Not the right sort by Jackie Penticost
Lucy ushered Max into the conservatory and withdrew into the garden. The door was left purposefully ajar.
Max pushed his was through the ferns to find Mr Butler perusing the Sunday Times and coughed politely. Butler put the paper aside and regarded Max over his half-rims.
‘Sir, I trust you and Mrs Butler are well?’ Max began nervously.
‘As well as can be expected, given the London fog of a morning’
‘Sir, I hope that you’ll forgive my forwardness. But I wish to raise a matter which, I hope, will meet with your approval’.
‘I’ll ring for some tea, the pot needs re-warming. Prudence, please take the pot and refresh it, and bring another cup’ . Prudence tinkles away with the tea things. He shouts after her ‘And some Bath Olivers, it’s the weekend’
‘Mr Butler, you must know that I have long held you and your family, especially Lucy, in high regard’
‘Could you pull that curtain, the sun is in my eyes. And please shout for Polly to bring another chair in, can’t have you standing there’
‘Is that enough shade for you? As I was saying, Lucy and I…’
‘Thank you. Just recovering from the idiot vicar’s sermon. Mabel makes me put money in the damned tin, when really all I want to do is box his ears. I believe you are not a religious man?’
‘I am certainly devout, but worship in my own way. But about Lucy…’
‘Ah Yes, you chaps take your turn on a Saturday, don’t you? Must make life difficult. Do you have a club?’
‘Well I’m a member of the Carlton Club, but I’d aim to give that up when I have a family. My plans…’
‘Bit Bohemian, and not a club for the right connections. But I suppose you applied to quite a few?’
‘Sir, I’m not sure how we’ve got on to this subject but let me assure you that my connections are more than adequate, as are my prospects. Speaking of which, I really must touch on the matter that I wish to discuss’
Prudence tinkles back in with a tray of delicate tea things and a large plate of biscuits, and takes her time laying them out. Max looks fixedly at the floor, and Mr Butler at the Bath Olivers.
‘Sir, my reputation as an artist is such that I now feel able to support a family in a comfortable style’
‘Good for you. Shall I pour? Darjeeling. The biscuits will spoil Sunday lunch, but I don’t really care. As long as the waistcoat still buttons, eh?’
‘I think it is true to say that I may be a little unconventional..’
‘Ah Yes. But I do think that being conventional is all- important, keeps a chap on the rails so to speak. I think, for instance, that you would not be admitted to my club. Except to paint a portrait of the Chairman!’
‘But..’
‘You see, Mr Adelmann, I’m sitting here with a stout waistcoat and a large income because I’m part of the Establishment. Public school education, handy with Latin, born to administer the Empire, what? Convention matters. I can recognise a chap of the right sort in Calcutta or Accra. Or not.’
Butler peers over his half-rims, and his smile is not a smile.
Now if you would ring for Prudence, my unshakeable rule is to finish the crossword before lunch. She’ll see you out. The conservatory door, I believe?’
Under its urbane surface, this is a vicious little piece. It also gave me the feeling that the setting was not contemporary. From the way the characters spoke, I would have put it in the 1930s. This is supported by the presence of Prudence, clearly part of the domestic staff, and the references to Mr Butler’s waistcoat and the Empire. But I may be wrong about the date. What I like about the piece, though, in terms of meeting the brief, is that there are two elephants in the room. One is the artist’s desire to ask for Lucy’s hand in marriage which, because of her father’s interruptions, he is never allowed to articulate. And the other elephant, of a darker hue, is Mr Butler’s anti-Semitism. I enjoyed the subtlety with which this was introduced. In response to Mr Butler’s probing, Max admits that he worships ‘in his own way’. This is spelled out in Butler’s line, ‘you chaps take your turn on a Saturday, don’t you?’ And he hammers it home by saying that his daughter’s suitor would not be admitted to his own club. ‘Except to paint a portrait of the Chairman.’ Then, for anyone who still hasn’t got the point, we are told the artist’s name, ‘Max Adelman.’ And we get the chilling line, ‘Butler peers over his half-rims, and his smile is not a smile.’ This tale of prejudice is an excellent response to the brief.