It's no use.
That woman beat hell out of me, and I feel limp anyway.
Let's go in.
Ohl
I'd better take my shoes off. All right.
Ohl.
Well, bravol.
Bravo.
I confess I came round the other way.
Yes, I wasn't sure about that door, somehow.
They've been working at it all morning, you know.
Well, bravo.
Do you know you're the first lady that I've seen?
I'm very lucky.
No, we are the lucky ones.
Charmed.
Your usual, sir?
Scotch and tepid water, I think.
Thank you.
And for the lady,
might I suggest a nip of champagne?
Do you know, the awful thing is,
I would like champagne very much.
I'll have some champagne too.
Very good, sir.
What a life of pleasure-
roses, half an hour with a female pugilist,
and now champagne.
I wish you wouldn't keep going on about the roses.
It wasn't my idea in the first place.
Somebody sent them to Celia.
Oh, that's quite different. That lets you out completely.
But it does make my massage worse.
Well, I did have the barber shave me
in my room this morning.
I'm glad about the roses.
Frankly, they were a shock.
They made me think we were starting the day
on the wrong foot.
All the next day
Julia and I spent together without interruption,
talking, sometimes scarcely moving,
held by the swell of the sea.
After luncheon,
the last hardy passengers went to rest,
and we were alone,
as though the place had been cleared for us,
as though tact on a titanic scale
had sent everyone tiptoeing out to leave us to one another.
We thought Papa might come back to England
after Mummy died
or that he might marry again.
But he lives just as he did.
Rex and I often go and see him now.
I've grown very fond of him.
And Sebastian?
He's disappeared completely.
Cordelia's in Spain with an ambulance.
Bridey leads his own extraordinary life.
He wanted to shut Brideshead after Mummy died,
but Papa wouldn't hear of it for some reason,
so Rex and I live there now.
And Bridey too?
He has two rooms next to Nanny Hawkins,
part of the old nurseries.
One meets him, sometimes, coming out of the library
or on the stairs.
I never know when he's at home,
and now and then, he suddenly comes in to dinner
like a ghost, quite unexpectedly.
He's like a character from Chekov.
You know, Charles,
Rex has never been unkind to me intentionally.
It's just that he isn't a real person at all.
He's a few faculties of a man highly developed.
The rest simply isn't there.
He couldn't imagine why it hurt me to find out,
two months after we came back to London from our honeymoon,
that he was still keeping up with Brenda Champion.
I was glad when I found that Celia was unfaithful.
I felt it made it all right for me to dislike her.
Is she?
Do you?
I'm glad. I don't like her either.
Why did you marry her?
Oh...
physical attraction, ambition.
Everybody agrees
she's the perfect wife for a painter.
Loneliness.
Missing Sebastian.
You loved him, didn't you?
Oh, yes.
He was the forerunner.
She told me,
as though fondly turning the pages
of an old nursery book,
of her childhood.
And I lived long sunny days with her in the meadows,
with Nanny Hawkins on her camp stool
and Cordelia asleep in the pram.
She told me of her life with Rex
and of the secret, vicious, disastrous escapade
that had taken her to New York.
She, too, had had her dead years.
At first, I used to stay away with Rex
in his friends' houses.
He doesn't make me anymore.
He was ashamed of me when he found
I didn't cut the kind of figure he wanted,
ashamed of himself for having been taken in.
I wasn't at all the article he bargained for.
He can't see the point of me.
But whenever he's made up his mind
there isn't a point
and he's begun to feel comfortable,
he gets a surprise.
Some man, or even woman, he respects
takes a fancy to me, and he suddenly sees
there's a whole world of things we understand that he doesn't.
He was upset when I went away.
He'll be delighted to have me back.
I was faithful to him until this last thing came along.
When, before dinner, she went to get ready,
I came with her,
uninvited, unopposed, expected.
I recalled the courtships of the past ten dead years,
how, knotting my tie before setting out,
putting the gardenia in my buttonhole,
I would plan an evening of seduction
and think, "At such and such a time,
"at such and such an opportunity,
"I shall cross the start line
"and open my attack for better or worse.
This phase of battle has gone on long enough,"
I would think.
"A decision must be reached."
With Julia, there were no phases,
no start line,
no tactic at all.
I'll see you at dinner.
There's nothing like a good upbringing.
Do you know, last year,
when I thought I was going to have a child,
I'd decided to have it brought up a Catholic?
I hadn't thought about religion before.
I haven't since.
But just at that time,
while I was waiting for the birth,
I thought, "That's the one thing I can give her."
"It doesn't seem to have done me much good,
but my child shall have it."
it was odd,
wanting to give something one had lost one's self.
Then, in the end, I couldn't even give her that.
I couldn't even give her life.
I never saw her.
I was too ill to know what was going on,
and afterwards for a long time, until now,
I didn't want to speak about her.
She was a daughter,
so Rex didn't so much mind about her being dead.
We'd argued endlessly
about whether I should have a child in the first place.
At first, I wanted one.
After a year or so, I discovered
that I'd have to have an operation
to make it possible.
By that time, Rex and I were out of love.
But he still wanted an heir.
It's late.
Perhaps we'd better go to bed.
I have been punished a little for marrying Rex.
You see, I can't get all that sort of thing
out of my mind quite-
death, judgment, heaven, hell,
Nanny Hawkins, and the catechism.
It becomes part of one's self
if they give it one early enough.
And yet I wanted my child to have it.
Now I suppose I shall be punished
for what I've just done.
Perhaps that's why you and I are here together like this.
Part of a plan.
No, Charles, not yet.
Perhaps never.
I don't know. I don't know if I want love.
Love?
I'm not asking for love.
Oh, yes, Charles.
You are.
Charles, are you there?
Yes.
I'll come in.
Oh, I've been asleep such a long while.
What time is it?
It's half past 3:00.
It's no better, is it?
It's worse.
I feel a little better, though.
Do you think they'd bring me some tea or something
if I rang the bell?
I expect so.
Did you have an amusing evening?
Everyone's sick.
Oh, poor Charles.
It was going to be such a lovely trip too.
It may be better tomorrow.
Perhaps.
Next day, the wind had dropped,
and again we were wallowing in the swell.
That day,
because we had talked so much the day before
and because what we had to say needed few words,
we spoke little.
Thank you.
When, after long silences, we spoke at all,
our thoughts, we found,
had kept pace together, side by side.
You're standing guard over your sadness.
It's all I've earned.
You said so yesterday.
My wages.
An lOU from life.
A promise to pay on demand.
It's the end of our day.
Let's go on deck.
Yes, now.
Oh, dear, where can we hide,
we orphans of the storm?
- Good morning. - Morning, sir.
Charles?
Charlesl.
Good morning.
I feel so well.
What do you think I'm having for breakfast?
Good Lord.
I've fixed up a visit to go to the hairdresser.
Do you know they couldn't take me
till 4:00 this afternoon, they're so busy suddenly?
Mm-hmm.
So I shan't appear till this evening,
but all sorts of people are coming this morning to see us.
I'm afraid I've been a worthless wife to you
these last few days.
What have you been up to?
Have you been behaving yourself?
You haven't been picking up sirens?
There was scarcely a woman about.
No, I've been talking to Julia.
Oh, good.
I always wanted to get you two together.
She's one of my friends I knew you'd like.
You must have been a godsend to her.
She's been through a rather gloomy time lately.
I don't expect she mentioned it,
but she got into trouble with an awful man.
I hear you've been looking after my husband for me.
Yes, we've become very matey.
Oh, Charles, do let's go and see what's going on.
We'll catch you up.
What are your plans?
London for a bit.
Celia's going straight down to the country.
She wants to see the children.
You too?
No.
In London, then.
Charles, the little red-haired man, Foulenough.
Did you see?
Two plainclothes police came and took him off.
Oh, I missed it.
There was such a crowd that side of the ship.
I found out about trains and sent a telegram.
- All right. - We shall be home by dinner.
The children will be asleep.
Well, perhaps we could wake John-John up just this once.
Uh, you go down.
I really have to stay in London.
Oh, Charles, you must come. You haven't seen Caroline.
Will she change much in a week or two?
Oh, darling, she changes every day.
Then where's the point of seeing her now?
I'm sorry, my dear,
but I must get the pictures unpacked
so I can see how they've traveled.
I must get the exhibition fixed up.
Must you?
It's very disappointing.
Besides, I don't know if Andrew and Cynthia
will be out of the flat.
They took it till the end of the month.
Oh, I can go to a hotel.
Oh, but that's so grim.
I can't bear you to be alone your first night home.
I'll stay and go down tomorrow.
Now, you mustn't disappoint the children.
No.
Will you come down at the weekend?
If I can.
All British passport holders to the smoking room, please.
Oh.
I've arranged for that sweet foreign office man at our table
to get us off early.
Good.
Hello? Cavendish Hotel?
Mr. Charles Ryder, please.
Charles.
Are you off to the gallery?
I'm sick of the pictures already,
and I never want to see them again,
but I suppose I better put in an appearance.
Do you want me to come?
I'd much rather you didn't.
Celia sent a card
with "bring everyone" written across it in green ink.
When do we meet?
In the train.
You could pick up my luggage.
If you'll have it packed soon, I'll pick you up too
and drop you at the gallery.
I've got a fitting next door at 12:00.
Lovely.
See you in about an hour, then.
Bye.
Good morning, Mr. Fisher.
Good morning, sir.
How's it going?
Now, Charles, darling, do remember:
Be nice to the critics.
Yes, darling.
No one's come yet.
I've been here since 10:00, and it's been very dull.
Whose car was that you came in?
Julia's.
Julia's? Why didn't you bring her in?
Oddly enough, I've just been talking about Brideshead
to a funny little man who seemed to know it very well.
He said he was called Mr. Samgrass.
Apparently, he's one of Lord Copper's
middle-aged young men on The Daily Beast.
I tried to feed him some paragraphs,
but he seemed to know more about you than I do.
He said he met me years ago at Brideshead.
I wish Julia had come in;
We could have asked her about him.
- You know, I- - Your whisky, darling.
Thank you.
I remember him. He's a crook.
Yes, that stuck out a mile.
He's been talking about what he calls the "Brideshead set."
Apparently, Rex Mottram has turned the place
into a nest of party mutiny.
Did you know?
What would Teresa Marchmain have thought?
I'm going up there tonight.
No, not tonight, Charles.
You can't go tonight.
You're expected at home.
You promised as soon as the exhibition was ready,
you'd come home.
John-John and Nanny have made a banner with "welcome" on it,
and you haven't seen Caroline yet.
I'm sorry; It's all settled.
Besides, Daddy will think it so odd.
And Boy is home for Sunday.
And you haven't seen the new studio.
Charles, you can't go tonight.
Did they ask me?
Of course.
But I knew you wouldn't be able to come.
No, I can't now.
I could have, if you'd let me know earlier.
I should adore to see the "Brideshead set" at home.
I do think you're perfectly beastly,
but this is no time for a family rumpus.
The Clarences said they'd look in before luncheon.
They may be here any minute.
Good.
Mr. Ryder? Pamela Lomax, Daily Mail.
Oh, yes.
I wondered if I might have a word.
Oh, here they are.
So pleased to meet you.
Lovely to see you again.
What a very charming hat.
Oh, sir, you are sweet.
Interesting, this trip down the Amazon.
One of my brothers has just got back.
Got pretty bitten.
Looking forward to seeing the pictures.
How kind of you to come, sir.
Very good to see you.
Ma'am.
Would you care for some champagne?
Not for me, thank you.
Pretty hot out there, I should think.
Yes, it was, sir.
Was it terribly uncomfortable?
Well, ma'am, there were one or two sticky moments.
Awfully clever, the way you've hit off
the impression of heat.
Makes me feel quite uncomfortable in my great coat.
Just a little bit closer, please.
That's it. Fine, lovely.
Can you see the picture?
That's all right, now.
I'm not interested in the picture.
That's fine. Just a tiny bit closer.
Lovely, lovely.
Now smile, please.
Thank you.
How kind, Sir John. I'm delighted to hear it.
Oh, Charles, Charles.
Sir John has been saying the most marvelous things about you.
Oh, good. I'm glad.
I think it's safe to say
that we can look forward to another Ryder at the Tate.
And now, if I may, I should like to mark down
the following ones for further consideration.
Number seven.
You see, Charles lives for one thing:
Beauty.
I think he got bored
with finding it ready-made in England.
He had to go and create it for himself.
He wanted new worlds to conquer.
After all, he has said the last word
about country houses, really, hasn't he?
Not, I mean, that he's given that up altogether.
I'm sure he'll always do one or two more for friends.
Of course, he's going to be frightfully busy at the moment,
getting the book ready.
From fashionable and unfashionable lips alike,
I heard fragments of praise.
They all thought they had found something new.
It had not been thus at my last exhibition
in these same rooms shortly before going abroad.
Then, there had been
an unmistakable note of weariness.
Then, the talk had been less of me
than of the houses, anecdotes of their owners.
I remembered that last exhibition, too,
for another reason.
It was the week I had detected my wife in adultery.
Then, as now, she was a tireless hostess.
Whenever I see anything lovely nowadays,
a building,
I think to myself, "That's by Charles."
Throughout our married life, again and again
I had felt my bowels shrivel within me
at the things she said.
But today, in this gallery,
I heard her unmoved and suddenly realized
that she was powerless to hurt me anymore.
I was a free man.
She had given me my manumission
in that brief, sly lapse of hers.
My cuckold's horns made me lord of the forest.
Darling, I must go.
It's been a terrific success, hasn't it?
I'll think of something to tell them at home,
but I wish it hadn't had to happen quite like this.
Good afternoon.
No, I have not brought a c-c-card of invitation.
I do not even know whether I received one.
I have not come to a social function.
I do not seek to scrape acquaintance with Lady Celia.
I do not want my photograph in the Tatler.
I haven't come to exhibit myself.
I've come to see the pictures.
Perhaps you are unaware that there are any pictures here.
I happen to have a p-p-personal interest in the artist,
if that word has any meaning for you.
Antoine.
Come in.
My dear, there is a gorgon here
who thinks I'm gate-crashing.
Dear Charles.
How are you?
I only arrived in London yesterday,
and I heard quite by chance at luncheon
that you were having an ex-exhibition
so of course I dashed impetuously to the shrine
to pay homage.
Have I changed?
Would you recognize me, hmm?
Now, where are the pictures?
Let me explain them to you.
Hmm.
Where, my dear Charles,
did you find this sumptuous greenery?
In the corner of some hothouse at Trent or Tring?
What gorgeous usurer nurtured these fronds
for your pleasure?
I've been in South America for two years.
Haven't you heard?
I know all about that.
Hmm.
But they tell me, my dear,
that you are happy in love,
and that is everything, is it not?
Or nearly everything.
Are they as bad as that?
My dear, let us not expose your little imposture
before these good plain people.
Let us not spoil their innocent pleasure.
We know, you and I, that this is all terrible tripe.
Let's go before we offend the connoisseurs.
I know of a louche little bar quite near here.
Let's go there and talk of your other conquests.
Good-bye, sir.
Thank you for everything.
Not quite your milieu, my dear,
but mine, I assure you.
After all, you have been in your milieu all day.
I was given the address by a dirty old man
in the Boeuf sur le Toit.
I'm most grateful to him.
I've been out of England so long,
and, really, sympathetic little joints like this
change so fast.
I presented myself here for the first time yesterday evening,
and already I feel quite at home.
Good evening, Cyril.
Tony, back again?
Can't keep away, my dear.
What are you having, dear?
What would you like, Charles?
A gin and dry vermouth.
Two of those, please.
- Hello, Tony. - Ah, good evening.
- How are you? - Fine, thank you.
Do you know Mr. Charles Ryder, the artist?
- Pleased to meet you. - How do you do?
Thank you.
We'll take our drinks and sit down.
You must remember, my dear,
that here you are just as conspicuous
and, may I say, abnormal, my dear,
as I should be in Bratt's club.
Would your friend care to rhumba?
No, Tom, he would not,
and I'm not going to give you a drink-
not yet, anyway.
That's a very impudent boy,
a regular little gold digger, my dear.
Well, Antoine,
what have you been up to all these years?
My dear, it's what you have been up to
that we are here to talk about.
I've been watching you, my dear.
I'm a faithful old body,
and I've k-kept my eye on you.
I went to your first exhibition, my dear.
I found it... charming.
There was an interior of Marchmain House-
very English, very correct, but quite delicious.
"Charles has done something," I said.
"Not all he will do, not all he can do,
but something."
Even then, my dear, I wondered a little.
It seemed to me there was something a little gentlemanly
about your painting.
You must remember, my dear, that I am not English.
I cannot understand this keen zest to be well-bred.
English snobbery is even more macabre to me
than English morals.
However, I said, "Charles has done something delicious."
What will he do next?"
lmagine, then, my excitement at luncheon today.
Everyone was talking about you,
how you had broken away, my dear,
gone to the tropics, become a Gauguin, a Rimbaud.
You can imagine how my old heart leapt.
"Poor Celia," they said.
"After all she's done for him.
"He owes everything to her. It's too bad.
"And with Julia," they said,
"after the way she behaved in America
and just as she was going back to Rex."
"But the pictures," I said. "Tell me about them."
"Oh, the pictures," they said.
"They're most peculiar,
"not at all what he usually does.
Very forceful, quite barbaric."
"I call them downright unhealthy,"
said Mrs. Stuyvesant Oglander.
My dear, I could hardly keep still in my chair.
I wanted to dash out of the house,
leap into a taxi,
and say, "Take me to Charles' unhealthy pictures."
Well, my dear, I went, and what did I find?
I found a very naughty and successful practical joke.
It reminded me of dear Sebastian
when he liked so much to dress up in false whiskers.
It was charm again, my dear-
simple, creamy English charm playing tigers.
You're quite right.
Of course I'm right, my dear.
I was right years ago-
more years, I am happy to say, than either of us shows-
when I warned you.
I took you out to dinner to warn you of charm.
I warned you expressly and in great detail
of the Flyte family.
Charm is the great English blight.
It does not exist outside these damp islands.
It spots and kills anything it touches.
It kills love.
It kills art.
And I greatly fear, my dear Charles,
that it has killed you.
It's nice seeing you again, Anthony.
I've got to go. I've got a train to catch.
Dommage.
I so enjoy our little talks together.
A bientot, Charles.
Don't be a tease, Tony.
Buy me a drink.
Hmm?
All right.
This way, milady.
Charles.
Hello, darling.
Thank you, your ladyship.
I'll just go and make sure the luggage is safely stowed.
Thank you.
I thought you'd missed the train.
It seems days since I saw you.
Six hours.
And we were together all yesterday.
You look worn out.
Oh, it's been a nightmare of a day.
Crowds, critics, and the Clarences,
ending up with half an hour's well-reasoned abuse
about my pictures in a pansy bar.
I think Celia knows about us.
She had to know sometime.
Would you care for a drink before dinner, madam?
Two very dry martinis, please.
Yes, sir.
Everyone seems to know.
My pansy friend had only been in London 24 hours
before he found out.
Damn everybody.
Yes, but what about Rex?
Rex isn't anybody at all.
He just doesn't exist.
What we want is a showdown.
Wouldn't work with Baldwin.
Baldwin's too canny, and Baldwin's too clever,
and Baldwin can rig it.
A chap's just came from Fort Belvedere,
and what he said was very interesting.
Absolutely true.
A chap I know in the Foreign Office
swears it's a fact that Franco is a German agent.
Charles. Excuse me.
Good to see you.
Grizel's here somewhere.
She saw your show this morning.
Very impressed,
impressed with what she calls your new style.
Here, help yourself.
I must say, Charles,
the murals are as handsome as ever.
That was a long time ago.
You seem to have a pretty good set-up here.
It's a very happy arrangement.
Well, it suits me down to the ground.
The old boy keeps up the house,
and Bridey takes care of all the feudal stuff,
you know, with the tenants.
I have the run of the house rent-free.
All it costs me is the food and wages for the indoor servants.
Couldn't be fairer than that, could it?
Rex! Come and support me.
Come and stop Ronnie losing a bet.
He's put his shirt on Baldwin winning.
Do you know Henry or Ronnie Nash?
Come over and say hello.
I'll join you in a minute.
What I'm saying, of course, is that he could marry her
and make her queen tomorrow.
Would you mind awfully not doing that?
Why not?
Because I don't much enjoy it.
Who cares about divorce these days, anyway?
A few old maids?
Charles.
Hello, Grizel.
You were pretty nippy getting up here.
That exhibition of yours is divine.
- You enjoyed it? - Indeed.
And how's that lovely Celia?
Oh, she's well.
Julia.
Darling, you've lost weight,
and it suits you.
Goodness, you look more stunning than ever.
I could spit.
Hello, everybody.
Do carry on.
I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you.
I hope Rex is taking care of you all.
Good evening, Henry.
How are you?
Evening, darling.
- You look lovely. - Thank you.
My dear, you look simply marvelous.
Thank you so much.
Good evening.
Hello. Hello.
How goes the evening gambling?
How was it?
Too bad.
Straight into a military compound.
We couldn't stop him.
He gave himself up for dead.
But hold on; This is the funny part.
He drove clean through it.
Hello.
Didn't even scratch his paint.
A brand-new frame and a painted canvas.
I wonder which is the more horrible,
Celia's art and fashion or Rex's politics and money.
Why worry about them?
Oh, my darling,
why is it that love makes me hate the world?
It's supposed to have quite the opposite effect.
I feel as though all mankind, and God too,
were in a conspiracy against us.
They are.
But we've got our happiness in spite of them,
here and now.
We've taken possession of it.
They can't hurt us, can they?
Not now.
Not tonight.
Not for how many nights?