JAMES. Oh, don’t do that, never do that.

MARGARET. But…

JAMES (cutting her off). Is that new?

MARGARET. What?

JAMES. That…

(Waves his hand.) What do you want to call it? Scarf? That on your shoulders.

MARGARET (looking). Oh. Yes, yes, it is.

JAMES. Can I see?

She pulls the cloth free and hands it to him. JAMES is staggered at the beauty of the colour. It’s red.

Oh!

MARGARET. I know.

JAMES. Oh!

MARGARET (laughing). I know!

JAMES. HOW!?

MARGARET. It’s just madderwort.

JAMES. It’s not!

MARGARET. It is. I found a little man who does something different with the root.

JAMES. What?

MARGARET. He won’t tell me, he won’t tell anyone. It’s his living after all.

JAMES. Bring him here and torture him till he tells you.

MARGARET. No!

JAMES. Look at that. Look at that, that’s red.

MARGARET. That’s red.

JAMES. That’s blood and wine and dying suns.

MARGARET has pulled more cloth out.

MARGARET. Look at his yellow.

JAMES. Oh!

MARGARET. I know!

JAMES. That is yellow.

MARGARET. Summer broom in flower. Gorse buds.

JAMES. I want it. I want both of them.

MARGARET. I’ve bought all his stock. There’ll be no more till next year.

(Showing him.) He has this blue.

JAMES (grudging). That’s a blue.

MARGARET. Yes.

JAMES. It’s not a bad blue. I’ve seen much worse.

MARGARET. It’s a good blue.

JAMES. But it’s just a blue. I need the red.

MARGARET. Well, it’s mine.

JAMES. You can give me the yellow.

MARGARET. I’m not giving you any of it, James.

JAMES. Half the yellow then… and one length of the red.

MARGARET. You can’t have it.

JAMES. No, you have to give it to me.

MARGARET. Alright, alright… but no choir.

JAMES hesitates for a long moment.

JAMES. Alright. No choir.

He kisses her again. It gets more passionate. MARGARET breaks away.

Tomorrow night, then.

She hesitates, then she smiles.

MARGARET. Tomorrow night.

The Queen’s Room, the Next Night

PHEMY and ANNABELLA are helping MARGARET get the room ready for a romantic night.

MARGARET. I want you to stay a while tonight.

PHEMY. Eh?

MARGARET. To eat with us. You’re my dearest friends. The King always shares my company with his friends, I want to share mine.

PHEMY and ANNABELLA look at each other.

PHEMY. Well…

MARGARET. What?

PHEMY. If it’s what you want…

ANNABELLA. No.

MARGARET. Annabella…

ANNABELLA. No, I’m not doing that.

MARGARET. But why not?

PHEMY. You know I doubt he’d even want us here.

MARGARET. Yes, he would.

You’re his aunt, Annabella! You barely see him.

ANNABELLA. And what does that tell you?

MARGARET. Oh, not you as well!

She busies herself, angry with them.

You know none of you ever consider how difficult it is for him. How lonely he must be.

PHEMY. Oh, Margaret, don’t!

MARGARET. Don’t what?