ENCHANTED

APRIL
BY MATTHEW BARBER
FROM THE NOVEL BY
ELIZABETH VON ARNIM

★
DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
INC.
ENCHANTED APRIL — BARBER
ENCHANTED
APRIL
BY MATTHEW BARBER
FROM THE NOVEL BY
ELIZABETH VON ARNIM

DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
INC.
 ENCHANTED APRIL
Copyright © 1995, 2003, Matthew Barber

All Rights Reserved

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Anyone receiving permission to produce ENCHANTED APRIL is required to
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ENCHANTED APRIL
by Matthew Barber
from the novel by Elizabeth von Arnim

2
ENCHANTED APRIL was originially produced by the Hartford
Stage Company (Michael Wilson, Artistic Director) in Hartford,
Connecticut, in March 2000. It was directed by Michael Wilson;
the set design was by Tony Straiges; the lighting design was by Rui
Rita; the original music and sound design were by John Gromada;
the costume design was by Jess Goldstein; and the production
stage manager was Wendy Beaton. The cast was as follows:

LOTTY WILTON ................................................ Isabel Keating

MELLERSH WILTON ............................................. John Hines
ROSE ARNOTT ................................................... Enid Graham
FREDERICK ARNOTT .......................... Christopher Donahue
CAROLINE BRAMBLE .................................. Stephanie March
ANTONY WILDING .................................... Christopher Duva
MRS. GRAVES ........................................................... Jill Tanner
COSTANZA ......................................................... Irma St. Paule

ENCHANTED APRIL received its New York premiere on

Broadway at the Belasco Theatre on April 29, 2003. It was directed
by Michael Wilson; the set design was by Tony Straiges; the lighting
design was by Rui Rita; the original music and sound design were
by John Gromada; the costume design was by Jess Goldstein; and
the production stage manager was Katherine Lee Boyer. The cast
was as follows:

LOTTY WILTON ............................................... Jayne Atkinson

MELLERSH WILTON ................................... Michael Cumpsty
ROSE ARNOTT ............................................... Molly Ringwald
FREDERICK ARNOTT ...................................... Daniel Gerroll
CAROLINE BRAMBLE ........................... Dagmara Dominczyk
ANTONY WILDING ...................................... Michael Hayden
MRS. GRAVES ................................................. Elizabeth Ashley
COSTANZA ...................................................... Patricia Conolly
SERVANT ................................................................ John Feltch

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 CHARACTERS

LOTTY WILTON, 30, a Hampstead housewife

MELLERSH WILTON, 32, her husband

ROSE ARNOTT, 38, a Hampstead housewife

FREDERICK ARNOTT, 45, her husband, a writer

CAROLINE BRAMBLE, 25, a socialite

ANTONY WILDING, 25, an artist

MRS. GRAVES, 70s, a London Matron

COSTANZA, 60s, an Italian housekeeper

PLACE

ACT ONE
London, England.

ACT TWO
Mezzago, Italy.

TIME

1922.

4
 ENCHANTED APRIL
ACT ONE

Scene 1

Darkness. Half-light rises on two tables, four chairs, a coat

rack with coats and umbrellas. Rose Arnott sits at one table.
Lotty Wilton stands at the other, looking off. Thunder, fol-
lowed by the sound of steady rain. Lights up in a London
ladies’ club, 1922. “The Great War” is over by four years, and
with it the lives of one million British soldiers. Rose reads a
copy of the London Times. Lotty gazes out of a large window.
Both are dressed heavily in dark colors, hair up, with hats on
or nearby. Lotty’s appearance suggests uncertainty. Rose is
spare to the point of severity. Lotty speaks to us. Her essence is
of deep sadness and withering valiance, from which genuine
hope spontaneously and regularly bursts forth, leaving her
endlessly off-balance.

LOTTY. I was once told the story of a man who, while surveying
the grounds of his home, dug his walking stick into the earth, as a
reminder of where he wished to one day have an acacia tree. One
he could watch from his veranda, and lie under with his wife on
warm summer afternoons, cooled in the shadow of its white flow-
ers, and blanketed in their sweet scent. But when planting season
came ’round and he returned with a spade and an acacia sapling,
the man was vexed. The stick he had left had taken root and begun
to grow. It was nearly as tall as himself now, in fact, with young,

5
awkward branches and small clusters of frail new leaves. This, on
the very spot that was to be his acacia. The man buried his spade
into the ground to unearth the strange thing … but stopped. For
among the leaves, underneath, he spied a small blossom. It was
acacia. (Smiles.) “Enchantment,” some would say. Or “provi-
dence,” perhaps. I suppose the only real certainty is that the fellow
had lost a perfectly good walking stick. If that’s the part you
choose to see. The rest is open to opinion. (Sighs, thinks.) Were it
only that some enchantment would step in for us all, to change
what we have into what we wish for. To bridge the awkward gap
between all of our many befores and afters. Because, for every after
found, a before must be lost. And loss is, by nature, an unbalanc-
ing thing. More unbalancing, however, is to discover your before
gone without an after having taken its place. Leaving you merely
to wait and to wonder if there is to be an after at all. Or if, per-
haps, waiting and wondering are your after in themselves.
(Thinks.) I wasn’t expecting my after to begin that day at my ladies’
club. I wasn’t waiting for enchantment to show itself, or provi-
dence. I had merely been gazing out of the window, wondering if
the rain was ever going to stop. And what my husband might like
for dinner that night. And about the fact that the day before I had
wondered the same things. And surely would the following day,
and the day after that, and the day after. When I came upon the
advertisement.
ROSE. (Reading.) “To those who appreciate wisteria and sun-
shine … ”
LOTTY. A small advert, placed discreetly in the agony column of
the Times.
ROSE. “Small castle on the Mediterranean, Northern Italy … ”
LOTTY. Heaven!
ROSE. “To be let for the month of April. Cook, gardens, ocean
view. Reply Box Eleven.”
LOTTY. (Beaming.) The words washed over me, filling me sud-
denly with warmth and peacefulness, as if the advertisement were
there especially for me, and was pleased I’d found it. “To those
who appreciate wisteria and sunshine.” That’s me! (Thunder.
Thinks.) But who am I to be reading about Italian castles, and
Aprils on the Mediterranean? Who am I? (Inspired.) But then, why

6
would I bother to read the newspaper at my ladies’ club, when I
surely would read my husband’s copy tomorrow morning after
housekeeping? And why would I come to my club at all on a
Tuesday, when my regular city day is Wednesday? And certainly
why would I notice the lady, that particular lady I see so often at
church, and was thinking of only moments ago? Providence?
Enchantment? (She smiles excitedly. To Rose, with great enthusiasm.)
Are you reading about the castle and the wisteria?
ROSE. (Invaded.) I beg your pardon?
LOTTY. (Breathlessly.) The advertisement about the castle. It
sounds so wonderful, doesn’t it? Can you just imagine? Italy and
sunshine and wisteria. And when I saw you … you, of all people
… well, I couldn’t help but think … well, I mean, all this rain …
and, oh, the Mediterranean … imagine … and this not even being
my city day … well, I … I … (Flustered, suddenly painfully uncom-
fortable, realizing that her intensity has once again escaped.) Oh, I
am sorry. Here we’ve only just met and I must apologize already.
My husband says that my mind is like a hummingbird. One sel-
dom sees it land. I feel I know you. And yet we’ve never actually
met. My husband and I see you in church in Hampstead.
ROSE. I see.
LOTTY. You are our “disappointed Madonna.” I see you each
Sunday, marshalling in the children from Sunday School, always
so right on time for services, and with the schoolchildren so very
well-behaved. And I once commented to my husband that you
looked to me somewhat like a disappointed Madonna.
ROSE. (Perplexed.) I …
LOTTY. My husband had been speaking to me about finding sat-
isfaction through doing one’s job well. Saying something about
that if one does one’s job well, then one will not be depressed, but
will instead be automatically bright and brisk with satisfaction.
And, seeing you, I just felt that … well, that surely there is also the
chance for a certain … disappointment.
ROSE. (Patiently.) Perhaps it would be best if we begin at the
beginning. I am Mrs. Arnott. Rose.
LOTTY. Thank you. I am Lotty. Charlotte. Mrs. Wilton.
ROSE. Right, then.
LOTTY. I don’t expect that conveys much to you, “Wilton.”

7
Sometimes it doesn’t seem to convey anything to me, either. Such
a small, sad name. I don’t like names.
ROSE. Do you need some kind of advice, Mrs. Wilton?
LOTTY. Oh, no. It was just the advertisement. It sounded so
wonderful, that’s all.
ROSE. I’m sure it’s only this gloomy weather that makes it seem so.
LOTTY. Then you were reading it?
ROSE. (Caught.) I … was.
LOTTY. (Excited.) I knew it! I saw it!
ROSE. Saw it?
LOTTY. The two of us. At the castle.
ROSE. Yourself and your husband.
LOTTY. Oh no, me and you!
ROSE. Mrs. Wilton!
LOTTY. Do you ever see things in a kind of a flash before they
happen?
ROSE. Never.
LOTTY. Really? Well, when I saw you, I suddenly saw us both,
you and me, on the shores of the Mediterranean. Surrounded by
beauty. Beauty and blissful peace.
ROSE. Really, Mrs. Wilton. And our husbands? (Lotty thinks.)
LOTTY. I didn’t see them. I’ve never seen Mr. Arnott. He is “with
us,” then?
ROSE. Oh, yes. Quite.
LOTTY. One never knows these days. So many war widows.
ROSE. Sad times.
LOTTY. Perhaps that’s why we need something beautiful now. To
remind us of the possibility. I did see us, Rose.
ROSE. Well, that is really most extraordinary, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. Isn’t it? Isn’t it wonderful enough just to think about?
April in Italy. And here it’s February already. In two months we
could be in it all.
ROSE. It’s easy to think of such things, Mrs. Wilton. But it’s no
use wasting one’s time thinking too long.
LOTTY. Oh, but it is! It’s essential! And I really do believe, if one
considers hard enough, things can happen!
ROSE. I’m not sure I believe that.
LOTTY. (Becoming increasingly emotional.) Oh, but you must!

8
Even if it isn’t true. I’ve been saving a nest egg, from my dress
allowance. It’s not much, but my husband himself encouraged me
to save it for a rainy day. My husband speaks often of rainy days.
My husband speaks often of many things. I could never have imag-
ined spending it on a holiday, but if this isn’t that rainy day, well …
ROSE. Money, I fear …
LOTTY. Oh, Rose. Close your eyes and think with all of your
heart of getting away from Hampstead, from husbands, from this
relentless rain, from everything. To heaven!
ROSE. You shouldn’t say things like that, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. But it would be heavenly!
ROSE. Heaven isn’t somewhere else. It is here and now, within us.
We are told that on the very highest authority. The kindred points
of heaven and home. Heaven is in our home. (Lotty thinks.)
LOTTY. But it isn’t.
ROSE. But it is. It is there, if we choose, if we make it.
LOTTY. (Upset, near tears.) I do choose, and I do make it. And it
isn’t. I’ve done nothing but what was expected of me all of my life,
and thought that was goodness. I thought I would be … well …
rewarded in some way, I suppose. That’s selfish, I know. But it was
what I was told. One prepares, is good, and is rewarded. I didn’t
know how quickly things change. That one must keep an eye on
what one is preparing for, in case it no longer even exists. Someone
forgot to tell me that. Where everyone is racing to, I don’t know.
I only know that I’ve been left behind. No. Now I’m convinced
that there are blind sorts of goodness and there are … enlightened
sorts of goodness. Women such as ourselves have been living the
blind sort. Preparing for nothing but … oblivion.
ROSE. (Flummoxed, scowling.) Mrs. Wilton. I assure you that I
am a most happy individual.
LOTTY. (Defeated.) Yes. Of course. Will you believe that I have
never in my life spoken like this to anyone?
ROSE. It’s the weather, I’m sure.
LOTTY. (Lost.) Yes. And the advertisement.
ROSE. Yes.
LOTTY. And both of us being so miserable. (Sadly.) Something
has been lost, Rose. Something has shifted, and I don’t recognize
anything anymore.

9
ROSE. (Moved.) We must all deal with loss, Mrs. Wilton. Each in
his way.
LOTTY. Yes. That’s true. But don’t you ever wish you could go
back, to hold on tighter? But we can’t, can we? We can only go for-
ward. But how? This I haven’t seen.
ROSE. Do you see things often, Mrs. Wilton?
LOTTY. Lotty. Yes, I do. (Defeated.) But seeing and doing are two
different things, aren’t they? (They think.) “To those who appreci-
ate wisteria and sunshine.” (Lotty smiles wistfully.) That’s you and
me, Rose. That much I do see. (Thunder. Half-light.)

Scene 2

Rain. Lights up in the Wilton home. A table, two chairs, a

coat rack with coats and umbrellas. Mellersh Wilton sits at
one end of the table, looking into a small table mirror, trim-
ming his moustache. A towel is draped around his neck,
underneath which he is dressed for an evening business
engagement, save for an untied tie. Lotty prepares herself hur-
riedly around him.

MELLERSH. (Who believes his image to be of premature wisdom,

a misconception redeemed somewhat by a deeper vein of abject terror.
He speaks to Lotty without looking at her.) Charlotte! It’s unlike you
to be late and make us have to hurry so. A wife’s impunctuality
always reflects poorly on the husband, I believe, if not in one way,
then in another.
LOTTY. I’m sorry, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. At the least it conveys a lack of concern on her part,
and, at the most, a lack of control on his.
LOTTY. Forgive me, Mellersh, but I got into a most interesting
conversation at my ladies’ club.
MELLERSH. That’s all very well, but …
LOTTY. Do you know a gentleman from here in Hampstead, by

10
the name of Arnott?
MELLERSH. Why? What has he done?
LOTTY. Oh, nothing that I’m aware of. I’m sure he’s quite the
usual, in fact. I just thought you might know him through business.
MELLERSH. The name’s not familiar. It will look very bad if we
are late, Charlotte.
LOTTY. I am sorry, Mellersh. I wish that you would just go with-
out me, really. You know I only feel awash with these artistic sorts.
MELLERSH. Yes. But a family solicitor must show his family,
now, mustn’t he? It’s not so important that you enjoy yourself,
Charlotte, but that you simply are there. (He checks his teeth.)
LOTTY. It’s just that I always feel so … negligible. I never know
what to say. And if, by chance, I do have something to say, it only
comes out wrong.
MELLERSH. If you’re asked for your opinion, you need merely
say “marvelous,” or something of that nature, and leave it at that.
That’s all they want to hear anyhow. Try it.
LOTTY. “Marvelous.”
MELLERSH. You’ll be surprised how far it will get you.
LOTTY. It’s Impressionists again, then?
MELLERSH. Why?
LOTTY. It’s all just a bit of a muddle. To my eye.
MELLERSH. Sometimes one has to step back a bit. Have you
tried that?
LOTTY. And then what?
MELLERSH. And then … “Marvelous.” It’s not so much the
artists I’m interested in, anyhow, but their patrons and sponsors,
who might be in need of legal counsel.
LOTTY. I understand. Might we go to dinner afterwards?
MELLERSH. We will eat at home. Where have you put my
Times, Charlotte?
LOTTY. “Times,” Mellersh?
MELLERSH. Yes.
LOTTY. You mean the newspaper?
MELLERSH. Of course the … have you taken leave of your
senses, Charlotte? What else would I mean by “my Times”?
LOTTY. (Busying herself nervously.) Of course that’s what you
meant. (Mellersh waits.)

11
MELLERSH. Well?
LOTTY. Well what, Mellersh?
MELLERSH. (Steadying himself.) Where have you put today’s
Times?
LOTTY. It seems I forgot to pick one up. (Mellersh eyes her, Lotty
moves on.)
MELLERSH. I shall miss it now.
LOTTY. Yes. Perhaps it would be best if, in future, you picked up
your own Times.
MELLERSH. But you pick up my Times, Charlotte. I see no reason
to change procedure now. You need merely be sure to remember.
LOTTY. Yes, but …
MELLERSH. (Raising a hand.) Case closed, my dear. Case closed.
(Lotty burns.)
LOTTY. Mellersh?
MELLERSH. Yes?
LOTTY. Do you know what the weather is like in Italy in April?
MELLERSH. Quite lovely, I imagine. Why do you ask?
LOTTY. Oh, no reason, really. We were just talking about it
today. About holidays.
MELLERSH. And what were you discussing about holidays?
LOTTY. Just that they must be nice, that’s all.
MELLERSH. I’m certain they are. Although I have heard some
shocking stories to the contrary. There is an inherent element of
risk in holidays that tends to color quite nicely the sureties of
home. (Lotty thinks.)
LOTTY. The piano needs tuning.
MELLERSH. What made you think of that?
LOTTY. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Unless, of course, you
think I should tune it myself.
MELLERSH. Charlotte.
LOTTY. I’m ready, Mellersh. (Mellersh looks up. Lotty is glowing
with thrift.)
MELLERSH. Right, then.
LOTTY. Do I look all right, Mellersh?
MELLERSH. Fine, fine. You do manage quite well with your
dress allowance, my dear. Your ability with thrift is highly
admirable.

12
LOTTY. The sureties of home.
MELLERSH. And much appreciated for it. (He kisses his fingers
and touches her nose.)
LOTTY. Off we go, then. (Starts to exit.)
MELLERSH. (Taken aback.) Charlotte?!
LOTTY. Yes, Mellersh? (He stares expectantly. She waits, suddenly
realizes.) How silly of me. (She goes to him, ties his tie. Mellersh
thinks, quite used to being attended to.)
MELLERSH. Do you think this Arnott is someone I should look
up?
LOTTY. Oh, no. I didn’t mean that, Mellersh. I don’t know any-
thing about him, really. I only met his wife, that’s all.
MELLERSH. Well, that’s very clever of you. You can make many
connections for me at your ladies’ club, I imagine, if you steer your
conversation in a useful direction.
LOTTY. Yes, Mellersh, I’m sure. (Mellersh thinks.)
MELLERSH. I will miss my Times, Charlotte.
LOTTY. I am sorry. There shall be another tomorrow. (Mellersh
sighs with great patience. The tie is tied.) There.
MELLERSH. Right, then. Now … (Takes a monocle from his pock-
et, places it, poses.) How do I look? (Lotty looks him over, sighs, shrugs.)
LOTTY. Marvelous. (Thunder. Half-light.)

Scene 3

Rain. Lights up in the Arnott home. A table, two chairs, a

coat rack with coats and umbrellas. Frederick Arnott stands
at his mirror, tying his tie, preparing himself for a social
engagement. He is jovial and in a party mood, singing “Ma,
He’s Making Eyes At Me” to himself between poses. Rose
enters, returning from the club.

ROSE. (Surprised.) Frederick.

FREDERICK. Rose.

13
ROSE. You’re here.
FREDERICK. Here I am.
ROSE. And there you go, it seems. Who is it tonight?
FREDERICK. The Bacon-Cateses. A party for my new book.
ROSE. That should be a posh set.
FREDERICK. Hurry and you can join me.
ROSE. Wouldn’t that be comical. (Frederick picks up a book and pen.)
FREDERICK. Madame DuBarry has all the appearances of being
my most successful book yet, even more so than Pompadour. The
Bacon-Cateses never invited me for Madame Pompadour. (He
opens the book and signs.) Sin must have taken a step up in
respectability if even the Bacon-Cateses have asked for the pleas-
ure of meeting “Mr. Florian Ayers.”
ROSE. Sin cannot take a step up, Frederick. And you know how
I feel about that name.
FREDERICK. (Rolling the name off of his tongue.) “Florian Ayers.”
Even you must admit that as a pen name, it is most imaginative.
ROSE. Your imagination has never been in question, Frederick.
FREDERICK. Yes. Well, don’t dislike that name too much, my dear.
When God comes to browse through my literary oeuvre, he’ll damn
“Florian Ayers” straight to hell, but you and I shall be spared. (He
smiles. Rose does not respond.) There was a time when you laughed at
my humor, Rose. You could light up a room when you laughed.
ROSE. That was before.
FREDERICK. Before my books, you mean? My poetry never
afforded charity. Your church should be thanking Madame
DuBarry. Those boots you bought the schoolchildren this winter?
Stout with sin.
ROSE. I didn’t mean your books. (She thinks.) You were a good
poet, Frederick. And Frederick Arnott is a good name.
FREDERICK. To whom?
ROSE. To me.
FREDERICK. Rose. I am a weak and wicked man. I wish you
could forgive me that.
ROSE. You are not wicked, Frederick.
FREDERICK. You’re right. “Florian Ayers” is wicked. I’m merely
weak.
ROSE. It’s just … one should not write books God would not like

14
to read. (Frederick laughs.)
FREDERICK. Madame DuBarry has nothing over Mary
Magdalene, I assure you.
ROSE. Is everything funny to you, Frederick?
FREDERICK. No darling, it’s not. God knows.
ROSE. Does He? We are judged by our actions, Frederick, not by
our intentions.
FREDERICK. He’s keeping score you say?
ROSE. Something like that.
FREDERICK. And what of those who say we are loved all the
more for our … humanness? (Rose thinks.)
ROSE. I would say that they are mistaken. (Moving toward him.)
Here. You’ve muffed your tie.
FREDERICK. (Pulling away.) I have it.
ROSE. Do you know anyone by the name of Wilton, Frederick?
FREDERICK. Wilton?
ROSE. A solicitor and his wife. (Frederick shudders.)
FREDERICK. I make quite a point of avoiding solicitors.
ROSE. I met the wife today. A most unusual woman.
FREDERICK. (Enthused.) Really?
ROSE. She spoke of heaven and home.
FREDERICK. Oh. (He starts to sing.)
ROSE. And of loss. She told me that I looked to her like a disap-
pointed madonna. What is that exactly?
FREDERICK. What is what?
ROSE. The song you’re singing.
FREDERICK. Just a little jazz number I’ve heard. (Sings to Rose,
dancing.) “Ma, he’s making eyes at me! Ma, he’s awful nice to me!”
ROSE. “Making eyes”?
FREDERICK. Yes. You know … (He gives her a seductive look.)
Valentino. (Rose finds the image a bit more appealing than she’d like.)
ROSE. Chaplin, perhaps. You are an attractive figure, Frederick. I’m
sure it brings you great success at your parties. This Mrs. Wilton. She
wondered why there wasn’t a way to regain what had been lost.
FREDERICK. Exactly what did the two of you discuss?
ROSE. Nothing specific. I’m not at all certain she heard a word I
said, actually.
FREDERICK. Rose. My book tour lasts from the end of March

15
through all of April. Come with me.
ROSE. (Looking at him, moved.) April? With you? (Thinks.) As
what? “Mrs Florian Ayers”? Really, you and Mrs. Wilton are two
of a kind. You don’t want to miss your party.
FREDERICK. No. (He gets his hat, starts to exit.) Rose? Should the
things you have faith in ever include the people who love you …
(He pops his hat on his head.) … be in touch. (Thunder. Half-light.)

Scene 4

Rain. Lights up in a church. Rose is searching for something.

Lotty enters, glancing over her shoulder.

LOTTY. (Whispering loudly.) Mrs. Arnott! Rose!

ROSE. Mrs. Wilton!
LOTTY. I’ve only a moment. I told Mellersh I left my gloves in
our pew.
ROSE. Lying to your husband, Mrs. Wilton, in Our Father’s
house?
LOTTY. Oh, but I didn’t lie. I really left them, so that I wouldn’t
be lying. (She retrieves her gloves. Rose looks heavenward, sighs.) I got
it, Rose! A reply to our inquiry about the castle!
ROSE. Please. We really must talk.
LOTTY. It is most kind, from a Mr. Antony Wilding, of
Knightsbridge. It smells of cinnamon.
ROSE. Cinnamon?
LOTTY. Isn’t that delightful? But, brace yourself, Rose. Sixty
pounds for the month of April.
ROSE. Mrs. Wilton …
LOTTY. I know it would be a stretch for us both.
ROSE. Corresponding with someone we know nothing of. We’ve
gone too far already.
LOTTY. Rose.
ROSE. And all of this talk of money. Please. It has, indeed, been

16
grand dreaming of all this. But no further.
LOTTY. But, Rose.
ROSE. I have made up my mind, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. Lotty. If it’s only the money, then I have an idea.
ROSE. It is not only the money.
LOTTY. I thought perhaps if we advertise for traveling compan-
ions …
ROSE. Companions?
LOTTY. Ladies. There must be dozens of ladies in our situation
who would enjoy sharing such a holiday. Not that we’d want
dozens, of course. But another couple, say, would certainly ease
the burden.
ROSE. Please … we really mustn’t discuss this here. It’s wrong. I
feel as if we’re plotting.
LOTTY. But we are! Plotting our escape! (Pause.) Have you lost
something?
ROSE. One of the schoolchildren somehow misplaced his boots
and stockings during services. (Lotty laughs.)
LOTTY. “Put thy shoes from off thy feet, for this is holy ground.”
ROSE. Angus O’Shea is no Moses. As any number of schoolgirls
will tell you.
LOTTY. Rose …
ROSE. You’ve taken leave of your senses, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. Don’t say that!
ROSE. Start with your nest egg. What if there is an actual need?
LOTTY. This is an actual need.
ROSE. I don’t want to hear any more.
LOTTY. But Rose … If we don’t go forward … well … we will
be depriving two perfectly innocent traveling companions of their
holiday. Two good, unhappy ladies like ourselves. Perhaps in even
greater need than ourselves. (Rose thinks.)
ROSE. (Strongly.) You are a bully, Mrs. Wilton!
LOTTY. Meet me at the club on Wednesday for tea.
ROSE. Yes. No!
LOTTY. We can compose our advert.
ROSE. Mrs. Wilton!
LOTTY. Lotty, Rose. You really must call me Lotty.
ROSE. We are not placing an advertisement, Lotty, because we

17
are not responding to Mr. Wilding.
LOTTY. But I have.
ROSE. What?
LOTTY. I have sent him my nest egg, as a deposit.
ROSE. (Stunned.) Lotty.
LOTTY. It is done, Rose. The castle is ours! (Thunder. They look
heavenward.) Have you told your husband?
ROSE. Of course not.
LOTTY. Mellersh hasn’t a clue. We should tell them. Even Moses
asked permission.
ROSE. (Near tears.) Please stop talking about Moses.
LOTTY. You’re right. It’s more like David and Goliath. Rose. All
I’m asking for is your faith.
MELLERSH. (Offstage.) Charlotte!
LOTTY. Gad! It’s Goliath. Wednesday! (She starts to exit.)
ROSE. (Lost.) Husbands, Lotty! (Lotty stops.)
LOTTY. What?
ROSE. Husbands.
LOTTY. Yes. Isn’t it terrible. But who could resist an invitation
to heaven? (Thinking.) “Two ladies seek other ladies who appre-
ciate … ” (Blend to Scene Five.)

Scene 5

The home of Caroline Bramble. A table, two chairs, a coat

rack with coats and umbrellas. Caroline enters, reading from
the Times.

CAROLINE. “ … seek other ladies who appreciate wisteria and

sunshine.” (Lotty and Rose sit attentively. Caroline wears a loose silk
dressing gown. Her youthfulness shines through a weary air. She pre-
pares a glass of aspirin and lights a cigarette.)
LOTTY. We were so pleased to receive your reply, Lady Bramble.
Although we never expected that our advertisement would attract

18
someone … such as yourself.
CAROLINE. Oh?
ROSE. We’ve read about you often in the newspapers, Lady
Bramble. Your life seems so … full.
CAROLINE. Yes.
ROSE. You do realize that the castle is very quiet and remote.
CAROLINE. I hope so. Is there a telephone?
LOTTY. No.
CAROLINE. Good.
ROSE. Mrs. Wilton was telling me, in fact, Lady Bramble, of
something she read about your dancing on tables.
CAROLINE. In Paris.
ROSE. Really.
LOTTY. You must be very tired. (Explaining herself.) Whenever I
see moderns such as yourself I always see a certain … weariness.
Modernity being such a shifty beast.
CAROLINE. Yes. Have you received many replies to your adver-
tisement?
ROSE. To our surprise, I’m afraid, only two.
LOTTY. The other is from a Mrs. Clayton Graves. Do you know
her, Lady Bramble?
CAROLINE. I don’t believe so.
LOTTY. You know so many people.
CAROLINE. That’s just it, I’m afraid. Mother insists on my
knowing everyone, or at least on everyone she knows knowing me.
She fancies herself a “patroness of the arts,” which for her simply
means the chance to give parties. An opportunistic group, artists.
They never miss a party. Always grabbing and making eyes. Now
she’s collecting writers, the sorriest lot yet. Trying to create what is
lacking in their own lives. Do you know any writers?
LOTTY. No. (They look to Rose, who turns away.)
CAROLINE. I’m in great need of an escape right now. From all
of it.
LOTTY. We are of like minds, then, Lady Bramble. Mrs. Arnott
and myself are escaping too!
ROSE. Lotty.
CAROLINE. Escaping? (Joking.) You aren’t “wanted women,” are
you?

19
LOTTY. (Laughing.) Oh, Lady Bramble. We’re not wanted at all.
We’re just in need of a holiday, that’s all. And I believe the castle
will be the perfect place.
CAROLINE. Yes. It seemed so to me as well. I had replied to the
original advertisement, actually, but was answered that someone
had already placed a deposit.
LOTTY. I do hope we haven’t spoiled your plans, Lady Bramble.
CAROLINE. Oh, I really didn’t care. A month alone had seemed
appealing. But strange surroundings and simple company may
prove most acceptable.
ROSE. (Smoothly.) We may pale in comparison with your usual
acquaintances, Lady Bramble, but I assure you that Mrs. Wilton
and myself are by no means “simple.”
CAROLINE. (Unusually uncertain.) Oh, I never meant that you
were. What I meant was …
LOTTY. No grabbing!
CAROLINE. (Relieved.) Precisely. What I really meant, I suppose,
is that you aren’t … men.
LOTTY. (Smiling.) Yes.
ROSE. (Not smiling.) That is true.
CAROLINE. With men it would be impossible to be as … unre-
stricted as I’d like.
ROSE. Unrestricted?
CAROLINE. Part of what intrigued me about your advertise-
ment is that it would be quite a novelty, really, to be among lady
friends. I haven’t many.
LOTTY. Oh?
ROSE. And why do you think that is, Lady Bramble?
CAROLINE. Perhaps at the end of April you could tell me.
Should I join you. (Thunder.) Isn’t this rain a nuisance?
LOTTY. (Feeling a kinship.) Oh, yes!
CAROLINE. May I offer you a cognac?
ROSE. It is eleven in the morning, Lady Bramble.
CAROLINE. Yes. (With a hint of sadness.) May I ask you some-
thing?
LOTTY. Of course, Lady Bramble.
CAROLINE. Were your husbands lost?
ROSE. Lost?

20
CAROLINE. In the war.
LOTTY. Well, no, Lady Bramble.
ROSE. Our husbands have not been lost at all, Lady Bramble.
CAROLINE. (Genuinely.) Oh. Isn’t that funny? You look like
widows. Had I seen you on a street corner, I would have been
inclined to give you a donation.
ROSE. (Beginning to burn.) Lady Bramble …
CAROLINE. I should like to join you at the castle, then.
LOTTY. Grand! (Rose scowls.)
CAROLINE. (Aware of Rose.) And, should we find that things
don’t work out, I shall simply move on and you may keep my pay-
ment in full.
ROSE. But that would be unfair to you, Lady Bramble.
LOTTY. But things will work out, Lady Bramble. You’ll see. I’m
quite sure we’re all going to be the very best of friends. Better than
friends! Sisters!
CAROLINE. Yes. Well, let’s start then by not calling me Lady
Bramble. Mother is Lady Bramble. Call me Lady Caroline.
LOTTY. (Beaming.) Lady Caroline!
CAROLINE. Well. (She lifts her hand in a graceful salute.)
Al’Italia! (Lotty and Rose stare, perplexed. Caroline explains.) To
Italy. (Lotty smiles and lifts her hand, fumbling enthusiastically.)
LOTTY. Al’Italia! (They look at Rose. She frowns, considers, lifts her
hand with stiff reluctance. Thunder. Half-light.)

Scene 6

Rain. Lights up in the home of Mrs. Graves. A table, two

chairs, a coat rack with coats and umbrellas. Lotty and Rose
are seated, silent. Mrs. Graves paces regally. She is heavily
dressed, highly proper, and walks with the aid of a stick.

MRS. GRAVES. If we are to spend the whole of a month togeth-

er, I consider it preferable that certain ground rules be spelled out

21
sooner rather than later. I do not approve of modern language,
behavior or thinking. I find informal idioms of speech unaccept-
able, and will not tolerate them. I take breakfast promptly at seven
in the morning, luncheon at noon, tea at half past four, and din-
ner at quarter to eight. I like nuts. I am not interested in idle con-
versation. My only desire is to sit quietly and remember.
ROSE. Yes, well …
MRS. GRAVES. (Not listening, sitting down to a bowl of nuts.)
Although I have great fondness for the Italian seaside, I have no
fondness whatsoever for those native customs so many find charm-
ing. I would expect such behavior to remain outside of our retreat.
LOTTY. Yes, I’m sure …
MRS. GRAVES. Now to which of you does the castle belong?
LOTTY. Oh, to none of us, Mrs. Graves. We haven’t even seen it.
It was advertised. Mrs. Arnott and I have rented it.
MRS. GRAVES. Rented?! How do you know it isn’t a dilapidation?
ROSE. We’ve corresponded with the owner, a Mr. Antony
Wilding. It appears to be most agreeable.
LOTTY. There’s a private beach, and olive groves, and bushels
and bushels of wisteria. (Mrs. Graves thinks, softens.)
MRS. GRAVES. I am very fond of wisteria. The house at Box
Hill was covered with it. I remember once my father and I …
LOTTY. Your father lived at Box Hill, Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Of course not. George Meredith lived at Box
Hill. The writer. My father often took me there on invitation.
ROSE. You knew George Meredith, Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. My father traveled among all the great men. (She
waves her stick, pointing at photographs.) Carlyle. Arnold. Tennyson.
LOTTY. Tennyson, Rose. Imagine!
MRS. GRAVES. As I was saying …
LOTTY. Is that a photograph of Tennyson, Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. No. That is a photograph of Mr. Clayton
Graves, my late husband. A sizable difference, I assure you. (She
points her stick, barely missing Lotty and Rose.) That is Tennyson.
And I am the young girl with the pigtail. Which, I might add, gave
the great one no small amount of delight. He would often tell my
father …
LOTTY. (Excitedly.) Did you know Keats, Mrs. Graves?

22
ROSE. Lotty! (Mrs. Graves freezes.)
MRS. GRAVES. Keats?!
LOTTY. Yes. John Keats. The poet.
MRS. GRAVES. I am well aware … (Frigidly.) I did not know
Keats, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. Oh.
MRS. GRAVES. And if that is the direction in which you are
heading, I regret to inform you that I was also unacquainted with
Shakespeare.
LOTTY. Of course. The immortals seem so alive, don’t they? One
forgets sometimes that they are dead.
MRS. GRAVES. Many for quite some time.
LOTTY. It was just that I thought I saw Keats the other day.
ROSE. Lotty!
MRS. GRAVES. Saw Keats?!
LOTTY. Yes. Crossing the street in Hampstead, in front of his
house.
ROSE. Mrs. Graves …
LOTTY. But then I suppose it was his ghost, naturally. (Mrs.
Graves eyes Lotty, who looks at Rose, who looks away, pained.)
MRS. GRAVES. Do you have references?
ROSE. Shouldn’t we be the ones asking for references from you,
Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. (Surprised that this came from Rose. Gathering all
of her dignity.) If you must, you may communicate with the
President of the Royal Academy, the Archbishop of Canterbury,
and the Governor of the Bank of England.
ROSE. I see.
LOTTY. (Suddenly standing.) Is the large portrait of your father,
Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Yes. That is himself. But we were speaking of ref-
erences, Mrs.Wilton.
LOTTY. And the other portrait is your mother?
MRS. GRAVES. My mother?! That, Mrs. Wilton, is the good
Queen Victoria.
LOTTY. I don’t think references are nice things between decent
English women. We needn’t distrust each other. We’re not Americans.
ROSE. References bring an atmosphere into our holiday plan that

23
isn’t quite what we want, Mrs. Graves. Good day. (She pushes Lotty
toward the exit.)
MRS. GRAVES. How are the expenses to be divided?
LOTTY. (Excitedly.) Fifteen pounds each for rent, plus food. A
real bargain!
MRS. GRAVES. I’m an old woman. I don’t eat much.
ROSE. That would certainly be your choice to make, Mrs.
Graves.
LOTTY. Perhaps we can catch our own, Mrs. Graves. How are
you with a bow? (Mrs. Graves is stricken again.)
MRS. GRAVES. Your advertisement clearly stated that there
would be a cook. My stick prohibits me from entering kitchens.
ROSE. There is a woman by the name of Costanza.
MRS. GRAVES. Costan…? Fifteen pounds. Really, ten seems
most reasonable, considering the circumstances.
ROSE. Fifteen, Mrs. Graves.
LOTTY. Fifteen is fair, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. The wisteria is guaranteed?
ROSE. Look …
LOTTY. Mrs. Graves, Mr. Wilding has assured us we shall have
wisteria.
MRS. GRAVES. (With great reluctance.) I shall waive references.
But no wisteria and I’ll expect a deduction.
ROSE. Thank you, Mrs. Graves. You’ve been most … (Mrs.
Graves gestures for them to sit. They do.) I can’t seem to find the
word I’m looking for.
MRS. GRAVES. Is the fourth of our party a widow as well? (Lotty
and Rose look at each other, perplexed.)
LOTTY. A widow, Mrs. Graves? Well, no. Actually … (Mrs.
Graves raises her hand for silence.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Gravely.) All in good time. All in good time.
(Reciting, frighteningly.) “Old sisters of a day gone by / Gray nurs-
es, loving nothing new / Why should they miss their yearly due /
Before their time? They too will die.” (Lotty and Rose sit, frozen.
Mrs. Graves cracks a nut, smiles.) May I offer you a nut? (Thunder.
Half-light.)

24
 Scene 7

Rain. Lights up in the flat of Antony Wilding. A table, two

chairs, a coat rack with coats and umbrellas. Lotty and Rose
at attention.

WILDING. Oh yes, the wisteria is everywhere, as advertised. You

can see some of the view in these photographs here. (The ladies
turn their eyes away from Wilding himself, who wears a loose, open
shirt and an even more open smile.) I took these myself, I’m afraid.
You’d hardly mistake them for professionals. (He turns the photo.
They huddle together, turning their heads, squinting.) It’s a small cas-
tle, but of course it has most of the “modern improvements,” as an
estate agent would say. Its name is San Salvatore. [San Salvato-ray.]
LOTTY and ROSE. (Trying it out.) San Salvatore.
LOTTY. It sounds sacred, Rose.
ROSE. What is that there, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. (Looking at Rose, distracted by something in her face.)
What, Mrs. Arnott?
ROSE. (Pointing.) That. (He continues to stare, pulls himself away
to look at the photo.)
WILDING. (Squinting.) That, I’m afraid, appears to have been my
left thumb. (The ladies smile discreetly.) But had it not been there, it
would be a view of the sea and of the lower garden. The castle has
both upper and lower gardens, with a lovely terrace between. (He
hands them a card.) For you. A postcard of the village below.
LOTTY AND ROSE. (Reading.) Mez-zago.
WILDING. (To Rose, enunciating.) Met-zago.
ROSE. (Self-consciously.) Met-zago. (Wilding smiles.)
WILDING. I like your face, Mrs. Arnott. (Rose freezes.) But here,
let’s make you comfortable. (He removes their coats.) In April, you
know, the area is simply a mass of flowers. (Admiring Rose’s figure.)
You must wear white.
ROSE. (Embarrassed.) White?

25
WILDING. Yes. There’s a dock and small boat, if … well, if your
husbands are so inclined.
LOTTY. Our husbands, Mr. Wilding? (In mock mourning.) They
will not be with us, I’m afraid.
WILDING. (Respectfully.) Oh. Forgive me. So many widows
these days.
ROSE. No …
LOTTY. There will be four of us, however. Lady friends.
WILDING. Really? San Salvatore should be filled with friends. It
can be a bit lonely.
ROSE. Is San Salvatore a family home?
WILDING. Yes. Or it was. I’ve no longer any family, so it’s no
longer a home, I suppose.
LOTTY. Oh.
WILDING. Father’s parents had the place built. A love nest of
sorts, from the way he told it. I never knew them, unfortunately,
but some of the stories are delightful.
LOTTY. It sounds wonderful.
WILDING. (At Rose.) Yes. It’s beautiful. (Pulling away.) Father
loved the place. Mother never cared for it much, really, until her
later years alone. And then, while I was away in the Army, she and
San Salvatore seemed to become one.
LOTTY. Where did you serve, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. Flanders, mostly.
LOTTY. Brave battles.
ROSE. We are indebted to you, Mr. Wilding. (Wilding nods.)
WILDING. I lost Mother last year, sad to say. She always said
that there was something enchanted about the castle in April. I
hate to miss it this year, but I’ve work in Rome.
ROSE. What is your work, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. I paint. Portraits. Classical, of course. Two eyes, one
mouth, and so on. (Lotty thinks.)
LOTTY. Marvelous!
WILDING. I’ve a studio in Bloomsbury. Perhaps you both could
visit sometime and be studied. I’m said to have a particular talent
with the female form. (The ladies blush. Lotty hands an envelope to
Wilding.)
LOTTY. Mr. Wilding. Our final payment.

26
WILDING. Well. (Takes the package.) Now I’m richer … (He hugs
Lotty.) … and you’re happier. (He starts toward Rose, but she turns
away.) What would you say to celebrating our union, as it were,
over a cup of hot tea?
LOTTY. Oh, that would be lovely.
ROSE. That’s very kind, Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. Good. Now, I have plain English black, or, for the
more daring, a Moroccan blend I’m rather fond of with just a dash
of cinnamon that goes by the rather audacious name of
“Indiscreet.”
LOTTY. Oh, my. (Bursting out in giggles.) The “Indiscreet”
sounds most intriguing.
WILDING. Wonderful! And for you, Mrs. Arnott? (Rose thinks.)
ROSE. I shall have the black.
WILDING. Right. (Serving.) Now you must tell me all about the
friends you are taking.
ROSE. We hardly know anything about them, really.
LOTTY. We took your lead, Mr. Wilding, and placed an adver-
tisement.
WILDING. Oh?
LOTTY. There’s Lady Caroline Bramble, who likes cognac and
dancing. And Mrs. Clayton Graves, who knew Tennyson and likes
… (Thinks.)
ROSE. Nuts.
WILDING. How interesting. Well, I’m certain that you will all
find San Salvatore to your liking. Mrs. Arnott, this will sound a bit
extraordinary, but there is a portrait of you there.
ROSE. A portrait of me?
WILDING. Yes. A Madonna. There is one on the stairs really
exactly like you.
ROSE. Well … (Thunder.)
WILDING. San Salvatore will certainly be a nice change from
this weather.
LOTTY. Yes.
WILDING. You’ll find the place has lots of sunshine, whatever
else it hasn’t got.
ROSE. What else hasn’t it got, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. Troubles. Worries. The plumbing is a bit antique,

27
but Costanza can help you with that. And to think you’ll be
among it all in only two days.
LOTTY. We leave tomorrow.
WILDING. You’ve squared away all of your affairs? (Lotty and
Rose share a guilty glance.)
ROSE. A couple of things remain. (Thunder. Half-light.)

Scene 8

Rain. Lights up in both the Arnott and Wilton homes. Two

tables, four chairs. Rose sits alone. Mellersh sits, finishing a
dessert, a napkin hanging from his collar. Lotty tends to him.

MELLERSH. Well, now. I am the fat cat tonight, aren’t I? All my

favorites for dinner.
LOTTY. Was everything to your liking, Mellersh?
MELLERSH. All quite delicious, my dear. One would think this
was a special evening of some sort. And perhaps it is! (Frederick
enters, foggy from an evening party.)
FREDERICK. Well, now. You’re up late!
ROSE. Yes, Frederick. There’s something I need to speak to you about.
LOTTY. May I speak to you about something, Mellersh?
MELLERSH. It so happens I have something to speak to you
about as well. You tell me yours, and then I’ll tell you mine.
FREDERICK. Could it wait until morning? Once again Mr.
Ayers was a success, and once again Mr. Arnott is exhausted.
LOTTY. No. You first, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. Very well.
FREDERICK. Sometimes I think a little less attention would still
do the trick, really.
ROSE. And perhaps a little less champagne.
FREDERICK. No. That helps.
MELLERSH. Do you remember last month your asking me
about holidays?

28
LOTTY. Well, yes, Mellersh. It’s funny you should mention that.
ROSE. I wonder if I might have some money.
MELLERSH. I believe it will please you to know … that I am
taking you!
FREDERICK. So that’s it.
ROSE. Extra money, I mean.
LOTTY. “Taking me,” Mellersh?
MELLERSH. To Italy!
FREDERICK. (Taking out his billfold.) What is it this time? Boots
or Bibles?
ROSE. I’m going away, Frederick.
MELLERSH. Did you hear me? I said that I am taking you on
holiday!
LOTTY. That is really the most extraordinary coincidence.
FREDERICK. Going away?
MELLERSH. Coincidence?
ROSE. For a rest.
LOTTY. Yes, really most extraordinary. Because I was just about
to tell you that I am … going.
ROSE. Someplace by the sea. (Lotty and Rose look at each other.)
MELLERSH. Going? Going where?
LOTTY. To Italy.
FREDERICK. Come with me on my book tour.
MELLERSH. Have you taken leave of your senses, Charlotte?
ROSE. That is impossible, Frederick.
MELLERSH. How could you be going to Italy? Ridiculous!
FREDERICK. It is not impossible!
LOTTY. It is not ridiculous!
FREDERICK. Listen to me, Rose.
LOTTY. Listen to me, Mellersh. I have been invited.
ROSE. No, Frederick. I’ve listened enough.
LOTTY. A friend has invited me. With a home there.
ROSE. I’ve waited enough.
LOTTY. And I am going.
FREDERICK. So have I.
MELLERSH. You have no friends … with homes in Italy!
ROSE. So we agree then.
LOTTY. I have, Mellersh. I’ve mentioned her to you.

29
MELLERSH. Who?
FREDERICK. Rose?
LOTTY. Rose.
MELLERSH. Rose?
ROSE. We can’t go back, Frederick.
MELLERSH. Rose who?
ROSE. We can only go forward.
MELLERSH. You’ve kept secrets, Charlotte!
FREDERICK. But not alone!
MELLERSH. Secrets are like rust!
FREDERICK. It’s been two years, Rose!
MELLERSH. And now I am to believe that you are actually asking
me …
LOTTY. I am not asking you anything, Mellersh. I’m telling you!
ROSE. I am alone, Frederick.
FREDERICK. As am I.
MELLERSH. This is ridiculous!
FREDERICK. (Holding out cash.) Take your money then, Mrs.
Arnott.
LOTTY. This time tomorrow I shall be on a train.
FREDERICK. I shall write up my itinerary …
MELLERSH. Tomorrow?
LOTTY. To Italy.
FREDERICK. … should you wish to be in contact. (Thunder.)
LOTTY. Damn this rain!
MELLERSH. Rain?!
FREDERICK. Just know that you were the one who closed the
door, Rose.
MELLERSH. If you think you are taking one step out of that
door, Mrs. Wilton.
ROSE. (Hopelessly.) I’m sorry, Frederick. (She takes the money.)
LOTTY. (Sharply.) I’m sorry, Mellersh. (She snatches the napkin
from Mellersh’s collar. A train whistles loud and long. Mellersh and
Frederick look at each other, stunned. Half-light.)
ANNOUNCEMENT. “Signore e signori, avere prego tutti i doc-
umenti pronti per controllo. Grazie, e dare il benvenuto a in Italia!”
[Ladies and gentlemen, please have your papers ready for inspection.
Thank you, and welcome to Italy!]

30
 Scene 9

The sound of a train in motion. Lights up on a train compart-

ment. Rose reads from an Italian phrase book. Lotty sleeps.
Travel bags are at their feet, coats and hats at their sides.

ROSE. (Trying out words from the book.) Smaritto. Mi scusi, mi

sono smaritto. No. Mi sono smarit-ta. I am lost, feminine. Mi
scusi, mi sono smaritta. [Excuse me, I am lost.] (Lights flash and the
train whistles loudly as it passes through a tunnel. Lotty awakens,
frightened.)
LOTTY. Mellersh!
ROSE. (Nervously.) It was only a tunnel, Lotty. Tunnel. (She
thumbs through the book.) Tunnel.
LOTTY. (Looking out the compartment window.) Have we crossed
the Italian border?
ROSE. I can’t tell. It’s so dark out. We’re running so late.
LOTTY. I wish we were there.
ROSE. We are in God’s hands now, Lotty.
LOTTY. I can’t see a thing. Why is the window damp?
ROSE. It’s raining. (Lotty nearly loses all hope.)
LOTTY. I’m sure Italian rain is better than English rain.
ROSE. We were expected hours ago. We’ll never find our way alone.
LOTTY. When we get to Genoa, Mr. Wilding said we need mere-
ly ask for Mez-zago.
ROSE. Met-zago.
LOTTY. I wonder why they pronounce it “Met-zago”? It doesn’t
have a “t.” (She takes the book from Rose, looks through it.)
ROSE. (Adrift.) You’re certain you saw us at San Salvatore, Lotty?
LOTTY. Yes, Rose.
ROSE. And Lady Caroline and Mrs. Graves? Did you also see
them?
LOTTY. No. I didn’t.
ROSE. They aren’t the ladies I would have chosen.

31
LOTTY. Perhaps they’ve been chosen for us. When we get to San
Salvatore, let’s prepare everything for them, shall we? Make things
perfect for their arrival.
ROSE. That would be proper.
LOTTY. We can choose the rooms that would please them, and
fill them with flowers.
ROSE. If there are flowers.
LOTTY. There will be. There must be. (They look out, lost. Train
sounds.)
ROSE. What is the Italian for “help”?
LOTTY. Oh, Rose.
ROSE. Please, Lotty. Look it up. (Lotty does so. Rose stands.) How
do we stop the train?
LOTTY. We can’t stop the train, Rose.
ROSE. (Dressing.) I’m sure if we simply explain that there has
been a dreadful mistake.
LOTTY. This is not a mistake.
ROSE. (Strongly.) I told you that I was a happy individual. And I
was. I am. Happy! But you spoke of peace. And … and of sisters.
And … and cinnamon! And you got my head quite turned
around. You’re not a hummingbird at all, Lotty Wilton. You’re a
hawk! Clear-eyed and … and … Why aren’t you dressing?! (Lotty
holds up the book.)
LOTTY. “Aiuto.”
ROSE. What?
LOTTY. The Italian for “help.” “Aiuto.” (Rose crumbles, sitting.)
ROSE. (Adrift.) Aiuto. (Pause. The ladies fall silent, lost in thought.)
LOTTY. It isn’t fair, Rose. To think that we ought to be so happy
now, and we’re not. (Sighs.) Husbands.
ROSE. (Sighs.) Husbands. (Train sounds rise. Rose begins to pray.)
Aiuto. Mi sono smaritta.
LOTTY. It’s going to be lovely, Rose.
ROSE. Mi scusi smaritta.
LOTTY. It’s going to be heaven.
ROSE. (Dropping to her knees.) Perdonna me!
LOTTY. Sunshine!
ROSE. Aiuto!
LOTTY. Wisteria!

32
ROSE. Aiuto! (Another tunnel. Lotty drops to her knees in fright,
begins praying.)
LOTTY. Aiuto!
ROSE. What have we done, Lotty? What have we done?!
LOTTY. I don’t know, Rose. But whatever it is … (She looks at
Rose, then heavenward.) … we’ve done it! (The train whistles loud
and long as darkness envelops them.)

End of Act One

33
 ACT TWO

Scene 1

Lights up on the terrace at San Salvatore, the following morn-

ing. A table and chairs, a chaise. Exits from the terrace into
the villa and into the garden. The impression of beautiful gar-
den surroundings, sunshine. Costanza sits at the table, singing
to herself, snapping beans and placing them in a large bowl.
She is dressed in simple, comfortable clothing and sandals.
Caroline reclines on the chaise in a thin summer ensemble,
reading a book. Mrs. Graves enters from the villa, carrying a
small pitcher. She walks with her stick and is dressed much too
warmly for the weather, from high-buttoned shoes to a rather
imposing hat. She awaits acknowledgement from the others,
but they do not respond. She holds out the pitcher.

MRS. GRAVES. What is this?! (Caroline and Costanza shiver,

their patience already waning.)
COSTANZA. (Looking heavenward.) Santa Maria! (Sighs, resigned.)
Cosa ho fatto adesso, Signora? Quale il problema adesso? [What
have I done now, Madame? What problem have you found now?]
MRS. GRAVES. You may rattle on and on all you wish, my
friend, and I still will not understand you. I speak only the Italian
of Dante.
COSTANZA. Cosa ce? Quale e argomento? [What is it? What is
the matter?]
MRS. GRAVES. Lady Caroline, would you please determine
from Costanza the origin of this milk. (Costanza gets up to look at
the contents of the pitcher.)
CAROLINE. The “origin,” Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Yes.

34
CAROLINE. You mean the vendor?
MRS. GRAVES. I mean the animal. (Mrs. Graves goes to the table,
pulls a large bell and playing cards from her pockets, staking her claim.)
COSTANZA. (To Caroline.) Il latte e buono, Donna Carolina.
[The milk is good.]
CAROLINE. Si, si. La Signora vorrebbe sapere che tipo di latte e
questo, Costanza. [The lady would like to know what kind of milk
this is, Costanza.]
COSTANZA. Che tipo di latte, Signorina? Non capisco. E latte!
[What kind of milk, Miss? I don’t understand. It’s milk!]
CAROLINE. La signora vorrebbe sapere l’animale. [The lady
would like to know the animal.]
COSTANZA. L’animale? [The animal?] (She eyes Mrs. Graves.)
Eh! Una mucca, naturalmente, Donna Carolina. [A cow, of course.]
CAROLINE. Si, grazie, Costanza. Sono spiacente per il proble-
ma. [I’m sorry for the problem.]
COSTANZA. (Already charmed by Caroline.) Il problema non e
con voi, Signorina. [The problem is not with you, Miss.] (She eyes
Mrs. Graves. Under her breath.) Animale! (She retrieves the bowl and
pitcher and exits into the villa.)
MRS. GRAVES. What was she saying?
CAROLINE. Nothing of concern. Cow.
MRS. GRAVES. What?!
CAROLINE. It is cow’s milk. It seems Italian milk also comes
from cows. (She rises to retrieve another pillow, returns to the chaise.)
MRS. GRAVES. You look as if you had nothing on underneath.
CAROLINE. I haven’t.
MRS. GRAVES. How very imprudent. And how highly improper.
CAROLINE. But there are no men here, so how can it be
improper? Have you noticed how difficult it is to be improper
without men?
MRS. GRAVES. God is a man, and God is always present. (Lotty
rushes from the villa. She is wide-eyed, barefooted and in her night-
gown, looking out at the gardens and sea. Then she sees Caroline and
Mrs. Graves.)
LOTTY. Oh!
CAROLINE. Good morning.
LOTTY. Lady Caroline!

35
MRS. GRAVES. (Disapprovingly.) You’ve arrived.
LOTTY. Mrs. Graves. Yes, late last night. But …
MRS. GRAVES. Without clothing, apparently. (Rose rushes in, also
wide-eyed, also barefooted, also in her nightgown, clutching her Italian
phrase book. She sees Caroline and Mrs. Graves and is embarrassed.)
ROSE. Oh! Ladies! Excuse me!
LOTTY. Yes, excuse us, Mrs. Graves, Lady Caroline. We hadn’t
thought you’d arrived.
CAROLINE. Here we are!
LOTTY. Yes. Not that we’re not happy to see you. It’s just a great
disappointment. (Caroline and Mrs. Graves glance at each other,
questioning.)
ROSE. What Lotty means is that we’d planned to give you such
a welcome. We were going to choose the nicest rooms for you.
CAROLINE. We’ve done that.
ROSE. And we meant to make it pretty for you with flowers.
MRS. GRAVES. Costanza has seen to everything. In her way.
CAROLINE. Mrs. Graves and I arrived yesterday morning.
(Wincing.) Together.
LOTTY. (Looking out, entranced.) Look at this place, Rose. When
I woke this morning, I prepared myself to accept whatever I found.
But I couldn’t have imagined. The flowers! Snapdragons and peri-
winkles! Daphnes and iris! And lavender! And cherry trees! And
wisteria, Mrs. Graves, simply tumbling over itself! (Looking out.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Disappointedly.) Yes.
LOTTY. And sunshine! (She raises her face to the sun.) Heaven!
Look up “heaven,” Rose. (Rose opens the phrase book, does so. A dis-
tant church bell rings. Lotty drinks it in.) Listen! Their church bell
sounds so light and inviting! Our church bell never sounded like
that. (Mrs. Graves rings her bell furiously. The ladies jump.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Bellowing.) Costanza!
ROSE. It appears you two have everything under control.
MRS. GRAVES. It does save time.
LOTTY. Rose! Remember Mr. Wilding said that there was an
upstairs sitting room with a view. Let’s go first thing after break-
fast. I suddenly want to write to everyone I know!
MRS. GRAVES. That is my sitting room, Mrs. Wilton.
LOTTY. Your sitting room?

36
MRS. GRAVES. I am an old woman. I need a place to myself.
ROSE. But it is a sitting room, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. There is another room you and Mrs. Wilton
may use downstairs at the back next to Costanza’s room. I must
have quiet. (She rings the bell.) Your bedrooms were acceptable?
LOTTY. Oh …
ROSE. Cozy.
MRS. GRAVES. There were two beds in my room, filling it up
unnecessarily, so I had one taken out. It has made it much more
agreeable.
LOTTY. That’s why I have two beds in my room.
ROSE. I have two in mine as well.
MRS. GRAVES. Yours must be Lady Caroline’s second bed. She
also had hers removed.
LOTTY. I see. What was it, Rose?
ROSE. What?
LOTTY. “Heaven.” (Rose returns to the book. To Caroline.) You are
chic, Lady Caroline.
MRS. GRAVES. She needs a hat. One mustn’t get too much sun
too soon, Mrs. Wilton.
ROSE. (Finding the word.) “Paradiso.” Heaven. (Costanza enters
from the villa.)
COSTANZA. (Seeing Lotty and Rose, pleased.) Ah, buona matti-
na, Signore! Scusatemi. [Good morning, ladies! Excuse me.] (Stone-
faced to Mrs. Graves.) Si, Signora? [Yes, Madame?]
MRS. GRAVES. It is time for breakfast.
COSTANZA. Adesso? [Now?]
MRS. GRAVES. Breakfast!
COSTANZA. Si, si, Signora. “Calazione.” “Breakfast.” (To Mrs.
Graves back.) Capitalista! (She exits.)
MRS. GRAVES. I saw to it breakfast was delayed one hour for
your first day. It will not be done again. Come, ladies. We must be
punctual or Costanza will take it as a sign that she too may be lax.
ROSE. (Taking a stand.) Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. Yes?
ROSE. About the sitting room.
MRS. GRAVES. What?
LOTTY. (Smoothly.) We are only too glad for you to have it, if it

37
makes you happy, Mrs. Graves. We wouldn’t have suggested using
it had we known. (Mrs. Graves tries to understand Lotty’s intentions,
decides not to bother, begins to exit into the villa.) Not until you had
invited us, anyhow. As I’m sure you soon shall. (Mrs. Graves stops
again, unbelieving.)
MRS. GRAVES. Do pull yourself together! (She exits. Lotty sighs
happily, looks out.)
LOTTY. We had so hoped to prepare things before your arrival,
Lady Caroline.
CAROLINE. Everything has been seen to.
LOTTY. It must be very assuring to be independent, and to know
exactly what one wants.
CAROLINE. Quite.
ROSE. (Flatly.) But independence, Lady Caroline, does snub the
benevolences of others.
CAROLINE. I’m sorry about the beds. I gave no directions. I
merely asked Costanza to remove them.
LOTTY. (Looking out.) It seems silly to be talking about beds in
heaven.
CAROLINE. It is lovely, isn’t it?
LOTTY. It’s as if you belonged here all along.
CAROLINE. What do you mean?
LOTTY. In a setting as beautiful as yourself. (Caroline smiles. Rose
frowns.)
ROSE. Beauty is a gift.
CAROLINE. Yes.
ROSE. I hope you make the most of it, Lady Caroline.
CAROLINE. I’ve been making the most of it ever since I can
remember.
ROSE. Good. Because it won’t last. (Caroline quiets, looks down, rises.)
CAROLINE. Please tell Mrs. Graves that I don’t care to take
breakfast now. I’d like to go into the village. (She starts to exit into
the garden.)
LOTTY. (A little hurt.) Oh. Hurry back, then.
CAROLINE. (Stopping.) I am glad you’ve arrived safely. (She exits.
Rose watches after her. Lotty looks around.)
LOTTY. Oh, Rose. We haven’t been punished. We’ve been
blessed!

38
ROSE. She’s treading on the periwinkles.
LOTTY. They’re hers as much as ours.
ROSE. It doesn’t seem right.
LOTTY. One mustn’t question in heaven. It isn’t done.
ROSE. We’ve been displaced as hostesses.
LOTTY. None of us is the hostess. Here we are equal. (She closes her
eyes and takes a deep breath.) Smell the fragrance, Rose. It’s positively
… sensual!
ROSE. Lotty!
LOTTY. It makes me want to kiss someone! (Lotty takes Rose’s
hand and kisses it.) You know who would love all of this?
ROSE. Who? (Lotty thinks, frowns.)
LOTTY. Never mind. (From within the house, the sound of Mrs.
Graves furiously ringing her bell. The ladies shudder.)
ROSE. That woman!
LOTTY. Mrs. Graves doesn’t know yet that she’s in heaven. Oh,
take it in, Rose! (Shouting to the skies.) Paradiso! (To Rose, beaming.)
Our first day in heaven! (Mrs. Graves’ bell rings.) And Gabriel here
to greet us. (She runs into the villa.) Paradiso! (Rose looks out, uncer-
tain. She says a tiny prayer, closes her eyes and takes a deep, sensual
breath. Something within her stirs. She smiles. The church bell rings.
Lights down.)

Scene 2

Lights up on the terrace at San Salvatore, nine days later.

Towels thrown about. Mrs. Graves sits at the table, eyes
closed, face to the sun. Costanza enters from the villa with a
tray of tea and unshelled nuts, humming a tune gaily.

COSTANZA. Buon giorno, Signora Graves. [Good day.] (Mrs.

Graves doesn’t hear. Loudly.) Te?! [Tea?!]
MRS. GRAVES. (Jumping.) Yes! Yes. (Opens her parasol and com-
poses herself.) Have you found the cracker yet?

39
COSTANZA. (Serving tea.) “Cracker,” Signora?
MRS. GRAVES. The nutcracker. For the nuts.
COSTANZA. Ah, si, si, “thee cracker.” No. (Offering cream.
Teasingly.) Latte?
MRS. GRAVES. (With great patience.) Thank you. (Costanza pours.)
COSTANZA. (Like a goat.) Ba-a-a-a-a. (She exits. Mrs. Graves
looks at the tea. Caroline enters, sees Mrs. Graves, tries to exit again,
but is caught.)
MRS. GRAVES. Ah! Lady Caroline. There is tea if you like. More
than a week now and it’s still the only thing Costanza appears
capable of preparing. There hasn’t been a meal served yet that did
not present some sort of primitive challenge. Although I am not at
all certain why I bother. I am the only one in this party who arrives
promptly for meals. Or arrives at all, for that matter. I spent break-
fast quite alone.
CAROLINE. (Taking tea.) That must have given you plenty of
time to sit and remember.
MRS. GRAVES. Remembrance and digestion should never be
performed simultaneously. (Rose enters. Her appearance has changed
considerably. She is dressed in a white summer dress, with her hair
down, tied in the back. But she has been crying.)
ROSE. Ladies.
CAROLINE. Hello.
MRS. GRAVES. Ah, Mrs. Arnott. You neglected breakfast.
ROSE. Have you seen Lotty, Lady Caroline?
CAROLINE. Yes. She took the boat out.
MRS. GRAVES. Took the boat?
CAROLINE. The small rowing boat. She has quite a strong arm,
our Mrs. Wilton.
MRS. GRAVES. Of that I have no doubt.
CAROLINE. Are you all right?
ROSE. All these flowers make my eyes water a little.
MRS. GRAVES. (To Rose.) That is a lovely frock you’re wearing.
ROSE. (Sighing cynically.) Except for what, Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Sorry?
ROSE. You’ve nothing more to add?
MRS. GRAVES. No. Why?
CAROLINE. You’ve just complimented someone, Mrs. Graves.

40
MRS. GRAVES. (Dumbfounded.) Oh. (Lotty enters from the gar-
den in a swimming outfit, barefooted, breathless, beaming. She has
gone wild from head to toe, flowers in hand and in her flowing hair.)
LOTTY. Good day, everyone!
ROSE. Hello, Lotty.
MRS. GRAVES. Good Lord.
CAROLINE. Mrs. Wilton! You look brilliant!
LOTTY. I feel brilliant, Lady Caroline! This has been the most
glorious morning! Mrs. Graves, doesn’t it all just make you want
to burst?
MRS. GRAVES. I have never had a desire to burst.
LOTTY. (Drying herself with a towel.) Oh, I’m famished! Is lunch-
eon nearly ready?
ROSE. I believe so.
MRS. GRAVES. Not macaroni again?
ROSE. Yes.
MRS. GRAVES. From the land of Donatello.
LOTTY. Will you be joining us for luncheon today, Lady Caroline?
CAROLINE. (Visibly annoyed that she is now surrounded.) No,
thank you. (She begins to exit into the villa.) I … I have a headache.
Please excuse me. (She exits.)
ROSE. What is the Italian for aspirin? (She gets her phrase book.)
MRS. GRAVES. The remedy for headache is castor oil.
LOTTY. She doesn’t have a headache.
MRS. GRAVES. Carlyle suffered at one point terribly from
headache …
LOTTY. She doesn’t have a headache. She only wants to be left
alone.
MRS. GRAVES. Something else you’ve “seen,” Mrs. Wilton?
LOTTY. Yes. When I looked at her just now, I saw inside her.
MRS. GRAVES. I think I may burst after all.
LOTTY. San Salvatore is working its charms on Lady Caroline.
(Sneaking up behind Mrs. Graves and placing a flower in her hair,
which Mrs. Graves doesn’t notice.) It’s working its charms on all of us.
Just at different rates, that’s all. You really must take the boat out.
Both of you. I’ve never felt so calm, or been able to think so clearly.
MRS. GRAVES. I think quite clearly enough, thank you.
LOTTY. And I’ve never wept so. A boat is a lovely place for weeping.

41
ROSE. (Finding the word.) “Aspirina.” (Mrs. Graves has had enough.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Rising.) I’ve castor oil in my room. (She starts to
exit.) Mrs. Wilton, if you were a woman of greater age, your
behavior could be understood as dotage.
LOTTY. Well, if I did have a choice, Mrs. Graves, I suppose I
would prefer dotage to condescension. (Mrs. Graves stops, glares.)
MRS. GRAVES. Cover your legs! (She exits.)
LOTTY. (Inhales, looks about.) Isn’t it gorgeous to be part of this
all, Rose? The dandelions and the lilies, me and Mrs. Graves … all
let in, all welcome.
ROSE. Honestly, Lotty. You’d make Pollyanna ill.
LOTTY. I can’t help it. For the first time I feel such a part of
everything!
ROSE. And what about me?
LOTTY. You must open yourself to it, Rose. You’re angry.
ROSE. Yes. I am.
LOTTY. That’s good!
ROSE. You’re all so independent.
LOTTY. Perhaps you don’t want to be independent.
ROSE. I do!
LOTTY. Nine days without husbands, Rose. Perhaps that doesn’t
suit you. I have a confession myself. Since we arrived here there
hasn’t been one moment when I wasn’t thinking of Mellersh.
ROSE. I dreamed of him last night.
LOTTY. Mellersh?
ROSE. Frederick.
LOTTY. “Frederick.” So that’s his name!
ROSE. And I forgot to say my prayers.
LOTTY. Your dream was your prayer.
ROSE. That … is not what one prays for.
LOTTY. Physical love, you mean?
ROSE. Lotty! Mrs. Graves is right. Sometimes you are too much.
LOTTY. I can’t help it. I don’t know how else to be, Rose.
ROSE. It’s selfish.
LOTTY. I am a particular challenge. As much as Mrs. Graves.
And as much as poor Mellersh.
ROSE. Poor Mellersh? Are you hearing yourself?
LOTTY. Yes, I hear myself. Waking every morning to that second

42
bed staring at me. I’ve been a miser, Rose. Rationing my love.
ROSE. What are you saying?
LOTTY. We must forgive our husbands, Rose, and ourselves, and
get on with things.
ROSE. Lotty …
LOTTY. I’ve written to Mellersh and told him everything.
ROSE. What?!
LOTTY. Well, except about my nest egg. I wish he were here so
I could tell him that as well.
ROSE. You don’t mean that.
LOTTY. I do, Rose. I’ve invited him.
ROSE. (Aghast.) You can’t be serious.
LOTTY. We said in London that there’d be room for guests.
ROSE. We said in London that there would be an extra room.
LOTTY. And there is. There’s room for everyone. Even your
Frederick.
ROSE. Frederick?
LOTTY. Do you call him “Freddy”?
ROSE. I do not. (Becoming increasingly upset.) The whole idea of
our coming here was to get away.
LOTTY. We got away.
ROSE. And now, after barely one week of it, you want to ask the
very people …
LOTTY. The very people we were getting away from. It’s true. It’s
idiodically illogical. But they must be here now. I’ve seen it!
ROSE. Stop this. Lotty. I’m warning you.
LOTTY. Write to your Frederick, Rose, and tell him everything!
ROSE. It’s not that simple.
LOTTY. About San Salvatore … and the wisteria …
ROSE. You can’t understand … (Lotty laughs.)
LOTTY. And Mrs. Graves, and …
ROSE. (Desperately.) Listen to me! (Lotty stops.) He wouldn’t come!
LOTTY. Don’t be silly.
ROSE. I lost a child, Lotty. I lost my child. Our child.
LOTTY. (Quietly.) Oh, Rose.
ROSE. It’s been two years now, but …
LOTTY. No …
ROSE. Two years of trying to understand such a … punishment.

43
LOTTY. (Going to Rose, holding her.) No. No. (Rose embraces her,
crying.) Rose. (Thinks.) I can’t pretend to know what you’re feel-
ing, Rose. But I do know that you are not alone.
ROSE. I have you now.
LOTTY. Not me. Frederick.
ROSE. You’re not listening.
LOTTY. You must invite him.
ROSE. He won’t come.
LOTTY. He will. I’ve seen it! Frederick and Mellersh. At San
Salvatore. (Rose smiles.)
ROSE. How can you see Frederick, Lotty? You don’t know a thing
about him.
LOTTY. You’re such a damned logical woman, Mrs. Arnott.
(They smile. Lotty stands, extends her hand.) Come on. Let me take
you boating. You can tell me everything.
ROSE. You said you were hungry.
LOTTY. We’ll pick berries. You’re right, Rose. I haven’t been lis-
tening. But we’re sisters, remember? And I’m listening now. (Rose
smiles, takes Lotty’s hand. They exit into the garden. Caroline enters
from the villa, sees them leaving, sighs, relieved. She goes to the chaise,
retrieves a flask from behind the pillows, opens it, drinks, exhales
deeply. Mrs. Graves enters from the villa, flower in hair and castor oil
in hand. She watches Caroline replace the flask.)
MRS. GRAVES. Castor oil! (Caroline smoothes herself.) I expect
the sun has caused you to feel ill. You should take some castor oil
and go to bed.
CAROLINE. But I don’t want castor oil, and I don’t want to go
to bed. I just want to be alone to think.
MRS. GRAVES. Lady Caroline, you shouldn’t waste your time. No
one wants a woman who thinks. You should go to bed and get well.
CAROLINE. I am well.
MRS. GRAVES. Then I have had all the trouble of coming after
you for nothing.
CAROLINE. Wouldn’t you prefer coming after me and finding
me well to coming after me and finding me ill? (Mrs. Graves lets
out a small laugh, walks into the sun and looks up, inhales deeply.
Costanza enters with a telegram.)
COSTANZA. Un telegramma, per Signora Wilton. [A telegram,

44
for Mrs. Wilton.]
CAROLINE. E nel giardino, Costanza. [She is in the garden.]
COSTANZA. Ah. Grazie, Donna Carolina. (She exits into the gar-
den, calling.) Signora Wilton! Un telegramma! Signora Wilton!
MRS. GRAVES. Now who could be sending Mrs. Wilton a
telegram?
CAROLINE. You shouldn’t be so hard on Lotty, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. That woman must be curbed.
CAROLINE. She understands things, I think, in her way.
MRS. GRAVES. She “sees” things, you mean. Just a moment ago
she said she saw inside of you.
CAROLINE. If that’s so, then she’s one of the few people who has
ever bothered.
MRS. GRAVES. You are an intriguing creature, Lady Caroline. I
am very glad there are no men about. You are precisely the sort of
woman who unbalances men. My mother unbalanced men, and I
dare say it can come at quite a cost.
CAROLINE. Pricey, was she? (Mrs. Graves glares.) I apologize,
Mrs. Graves. Sometimes I can go too far.
MRS. GRAVES. I understand some things myself, Lady Caroline,
in my way. The burden of wit on our sex, for example. You should
be thankful for your beauty. At least you are allowed credit for that.
CAROLINE. I would gladly trade it all, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. For what?
CAROLINE. Things lost.
MRS. GRAVES. How so?
CAROLINE. Jolly war, wasn’t it? Except for those who never
returned. And those of us who loved them.
MRS. GRAVES. A brother?
CAROLINE. Never mind.
MRS. GRAVES. You are impossible.
CAROLINE. A husband.
MRS. GRAVES. A husband? I … (Moved.) I’m so sorry … I didn’t
know.
CAROLINE. That’s the funny thing. No one did. We secretly
married the night before his duty. For good luck.
MRS. GRAVES. I … I am very surprised you’ve told me this,
Lady Caroline.

45
CAROLINE. You have such a warm way of drawing people in,
Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. I grieved terribly when I lost my Clayton. That
came as quite a surprise, I must say. Not nearly as surprising as it
would have been to him.
CAROLINE. I had a reputation to uphold. I danced instead.
MRS. GRAVES. You’ve not found another?
CAROLINE. Another? We are the “moderns” now, Mrs. Graves.
There’s always another. When the wine has been spilt, there’s still
the dregs. Artists who want to “mold” me, photographers who
want to “capture” me. And writers … well, what woman wouldn’t
want to be studied, annotated, indexed?
MRS. GRAVES. They adore you, I’m sure.
CAROLINE. They don’t even know me.
MRS. GRAVES. Are you certain that’s their fault? (Caroline softens.)
CAROLINE. To be fair, there is one. Are you familiar with
Florian Ayers? (Mrs. Graves shudders.)
MRS. GRAVES. Florian Ayers? That writer?!
CAROLINE. Mother’s latest social acquisition.
MRS. GRAVES. “Romantic biographies.”
CAROLINE. Indeed.
MRS. GRAVES. Salacious!
CAROLINE. And wildly successful.
MRS. GRAVES. Good God. (Thinks.) I once had a dog that
chased his own tail.
CAROLINE. And?
MRS. GRAVES. People praised him, too.
CAROLINE. But Florian is sweet, really. And sad somehow. A
lost soulmate, perhaps. (Mrs. Graves thinks, stirred.)
MRS. GRAVES. A lost soulmate. I feel so restless today.
CAROLINE. You’ve gotten some sun, Mrs. Graves. (Mrs. Graves
retrieves her parasol, starts to open it.) It becomes you. (Mrs. Graves
smiles, closes the parasol. Lotty lets out a great yelp from the garden.)
LOTTY. (Offstage.) Mrs. Graves! Lady Caroline!
MRS. GRAVES. Lady Caroline. About the cognac.
LOTTY. (Offstage.) Paradiso!
MRS. GRAVES. Don’t trade everything for that. (Lotty enters
from the garden excitedly, with Rose and Costanza, who have been

46
dressed in flowers.)
LOTTY. Paradiso, Lady Caroline! Paradiso, Mrs. Graves!
MRS. GRAVES. Good God!
LOTTY. Ladies. Ladies.
CAROLINE. What is it, Lotty?
LOTTY. It’s wonderful, that’s what it is! I’m sorry that this is
without warning, but … I am having a visitor!
MRS. GRAVES. What?!
CAROLINE. A visitor? But we came here to escape people, Lotty.
LOTTY. Yes, I know. But I don’t want to escape him now.
CAROLINE. Him?
MRS. GRAVES. A man?!
LOTTY. Yes, a man. Mr. Wilton.
MRS. GRAVES. A relative?
LOTTY. A husband!
MRS. GRAVES. Mrs. Wilton, if this is another one of your
ghosts.
LOTTY. No, Mrs. Graves. It’s my husband! In the flesh! (Lifting
the telegram.) He left London last night!
MRS. GRAVES. But you are a widow!
ROSE. We never said anything of the kind, Mrs. Graves.
LOTTY. Lady Caroline, I’ll need your help with Costanza to pre-
pare the spare room and then …
MRS. GRAVES. One moment. Am I to understand that you are
proposing to reserve the one unoccupied bedroom in the castle for
the exclusive use of your family?
CAROLINE. Yes, why the spare room if he’s your husband, Lotty?
LOTTY. Oh, no. If I share my room with Mellersh, I risk losing
all I’m feeling. Don’t you see?
CAROLINE. (Laughing.) Actually, I do! By all means, let’s give
Mr. Wilton the spare room, Mrs. Graves! Any other arrangement
would be scandalous!
LOTTY. Thank you, Caroline. And Rose is going to write to her
husband.
MRS. GRAVES. Another husband?!
LOTTY. Aren’t you, Rose?
ROSE. Yes. I am!
MRS. GRAVES. Is anyone here who they claimed to be?

47
CAROLINE. But there is only one spare room.
LOTTY. Oh, Rose won’t mind sharing her room with her hus-
band. It’s written all over her. (Rose gasps, tries to grab Lotty, but she
runs. Caroline laughs.)
MRS. GRAVES. Husbands were not part of our agreement, Mrs.
Arnott. You must not write to him.
ROSE. (Gathering strength.) As you wish, Mrs. Graves. I’ll tele-
graph him!
MRS. GRAVES. Oh! Well … I am going to invite a guest!
ROSE. Who, Mrs. Graves? Tennyson or Carlyle? (Mrs. Graves
burns.)
LOTTY. Oh!
MRS. GRAVES. Kate Lumley! (The ladies laugh louder.) There is
nothing funny about Kate Lumley, I assure you. I shall write to her
this instant, and she shall have the spare room! There are to be no
men roaming San Salvatore as long as I am staying here. Kate
Lumley will see to that! (Wilding enters from the villa.)
WILDING. Cheers, everyone!
MRS. GRAVES. (Appalled.) Oh!
LOTTY. Mr. Wilding!
WILDING. Is this a bad time? I was passing through to Rome
and thought I’d see how things were going.
LOTTY. This is too much!
MRS. GRAVES. I should say! (She rings her bell.)
CAROLINE. (Noticeably impressed.) You may remember my let-
ter, Mr. Wilding. (Lifts her hand.) Lady Caroline Bramble.
(Wilding nods, looks to Rose.)
WILDING. Mrs. Arnott! (He goes to Rose, takes her hands.) And
you wore white!
ROSE. (Beaming.) Mr. Wilding!
WILDING. It’s just as I saw it!
LOTTY. It’s just as I saw it! (Costanza enters, sees Wilding.)
COSTANZA. Tonio! (She goes to Wilding. They embrace.)
WILDING. Costanza!
COSTANZA. Mi bambino!
MRS. GRAVES. Oh, good God!
COSTANZA. (To Wilding, pointing at Mrs. Graves.) Pazza!
Diabolica! [Crazy! Diabolical!]

48
WILDING. All my ladies!
CAROLINE. (Snubbed.) Well.
WILDING. At San Salvatore!
MRS. GRAVES. Really!
WILDING. And this must be the Mrs. Graves you told me of …
MRS. GRAVES. (Furiously.) Mr. Wilding!
WILDING. For whom I’ve carried, all the way from London, a
bag of the finest English walnuts … (He holds out a bag. Mrs.
Graves’ eyes widen.) … which I shall gladly trade for a few hours in
your lovely company, and the promise of hearing your golden
memories of the great Lord Tennyson. (Mrs. Graves opens her
mouth, but is wordless. She smiles, takes the bag, thinks.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Bubbling over.) Make yourself at home! (Lights
down.)

Scene 3

Lights up on the terrace of San Salvatore, the following after-

noon. Rose sits on the chaise in a summer dress, hair loose,
with parasol, posing for Wilding, who stands before a canvas
and easel, sketching her.

WILDING. That’s it. And just a little … there. Would you lift
your chin just a … (She does so.) Yes. You have a fine chin, Mrs.
Arnott. And now it is … caught. I must say you have shown
admirable patience.
ROSE. I hope that won’t be the tone of the portrait, Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. Oh?
ROSE. I should hate to one day find myself used in textbooks as
an illustration of “admirable patience.” (Costanza enters from the
villa with tea.)
COSTANZA. Te.
WILDING. (Not looking up from his work.) Grazie, Costanza.
(Costanza sees Rose.)

49
COSTANZA. Ah! Squisita! Bellissima! [Lovely! Beautiful!]
ROSE. Is that good?
WILDING. Quite. (Costanza looks at the sketch.)
COSTANZA. Oh, Tonio. Meravigliosa! [Marvelous!]
WILDING. Vi ricorda qualquno, Costanza? [Does she remind you
of anyone?]
COSTANZA. Mi ricorda? [Remind me?] (Thinks, realizes, sadly.)
Ah, si. Lo vedo. [Yes, I see it.] (Changing the subject.) Ma quando
dipingerai il ritratto di Costanza? [But when are you going to paint
Costanza’s portrait?] (She poses.)
WILDING. Ho gia fatto! Troppo difettoso non posso mostrarlo
in publico. [I have! Too bad I can’t show them in public.]
COSTANZA. Eh? (Realizes he’s teasing, laughs, embarrassed.) Oh
tu! Mi diabolino! Tu sei il figlio del vostra papa, non dubito! [Oh,
you! You are your father’s boy, no doubt about it!] (Wagging her finger
as she exits into the villa.) Sei il figlio di papa! [Your father’s boy!]
ROSE. (Still posing.) Costanza is very fond of you.
WILDING. Oh, yes. Part of the family. Part of her family, I
mean. Costanza is the mother of nine.
ROSE. Nine?!
WILDING. Ten, counting me now, I suppose.
ROSE. Speaking of admirable patience.
WILDING. I owe Costanza a great deal. She was wonderful with
Mother. Here … you’ve worked enough. Let’s have some tea. (Rose
relaxes. Wilding pours tea and prepares a small plate of biscuits. Rose
stands, stretches. She’s unusually relaxed. She motions toward the sketch.)
ROSE. May I?
WILDING. Of course. (She takes a look.) Mind you, it’s only a
sketch.
ROSE. (Moved.) It’s lovely, Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. I shall finish it properly in Rome. (Rose smiles, walks
to the tea.)
ROSE. Rome must be fascinating.
WILDING. (Handing her a cup of tea.) Very beautiful. Very
romantic. And one must have one’s escape, mustn’t one? (They are
close. Rose smells the tea.)
ROSE. Cinnamon.
WILDING. “Cannella.”

50
ROSE. Cannella.
WILDING. Si. Biscotto? (He offers her the plate of biscuits.)
ROSE. (Blushing.) Grazie. (She takes the plate and, suddenly self-
conscious, turns away.) Is Mrs. Wilton still out?
WILDING. Yes. Well, out again, that is. She and Mrs. Graves
went to the village.
ROSE. To the village? Mrs. Graves?
WILDING. Does that surprise you?
ROSE. Well, I suppose yesterday it would have. But since you’ve
arrived, Mr. Wilding, we seem to have a somewhat altered Mrs.
Graves.
WILDING. Really? I find her most delightful.
ROSE. You’ve doted on her properly. You’ve doted on us all.
WILDING. Well. Sometimes all it takes is a little attention to do
the trick. (Looking at her.) You must admit, Mrs. Arnott, that I was
correct about something.
ROSE. What?
WILDING. That you were meant to be at San Salvatore.
ROSE. (Thoroughly, pleasantly embarrassed.) You and Costanza
just now …
WILDING. Yes?
ROSE. Were you comparing me with the original? (Wilding is
stunned.)
WILDING. The … what? (Rose senses she’s said something wrong.)
ROSE. The portrait of the Madonna? Above the stairs?
WILDING. (Relieved.) Oh. Yes. You have to admit the likeness is
extraordinary.
ROSE. I didn’t know I looked so solemn.
WILDING. You don’t. Not today.
ROSE. Mrs. Wilton told me I reminded her of a disappointed
Madonna.
WILDING. I never said disappointed.
ROSE. Well, I don’t think my vicar would approve of such com-
parisons, disappointed or not.
WILDING. No, no. But then that’s what vicars do, don’t they?
(Rose smiles. Wilding looks at her.) Actually, it’s someone else you
remind me of.
ROSE. Not some “old flame,” I pray.

51
WILDING. Oh, no, no. Nothing of that nature. (Wilding thinks.
Rose becomes a little uncertain, but smiles inquisitively.) There are
moments, Mrs. Arnott, when you remind me so much of my
mother. (Total silence. Rose keeps her composure. Except for the bis-
cuits, which spill onto the floor.)
ROSE. Oh!
WILDING. Oh, dear. (He picks up the biscuits and takes the plate.)
Here, I’ll get you more.
ROSE. (Cooling her face with her hand.) No, no. (She looks out as
Wilding busies with the biscuits, catches her breath, thinks.) I know
you were very close to your mother, Mr. Wilding. So it’s very nice
of you to say such a thing.
WILDING. I saw it the first time we met.
ROSE. I see. Are there any photographs of her here?
WILDING. Photographs? I wish there were. Mother was much
too modest for that. Father and I both tried, but she’d have none
of it, I’m afraid.
ROSE. And what was your father like, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. Father? Father loved beauty. He loved life. He lived
life. Mother was always a little embarrassed by that, I think. A
shame, really. Because she was his life. He flat out adored her.
ROSE. Sweet.
WILDING. Yes. (He looks out.) Do you see that acacia tree there?
(Rose looks out.) Father told a story that his father, my grandfather,
while walking one day with my grandmother, thrust his walking
stick into the ground at that spot and said, “Here we shall have an
acacia.” He left the stick in the ground as a reminder, and present-
ly, how long afterwards nobody seems to remember, the stick
began to sprout. And it was an acacia. (Rose smiles.) After duty, in
hospital, I tried to paint that tree, but could never do it justice.
ROSE. Were you wounded?
WILDING. Just a bit tired. I came straight from hospital to San
Salvatore, in fact. And Mother and Costanza.
ROSE. I’m sure that cured you. (Wilding smiles, sadly. Lotty yells
from the garden.)
WILDING. Here they are.
ROSE. Why, they look as if they’ve bought the whole place. (Lotty
enters from the garden with Mrs. Graves on her arm. Mrs. Graves’

52
mode of dress has lightened somewhat. Lotty is bright and well-
groomed. They are laden with packages, with which Wilding helps.)
LOTTY. We’re almost there, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. Good God, you’ve been saying that for an hour.
LOTTY. And now it’s true! Thank you, Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. I should have gone along, ladies.
LOTTY. Oh, no. We made much progress on our own, didn’t we,
Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. We are marching on Rome tomorrow.
LOTTY. We are in for a treat, everyone.
MRS. GRAVES. Well, I make no promises, but I have at least
procured the makings of a proper meal. Tonight I shall teach
Costanza how to prepare steak and kidney pie.
LOTTY. Rose, perhaps you’d help me with Costanza. There’s
teaching to be done!
ROSE. Yes. (Lotty and Rose gather the bags.)
WILDING. Shall I have Costanza bring tea inside?
MRS. GRAVES. I should like to take my tea out here with you,
Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. Very well.
LOTTY. Thank you for a grand time, Mrs. Graves. (She kisses
Mrs. Graves on the cheek, exits. Mrs. Graves is aghast.)
ROSE. And thank you, Mr. Wilding. For everything.
WILDING. I haven’t done anything, Mrs. Arnott.
ROSE. (Sincerely.) You have. (She exits.)
MRS. GRAVES. Mr. Wilding. I would like tonight’s dinner to be
my thanks for your generous company. I am sorry you are leaving
tomorrow. It is so nice to have a man about the place.
WILDING. I’m glad San Salvatore agrees with you, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. How could it not? You are very young to be a
man of property.
WILDING. I can hardly take credit for that.
MRS. GRAVES. But you should. Inheritance is so much more
respectable than acquisition.
WILDING. How did you fare in the village?
MRS. GRAVES. Oh that Mrs. Wilton is a stubborn thing. From
day one I have tried to make peace with her, but to no avail.
WILDING. With some people there seems to be no choice but

53
to relent.
MRS. GRAVES. No! To relent is to surrender, Mr. Wilding. That
is not the English way at all. You have spent far too much time in
Italy, I fear. (She looks at the sketch.)
WILDING. Perhaps you are right.
MRS. GRAVES. This Mrs. Arnott is a particular case herself.
WILDING. Yes.
MRS. GRAVES. (Watching his reaction.) Yes. Tell me, Mr.
Wilding, what do you make of our Lady Caroline?
WILDING. She’s lovely.
MRS. GRAVES. There’s more to Lady Caroline than meets the eye.
WILDING. She is very solitary.
MRS. GRAVES. A common thing nowadays, it seems, since the
war.
WILDING. And you? I picture you in London surrounded by
grandchildren.
MRS. GRAVES. Grand…? Oh no, no. One needs children to
have grandchildren, Mr. Wilding. (Caroline enters.)
WILDING. Lady Caroline.
MRS. GRAVES. Who missed dinner again last night.
CAROLINE. I wasn’t feeling well.
WILDING. I do hope you are feeling better.
MRS. GRAVES. Our Lady Caroline has a remarkable inclination
toward rapid recovery.
CAROLINE. Mr. Wilding. Since you are here, perhaps some-
thing can be done about the bath. It is really quite a confusion.
WILDING. (Cordially.) A confusion?
CAROLINE. One shouldn’t have to risk one’s life merely for the
convenience of warm water.
WILDING. (Chuckling.) Oh yes, the heater. It is a rather ancient
system. But really there is no danger at all if done with just a little
Italian patience. (He and Mrs. Graves smile.)
CAROLINE. (Coldly.) It is a danger, Mr. Wilding. Am I under-
stood? (Wilding realizes he has misjudged her intentions.)
WILDING. I shall look into the matter before my departure.
(Costanza enters from the villa, upset.)
COSTANZA. Signora Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Ah! I am needed!

54
COSTANZA. (Pleadingly.) Tonio?
WILDING. (Seeing Costanza’s distress.) Si, si, Costanza. May I be
of some help, Mrs. Graves?
MRS. GRAVES. Well … you could lure Mrs. Wilton out here, so
that I need not contend with her in the kitchen.
WILDING. (Beginning to follow.) Well, I’m not at all certain of
my luring abilities …
MRS. GRAVES. (Beginning to exit, chuckling.) Applesauce!
CAROLINE. Mrs. Graves? (Mrs. Graves stops.) Your stick. (Mrs.
Graves and Wilding look at the stick, which has been left behind.)
MRS. GRAVES. (Flustered.) Well. (Wilding retrieves the stick,
hands it to her.) Imagine that. (She exits into the villa.)
WILDING. Lady Caroline, I am sorry about the bath. I do hope
you’ll join us this evening for dinner.
CAROLINE. Do you?
WILDING. Yes. I do. Excuse me. (He exits into the villa. Costanza
enters and approaches Caroline, holds out a card.)
COSTANZA. Una carta di visitatore, Donna Carolina. [A visitor’s
card.]
CAROLINE. Un visitatore? (Reads the card, gasps.) Good God!
(Laughs.)
COSTANZA. E nella stanza di seduta. [He is in the sitting room.]
CAROLINE. Portargli fuori, per favore, Costanza. [Bring him
out, please.]
COSTANZA. Si, si, Signorina. (Exits into the villa. Caroline read-
ies herself.)
CAROLINE. Well, now. (Frederick enters from the villa.) Florian
Ayers!
FREDERICK. Ah! Caroline! I had no idea if I was at the right
place.
CAROLINE. You naughty boy!
FREDERICK. Your mother told me where you were, and I was
on my book tour anyhow, and so I thought I would look in and
see how you were doing.
CAROLINE. I don’t recall your book tour extending to Italy.
FREDERICK. Yes, well. It doesn’t really. But I was already in
Lisbon …
CAROLINE. You are a wicked thing, Mr. Ayers.

55
FREDERICK. No, no. Just weak, I’m told.
CAROLINE. Didn’t mother tell you I was doing a rest cure?
FREDERICK. Yes, she did. That’s why I haven’t intruded on you
earlier in the day. I thought you would probably sleep all day and
get up just in time for tea. I couldn’t help myself, Caroline.
(Costanza clears her throat.)
CAROLINE. Grazie, Costanza.
COSTANZA. (Skeptically.) Uno in piu per cena? [One more for
dinner?]
CAROLINE. Si. Grazie. (Costanza exits into the villa.)
FREDERICK. What did you say?
CAROLINE. I told her to add you to dinner. Mother didn’t send
you, did she, Florian?
FREDERICK. Oh no, on my word, Caroline.
CAROLINE. I wanted to have a month that was perfectly blank.
FREDERICK. And now I’ve interrupted.
CAROLINE. (Sincerely.) It’s silly, I know, but I feel all a jumble.
FREDERICK. Perhaps it’s good I came then. Brighten things up.
CAROLINE. I don’t know what to do anymore, Florian.
FREDERICK. (Uncomfortably.) You, Caroline? (Sees the sketch.)
Have you taken up art now? (He goes to the sketch, studies it, at first
with pleasure, and then with bewilderment.)
CAROLINE. I’ve lost my way somehow. God, I sound like one
of your books.
FREDERICK. (Returning to Caroline.) Say, there’s a jazz club in
Genoa. I was given the name. Something “Eeny,” “Leeny,”
“Cheeny.” I’m told it’s quite the thing.
CAROLINE. I’m so tired, Florian.
FREDERICK. Nothing a little jazz and gin won’t cure, is there?
Speaking of which. I seem to be a little dry at the moment. Any
“refreshments” hereabouts?
CAROLINE. There’s tea.
FREDERICK. Oh.
CAROLINE. Here. (She retrieves the flask.) This will help.
FREDERICK. There’s my girl. (He drinks. Caroline thinks.)
CAROLINE. Have you ever felt as if you’ve lost hold of some-
thing? Something so vital that you don’t know how to go on?
FREDERICK. (Sincerely.) I have, Caroline.

56
CAROLINE. What did you do?
FREDERICK. I went on.
CAROLINE. But it’s not the same.
FREDERICK. No.
CAROLINE. You’ve always seemed like someone I could talk to,
Florian.
FREDERICK. Really?
CAROLINE. And like someone who needs to talk. (Frederick
thinks.)
FREDERICK. Perhaps we could find a restaurant in the village.
CAROLINE. Yes? Oh, but there’s to be a special dinner here
tonight.
FREDERICK. Well, we can make an early appearance and then
go. Here. (He hands her the flask.) It would be nice to talk,
Caroline. (Caroline smiles.)
CAROLINE. Yes. You lie down and rest a bit, then. Let me go
change. (Indicating the chaise.) Here.
FREDERICK. I could do with a rest. (Goes to the chaise.) That’s
really quite a climb up from the village. There was a motorcar at
the station, but the driver was too busy arguing with some other
chap. So many English in Italy this time of year.
CAROLINE. Well, rest, and then you can regale all of us at din-
ner with stories of your tour.
FREDERICK. “All of us”? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.
CAROLINE. Ladies.
FREDERICK. Ah! (Caroline starts to exit, stops.)
CAROLINE. Tell me something. The jazz and the gin. Would
you ever give it all up? (Frederick thinks, sighs.)
FREDERICK. Gladly. (Caroline exits into the villa. Frederick looks
around, relaxes back on the chaise, settles in, shuts his eyes. Rose enters
from the villa, goes to the sketch, studies it. Frederick begins singing
“Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me” under his breath. Rose looks up, sees
him, freezes, unbelieving. She walks to him.)
ROSE. Frederick? (Frederick opens his eyes, stares.)
FREDERICK. Rose?
ROSE. Frederick!
FREDERICK. Rose? (He jumps up, amazed at her appearance,
bewildered by her presence.) Rose! (Rose throws her arms around him,

57
kissing him passionately. Costanza enters, sees, crosses herself, exits.)
ROSE. Frederick! Oh, Frederick! When did you start?
FREDERICK. (Trying to decipher between kisses.) Start?
ROSE. Yes. When did you leave?
FREDERICK. (Attempting an acceptable answer, weakly.)
Yesterday morning?
ROSE. Oh, the very instant then!
FREDERICK. Yes. The very instant!
ROSE. How quickly my telegram must have got to Lisbon!
FREDERICK. (Understanding.) Telegram! Yes, yes, didn’t it
though?
ROSE. Oh, Frederick! Frederick! (She kisses him fully. Wilding
enters from the villa, sees.)
WILDING. Well, I’m damned.
ROSE. Oh! Oh, Mr. Wilding! Mr. Wilding. Forgive me. I’m so
embarrassed.
WILDING. Oh, no, no.
ROSE. (To Frederick.) This is Mr. Frederick, Wilding … (Laughs.)
Oh … I mean, this is Mr. Arnott, Frederick. (Laughs, composes her-
self.) Mr. Wilding, this … (Smiles.) … is my husband … Mr.
Frederick Arnott.
FREDERICK. How … how do you do?
WILDING. I’m not quite sure, really.
ROSE. Mr. Wilding owns the castle, Frederick.
FREDERICK. (Wide-eyed, ready to say anything.) Ah! Beautiful!
WILDING. Yes.
ROSE. (Giddily.) Oh, Frederick. I didn’t know whether to write
or not, whether you wanted … but Lotty made me believe.
FREDERICK. Oh, well, Lotty, yes. Who’s Lotty?
ROSE. Lotty. Mrs. Wilton. One of the other guests. She’s from
Hampstead as well. And, oh, there’s Mrs. Graves. I don’t know
what you’ll make of her. And Lady Caroline Bramble.
FREDERICK. (Weakly.) Really? Lady Caroline Bramble?
WILDING. If you’ll excuse me …
ROSE. (Choosing her words as discreetly as possible, trying to hide
her excitement, gathering Frederick’s things.) Oh, no. If you’ll be
kind enough to excuse us, Mr. Wilding, I think it would be best if
Mr. Arnott and myself retired presently to our room to … prepare

58
for dinner.
WILDING. Right. Right, then. A pleasure meeting you, Mr.
Arnott.
FREDERICK. Likewise.
ROSE. Oh, Frederick! (Taking his hand and leading him toward
the villa.) Lotty always said we must believe that anything can hap-
pen. And it can!
FREDERICK. (Flummoxed.) Yes. Apparently it can! (They exit.
Costanza enters from the villa, holds out a card.)
COSTANZA. Tonio. Un altro visitatore. [Another visitor.] (Hands
him the card.)
WILDING. Un altro? (Mellersh timidly enters from the villa,
clutching his travel bag, hat, coat, and Italian phrase book.) Buon
giorno.
MELLERSH. (Attempting Italian, badly.) Buon giorno. Par …
parla … Ing … Ing … [Do you speak English?]
WILDING. Inglese? Not only do I speak English, I am English.
MELLERSH. Ah! Thank heavens! (He hands his things to
Costanza.) Mellersh Wilton, family solicitor.
WILDING. So it says. Antony Wilding. (They shake hands.)
MELLERSH. How do you do.
WILDING. You are a relative of our Mrs. Wilton?
MELLERSH. You could say that. (Looking about.) Then my wife
is here?
WILDING. Who?
MELLERSH. Mrs. Wilton.
WILDING. (Stunned.) Your wife?! Yes, yes. She’s just in the
kitchen with Mrs. Graves. (To himself.) Now she’s a widow, surely.
(Composing himself.) Costanza, prenda Signora Wilton, prego.
[Get Mrs. Wilton.]
COSTANZA. Si, Tonio. Quanti sono per cena adesso? [How
many for dinner now?]
WILDING. Sette. A meno che non ci aspettino altre sorprese.
[Seven. Unless there are even more surprises.]
COSTANZA. Si, si. E’una sopresa dopo l’altra! [It’s just one sur-
prise after another!] (She exits.)
WILDING. Costanza will fetch her for you. You must be
parched. Would you like some tea?

59
MELLERSH. Oh, thank you.
WILDING. (Serving.) Any trouble finding the place?
MELLERSH. A struggle or two, but I rallied. (Assessing Wilding,
uncomfortably.)
WILDING. You’re familiar with Italy?
MELLERSH. I’ve read books. (Takes the tea, drinks.) Thank you.
My wife wrote that this was a party of four ladies.
WILDING. Yes.
MELLERSH. And you?
WILDING. I suppose I’m what you’d call the landlord.
MELLERSH. You mean you’re the owner of the place?
WILDING. Yes.
MELLERSH. (Skeptically.) Oh? (Pleased.) Oh! My wife also wrote
that Lady Caroline Bramble was among the guests.
WILDING. Yes.
MELLERSH. (Even more pleased.) Well! (Lotty enters from the villa.)
LOTTY. (Softly.) Hello, Mellersh. (Mellersh grins, turns, but turns
away again and composes himself.)
MELLERSH. Mrs. Wilton. (A nervous moment. Lotty is ready to
burst, and she does.)
LOTTY. Oh, Mellersh! Welcome! (She rushes to him. His tea cup
flies from its saucer and is caught by Wilding.)
MELLERSH. Good heavens, Charlotte!
LOTTY. Have you and Mr. Wilding introduced yourselves?
MELLERSH. Surely.
LOTTY. Are you all right, Mr. Wilding?
WILDING. What? Oh, yes, yes. Fine, fine. (He returns the cup to
its saucer.) I suppose I should go check on the steak and kidney pie.
(To himself, exiting.) Widows!
LOTTY. I am so glad to see you, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. Really? But you couldn’t meet me at the station?
LOTTY. Oh, but I had so much to do. And the time … well, San
Salvatore has a way of making one forget all about time.
MELLERSH. Forget about time? Absurd.
LOTTY. It’s not absurd. You’ll see.
MELLERSH. I would like to pay my respects to your hostess,
Charlotte.
LOTTY. Hostess?

60
MELLERSH. Yes. This “Mrs. Arnott” who invited you here.
LOTTY. There is something I haven’t told you, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. There appear to be many things you haven’t told me.
LOTTY. I wasn’t invited here.
MELLERSH. Not…? You named three ladies in your telegram.
LOTTY. Yes. The four of us are here.
MELLERSH. And this Mr. Wilding.
LOTTY. I know it must seem confusing, Mellersh, and it should
to you, and for that I do apologize. But, you see … it’s just that
the four of us ladies, we … well, we have rented the castle.
MELLERSH. Rented?
LOTTY. Yes. Together. Each of us is paying her own share.
MELLERSH. (Aghast.) Paying?! How much?
LOTTY. (Gathering strength.) That, Mellersh … I’m afraid … is
really not at all your affair. (She gasps and covers her mouth.
Mellersh’s jaw drops.) It came out of my dress allowance. My nest
egg. I know you have every reason to be angry and hurt, Mellersh,
but I hope you won’t and will forgive me instead. This holiday has
meant everything to me. Look at me! I’ve been translated!
MELLERSH. Trans…?
LOTTY. That’s why I wanted you here. To be translated with me.
MELLERSH. You know my feelings about secrets, Charlotte!
LOTTY. I know, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. Secrets are like …
LOTTY. Rust.
MELLERSH. Yes!
LOTTY. (Shouting.) But look at me! (He looks, at last.) I’m not a
bit rusty, now, am I? (She kisses him passionately. He is left breath-
less, blushing, grinning.)
MELLERSH. Well! (Shudders, turns away.) If I have made my
point, then … I would very much like a hot bath.
LOTTY. (Beaming.) Yes, Mellersh, of course. Costanza!
MELLERSH. Exactly what is it I’m to be translated into,
Charlotte?
LOTTY. Oh, you’ll see, Mellersh. You’ll see. (Costanza enters from
the villa.)
COSTANZA. (Wearily.) Si, Signora?
LOTTY. Ah, Costanza. Signore Wilton … (Smiling.) … my hus-

61
band, Costanza … Signore Wilton wants a hot bath. Bath.
(Costanza stares blankly.)
MELLERSH. The Italian for bath is “bag-no,” my dear. Bag-no.
Here, let me attend to it. (His Italian is comically overdramatic and
poorly pronounced.) Io vo-gli-o un bag-no cal-do. [I would like a hot
bath.] (Costanza looks heavenward, unbelieving.) Are you certain
that she understands Italian?
LOTTY. Try again, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. Io … vo-gli-o … un … bag-no cal-do … Bag-no!
Bath! (He mimes washing, drying.) Bag-no! (Costanza bursts out in
laughter.)
COSTANZA. (Understanding.) Ah! Signore vorrebe un bagno
caldo!
MELLERSH. Precisely. I think.
COSTANZA. (Laughing, mimicking Mellersh’s pronounciation and
mime.) Bag-no cal-do! Un momento, Signore! Subito, subito.
[Right away, sir. One moment.] (She exits into the villa, laughing.)
Bag-no cal-do!
LOTTY. Bravo! Bravo!
MELLERSH. (Bowing playfully.) Grazie, grazie. (Sighs, smiles,
looks around.) This is a beautiful place, Charlotte.
LOTTY. Oh, I knew you’d like it.
MELLERSH. But I want to talk to you about the company you’re
keeping.
LOTTY. Well, I assure you, Mellersh …
MELLERSH. Lady Caroline Bramble? Really, Charlotte.
LOTTY. Well, I …
MELLERSH. You’ve been very clever, my dear.
LOTTY. Clever?
MELLERSH. I have planned precisely what I should say.
LOTTY. Oh. But you mustn’t disturb Lady Caroline.
MELLERSH. I shall be the soul of discretion.
LOTTY. This isn’t a business trip, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. No, but …
LOTTY. Mellersh! (Costanza enters from the villa.)
COSTANZA. Bagno pronto, Signore. [The bath is ready, sir.]
(Lotty takes a deep breath.)
LOTTY. I’ll prepare your things. (She begins to exit into the villa.)

62
MELLERSH. Thank you.
LOTTY. And be careful with the bath, Mellersh. It’s very old. You
mustn’t turn the tap off if there’s still any fire.
MELLERSH. (Impatiently.) Thank you, Charlotte. (Lotty exits.
Mellersh starts for the villa, but Costanza blocks the entrance.) Bagno
pronto, you say?
COSTANZA. Bagno pronto.
MELLERSH. Very well, then. Thank you. Grazie.
COSTANZA. Il bagno e molto vecchio e pericoloso, Signore.
[The bath is very old and dangerous, sir.]
MELLERSH. Pericoloso?
COSTANZA. (Nodding.) Si. Bagno pericoloso. (Mellersh thinks,
huffs, takes out his phrase book, thumbs through it. Costanza enunci-
ates dramatically.) Pe — ri — co — lo …
MELLERSH. Yes, yes. Pericoloso. (Finds it.) Dangerous.
Dangerous? A bath?
COSTANZA. Si. Bagno “booma!”
MELLERSH. Bagno booma? Good Heavens, I’m a big boy, thank
you very much. I can surely take care of myself in a bath.
COSTANZA. No, no. Bagno “booma,” Signore! Dovete essere
molto attenti!
MELLERSH. Very well, bagno booma, bagno booma. Now, shoo!
Go on! (Costanza scurries onto the terrace.) Grazie, Sig-norina. (He
enters the villa.)
COSTANZA. (Curtsying sarcastically.) “Sig-norina!” (She huffs,
bites her knuckle, clears the tea service, muttering. Lotty enters from
the villa, looking for a towel.)
LOTTY. (Aglow.) Oh, Costanza. Paradiso, Costanza. Paradiso!
COSTANZA. (Humoring her.) Si, si, Signora. Paradiso. (Under
her breath.) Inferno! [Hell!] (Caroline enters from the villa, dressed
for dinner, looking for Frederick.)
LOTTY. Caroline. You are beautiful!
CAROLINE. Have you seen a man?
LOTTY. It’s Mellersh! He’s arrived!
CAROLINE. Oh, Lotty, good.
LOTTY. It’s just as I saw it! But look here. Don’t pay Mellersh any
mind if he asks you a lot of questions.
CAROLINE. Questions?

63
LOTTY. With Mellersh, it’s best to just say “marvelous,” and
leave it at that.
CAROLINE. I really am happy for you.
LOTTY. Thank you, Caroline. I can’t wait for you to meet him.
I’m ready to burst! (There is an explosion from within the villa, fol-
lowed by a pained wail. Clouds of steam pour forth. Mellersh runs out
clad only in a small towel. The ladies stand, stunned, unnoticed.)
MELLERSH. Damn that bath!
COSTANZA. Bagno pericoloso! Bagno “booma!” (Mellersh spins,
fumbles.)
MELLERSH. (To Costanza.) Woman!
LOTTY. Mellersh! (He spins.)
MELLERSH. Charlotte!
LOTTY. This is most inappropriate, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. I could say as much!
CAROLINE. (With great formality.) I don’t believe we’ve met.
MELLERSH. (Spinning, aghast.) Ah! Ha! No! No … No, we
haven’t. I … I’m afraid I used unpardonable language.
CAROLINE. (Trying not to laugh.) I thought it most appropriate.
MELLERSH. Yes.
CAROLINE. (Lifting her hand, making the most of it.) Lady
Caroline Bramble.
MELLERSH. (Smiling weakly at her hand.) How do you do.
(Clears his throat, launches into what he had prepared, as if nothing
were wrong.) I had so been looking forward to our meeting, Lady
Caroline. Mellersh Wilton, family soli … (He attempts to extend his
hand, but the towel slips.)
COSTANZA. Ah!
MELLERSH. Oh! (Mrs. Graves enters from the villa.)
MRS. GRAVES. Oh!
MELLERSH. (Surrounded.) Good God!
CAROLINE. Mr. Wilton, may I introduce Mrs. Clayton Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. (Laughing.) The pleasure is all mine!
LOTTY. Now you’ve met nearly everyone, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. How fortunate. (To Mrs. Graves.) How do you do.
(His towel slips again, exposing his backside. The ladies gasp, laugh-
ing. Costanza picks up the hat, hands it to Mellersh.)
COSTANZA. Signore. (He takes the hat.)

64
MELLERSH. Grazie. (He covers himself further with the hat and
inches toward the villa. The ladies can barely contain their laughter.)
Well … well, this has been nice, but … but you … you … you will
… perhaps another time would be … (With sudden formality, placing
his hat on his head, bowing.) Excuse me, ladies. (He bolts into the villa.
Costanza takes the towel from Lotty and follows, looking heavenward,
laughing. The ladies laugh. Wilding enters from the villa.)
WILDING. Ladies, ladies. I am sorry. I should have tended to
that heater immediately.
MRS. GRAVES. “In the flesh,” indeed, Mrs. Wilton! (Rose and
Frederick enter from the villa, straightening themselves.)
ROSE. Lotty? What on earth?
LOTTY. Oh, it was only Mellersh, Rose.
CAROLINE. (To Frederick.) There you are! (Frederick clutches Rose.)
LOTTY. He’s arrived!
WILDING. I suppose I had better make some introductions.
Mrs. Graves, Mrs. Wilton, Lady Caroline, allow me to introduce
Mrs. Arnott’s … Mister Arnott. (Frederick smiles helplessly.)
ROSE. Say hello, Frederick.
FREDERICK. (Barely able to speak.) Hello.
MRS. GRAVES. You look flushed, my boy. One mustn’t get too
much sun too soon. Isn’t that right, Lady Caroline? (Caroline is
frozen. She looks at Lotty, at Rose, at Mrs. Graves, at Wilding, all of
whom are beaming. She looks at Frederick.)
CAROLINE. Yes, Mr. Arnott. We must find you a hat. (The
sound of piano music, Albéniz’s “Granada/Suite Espanola No. 1.”
Lights down.)

Scene 4

Lights up on the terrace, later that evening. Deep blue

moonlight. Caroline stands looking out into the garden.
Albéniz floats from the villa. Lotty enters from the villa,
dressed for dinner.

65
LOTTY. There you are. We’re having a lovely time inside. What’s
the matter, Caroline?
CAROLINE. Do you believe in ghosts, Lotty?
LOTTY. Well, yes, actually.
CAROLINE. Even the living kind? To be dead, but still among
the living?
LOTTY. It happens all the time, I think. Mr. Wilding was asking
after you.
CAROLINE. Mr. Wilding is very charming. As is your Mr.
Wilton.
LOTTY. Thank you, Caroline. I should have never gotten him
started on that piano, though.
CAROLINE. He plays beautifully.
LOTTY. He does, doesn’t he!
CAROLINE. Did you see the full moon?
LOTTY. Somehow everything seems full tonight, Caroline.
CAROLINE. It’s love.
LOTTY. I suppose it is.
CAROLINE. The whole place reeks of it. I’ll be leaving tomor-
row, Lotty.
LOTTY. No, Caroline. (Rose enters from the villa, dressed for dinner.)
ROSE. Ladies, there’s coffee if you’d like. Oh! A full moon!
Beautiful!
CAROLINE. It must be a great comfort to be so adored, Mrs.
Arnott.
ROSE. Oh?
CAROLINE. You and your husband have been making eyes all
evening.
ROSE. (Glowing.) We have, haven’t we? It’s been so long since
Frederick has read his poetry.
LOTTY. It’s wonderful, Rose.
ROSE. Even Mrs. Graves thought so!
CAROLINE. I am so happy for you, Rose.
LOTTY. Caroline is lonely, Rose.
CAROLINE. Lotty!
LOTTY. I hadn’t seen it until now, but look. (Rose goes to Caroline.)
ROSE. We were sisters all along then, Caroline. (Frederick enters
from the villa, dressed for dinner.)

66
FREDERICK. Is the party moving out here now?
LOTTY. Just admiring the view, Mr. Arnott.
FREDERICK. Ah!
ROSE. I’m surprised Mrs. Graves let you away.
LOTTY. Your poetry is lovely.
FREDERICK. Really?
LOTTY. Yes.
FREDERICK. No.
ROSE. Don’t be modest, Frederick.
FREDERICK. It’s wonderful to see you like this, Rose.
ROSE. You as well. (They kiss.)
CAROLINE. You are a very lucky man, “Mr. Arnott.” (Beat.)
FREDERICK. Thank you, “Lady Caroline.”
CAROLINE. Rose, you should show your husband the lower gar-
den. In the moonlight it will be extraordinary.
LOTTY. Yes!
ROSE. (To Frederick.) Would you like to, Frederick?
FREDERICK. Very much.
ROSE. Very well. (They walk toward the garden, stop.) Lotty,
tomorrow you must take Caroline boating.
LOTTY. Well, of course!
CAROLINE. No, I don’t think …
ROSE. You’ll like that, Caroline. I see it! (The ladies smile. Rose
salutes.) Al’Italia!
LOTTY. Al’Italia, Rose!
CAROLINE. Al’Italia! (Rose and Frederick exit into the garden.
Lotty and Caroline watch after them, then look out.) Is this really an
enchanted place, Lotty?
LOTTY. You’ll have to stay and find out. (The piano has stopped,
followed by soft applause and laughter from within the villa. Mrs.
Graves enters from the villa arm-in-arm with Mellersh and Wilding.
They are dressed for dinner and carry aperitif glasses.)
MRS. GRAVES. Well, I’m not sure London would be ready for
Costanza’s steak and kidney pie, but for a first effort I thought it
exceptional. (She sees Lotty and Caroline.) Look, gentlemen. Sirens!
MELLERSH. You know, you’ll find this strange, but the one
bears a striking resemblance to my wife.
LOTTY. Mellersh! (She goes to him. Wilding goes to Caroline.)

67
WILDING. Lady Caroline. We’ve hardly heard a word from you
all night. You aren’t feeling ill again, I hope?
CAROLINE. I was only thinking.
MRS. GRAVES. Lady Caroline is fond of thinking, Mr. Wilding.
CAROLINE. I was only thinking what a wonderful host you’ve
been, Mr. Wilding.
LOTTY. Yes.
MELLERSH. We should have proposed a toast to you at dinner.
MRS. GRAVES. Is there nothing that will convince you to stay
with us a while longer?
LOTTY. Yes!
WILDING. But I’ve already packed my things, so that Mr.
Wilton may have the spare room tonight.
MELLERSH. The spare room?
LOTTY. Oh … oh, no, Mr. Wilding. Mr. Wilton shall share my
room, of course.
WILDING. Well, then, I would be honored.
MELLERSH. (Under his breath.) The spare room, Charlotte?
LOTTY. What of Kate Lumley, Mrs. Graves? Have you written?
MRS. GRAVES. Kate Lumley? Oh, no, no. What Kate Lumley
would make of macaroni alone I can but wonder. (Thinks.) Mr.
Wilding, have you told Lady Caroline the story of the acacia?
WILDING. Well, no.
LOTTY. It’s a lovely story, Caroline.
MRS. GRAVES. Perhaps you could show her the tree itself.
WILDING. I would like that very much. (Caroline smiles.)
CAROLINE. As would I.
WILDING. Well, right then. I’ll get your stick, Mrs. Graves.
MRS. GRAVES. No, no. I’ve been without my stick all night. I’m
not even sure where I left it. Go on now.
WILDING. Very well. (Goes to Caroline.) Lady Caroline, I’m
afraid I’ve been remiss in my duties as host. I’ve been here two days
now and I scarcely know a thing about you.
CAROLINE. You must not read the newspapers, Mr. Wilding.
WILDING. No. I don’t.
CAROLINE. Well, you should. (She looks at Lotty.) You never
know what you’ll find. (They exit into the garden. Mrs. Graves
watches after them proudly.)

68
MRS. GRAVES. There. That’s better.
LOTTY. Mrs. Graves, perhaps you would read to us from the
works of some of your great friends.
MELLERSH. Yes. (Mrs. Graves considers.)
MRS. GRAVES. Somehow I’m not interested in hearing from my
great friends tonight. They always say the same things, don’t they?
MELLERSH. But surely their wisdom …
LOTTY. And beauty …
MRS. GRAVES. Yes. Yes. They are. Wise and beautiful. And it
would be great folly to ever forget them. But they have one disad-
vantage. They’re dead. If nothing else, at least we all do share the
luxury of promise. (Costanza enters from the villa, dressed in Mrs.
Graves’ costume from Act Two, Scene One, including hat. She carries
a bowl of shelled nuts.)
COSTANZA. (Regally.) “Thee nuts.”
LOTTY. Costanza!
MELLERSH. Meravigliosa! (Costanza bursts out in embarrassed
giggles, regains her composure. Mrs. Graves goes to her.)
MRS. GRAVES. Getting her into these things of mine was like
getting a cat into a sack. And she’s shelled all the nuts. Took all the
fun out of it. Mr. Wilton, could I charm you to the piano once
more before I retire?
MELLERSH. Nothing would please me more.
MRS. GRAVES. I shall be waiting, then. (Starts to exit into the
villa, stops.) Oh, and both of you please be prompt for breakfa …
(Costanza raises her hand.)
COSTANZA. Eh!
MRS. GRAVES. (Begrudgingly.) … for “colazione.”
COSTANZA. (Proudly, to Lotty and Mellersh.) Marvelous! (Mrs.
Graves and Costanza exit. A quiet moment.)
LOTTY. What an enchanted night, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. Yes, it has indeed been quite nice, my dear. Have
you been to our room this evening?
LOTTY. Not since dinner. Why?
MELLERSH. Someone has decorated it from floor to ceiling with
flowers.
LOTTY. Really?
MELLERSH. Gave me quite a fright. (Lotty smiles, looks out into

69
the garden.)
LOTTY. Mellersh! Look!
MELLERSH. (Looking out.) What?
LOTTY. There! The Roses are lovemaking.
MELLERSH. The “Roses”?
LOTTY. The Arnotts. Is Mrs. Arnott familiar to you, Mellersh?
MELLERSH. Mrs. Arnott? No.
LOTTY. From church. She’s our disappointed Madonna.
MELLERSH. Is she? Well, fancy. I don’t recall her being so attractive.
LOTTY. She’s bloomed again. And there go the Carolines!
MELLERSH. Really, Charlotte.
LOTTY. Very well, Mellersh. The Wildings, then. And I’d wager
we’ll find Mrs. Graves’ stick planted somewhere in the garden.
MELLERSH. Planted?
LOTTY. I’m sorry, Mellersh, but I see it. (Mellersh opens his mouth
to object. Lotty raises her hand.) Case closed, Mellersh.
MELLERSH. (Softly.) I thought I’d lost you, my dear.
LOTTY. Sometimes one just has to step back a bit. Your words,
Mellersh.
MELLERSH. (Surprised, pleasantly.) Really?
LOTTY. (In full glory.) It’s just a shame this all has to end. What
could possibly follow such an enchanted April?
MELLERSH. I should think … an enchanted May! (Lotty beams,
turns and kisses him fully. They are silent for a moment. Softly.) I
should go see to Mrs. Graves. (He kisses her, starts to exit, stops.)
Come in soon. (He smiles and exits into the villa. Lotty looks after
him, sighs, hugs herself, takes it all in. Finally, to us.)
LOTTY. “To those who appreciate wisteria and sunshine … ”
(Sighs.) Not long after that evening, the wisteria at San Salvatore
gave way, and, though a loss, the castle now dressed itself in tri-
umphant white. There were white stocks and white pinks and
white banksia roses, syringa and jessamine, and above all, the
crowning glory of Mr. Wilding’s acacia. A season had passed, and
would pass again. And what I see now is that, enchantment aside,
what had really been handed down that month was … a lesson in
gardening. The wisteria would return the following April. We all
would, in fact. And there would be a wedding, and a new child.
And Kate Lumley. But that first April we had only just planted our

70
futures. And on our final day, as we reached the bottom of the hill
and passed through the castle’s gates, a great warm wind blew
through and against our backs, as if to blow away our befores for-
ever, now that our afters had begun. And with the wind came all
the scents of San Salvatore … the gardens and the sea, cinnamon
and macaroni. And dancing among them, white blossoms!
Breaking free! (White petals start to fall. She looks up, beaming, rais-
es her arms skyward.) Falling … like rain! (The piano resumes and the
lights fade as Lotty dances among the falling petals.)

End of Play

71
 PROPERTY LIST

London Times (ROSE, LOTTY, CAROLINE)

Scissors, mirror, towel (MELLERSH)
Monocle (MELLERSH)
Book and pen (FREDERICK)
Gloves (LOTTY)
Bowl of nuts, nutcracker (MRS. GRAVES)
Photographs, postcard (WILDING)
Envelope (LOTTY)
Tea service (WILDING)
Dessert, napkin (MELLERSH)
Billfold with money (FREDERICK)
Italian phrase book (ROSE)
Travel bags (ROSE and LOTTY)
Beans, bowl (COSTANZA)
Book (CAROLINE)
Pitcher (MRS. GRAVES)
Bell (MRS. GRAVES)
Cards (MRS. GRAVES)
Pillow (CAROLINE)
Tea tray, bowl of nuts (COSTANZA)
Towels
Parasols (MRS. GRAVES, ROSE)
Flowers (LOTTY)
Flask (CAROLINE)
Bottle of castor oil (MRS. GRAVES)
Telegram (COSTANZA, LOTTY)
Bag of nuts (WILDING)
Canvas and easel (WILDING)
Tea tray with biscuits (COSTANZA)
Packages (LOTTY and MRS. GRAVES)
Card (COSTANZA)
Travel bag, hat, coat, phrase book (MELLERSH)
Towel (MELLERSH)
Aperitif glasses (MELLERSH, WILDING and MRS. GRAVES)
Bowl of nuts (COSTANZA)
White petals

72
 SOUND EFFECTS

Thunder
Rain
Train whistle
Train in motion
Church bell
Bell
Explosion
Albeniz’s “Granada/Suite Espanola No. 1”

73
 ENCHANTED APRIL
by Matthew Barber
from the novel by Elizabeth von Arnim

2003 JOHN GASSNER AWARD WINNER

OUTSTANDING NEW AMERICAN PLAY
3M, 5W

When two proper London housewives decide to rent a villa in Italy for a
holiday away from their bleak marriages, they recruit two other, very dif-
ferent English women to share the cost and the experience. During their
enchanted month in the Ligurian villa, the ladies fall under the spell of their
idyllic, sun-drenched surroundings. There, amid the wisteria blossoms,
they rediscover laughter, learn new truths about themselves and find just
the romance they need, though perhaps not the romance we — or they —
expect to find.

“ENCHANTED APRIL is that rarity: a play where every single element falls
perfectly into place — a show that leaves you positively glowing.”
—nytheatre.com

“… an enchanting throwback to the Broadway of yesteryear … beguiles viewers

with its empathetic good humor toward the characters and the happy fulfillment
of their dreams.” —The Star-Ledger

“The kind of play that reminds you of why you love theatre.”
—The Hartford News

I SBN
ISBN 0 - 8222 - 1975 - 1
0-8222-1975-1
9 0 0 0 0>

DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC. 9 780822 219750