR) | |||||||||
That'll be him. | |||||||||
(INNER DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
Good morning, Mr. Mainwaring | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Morning, Miss Savage! Come along now! To work! To work ! Done that list yet ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Better ask Mr. Meggitt. | ||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | What's this, Meggitt ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mr. Meggitt. Miss Savage is typing an acknowledgement. For me. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Afraid it'll have to wait, old man. She's doing a job for me. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I know. After she's done my acknowledgement. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Your acknowledgement ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL ; It's business, anyway. | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Now hold on, Meggitt. I gave that job to Miss Savage yesterday. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Question of priorities. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | That's right. Mr. Simpson wants it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Well, I still think business should come first. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'll have a word with Simpson. We'll let him decide. | ||||||||
(TYPEWRITERS CEASE) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Look here, Meggitt, I'm beggared if I can see what all the fuss is about. So long as your acknowledgement goes today, what does it matter which job comes first ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Very well, Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF TYPEWRITERS AGAIN) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But, Cyril, I thought you knew. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Knew ? Knew what ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | That they were in the same lodge. Mr. Mainwaring and Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No. Well, perhaps I did, and forgot. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I'm ever so sorry. Really I am. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Never mind. Just do that acknowledgement. When you've done the other, I mean. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes, of course. I'd rather do yours, though. | ||||||||
(TYPEWRITERS RISE TO PEAK, AND FADE OUT. SCRATCHING OF PEN OVER DISTANT T.V.) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Even older than the felt hat were the tired and broken boots. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I like that. Tired and broken. Yes. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You would. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Well, I do. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Why didn't you stand up to him ? Held have been the first to complain if the acknowledgement had gone late. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mainwaring ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | No, Simpson. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Don't know. Well, yes, I do, I suppose. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Yes ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I was looking at his ears. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Mainwaring ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No, Simpson. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Well ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They're pointed. At the top. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Pointed ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Like a pig's. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Cyril, you're becoming observant. We'll make a / writer of you, yet. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Say casseroled. With onion sauce. Tasty, I should think. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh. (PAUSE) I sometimes think you don't want to get on. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Perhaps you're right. Or get off. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Get off ? How will you ever marry ? Your size. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | How does anyone ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Or have a family ? Look at you! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | My head teems with my brainchildren. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Every one as nutty as a fruitcake. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Cyriiil ! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, mother ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Visitor for you | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Righto! Coming! | ||||||||
(FEET DESCEND, HEAVILY) | |||||||||
Oh, it's you, Prunella. What on earth - ? | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (APPROACHING) Hello, Cyr - Mr. Meggitt. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mother, this is Miss Savage. Prunella, my mother. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Oh. Oh, I see. You were expecting Miss Savage ? You might / have said. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no, no, Mrs. Meggitt. It's to do with work. The office. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Work ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Well, don't keep Miss Savage standing there in the hall, Cyril. Take her into the lounge. You never think, really. You'll have to excuse him, Miss Savage. What held do without me, I just don't know. He's such a dreamer, you know. You wouldn't believe. (GOING) Mind on his book, I suppose. Come along, Miss Savage. | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It's the Spurley acknowledgement, Mr. Meggitt. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | The Spurley - ? But that's gone | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Do sit down, Miss Savage. If you're stopping for a few minutes. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mother, do you think we might have a cup of tea, or something ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh no, not for me, Mrs. Meggitty thanks all the same. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | It's no trouble. Not really. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No thank you, really. I've just had tea. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I think perhaps I will, mother. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Oh. Oh, all right, dear. (BEGINNING TO GO) I'll set the tray, and put the kettle on. (COMING BACK) I like to see him enjoy his food, Miss Savage. Cyril's father, before he died, he used to say I was the best cook in the land. Lilian, he used to say, my recommendation carries weight. Eighteen stone, he was. Big, fine man. I am a good cook, though, aren't I, Cyril ? (GOING) You ask him, Miss Savage. | ||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Now, what is it, Prue ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Prue. Oh. (QUICKLY) It's ever so nice, your mother's house, Cyril. Not quite our generation, but | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What about the acknowledgement ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I noticed it as I was clearing up. On Mr. Simpson's desk. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But, surely - couldn't you have posted it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He said he would. After held signed it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | So he forgot. What difference / does that make ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It's not signed. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I'm sorry, Cyril. I knew it was important. But I did remind him. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Lord | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I've been round to Mr. Simpson's. There wasn't anyone in. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You've been round to - ? But it's miles. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | You said it was important. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Well, yes - but ..… | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | So I thought I'd better bring it. I hope I didn't do the wrong thing ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, no, no. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What is it, then ? You look - | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I can't sign it | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Go on, Cyril! Use your initiative! | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It's all ready. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I haven't the authority. You know that. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Comes the hour, comes the man. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I thought in the circumstances ..... | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm not allowed to! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would', Like the poor cat i' the adage. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | The last post goes in half an hour. Seven thirty. From the G.P.O. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But I can't! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Sir Cyril Meggitt, Bart., the man who toppled the financial empire of Simpson & Mainwaring, can do anything he damn well wants ! | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, very well, Cyril. I'm sorry I bothered you. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I could put 'p.p.', I suppose. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Go on, then | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Right. I'll sign it | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Here it is. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'd better check it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (QUICKLY) There's no need. I mean - I checked it with your figures. We - we're a bit short of time. | ||||||||
(RUSTLE OF PAPER) | |||||||||
I've got a pen. Here you are. | |||||||||
(MORE RUSTLING) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Right. I'll use my own pen, though. | ||||||||
(SCRATCHING OF PEN) | |||||||||
There! | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Thank you, Mr. Megg - Cyril. I'll post it on my way home. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm sorry you've been put to this trouble. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I wouldn't do it for everybody. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Spoiling your evening. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, that's all right. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No, it isn't. What were you doing ? I mean, before - | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, nothing. Well, going to the pictures, actually. Alone. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | My friend wouldn't wait. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But it doesn't matter. Really. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But - | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I can go another night. Easily. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Would you - ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Would you go with me ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, really, Cyril, you don't have to do that ! Of course, it's very nice of you, but I couldn't put you to that trouble. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | It wouldn't be any trouble. I mean - it would be a pleasure. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Weeell .... | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I - I'd like to. Really. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | You're quite sure ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes. Yes, I would. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I wouldn't be interfering with anything ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Of course not. I'll just have that cup of tea and a bite of something. Won't you join me ? And then we can go down in the car. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF CAR COMING TO A HALT) | |||||||||
Stupid of me. I never asked which cinema. | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, this one's fine. Really. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Right. I'll park the car and get the tickets, then. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | While you're doing that, I'll slip round the corner to the G.P.O.. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, of course, the acknowledgement. I'll come with you. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (QUICKLY) Oh, no, no. There's no need. You park the car, and I'll be back in a minute. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF CAR DOOR) | |||||||||
(GOING) You'll let me pay my share, though, won't you ? | |||||||||
(SOUND OF KEY IN DOOR) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | (DISTANT) That you, Cyril ? (APPROACHING) You're rather late, dear. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Late ? I had to see Miss Savage home. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Naturally. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Why didn't you go to bed ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | What about your supper ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Oh, thanks. I am a bit peckish. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | (GOING) Come along, then. | ||||||||
(WE GO WITH HER) | |||||||||
I was right, you see. | |||||||||
| CYRIL | (APPROACHING) Right ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | The minute you begin to get advancement. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Advancement ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Oh, they know a good thing, they do. Designing. I can't be doing with them. Forward things. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Mother, Miss Savage was kind enough to bring round some papers which had to go tonight. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | And whose idea was the pictures ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm not a child any more. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | You are where they're concerned. That sort. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You're talking about / a friend of mine. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | There was that woman at the library. Five years older. If she was a day. And thatone at night school. The writing circle. You don't see anything. You never think. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (GOING) I'm going to bed. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | (DISTANT) Anybody can lead you by the nose. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Good night ! | ||||||||
(FEET CLUMP UP STAIRS, SLOWLY) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | (DIS TAN T) Don't you want your supper ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Hmm. No point cutting off your nose to spite your face. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | It's macaroni cheese! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. | ||||||||
(PAUSE) | |||||||||
All right | |||||||||
(FEET DESCEND, QUICKLY) | |||||||||
I am a bit peckish. | |||||||||
| LILIAN | Come along, then, dear. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You know, you really shouldn't, mother. Think of my waistline. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | (QUICKLY) Why ? You're not fat. Well-built. Like your father. (PAUSE) Has someone been saying ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Saying ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | That you're - well - ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No, of course not. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | You don't want to take any notice, son. Strength goes in at the mouth. Here you are. Tuck in now. There's plenty. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF PIGS TROUGHING. VOICE OVER AND FADE OUT) | |||||||||
Now tell me what Mr. Simpson said ..... | |||||||||
| DAEMON | But the sleep of Cyril Meggitt is troubled. And not only by macaroni cheese. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I don't think it's too old, Cyril. Good heavens, a man's in his prime at that age. Forty - well, thirty-nine, you said - it's, well, young... | ||||||||
(MIX TO) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Forty ? Bit old for promotion, surely ? In these days. You know what they say, old man. If you haven't made your mark before thirty-five ..... | ||||||||
(MIX TO) | |||||||||
| LILIAN | It's a dangerous age, son. You want to watch 'em. Forward things. I can't be doing with them. I'd be ashamed, I would. But you never think. Never think. | ||||||||
(CUT TO) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | (IN AGONY) Aagh! It's not fair! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Not fair ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Indigestion. Aagh! Can't sleep for it. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | What do you expect? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Expect ? Justice. I don't burn the candle at both ends. Drinking. Loose living. That sort of thing. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | No. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Then why ? Why | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Simple. You eat too much. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I don't. I don't. It's - glands. It was father's trouble. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh, you've got father's trouble, all right. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | There you are, then. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | And it's not glands. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | It is. It must be. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | It's not, you know. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What, then ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | I'll tell you. It's macaroni cheese. It's stew and dumplings. Toad in the hole. Bubble and squeak. Apple pie. You know the menu. Man, you've put more starch into you than a laundry would need in a twelvemonth. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (GROANS) | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You asked for justice. Be satisfied. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | All right. All right. I'll go on a diet. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You'll what ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | That's what I'll do. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | (BEGINS TO LAUGH. THE LAUGHTER GROWS LOUDER AND MORE HYSTERICAL UNTIL IT RINGS IN A CAVERNOUS SPACE. TAKE DOWN, AND SUPERIMPOSE CYRIL'S SNORES. FADE OUT. CUT IN SOUND OF PHONE BUZZER) | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Meggitt | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (DISTORT) Yes, Mr. Simpson ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Come in here, will you ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
(RECEIVER REPLACED. SOUND OF PAPERS. TAP ON DOOR) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Come in | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, Mr. Simpson ? | ||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | That acknowledgement. The Spurley thing. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, sir ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Have you seen it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Seen it, Mr. Simpson? Why, yes, / I've dealt with it…. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Yes, man. I left it here. On my desk. There was a mistake. In the price. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | A mistake ? Oh, no. I double checked it, sir. I'm sure it / was quite in order. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Must have been a typing error, then. It was wrong, anyway. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Wrong ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Yes. Forty-seven pounds a ton, when it should have read seventy-four. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Good thing I spotted it. You should have picked it up, though. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | We were a bit rushed, Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Don't just stand there, Meggitt. Get it! It'll have to be re-typed. No, never mind. Stay where you are. I'll get Miss Savage to bring the folder in. | ||||||||
(CUT TO PRUNELLA AND MAINWARING IN OUTER OFFICE) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Something wrong, Miss Savage ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, lor ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | What is it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It's all my fault. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Your fault ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I meant to put it back. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'm sorry, I don't / know what you're talking about. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | The acknowledgement for Spurley. I noticed it on Mr. Simpson's desk last night. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He hadn't signed it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Oh, I see. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I took it round to Cyril's - Mr. Meggitt's. I got him to sign it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Oh ho! Naughty! He's not authorized. Still, if it meant catching the post ... | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But it didn't. That's just it, Mr. Mainwaring. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'm not with you. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I didn't post it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Why ever not ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I couldn't. It was wrong. The price was wrong. I'd typed in the wrong price. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | In our favour ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No, no. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I can't see what you're worrying about, then. | ||||||||
(PHONE BUZZER. RECEIVER LIFTED) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | (DISTORT) Look, Miss Savage, I'm waiting for that folder. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I - I won't be a minute, Mr. Simpson. It hasn't - er, been filed yet, you see. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Well, be as quick as you can. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes, Mr. Simpson ! | ||||||||
(RECEIVER REPLACED) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | You can't find the folder ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, yes. Yes, I've got it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Then take it in, girl | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I - I can't! I can't! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Why ever not ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Because he thinks I posted it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | He thinks - ? Mr. Simpson ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No, no. Cyril. Mr. Meggitt. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Well ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He's in there now. I heard Mr. Simpson talking to him. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'm sorry, I still don't follow. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Don't you see ? Suppose Cyril's already told Mr. Simpson that the acknowledgement has gone ? He'll be in terrible trouble. | ||||||||
| MAI NWARNING | Unless he gives you away, you mean ? Hmmm. Tell me, why did you take the acknowledgement round to his home ? You knew held no authority to sign. Oh, I see. You spotted the mistake after held signed it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No. I mean, yes. Oh, never mind that now. What am I to do ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I begin to understand. You knew it was wrong, but you wanted to - | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Please, please, what shall I do ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You've no choice. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No choice ? | ||||||||
(PHONE BUZZER) | |||||||||
Oh ! That Ill be him again. Mr. Simpson. What am I to do ? | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Just a minute. Let me think. (PAUSE) Yes, that's it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Say nothing. You posted the acknowledgement. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But I didn't ! | ||||||||
| MAINVARING | We know that. So it won't get to Spurley's. So there'll be no harm done. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But Cyril - Mr. Meggitt .... | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | He's not the one who's in trouble. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But he is! What do you mean ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Suppose Mr. Simpson finds out what you did ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Meggitt wouldn't have signed it if you hadn't taken it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No, no. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | If Simpson finds that out, you've had it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What do you mean ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You'll get the sack. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | And no reference, I expect. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no. No ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Please yourself. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | All right. I’ll tell him I posted it - and I've mislaid the copy. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Where is it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | The acknowledgement ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Here. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Give it to me. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But - | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Don't want the evidence lying about. You get off in there - quick. I'll look after this. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | You're sure ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Do you want the sack ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Right, then. | ||||||||
(PHONE BUZZER SEVERAL TIMES. FEET RUNNING. DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (DISTANT) Coming, Mr. Simpson | ||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES. PAUSE. VOICE OF SIMPSON IS WARD THROUGH WE DOOR) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | What's that ? Signed it ? Posted it ? With the wrong price on ? Do you realize what you've done, Meggitt ? All right, all right, Miss Savage. No fault of yours. You did what you thought was best. That's all for the moment. | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS, AND WE HEAR SIMPSON'S VOICE CLEARLY) | |||||||||
Of all the damn silly things to do, Meggitt! In all my experience I don't think I've ever come across such a | |||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES, MUFFLING THE SOUND A LITTLE) | |||||||||
case of downright incompetence. I ought to sack you on the spot. But I'll save that pleasure for later - if we don't manage to undo the damage you've caused. | |||||||||
(THE SOUND OF PRUNELLA'S WEEPING IS WARD THROUGHOUT ME REST OF THE SPEECH) | |||||||||
On second thoughts, you made the mess. You sort it out with Spurley's. If you can. And if you can't - well, you know what to expect. Of all the bloody fools! | |||||||||
(THE WEEPING INCREASES IN INTENSITY AS HIS VOICE CEASES) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Now, now, Miss Savage. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, poor Cyril! Poor Cyril! It's all my fault ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Pull yourself together. Come along! | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But it is. It is. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | He's not going to get the sack. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He will. I know he will. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | He won't. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Why not ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Why should he ? He hasn't done anything. Simpson thinks he has, that's all. There won't be any come-backs. So there's no harm done. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What do you mean? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You didn't post anything. All you've got to do is sit tight until it's all blown over. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | You're sure ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Of course. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But Cyril - Mr. Meggitt ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Come on now, dry your eyes. Before he comes back. | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm sorry, Mr. Simpson. I was quite sure I'd checked it. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | (DISTANT) Then you should have double-checked, shouldn't you ? | ||||||||
(DOOR CLOSES) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | (ALMOST TO HIMSELF) Yes, Mr. Simpson. Oh, Gawd! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Something wrong, Meggitt ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Wrong ? Wrong ? Good heavens, no. What gives you that idea ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | That's all right, then. Just your natural pallor. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Hmmm. What's that ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You look - disturbed. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (LAUGHS WEAKLY) Oh, that! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Well, I'll be off. Got a few calls to make, you know. Bye bye now! Don't forget, will you Miss Savage ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Forget ? Oh, yes, yes, of course. I mean no, I won't. | ||||||||
(INNER DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES) | |||||||||
Mr. Meggitt - Cyril, I - I'm ever so sorry. Really I am. | |||||||||
(SOUND OF OUTER DOOR) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Eh ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I'm sorry. I never thought - | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (ALMOST TO HIMSELF) I could have sworn I checked it. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What are you going to do? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Do? I could try talking to them, I suppose. Fat chance, though. They'll snatch our hands off when they see that price. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | They can't hold us to it, can they ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No. We'll have to tell 'em it was all a mistake. They'll try holding us to it. Even though they know they can't. I know Spurley. There'll be a lot of unpleasantness. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | You're sure ? They won't be able to hold us to it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, no. They know that. But they'll have a thundering good try. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I am sorry. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | All right. All right. Don't go on about it. | ||||||||
(PRUNELLA BEGINS TO WEEP AGAIN) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But it's - it's awful. I never thought - | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Here, I say, none of that now. Nothing for you to get upset about. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But there is. It was my - I mean, I brought it round. I only wanted to see - oh, never mind that now. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Look, get me Spurley Engineering. I'll see what they've got to say. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, all right. | ||||||||
(THE NEXT THREE SPEECHES ARE DELIVERED IN UNISON, ENDING TOGETHER ON 'YOU KNEW THAT, DIDN'T YOU ?' WHICH IS FOLLOWED AT ONCE BY THE SHARP RING OF THE EXTERNAL PHONE) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Meggitt, I credited you with more sense. What in God's name possessed you to do such a damn silly thing ? I don't care how important you thought it was. You'd no right to sign company documents without authority. You knew that, didn't you ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You don't really suppose they'll consider you, do you, Meggitt ? I mean, just look it. You're forty, you're in poor shape. Besides, you've been too long at one firm. In this game you've got to move around. You knew that, didn't you ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | It's what I've said all along, Cyril. You can't trust them. That sort, anyway. I can't be doing with 'em. Oh, they know a good thing, all right. Sounds to sense. And that Miss Savage. Been after you for years. You knew that, didn't you ? | ||||||||
(PHONE BELL) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Hello Spurley Engineering ? Mr. Renshaw, please! (PAUSE) Right, I'll hang on for him. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Now then, Cyril, here's a how-de-do. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, push off ! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Tsk, tsk. That's no way to talk. Where would you be without me ? Your familiar spirit ? Your presiding genius ? Put it all down to experience, man. Wonderful material. Meat and drink to a writer, this sort of thing. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Meat and drink ? Fat lot of that there'll be if I get the push. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh, you'll manage. Mother's got plenty. You could do with a bit less, anyway. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | A bit less ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Meat and drink. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm having less. I told you, I'm on a strict diet. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | I know. Nothing to eat between supper and breakfast. | ||||||||
(HE BEGINS TO LAUGH, A" AGAIN ME LAUGHTER BECOMES MORE HIGH-PITCHED AND HYSTERICAL AND GOES ECHOING AWAY TO SILENCE) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Mr. Meggitt - Cyril! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What did they say ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Say ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Spurley Engineering. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, it's not there. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Not there ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They haven't got it yet. It hasn't arrived. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh good. I mean, it must have gone astray in the post. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Fat chance. Miracles don't happen. Not that sort. I expect it'll be there by the second post. (BEGIN FADE) I'll give them another ring just before lunch.... | ||||||||
(FADE OUT. FADE UP PRUNELLA) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What did I tell you ? I knew it would be all right. I knew it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You knew it? What do you mean - you knew it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (QUICKLY) I mean, I was sure it wouldn't well, I just - sort of - knew.... | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Just a minute. Just a minute. I'm beginning to see. You knew all the time, didn't you ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Me ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | All of you. I see what happened. Spurley's rang Simpson this morning, and he decided to put this act on. To make me sweat, for signing when I wasn't authorized. That's why he sent for me. You knew all about it all the time. Simpson, Mainwaring, you ! | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh no, Cyril, please. I wouldn't do that to you. You know that. I wouldn't. Not you. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Well, there's something funny. Why should Renshaw say he hadn't got it ? Unless Simpson put him up to it ? It went first-class mail, didn't it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Eh ? First-class - oh, oh yes, of course. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You don't sound very sure. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, yes, yes, I am. Absolutely. | ||||||||
(SLAM OF OUTER DOOR) | |||||||||
That'll be Mr, Mainwaring. I - I must get on. Or he'll be - saying things. | |||||||||
(INNER DOOR) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Hello, hello, hello! Why the air of gloom and despondency ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, give up, do! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | What's the matter, Meggitt? Spurley's got your billet-doux ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What do you know about it ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Only what came loud and clear through Simpson's door. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh. Well, they haven't. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Haven't got it ? Or haven't done anything about it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They say they haven't got it. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Strange. Ought to be there by now, surely ? You think they're keeping mum. Letting us all sweat ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I don't see anyone else sweating. Besides me. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Well, you're in the hot seat, aren't you - eh ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Mr. Mainwaring - please | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Just a minute! I've had a thought. Miss Savage! | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | You didn't by any chance send it second-class mail, did you ? Eh ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, no, no. I'm sure. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | That's what I said. She must have made a mistake. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Well, not to worry, old boy. You'll only have to wait until tomorrow morning. Even if it did go cheap rate. Eh ? | ||||||||
(PHONE BUZZER! RECEIVER LIFTED) | |||||||||
| CYRIL | Meggitt! | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | (DISTORT) Oh, Meggitt. Have you been on to Spurley 7 | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | This morning ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No, sir. I - I was giving them time to do their post. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Ring them up - now | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, sir ! | ||||||||
(RECEIVER REPLACED) | |||||||||
| DAEMON | Well, go on then | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Plenty of time. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Don't make excuses now. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm not. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | All right then. Prove it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Prove it ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Pick up that receiver. Now. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, all right. | ||||||||
(RECEIVER LIFTED) | |||||||||
Get me Spurley Engineering, Janet, will you ? | |||||||||
(PAUSE) | |||||||||
It'll be there. Miracles don't happen. Aagh Damn this indigestion. Fried bread. Come on, come on ! Ah ! Oh, thanks. | |||||||||
(HIS VOICE BEGINS TO TREMBLE A LITTLE) | |||||||||
Mr. Renshaw, please. | |||||||||
(PAUSE. CLICK) | |||||||||
That you, Renshaw | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Look, have you had an acknowledgement for just a minute - your order, er, F 2483 ? | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
What's that ? | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Oh, nothing - there's some sort of idea it had gone astray this end. | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Yes. | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
You've got the post ? Today's ? | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Yes, I'll hold on. | |||||||||
(PAUSE) | |||||||||
What's that ? | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
It's not there ? | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
You sure ? But it =at be | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Oh, all right. No offence, I'm sure. | |||||||||
(MUMBLE) | |||||||||
Well, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you. | |||||||||
(RECEIVER REPLACED) | |||||||||
Oh, Gawd | |||||||||
(MOM BUZZER. RECEIVER LIFTED) | |||||||||
Meggitt | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Well ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | It's not there, sir. It hasn't arrived. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Look here, Meggitt, this foolery has gone on long enough. Find it ! I don't care how you do it, but find it ! Try the Post Office. Get over to Spurley's, if need be. But get that acknowledgement back, or get your cards. See to it, Meggitt | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, air ! | ||||||||
(MONTAGE BEGINS WITH STRIDENT TELEPHONE | |||||||||
BELL, MIXING TO SOUND OF CAR ENGINE, | |||||||||
MIXING TO ENGINEERING WORKS NOISES, | |||||||||
MIXING TO CAR ENGINE, CLIMBING TO PEAK | |||||||||
AND ENDING WITH THE SLAM OF A DOOR) | |||||||||
(IN AGONY) Aagh Where's my tablets ? | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh, you're back, Cyril. Mr. Simpson's been asking for you. You're to go right in. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, all right. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Well, Meggitt ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I'm sorry, Mr. Simpson. I've done everything I can. Everything. It's just - disappeared. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Disappeared ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I've tried everything. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Post Office ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They couldn't help. Not while it was in transit, they said. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Spurley ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I've just come back from there. They haven't | ||||||||
got it. (PITIFULLY) I've had no lunch. | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | My heart bleeds. | ||||||||
(TAP ON DOOR) | |||||||||
Come in | |||||||||
(DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
Oh, it's you, Mainwaring Not now, please. | |||||||||
Later. I'm tied up now. | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes, sir. It's just - | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Not now, Marketing. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | It's the Spurley job. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Eh ? What's that ? What about the Spurley job ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Here, sir. It's the folder. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Folder ? What the hell's the use of the folder ? It's the acknowledgement I want. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | But that's it, sir. It's here. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | The acknowledgement ? Oh, yes, so it is. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But it can't be It can't be It's another | ||||||||
copy ! | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Where was it, Mainwaring ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | In the filing cabinet, sir. Wrongly filed, actually. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | We could have been looking for it for weeks. Bit more of your work, Meggitt ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But that's not the acknowledgement. Mat was posted last night. You got it from Spurley's, didn't you, Mainwaring ? To show me up ? | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Quite unnecessary, Meggitt. It was in the filing cabinet. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Thank you, Mainwaring. If ever you're in charge of that department, I hope you'll do something about the way stuff is filed. | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Yes, sir. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You're in charge of the department ? | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | Not yet, Meggitt. But on the face of it, he's a likelier prospect than some. Don't you think ? You'll have to pull your socks up | ||||||||
| CYRIL | (ALMOST IN TEARS) Pull my socks up ? What do you mean ? I did what I thought was best.for the company. It had to go that night. You said. You did. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | So you signed it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes. | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | And you posted it ? | ||||||||
| CVRIL | Yes. No. I mean - | ||||||||
| SIMPSON | You didn't post it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No No ! I - | ||||||||
(SOUND OF A CHAIR BEIM FLUNG BACKWARD) | |||||||||
| SIMPSON | Where are you going, do you think ? Meggitt. Come back here | ||||||||
| ~~ (DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
Do you hear ? | |||||||||
(DOOR SLAMS) | |||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Cyril, Cyril, what's the matter ? You look awful ! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Just a minute. Be quiet a minute. Let me think. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | What is it ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | That acknowledgement - | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | How did Mainwaring get hold of it ? How ? Unless - Look, Prunella, has Mainwaring been out this morning ? In his car ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Has he had any post ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Then how - ? How could he possibly have got hold of the Spurley acknowledgement? It was never out of my hands until | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Oh; no, no ... | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Until you took it to the G.P.O. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | (BEGINNING TO BREAK DOWN) No, I didn't. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You didn't - ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I - I didn't post it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You - you didn't post it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It was wrong. Me figures were wrong. I knew they were. I couldn't post it | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But - why ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | It was my mistake. I meant to re-type it this morning. But Mr. Simpson was too quick. He would have seen your signature, you see. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | But why didn't you tell him ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I couldn't. He said I'd be dismissed. And I can't lose my job. I can't. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Simpson said that ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No, no. Mr. Mainwaring. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | I see. No, I don't. If it was wrong, why did you bring it for me to sign ? Why ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I - I can't tell you. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Why not ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | . I I can't. It was just - an excuse. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Excuse ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | To see you. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | See me ? You see me every day. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But you don't - see me. Oh, what's the use ? You don't understand. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | There's a lot of things I don't understand. How did Mainwaring get hold of it ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | I gave it to him. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yes. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | When ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Yesterday. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | And you you let me sweat it out for nearly two days? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | No, no, it wasn't like that. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You let him hold that over my head ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | He said I'd get the sack. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | It didn't matter to you that I might ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | But he promised. He promised that you wouldn't get into trouble. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | He promised ? And you took his word ? | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Cyril, please I did it for the best. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | For the best Me best ? I'm sick and sick to the back teeth with everybody doing things for the best. Some poor devil always gets the worst. | ||||||||
(DOOR OPENS) | |||||||||
| MAINWARING | Hello, hello, hello What's the trouble ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Trouble ? Trouble ? I'll tell you what the trouble is ! Marinating, you're a stinking, conniving bastard | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Cyril | ||||||||
| CYRIL | And you're a stupid, interfering, stupid, stupid bitch ! | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | Now, look here | ||||||||
| CYRIL | No, you look here If you think I'm stopping here to crawl to a swine like you, you're up a gum-tree. | ||||||||
| PRUNELLA | Cyril, what are you saying ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Listen ! Listen ! You've managed it between you. I'm getting out. If I don't escape from this - this - soon, I shall - well .... | ||||||||
| MAINWARING | I'll get Mr. Simpson. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Do that Toad AM I'll tell him to his face ! Talking to me as if he was a - a gaoler, or something. | ||||||||
(RAISING HIS VOICE TO A SHOUT) | |||||||||
Listen here, Mr. Bloody Simpson, - I'm leaving. Do you hear that ? I'm getting out. Out of your gaol! Lock up the Mainwarings ! Lock up the Savages ! It's all they're fit for. But the Meggitts are free! Free ! | |||||||||
~(HE BEGINS TO LAUGH, AND LIKE DAEMON’S LAUGH IT BECOMES MORE HIGH-PITCHED AND HYSTERICAL AS IT ECHOES AWAY INTO SILENCE. FADE UP SOUND OF CAR ENGINE) | |||||||||
| DAEMON | You've done it now, Cyril. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Oh, shut up | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Make a marvellous scene in your book, though. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Leave me alone. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | What're you going to do now ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Do ? How should I know ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | You were very hard on her. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | You reckon ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Yes. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | They shouldn't interfere. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | They ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Women. I can't be doing with them. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | There's a familiar ring to that. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | One thing - | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Yes ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Indigestion's gone. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Really ? No lunch, you see. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Ye s. Come to think of it, I am a bit peckish. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Home, then ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes. It's about tea-time, anyway. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF CAR ENGINE RISES TO PEAK AND FADES OUT. PAUSE. SCRATCHING OF PEN BEGINS, AND STOPS AGAIN) | |||||||||
Me shabby overcoat was a tattered ruin. | |||||||||
| DAEMON | Oh, no ! | ||||||||
| CYRIL | What's wrong with that ? | ||||||||
| DAEMON | Don't you know ? | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Sounds all right to me. | ||||||||
| DAEMON | All right, Mrs. Meggitt, let's have it. | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Cyriiil ! | ||||||||
| DAEMON | That's it. | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Yes, mother ? | ||||||||
| LILIAN | Supper, dear | ||||||||
| CYRIL | Good. | ||||||||
(SOUND OF FAT MAN RISING) | |||||||||
Coming ! | |||||||||
(MET STUMP DOWN THE STAIRS) | |||||||||
| DAEMON | So there he goes. Cyril Meggitt has escaped from his prison. He can now settle down with his mother, his ever-loving mother, for the term of his natural life. | ||||||||
(FOR THE LAST TIME, HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND THE LAUGHTER CLIMBS TO HYSTERIA AND TO UNIVERSAL SPACE AS WE REACH… | |||||||||
THE END | |||||||||