Barbara Harrison, proprietor of the King's Head
Sharon, barmaid
Charlie Wainwright, cellarman
The Rt. Revd. Dr. Roderick Postlethwaite, Bishop of Lindisfarne
The Very Revd. Dr. Alistair Rabbitt, Dean of Lindisfarne
Max Falkener, MP
Kate Sheridan, freelance journalist and TV personality
Mrs Birch, a respectable elderly lady
Kim, her teenage granddaughter
Gregory, apparently a monk
A motor-cyclist

5F, 5M plus motor-cyclist, non-speaking, who remains concealed by riding outfit and helmet and can therefore be of either sex.

The scene is the lounge of a small hotel in the neighbourhood of Teesdale. The time is the present.

Act 1 Scene 1: Late one afternoon in February
Act 1 Scene 2: An hour later
Act 2: The same evening
Act 3 Scene 1: Later that night
Act 3 Scene 2: The next morning

Running time: about 1 hr 50 mins

BARBARA (with an air of having said all this many times over the years): Here we are, gentlemen. Just make yourselves comfortable by the fire. Charlie's putting your luggage in your rooms and dinner will be in half an hour. Would you like a drink?

BISHOP: Oh, thank you. A Perrier for me, and what about you, Dean?

DEAN: Dry sherry, thank you, Bishop.

BARBARA: One Perrier, one dry sherry for the Bishop, please, Sharon.

SHARON (suddenly recognising the Bishop): Sorry. You're the Bishop of Lindisfarne, aren't you?

BISHOP: Quite so, quite so. And this is our Dean, Dr. Rabbitt.

SHARON: I thought I recognised you. You're always on the telly.

DEAN: Oh, he'll be turning up on one of those chat shows before long, I shouldn't wonder, eh, Bishop?

BISHOP: I don't think they're really in my line, Alistair. Some of them are far too near the knuckle for me.

SHARON: Dry sherry and a Perrier, was it? Crisps, salted peanuts?

DEAN: I say! I wouldn't mind a bowl of salted nuts.

SHARON: Very well, sir. (She attends to the order.)

BARBARA: Do make yourselves comfortable.

(Exit UC. The Dean and Bishop sit; the Dean nearer the bell push.)

DEAN: Thank you so much. Splendid little place, eh, Bishop? Just as well I happen to know this area.

BISHOP: Quite so, Dean. I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn't got through.

SHARON (serving drinks and nuts throughout following dialogue): There we are. Is your car all right?

BISHOP: Yes, thank you. We had the great good fortune to get through the floods before the water rose too high. Mind you, it was a close thing. You nearly didn't make it, did you, Alistair?

DEAN: Oh, I think we were never in any real danger. The old Range Rover got us through. When I was in Australia, you know, we often had to cope with flash flooding. We were lucky to get here, though, just before it got dark.

BISHOP: I still don't understand why you didn't stop at that place we passed up the road. Thirlbeck, was it?

SHARON: The Spotted Cow at Thirlbeck?

DEAN (rather evasively): Er - y - yes, yes. Thirlbeck. Well, I - er - thought we could get a bit further, you know.

BISHOP: Well that Spotted Cow place seemed to have rooms.

SHARON: Yes, it's a nice place. Just a little way back up the road, as you say. Used to have a nice girl behind the bar.

DEAN: Did they? Er - are we the only guests here tonight?

SHARON: No. We've got an MP for a start.

DEAN: Oh?

SHARON: He's going to some conference in York.

DEAN: So are we. I wonder if it's the same conference.

SHARON: He came with a lady about twenty minutes before you did. They nearly got caught by the water as well.

DEAN: Well, plenty of company for dinner, eh, Bishop?

(Sharon exits UC.)

BISHOP: I'd sooner be at York. How's your sherry?

DEAN: First rate. I have to be very careful with sherry, you know. Some of those dark, sweet types give me wind. Most embarrassing.

BISHOP: So I should imagine. Salted nuts to your taste?

DEAN: Oh yes, thank you. But I have to be careful with these, too. They get under my palate.

BISHOP: Really?

DEAN: Can be the very devil of a nuisance at those parties with sausages on sticks and so on.

BISHOP: I suppose they are. By the way, Alistair, how do you come to know this area?

DEAN: Oh, I've been here on odd occasions when travelling to York, you know. Anyway, as I was saying, I remember at the leaving do for the last bishop I ate some wretched salted nuts and do you know what happened?

BISHOP: Got behind your palate, I suppose.

DEAN: Oh, no no no, me dear fella. I'd already had some of that dreadful sweet sherry, which, you know, gives me - er -

BISHOP: Wind. Quite. You've stayed here?

DEAN (carried away by his story): - and suddenly I suffered a dreadful passage of wind and my false teeth flew out and landed on the plate of the bishop's wife.

BISHOP: Er, yes. Did you say you'd stayed here - ?

DEAN: Well, of course, I was absolutely covered with embarrassment and confusion, but the old bishop didn't bat an eyelid. You remember old Barker, of course, Roderick?

BISHOP: Yes. Alistair, when you've been going to York did you stay here -?

DEAN: Looked at me cool as a cucumber and said, "Great Scott, Rabbitt! You ought to send those teeth of yours to dog obedience classes. They've almost taken my wife's hand off." Still, it gave me a chance to clean me palate, eh?

BISHOP: Quite. Alistair, when you've been going to York, do you mean you stayed overnight here? It's a bit expensive, isn't it? After all, York: it's an easy journey.

DEAN: Well, I - er - I broke down once, Roderick, and had little choice but to stay overnight.

BISHOP: What, here?

DEAN: No, at - er - what's its name.

BISHOP: The Spotted Cow at Thirlbeck.

DEAN: Yes.

BISHOP: I got the impression from what you said that you'd stayed a number of times.

DEAN: Oh, I - I hardly think so. Not a number. Just as well if I did, though, eh? Considering the weather now. I mean, if I hadn't known this area where would we be tonight?

BISHOP: The Spotted Cow, I imagine. And we wouldn't have had that mad dash to escape the flood if we'd put up there, you know.

DEAN: Don't you like this place?

BISHOP: Oh, it seems quite a nice place. But I was wondering -

DEAN: Oh - er - Thirlbeck gets worse flooding than here, I believe. So I've heard when, er -

BISHOP: Passing through?

DEAN: Passing through. Quite.

(Charlie enters L.)

CHARLIE: Good evening, gentlemen.

BISHOP: Hallo. Still raining?

CHARLIE: It is, sir. The police say the river's still rising, so you'll be here for at least a day by the look of things. (Sees the Dean and seems to recognise him.) Hallo, sir!

DEAN (surprised): Hallo.

CHARLIE: You've stayed here before, I believe.

DEAN: No, no. Never.

CHARLIE: Ah, of course. The Spotted Cow. I've seen you there once or twice.

DEAN: Oh, I - er - yes, possibly.

CHARLIE: I've put your luggage in your rooms.

BISHOP: Thank you, er...

CHARLIE: Charlie, sir. Charlie the cellarman. Cellarman, barman and general dogsbody, that's me.

BISHOP: Yes. Well, thank you, Charlie.

CHARLIE: I stored your luggage very carefully, sir, very carefully indeed.

BISHOP: Thank you.

CHARLIE: I always like to look after the clergy, sir, being a God-fearing man meself, and everything.

BISHOP: Splendid. Well, thank you. It's much appreciated.

CHARLIE: Very heavy, those cases were, mind. Normally guests take their own luggage, but I said to meself, No Charlie, I says, you can't let His Grace the Bishop carry his own luggage, I says.

BISHOP: Thank you. We're very grateful, you know.

CHARLIE: Yes, well ... er ... (Tries a new tack) Of course there's no tipping here, sir. All part of the friendly service.

DEAN: I think we could stretch a point here, couldn't we, Bishop?

BISHOP: Stretch a point?

DEAN: About the tipping rule?

BISHOP: Oh! Yes, of course. (Feels in pockets.) Have you - er - anything - er - Dean...? (The Dean hands the Bishop a banknote.) Here you are, and thank you again.

CHARLIE: Oh no, sir, I couldn't accept anything from you, sir.

BISHOP: No no, I insist.

CHARLIE: No, sir, I couldn't.

BISHOP: Oh, very well. (Begins to put tip into own pocket.)

CHARLIE (quickly): Oh, well, if you insist, sir. Thank you very much. Just this once, eh?

BISHOP: Here you are, and thank you once again.

CHARLIE: Not at all, sir. You shouldn't have, really. If you want anything, you only have to ask, sir. (Exit L.)

BISHOP: Someone who knows you from the Spotted Cow, Alistair.

DEAN: Well ... I haven't fiddled Church funds, if that's what you're worried about, Roderick. Yes, I have been there, but at my own expense.

BISHOP: H'm. Not a lady friend, Alistair? Thought you were a confirmed bachelor.

DEAN: Good heavens, Roderick! What do you take me for? No, as you know, I do a little landscape painting, and I thought this was a rather picturesque area.

(Max and Kate enter UC.)

MAX: Good evening.

BISHOP: Good evening.

DEAN: Ah! You must be the MP and his wife we heard about earlier.

KATE: I'm not his wife.

DEAN (guardedly): Ah! Yes.

MAX: No, no! We aren't even together. We just happened to be caught by the rising water and got here at about the same time.

KATE: Lucky we did. I gather we're completely cut off now. And I still don't know your name. In fact, I didn't even know you were an MP.

MAX: Max. Max Falkener. Representing Solway Moss.

KATE: Oh, of course! I thought I'd seen you before.

MAX: And you're Kate, you said.

KATE: Right. Kate Sheridan.

MAX: I thought I knew you.

KATE: And I know this gentleman. (To Bishop.) You're the Bishop of Lindisfarne, right?

BISHOP: Correct. And this is our Dean, Dr. Rabbitt.

DEAN: They called me Bugs at school. Can't think why.

KATE: You're going to York?

BISHOP: Yes. The Interdenominational Synod.

KATE: Me too. I'm covering it.

DEAN: Covering?

KATE: For the Press.

DEAN: Oh, I see. A journalist. Oh good heavens, yes! I recognise you now. Kate Sheridan. I'm sorry. You look different in real life.

KATE: It's okay. It's nice not to be recognised once in a while.

BISHOP: Quite. And what about Mr Falkener? You're going to York too?

MAX: That's right. I'm a lay member of the Synod. You've probably seen me there before.

BISHOP: Indeed I have! Splendid, splendid! We all have something in common.

DEAN: Would you like a drink before dinner?

MAX AND KATE: Yes, please. Very kind of you.

DEAN: Bishop? A thirst-quencher? (Presses bell.)

BISHOP: Another Perrier, if you don't mind.

DEAN: Miss Sheridan?

KATE: Kate, please. A pint, thanks.

DEAN: Of beer?

KATE: Please.

DEAN: Very well. Mr Falkener?

MAX: I wouldn't mind a glass of red wine, if you don't mind.

DEAN: Of course.

(Sharon enters UC.)

SHARON: Yes, sir?

DEAN: Could we have a Perrier, a dry sherry, a glass of red wine and a pint of beer, please? And put it on my bill.

SHARON: Certainly, sir. (Begins with the wine and sherry.)

DEAN (confidentially to Bishop): I have to be very careful with beer, you know.

BISHOP: Really?

DEAN: It makes me run to the little boys' room. Most inconvenient on a cold night. I'm always afraid I'll wet the bed.

BISHOP: Er, yes. Quite. (Pause while Sharon serves.)

SHARON (serving): Red wine?

MAX: Thanks.

SHARON: Sherry and mineral water?

DEAN AND BISHOP: Thank you.

SHARON: Aren't you having a drink, madam?

KATE: The pint's mine.

SHARON: I'm sorry, madam, I can't serve you with a pint of beer.

KATE: Why not?

SHARON: House rules. I'm sorry. Ladies can't drink beer out of pint glasses.

KATE: But why not? I thought this sort of thing had died out years ago.

SHARON: Sorry.

DEAN: Does it really make any difference?

SHARON: House rules. Sorry.

KATE: I think you'd better get me the manageress.

SHARON: She'll just say the same. She makes the rules. I'll get her, though. (Exit UC taking the pint glass with her.)

KATE: Isn't that ridiculous?

MAX: Oh well, quite a lot of pubs round here stick to that rule. Old-fashioned, I know, but they're set in their ways in these parts.

(Barbara enters UC, followed by Sharon.)

BARBARA: Yes?

KATE: I was wondering why I can't be served beer in a pint glass.

BARBARA: Well, it is a house rule, and if I make an exception for one, you know...

KATE: Well yes, but why have it at all?

BARBARA: I'd lose customers if I changed it.

KATE: What?

BARBARA: A lot of the older farmers' wives don't like women drinking pints of beer. And they're my trade outside the tourist season.

KATE: I've never heard anything like this. Don't you think it's a bit ridic - (catches Max's eye) - behind the times?

BARBARA: In these parts it is considered unladylike for a lady to be seen drinking from a pint glass.

KATE (to herself): Good grief!

BARBARA: I'm sorry?

KATE: I know we're out in the sticks. I know the majority of people round here think Queen Victoria's still on the throne, but could you please tell me the reasoning behind this rule?

BARBARA: I've already explained: it's what people round here want.

KATE: I suppose it's okay for me to actually drink beer? Or am I supposed to stick to Babycham?

BARBARA: Sharon. Half a pint of best, please.

SHARON: Lady's glass?

BARBARA: Yes.

KATE: What's the difference?

BARBARA: Schooners. Ladies round here drink out of schooners. Men use pint mugs.

(Kate is struck dumb.)

MAX: Yes, it's not the same as London, is it?

BARBARA: Okay now?

KATE: Yes, I suppose so.

DEAN: When in Rome, eh?

(Barbara exits L. During the next few speeches Sharon serves the beer and exits L.)

KATE: Except that they're a bit more enlightened in Rome.

MAX: I'm sorry you find their ways a little quaint. They're nice people really.

KATE: But they don't like foreigners, a foreigner being someone who lives more than ten miles away.

MAX: Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that.

KATE: No, and neither would most of them.

(Pause.)

BISHOP: I thought you worked on television, Miss Sheridan. Yet you say you're working for the papers.

KATE: I do regular freelance work for the Press. I'm covering the York synod for the Guardian.

BISHOP: And what line will you be taking?

KATE: How do you mean?

BISHOP: Well, you know. "C of E fudges issues again": that sort of headline.

KATE: I don't write the headlines, and it all depends on whether you do fudge the issues.

DEAN: I don't even know what the issues are now. I mean, we've been through the gay priests business, and the ordination of women, and experiments on human embryos. We've got through, as usual.

KATE: Yes, and you fudged all the moral issues.

DEAN: I didn't! I was in Australia.

KATE: No, but the Church of England did. And now you're struggling for your very existence.

BISHOP: Oh, no no no! This synod is merely to reassess our position.

MAX: Do you normally write on religious affairs?

KATE: Not if I can help it. I'm an atheist. (Smiling.) And don't you try to convert me.

MAX (smiling): Wouldn't dream of it. Anyone who writes for the Guardian must be beyond help.

KATE: Usually I cover Third World issues. I was in the Sudan this time last year.

BISHOP: That must have been a harrowing experience.

KATE: After a while you just go sort of numb. People were actually dying while I interviewed them. Even when planes dropped food the people were too far gone to benefit from it. You just watched them die because they were too weak to digest what they'd eaten.

DEAN: Good heavens! You know, I don't think we have any real idea of what those poor people are going through. You really should try these little pretzel things, Bishop. Very tasty and good appetizers.

BISHOP: No thank you. Our minds can't begin to comprehend the scale of the tragedy in Africa now. It was bad enough in the eighties.

MAX: Remember when they released Nelson Mandela? Everyone thought a new age was beginning, but it's only been more of the same old thing. Famine, starvation, war, corruption. We make pious noises, but we don't seem to have much effect.

KATE: I couldn't sleep. I would just lie in my bed with all the day's horrors revolving round my mind.

BISHOP: Did you live in the refugee camps?

KATE: God no! I was with the Beeb. We had a reasonable hotel. We drove out to the camps to interview the people.

MAX: I think the world's beyond hope.

DEAN: Well, I don't think we're beyond all hope of dinner. Shouldn't we be thinking of getting ready?

BISHOP: Yes, perhaps we should.

DEAN: All that talk of famine has made me quite peckish.

(The Dean, the Bishop and Max exit UC. Kate stays to finish her drink. Enter UC Mrs Birch and her granddaughter, Kim, who is outward-going and streetwise.)

MRS BIRCH: Well, I'll tell you what. You can have a Coke as long as it's one and no more.

KIM (London accent): Okay, Gran.

(Enter Sharon L.)

SHARON: Hallo, Kim. Feeling better now?

KIM: Yeah.

MRS BIRCH: It's been a touch of tummy trouble.

SHARON: Just as well it was nowt worse. We'd never have got a doctor here with things the way they are. Did you say you wanted a Coke?

KIM: Yeah. (Mrs Birch looks at her.) Please, miss.

MRS BIRCH: No ice, please. We don't want a chill on her stomach.

(Mrs Birch sits herself and Kim near the fire. Sharon serves a Coke during the following dialogue then exit L.)

MRS BIRCH: No peanuts, now. You'll be having your dinner soon.

KATE: Hallo. Were you caught by the flood?

MRS BIRCH: Yes. Well, actually Kim here went down with a tummy bug yesterday while we were on our way back from London. So we put up here for the night. Just as well, I suppose.

KATE: Yes. Are you on holiday?

MRS BIRCH: No. I'm her grandmother. She's coming to live with me for a while, aren't you? Coming to live with Gran.

KATE: You live round here?

MRS BIRCH: Near Newcastle, actually. Are you heading north?

KATE: Well, I've come down from Carlisle where I was covering a story for a newspaper. I'm covering another in York, then I'm off home to London.

KIM: I know you. You're Kate Sheridan, the woman on the telly.

MRS BIRCH: Kim!

KATE: She's right, but I didn't realise I had fans that young. You don't watch the news, though, do you?

KIM: Not likely. It's dead boring.

MRS BIRCH: Kim!

KATE (laughing): She's right, though. Well, if you don't watch the news, how do you know about me?

KIM: Off the Kate Sheridan Show!

KATE: You don't watch that, do you?

(Mrs Birch looks, more in pity than in anger, at Kim.)

MRS BIRCH: That's one reason why I'm taking her to stay with me. Too much television, and the wrong sort too. Mind, I think a lot of what they talk about on these chat shows nowadays goes over their heads.

KATE: I certainly hope so.

MRS BIRCH: And are you something to do with television?

KIM: It's Kate Sheridan, Gran! (Mrs Birch looks blank.) You know. "The show that gets right to the bottom of things." It's dead rude.

MRS BIRCH: Oh! That show! I never watch it.

KIM: You should. It's good.

MRS BIRCH (disapprovingly): For some, I suppose.

KATE: Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm starving. See you later, perhaps. (Exit UC.)

MRS BIRCH: Kim, I didn't realise you watched things like that.

KIM: Not much else to do, is there? I mean, Mum's always saying it's not safe out at night an' that.

MRS BIRCH: Come on, let's get you washed and see if you can manage something for dinner tonight.

(Mrs Birch and Kim exit UC. Sharon enters L, followed by Charlie, who puts menus on tables.)

CHARLIE: Hey up! What d'you think o' the missus, then?

SHARON: Like a bear wi' a sore head.

CHARLIE: It's yon Sheridan woman's done it.

SHARON: Oh aye. Wanted to drink a pint o' beer just like a man.

CHARLIE: Swiggin' pints like a farm worker, eh? A woman in her position.

SHARON: Should be ashamed of herself, carryin' on like that. Mekkin' a fuss about it as if it were the end o' the world.

CHARLIE: Aye, but do you know who she is? Kate Sheridan.

SHARON: What? Her off the telly?

CHARLIE: You didn't recognise her?

SHARON: No. They say they always look different in real life. Anyway, I would have thought we were a bit beneath her. Staying here.

CHARLIE: Aye, well, beggars can't be choosers, eh? Same for that MP chap, I suppose.

SHARON: I might have known. They go on like summat not reet where she comes from.

CHARLIE: Aye, all them drugs and people sleepin' under cardboard, and not safe to walk the streets day or night. Eh, I don't know what the world's coming to, and that's a fact. Still, nice to have a bit o' class round the place once in a while.

SHARON: Bit o' class?

CHARLIE: Aye.

SHARON: Gerraway! She looks like a tart, talks like a tart and acts like one. And that's your bit o' class? You ought to have more sense at your age.

CHARLIE: What do you mean, at my age?

SHARON: You're old enough to be her father.

CHARLIE: Gerraway! And even if I was, so what?

SHARON: You shouldn't be thinking thoughts like that.

CHARLIE: Like what?

SHARON: Mucky thoughts.

CHARLIE: 'Ow do you know what I'm thinking about?

SHARON: You're a man, that's how I know. They all think the same way. Just 'cause she's off the telly.

CHARLIE: You've got a warped mind, Sharon my girl, that's your trouble. It's a psychiatrist you need to get yer brain sorted out. Anyway, shouldn't you be helpin' in the dining room?

SHARON: No, there's only six for dinner tonight, so missus sent me in to keep an eye - er - look after things with you.

CHARLIE: Look after things! That's not what you were going to say. What do you want to keep an eye on me for? What d'you think I'm going to do? Fiddle the till?

SHARON: There's lots of things you get up to, Charlie Wainwright.

CHARLIE: Like what? Name one.

SHARON: Ask the barmaid from the Spotted Cow in Thirlbeck.

CHARLIE: Aw, come on! That were over a year ago.

SHARON: Aye, but the missus hasn't forgotten. And she'd still like to know where you got the money from to wine and dine her the way you did.

CHARLIE: If you must know, I had a little win on the lottery. Not much, but enough. And you've been spying on me every day since then, eh?

SHARON: No, Charlie, just keeping an eye open.

CHARLIE: And what business of yours is my private life?

SHARON: Private life? The whole damn village knew about it.

CHARLIE: Eh?

SHARON: You're damn lucky you kept your job, Charlie. If it had been me, you'd have got the sack. We had to pick the pieces up while you were out gallivanting. I don't know why the missus kept you on.

CHARLIE: Ah, well, that's because you don't know everything, see. I could tell you a thing or two that would make your eyes pop.

SHARON: Such as?

CHARLIE: Never you mind. There's folks round here would rather you didn't know.

SHARON: Hey, it's not about the missus, is it?

CHARLIE: Oh, interested, are we?

SHARON: It is about her, isn't it?

(Charlie smirks.)

SHARON: I won't breathe a word, Charlie, honest. Go on, tell us.

CHARLIE: Nah. Better not.

SHARON: Go on, tell us, Charlie. Tell us. Tell us about it.

CHARLIE: Well, 'ave yer ever wondered how she raised the money to pay for this place, eh? Property prices being what they are an' all.

SHARON: Well, I 'ave wondered from time to time, yeah. Come on, then. What's the secret?

(During this, Barbara enters L in a bad temper.)

CHARLIE: Ah, well, that would be telling.

BARBARA: Sharon, have you got nothing better to do?

SHARON: I'm finished.

BARBARA: Well, since I don't pay you to stand round gossiping, you can get some logs for the fire and then look after the dining room. Go on, get busy! They'll be down any minute.

SHARON: Right, then. (Exit R with a bewildered glance at Barbara.)

BARBARA (calling after her): And take no lip from that flighty London piece if you see her.

SHARON (off): I won't.

BARBARA: And don't you just stand there gawping, either. Get on with something.

CHARLIE: Like what?

BARBARA: See that the bowls of nuts are full, make sure the glasses are clean. Just get on and do something.

CHARLIE: Everything's done. It's been done since this afternoon. There's nowt left to do, unless you want me to start rationin' the booze, 'cos if this rain keeps up we'll have to, same as last year.

BARBARA: I'll have to check the cellar stock first. And by the way, if the phone rings, it's probably the police checking that we're all right, so answer it straight away, will you. And don't go away. One of the guests may need a drink before dinner.

CHARLIE: Sharon will serve them. That's where she's going next, isn't it? Anyway, where the hell do you think I'm going? We're cut off from the world. We can't get to the village without a rowing boat. If we still had outside lavvies we'd be really snookered.

BARBARA: Look after things while I go and see to the dining room.

CHARLIE: You've just come out of there. What the heck's the matter with you? It's that Sheridan woman, isn't it? She's got to you, hasn't she?

BARBARA: No she hasn't.

CHARLIE: Yes she has. You came in like a bear wi' a sore head.

BARBARA: Yes, all right. She's been on her high horse to me again out there. That's why I came in here.

CHARLIE: What about?

BARBARA: Oh, I don't know. Something to do with women's rights, I think. Or her own rights, more likely. She seems to think she owns the place, the way she's carrying on.

CHARLIE: Well, it's a free country. She can say what she likes.

BARBARA: Oh, aye, I suppose anything she does is all right by you. You've always had an eye for that sort of woman, haven't you?

CHARLIE: What sort of woman?

BARBARA: You know! That sort.

CHARLIE: Oh aye? Well you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?

BARBARA: We'll have less of that kind of talk here. Or...

CHARLIE: Or what?

BARBARA: Well, let's just have less of it, Charlie.

CHARLIE: Here! I've already been accused of being Casanova, Ronnie Biggs and Bluebeard rolled into one.

BARBARA: By whom?

CHARLIE: By that... yon Sharon.

(As if on cue, Sharon enters R with a log which she puts down by fire.)

SHARON: Did I hear my name mentioned?

CHARLIE: Aye. I suppose you've used yon fire door as a short cut again?

SHARON: Nothing wrong with that, is there?

CHARLIE: No, except you never shut the ruddy thing properly and it starts banging.

SHARON: I've shut it properly this time. And if it makes you feel any better, I nearly slipped on the mud and just about broke my leg. (Exit L.)

BARBARA: And what have you been up to with Sharon?

CHARLIE (surprised): Eh?

BARBARA: You said she'd accused you of being Casanova. Have you been trying it on?

CHARLIE: Chance would be a fine thing. I only wish I'd been having as much fun as everybody seems to think. (The Dean and Bishop enter UC. Immediately Charlie switches on the professional manner.) Well now, gentlemen. A drink?

DEAN: I wouldn't mind a small glass of that rather splendid sherry, eh, Bishop?

BISHOP: Oh, very well, you've persuaded me. Small and dry, please.

DEAN: Two, please, Charlie.

BARBARA: That reminds me, I must check the stock. (Exit R. Bishop and Dean sit. Charlie prepares drinks and serves them sometime during following speeches.)

BISHOP: Ah! Here's the menu. Now, let me see... Soup of the day, I think, followed by trout - no, in fact, I think I'll try the home-made steak and kidney pie.

DEAN: Delicious! Unfortunately, I have to be very careful with beef of any sort. Windy whiffles, I'm afraid.

BISHOP: Really, Alistair, your internal problems are no concern of mine. Menu?

DEAN: Thank you. Now, let me see. Prawn cocktail? No, I'm not too fond of sea food either, you know. Fish, yes. Sea food, no.

BISHOP: Gives you wind as well, does it?

DEAN: No no, me dear fella. Fact is, I once had a landlady who served it every Friday. Got sick of it. Dreadful woman. Trout.

BISHOP: My dear Alistair! Your landlady an old trout?

DEAN: Oh no! I'm going to have the trout! (Dinner gong.) Come along, let's get to the dining room. I'm absolutely ravenous.

(Both exit L, taking their drinks. Charlie is left alone behind the bar. Gregory enters UC, but Charlie does not see him for a moment, and Gregory stands quietly until Charlie turns. Gregory is wearing a monkish robe. In everything he does, he is quiet and tranquil.)

CHARLIE (starting in surprise): Hey, where the hell - ? I - I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise you were there.

GREGORY: My name is Gregory.

CHARLIE: You 'aven't just got 'ere, surely?

GREGORY: I've just arrived.

CHARLIE: Just arrived? But the flood - !

GREGORY: Does that matter?

CHARLIE: Too true it matters. How did you get through the flood? We're surrounded by water, we've been cut off since late afternoon, no-one's been in or out since then, so how did you get here?

GREGORY: I got here, my friend. Surely how isn't important.

CHARLIE (sarcastically): I suppose you walked across the water?

GREGORY (smiling): You said it, my friend, not I.