Bennett Arnold
The Honeymoon
Flora. Why should it?
Cedric. What! The Kaiser's Black Eagle flying over the highest mountain in England, and getting ten thousand pounds for the job! It's unthinkable! How does it strike you?
Flora. It strikes me that it would have been much simpler and less expensive not to have offered the ten thousand pounds. It's altogether too tempting. Besides, it seems to me anybody ought to be able to fly over a little thing like Snowdon, seeing how they sail over the Pyrenees and all that sort of thing.
Cedric. My adorable child, don't talk like a member of the public. Henceforth you are in the know. The fogs alone make Snowdon worse than the Pyrenees. And then the Aero Club has been clever enough to ordain that the aviator is to start and land within four miles of the summit. How is a man to get off on such ground, and where is he to land without breaking wood? And then the business of finding his way! He's bound to do a lot of corkscrewing to get up, and nothing less than six thousand feet would be safe.
Flora. (With a gesture dismissing all that.) Well, I don't think it's quite nice of Mr. Klopstock. It ought to have occurred to him. But then, it never does seem to occur to Germans… I've often noticed that in hotels. They don't seem to perceive. (Different tone.) Will he succeed?
Cedric. He might. I don't think he would; not with his present horse-power; but he just might.
Flora. Well, most probably he won't. And then you can try in July as you originally intended, and get the money after all. Then there will have been some sense in the prize, anyway.
Cedric. It isn't the money.
Flora. Surely it isn't the mountain?
Cedric. (Following his own thought.) We've got to come out on top in this business. I must get to business in the middle of next week. It'll take a day to modify those wingtips, and another to tune her up. Oh! I shall be ready long before he is. But I'll give him a chance to get nicely installed in his hotel. I should like Herr Klopstock and his crew to admire the beautiful scenery.
Flora. (Casually.) You must be at the works next week?
Cedric. It's me or nobody! No use trying to disguise that fact, Fluff!
Flora. Perhaps in the heat of the moment you've forgotten that you happened to get married this morning, Cedric.
Cedric. I wish we hadn't happened to get married this morning. (She looks at him.) I mean, I wish we'd happened to get married a week ago. Frantic nuisance! However, there you are! It simply means we shall be fixed up a bit sooner in the flat —
Flora. But the flat won't be anything like ready by next week.
Cedric. Never mind, we'll sleep at the Grand Babylon, or in the backyard. (A little pause.) Of course as a nuisance it completely baffles description… To-day of all days… However, Fluff, as I said before with profound truth – there you are! It would never do in this world to give the German lot even a chance. The thing's too spectacular – altogether too spectacular. If it was a question of beating us quietly and for ever in technics or manufacture, the B.P. wouldn't think twice about it; but Snowdon is Snowdon, and a black eagle is a black eagle, and (comically) in short, madam, England will turn to your husband in its hour of peril. In other words, Fluff, it's up to me.
Flora. (Lightly.) I say, Cedric.
Cedric. Well?
Flora. I thought we were agreed about a full calendar month.
Cedric. (After a pause; as lightly as possible.) Do you mean you think I ought to let Snowdon slide? Do you really —
Flora. Yes, of course. Don't you?
Cedric. You aren't serious?
Flora. (Persuasively.) My dearest boy, is there any reason why I shouldn't differ from you and yet be serious?
Cedric. No, of course not. But in a case like this – if there was anybody else to take my place, I wouldn't mind. Of course Smith-James could do it if only he would use our machine – but he won't. Nothing would induce him to. So as I keep on saying – there you are!
Flora. But what does it matter? Is it because the other man's machine has been called the Black Eagle in a telegram that you —
Cedric. Yes, partly.
Flora. Oh! So that if this canvas-backed duck flies first over a lump of mud called Snowdon —
Cedric. But don't I tell you Snowdon is the highest mountain in England?
Flora. No, it isn't.
Cedric. Pardon me. Three thousand five hundred and seventy feet. The next highest is —
Flora. Well, you go and tell Lloyd George that Snowdon is the highest mountain in England, and see what you'll get.
Cedric. Wales, then. It's all the same.
Flora. (With great charm.) If you're thinking of the ten thousand pounds, I don't mind informing you, as a great secret, that I wouldn't sell a single day of my honeymoon with you for ten times ten thousand pounds. But I told you I wanted an expensive honeymoon, didn't I?
Cedric. (Shaking his head and with calm certainty.) The money doesn't influence me that much! (Snaps his fingers.) I don't wish to flatter myself, but I think I could light your cigarette with a bank note as gracefully as anybody. No —
Flora. You're pulling away at that cigar of yours, but I suppose you know it isn't lighted.
Cedric. Isn't it? (As he lights the cigar.) No! This Snowdon business. Well, it's a symbol (half to himself). I wonder how I can make you understand that.
Flora. (Fascinatingly.) Oh! Force is unnecessary, I understand that. But who was it said just now that the honeymoon was a symbol? It stands for all our married life. It's the most exciting and interesting time we shall ever have. And you can't put a honeymoon off, you know. It isn't like a box of cigars that you can keep in a cupboard and enjoy one of them every now and then when you've got a few minutes to spare. It must happen now or never. You can't postpone it. You can only kill it. (Smiles lightly.)
Cedric. (Taking hold of her, in a caressing tone.) She's tragic!
Flora. (Disengaging herself.) Oh, no!
Cedric. Now just listen to me, Fluff. I'm really thinking at least as much of you as of myself. This affair is bound to have an influence on my career.
Flora. And what about its influence on mine?
Cedric. Same thing. I suppose our interests are identical.
Flora. My poor simple boy, do you really believe that?
Cedric. Well, dash it, aren't you my wife?
Flora. So far as I'm concerned, it would be more correct to say that you're my husband. In fact, you've got a career as my husband.
Cedric. (Anxious to be fair.) Certainly. And you as my wife. But —
Flora. One second, dearest. You're unique as an aviator, aren't you?
Cedric. (Conventionally modest.) Oh – well —
Flora. Now. Man to man. Give your modesty a rest. Really, don't you consider you've proved yourself unique in your line?
Cedric. (Hesitatingly, chivalrously.) I suppose I'm just about as unique in my line as you are in yours, my dear.
Flora. Now that's very nice of you.
Cedric. Not at all.
Flora. Yes, it is, because it's exactly what I wanted you to say. You've often said that I'm unique, and I just wanted you to say it again at this identical particular instant. Of course I could have reminded you of it, but that wouldn't have been quite so effective. That's why it's very nice of you.
Cedric. So you are unique – I'll say it as often as you like.
Flora. I warn you, you're giving yourself away.
Cedric. Delighted!
Flora. I wouldn't care to repeat all the lovely adjectives you've used about me. If you weren't such a determined enemy of gush and superlatives – people might suspect that sometimes you exaggerated the tiniest bit when you talked about me, to me. But of course I know you never do exaggerate, at any rate consciously, and you know you're a very good judge.
Cedric. What of?
Flora. Us!.. Now look here, Cedric, don't you think it would be a pity to stop this creature, who is so unique in her line, from giving a full exhibition of her unique powers at a unique moment; at the very height of her career. You know, she'll never have another opportunity like this of proving that she really is unique in her line.
Cedric. What do you call her line? Let's be clear.
Flora. (Quietly, off-handedly, after a pause.) To charm. Merely that.
Cedric. By God! She can do that. But (winningly, but half to himself), I hardly know how to put it.
Flora. I think you do, dearest; but you're so nice, you don't like to. You wanted to make a comparison between the importance of your line and the importance of mine. I admit all that. I'm quite humble. I fully admit that if Hyde Park were full of aviators and Battersea Park were full of charming young women, rather pretty and – er – chic – (gesture to show off her frock) – I fully admit that not a man among you would ever dream– of crossing the river. I fully admit that if every aviator in Europe gave up business to-morrow the entire world would go into mourning, whereas if all the charming women retired from business they'd never be missed. Still —
Cedric. (Appreciative.) You're a witty girl —
Flora. We're both rather witty, aren't we, at times?
Cedric. But the fact is I wasn't going to make any comparison at all between our respective lines. I was only going to point out that you can keep on being charming all the time. You're always charming; you're always doing your line. Whereas for my line I have to choose times and seasons – or rather I don't choose 'em, they're chosen for me, as, for instance, just now. Wherever we are, honeymoon or no honeymoon, you're – well, you're giving an exhibition flight.
Flora. Now, Cedric, your good nature's getting the better of your sincerity. I'm not always charming. Ask your dear mother. And have you forgotten our historic shindy about the length of your moustache scarcely three months ago? I'm not always charming. And I don't want to be always charming. Who would? As for exhibition flights, you've never seen me give one. You think you have, but what you've seen up to now is nothing. I don't mind telling you that I had arranged a rather sensational exhibition flight for the next month. It would last just thirty-one days. I don't mind telling you that I've thought a good deal about it, and made all my elaborate preparations. It really would be a pity to interfere with it. And you know it can't be postponed. I don't choose time and season any more than you do.
Cedric. But surely, Fluff, this flight can proceed, as I say, wherever we are?
Flora. You think so? And what about my grandstand?
Cedric. I shall always be your grandstand.
Flora. Shall you? I can only do my best when I've got the undivided attention of my audience. I hope I should never come quite to earth, but I don't see myself being unique in my line for the benefit of a man who is busy (with the faintest touch of irony in her tone) counting the misfires in his motor, or dreaming about the barometer.
Cedric. Naturally, if you don't see the importance of this Snowdon business to us —
Flora. (Consciously very charming again.) But I do see it perfectly well. A woman unique in her own line is not necessarily a gaping idiot in every other line. I admit the immense importance of Snowdon to us. I won't argue. In my time I've been told that I was too well-dressed to be able to argue. I simply want to ask you this – what, for you, is the most important thing in life? Now, let's be straight. Have you married as a supreme end, or is your supreme end to move yourself about in the air without visible means of support? Now (smiling), look me in the face, and be a man.
Cedric. You're putting very fundamental questions.
Flora. Is marriage a relaxation from flying, or do you fly in order to have the means for practising the whole art of marriage under favourable conditions? Do you live most intensely when you're battling with the breeze, or when you're (dropping her voice) with me? I only want to know. Because if you live most intensely when you're with me, this honeymoon should be worth more to us than forty Snowdons.
Cedric. (A little coldly.) Say no more, Snowdon is chucked. Of course, my position is impossible. You have only to insist.
Flora. (Losing her self-control.) Insist? Insist that you neglect an aeroplane so that you can stay with me? My dear boy, I'm incapable of taking such a mean advantage of an aeroplane. An aeroplane can't insist. And I can assure you I shan't.
Cedric. Do you know that you're scarcely logical?
Flora. Not logical? In not insisting?
Cedric. (Somewhat at a loss.) I mean generally. For instance, when we began, your first argument was that we couldn't shorten the honeymoon because the flat wouldn't be ready.
Flora. One can't think of everything at once. You mustn't forget I've never been called to the bar. If I'd known what was coming, no doubt I should have prepared my case and had it typewritten, and sent copies to the press… And then what about your being illogical?
Cedric. Me?
Flora. Yes. When I ask you for a straight answer you protest that I'm putting very fundamental questions. Did you expect me to put shallow questions? Did you expect me to enquire whether you'd used Pears' soap?
Cedric. Now look here, Fluffiest —
Flora. (Angry.) Cedric, I wish you wouldn't call me that. You've only started it since we were married. I can stand Fluff, but I don't like Fluffy, and my objection to Fluffiest is intense.
Cedric. I beg your pardon.
Flora. (Recovering herself sweetly.) It's I who beg yours. For the moment I was forgetting that "common superficial politeness" that you ranked with common-sense.
Cedric. My dear child, everything's all right. The honeymoon shall not be shortened by a single day. Everything's absolutely all right.
Flora. (Shakes her head.) It isn't. You're only giving way to please me.
Cedric. Well, really – (laughing).
Flora. Cedric. Honestly. Yes or no. Do you think I ought to yield to the aeroplane?
Cedric. (They look at each other.) I think you oughtn't to ask quite such questions?
Flora. (Agreeing.) No. Such questions ought to be asked earlier. But human nature is so – human, that probably it wouldn't be any use asking them any earlier. They might even be considered rude. In fact, it is considered rude for fiancés to worry each other with any questions that really matter. (Pause. In a vague voice.) Whether you prefer a flat or a house, and the colour of the drawing-room chairs – that's about as far as you are supposed to go. (Another pause.) Well?
Cedric. (Approaching her.) What?
Flora. Do you think I ought to yield to the aeroplane?
Cedric. (Stands still, very firmly.) My dear girl, if you ask me to be straight, I think the Snowdon business isn't a thing to be neglected. (Pause at high tension.)
Flora. (Plaintively.) Common-sense doesn't seem to be such a wonderful cure for difficulties after all. (Fiercely.) Oh! If I had faith, wouldn't I just move that mountain into the sea! (Gives a sob.)
Cedric. Flora, what can I say?
Flora. (Controlling herself.) There's nothing else to be said – by either of us. It's – it's hopeless.
(Enter Charles Haslam, R., cautiously. He is in motoring attire.)
Charles. (At the door, to someone outside.) It's all right. We've caught 'em (within the room).
Cedric. (Extremely puzzled; frowning.) Hello!
Charles. Hello!.. Flora, what's the matter?
Flora. (Collecting herself; ironically.) Oh, nothing! nothing! This is a nice kind idea of yours, to come and relieve our solitude, but did you expect us not to be startled?
(Enter Mr. Reach Haslam.)
Cedric. Hello. (Mr. Reach Haslam gives a deprecating gesture.)
Mr. R. Haslam. My dear Flora!
(Enter Mrs. Reach Haslam.)
Cedric. Any more?
(Enter Gaston.)
Flora. Well, this is a pleasure. Unusual perhaps —
Mrs. Reach Haslam. My dear son, my dear Flora – (Turns to Mr. Reach Haslam.) Father – (Stops.)
Mr. Reach Haslam. (To Gaston, who is hovering inquisitively about.) If there is the slightest doubt in your mind as to the exact geographical situation of the door —
Gaston. Please? (Meaning "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch what you said!")
(Mr. Reach Haslam goes to door, R., and signals to Gaston to depart. Exit Gaston. Mr. Reach Haslam closes door.)
Cedric. (Aside to Charles.) What the hell's up?
Charles. (Loudly.) Well, Rick —
Mrs. R. Haslam. Charles, what did I tell you before you came in? I'll thank you to go and sit down over there. (Charles obeys.)
Flora. Suppose we all sit down, shall we? Well, what did you tell him before he came in?
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Sits.) Believe me, Flora, I never felt so unequal to a situation in my life.
Cedric. Look here, dad, do you mind telling me in one word what this is all about?
Mrs. R. Haslam. Yes, your father will tell you. The circumstances are exceedingly difficult – in fact, painful. But they have to be faced, and faced with dignity. The various necessary steps must be taken, in their proper order, very carefully. The first step is to inform you and Flora of the facts. Your father will inform you; as the head of the family, and the fount of authority, the statement comes more properly from him. I decided that absolutely as we motored down. (To Mr. Reach Haslam.) Dear —
Mr. R. Haslam. Yes, dear. (To Cedric and Flora.) You know we went straight back to town when you'd left the church. As soon as we had —
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Interrupting, to Cedric and Flora.) You needn't be alarmed. As I said, the circumstances are painful, but once faced as we shall face them, they really amount to nothing. The principal thing was to catch you in time. Thank heaven, we've done that!
Charles. Thank my masterly and audacious driving!
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Staring him down.) If we had failed! (Gesture of despair to Mr. Reach Haslam.) Dear —
Mr. R. Haslam. (Nodding to her politely.) As soon as we had finished lunch your mother set herself to work, her work being very much behind —
Mrs. R. Haslam. Never mind all that. Do it as gently as you can, but come to the point at once. I am quite sure that is best.
Mr. R. Haslam. The telephone?
Mrs. R. Haslam. The telephone.
Mr. R. Haslam. (Nodding to her politely.) We were rung up on the telephone. Your mother was walking about in meditation, and as she was nearest to the telephone she answered it. She then said to me, "It's the Bishop of Chelmsford." I was at the desk. In another moment she asked me to come to the telephone and listen for myself as she could scarcely believe her ears. I did so, and the Bishop – he was telephoning from the Palace at Chelmsford – repeated at my request what he had said to your mother, namely, that that curate who – er – officiated this morning, suddenly awakened to a sense of beauty —
Mrs. R. Haslam. Sense of duty.
Mr. R. Haslam. I quite understood "beauty." It's true the Bishop hasn't got a good telephone voice – probably more impressive at a confirmation than on the telephone. I heard "beauty." However —
Mrs. R. Haslam. Sense of duty.
Mr. R. Haslam. No doubt you are right. I seemed to gather that it was Flora's beauty that had roused his conscience.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Oh, no!
Flora. That had what?
Charles. (Coming towards the group, unable to control his impatience.) Oh, hang it! The curate was a sham curate – not a curate at all.
Cedric. (Taking it in.) A sham curate!
Flora. But surely such things don't happen?
Mrs. R. Haslam. That's what many people said when I made a shopwalker successfully personate an archdeacon in "The Woman of Kent." Everyone said so until Mr. Gladstone wrote that he found the episode quite convincing. You remember, dear?
Mr. R. Haslam. Vividly.
Mrs. R. Haslam. I assure you it happens quite frequently that from one cause or another people who think they are married are not married. Why, sometimes special Acts of Parliament have to be passed in order to set things right – when they've gone altogether too far. I well recall that when I studied this subject, as of course I did, coming across a case in which, owing to a church having been consecrated very carelessly, a lady who supposed herself to be the legitimate mother of sixteen children – poor thing —
Flora. (Interrupting.) But do you mean to say we aren't married?
Mrs. R. Haslam. Well, of course, I want to put it as gently as possible, but the fact is – (looking at her husband).
Mr. R. Haslam. It would be an exaggeration to say that you are married.
Mrs. R. Haslam. If my idea had been accepted of having the Bishop to officiate – and he would have been only too enchanted – in the cathedral, this dreadful thing could not have occurred. No case of personating a bishop has ever been known.
Cedric. But what are we to do?
Charles. (Airily.) Well, you must make the best of it.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Outraged.) Certainly not, Charles, you are astounding. It would have looked better of you if you had remained outside in charge of the car. Make the best of it, indeed! (To Mr. Reach Haslam.) Father —
Mr. R. Haslam. (To Cedric.) For the moment a policy of masterly inactivity seems to be indicated.