CHARLOTTE You’d keep out of the way if you’d written it. (To Henry.) If that orange juice is for me you can forget it.
HENRY No, no—buck’s fizz all round. I feel reckless, extravagant, famous, in love, and I’m next week’s castaway on Desert Island Discs.
MAX Are you really?
HENRY Head over heels. Here you are, lover. How was last night, by the way?
He hands Max and Charlotte their glasses.
CHARLOTTE Hopeless. I had to fake it again.
HENRY Very witty woman, my present wife. Actually, I was talking about my play.
CHARLOTTE Actually, so was I. I’ve decided it’s a mistake appearing in Henry’s play.
MAX Not for me, it isn’t.
CHARLOTTE Well, of course not for you, you idiot, you’re not his wife.
MAX Oh, I see what you mean.
CHARLOTTE: Max sees what I mean. You’re right, Max.
MAX I never said anything!
HENRY How was it really?—last night.
CHARLOTTE Not good. The stalls had a deserted look, about two-thirds, I should think. (With false innocence.) Oh, sorry, darling, is that what you meant?
MAX (Disapproving) Honestly, Charlotte. It was all right, Henry, really. All the laughs were in place, for a Saturday night anyway, and I had someone who came round afterwards who said the reconciliation scene was extremely moving. Actually, that reminds me. They did say—I mean, it’s a tiny thing but I thought I’d pass it on because I do feel rather the same way … I mean all that stuff about the Japanese and digital watches—they suddenly have no idea what I’m talking about, you see, and I thought if we could just try it one night without—
Henry halts him, like a traffic policeman.
HENRY Excuse me, Max.
Henry tums to Charlotte.
Two-thirds empty or two-thirds full?
Charlotte laughs brazenly.
CHARLOTTE Hard luck, Max. (She toasts.) Well, here’s to closing night. To the collapse of House of Cards.
MAX (Shocked) Charlotte!
CHARLOTTE Well, you try playing the feed one night instead of acting Henry after a buck’s fizz and two rewrites. All his laughs are in place all right. So’s my groan. Groan, groan, they all go when they find out. Oh, groan, so she hasn’t got a lover at all, eh? And they lose interest in me totally. I’m a victim of Henry’s fantasy—a quiet, faithful bird with an interesting job, and a recipe drawer, and a stiff upper lip, and two semi-stiff lower ones all trembling for him—‘I’m sorry if you’ve had a bad time … There’s a right thing to say now …’
MAX Jesus, Charlotte—
CHARLOTTE (Quite genially) Oh, shut up, Max. If he’d given her a lover instead of a temporary passport, we’d be in a play.
HENRY It’s a little early in the day for all this.
CHARLOTTE No, darling, it’s a little late.
MAX Er, where’s young Deborah today?
CHARLOTTE Who?
MAX Debbie.
CHARLOTTE (Baffled) Debbie?
MAX Your daughter.
CHARLOTTE Oh, daughter.
HENRY Riding school.
CHARLOTTE Must be some mistake. Smart talk, that’s the thing. Having children is so unsmart. Endless dialogue about acne. Henry couldn’t do that. He doesn’t like research.
HENRY True.
MAX (To Charlotte.) Lots of people don’t have children, in real life. Me and Annie …
HENRY Oh, don’t—I told her once that lots of women were only good for fetching drinks, and she became quite unreasonable.
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