The Mousetrap

PHILIP. Mind the beer. (He crosses to the bench, picks up the glass and puts it on the trolley)

ANGELA. You just want to get rid of me. You wait—I’ll get even with you—I’ll—I’ll . . .

MISSWILLIAMS. (with sharp authority) Angela! Angela, come along.

ANGELA. (near to tears; sulkily) Oh, all right. (She runs into the room)

(MISS WILLIAMS follows Angela into the room. ELSA enters up C. She has changed into a dress and looks ravishing. ANGELA gives Elsa a venomous look and runs out up C. MISS WILLIAMS follows Angela off, and closes the door)

AMYAS. (sitting up) Wham! Why didn’t you stand up for me? I’m black and blue.

PHILIP. (leaning against the downstage end of the pergola) Black and blue? You’re all the colours of the rainbow.

(ELSA wanders on to the terrace and moves down C, beside the easel)

You’ve got enough paint on you to . . . (He breaks off as he sees Elsa)

AMYAS. Hullo, Elsa. All dolled up? You’ll knock poor old Merry all of a heap.

PHILIP. (dryly) Yes—I—I’ve been admiring the picture. (He crosses below the easel to R of it and looks at the portrait)

ELSA. I shall be glad when it’s finished. I loathe having to sit still. Amyas grunts and sweats and bites his brushes and doesn’t hear you when you speak to him.

AMYAS. (playfully) All models should have their tongues cut out.

(ELSA crosses and sits below Amyas on the bench)

(He looks appraisingly at her) Anyway, you can’t walk across the fields to Merry’s in those shoes.

ELSA. (turning her foot this way and that; demurely) I shan’t need to. He’s coming to fetch me in his car.

AMYAS. Preferential treatment, eh? (He grins) You’ve certainly got old Merry going. How do you do it, you little devil?

ELSA. (playfully) I don’t know what you mean.

(AMYAS and ELSA are immersed in each other. PHILIP crosses to the french windows)

PHILIP. (as he passes them) I’ll go and have a wash.

AMYAS. (not hearing Philip; to Elsa) Yes, you do. You know damn well what I mean. (He moves to kiss Elsa’s ear, realizes Philip has said something and turns to him) What?

PHILIP. (quietly) A wash.

(PHILIP goes into the room and exits up C, closing the door behind him)

AMYAS. (laughing) Good old Phil.

ELSA. (rising and crossing below the easel toR) You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?

AMYAS. Known him all my life. He’s a great guy.

ELSA. (turning and looking at the portrait) I don’t think it’s a bit like me.

AMYAS. Don’t pretend you’ve any artistic judgement, Elsa. (He rises) You know nothing at all.

ELSA. (quite pleased) How rude you are. Are you going out to tea with all that paint on your face?

(AMYAS crosses to the paintbox, takes up a piece of rag and moves to Elsa)

AMYAS. Here, clean me off a bit.

(ELSA takes the rag and rubs his face)

Don’t put the turps in my eye.

ELSA. Well, hold still. (After a second she puts both her arms around his waist) Who do you love?

AMYAS. (not moving; quietly) Caroline’s room faces this way—so does Angela’s.

ELSA. I want to talk to you about Caroline.

AMYAS. (taking the rag and sitting on the stool) Not now. I’m not in the mood.

ELSA. It’s no good putting it off. She’s got to know sometime, hasn’t she?

AMYAS. (grinning) We could go off Victorian fashion and leave a note on her pin-cushion.

ELSA. (moving between Amyas and the easel) I believe that’s just what you’d like to do. But we’ve got to be absolutely fair and aboveboard about the whole thing.

AMYAS. Hoity-toity!

ELSA. Oh, do be serious.

AMYAS. I am serious. I don’t want a lot of fuss and scenes and hysterics. Now, mind yourself. (He pushes her gently aside)