wasn't in the least attracted to her. She was a good ten years too old, for a start. And dressed in a very peculiar way.
ALISON: Foreign?
NICHOLAS: Not like anything I've seen, in life or in pictures. Completely different. Rather immodest, I'd have said, only I knew somehow that it was just the way of her people and there was nothing wanton about her. She was walking past me, but suddenly turned with a quite dazzling smile.
ALISON: A come hither?
NICHOLAS: No, nothing at all like that. Almost a motherly smile. It was probably just in my head, but I thought she was saying "Don't worry, it's going to be all right. I know, believe me." Very emphatically. And somehow I did believe her. After that I slept like a log. And the next day we were betrothed.
CUT BACK TO NICHOLAS’S HOME.
A long pause.
NICHOLAS: Cedric and Alice are very fond of you, aren't they?
ALISON: Yes, and I of them. But why do you mention it just now?
NICHOLAS: They're bound to miss you.
ALISON: I suppose they will.
NICHOLAS: I've been thinking. You remember that painting of you that I started?
ALISON: Of course.
NICHOLAS: Well, it isn't very good, to put it mildly, but I could work it up a bit. Do you think they'd like to have it? Nowhere near like having you back with them, I'm afraid, but better than nothing.
ALISON: Oh, Nicholas, what a lovely idea! I'm sure they'd be delighted.
FADE OUT.
Back to Contents
FADE IN TO THE LIBRARY AT ERNSCAR, PRESENT TIME
Saturday morning. John is alone in the library, reading the newspaper. Enter Anne.
JOHN: Oh, there you are. Are you all right? I was a bit worried with not seeing you at breakfast.
ANNE: I couldn't get to sleep for hours. Over–tired, I expect. Then when I did I slept through the alarm.
JOHN: Probably do you good.
ANNE: I dare say. John, while I was tossing and turning, I did a lot of thinking.
JOHN: That's probably what kept you awake.
ANNE: Maybe. But it had to be done. John, we have to get some things clear.
JOHN: That sounds ominous. What's worrying you?
ANNE: Look, how long have we been going out together?
JOHN: Must be a couple of years now. Yes, easily that. What of it?
ANNE: It's been very nice, you've been good company and your people have been marvellous, but we don't seem to be getting anywhere.
JOHN: Well, I did ask if you'd like to come to bed with me, but you wouldn't.
ANNE: John, please be serious, for once in a while.
JOHN: Sorry. I'll try. Actually I wasn't being entirely frivolous. I did want you.
ANNE: And I was seriously tempted.
JOHN: Then why ... ?
ANNE: Let me finish, please. This is hard enough without interruptions. Understand, I wanted you, too. More than anything else. But it wouldn't have been right. I'm not saying sex isn't important. It is; far too important to treat casually.
JOHN: I wasn't being casual. It looked like being a stable relationship, as they say.
ANNE: Not good enough, John. I'm not a horse.
JOHN: Now who's being frivolous?
ANNE: What I mean is, we aren't just animals, mating simply out of instinct. There's got to be more to it – a sense of permanency, a facing of consequences. What I want is "to have and to hold, for better or worse, till death us do part" and all that. The full works. If you can't or won't give it to me, then I'm very sorry, dear, but I don't think I can bear to go on as we are.
A long pause.
JOHN: Good lord!
ANNE: Is that all you have to say?
JOHN: Well, no, but I was just stunned.
ANNE: Why? Is it such a novel idea?
JOHN: Far from it. But when you turned down the proposition, so many months ago, I thought it meant you wanted only a platonic friendship. I was scared.
ANNE: Scared? Of me?
JOHN: Yes. Silly, isn't it? I wanted to marry you, but I was afraid to push it in case I lost you altogether. It happened once before. I was terrified you'd say "No."
ANNE (flinging herself at him, laughing with relief): Idiot!
Helen enters absent–mindedly, then notices John and Anne and stops in embarrassment.
HELEN: Oh, I'm sorry, did I come in at an awkward moment?
JOHN (disentangling himself): No, Mother, you came in at exactly the right moment. Anne and I have just decided to get married.
HELEN: Anne dear! I'm delighted. Thrilled! I've been waiting for this for ages. What on earth kept you so long?
ANNE: Just a silly misunderstanding. All cleared up now.
A round of embraces appropriate to the occasion.
HELEN: I must go and tell Geoffrey. Oh, I'm forgetting what I came in for. You've driven everything else right out of my head.
JOHN: What was it?
HELEN: You remember we were talking yesterday about Tunstall church?
JOHN: Yes?
HELEN: You thought Anne might be interested to see it. I remembered during the night that we picked up a pamphlet there some time ago. It's probably tucked into one of the guide books.
She searches for it. Anne and John sneak a cuddle behind her back.
HELEN: Here it is. Oh, it's torn – half of it's missing. What a nuisance.
JOHN: Never mind. We can probably find one there.
HELEN: Yes, of course. Now I must go and give Geoffrey the good news.
JOHN: He probably won't think it is. You're sure to want a complete new outfit.
HELEN: And for once I know he'll be delighted to cough up.
Exit.
ANNE: What's this about the church? It sounds much too far away to visit from here.
JOHN: Not the Staffordshire Tunstall. A village about twenty miles away – not a difficult drive even on these roads.
ANNE: What's so special about it?
JOHN: It's a very old foundation. Parts of it are twelfth century – not much of that left, admittedly. But there's quite a lot from not much later.
ANNE: Right. Tomorrow, if the weather's decent?
JOHN: Fine. Now, for today, how about a visit to a jeweller?
Anne hugs him.
CUT TO A VILLAGE PUB, INTERIOR
The following day. Anne and John are finishing a bar lunch, Anne somewhat distracted by a new ring on her finger.
JOHN (laying down his cutlery): Ah! That was good.
ANNE: Yes, it was.
JOHN: Fancy a sweet?
ANNE: I don't think I could manage it..
JOHN: Coffee?
ANNE: No, thanks.
JOHN: Right.
CUT TO THE EXTERIOR
John and Anne amble across an attractive green to the church opposite the pub.
JOHN: I hope it's open.
ANNE: It's a bit late to wonder about that.
JOHN: I was forgetting how many churches are locked outside service times these days.
ANNE: Is vandalism a problem out here?
JOHN: Nowhere near as bad as in town. But not unknown
They reach the door and John tries the latch, which opens. They enter.
CUT TO THE INTERIOR
An elderly verger is repairing a damaged notice board, but looks up as John and Anne enter.
Anne picks up a descriptive sheet from a table near the door.
VERGER: Hello, I'll be with you in a minute.
ANNE: We didn't mean to disturb you.
VERGER: It's all right, I've nearly done.
ZOOM IN TO JOHN AND ANNE
Both speak sotto voce
JOHN: We don't really want a guide, do we?
ANNE: No, but we may as well humour him. There's no hurry, is there?
JOHN: Not particularly. We've all afternoon. (Aloud, to the verger) We'll just start looking round, if you don't mind.
VERGER: Right–oh.
Anne consults the sheet as they mo
ve around the nave.
ANNE: "Baptistry – some original stonework near the font – nave glass destroyed under the Commonwealth, replaced early nineteenth century – the tower – chantry chapel – " John! Listen to this!
JOHN: What is it?
VERGER (joining them): There, that's done. Grand afternoon, isn't it?
ANNE: It certainly is.
VERGER: Come far?
JOHN: From Ernscar.
VERGER: Holidaying?
ANNE: I'm staying with friends.
VERGER: Ah. Was there anything particular you wanted to see? (Belatedly registering a point of interest) Oh, did you say Ernscar?
JOHN: Yes, why ?
VERGER: Then you must see the chantry chapel – there's a particular connection.
ANNE: Yes, I'd just come to that bit in your leaflet.
VERGER: We haven't got the original document, of course – that's in a museum somewhere – but there's a copy ...
JOHN: What document?
ANNE: I'd just got to that. It's a will or something of the sort ...
The group reaches the chapel. The verger takes from a shelf a facsimile mediaeval document in a glass frame, with a translation into modern English beside it in typescript. He passes it carefully to Anne, who looks at it briefly.
ANNE: It's marvellous that it's survived, isn't it? But I think the note in your leaflet is probably more useful for us.
VERGER: Yes, it probably is.
JOHN: Read it out, Anne.
ANNE: Right. "The pride of the church is the late fifteenth century chantry chapel, endowed in 1470 by a Lady Alison Palmer of whom little is otherwise known. By chance an almost complete copy of the endowment document came to light in 1950, stipulating that a mass be sung for the repose of the souls of her beloved husband Nicholas Palmer, knight, and of her father" – this is it, John – "Thomas Miller of Ernscar in the county of (indecipherable), annually on the fifteenth of April in perpetuity." So that's what happened to Alison Miller.
JOHN: Well, I'll be …! It certainly looks like it.
ANNE (continuing to read): "The graves of Alison, her three sons and their wives, were just outside the south wall of the chapel, although all traces were obliterated by Parliamentary troops who kept horses in the churchyard during the Civil War. Sir Nicholas himself is believed to have been lost at sea while returning from a diplomatic mission to Flanders." So he was evidently a person of some consequence.
JOHN: Yes. Our Alison seems to have done all right for herself after all.
VERGER: Your Alison?
ANNE: Well, in a sense.
JOHN: You see, we have a portrait of an Alison, daughter of Thomas Miller, as a young girl. The date seems about right. And that Thomas Miller was at Ernscar.
VERGER (astonished): An original portrait?
ANNE: It seems to be.
VERGER: But that's incredible!
JOHN: Almost. And to be honest, we can't be absolutely sure about any of it. There haven't been any tests on the materials. We've only an informed opinion that it looks right, and isn't good enough to have been worth faking.
VERGER: Even so ... I don't suppose there's any chance you'd be willing to part with it ...
JOHN: I could easily copy it – scan or photograph, one way or another.
VERGER: We'd be immensely grateful. It would add enormously to the interest.
JOHN: You're welcome. Right ...
ANNE (reading on): Oh, I say ...
JOHN: What?
ANNE: This is a bit off. "The annual Masses were of course discontinued at the Reformation."
VERGER: Well, naturally, the reformers got rid of all that ..
He is about to add "nonsense" but realises that it might be undiplomatic.
JOHN: Not much choice, I imagine. Well, Mr. ... er?
VERGER: Johnson – Harry Johnson.
JOHN: And I'm John Randall. (Producing it) I'll leave you my card.
VERGER: Thanks. But you'd better speak to the vicar about it. I'll tell him to expect you, and why.
JOHN: Right. It'll probably be a week or two.
VERGER: Fine. And thank you again. Enjoy the rest of your day.
ANNE: Thank you. I think we shall. Goodbye.
CUT TO THE EXTERIOR
Anne and John emerge and stroll to their car.
JOHN: That was interesting.
ANNE: Yes, though I still think they might have shown some shame at accepting the endowment but defaulting on the only condition.
JOHN: Water under the bridge by then.
Pause
ANNE: John ...?
JOHN: Yes?
ANNE: How much do masses cost?
JOHN: I don't think there is a fixed fee.
ANNE: No, but there must be some understanding, just to save embarrassment.
JOHN: I think I heard somewhere that five or ten pounds would be acceptable. Why do you ask?
ANNE: I'm going to find a church