(Harry has returned from the pub, where he went for a few drinks with John and Edwin.)

HARRY PORTER
You wanted me?

CELIA PORTER
I suppose you only came back because it was closing time.

HARRY
As a matter of fact, they ran out of beer...no beer, sold out.
(laughing at the punch line of John's joke)
"Charlie doesn't like it."

CELIA
You're drunk, aren't you?

HARRY
No, Celia, I'm not drunk...but I wish to God I were.

CELIA
Self! Self...self.

(He pulls from his coat pocket the sealed envelope from Michael to Margaret.)

HARRY
Is, uh... Is this what's rotting your soul away?

CELIA
(glancing at the envelope and quickly looking away)
What's that?

HARRY
It was in our case. You put it there.

CELIA
Oh, yes. Uh, it's a Christmas card or something, isn't it?

HARRY
Oh, Celia, for God's sake! What do you take me for? It's not for us. It's for Mrs. Margaret Ashton.

CELIA
Yes, well, it should be Mrs. Margaret Porter, shouldn't it?

(She snatches the envelope from him and waves it in front of his eyes.)

CELIA
It's a man's handwriting, that. Look at that! Look at that!

(When Harry walks away, hands over his ears, Celia tears open the envelope and reads Michael's words to Margaret.)

MICHAEL ARMSTRONG'S VOICE
And when you were in hospital, and we thought we'd lost the baby because of your back...

CELIA
(in a state of shock)
God! Gaw...!
(turning to Harry)
She... She had another man...while John was away. She... She was pregnant!

HARRY
(in disbelief)
You're ill! You're mad!

CELIA
Read it. Go on, read it, if you don't believe me. Read it!

(She tries to run from the room, presumably to inform John, but Harry blocks her way.)

CELIA
Let me past!

HARRY
You're not going out of here 'til you've come to your senses.

CELIA
Read it! Read it.

(She holds the letter directly in front of his eyes, but he turns away.)

CELIA
Read it!

(Finally, Harry relents, snatching the letter from his wife and reading.)

CELIA
(nodding her head in self-satisfaction)
There's your precious Margaret for you.

HARRY
(badly shaken)
You'll say nothing to John about this...nothing. If you do, you'll destroy him. Do you understand? You'll destroy him.

(Celia is silent, looking at Harry in defiance.)

 

(from "Salute the Happy Morn" by John Finch)