A MAGNANIMOUS OFFER

 

The drawing room of Mr Cyril Richardson's country house in Berkshire where, in groups of twos and threes, a select gathering of guests are enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of informal conversation.  Having been engaged in such conversation with Oscar Wilde, an up-and-coming poet, concerning the rumoured progress of indigenous enlightenment in matters of consummate importance to the survival of ignorance, the host, a successful portrait painter, is heard referring his guest's attention to matters closer to-hand.

 

HOST: (Eyes his guest's three-quarter empty glass of white wine) I trust the wine is to your liking, Oscar?

WILDE: Oh, exquisite!  What is it?

HOST: The best.

WILDE: (Politely if belatedly sniffs the bouquet) I thought as much.  Vintage calibre!  Alas, the number of perfect hosts is becoming steadily fewer these days.  Perfection is quite out-of-fashion.

HOST: Indeed?  How fortunate for me that I'm never invited anywhere by the imperfect ones. (He glances towards his wife, a beautiful dark-haired woman who has been waiting on the edge of a group of nearby conversationalists for the opportunity of being officially introduced to Oscar Wilde, and indicates, by a polite gesture of his hand, that he would like her to join them.) Tell me, Oscar, do you believe in miracles?

WILDE: Only when they fail to convince me.

HOST: Then you must meet my wife.  She convinces no-one but herself.

WILDE: A regular affair!

HOST: (To Wilde) Allow me to introduce you to Pamela.  Pamela, the poet Oscar Wilde.

HOSTESS: (Extends her hand) Delighted to meet you, Mr Wilde.  My husband has told me all about you.

WILDE: (Kisses her hand) Then I beg your pardon, madam.  He has probably told you too much.

HOSTESS: (Excitedly) On the contrary, he rarely talks unless he's excited, and he's rarely excited until he whets my curiosity.

HOST: Then don't allow me to blunt it, my dear. (He turns to Wilde) If you'll excuse me, Oscar, I must attend to our other guests a moment.  Just let Pamela know if there's anything you'd like.  There's no shortage of wine in the cabinet. (He points to a nearby wine cabinet and immediately sets off towards some other guests.)

HOSTESS: I trust you found your way here without too much inconvenience, Mr Wilde?

WILDE: Indeed I did, madam.  For the scent of affluence sheds an irresistible attraction.  One finds half of London pursuing the same path.

HOSTESS: (Scans the crowded room) Are you familiar with any of our other guests?

WILDE: Too familiar, I'm afraid.  That's the main reason why I’m alone tonight.

HOSTESS: Oh, really?  Then I shall keep you company, Mr Wilde.  We mustn't allow that brilliant tongue of yours to cease wagging just because you're temporarily or temperamentally out-of-favour with the bulk of our illustrious company.

WILDE: Thank you, madam.  If I've previously exhausted myself on a majority of the other persons here this evening, I have yet to exhaust myself on you.  Your company exalts me, as does your wine.

HOSTESS: Then have some more. (To his surprise she fetches an uncorked bottle of Sauterne from the cabinet and pours its contents into his half-empty glass.)  My husband was telling me, the other day, how you recently made a valiant attempt to abstain from drink in the presence of Dr Hugo Fleming.

WILDE: (Blushes) Only an attempt, I'm glad to say.  Had I been rash enough to succeed, I should have forfeited the ultimate pleasure of being carried home by that kindly old man and nursed back to drink again.  It has since become a ruse among certain well-established dipsomaniacs to accredit me the possessor of an unfortunately high metabolism.

HOSTESS: (With a penetrating look) I find that quite credible.

WILDE: How discerning!  But one can't believe everything one hears nowadays, particularly where one's health and pleasures are concerned.  One must be content with believing only what one has to.

HOSTESS: You seem more of a sage than I initially took you for, Mr Wilde.  Tell me, when are you going to get married?

WILDE: (Lights himself a gold-tipped and mildly-opiated cigarette) Why, I wonder, is it only the married women who ask me that question?

HOSTESS: Well?

WILDE: One should only consider the possibility of marriage when one can't afford it.  That prevents one from marrying when one can.

HOSTESS: (Smiles wryly) How paradoxical!  But perhaps you're too eligible?

WILDE: (Blushes afresh) There you have it!  For were I a desperate man, I shouldn't hesitate to clutch at a vulnerable twig.  But, thanks or no thanks to my eligibility, I can never see the wood for the trees.

HOSTESS: How disconcerting!

WILDE: On the contrary, I find it most provocative.  The trees are the only things worth looking at.

HOSTESS: Then you like my dress?

WILDE: Such an elegant leaf.

HOSTESS: How flattering!  But you may pay the price of plucking it one day.

WILDE: (His gaze riveted on her bosom) That's a branch of aesthetics in which I'm well versed, I can assure you.

HOSTESS: Perhaps.  But you aren't yet in debt to my husband.

WILDE: True, but only because he's in debt to me.

HOSTESS: (Slightly alarmed) Oh, in what way?

WILDE: Eh, financially.

HOSTESS: Then I shall ask him to settle your account.

WILDE: (In a subdued tone-of-voice) Personally, I'd rather you didn't.  He has become such am amiable companion in the short time I've known him.  Besides, I prefer intrigue.  It's less wearisome.

HOSTESS: (Smiles in a subtly coquettish way) Then you shall have it!

WILDE: Allow me to congratulate you.  What will you have to drink?

HOSTESS: (Taken by surprise) Whatever you suggest.

WILDE: (Turns toward the wine cabinet) A double orange juice?

HOSTESS: (Feigns indignation) Oscar!

WILDE: I mean, a double orange juice and vodka.

HOSTESS: I think vodka more becoming.  Perhaps a little orange juice would suit you, though?

WILDE: Indeed it would, madam, were I not already partial to your magnificent wine and consequently disinclined to mix drinks.  Even so, you would be none the less attractive for a change of glass.

HOSTESS: My apologies for having underestimated you.

WILDE: (Hands her a glass of vodka) Apologies are quite out-of-keeping with your demeanour.

HOSTESS: As is flattery with yours.

WILDE: Then we are cold-blooded?

HOSTESS: I prefer to think in terms of warmth.

WILDE: Your wish is my demand.

HOSTESS: Granted!

WILDE: (His eyes reverting to her bosom) A breast in the hand is worth two in the bodice. (Mr Richardson is seen approaching the newly acquainted couple with two glasses of sparkling champagne in his hands.)

HOSTESS: (Almost whispering) I fear we are about to be nipped in the bud.

WILDE: Not when our liaison has already blossomed, Pamela.

HOST: (Smiles candidly and extends one of the glasses to his special guest) For you, Oscar!  A truly exuberant bouquet.

WILDE: Cheers Cyril!  I never reject a magnanimous offer.