Tom and Viv Page #4

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Oh, is that the time?

Charles dear,

it is time for your medicine.

- But I'll miss the poem.

- I think it is time, dear.

'He do the Police in Different Voices'

"My nerves are bad tonight.

Yes, bad. Stay with me.

Speak to me,

why do you never speak? Speak.

What are you thinking of?

What thinking? What?

I never know what you are thinking. Think."

"I think we are in rats' alley

Where the dead men lost their bones."

"What shall I do now?

What shall I do?

"I shall rush out as I am, and walk

the street with my hair down, so...

What shall we do tomorrow?

What shall we ever do?"

There it is.

More wine, madam?

Tom looks rather bloody.

There's nothing wrong with Tom that

separation from his wife couldn't cure.

She reeks of ether.

If she had any conception of his

significance, it would be less alarming.

- The drain on his energy must be...

- I know, unimaginable.

I don't keep a line that

Viv hasn't proofed.

I rely on her completely,

she's my first audience.

- Of course.

- She's a writer, too.

- Considerable talent.

- Really?

I'll send you some of the things, shall I?

You do realise of course,

what she's doing to you?

To your reputation?

What she might do to your work.

You're wrong. You're quite wrong.

You have no idea, you don't know her.

She has... an uncanny understanding

of certain things.

I haven't made her happy.

Some moments in life...

...decisions...

...are irrevocable.

Perhaps one can become moral...

...only by being damned.

She's often in a lot of pain.

I must take care of her.

That's what I must do.

Of course Virginia

thinks Tom should leave me.

She refers to me as a bag of ferrets.

It's my nerves you see,

"writer's insight." Well she should know.

Lenoard has her in and out of the

looney bin every couple of months.

They all hate me because I've got Tom

and they all want him.

Ottoline's desperate for an

affair with Tom! SHE LAUGHS

Lawrence says,

Ottoline's vagina is like a bird's beak.

I know he's always

been totally disgusted, but...

A bird's beak!

Why is there never any wine?

They all admire Tom's mind.

I am his mind.

- Ma'am?

- Oh, good.

What time are you meeting Lady Botwell?

What?

- Six o'clock at the Grafton, wasn't it?

- Er, yes.

See you there then, shall I?

You know how good I am at breaking the ice,

which will need some handling, so...

Why don't you go to the private bar?

I'll meet with her

and then I'll send a waiter over

and you can be introduced.

You don't want us to

meet with her together?

It's not that, it's just...

I just... need some time with her alone.

Some time with her alone?

Who gave you the title to

The Wasteland?

Me.

Who wrote half your begging letters and did

your correspondence when you were ill?

Me.

Lady Botwell is the daughter

of a draper from Whitby.

She's no more breeding than a rabbit.

You don't know the difference between a

trumped-up title and real breeding and I do!

Shall we say the Grafton at six then?

Perfect.

Excuse me.

Morning, all.

Oh God, my head...

You heard all that, I take it?

Gosh no, I can listen to people all night

goes in one ear,

flies out the other kind of thing.

- Is that right?

- Nothing in the middle to hold it up.

For God's sakes, you insufferable oaf!

Help us.

The trust-fund accounts for everything,

Mrs Haigh-Wood.

What about Viv?

What is she to be told?

I don't want to over-burden her.

She doesn't understand money.

Charles had the greatest confidence in you.

Viv will be taken care of

just as she always has been

without fuss.

- Where is she, anyway?

- Selfridges I think.

Have I missed anything?

- There you are.

- Looking so lovely.

So... how much has Daddy left?

What's my share? I'm the eldest child.

We were just talking about Mum's life

and her evenings.

She's going to be jolly lonely now, so I've

proposed we should all play more bridge.

Oh by the way, Tom and I can't go on living in

that awful little hole in Crawford Mansions.

Tom is quite famous now

and there's a house in Chester Street

which would be quite perfect for him.

And we need a motorcar.

What's this?

It's a list of property

holdings and investments.

Houses? In Manchester and London.

I didn't know we had a farm in Anglesey.

So um, what is it when we add it all up?

The trust was set up

to protect the estate against taxes

one does not "add it all up",

that's just the point.

So what's my share?

I have to be independent, you know.

Tom's family won't let me

inherit anything from him

they're quite adamant about that,

so I have to know where I stand.

You see, your father didn't want you

to bother with any awful papers

so what he's done is...

...he hasn't said anything

about you in the will.

You are all tenants of the trust

the trustees have power of attorney.

And who are they?

Maurice and myself.

Oh, so it's alright?

The house and the car?

Darling, leave it to the boys.

They know best.

I have a right to some of Daddy's money.

Viv, there's no money to share as such...

Viv, please, please,

are you sure you wouldn't like to go home?

The solicitor will arrange everything.

Oh, the solicitor, what else

does the solicitor have to arrange?

Does the solicitor know that

Tom and I sleep in separate rooms?

- And that I've driven him to it?

- You have not.

And divorce.

- Tom's friends say we should divorce.

- There's been no talk of divorce.

And does he know that there are times when

I'm not allowed in the same room as you?

Particularly when the

Bishop of Oxford calls.

Tom wants me baptised into

the Church of England.

Now if a big baby wants to stick

his head into a bowl, it's called baptism.

If I want to do it? It's called shampoo.

And, and, has the solicitor

taken into account Tom's sandwiches?

- Sandwiches?

- God knows I'm tired of making them!

God knows he takes them

each day into the office

and then dives round

to a little church in the city

and ploughs through

the cheese and pickle on his knees?

I mean what do you suppose is

the legal position on sandwiches?

Oh I see, I'm ill again, am I?

No.

No I can hear myself.

I know perfectly well what I'm saying.

Let's just pretend I never came in.

Just carry on as before.

Please.

By the way, I've been thinking

that I might toddle off to Africa.

Try my luck, so to speak.

Well there doesn't seem to be much

opportunity in England these days

does there?

APPLAUSE:

Thank you, thank you very much.

This next poem is called Marina.

The title will of course be quite clear to

anyone familiar with Shakespeare's Pericles.

No poet can truthfully tell you

the origin of a poem

however personal a poem may seem.

What makes it a poem will not derive

from the fact that it is personal.

Poetry is not an expression of emotion

but an escape from emotion.

Hello?

Oh Mrs Eliot, hello.

Won't be a moment.

Rooms came with the job, Ma'am.

Night nurse.

First time they've ever given

the position to a woman.

I'm so pleased for you, Louise.

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