The Ploughman's Lunch Page #7

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As Edward enters the other two applaud.

JEREMY:

How sweet.

Edward makes a nervous mock bow.

EDWARD:

Thank you. Have you two been

smoking that illegal stuff again?

James pours wine into Edward's glass.

JAMES:

We were admiring your poem in the

TLS, Edward.

EDWARD:

Ah, yes.

JEREMY:

It's terribly good.

EDWARD:

Don't tell me you've actually read

it, Jeremy.

James picks up the TLS and waves it at Edward.

JEREMY:

Committed to memory. Forever.

EDWARD:

I see.

JAMES:

Blasé and epicene.

JEREMY:

We were just chortling over that.

Blasé and epicene. It perfectly

describes the new Foreign Secretary.

So--I hope you don't mind, Edward,

I pinched it for my piece today.

EDWARD:

Attributed?

JEREMY:

Of course.

EDWARD:

Why, is there a new Foreign

Secretary? Who was the old one

anyway?

JEREMY:

It needn't concern you, Edward.

James has got some news. He needs

a poet's advice.

Jeremy pats a seat. Edward sits down.

JAMES:

C'mon. I don't want any Jones

about this.

JEREMY:

No jokes. James is in love.

EDWARD:

Congratulations. Who with?

JEREMY:

A glamorous young lady way above

his station...

JAMES:

Bastard.

JEREMY:

Name so Susie Barrington. Daughter

of the eminent historian, Anne

Barrington, step-daughter of the

scandalous Matthew Byrd the

acclaimed sack-artist...

Lay over Jeremy's account on next scene and FADE DOWN

SLOWLY.

INT. SUSAN'S FLAT - LATE EVENING

A sumptuously cluttered place. A chesterfield. Deep

armchairs, silk cushions, many prints, coffee table, books.

Clearly an inherited place.

Susan is pouring coffee. James sits across from her, jacket

off, sunk in cushions.

JEREMY'S VOICE OVER RECEDES.

SUSAN:

Mummy and I, we were more like

lovers, really, or sisters. Then

a couple of years after Daddy died,

and not long after I left Oxford,

she started seeing various men and

I was furious. I really was upset.

I stopped going home. I never

phoned. I went round telling

everyone how awful her books were.

And she hardly seemed to notice,

and that made me angrier. Then I

got a job I was interested in, and

I started to see lots of men, and

I suppose I grew up a little and

began to understand. So I wrote

her a long letter, almost seven

pages, saying how sorry I was, and

how I was worried that we were

drifting apart. And do you know,

she wrote me a poem, a really

beautiful poem about mothers and

daughters.

JAMES:

How nice.

SUSAN:

It makes me weepy just to remember

it. So we were fine again, and

then she got married to Matthew

who's a womaniser and a bit of a

yob, but quite nice really, makes

TV commercials. What about yours.

JAMES:

Both dead.

SUSAN:

That must be rather nice, in a

way. I mean, you don't have any--

The door bell RINGS loudly.

SUSAN:

Damn. They're early.

JAMES:

Who?

SUSAN:

I called you a taxi.

JAMES:

Very thoughtful.

SUSAN:

(a gesture of

helplessness)

Well, you know...

EXT. FRONT DOOR - SUSAN'S FLAT - NIGHT

A minute later, James and Susan stand at the front door.

Portico and steps down to the street. Taxi waits. They

kiss, Susan draws back.

JAMES:

Again?

SUSAN:

Yes, if you like. Call me at work.

James descends the stairs. Susan closes the door.

INT. COCKTAIL BAR - EARLY EVENING

A cocktail bar, a self-conscious imitation of the American

model. James and Jeremy sit on high stools at the bar.

Tall colourful drinks are being set down in front of them.

On a TV there are scenes of the departing Royal Navy fleet.

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