Complete Works, Volume IV. Harold Pinter

Oh . . . I don’t think so.

      Pause

      DEELEY Is that what attracted you to her?

      KATE What?

      DEELEY The fact that she was a thief.

      KATE No.

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      DEELEY Are you looking forward to seeing her?

      KATE No.

      DEELEY I am. I shall be very interested.

      KATE In what?

      DEELEY In you. I’ll be watching you.

      KATE Me? Why?

      DEELEY To see if she’s the same person.

      KATE You think you’ll find that out through me?

      DEELEY Definitely.

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      KATE I hardly remember her. I’ve almost totally forgotten her.

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      DEELEY Any idea what she drinks?

      KATE None.

      DEELEY She may be a vegetarian.

      KATE Ask her.

      DEELEY It’s too late. You’ve cooked your casserole.

      Pause

      Why isn’t she married? I mean, why isn’t she bringing her husband?

      KATE Ask her.

      DEELEY Do I have to ask her everything?

      KATE Do you want me to ask your questions for you?

      DEELEY No. Not at all.

      Pause

      KATE Of course she’s married.

      DEELEY How do you know?

      KATE Everyone’s married.

      DEELEY Then why isn’t she bringing her husband?

      KATE Isn’t she?

      Pause

      DEELEY Did she mention a husband in her letter?

      KATE No.

      DEELEY What do you think he’d be like? I mean, what sort of man would she have married? After all, she was your best—your only—friend. You must have some idea. What kind of man would he be?

      KATE I have no idea.

      DEELEY Haven’t you any curiosity?

      KATE You forget. I know her.

      DEELEY You haven’t seen her for twenty years.

      KATE You’ve never seen her. There’s a difference.

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      DEELEY At least the casserole is big enough for four.

      KATE You said she was a vegetarian.

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      DEELEY Did she have many friends?

      KATE Oh . . . The normal amount, I suppose.

      DEELEY Normal? What’s normal? You had none.

      KATE One.

      DEELEY Is that normal?

      Pause

      She . . . had quite a lot of friends, did she?

      KATE Hundreds.

      DEELEY You met them?

      KATE Not all, I think. But after all, we were living together. There were visitors, from time to time. I met them.

      DEELEY Her visitors?

      KATE What?

      DEELEY Her visitors. Her friends. You had no friends.

      KATE Her friends, yes.

      DEELEY You met them.

      Pause

      (Abruptly.) You lived together?

      KATE Mmmnn?

      DEELEY You lived together?

      KATE Of course.

      DEELEY I didn’t know that.

      KATE Didn’t you?

      DEELEY You never told me that. I thought you just knew each other.

      KATE We did.

      DEELEY But in fact you lived with each other.

      KATE Of course we did. How else would she steal my underwear from me? In the street?

      Pause

      DEELEY I knew you had shared with someone at onetime . . .

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      But I didn’t know it was her.

      KATE Of course it was.

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      DEELEY Anyway, none of this matters.

      Anna turns from the window, speaking, and moves down to them, eventually sitting on the second sofa.

      ANNA Queuing all night, the rain, do you remember? my goodness, the Albert Hall, Covent Garden, what did we eat? to look back, half the night, to do things we loved, we were young then of course, but what stamina, and to work in the morning, and to a concert, or the opera, or the ballet, that night, you haven’t forgotten? and then riding on top of the bus down Kensington High Street, and the bus conductors, and then dashing for the matches for the gasfire and then I suppose scrambled eggs, or did we? who cooked? both giggling and chattering, both huddling to the heat, then bed and sleeping, and all the hustle and bustle in the morning, rushing for the bus again for work, lunchtimes in Green Park, exchanging all our news, with our very own sandwiches, innocent girls, innocent secretaries, and then the night to come, and goodness knows what excitement in store, I mean the sheer expectation of it all, the looking-forwardness of it all, and so poor, but to be poor and young, and a girl, in London then . . . and the cafés we found, almost private ones, weren’t they? where artists and writers and sometimes actors collected, and others with dancers, we sat hardly breathing with our coffee, heads bent, so as not to be seen, so as not to disturb, so as not to distract, and listened and listened to all those words, all those cafés and all those people, creative undoubtedly, and does it still exist I wonder? do you know? can you tell me?

      Slight pause

      DEELEY We rarely get to London.

      Kate stands, goes to a small table and pours coffee from a pot.

      KATE Yes, I remember.

      She adds milk and sugar to one cup and takes it to Anna. She takes a black coffee to Deeley and then sits with her own.

      DEELEY (to Anna.) Do you drink brandy?

      ANNA I would love some brandy.

      Deeley pours brandy for all and hands the glasses. He remains standing with his own.

      ANNA Listen. What silence. Is it always as silent?

      DEELEY It’s quite silent here, yes. Normally.

      Pause

      You can hear the sea sometimes if you listen very carefully.

      ANNA How wise you were to choose this part of the world, and how sensible and courageous of you both to stay permanently in such a silence.

      DEELEY My work takes me away quite often, of course. But Kate stays here.

      ANNA No one who lived here would want to go far. I would not want to go far, I would be afraid of going far, lest when I returned the house would be gone.

      DEELEY Lest?

      ANNA What?

      DEELEY The word lest. Haven’t heard it for a long time.

      Pause