Carrington Page #2

- And my work.

- What?

Take this, for example.

This is a radical painting.

This is my statement on

the soulless mechanisms of war.

She won't understand that.

Harmonies, for example.

I mean, they're like Bach.

- Don't you agree?

- But the critics.

Surely the papers are full of

nothing but Gertler nowadays.

That's no good to her.

Someone must explain to her -

someone that she respects -

that I'm an important artist.

- You think, if she realises that, she'll...?

- I'm sure of it.

To begin with, I'm still compelled,

at my age, to live in my mother's house,

simply because

I'm more or less sans le sou.

You probably think of me

as a man of letters. Hm?

All I've ever managed to publish is a few

reviews and a slim volume of criticism.

Can't write half the things I want to write.

If I did, I wouldn't dare publish them

for fear of killing my mother.

Furthermore, I now find myself, despite

my great age and notorious health,

being harassed by the government

to take part

in some entirely ridiculous war

they seem quite unable to grasp

is resulting in large numbers

of people dying.

So I'm now reduced to writing pamphlets

for the No-Conscription Fellowship,

which may very possibly

land me in prison.

In other words:
I'm obscure, decrepit,

terrified, penniless, and fond of adjectives.

Surely it's not that bad.

No. No, you're quite right.

Looked at another way, I'm a respectable

elderly bugger of modest means.

I suppose you ought to be going soon,

before it gets dark.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

No, I adore the blackout.

The most thrilling encounters...

You mustn't deny us our few pleasures.

We've not much else

to look forward to, except old age.

Dear God, can you imagine it?

The rain, the loneliness, the regret.

- No, I can't imagine it.

- You wait till it's staring you in the face.

How old are you, anyway?

I'm 36 next birthday.

Oh, Ottoline's invited me

up to Garsington next weekend.

- Me too.

- Oh. I'll go if you'll go.

Last time I was there,

everyone was either deaf or French.

(door opens)

Well, how is the campaign proceeding?

- Campaign?

- The Carrington matter.

I take it you're still working on her.

Really, Ottoline, must you

put things quite so baldly?

I prefer to think of myself

as an educator, rather than as a...

What?

- As a pimp.

- Oh, now don't be silly.

You know as well as I do

it's a sickness with Carrington.

A girl of that age still a virgin.

It's absurd.

I was still a virgin at her age.

But that's my whole point.

Don't you see? So was l.

Is there to be no progress?

Now I must have a serious talk

with you before Mark arrives.

I know how difficult it is, my dear,

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