First published in this adaptation in 2003 by Oberon Books Ltd
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Adaptation copyright © Nicki Frei, 2003
Nicki Frei is hereby identified as author of this adaptation in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights.
All rights whatsoever in this adaptation are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to Sayle Screen Ltd., 11 Jubilee Place, London SW3 3TD (info@saylescreen.com). No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.
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PB ISBN: 9781840023787
E ISBN: 9781783197927
Cover illustration: Andrzej Klimowski
Printed in Great Britain by Anthony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham.
eBook conversion by Lapiz Digital Services, India.
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Characters
ACT ONE
ACT TWO
ACT THREE
SOPHIE
GUSMAN
ANGÈLE
RIBADIER
THOMMEREUX
SAVINET
Where There’s A Will… was first performed at the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford on 29 April 2003 with the following cast:
SOPHIE, Amanda Shillabeer
GUSMAN, Andrew Leonard
ANGÈLE, Elaine Paige
RIBADIER, Nicholas Le Prevost
THOMMEREUX, David Warner
SAVINET, David Bamber
Director, Peter Hall
Paris 1895. An elegant first-floor reception room with French windows on to a balcony. Downstage, double doors lead to the hall. Two more doors, to right and left. Two sofas face one another across a large central pouf. Above the mantelpiece, a large full-length portrait of the late Robineau dominates the room.
SOPHIE, the maid, and GUSMAN, the groom, locked in tender farewells over the threshold of the open window. He disappears over the balcony, then reappears.
GUSMAN: One last little kiss, Sophie…
SOPHIE: Are you mad?
GUSMAN: Just a teeny-weeny one…
SOPHIE: All right then. Go on. But, be quick…
She offers him a spot on her neck. He scoops her up in a crushing embrace burying his face in her.
GUSMAN: Oh, Sophie!… I’d sooner have this… (kissing her) than all this…
He gestures round the opulent decor.
SOPHIE: Gusman! Not now. They’ll be in any second. I’ve just served coffee. Stop it!
GUSMAN: We’ll give them a thrill…
SOPHIE: And they’ll give us the sack!
GUSMAN: When will I see you?
SOPHIE: Tonight, if you like…
GUSMAN: Tonight. Aren’t they off out?
SOPHIE: (shaking her head) No. So, you’re free… When it’s all gone quiet, you can get in here - I’ll leave it unlocked - and come up to my room… I shall expect the conduct of a gentleman, mind!
GUSMAN: Of course!
SOPHIE: They’re coming! Get out!
She quickly shuts the window as he disappears.
ANGÈLE bursts in, a cup of coffee in hand.
ANGÈLE: All right! I heard you! Enough!
RIBADIER follows, also carrying a coffee cup.
RIBADIER: Enough! I want your word it will never happen again!
ANGÈLE: You want. You want.
RIBADIER: Yes, I do. (noticing SOPHIE) Leave us, Sophie.
He drinks his coffee.
SOPHIE: Yes, Monsieur. (aside) Unh, unh… Trouble!
SOPHIE exits.
RIBADIER: I think you’ve gone mad, really I do! Making a scene like that in front of the whole Committee!?! My wife!! I nearly died…
ANGÈLE: How else could I find out where you were?
She puts down her cup and goes to sit on a sofa.
RIBADIER: (getting up) How else?… I had told you: ‘I am going to a meeting of the Transport Sub-Committee on Railways,’ I said. Quite clear, to my mind. But, no, that’s not enough for Madame who must come and check for herself. Pandemonium! Not five minutes after the Chairman has opened proceedings… And who’s making this row? Madame, my wife, yelling: ‘Where are these famous members? I want to see them for myself!’
A beat.
ANGÈLE: (shrugging) No one died or anything, did they?
RIBADIER: (going to her) You made a complete fool of yourself. And me.
ANGÈLE: Ah! You!
RIBADIER: Oh! You may not give a damn but I’m a man with a certain standing… a certain status… And I must insist such a thing never happens again. When I saw you there, honestly, I didn’t know where to put myself. And as for the Chairman! The expression on his face! He let me have it once you’d gone: ‘In future, Ribadier, it might be wise if you were to advise your wife that we meet in private session.’ What could I say?
ANGÈLE: You flew to my defence?
RIBADIER: No! I grovelled. I said you’d been showing worrying signs of mental instability.
ANGÈLE: You said what?
RIBADIER: But the doctors anticipated a full recovery.
ANGÈLE: Charming!
RIBADIER: Well! What would you have said?
ANGÈLE: That! was a concerned wife… A woman who’d learned the hard way about the congenital infidelity of men! That’s what I would’ve said!
RIBADIER: Here we go…
ANGÈLE: Committees: the unqualified discussing the unnecessary! I’ve never believed in them -
RIBADIER: But you’ve just been there! You’ve seen us all at it!
ANGÈLE: Well, of course, I saw you: the men… But you’re politicians… You’re organized, I know that. Breach of security. Plan B. Emergency measures…
RIBADIER: Oh, good Lord! Angèle!
ANGÈLE: Get the women out by a back door…
RIBADIER: I can assure you, my dear, that the members of the Government Transport Sub-Committee on Railways do not gather to play around with tarts!
ANGÈLE shrugs, clearly unconvinced.
You’ve no right to suspect me! When have I ever given you any reason to suppose I was unfaithful?
ANGÈLE: You? No, never… (indicating the portrait) But him!
RIBADIER: Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, aah! Him! Always him! Your Robineau! Is it my fault your first husband deceived you?
ANGÈLE: No. It’s mine… But I was an innocent. So very young…
RIBADIER: Yes…
ANGÈLE: (wagging a finger) Not now. Those days are behind me.
RIBADIER: Yes…
She shoots him a dirty look.
ANGÈLE: The wretch! When I think how he cheated on me time and again… I never knew… Just look at him sneering down at me! (to the portrait) Scoundrel! Haven’t you humiliated me enough?
RIBADIER: Go on! You let him have it!
ANGÈLE: (to the portrait) Taking advantage of your poor wife’s trusting nature… (to RIBADIER) He had scores of mistresses right from the start!
RIBADIER: (sympathetic) Oh!
ANGÈLE: (to the portrait) Well, I’ll have my revenge! I will take lovers!
RIBADIER: What?
ANGÈLE: (to the portrait) You’ll know how it feels!
RIBADIER: Hey, hey, hey, hey! Angèle! Calm down! There’s been a change of personnel, remember? (indicating the portrait) Number one is history. And he’s dead.
ANGÈLE: Ah, so he is… I get so furious!
RIBADIER: Quite crazed! I know! I’m the one who gets it in the neck! He was a degenerate goat! I’m not! You’ve got to… move on!
ANGÈLE: It’s the portrait. Every time I see it, my blood boils…
RIBADIER: Have it put in the attic. Simple. Why keep it out?
He sits down by the table.
ANGÈLE: Not on his account. But it’s a Manet. You don’t put a Manet in the attic. Even one of him. And he is rather… decorative.
RIBADIER: (piqued) That’s as maybe… But must we live in his toxic thrall?… Perhaps I should have it updated… A few touches would do it. A little less here… (indicating hairline) A little more there. (indicating a paunch) Time does for us all in the end… It might help -
ANGÈLE: - No. I want to keep him, it, as it is.
RIBADIER: Ah!
ANGÈLE: I like having this nonpareil of conjugal infidelity under my nose! It reminds me not to trust you.
RIBADIER: Me? Good God, why me?
ANGÈLE: Because you’re my husband.
RIBADIER: That’s the reason?
ANGÈLE: It’s the best. This portrait says: ‘Never forget: all husbands are liars and cheats.’ It’s not personal, you understand, just a fact of life.
RIBADIER: So sayeth Robineau, eh? A tablet of stone from on high.
ANGÈLE: Quite. ‘BEWARE!!’ he adds. ‘Take heed. All your husbands will betray you just as I did.’
RIBADIER: All your husbands?
ANGÈLE: ‘Don’t trust in appearances. The blacker his sins, the better the cover up… Maintain surveillance at all times: peek, pry, probe… If you find nothing, you haven’t looked hard enough! Search again: there’s always something to hide!’
RIBADIER: This’ll make you run mad!
ANGÈLE: That’s Robineau’s message. Courtesy of Manet…
RIBADIER: I’ll have it burnt! I’ll throw it in the fire.
Furious, he makes for the painting.
ANGÈLE: (taking RIBADIER’s arm, restrains him) I was made a fool of once… It won’t happen again. Not if I can help it.
RIBADIER: Good God! Honestly! Can’t you see?… It’s totally irrational! Just because Robineau -
ANGÈLE: - Robineau’s out of the picture. (pleased at the thought) He’s meeting his Maker… Judgement Day!
RIBADIER: Poor old Robineau!
ANGÈLE: He’s gone. You are still here. And I’ve learnt my lesson. That’s why, when I married you, I made myself one promise: you were sweet and trusting with Robineau… (crossing herself) You’ll be tough and suspicious with Ribadier… (crosses herself again)
RIBADIER: Excuse me! What’s this…? (crossing himself)
ANGÈLE: No. Sorry. Mistake.
RIBADIER: A tad premature, my dear! Really! Sizing up the coffin -
ANGÈLE: - Watch me nail down the lid if I ever catch you out!
RIBADIER: When? How? You dog my footsteps; you follow me everywhere…
ANGÈLE: Indeed, I do. And I know all your tricks and dodges…
RIBADIER: Oh, really?
ANGÈLE: Every one of them. I have the complete anthology!
She brandishes a small leather-bound notebook.
RIBADIER: What’s that?
ANGÈLE: A full catalogue of my first husband’s escapades.
RIBADIER: What?
ANGÈLE: When he was alive…
RIBADIER: Of course…
ANGÈLE: The bastard! Doing it wasn’t enough, he had to write it all down!… To enlighten posterity, no doubt! Adulterer and archivist! That’s how I know about it.
RIBADIER: How unbelievably stupid! You may do these things… All right. But you don’t keep a record!
ANGÈLE: That’s your moral position, is it? Do it but don’t write about it.
RIBADIER: Yes! No!
ANGÈLE: He made quite a job of it. There’s footnotes, an index… And a title even…
RIBADIER: Really?
ANGÈLE: (with a hollow chuckle) Yes. ‘Emergency Lifesavers’!
RIBADIER: ‘Emergency Lifesavers’?!
ANGÈLE: Sub-title: ‘365 Practical Solutions for Unimaginative Husbands.’
RIBADIER: Good Lord! That’s a new one for every day of the year.
ANGÈLE: Quite.
RIBADIER: That’s not an emergency; it’s a permanent crisis!
ANGÈLE: Anyway, I know all the tricks now. You can’t fool me: I have the manual!
RIBADIER: Oh, really! Don’t be absurd!
RIBADIER snatches the book and leafs through it.
These are the ramblings of a shameless egotist, not some cosmic creed…
RIBADIER scornfully tosses the book on to a sofa.
picking up the book