The Complete Fawlty Towers Page 27

  Sybil (calling): Basil!

  In the lobby, Messrs Xerxes, Zebedee and Young are standing there, shaken. Xerxes is ringing the reception bell. Basil and Manuel appear just outside the main door with the basket.

  Basil (calling back to van): If you could just hang on a couple of minutes. Sorry to keep you. (he and an increasingly flagging Manuel drag the basket in and park it by the desk) It’s all right. It’s all right. We sorted it out. He’s in this one.

  Xerxes and company stare at him. Polly intervenes.

  Polly (confidentially): The doctor didn’t want him in the kitchen . . . so we put him in the basket.

  Basil: It’s more hygienic.

  Mr. Xerxes rings the reception bell.

  Sybil’s voice (from the bar) Basil!

  Polly (getting to the reception desk; to Mr. Xerxes): Yes.

  Miss Young (to Polly, warily): You do work here?

  Polly: Yes.

  Miss Young: Well, we’d like to speak to the manager. (Polly looks blank)

  Basil: I’m the manager. Is there a problem?

  Polly (in confirmation): He is . . . really.

  Mr. Xerxes: No, er, there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding here. (to Polly) We’ve come to collect one of your guests, Mr. Leeman, to take him into town for a meeting.

  Basil: A meeting?

  Miss Young: Yes, a meeting.

  Mr. Xerxes: With our managing director.

  Basil (realizing): Oh, I see. Oh, Mr. Leeman!

  Miss Young: Yes.

  Polly: We thought you said the linen.

  Basil (to himself but too loudly): Brilliant! (out loud) Sorry! Sorry . . . oh, that’s it . . . (he leans on the basket)

  Sybil (coming in from the bar): Sorry to keep you . . .

  Basil: Oh, hallo, my sweet.

  Sybil: What are you doing, Basil?

  Basil: Well, it’s a bit involved, dear, but we thought that these gentlemen thought that we thought that they had . . .

  Polly (to Basil): No, no.

  Basil: No, that’s not it.

  Polly (to Sybil): Well they were coming for Mr. Leeman, and we thought they were coming to collect the linen.

  Sybil: Mr. Leeman.

  Basil: So if you’ll just sort that out, dear, I’ll take the linen upstairs.

  Sybil: I see. Thank you, Basil.

  Basil: Not at all, my sweet. (he and Manuel carry the basket upstairs; Manuel is sagging badly and groaning with the effort)

  Sybil (to Xerxes, Young and Zebedee): Would you mind coming into the office for a moment. (she goes into the office; they follow her uncertainly)

  In the upstairs corridor, Basil and Manuel appear at the top of the stairs. Manuel is getting the worst of it. They stagger along and put the basket down outside number eight.

  Basil: Come on, Manuel. One last effort.

  The Major (walking past): Another one, Fawlty?

  Basil: No, no, same one, Major.

  The Major moves on. Polly has followed them upstairs and she opens the door to number eight as they take the body out of the basket and carry it into the room—where Mr. Ingrams is sitting on the bed inflating a life-size rubber sex-aid-type doll. Basil and Manuel turn round and go out again rapidly.

  Basil: Sorry! Sorry, coming in like that. Sorry.

  Ingrams releases the doll and it deflates. Outside in the corridor Basil and Manuel dither. Polly points to the Whites’ room.

  Polly: They’ve gone into town.

  Basil: Oh. Yes.

  They open the door and carry the body in. Inside the room is dark. They lay the body on one of the two beds just as Polly opens the curtains. The light reveals Mrs. White lying on the other bed. As she stirs Polly flips the eiderdown over her and Basil and Manuel pick the body up again and disappear out of the door. Mr. White comes out of the bathroom holding a pad of cotton wool to his head. Mrs. White, struggling to escape from the eiderdown, falls off the bed.

  Polly: Sorry . . . wrong room. (she exits)

  In the lobby, Basil and Manuel rush down the stairs. Manuel is moaning exhaustedly. They go into the kitchen, but Dr. Price is standing by the stove frying himself some sausages. Before he can see them they back out into the lobby. Manuel is totally exhausted.

  Basil: Back in the basket. (tries to shove Manuel towards the basket by the dining-room door) Come on, come on.

  Manuel: Can’t lift.

  Basil: Come on!

  Manuel: Too tired.

  Basil: There’s somebody coming!

  Manuel: Mr. Fawlty, I no want to work here any more.

  Basil: Open the basket.

  Manuel: No.

  Basil: Open the basket! (Manuel opens the basket) Now inside. (Manuel starts climbing inside it) Not you!

  Manuel: I quit.

  Basil: Get out.

  Manuel: I on strike.

  Basil: I’m warning you . . .

  Manuel: I stay here. Is nice. (he climbs in and closes the lid on himself)

  Basil (nearly berserk): You see this . . . (indicating Mr. Leeman) You’re next!

  He hears a sound from the office and drags the body away. Messrs Zebedee, Xerxes and Young come out of the office with Sybil.

  Sybil: I really am so sorry.

  Miss Young: Thank you.

  Sybil: Goodbye.

  All: Goodbye.

  Sybil moves towards the bar. Zebedee, Xerxes and Young move towards the main door, then see Basil. He has sat Mr. Leeman on the umbrella-stand part of the hatrack, and is standing in front of him, keeping him in place and hiding him from their view. Basil stands nonchalantly with his arms folded. The others are a bit taken aback.

  Basil: Goodbye.

  Mr. Xerxes & Miss Young: Goodbye.

  Basil: Goodbye. (Mr. Zebedee moves over to Basil) Yes?

  Mr. Zebedee: Could I get my hat?

  Basil: Your hat?

  Mr. Zebedee: Yes. It’s just the . . .

  Basil: Yes, I’ll have it sent on. Do you have a card with your address? I’ll send it on.

  Mr. Zebedee: Well . . . could I just get it?

  Basil: Well, do you have to have it now?

  Mr. Zebedee: Yes.

  Basil: Well, supposing you lose it? It’s very windy.

  Mr. Zebedee: I’d like to have it.

  Basil (sighs to the basket): Oh, right . . . Manuel! Manuel! (the others look alarmed) He’s in the basket. He is . . . (Polly comes downstairs) Polly, would you get Manuel out of the basket, please.

  Polly (looking at the basket): Manuel?

  Basil: Yes—come on, girl, come on, what’s the matter?

  Polly (opening the lid cautiously): No, he isn’t in there.

  Basil: Yes he is.

  Polly: He isn’t.

  Basil: He is . . . look for him!

  Polly (rummaging in the laundry): . . . Oh . . . sorry.

  Manuel (getting out, to Polly): You . . . big scab.

  Basil (to the others): See! (he unfolds his arms, revealing Mr. Leeman’s hand on his arm; hurriedly he releases it and refolds his arms) Manuel, would you get this gentleman his hat please.

  Manuel: Where?

  Mr. Zebedee (pointing): There! On the rack.

  Manuel (seeing Mr. Leeman): Ugh! (he stands next to Basil to hide the evidence and, rather awkwardly, passes a hat over)

  Basil: What colour was it?

  Mr. Zebedee: Brown. No, that’s not it . . . (Polly reaches over and gets the correct hat) Thank you.

  Miss Tibbs has emerged unsteadily from the bar and now confronts Basil.

  Miss Tibbs: Mr. Fawlty! I want a word with you in your office.

  Basil: Yes, when would be convenient for you?

  Miss Tibbs (to the others): I’m seventy-nine!!

  The Whites come down the stairs.

  Mr. White: What on earth is going on here?

  Basil: Oh, sorry about the eiderdown, it got a bit caught.

  Mrs. Chase (coming downstairs minus dog): My baby! My baby’s dying! (general consternation) They poi
soned him!

  Miss Young: Your baby?

  Mrs. Chase: He said he’d gone for a vet.

  Miss Young: A vet?

  Basil: Sybil!

  Dr. Price comes in from the dining room holding a plate of sausages.

  Dr. Price: I’ve just cooked these sausages myself and they’re off! They should have been eaten by the third. (goes back into the dining room)

  Miss Gatsby comes down the stairs. Basil sees Sybil behind the reception desk.

  Basil: Ah, there you are dear. You do look nice. Ladies and gentlemen . . . ladies and gentlemen . . . (calling out through main door) Laundry’s ready . . . (to his audience) Ladies and gentlemen, there have been a lot of cock-ups this morning, you all deserve an explanation, and I’m happy to say that my wife will give it to you. Thank you, thank you so much.

  He gestures extravagantly towards Sybil. The throng turns towards her; he leaps into the basket and pulls the lid down. Two laundry men come in. Polly and Manuel move away from the still-seated Mr. Leeman. The laundrymen pick up the basket and carry it out. Sybil is surrounded by the throng, all complaining noisily. The Major comes downstairs and sees the corpse.

  The Major (to Mr. Leeman): What’s going on, old boy?

  Miss Tibbs sees the corpse and screams. Miss Gatsby holds her up. Further pandemonium ensues as the others see it.

  Sybil: Basil! Basil! Basil! Basil!

  The basket is loaded on the back of the van, which drives off. Sybil’s voice wafts furiously after it.

  Sybil’s voice: Basil! Basil! Basil! . . .

  THE ANNIVERSARY

  Polly ..... Connie Booth

  Terry ..... Brian Hall

  Manuel ..... Andrew Sachs

  Sybil Fawlty ..... Prunella Scales

  Basil Fawlty ..... John Cleese

  Roger ..... Ken Campbell

  Alice ..... Una Stubbs

  Virginia ..... Pat Keen

  Arthur ..... Robert Arnold

  Reg ..... Roger Hume

  Kitty ..... Denyse Alexander

  Major Gowen ..... Ballard Berkeley

  Audrey ..... Christine Shaw

  Miss Tibbs ..... Gilly Flower

  Miss Gatsby ..... Renée Roberts

  Fifth of second series, first broadcast on 26, March 1979, BBC2.

  The kitchen. Terry is clearing things up; Polly is drying the washing-up.

  Polly: I mean, it’s only a hundred.

  Terry: Yeah, nothing for them.

  Polly: And I said I’d pay it back in six weeks.

  Terry: Well, knock it off your wages.

  Polly: And she said she thought it would be all right. (she starts to dry a vase of flowers without looking)

  Terry: Poll!

  Polly (realizes and puts it down): I mean, if he’d said ‘No’ three weeks ago when I asked him I could have got the money somewhere else.

  Terry: Ask him this morning.

  Polly: Well, I’ve asked him three times, it’s embarrassing.

  Terry: Well, tell him. Say if he won’t let you have it you’ll go.

  Polly: I’ve got to have it this weekend.

  Terry: Well, ask him. I mean, me and you practically run the bleeding place for ’em.

  He goes out. Manuel comes in with a couple of carrier bags.

  Manuel: Ah, Polly. Your paintings brushes.

  Polly: Thank you, Manuel. (she examines them)

  Manuel: Here. And the change is 44p.

  Polly: Ah . . . what’s all that?

  Manuel: Oh, I make a paella, a surprise tonight. My mother’s recipe. Is . . . (indicates top-hole)

  Polly: But does Terry know?

  Manuel: Oh . . . perhaps Mr. Fawlty say?

  Sybil comes in, obviously cross about something. Polly looks at her.

  Polly: . . . Anything wrong?

  Sybil (heavily martyred): Nothing you could do anything about, thank you, Polly.

  Polly: Are you sure?

  Sybil: Our fifteenth wedding anniversary today . . . guess who’s forgotten.

  Polly: Oh, no.

  Sybil: I didn’t think he’d forget this year, not after what happened when he forgot last year . . . I shouldn’t be so thin-skinned about it. I’m just cursed with a sensitive nature, I’m afraid. Still, that’s the way I am. I suppose we all have our cross to bear.

  Basil (coming in cheerfully humming the end of Beethoven’s Ninth): Do you know what poem that’s based on, Polly?

  Polly: No.

  Basil: Ode to Joy. (to Sybil) Hallo, dear. (to Polly) Oh, Polly, you won’t forget to put some more splits in the bar, will you.

  Polly: No, I’ll do it later.

  Sybil: I don’t expect Polly will forget, Basil.

  Basil: No, just reminding her, dear.

  Sybil: Oh, were you.

  Basil: I thought so, yes.

  Sybil: Really?

  Basil: Well, it sounded like it to me.

  Sybil: You don’t have to worry about Polly forgetting anything important, Basil.

  Basil: Don’t I?

  Sybil: No, you don’t.

  Basil: Oh good, how splendid.

  Sybil: No, she doesn’t forget things.

  Basil: . . . Doesn’t she?

  Sybil: Well, can you remember the last time she did?

  Basil: No, I can’t . . . but then my memory isn’t very good.

  Sybil: You can say that again.

  Basil: Oh, can I dear? Oh, thank you. (clears his throat) I’ve forgotten what it was.

  Sybil: Well, don’t worry, Basil, provided you can remember the things that matter to you. (she leaves in a huff)

  Basil: Do I detect the smell of burning martyr?

  Polly (hurrying up to him): Mr. Fawlty, it’s your anniversary.

  Basil (nodding): Mmmm . . . but don’t let on.

  Polly: What?

  Basil: I’m pretending I’ve forgotten . . . Well, I forgot last year and I got flayed alive for it, so we’ve got some friends arriving in about (glancing at his watch) ten minutes for a surprise drinks party. Manuel’s making a special paella for tonight, got some champagne . . . but don’t tell her I’ve remembered yet . . . let her have a bit of a fume.

  Polly: Wouldn’t it be simpler to boil her in oil?

  Basil: Yes, but not as economical.

  Manuel (coming up): Ah, Mr. Fawlty, what time for the paella?

  Basil: . . . Er . . . nine o’clock . . . but secret, mmm?

  Manuel: Ah, si, si.

  Polly: Oh Mr. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Hmmm?

  Polly: Have you decided about the car?

  Basil: . . . The car?

  Polly: The money for the car.

  Basil: Ah! . . . Um . . .

  Polly: I spoke to Mrs. Fawlty and she said it was all right.

  Basil: Yes, I don’t think she quite understands the cash-flow situation vis-à-vis the frozen assets . . .

  Polly: But it’s only a hundred.

  Basil: Yes, well . . .

  Polly: I said I’d pay you back in six weeks.

  Basil: Let me think about it, hmm?

  Polly: But I’ve got to know this weekend—they won’t hold it any longer.

  Basil: This weekend? You should have told me.

  Polly: I told you three weeks ago.

  Basil: Look, it’s my anniversary, right? I’ve got some friends arriving in a few minutes. We’ll discuss it later. Oh, and when they get here, give me a hand with the coats and drinks, will you. (he goes out)

  Polly: I scratch your back, you scratch mine, eh?

  Terry (coming in and seeing Manuel’s ingredients): What’s this, then?

  The lobby. Basil comes out of the kitchen looking slightly relieved. Miss Tibbs and Miss Gatsby come downstairs.

  Miss Tibbs & Miss Gatsby: Good morning, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Good morning, ladies.

  They exit. Sybil is standing at the door to the office. Basil senses her and looks round.

  Sybil: Can I have a word with you, Basil?

/>   Basil: Er, could it wait just a few minutes, dear?

  Sybil: No. (she goes into the office; he follows)

  Basil: Is everything all right, dear? You seem just a little bit tense.

  Sybil: Do you know what day it is today, Basil?

  Basil: Um . . . it’s the sixteenth today, dear.

  Sybil: It’s the seventeenth, Basil.

  Basil: No, it’s the sixteenth today, dear.

  Sybil (quietly, very angry): It’s the seventeenth, Basil.

  Basil: We’ll soon settle this, dear. (he goes out to the reception desk and picks up the paper; Sybil comes to the office door) Oh. Yes, you are right. The seventeenth of April. Well, well, well . . .

  Sybil: Does that stir any memories in you, Basil?

  Basil: . . . Memories? . . . (his face lights up) . . . Agincourt!

  Sybil: . . . What?

  Basil: Anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt? (Sybil slaps him and walks into the office; he is pleased) . . . Trafalgar? Crécy? Poitiers? Yom Kippur?

  The office door slams. Terry is approaching fast from the kitchen.

  Terry: Mr. Fawlty. Manuel says he’s cooking a paella for you.

  Basil: Sssh. It’s for Mrs. Fawlty. Anniversary . . .

  Terry: I can do paella you know.

  Basil: Yes, I know.

  Terry: I have been to catering school.

  Basil: Oh yes, I know . . . but he is Spanish, you know, and I thought it’d be rather nice . . .

  Terry: Gazpacho, Chicken Andaluse, Eggplant Espagnole, Franco Fritters . . . I can do it you know.

  Manuel comes up behind Terry.

  Basil: Yes, of course you can, but he’s been wanting to do it ever since he got here, so I thought it would be rather nice, you know, just tonight to give him the chance . . .

  Sybil leaves the office by the other door and walks out through the main doors, passing Manuel who looks rather agitated.

  Terry: I don’t want to cause trouble, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Yes you do.

  Manuel (pointing after Sybil): Mr. Fawlty . . .

  Basil: Now, don’t you start. I don’t want an argument . . .

  Manuel: No, no, please.

  Basil: Be quiet! I’ve told him I want you to do it.

  Manuel: No, no—Mrs. Fawlty. She go.

  Basil: . . . What?

  Manuel: She leave. She leave. She go out.