《THE LOVER》（《情人》）是英国剧作家哈罗德·品特（Harold Pinter）于1962年创作的一部独幕剧，是其“婚姻戏剧”系列中的代表作之一。该剧以精炼的对话、微妙的心理博弈和典型的品特式“威胁喜剧”风格，探讨了婚姻、身份、欲望与虚构之间的复杂关系。该剧于1963年首播于英国独立电视台（ITV），1964年在纽约樱桃巷剧院首演。被广泛认为是品特“心理现实主义”时期的代表作，影响后世众多剧作家。

 版权归属为哈罗德·品特（Harold Pinter），如有侵权，联系作者处理

剧情简介：

故事发生在英国温莎附近的一幢中产阶级住宅中，主角是一对看似体面、关系礼貌而疏离的夫妻——理查德（Richard） 和莎拉（Sarah）。

表面设定：  

  丈夫理查德每天早晨出门上班前，会平静地问妻子：“你的情人今天来吗？”莎拉则淡然回答“是”，并告知情人下午三点到访。理查德表示会晚归，暗示自己可能也会去见他的“妓女”。两人对话客气、含蓄，仿佛在讨论一件日常家务。

真相揭示：  

  下午，情人“麦克斯（Max）”到访。实际上，麦克斯就是理查德本人。他换上一身休闲装（皮夹克、不打领带），以情人的身份与莎拉进行角色扮演游戏。两人在客厅里调情、嬉戏，使用手鼓等道具，演绎一场“陌生男女的邂逅与挑逗”。

关系崩塌：  

  在一次午后相会中，“麦克斯”突然表示厌倦了这种关系，并以“你太瘦了”“我要为家庭和孩子着想”等理由提出分手。莎拉试图挽回，但无济于事。  

  当晚，理查德以丈夫身份回家后，态度骤然转变。他不再容忍这种“开放式婚姻”，禁止莎拉再在家中会见情人，并激烈指责她的“堕落”。两人在言语交锋中逐渐模糊了丈夫与情人的身份界限，最终在客厅里重新上演一场角色扮演，但此时权力关系已彻底扭曲，对话充满控制与羞辱。

这些对话凝练地体现了品特对婚姻关系的冷酷解剖——在最亲密的伴侣之间，真实与表演、爱与操控往往只有一线之隔。《THE LOVER》以不到一小时的篇幅，撕开了中产阶级婚姻的优雅表象，揭示其中蕴含的性政治、心理暴力和存在的荒诞性，是一部充满张力和哲学深度的现代戏剧经典。

走本提示：

1.手鼓：可以自己敲击桌子发出类似手鼓声音

2. 括号（）里的是动作提示，不要念

THE LOVER

SUMMER- A detached house near Windsor.

The stage consists of two areas. Living room, right, with small hall and front door up center. Bedroom and balcony on a level, left. There is a short flight of stairs to bedroom door. Kitchen off right. A table with a long velvet cover stands against the left wall of the living room, center stage. In the small hall there is a cupboard. The furnishings are tasteful, comfortable.

Sarah is emptying and dusting ashtrays in the living room. It is morning. She wears a crisp, demure dress. Richard comes into the bedroom from bathroom, off left. He collects his keys, proceeds to the living room, collects his brief case from hall cupboard, goes to Sarah, kisses her on the cheek. He looks at her a moment smiling. She smiles.

RICHARD: (Amiability.) Is your lover coming today?  

SARAH: Mnnn.  

RICHARD: What time?  

SARAH: Three.  

RICHARD: Will you be going out . . . or staying in?  

SARAH: Oh . . . I think we'll stay in.  

RICHARD: I thought you wanted to go to that exhibition.  

SARAH: I did, yes . . . but I think I'd prefer to stay in with him today.  

RICHARD: Mnnn-hmmm. Well, I must be off. (Richard goes to hall u. c, and puts on his bowler hat.) Will he be staying long, do you think?  

SARAH: Mmmnnn . . .  

RICHARD: About . . . six, then.  

SARAH: Yes.  

RICHARD: Have a pleasant afternoon.  

SARAH: Mnnn.  

RICHARD: Bye-bye.

SARAH: Bye. (He opens the front door and goes out. She continues dusting. The lights fade up. Early evening. Sarah comes into room from kitchen, R. She wears the same dress, but is now wearing a pair of very high heeled shoes. She pours a drink and sits on chaise longue with magazine. There are six chimes of the clock. Key in the front door. Richard enters. He wears a sober suit, as in the morning. He puts his brief case down in the hall and goes into the room. She smiles at him and pours him a whiskey.) Hullo.

RICHARD: Hullo. (He kisses her on the cheek. Takes glass, hands her the evening paper, and sits on chaise longue with paper.) Thanks. (He drinks, sits back and sighs with contentment.) Aah. Tired?

RICHARD: Hullo. (He kisses her on the cheek. Takes glass, hands her the evening paper, and sits on chaise longue with paper.) Thanks. (He drinks, sits back and sighs with contentment.) Aah. Tired?

RICHARD: Just a little. RICHARD: Just a little.

SARAH: Bad traffic?  

RICHARD: No. Quite the traffic, actually.  

SARAH: Oh good.

RICHARD: Very smooth. (Pause.)  

SARAH: It seemed to me you were just a little late.  

RICHARD: Am I?

SARAH: Just a little.  

RICHARD: No. Quite the traffic, actually.  

SARAH: Oh good.

RICHARD: There was a bit of a jam on the bridge. (Sarah gets up, goes to drink table to collect her glass, sits again on the chaise longue.) Pleasant day?

SARAH: Mmn. I was in the village this morning.  

RICHARD: Oh yes? See anyone?  

SARAH: Not really, no. Had lunch.  

RICHARD: In the village?

SARAH: Not really, no. Had lunch.  

RICHARD: In the village?  

SARAH: Yes.  

RICHARD: Any good?  

SARAH: Quite fair. (She sits.)

RICHARD: What about this afternoon?  

SARAH: Oh yes. Quite marvellous.  

RICHARD: Your lover came, did he?  

SARAH: Mmn. Oh yes.  

RICHARD: Did you show him the hollyhocks?  

SARAH: The hollyhocks?  

RICHARD: Yes.  

SARAH: No, I?

RICHARD: Oh.

SARAH: Should I have done?

RICHARD: No, no. It's simply that I seem to remember your saying he was interested in gardening.

SARAH: Mnnn, yes, he is. (Pause.) Not all that interested, actually.

RICHARD: Ah. (Pause.) Did you get out at all, or did you stay in?

SARAH: We stayed in.

RICHARD: Ah. (He looks up at the Venetian blinds.) That blind hasn't been put up properly.

SARAH: Yes, it is a bit crooked, isn't it? (Pause.)

RICHARD: Very sunny on the road. Of course, by the time I got on to it the sun was beginning to sink. But I imagine it was quite warm here this afternoon. It was warm in the city.

SARAH: Was it?

RICHARD: Pretty stifling. I imagine it was quite warm everywhere.

SARAH: Quite a high temperature, I believe.

RICHARD: Did it say so on the wireless?

SARAH: I think it did, yes. (Slight pause.)

RICHARD: I see you had the Venetian blinds down.

SARAH: We did, yes.

RICHARD: The light was terribly strong.

SARAH: It was. Awfully strong.

RICHARD: The trouble with this room is that it catches the sun so directly, when it's shining. You didn't move to another room?

SARAH: No. We stayed here.

RICHARD: Must have been blinding.

SARAH: It was. That's why we put the blinds down. (Pause.)

RICHARD: The thing is it gets so awfully hot in here with the blinds down.

SARAH: Would you say so?

RICHARD: Perhaps not. Perhaps it's just that you feel hotter.

SARAH: Yes. That's probably it. (Pause.) What did you do this afternoon?

RICHARD: Long meeting. Rather inconclusive.

SARAH: It's a cold supper. Do you mind?

RICHARD: Not in the least.

SARAH: I didn't seem to have time to cook anything today. (Sarah moves R. towards the kitchen.)  

RICHARD: Oh, by the way . . . I rather wanted to ask you something.  

SARAH: What?  

RICHARD: Does it ever occur to you that while you're spending the afternoon being unfaithful to me I'm sitting at a desk going through balance sheets and graphs?  

SARAH: What a funny question.  

RICHARD: No, I'm curious.  

SARAH: You've never asked me that before.  

RICHARD: I've always wanted to know. (Slight pause.)  

SARAH: Well, of course it occurs to me.  

RICHARD: Oh, it does?  

SARAH: Mmmn. (Slight pause.)  

RICHARD: What's your attitude to that, then?  

SARAH: It makes it all the more piquant.  

RICHARD: Does it really?  

SARAH: Of course.  

RICHARD: You mean while you're with him . . . you actually have a picture of me, sitting at my desk going through balance sheets?  

SARAH: Only at . . . certain times.  

RICHARD: Of course.  

SARAH: Not all the time.  

RICHARD: Well, naturally.  

SARAH: At particular moments.  

RICHARD: Mmmn. But, in fact, I'm not completely forgotten?  

SARAH: Not by any means.  

RICHARD: That's rather touching, I must admit. (Pause.)  

SARAH: How could I forget you?  

RICHARD: Quite easily, I should think.  

SARAH: But I'm in your house.  

RICHARD: With another.  

SARAH: But it's you I love.  

RICHARD: I beg your pardon?  

SARAH: But it's you I love. (Pause. He looks at her, proffers his glass.)  

RICHARD: Let's have another drink. (She moves forward. He withdraws his glass, looks at her shoes.) What shoes are they?

SARAH: Mmmnn?  

RICHARD: Those shoes. They're unfamiliar. Very high-heeled, aren't they?  

SARAH: (Muttering.) Mistake. Sorry.  

RICHARD: (Not hearing.) Sorry? I beg your pardon?  

SARAH: I'll . . . take them off.  

RICHARD: Not quite the most comfortable shoes for an evening at home, I would have thought. (She goes into hall u. c., opens cupboard, puts high-heeled shoes into cupboard, puts on low-heeled shoes. He moves to drinks table, pours himself a drink. She moves to c. table, lights a cigarette.) So you had a picture of me this afternoon, did you, sitting in my office?  

SARAH: I did, yes. It wasn't a terribly convincing one, though.  

RICHARD: Oh, why not?  

SARAH: Because I knew you weren't there. I knew you were with your mistress. (Pause.)  

RICHARD: Was I? (Short pause.)  

SARAH: Aren't you hungry?  

RICHARD: I had a heavy lunch.  

SARAH: How heavy? (He stands at the window u. R.)  

RICHARD: What a beautiful sunset.  

SARAH: Weren't you? (He turns and laughs.)  

RICHARD: What mistress?  

SARAH: Oh, RICHARD: . . .  

RICHARD: No, no, it's simply the word that's so odd.  

SARAH: Is it? Why? (Slight pause.) I'm honest with you, aren't I? Why can't you be honest with me?  

RICHARD: But I haven't got a mistress. I'm very well acquainted with a whore, but I haven't got a mistress. There's a world of difference.  

SARAH: A whore?  

RICHARD: (Taking an olive.) Yes. Just a common or garden slut. Not worth talking about. Handy between trains, nothing more.  

SARAH: You don't travel by train. You travel by car.  

RICHARD: Quite. A quick cup of cocoa while they're checking the oil and water. (Pause.)  

SARAH: Sounds utterly sterile.  

RICHARD: No. (Pause.)  

SARAH: I must say I never expected you to admit it so readily.  

RICHARD: Oh, why not? You've never put it to me so bluntly before, have you? Frankness at all costs. Essential to a healthy marriage. Don't you agree?  

SARAH: Of course.  

RICHARD: I mean, you're utterly frank with me, aren't you?  

SARAH: Utterly.  

RICHARD: About your lover. I must follow your example.  

SARAH: Thank you. (Pause.) Yes, I have suspected it for some time.  

RICHARD: Have you really?  

SARAH: Mmmn.  

RICHARD: Perceptive.  

SARAH: But, quite honestly, I can't really believe she's just . . . what you say.  

RICHARD: Why not?  

SARAH: It's just not possible. You have such taste. You care so much for grace and elegance in women.  

RICHARD: And wit.  

SARAH: And wit, yes.  

RICHARD: Wit, yes. Terribly important, wit, for a man.  

SARAH: Is she witty?  

RICHARD: (Laughing.) These terms just don't apply. You can't simply inquire whether a whore is witty. It's of no significance whether she is or she isn't. She's simply a whore, a functionary who either pleases or displeases.  

SARAH: And she pleases you?  

RICHARD: Today she is pleasing. Tomorrow . . . one can't say. (Richard moves L. towards the bedroom door taking off his jacket.)  

SARAH: I must say I find your attitude to women rather alarming.  

RICHARD: Why? I wasn't looking for your double, was I? I wasn't looking for a woman I could respect, as you, whom I could admire and love, as I do you. Was I? All I wanted was . . . how shall I put it . . . someone who could express and engender lust with all lust's cunning. Nothing more. (Richard goes L. into the bedroom, hangs his jacket up in the wardrobe, and changes into his slippers. In the living room Sarah puts her drink down, hesitates and then follows into bedroom.)  

SARAH: I'm sorry your affair possesses so little dignity.  

RICHARD: The dignity is in my marriage.  

SARAH: Or sensibility.

RICHARD: Good God, no. (He squeezes her shoulder.) What about you? You're not jealous, are you?  

SARAH: No. From what you tell me about your lady I seem to have a far richer time than you do.  

RICHARD: Possibly. (He opens the D. L. windows fully and stands by them, looking out.) What peace. Come and look. (She joins him at the window. She is wearing a nightdress. They stand silently.) What would happen if I came home early one day, I wonder? (Pause.)  

SARAH: What would happen if I followed you one day, I wonder? (Pause.)  

RICHARD: Perhaps we could all meet for tea in the village.  

SARAH: Why the village? Why not here?  

RICHARD: Here? What an extraordinary remark. (Pause.) Your poor lover has never seen the night from this window, has he?  

SARAH: No. He's obliged to leave before sunset, unfortunately.  

RICHARD: Doesn't he get a bit bored with these damn afternoons? This eternal teatime? I would. To have as the constant image of your lust a milk jug and teapot. Must be terribly dampening.  

SARAH: He's very adaptable. And, of course, when one puts the blinds down it does become a kind of evening.  

RICHARD: Yes, I suppose it would. (Pause.) What does he think of your husband? (Slight pause.)  

SARAH: He respects you. (Pause.)  

RICHARD: I'm rather moved by that remark, in a strange kind of way. I think I can understand why you like him so much.  

SARAH: He's terribly sweet.  

RICHARD: Mmn-hmmm.  

SARAH: Has his moods, of course.  

RICHARD: Who doesn't?  

SARAH: But I must say he's very loving. His whole body emanates love.  

RICHARD: How nauseating.  

SARAH: No.  

RICHARD: Manly with it, I hope?  

SARAH: Entirely.  

RICHARD: Sounds tedious.  

SARAH: Not at all. (Pause.) He has a wonderful sense of humor.  

RICHARD: Oh, jolly good. Makes you laugh, does he. Well, mind the neighbors don't hear you. The last thing we want is gossip. (Pause.)

SARAH: It's wonderful to live out here, so far away from the main road, so secluded.

RICHARD: Yes, I do agree. (They go back into the room. They get into their bed. He picks up his book and looks at it. He closes it and puts it down.) This isn't much good. (He switches off his bedside lamp. She does the same. Moonlight.) He's married, isn't he?

SARAH: Mmmnn.

RICHARD: Happily?

SARAH: Mmmn. (Pause.) And you're happy, aren't you? You're not in any way jealous?

RICHARD: No.

SARAH: Good. Because I think things are beautifully balanced, RICHARD: (Fade. Fade up. Morning. Sarah putting on her negligee in the bedroom. She begins to make the bed.) Darling. (Pause.) Will the shears be ready this morning?

RICHARD: (In bathroom, off L.) The what?

SARAH: The shears.

RICHARD: No, not this morning. (He enters, fully dressed in his suit. Kisses her on the cheek.) Not till Friday. Bye-bye. (He leaves bedroom, collects hat and brief case from hall.)

SARAH: RICHARD: (He turns.) You won't be home too early today, will you? (Pause.)

RICHARD: Do you mean he's coming again today? Good gracious. He was here yesterday. Coming again today?

SARAH: Yes.

RICHARD: Oh. No, well, I won't be home early. I'll go to the National Gallery.

SARAH: Right.

RICHARD: Bye-bye.

SARAH: Bye. (The lights fade. Fade up. Afternoon. Sarah comes downstairs into living room. She wears a very tight low cut black dress. She hastily looks at herself in the mirror. Suddenly notices she is wearing low heeled shoes. She goes quickly to cupboard, changes them for her high heeled shoes. Looks again in mirror, smooths her hips. Goes to window, pulls Venetian blinds down, opens them and closes them until there is a slight slit of light. There are three chimes of a clock. She looks at her watch, goes

JOHN:Cream?  

SARAH: You're very late.  

JOHN:Cream?  

SARAH: No, thank you.  

JOHN:Why not?  

SARAH: I have some. Do I owe you anything?  

JOHN:Mrs. Owen just had three jars. Clotted.  

SARAH: What do I owe you?  

JOHN:It's not Saturday yet.  

SARAH: (Taking the milk.) Thank you.  

JOHN:Don't you fancy any cream? Mrs. Owen had three jars.  

SARAH: Thank you. (She closes the door. Goes R. into the kitchen with milk. Comes back with a teatray, holding teapot and cups, sets it on small table above chaise longue, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, puts her legs up on chaise longue, smooths her stockings under her skirt. The doorbell rings. Pulling her dress down she moves U. R. C. to the door, opens it.)  

MAX: Hullo(Richard comes in. He is wearing a suede jacket and no tie. He walks into the room and stands. She closes the door behind him. Walks slowly down past him, and sits on the chaise longue, crossing her legs. Pause. He moves slowly to chaise longue and stands very close to her at her back. She arches her back, uncrosses her legs, moves away to low chair D. L. Pause. He looks at her, then moves towards the hall cupboard, brings out a bongo drum. He places the drum on the chaise longue, stands. Pause. She rises, moves past him towards hall, turns, looks at him. He moves below chaise. They sit at either end. He begins to tap the drum. Her forefinger moves along drum towards his hand. She scratches the back of his hand sharply. Her hand retreats. Her fingers tap one after the other towards him and rest. Her forefinger scratches between his fingers. Her other fingers do the same. His legs tauten. His hand clasps hers. Her hand tries to escape. Wild beat of their fingers tangling. Stillness. She gets up, goes to drinks table, lights a cigarette, moves to window. He puts drum down on chair D. R., picks up cigarette, moves to her.)  

MAX: Excuse me. (She glances at him and away.) Excuse me, have you got a light? (She does not respond.) Do you happen to have a light?

SARAH: Do you mind leaving me alone?  

MAX: Why? (Pause.) I'm merely asking if you can give me a light. (She moves from him and looks up and down the room. He follows to her shoulder. She turns back.)  

SARAH: Excuse me. (She moves past him. Close, his body follows. She stops.) I don't like being followed.  

MAX: Just give me a light and I won't bother you. That's all I want.  

SARAH: (Through her teeth.) Please go away. I'm waiting for someone.  

MAX: Who?  

SARAH: My husband.  

MAX: Why are you so shy? Eh? Where's your lighter? (He touches her body. An indrawn breath from her.) Here? (Pause.) Where is it? (He touches her body. A gasp from her.) Here? (She wrenches herself away. He traps her in the corner.)  

SARAH: (Hissing.) What do you think you're doing?  

MAX: I'm dying for a puff. (Her legs strain against his.)  

SARAH: I'm waiting for my husband!  

MAX: Let me get a light from yours. (His hand clasps hers. The hands. They struggle silently. She breaks away to wall. Silence. He approaches.) Are you all right, miss? I've just got rid of that gentleman. Did he hurt you in any way?  

SARAH: Oh, how wonderful of you. No, no, I'm all right. Thank you.  

MAX: Very lucky I happened to be passing. You wouldn't believe such a thing could happen in this beautiful park.  

SARAH: No, you wouldn't.  

MAX: Still, you've come to no harm.  

SARAH: I can never thank you enough. I'm terribly grateful, I really am.  

MAX: Why don't you sit down a second and calm yourself?  

SARAH: Oh, I'm quite calm—but . . . yes, thank you. You're so kind. Where shall we sit?  

MAX: Well, we can't sit out. It's raining. What about that park-keeper's hut?  

SARAH: Do you think we should? I mean, what about the park-keeper?  

MAX: I am the park-keeper. (They sit on the chaise longue.)  

SARAH: I never imagined I could meet anyone so kind.

MAX: To treat a lovely young woman like you like that, it's unpardonable.  

SARAH: (Gazing at him.) You seem so mature, so . . . appreciative.  

MAX: Of course.  

SARAH: So gentle, so . . . perhaps it was all for the best.  

MAX: What do you mean?  

SARAH: So that we could meet. So that we could meet. You and I. (Her fingers trace his thigh. He stares at them, lifts them off.)  

MAX: I don't quite follow you.  

SARAH: Don't you? (Her fingers trace his thigh. He stares at them, lifts them off.)  

MAX: Now look, I'm married. I'm married. (She takes his hand and puts it on her knee.)  

SARAH: You're so sweet, you mustn't worry.  

MAX: (Snatching his hand away.) No, I really am. My wife's waiting for me.  

SARAH: Can't you speak to strange girls?  

MAX: No.  

SARAH: Oh, how sickening you are. How tepid.  

MAX: I'm sorry.  

SARAH: You men are all alike. Give me a cigarette.  

MAX: I bloody well won't.  

SARAH: I beg your pardon?  

MAX: Come here, Dolores.  

SARAH: Oh no, not me. Once bitten, twice shy, thanks. (She stands.) Bye-bye.  

MAX: You can't get out, darling. The hut's locked. We're alone. You're trapped.  

SARAH: Trapped! I'm a married woman. You can't treat me like this.  

MAX: (Moving to her.) It's teatime, Mary. (She moves swiftly behind the table and stands there with her back to the wall. He moves to the opposite end of the table, hitches his trousers, bends and begins to crawl under the table towards her. He disappears under the velvet cloth. Silence. She stares down at the table. Her legs are hidden from view. His hand is on her leg. She looks about, grimaces, grits her teeth, gasps, gradually sinks under the table and disappears. Long silence.)

HER VOICE. Max! (Lights fade. Fade up. Max sitting chair D. L. Sarah pouring tea.)  

SARAH: MAX:  

MAX: What?  

SARAH: (Fondly.) Darling. (Slight pause.) What is it? You're very thoughtful.  

MAX: No.  

SARAH: You are. I know it. (Pause.)  

MAX: Where's your husband? (Pause.)  

SARAH: My husband? You know where he is.  

MAX: Where?  

SARAH: He's at work.  

MAX: Poor fellow. Working away, all day. (Pause.) I wonder what he's like.  

SARAH: (Chuckling.) Oh, MAX 

MAX: I wonder if we'd get on. I wonder if we'd . . . you know . . . hit it off.  

SARAH: I shouldn't think so.  

MAX: Why not?  

SARAH: You've got very little in common.  

MAX: Have we? He's certainly very accommodating. I mean, he knows perfectly well about these afternoons of ours, doesn't he?  

SARAH: Of course.  

MAX: He's known for years. (Slight pause.) Why does he put up with it?  

SARAH: Why are you suddenly talking about him? I mean what's the point of it? It isn't a subject you normally elaborate on.  

MAX: Why does he put up with it?  

SARAH: Oh shut up.  

MAX: I asked you a question. (Pause.)  

SARAH: He doesn't mind.  

MAX: Doesn't he? (Slight pause.) Well, I'm beginning to mind. (Pause.)  

SARAH: What did you say?  

MAX: I'm beginning to mind. (Slight pause.) It's got to stop. It can't go on.  

SARAH: Are you serious? (Silence.)  

MAX: It can't go on.  

SARAH: You're joking.  

MAX: No, I'm not.

SARAH: Why? Because of my husband? Not because of my husband, I hope. That's going a little far, I think.  

MAX: No, nothing to do with your husband. It's because of my wife. (Pause.)  

SARAH: Your wife?  

MAX: I can't deceive her any longer.  

SARAH: MAX: . . .  

MAX: I've been deceiving her for years. I can't go on with it. It's killing me.  

SARAH: But darling, look—  

MAX: Don't touch me. (Pause.)  

SARAH: What did you say?  

MAX: You heard. (Pause.)  

SARAH: But your wife . . . knows. Doesn't she? You've told her . . . all about us. She's known all the time.  

MAX: No, she doesn't know. She thinks I know a whore, that's all. Some spare-time whore, that's all. That's what she thinks.  

SARAH: Yes, but be sensible . . . my love . . . she doesn't mind, does she?  

MAX: She'd mind if she knew the truth, wouldn't she?  

SARAH: What truth? What are you talking about?  

MAX: She'd mind if she knew that, in fact . . . I've got a full-time mistress, two or three times a week, a woman of grace, elegance, wit, imagination—  

SARAH: Yes, yes, you have—  

MAX: In an affair that's been going on for years.  

SARAH: She doesn't mind, she wouldn't mind—she's happy, she's happy. (Pause.) I wish you'd stop this rubbish anyway. (She picks up the teatray and moves R. toward the kitchen.) You're doing your best to ruin the whole afternoon. (She takes the tray out. She then returns, looks at Max and goes to him.) Darling, you don't really think you could have what we have with your wife, do you? I mean, my husband, for instance, completely appreciates that I—MAX: How does he bear it, your husband? How does he bear it? Doesn't he smell me when he comes back in the evenings? What does he say? He must be mad. Now—what's the time—half-past four—now when he's sitting in his office, knowing what's going on here, what does he feel, how does he bear it?  

SARAH: Max—  

MAX: How?

SARAH: He's happy for me. He appreciates the way I am. He understands.  

MAX: Perhaps I should meet him and have a word with him.  

SARAH: Are you drunk?  

MAX: Perhaps I should do that. After all, he's a man, like me. We're both men. You're just a bloody woman. (She slams the table.)  

SARAH: Stop it! What's the matter with you? What's happened to you? (Quietly.) Please, please stop it. What are you doing, playing a game?  

MAX: A game? I don't play games.  

SARAH: Don't you? You do. Oh, you do. You do. Usually I like them.  

MAX: I've played my last game.  

SARAH: Why? (Slight pause.)  

MAX: The children. (Pause.)  

SARAH: What?  

MAX: The children. I've got to think of the children!  

SARAH: What children?  

MAX: My children. My wife's children. Any minute now they'll be out of boarding school. I've got to think of them. (She sits close to him.)  

SARAH: I want to whisper something to you. Listen. Let me whisper to you. Mmmm? Can I? Please? It's whispering time. Earlier it was teatime, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Now it's whispering time. (Pause.) You like me to whisper to you. You like me to love you, whispering. Listen. You mustn't worry about . . . wives, husbands, things like that. It's silly. It's really silly. It's you, you now, here, here with me, here together, that's what it is, isn't it? You whisper to me, you take tea with me, you do that, don't you, that's what we are, that's us, love me. (He stands up.)  

MAX: You're too bony. (He walks away.) That's what it is, you see. I could put up with everything if it wasn't for that. You're too bony.  

SARAH: Me? Bony? Don't be ridiculous.  

MAX: I'm not.  

SARAH: Now can you say I'm bony?  

MAX: Every move I make, your bones stick into me. I'm sick and tired of your bones.  

SARAH: What are you talking about?

MAX: I'm telling you you're too bony.  

SARAH: But I'm fat. Look at me. I'm plump anyway. You always told me I was plump.  

MAX: You were plump once. You're not plump any more.  

SARAH: Look at me (He looks.)  

MAX: You're not plump enough. You're nowhere near plump enough. You know what I like. I like enormous women. Like bullocks with udders. Vast great uddered bullocks.  

SARAH: You mean cows.  

MAX: I don't mean cows. I mean voluminous great uddered feminine bullocks. Once, years ago, you vaguely resembled one.  

SARAH: Oh, thanks.  

MAX: But now, quite honestly, compared to my ideal . . . (He stares at her.) . . . you're skin and bone. (They stare at each other. He puts on his jacket.)  

SARAH: You're having a lovely joke.  

MAX: It's no joke. (He goes out u. R. C. She looks after him. She turns, goes slowly towards bongo drum, picks it up, puts it in the cupboard. She turns, looks at chaise a moment, walks slowly into the bedroom, sits on the end of the bed. The lights fade. Fade up. Early evening. Six chimes of the clock. Richard comes in the front door. He is wearing his sober suit. He puts his brief case in cupboard, hat on hook, looks about the room, pours a drink. Sarah comes into the bedroom from bathroom L., wearing a sober dress. They both stand quite still in the two rooms for a few moments. Sarah moves to the balcony D. L., looks out, Richard comes into the bedroom.)  

RICHARD: Hello. (Pause.)  

SARAH: Hello.  

RICHARD: Watching the sunset? Drink?  

SARAH: Not at the moment, thank you.  

RICHARD: Oh, what a dreary conference. Went on all day. Terribly fatiguing. Still, good work done, I think. Something achieved. Sorry I'm rather late. Had to have a drink with one or two of the overseas people. Good chaps. (He sits.) How are you?  

SARAH: Fine.  

RICHARD: Good. (Silence.) You seem a little depressed. Anything the matter?  

SARAH: No.  

RICHARD: What sort of day have you had?

SARAH: Not bad.  

RICHARD: Not good? (Pause.)  

SARAH: Fair.  

RICHARD: Oh, I'm sorry. (Pause.) Good to be home, I must say. You can't imagine what a comfort it is. (Pause.) Lover come? (She does not reply.) Sarah?  

SARAH: What? Sorry. I was thinking of something.  

RICHARD: Did your lover come?  

SARAH: Oh yes. He came.  

RICHARD: In good shape?  

SARAH: I have a headache actually.  

RICHARD: Wasn't he in good shape? (Pause.)  

SARAH: We all have our off days.  

RICHARD: He, too? I thought the whole point of being a lover is that one didn't. I mean if I, for instance, were called upon to fulfil the function of a lover and felt disposed, shall we say, to accept the job, well, I'd as soon give it up as be found incapable of executing its proper and consistent obligation.  

SARAH: You do use long words.  

RICHARD: Would you prefer me to use short ones?  

SARAH: No, thank you. (Pause.)  

RICHARD: But I am sorry you had a bad day.  

SARAH: It's quite all right.  

RICHARD: Perhaps things will improve.  

SARAH: Perhaps. (Pause.) I hope so. (Sarah leaves the bedroom, goes R. into the living room, lights a cigarette and sits. He follows.)  

RICHARD: Nevertheless, I find you very beautiful.  

SARAH: Thank you.  

RICHARD: Yes, I find you very beautiful. I have great pride in being seen with you. When we're out to dinner, or at the theatre.  

SARAH: I'm so glad.  

RICHARD: Or at the Hunt Ball.  

SARAH: Yes, the Hunt Ball.  

RICHARD: Great pride, to walk with you as my wife on my arm. To see you smile, laugh, walk, talk, bend, be still. To hear your command of contemporary phraseology, your delicate use of the very latest idiomatic expression, so subtly employed. Yes. To feel the envy of others, their attempts to gain favor with you, by fair means or foul, your austere grace confounding them. And to know you are my wife. It's a source of profound satisfaction to me. (Pause.) What's for dinner?  

SARAH: I haven't thought.  

RICHARD: Oh, why not?  

SARAH: I find the thought of dinner fatiguing. I prefer not to think about it.  

RICHARD: That's rather unfortunate. I'm hungry. (Slight pause.) You hardly expect me to embark on dinner after a day spent sifting matters of high finance in the city. (She laughs.) One could even suggest you were falling down on your wifely duties.  

SARAH: Oh dear.  

RICHARD: I must say I rather suspected this would happen, sooner or later. (Pause.)  

SARAH: How's your whore?  

RICHARD: Splendid.  

SARAH: Fatter or thinner?  

RICHARD: I beg your pardon?  

SARAH: Is she fatter or thinner?  

RICHARD: She gets thinner every day.  

SARAH: That must displease you.  

RICHARD: Not at all. I'm fond of thin ladies.  

SARAH: I thought the contrary.  

RICHARD: Really? Why would you have thought that? (Pause.) Of course, your failure to have dinner on the table is quite consistent with the life you've been leading for some time, isn't it?  

SARAH: Is it?  

RICHARD: Entirely. (Slight pause.) Perhaps I'm being unkind. Am I being unkind?  

SARAH: (Looks at him.) I don't know.  

RICHARD: Yes, I am. In the traffic jam on the bridge just now, you see, I came to a decision. (Pause.)  

SARAH: Oh? What?  

RICHARD: That it has to stop.  

SARAH: What?  

RICHARD: Your debauchery. (Pause.) Your life of depravity. Your path of illegitimate lust.  

SARAH: Really?  

RICHARD: Yes, I've come to an irrevocable decision on that point. (She stands.)  

SARAH: Would you like some cold ham?

RICHARD: Do you understand me?  

SARAH: Not at all. I have something cold in the fridge.  

RICHARD: Too cold, I'm sure. The fact is this is my house. From today, I forbid you to entertain your lover on these premises. This applies to any time of the day. Is that understood?  

SARAH: I've made a salad for you.  

RICHARD: Are you drinking?  

SARAH: Yes, I'll have one.  

RICHARD: What are you drinking?  

SARAH: You know what I drink. We've been married ten years.  

RICHARD: So we have. (He pours.) It's strange, of course, that it's taken me so long to appreciate the humiliating ignominy of my position.  

SARAH: I didn't take my lover ten years ago. Not quite. Not on the honeymoon.  

RICHARD: That's irrelevant. The fact is I am a husband who has extended to his wife's lover open house on any afternoon of her desire. I've been too kind. Haven't I been too kind?  

SARAH: But of course. You're terribly kind.  

RICHARD: Perhaps you would give him my compliments, by letter, if you like, and ask him to cease his visits from— (He consults pocket diary.) the twelfth inst. (Long silence.)  

SARAH: How can you talk like this? (Pause.) Why today . . . so suddenly? (Pause.) Mmmm? (She is close to him.) You've had a hard day . . . at the office. All those overseas people. It's so tiring. But it's silly, it's so silly, to talk like this. I'm here. For you. And you've always appreciated . . . how much these afternoons . . . mean. You've always understood. (She presses her cheek to his.) Understanding is so rare, so dear.  

RICHARD: Do you think it's pleasant to know that your wife is unfaithful to you two or three times a week, with great regularity?  

SARAH: Richard—  

RICHARD: It's insupportable. It has become insupportable. I'm no longer disposed to put up with it.  

SARAH: (To him.) Sweet . . . Richard . . . please.  

RICHARD: Please what? (She stops.) Can I tell you what I suggest you do?  

SARAH: What?  

RICHARD: Take him out into the fields. Find a ditch. Or a slag heap. Find a rubbish dump. Mmmm? What about that? (She stands still.) Buy a canoe and find a stagnant pond. Anything. Anywhere. But not my living-room.  

SARAH: I'm afraid that's not possible.  

RICHARD: Why not?  

SARAH: I said it's not possible.  

RICHARD: But if you want your lover so much, surely that's the obvious thing to do, since his entry to this house is now barred. I'm trying to be helpful, darling, because of my love for you. You can see that. If I find him on these premises I'll kick his teeth out.  

SARAH: You're mad. (He stares at her.)  

RICHARD: I'll kick his head in. (Pause.)  

SARAH: What about your own bloody whore?  

RICHARD: I've paid her off.  

SARAH: Have you? Why?  

RICHARD: She was too bony. (Slight pause.)  

SARAH: But you liked . . . you said you liked . . . Richard . . . but you love me . . .  

RICHARD: Of course.  

SARAH: Yes . . . you love me . . . you don't mind him . . . you understand him . . . don't you? . . . I mean you know better than I do . . . darling . . . all's well . . . the evenings . . . and the afternoons . . . listen, I do have dinner for you, it's ready. I wasn't serious. It's Boeuf a la Bourguignon, and tomorrow I'll have Chicken Chasseur. Would you like that? (They look at each other.)  

RICHARD: (Softly.) Adulteress.  

SARAH: You can't talk like this, it's impossible, you know you can't. What do you think you're doing? (He remains looking at her for a second, then moves into the hall. He opens the hall cupboard and takes out the bongo drum. She watches him. He returns.)  

RICHARD: What's this? I found it some time ago. What is it? (Pause.) What is it?  

SARAH: You shouldn't touch that.  

RICHARD: But it's in my house. It belongs either to me, or to you, or to another.  

SARAH: It's nothing. I bought it in a jumble sale. It's nothing. What do you think it is? Put it back.  

RICHARD: Nothing? This? A drum in my cupboard?  

SARAH: Put it back!

RICHARD: It isn't by any chance anything to do with your illicit afternoons?

SARAH: Not at all. Why should it?

RICHARD: It is used. This is used, isn't it? I can guess.

SARAH: You guess nothing. Give it to me.

RICHARD: How does he use it? How do you use it? Do you play it while I'm at the office? (She tries to take the drum. He holds on to it. They are still, hands on the drum.) What function does this fulfil? It's not just an ornament, I take it. What do you do with it?

SARAH: (With quiet anguish.) You've no right to question me. No right at all. It was our arrangement. No questions of this kind. Please. Don't, don't. It was our arrangement.

RICHARD: I want to know. (She closes her eyes.)

SARAH: Don't . . .

RICHARD: Do you both play it? Mmmmmm? Do you both play it? Together? (She moves away swiftly, hissing.)

SARAH: You stupid! . . . (She looks at him coolly.) Do you think he's the only one who comes? Do you? Do you think he's the only one I entertain? Don't be silly. I have other visitors, other visitors, all the time. I receive all the time. Other afternoons. When neither of you know, neither of you. I give them strawberries in season. With cream. Strangers, total strangers. But not to me, not while they're here. They come to see the hollyhocks. And then they stay for tea. Always. Always.

RICHARD: Is that so? (He moves towards her, tapping the drum gently. He faces her, tapping, then grasps her hand and scratches it across the drum.)

SARAH: What are you doing?

RICHARD: Is that what you do? (She jerks away. He moves towards her, tapping.) Like that? (Pause.) What fun. (He scratches the drum sharply and then places it on the chair.) Got a light? (Pause.) Got a light? (She retreats towards the table c., eventually ending behind it.) Come on, don't be a spoilsport. Your husband won't mind if you give me a light. You look a little pale. Why are you so pale? A lovely girl like you.

SARAH: Don't, don't say that!

RICHARD: You're trapped. We're alone. I've locked up.

SARAH: You mustn't do this, you mustn't do it, you mustn't!

RICHARD: He won't mind. (He begins to move slowly closer to the table c.) No one else knows. (Pause.) No one else can hear us. No one knows we're here. (Pause.) Come on. Give us a light. (Pause.) You can't get out, darling, you're trapped. (They face each other from opposite ends of the table. She suddenly giggles. Silence.)

SARAH: I'm trapped. (Pause.) What will my husband say? (Pause.) He expects me. He's waiting. I can't get out. I'm trapped. You've no right to treat a married woman like this. Have you? Think, think, think of what you're doing. (She looks at him, bends, and begins to crawl under the table towards him. She emerges from under the table and kneels at his feet, looking up. Her hand goes up his leg. He is looking down at her.) You're very forward. You really are. Oh, you really are. But my husband will understand. My husband does understand. Come here. Come down here. I'll explain. After all, think of my marriage. He adores me. Come here and I'll whisper it to you. I'll whisper it to you. It's whispering time. Isn't it? (She takes his hands. He sinks to his knees, with her. They are kneeling together, close. She strokes his face.) It's a very late tea, isn't it? But I think I like it. Aren't you sweet? I've never seen you before after sunset. My husband's at a late-night conference. Yes, you look different. Why are you wearing this strange suit, and this tie? You usually wear something else, don't you? Take off your jacket. Mmmm? Would you like me to change? Would you like me to change my clothes? I'll change for you, darling. Shall I? Would you like that? (Silence. She is very close to him.)

RICHARD: Yes. (Pause.) Change. (Pause.) Change. (Pause.) Change your clothes. (Pause.) You lovely whore. (They are still, kneeling, she leaning over him.)

THE END