Separate Tables Page #2

Miss Cooper, I think, if you don't mind,

I'd like you to still keep the room.

- After all, he may be on the latertrain.

- Yes, yes, of course.

And, ah, if anything has gone wrong,

which I don't for a moment believe,

I shall naturally expect to pay for it.

- Will you let me know when you can?

- Yes, yes, of course.

By the by, Major, you were in

the Highland division at Alamein, weren't you?

Not in the highland division, no.

- Oh, I thought you were.

- I never said so.

- Well, I wasjust wondering...

- Mr. Fowler, aren't we going to finish this game?

We have a shilling on it,

if you remember.

Oh, yes, of course.

Will you excuse me?

- Good evening, Maj. Pollock.

- Good evening.

- So this is where you've been hiding.

- I was not hiding. Nowjust you shush.

Charles, forget your work for once

and let's go play billiards.

But, darling, the anatomy exams

come up next month. Remember?

Oh, Jean, really.

Have you told yourfather about us?

What did you tell him?

Oh, Charles, what did you tell him?

Oh, for heaven's sake.

That-that-that we were in love with each other.

That we were going to be married.

Well, you told him

a dirty lie then, didn't you?

Why? I do want to marry you.

- You know, I can never understand why...

- You know my views in marriage perfectly well.

I intend to produce paintings, not children.

And be kept in luxury by

London's most celebrated surgeon.

- Wh-who has failed to pass his anatomy.

- Charles?

Let's go for a walk in the garden.

Hmm? Oh, darling, first it's billiards,

now it's a walk.

But it looks so romantic.

Now, how can I possibly mix

anatomy with romance?

Well, that shouldn't be too difficult.

Well, I'm obviously not going

to get any work done.

Come on.

The dinner gong'll go in 15 minutes.

Well, where on earth

are we going to walk in 15 minutes?

Oh, Charles, how dim can you be?

Well, I ratherthink

we better play billiards.

Go in, you blighter.

Bad luck, Mr. Fowler.

Oh, well, I only play for exercise.

That'll be a shilling, please, Mr. Fowler.

- You'll ruin me, Miss Meacham.

- Come on, Charles. They've finished.

I'll take all your money.

Poor Mr. Fowler, has he ever won?

Once in 1948.

It was her Christmas present to him.

There's stuffed pork tonight.

We ought to be ready forthe gong.

That, I expect, is young Ridgewell at last.

What is it?

- A new arrival, apparently.

- Great Scott!

- What is it, Miss Meacham?

- You should see foryourself.

Slim as a willow,

dressed like a Parisian model

and not a day over 30.

This place is turning into a regular nursery.

Oh, 6 suitcases.

- And all matching.

- And a hatbox.

Mayfairfrom head to foot.

Can't think what she's going

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote