The Grass Is Greener Page #13

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Oh yes, indeed. The grass is always

greener on the other side of the hedge.

You ought to think it

over very carefully.

Oh, I have. Perhaps I still am.

Well, if that's what you

want, I better think again.

What I cannot understand is

why you had to fight a duel.

To make my role of complacent husband a

little less ignoble, I think is the word.

And to remind you, that

I'm very fond of you.

I didn't want to write a you

a letter of send you roses.

I thought that a duel

would be just the ticket.

Just the ticket? Where

to? A crematorium?

- Oh no, a cloak room.

- Oh, shut up.

And you haven't told me where it is.

Where what is?

And what would've happened if you killed

Charles. What do you think I'd have done?

I'm a very reliable shot.

Even with a revolver.

Yes, but what did it prove.

Obviously nothing just yet.

So I can only suggest that we

declare a sort of moratorium.

How do you mean?

An armistice, an intermission.

Call it what you like.

Whatever you do, you do.

If you decide to go off with him, I'll

just have to wait here until you get back.

You mean you'd be willing to do that?

- Yes.

- For how long?

- Just as long as it takes.

- Aha, I see.

And wash that man right out

of my hair. Is that the idea?

I think the next nine wires

and send him on his way.

Which I sincerely hope you'll

do. You bloody tourist.

Let him go sightseeing somewhere else.

You mean you'd really be prepared

to loan me to another man?

In order to get him out of my system?

What other choice have I?

Shocking as it may seem, I

think it's the safest route.

To back where we were?

To back where we were.

You must love me very much.

Love and like and value.

So you don't want to take me back now?

No, not under these circumstances.

You're much too pretty

to have as a housekeeper.

But what are you going to

do all the time I'm away?

I shall cross the days off the calender,

hope that you're having bad weather, and

that Charles is getting on your nerves.

Now, that's not very kind.

I feel jealous, indignant, and

unhappy, but certainly not kind.

But there it is. Marriage

isn't like a tray of hors-d'oeuvres.

You can't just pick what you fancy.

You've got to take the lot or nothing.

Well...

It's settled then.

I'm sorry you were wounded.

Is it very painful?

Yes. It is a bit. Now.

Well?

Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?

But then ofcourse, according

to you, we shan't know

whether it is goodbye for

quite some time. Shall we?

Doctor's coming along in his own car.

Soon as he can get dressed.

Well, how are you feeling.

Well Charles,

Hilary and I have had a

long talk and I've decided...

No, darling. I've decided.

Charles.

Victor's idea is that I shall go

away with you for a few months.

At the end of which time, he

hopes I will return to him.

Having got bored with me.

Exactly.

Oh, come now. I didn't put it

quite as crudely as that, did I?

Oh, I'm sure you did.

But then what's the

point of fighting a duel.

Because he was too lazy to write me a

letter, and too mean to send me roses.

I'm sorry. I don't understand.

No, but the point is, I do.

Well, I don't think you will be bored.

And anyway, I'm willing

to take that chance.

Are you Charles? Are you really?

Victor, do you remember Viula?

Oh, don't tell me she's lost again.

Alright who's Viula, and

what's she got to do with it?

Viula is a doll, whom Emma

loves devotedly and has for years.

You can always tell how much a doll

is loved by its state of dilapidation.

And Viula is maimed and nearly bald,

and over the years she's had a

great deal of trouble with her eyes.

Well, the Christmas before last.

Emmas was given a new doll,

whom she christened Angela.

And Angela had red hair which

you could permanently wave.

And if you wound her up at

the back, she could recite,

"Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep"

before she was put to bed.

She was very beautiful.

And the inevitable happened.

Well,

About six months ago, Emma

had to have her tonsils out.

And as she was getting into

the car to go to the hospital,

clutching the beloved Angela,

she suddenly stopped dead and said,

"Where's Viula?"

And she woudln't go without her.

Remember Victor?

Well, we searched for hours, and

eventually Viula was found.

Damp, discarded, rather

moldy, and covered with ants.

We soaked her in disinfectant,

wrapped her in a towel,

pinned a label to her

saying Emergency Ward, and

Emma stopped crying.

It's a commonplace,

rather sad, little story.

Must have happened to hundreds of

children in hundreds of homes, and I'm...

I'm very sorry to have repeated it,

particularly as I'm old enough to know better.

And uh, what happened to Angela?

I'm ashamed to say she was left behind.

Face downward in the gravel.

If that story is supposed to illustrate

what I think are your intentions,

I must warn you. I'm in no mood

to be soaked in disinfectant.

Well, I guess I just

pick my face up out of the gravel and

leave by that door through which I came.

I'm so sorry, Charles.

So deeply sorry.

But when I saw Victor in this

wounded state, I suddenly realized.

No, not realized, remembered.

How very much I love him.

And I'd forgotten it for a whole week.

You should write it down

on your shopping list.

Well, I'm afraid I

don't want to leave him.

Not for three months, or three

days, or even three hours.

There it is.

Well,

You were right, weren't you?

And you proved your point.

- About what?

- About dueling and the divorce rate.

You couldn't very well leave a husband

who had fought and been wounded for you.

Could you?

No.

I knew it.

Why didn't I miss him.

Ooh, why was I stupid

enough to be talked into...

Wait a minute.

Would you mind if I

had a word with Sellers?

Oh, by all means.

What do you want to

talk to Sellers about?

You'll see, in a moment or two.

Well, isn't it a little

late. He'll have gone to bed.

Oh, nonsense. He's much too

over excited to go to bed.

- Yes, but we've kept him up late enough as it is, darling.

- No, no, no. He's alright. He's

tearing up his novel.

Did you ring, my lord?

Forgive my dressing gown, my lady.

May I?

Go on. Fire away.

Fire, I must warn you,

is the operative word.

Sellers! Uh, what's your first name?

Trevor, sir.

Hmm, I thought it might be Dick,

as in "Dead Eye" (shooting game).

Where did you learn to

use a pistol, Sellers?

In the army, sir.

A small arms training

school. Southeast in command.

Well, they did a good job

on you, you're a fine shot.

What is all this about?

Would you like to tell her

ladyship, Sellers? Or you Victor?

Or shall I.

Go on Sellers. Tell them what happened.

Well, his lordship anticipated

Mr. Delacro's intention, my lady.

What are you talking

about? What intention?

Oh, that he would of course shoot

to miss his lordship, my lady.

We reckoned, with all the excitement,

you'd be too preoccupied to notice, sir.

I fired from the hip.

- Do you mean to say...

- That I shot his lordship?

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