The Mousetrap

LATIMER. The fate of most dutiful wives. (He moves to the record player on the window-seat.) Aren’t there any dance records? We could at least dance.

KAY. There’s nothing like that here. Only Mozart and Bach—all classical stuff.

LATIMER. (Moving to the coffee table.) Oh, well—at least we’ve been spared the old battleaxe tonight. (He takes a cigarette from the box.) Doesn’t she ever appear at dinner, or did she just shirk it because I was there? (He lights his cigarette.)

KAY. Camilla always goes to bed at seven. She’s got a groggy heart or something. She has her dinner sent up on a tray.

LATIMER. Not what you’d call a gay life.

KAY. (Rising abruptly.) I hate this place. (She moves below the chaise then upR. of it.) I wish to God we’d never come here.

LATIMER. (Moving toL. of her.) Steady, honey. What’s the matter?

KAY. I don’t know. (She crosses and stands below the armchair L. C.) It’s just—sometimes I get—scared.

LATIMER. (Moving toR. of the coffee table.) That doesn’t sound like you, Kay.

KAY. (Recovering.) It doesn’t, does it? But there’s something queer going on. I don’t know what, but I’ll swear that Audrey’s behind it all.

LATIMER. It was a damn silly idea of Nevile’s—coming here with you at the same time as his ex-wife.

KAY. (Sitting in the armchairL. C.) I don’t think it was his idea. I’m convinced she put him up to it.

LATIMER. Why?

KAY. I don’t know—to cause trouble probably.

LATIMER. (Moving to Kay and touching her arm.) What you want is a drink, my girl.

KAY. (Moving his hand from her arm, irritably.) I don’t want a drink and I’m not your girl.

LATIMER. You would have been if Nevile hadn’t come along. (He moves to the butler’s tray and pours two glasses of whisky and soda.) Where is Nevile, by the way?

KAY. I’ve no idea.

LATIMER. They’re not a very sociable crowd, are they? Audrey’s out on the terrace talking to old Treves, and that fellow Royde’s strolling about the garden all by himself, puffing at that eternal pipe of his. Nice, cheery lot.

KAY. (Crossly.) I wouldn’t care a damn if they were all at the bottom of the sea—except Nevile.

LATIMER. I should have felt much happier, darling, if you’d included Nevile. (He picks up the drinks and takes one to Kay.) You drink that, my sweet. You’ll feel much better. (Kay takes her drink and sips it.)

KAY. God, it’s strong.

LATIMER. More soda?

KAY. No, thanks. I wish you wouldn’t make it so clear you don’t like Nevile.

LATIMER. Why should I like him? He’s not my sort. (Bitterly.) The ideal Englishman—good at sport, modest, good-looking, always the little pukka sahbit. Getting everything he wants all along the line—even pinched my girl.

KAY. I wasn’t your girl.

LATIMER. (Moving above the coffee table.) Yes, you were. If I’d been as well off as Nevile . . .

KAY. I didn’t marry Nevile for his money.

LATIMER. Oh, I know, and I understand—Mediterranean nights and dewy-eyed romance . . .

KAY. I married Nevile because I fell in love with him.

LATIMER. I’m not saying you didn’t, my sweet, but his money helped you to fall.

KAY. Do you really think that?

LATIMER. (Moving upC.) I try to—it helps soothe my injured vanity.

KAY. (Rising and moving toL. of him.) You’re rather a dear, Ted—I don’t know what I should do without you, sometimes.

LATIMER. Why try? I’m always around. You should know that by this time. The faithful swain—or should it be swine? Probably depends which you happen to be—the wife or the husband. (He kisses Kay’s shoulder. Mary enters L. She wears a plain dinner frock. Kay moves hastily on to the rostrum up L.)

MARY. (Pointedly.) Have either of you seen Mr. Treves? Lady Tressilian wants him.

LATIMER. He’s out on the terrace, Miss Aldin.

MARY. Thank you, Mr. Latimer. (She closes the door.) Isn’t it stifling? I’m sure there’s going to be a storm. (She crosses to the French windows.)

LATIMER. I hope it holds off until I get back to the hotel. (He moves toL. of Mary and glances off.) I didn’t bring a coat. I’ll get soaked to the skin going over in the ferry if it rains.