(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
DAVID: Come in.
David's alive, anyhow.
(CLEARING THROAT)
(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
Excuse me, sir,
Mr Scott-Fowler wants to know if you can let him have
your bottle of bicarbonate of soda.
He seems to have run out of his.
-It's on the table by my bed. -Thank you, sir.
What are you doing, writing David's book for him?
I'm typing out the stuff he dictated last night.
I want to get it finished this morning.
So, kindly go to sleep again and don't interrupt.
Last night? Did you say he dictated to you last night?
This morning, to be exact. From two till five.
When Pru and I went to bed, he was as drunk as I was.
The stuff he dictated seemed to make sense alright.
Haven't you got a secretary's union or something you can complain to?
(CHUCKLES) I don't mind.
After two weeks of sitting around doing nothing,
it's quite a relief to have some work to do at last.
Eager little thing, aren't you?
Well, I hate wasting my time, if that's what you mean.
And I hate taking £5 a week for doing nothing.
Why?
Because, I believe one ought to work for one's living.
That's an interesting article of faith. I don't remember having heard it before.
Yeah, I don't suppose you have.
But if you're in the happy position of being able to live without working,
which you are, what are you fussing about?
I'm fussing about being a poor relation, taking charity from my rich cousin.
Well, I can understand you fussing about being a poor relation.
But not about taking charity from your rich cousin.
It's no good talking to you.
You wouldn't understand what I felt about it in a month of Sundays.
I wish to God you'd shut up and leave me to do this stuff in peace.
What's the hurry?
If I don't get it finished by lunchtime, David will kick up hell.
Oh, I wouldn't really worry.
I think it's extremely unlikely that David remembers
dictating to you at all last night, much less what he dictated.
Go to sleep. There's a nice fellow.
Now, here we are, you and I, neither of us a member of the moneyed classes,
yet both possessing the advantage of being able to live
as parasites on one of them.
Mr Scott-Fowler says would you let him see the stuff he dictated last night?
Oh! Would you mind telling him
I'm afraid I haven't quite finished it all.
And tell him I'll finish the rest by lunchtime,
if only Mr Reid would stop talking for a moment.
-Yes, sir. -Oh, and give him this.
-It's what I've done until now. -Yes, sir.
(DOOR SHUTTING)
-There. You see? What did I tell you? -I'm contrite.
-I won't disturb you again. -(TYPEWRITER RESUMES CLACKING)
Mr Scott-Fowler says don't bother to finish the rest of it
until he's read what you've done, sir.
Oh. Thanks.
Now, as I say, we are both in the fortunate position
of being able to live as parasites on David.
Shut up. You may not be interrupting me now, but you still bore me.
JOHN: Don't you like being told you're a parasite?
-PETER: No, I don't. -(JOHN LAUGHING)
What are you laughing at?
I'm laughing at the thought of you, all young and fresh and eager,
coming down from Oxford with the idea of making your own way in the world.
Starting at the bottom of something, working your way to the top.
I'm using your language.
And what happens? You can't find a job.
They've all been taken,
mostly by people who've started at the top of something
and are working their way to the bottom.
Mmm-hmm. That's a typical John Reid remark, if ever there was one.
It's not original. It doesn't mean a thing and it's not funny.
If you got a £10 a week job tomorrow, what would be the first thing you'd do?
Oh, don't tell me. I know.
You'd marry that girlfriend of yours, Helen what's-her-name.
You'd settle down in a nice, little two-room flat in Balham or somewhere
with a delicious view of the gasworks
and the dinkiest little kitchen that you ever saw.
And so time marches drearily on.
Then you start to have babies.
A roomful of hideous, appalling, messy babies.
Bring me the pledge, I want to sign it.
(IMITATING SNORING)
Hello, Joan. How do you feel?
I'm not sure yet.
Boo!
Good morning, Joan. You look awful.
You're no beauty yourself, darling, in this gay morning light.
-I see you've been at the gin. -There's plenty left.
-Get me some, my pet, would you? -You get it yourself, angel.
-Tonic or soda? -Thanks so much, Peter, darling.
Tonic, please. Right up.
I'd forgotten there was a gentleman in the room.
(SIGHING) You're an infuriating man.
I don't know why David and I put up with you.
And I don't know why I put up with you.
-That wasn't very good, was it? -No, it wasn't.
Thanks so much. You're an angel.
My God. Come here. Let me look at you.
-It's wonderful. How do you do it? -Do what?
How do you manage to look like that after staying up till 5:00?
I don't stay up till 5:00 very often. I suppose that's why.
Our little Peter's in one of those moods this morning,
when he thinks we're all
wasters, rotters, outsiders, cads and white trash.
You don't, do you, Peter?
I certainly never said so.
Well, that wasn't a very gracious denial, I must say.
You mustn't blame him too much.
I have been telling him it's all the fault of his generation.
There's nothing wrong with his generation.
They're just serious-minded, that's all. I think it's very nice.
You don't think anything of the sort. You think they're bores.
And so do I.
Whatever people may have said about us when we were young,
they've never been able to say we were bores.
What you mean, "When we were young?"
We were once, darling, long time ago. Don't you remember?
I hate you this morning, John.
Why don't you go back to bed and sleep it off?
I think perhaps that's quite a good idea.
-Are you in for lunch, Peter? -No, no. I'm taking Helen out.
-I should have told you, I'm sorry. -That's quite alright.
-Is Helen coming around here? -Yes.
At about one. Do you mind?
-Darling, why on earth should I mind? -I don't know.
Thought it might be taking things a bit for granted, inviting people around here
without asking you or David.
But, I adore Helen. I think she's an angel.
Besides, she's round here so often these days,
she's almost like one of the family.
I suppose you'll be getting married to her soon.
-As soon as we possibly can. -What's the hurry?
-Well, I'm very much in love with her. -So, what's the problem?
You're in love with Helen. Helen's in love with you.
Just that I'm frightened from one day to the next
that she won't go on being in love with me.
How much would you mind if she didn't?
I don't like to think about it much.
Well, after all, you were at Oxford with her.
So that's two years you've been together.
-Been together? -Peter.
You're not trying to tell me you're still a couple of dear, little virgins.
I can't understand you, Peter, or Helen.
I know you can't, Joan.
But how awful for you. Poor darlings.
You must do something about it at once.
Well, I'm trying as hard as I can to get a job.
What does one need to get married on these days?
I don't know. About £10 per week.
Well, if it's simply a question of that,
I know David would be awfully glad to help you out.
Oh, no, no...
I mean, he'd be awfully glad to raise your salary,
whatever you call it to, say, £10 a week.
I mean, you could still go on living here, you see.
It wouldn't be like taking an allowance or anything...
-Have you talked about this to David? -Well, no. No, of course I haven't.
-But, I know he'll be awfully glad. -That is terribly kind of you, Joan.
Really, I'm most awfully grateful
but I'm afraid I couldn't possibly accept it.
Well, think it over.
There's no good thinking it over. I never could accept it, really.
-Oh, well, I knew you wouldn't. -You understand why, don't you?
No, I couldn't understand less, but I still knew you wouldn't accept it.
Hope you don't think I'm an ungrateful swine.
Don't be so school-boyish, darling. Of course I don't.
I just think you're a fool, that's all.
Yes, I suppose I am.
Oh, well, let's not say any more about it.
I wonder if I dare go in and see my glamorous husband.
-Is he conscious yet? -He's conscious all right.
-How is he? Do you know? -I don't, I'm afraid.
I haven't seen him yet.
I've been a bit worried about him,
since he started that pain in his side a couple of days ago.
I don't want him to go and die on me or anything.
-He says it's only liver. -Well, I know, ducky.
That doesn't make it any better. Liver's the bogey of all of us.
-He ought to go and see a doctor. -Well, of course he ought, darling.
Who the hell's going to get him to do it?
He thinks all doctors are liars and thieves and bores,
-which they are, of course. -Well, anyway,
I don't think he can be feeling too bad this morning.
He's reading over that stuff we did last night.
Do you know I don't think I shall forgive David
for what he did last night?
He woke me up at five to tell me all about his dreary book.
Awfully proud of himself for having worked on it for a couple of hours,
poor lamb.
Tell me honestly, Peter. What you think of it?
Of his book? I think it's very good.
I said honestly, darling.
I think the subject's so uninteresting.
I mean, who the hell wants to read a life of King Bomba of Naples?
He's not an awfully important character, historically speaking, is he?
Don't say that to David. He'll kill you.
As matter of fact, I agree with you. I think King Bomba is torture.
But I'm not saying I don't think the book is any good.
-I think it is. -(DOORBELL RINGING)
Oh, God. People.
I'm in no mood for people this morning.
I think I'll go and hide in David's room.
WILLIAMS: Good morning, Madam. HELEN: Good morning, Williams.
Mr and Miss Banner.
Mr and Miss Banner are here, madam.
Mr Banner? Helen's got married, Peter.
-I told you she would. -It's her brother, I imagine.
Still, I don't know what she thinks she's doing bringing him around here.
Not at all. I'm delighted to have him.
-Shall I show them in here, madam? -Yes, please, Williams.
You'll entertain them for me, won't you, darling?
I think you've got everything you want there.
If you need anything else, just call Williams.
David, your loving wife seeks admittance.
DAVID: Come in and shut the door. I can't bear the light.
JOAN: Why didn't you pull out the blind?
-Hello, Peter. -Hello.
You're a little early, darling. That's lovely.
-Shall we go and have lunch now? -No, let's not go just yet.
I'll tell you why in a minute. You know my brother George, don't you?
Yes, we met once in Oxford. How are you?
Very well, thanks awfully. Are you still up?
You're talking to Dr Banner, Peter.
Oh. Congratulations.
-So you got through all right? -By the skin of my teeth.
-Listen, Peter, is David up yet? -No. No, he's not yet. Why?
I'll tell you. I want George to see him.
-I expect he'll be out quite soon. -No, no. You don't understand.
I want George to examine him. You know, as a doctor.
You mean this is a sort of professional visit.
No, he's doing it as a favour to me.
You know David's ill, Peter. He must be.
He won't admit it, of course.
He won't see a doctor, although I... We've all begged him to.
So, I thought I'd bring George along in the ordinary, sort of, social way
and then he couldn't very well refuse to let George have a look at him.
Well, that's all you know of David. He'll be absolutely livid.
Oh, no, he won't.
Helen.
You must be mad to do this.
Why?
If you knew David better, you'd realise he hates any sort of interference.
And, after all, what's it got to do with you?
If anyone is as ill as David is, he ought to see a doctor.
-He's not ill. -Oh, yes, he is.
You've only got to take one look at him to see there's something wrong with him.
You don't have to tell me what's wrong with him. I know. Drink.
Of course.
That's why I want George to see him, to tell him just what it means for him
to go on drinking as he is now.
You're taking rather a lot on yourself, aren't you?
Don't be silly, Peter.
I didn't know you could get a view like this in London.
It's more like New York.
I'm sorry, Helen.
It's just that you don't know David very well and I'm afraid...
Afraid of what, darling?
I'm afraid he'll be rude to you or something, when he finds out about this.
I'll take the risk, Peter.
What have I got myself into?
Oh, well, I expect it will be all right.
Now, I've been told to entertain you.
-What will you have to drink? -No, I don't drink, thanks.
-What about you, Helen? -Not in the daytime, darling.
Hmm. Well, let's all sit down.
David may be hours yet.
(DOORBELL RINGING)
Good lord, are they expecting anyone this morning?
I've no idea.
You know, people are always dropping in here.
Yes, the most awful people as well.
Mrs Browne and Mr Carter.
Helen, darling. Heaven to see you.
Peter, my angel. How are you? You look lovelier every day.
How do you do it?
I don't think you've met my brother George.
-Hello. -How do you do?
-Why haven't I met you before? -I have no idea.
(SIGHING) We just got back from Le Touquet practically this minute.
I'm stinking.
We took a bottle of brandy up in the aeroplane with us.
Of course, we had to finish it before we got to Croydon
-because of the customs. -(CYRIL CLEARING THROAT)
We had the most torturous weekend. I can't tell you how awful it was.
-I lost my drawers. -Oh, dear.
It was really torturous. I couldn't do a thing right.
If I had eight, the other man always had nine.
-I mean, it got to be a joke. -(CLEARING THROAT)
Oh, Cyril played boule and made a little money, didn't you, Cyril?
I must tell you, I had an awful scene
with a horrible, little man, who banco'd a bank of mine.
I made a perfectly natural mistake. I gave him three cards or something.
You know, the sort of thing that happens to you
when you've had a couple of drinks.
And he called me a "drunken, old bitch",
in French, too, which made it worse.
Of course, I couldn't stand that and then I...
(CLEARING THROAT)
I hope you didn't catch cold in that aeroplane, Cyril.
Well, I haven't been introduced yet.
Oh, I'm so sorry. This is Mr... Oh, I always forget.
-It's Carter. -Mr Carter.
-How do you do? -Quite well, thanks.
Mr Ducky, what about tingy-wingy little dinkey-boo?
-I beg your pardon. -A drink, for God's sake.
Oh, yes. What will you have?
Brandy, I suppose. I started on it.
-And you? -Same, please.
I suppose those monsters Joan and David aren't up yet.
Uh, no. No, I don't think they are.
-Was there a party last night? -Not a party.
An angel, child. God. You are heaven to look at, Peter.
I hope you realise how lucky you are, Helen.
Yes, I suppose I am.
-Thanks, I'm sure. -Julia, you old cow. How are you?
Drunk as a fly, darling. How are you?
Oh, you've met Cyril, haven't you?
-Have I met you, Cyril? -Yeah. We went out last Thursday.
How are you?
Julia, my pet, I'm sure you must have everything in the world to tell me.
Come to my room and talk to me while I'm having my bath.
My dear, I have the most wonderful piece of dirt to give you.
You know Arthur Parke-Weston, don't you?
The one who shot that girl and got off?
Yes, that's the one. Come along, Cyril.
It's all right, Joanie. He won't look.
I'll put him in the corner with his face to the wall.
Anyway, he was in Le Touquet with... Cyril!
He was in Le Touquet with...
(WOMEN EXCLAIMING)
-Well, well. -Poor George. Were you shocked?
No, of course I wasn't.
As a matter of fact, it was rather exciting.
It's the first time I'd ever met those sort of people.
I've only ever read about them before.
Yeah. I know the feeling.
Whenever I meet Julia Browne
or any of the gang that come roaring into this flat,
I always feel they don't really exist.
It might all have been quite different if they'd been given a proper chance.
PETER: Yeah.
It must be awful to grow up without having to work.
Peter, Leopold the First wasn't king of Belgium.
He was King of the Belgians. You ought to know that.
-Oh, hello, Helen. -Hello, David.
-This is my brother George. -How do you do?
-Haven't you got a drink? -I don't want one now, thanks awfully.
DAVID: Nobody else?
How are you feeling today, David?
Oh! Just about as well as could be expected, I should say.
You haven't got that pain again, have you?
What pain?
That pain you had yesterday in your side.
Oh, that. (CHUCKLING)
That's only that old wound I got in the Crimea.
-I only feel it when it rains. -David, please.
Would you excuse me if I talk shop for a moment?
Peter, one of us was very drunk last night.
-Well, I wasn't. -Well, then I was.
Why? Don't you like the stuff we did last night?
As the Americans so expressively put it, it stinks.
Hmm. I thought it read rather well.
I'm afraid we're going to have to work on that chapter again.
All right. This afternoon?
No, no, no. Not this afternoon. Sometime.
Well, Helen, did you get that job you were after?
No, I don't think so.
You'd probably would've loathed it anyway.
David, I've got something to ask you. A kind of favour.
-Anything short of my honour. -My brother George is a doctor.
Really? What a delightful life that must be.
Don't you think, as he's here,
it might be a good chance of getting him to have a look at you,
just to see if there's anything the matter with you?
I mean, there probably isn't.
But it's a good thing to make sure, don't you think?
Helen, you shouldn't do this, you know.
It wasn't a plot or anything.
George happened to be here and I suddenly thought...
Just a sudden inspiration, I see.
What does Dr Banner think of the idea?
Oh, I'd be quite willing to take a look at you,
if you're worried about yourself in any way.
I'm not in the least bit worried about myself.
Still, from what Helen's been telling me about you,
things don't seem to be functioning quite as well as they should be, eh?
Probably just a little something wrong with the old works
we can put it right in a couple of seconds.
The bedside manner so early in life.
Of course, if you don't want me to examine you...
Well, it's very kind of you to offer.
Quite frankly, I don't think it's worth your trouble.
Very well then. I really ought to be going.
David, please? As a favour to me?
As a favour to Helen, would you please examine me, Dr Banner?
-I've already said I would. -We'd better go in my room.
Right.
What Helen wants you to say, of course, is that I'm drinking myself to death.
So I ought to tell you before you start that if you do say that,
-I shan't believe it. -If I say it, it will be true.
I still won't believe it.
(DOOR SHUTTING)
See? That wasn't so frightening, was it?
I'm amazed. Honestly, I am.
I swear to you that if Joan or I had done what you've just done,
we'd have had our heads bitten off.
David isn't the ogre you think he is.
Hmm. Anyway, it's not going to do any earthly good.
If you think you're going to stop David drinking by frightening him,
-you're on the wrong horse. -We'll see.
Darling, do stop trying to look like Florence Nightingale.
I didn't know I was. Sorry.
I can't understand what all the fuss is about.
Why pick on David? Why not try and stop Joan from drinking?
Or John, if it comes to that. Or that Browne woman.
Because David's worth more than all the rest of them put together.
-Who says so? -I say so.
-Why do you think David drinks, Peter? -How the hell should I know?
He likes the taste of whisky, I suppose.
Obviously, you've known David all your life
and you don't know him at all, really.
While you with your fine, womanly intuition have only known him a month
and can see right through him, I suppose.
Peter, it seems silly to start a quarrel on a lovely day like this.
It certainly seems silly to start a quarrel about David.
You haven't told me your news yet.
I haven't any.
Oh! Something must have happened to you since Thursday.
Wait a minute.
Darling, we came very near being married this morning.
-Did we? -Mmm.
I had a £10-a-week job offered me.
In that bank?
No, if it had been in that bank, I wouldn't have turned it down.
-It was here, I'm afraid. -How do you mean here?
An offer was made me to go on working here
at ten pounds a week. Just so that I could marry you.
You mean, David made you that offer?
Yeah.
Oh.
-Of course, I turned it down. -Why did you do that?
You wouldn't want us to get married on charity from David, would you?
No. No, I wouldn't.
Still, it was damn nice of him, wasn't it?
Yes, it was.
No, darling. I'm afraid I can't.
I'd love to stay, but Cyril and I are having lunch with Moya Lexington.
Oh, is she out of the home now? I didn't know.
-My dear, she's been out of a month. -How is she?
-She's quite all right again, now. -Isn't she...
Of course she is, darling.
But it's all under government supervision.
They allow her as much every day as would ordinarily wipe out a whole army.
It's supposed to be getting less and less, of course.
In about 1980, she'll probably be down to the normal dose.
I must fly.
I'll meeting at the Fitzroy, and you know where that is.
Don't be so rude about Bloomsbury.
You were quite happy to have a bed-sit there
before you married that pulp merchant.
Ah, but Bloomsbury was Bloomsbury them.
What is it now? Chiswick?
Do you remember that party I gave when everyone
came dressed as a character in history they'd liked to have been?
Oh, yes, it was divine.
David came as the Prince Regent. And you, what were you?
-I don't remember. -I do.
You came as Jane Austen.
That was rather drab of you, dear.
You should have thought of something better than that.
God, it was a heavenly party.
Martin Hedges fell downstairs and broke his leg.
-Do you remember? -Oh, yes.
He tried to kill himself or something, didn't he?
Or was he pushed? I can't remember.
He was stinking and fell, darling. That was all.
Well, I must say goodbye. Goodbye, Joan.
I'm coming to the party of yours on the eighth.
When is that, now? I mustn't forget it.
-It's tomorrow week, isn't it? -That's right. It's not really a party.
Just a few old friends.
It'll be like old times, I'm sure. Cyril!
Remember. A week today, party here, ten o'clock.
CYRIL: Okay.
-Lovely seeing you. -Goodbye, Julia.
Oh! Goodbye, you Ganymede, you.
For God's sake.
(LAUGHING)
-Cyril, run downstairs and get a taxi. -Okay.
Goodbye, all.
I shall be late for Moya. She'll be furious.
JOAN: Give her my love. JULIA: I will, darling. Oh!
By the way, have you heard the latest Moya story?
-No. -It's perfectly true.
I got it from Moya herself.
Apparently, when she was in her heyday, you know, before she went into the home,
she attended a civic luncheon given in her honour.
You know, famous airwoman upholding honour of Great Britain and all that.
And she sat next to the Lord Mayor.
Well, my dear, halfway through the proceedings,
she felt she needed a shot,
so she took out a hypodermic and stuck it into her leg.
Only it wasn't her leg, it was the Lord Mayor's.
And he screamed and passed out flat and had to be carried out.
It's a heavenly story, don't you think?
You must get her to tell you about it sometime.
I certainly will. Goodbye, Julia.
Goodbye, darling. Give my love to David.
By the way, what do you think of Cyril?
I think he's torture.
Yes, I suppose he is. Anyway, see you tomorrow week.
(SIGHING) Julia's pretty hard to take in the mornings, don't you think?
She's pretty hard to take anytime, if you ask me.
(LAUGHS)
Helen, I've an awful feeling I haven't said good morning to you yet.
You cut me dead twice today already.
(LAUGHING) Oh, darling, I'm so sorry.
Julia gives one no time for the social amenities. How are you?
Oh, God. I must have cut your brother dead and he's gone.
No, he hasn't gone.
Oh. Is he looking at the geography of the flat?
No, he's in there with David.
He's a doctor, you know.
And he's having a look at David to see if he can find out what that pain is.
Don't you think that's a good idea?
Whose idea was it? David's?
-Who do you think? -It was yours, of course.
After all, that pain must mean something.
It's probably wind.
Even so, I think one ought to find out for sure.
And you know what David's like about doctors.
Yes, as a matter of fact, Helen, I do.
I know quite a lot about David, though you mightn't think it.
I've only been married to him for 15 years.
I should have asked you before I did it, I'm sorry.
Oh, no, why should you?
If I'd known you'd have minded, I wouldn't have done it.
Oh, yes, you would.
All right then, I would.
I think someone ought to stop David from drinking himself to death.
Even if his own wife does stand by and do nothing.
Well, you might have gone further.
You might have said she even encourages him.
Oh, don't let's be bores, Helen darling. I'm not taking any attitude about this.
I think it's very sweet of you to take so much trouble.
Especially about someone you hardly know.
Oh, my God. We'll be eating in about 10 minutes.
I'd better go and put some clothes on.
Wonder if there's any gay music on the air.
(UPTEMPO JAZZ MUSIC PLAYING)
I think these modern tunes are torture. Let's have the gramophone.
(MUSIC STOPS)
(SCRATCHY RECORDING OF A VALON PLAYING)
What this tune means to me...
I suppose you weren't born when they were playing it.
(LAUGHING) Yes, I remember it quite well. My nurse used to sing to me.
She had good taste.
Were you a war baby?
No. A peace-treaty baby. I was born December, 1918.
Still, that counts as a war baby,
if you work it out backwards.
God, this tune! It tears me to shreds.
(RECORD SKIPPING)
(MUSIC STOPPING)
Well?
Well, I've told him if he doesn't give up drinking altogether
he'll be dead pretty soon.
Oh, good! Well done, George.
Did he take any notice of what you said?
I don't know. Showed a certain polite interest. That was about it.
He didn't suspect anything, did he?
-How do you mean? -I mean, did you sound convincing?
Did you make him believe that what you told him was the truth?
You don't seem to understand, Helen.
What I told him was the truth.
What?
He has very obvious symptoms of chronic cirrhosis of the liver.
Oh, George, are you sure you're right?
I know I'm right.
That is to say unless everything I've learned up until now has been crazy.
Obviously, he should be looked up by someone with more experience
but, equally obviously, he won't do it. So, you'll just have to believe me.
And if he gave up drinking entirely, would he be all right?
And if he sticks to the diet I gave him, I think he would, yes.
I really must go now.
I want you to know that I wouldn't go through
what I've been through this morning for anyone else in the world.
I'm terribly grateful to you, George. Really, I am.
That's all right. It might lead to some good, rich patients.
Bye, Helen.
-Behave yourself. -Goodbye, George.
Stop that, you damn fool!
Really, Helen,
I wish you wouldn't play tennis with my glasses.
Also, you've made a nasty mess on a very nice carpet.
Would you ring the bell?
(SIGHS)
(BELL RINGING)
David, for God's sake!
Now, you're not going to repeat that little gesture.
It was very effective the first time
but it might lose its point if you try to do it again.
-Put that drink down, you fool! -I intend to.
Well, Williams, I'm afraid I've spilt some whisky.
-Could you do something about it? -Yes, sir.
Do sit down, for heaven's sake, Helen.
It's far too early in the day for melodrama.
David, are you absolutely mad?
Don't you realise you're killing yourself?
Entering into the spirit of your mood,
here's to your brother George and the success of your little plot together.
It's all right, Williams, I'll do it.
-You can go! -Yes, miss.
Well, ordering my servants around, hmm? Hurling my glasses to the floor?
David, you think this whole business this morning
was a plot between George and me, don't you?
-Wasn't it? -Yes, it was. I admit that.
But it isn't now.
What George told you was the cold truth.
-David, I swear it was the truth. -Yes, Helen.
-You don't believe me! -Yes, I do believe you.
-You don't! You don't! -Yes, Helen, I do believe you.
Your brother came up with almost exactly the same story.
There's so much unanimity for it not to be true.
Why are you drinking?
Because I need a drink after all I've been through this morning.
Oh, David.
I understand you so much better than you think.
I know why you drink and believe me I see...
You are an incurably romantic little girl.
I drink because I like it
and because I always have.
Those are the only two reasons I know.
And they're good enough for me to go on drinking,
in spite of the horrid warning of your doctor brother.
Now, will you kindly get this into your head?
I'm not a pathological case.
Nor did my mother drop me on my head when I was a baby.
I am a perfectly normal human being and I like drinking.
-Is that enough? -No, it isn't.
All right then, what is?
The war.
Mmm-hmm. The war. The horror of the trenches.
My best friend being killed in my arms.
I wasn't even in the war.
You see, when you were 18,
you didn't have anyone of 22 or 25 or 30 or 35 to help you
'cause they'd been wiped out.
And anyone over 40 you wouldn't listen to anyway.
So, the spotlight was on you and you alone.
(SNORTING) All right then, go on. What did we do with this spotlight?
You did what any child would do. You danced in it.
How do you mean, we danced in it?
You know perfectly well what I mean.
You had a hell of a good time with all the money in the world
and everyone beaming on you and applauding your antics.
It had the value of a gesture.
I know, but a gesture that hasn't any meaning now.
So you should stop making it.
Hmm. It's very perspicacious of you. Very undergraduette.
Oh, David, you do see what I'm trying to tell you, don't you?
Yes.
That I am a drunken waster.
No! That's not what I mean. Drinking is your escape from your life.
You hate your life, so you drink.
I'm very satisfied with my life, Helen.
Then why are you always trying to go back? Hmm?
Why does Joan play 15-year-old records on the gramophone?
Why do you all talk of nothing but the old days
and the old parties and all the things you used to do and say? Why?
You tell me.
You're bound to know the answer.
What would you most have liked to have been in life, David?
What I am now.
Supposing that were impossible.
I don't know. I've no idea.
I think you would have liked to have been a historian.
A great biographer.
-Wouldn't you? -I suppose it's possible.
I think you would have liked to have been able to look forward
instead of always looking backward.
You can start again, you know.
No, I can't.
With someone helping you, I think you can.
(DAVID SIGHING HEAVILY)
My hat, you've got a nerve.
You've probably given someone down there a shower of whisky.
Why didn't you pour it into the flower pot?
Might have killed the flowers.
What's this doing here, for God's sake?
HELEN: Oh, that's all right. I'll give it to Williams.
We had a bit of an accident with a glass of whisky.
Where's Peter? Has he deserted you?
No, he's in his room. I'll go and pull him out.
I'm hungry.
What did the brother of hers say about you?
What?
That doctor man. What did he say?
Oh, nothing much. Said it was wind.
-(LAUGHS) That's what I thought it was. -I knew it was.
He's very young. Does he know enough to be sure?
I expect so.
Anyway, there's nothing the matter with me.
Don't fuss.
(TINKLING ON THE PIANO)
Pretty good nerve of Helen's inviting him around here.
Yes, it was, wasn't it?
Do you know that girl's so crazily in love with you, it isn't funny?
Or hadn't you noticed?
Yes, I had noticed.
Do you think Peter has?
I don't know.
No, I suppose not.
She's just got one of those romantic school-girlish things about you.
She'll get over it very easily.
(PLAYING DINAH)
-Luncheon is served, madam. -Thank you, Williams.
I'd better go and pull that hangover hog out of his bed.
(PLAYING PRELUDE Op.28 No.4 in E Minor BY CHOPIN)
David, if you don't want me this afternoon for anything
I'd like to take Helen to a cinema.
(RESUMES PLAYING DINAH)
What are you gonna see?
The Life of Victor Hugo, with Paul Muni.
What a hellish way to spend an afternoon.
-And how are you going to spend it? -Asleep, I hope.
-Do you mind, David? -No, no. Of course not.
It's an indignity, being woken up for chicken stew.
You will eat what you are given and like it.
Good morning, John.
-I thought I'd seen you before today. -Only in your dreams.
Helen, we'd better be going.
-You two going out for lunch? -HELEN: Yes, we are.
Hmm. You know what's good for you.
-Why don't you go with them? -Well, I might, if they pay for me.
-Where're you going? -Lyons' Corner House.
Oh, yes, that quaint little restaurant in Coventry Street.
I've heard of it. The food's so good and the manager's so attentive.
-I gather you're not coming with us. -You gather right, my child.
Come on, Helen. Bye, everybody.
-Goodbye, David. -Goodbye, Helen.
-Why do you rate a special goodbye? -I've no idea.
Come on, everyone.
Get yourselves drinks and bring them in to lunch with you.
Oh, hell. That means there is no wine for lunch.
We can open a bottle for you, if you like.
No, no, no. It's quite all right. I prefer gin.
Aren't those two young people bores?
Lyons' Corner House, I ask you.
Why do you keep talking about young people, blast you?
We're all young. Aren't we, David?
-Here. -Oh.
Let's have some music during lunch, shall we?
Oh, no.
Oh, don't be such a bore. You know you like it.
(PLAYING A VALON)
Oh, now, this tune I like.
Yes, this has poignant memories for me.
It has for me, too.
You remember when this tune first came out,
they played it at that party of Arthur Powers
for the whole evening without stopping.
Yes, that was a good party.
Will you ever forget Johnny Benson dressed in literally nothing,
hanging from the chandeliers
and all the old dowagers looking up at him through their lorgnettes?
-(LAUGHING) -Poor Johnny.
Yes, poor Johnny.
Clearly it was an accident that day. The balustrade gave way.
Come on. Lunch.
Well, if we are going to hear this thing at all,
we better have it on full strength.
(INCREASES VOLUME)
Hey, David.
You've forgotten your drink.
DAVID: The twin forces of liberalism and nationalism
had not yet begun to make themselves felt.
(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)
The King of Naples sat securely on his throne
as yet unsuspecting of the tremendous stirrings
that were later...
My God! It was the Home Secretary after all.
What?
Well, do you remember I said I thought it was the Home Secretary who did it
and then, well, I thought that was too obvious,
so, it must be his mother.
But, now, it turns out to be the Home Secretary after all.
(SIGHING) Where had I got to?
"...as yet unsuspecting of the tremendous stirrings that were later..."
That were later to make themselves felt.
You can't say that.
The twin forces made themselves felt in the last sentence.
-God damn it! -Sorry, my mistake.
It's all right.
Not your fault.
If it's my presence that's disturbing you,
I can easily go somewhere else.
You can't go into the dining room
because they're getting it ready for the party.
And your room is being made into a place for hats and coats.
I presume there's a vacant closet somewhere.
Oh, don't be idiotic, John. Sit down.
I can't think straight this afternoon. I'm sorry.
-My brain's gone ossified. -Well, of course.
-Would you mean, of course? -It's all this going on the wagon.
It's terrible what that does for the brain.
(CHUCKLING) How would you know that?
I knew a man once who went on the wagon.
-Which reminds me, may I? -Of course.
I've never known you to ask before.
Your abstinence has made me self-conscious.
-He went mad. -Who did?
This other man I know, who went on the wagon.
I think I'll go and type this stuff out in my room.
Oh. You needn't bother with it now.
It'd be a good idea to get it done before the party, don't you think?
And then we'll be all set to start off again tomorrow.
All right. Might be a good idea.
Oh, Peter? Is Helen coming round this afternoon?
She didn't mention anything to me about it. Why?
I thought you were going out to dinner with her.
Yes, I am but I'm meeting her at the Brasserie.
-The what? -The Brasserie Universelle.
Dear God.
I'll shoot the stuff into you before I go out. So long.
I'll bet you any money you like
our little Peter's put his foot down and has forbidden Helen
to come around here any more.
-Why would he do that? -Well, he's not over bright,
but even he must have noticed the thing she's got about you.
"No, Helen," he said to her.
"No, Helen. You mustn't go around there any more.
"He's a naughty, wicked man.
"He'll take advantage of your purity and innocence
"and do naughty, wicked things to you."
Have you, by the way?
-Have I what? -Done naughty, wicked things to her?
John, sometimes I wonder
why I don't kick you out of this flat right on your ear.
Now, what am I supposed to take that answer to mean?
-That you have, I suppose. -No, damn you. I haven't.
-Isn't that extraordinary? -You think so?
I thought she was your type. Fair-haired, snub-nosed, ingénue...
-She's my type, anyway. -I'm sure she'd be glad to know that.
Oh, come, come. You ought to be able to think of a better comeback than that.
This giving up drinking hasn't done you any good.
It's made me realise what bores some people are, anyway.
-Everybody is a bore, unless you drink. -No, not everybody.
Everybody.
Yes, Helen's quite a nice little girl,
apart from the fact she's what Huxley so daintily calls pneumatic.
She's got some semblance of a mind, and that's a rare combination.
Of course, she applies her mind wrong like all her dreary generation.
I suppose, after two weeks alone with her
one would go quite mad and kill her.
Still, the fact remains she's too good for Peter.
And, in fact, I can't think of a better compliment to pay her
or you, if it comes to that,
than to say she deserves to be your girlfriend.
Listen, John, I'm serious.
You are boring me to such an extent,
I'm liable to do something stupid if you don't stop.
Why? What have I said?
(MUTTERING) Oh, God.
Well, well, well.
It doesn't seem possible but it's evidently true, nonetheless.
What the hell do you mean by that?
Are you two having what is popularly known as words?
No, no. Just chatting amiably about this and that.
I don't believe you.
You've been annoying my glamorous husband.
I can see it in his face.
It's his conscience that has brought that blush to his cheeks, not I.
Now, you be careful, John.
I won't have you annoying my little David.
-He means a lot to me. -About 5,000 a year.
Seven, when the dividends are good.
Well, I hope you're putting a lot by.
You're not as young as you used to be, darling.
And you never know when some gay, young, fresh-faced interloper
mightn't oust you.
-Helen, for instance? -Helen, for instance.
I don't worry about that. Any hanky-panky and I fly to my lawyers.
Yes, you'd do pretty well out of alimony.
Not only alimony, darling. Enticement.
I should lead a lovely life in the south of France
as a rich and glamorous divorcée.
Oh, that would be heaven.
And then I could spend six months of the year with you
and six months with David.
Don't worry, I won't contest custody.
Joan can have you 12 months of the year.
I should cry in court and then you'd have to have me.
-(LAUGHING) -(DOORBELL RINGING)
If that's Julia or anybody, you'll have to cope.
I've got to go out.
Oh, God. I can't cope with Julia sober.
Darling, I've got to go out. I'll only be a second, though.
I've just got to go across the road to Woolworths
to buy some glasses for the party.
-Oh, God. -I know exactly how you feel.
It's hell having to go through a party without drinking.
Why don't you go off the wagon? Just for tonight?
No, no. I won't do that. I'll just have to face it, that's all.
Miss Banner is here, madam.
Show her in here, would you, Williams?
Peter said she wasn't coming round today.
Peter apparently doesn't know everything.
Miss Banner.
Helen, darling, how lovely to see you.
I'm afraid this is an awful time to drop in.
You're probably all upside down arranging for the party.
No, no. Not at all.
But I've simply got to get to Woolworths before closing time.
Will you forgive me if I dash off? I'll be back in a second.
-Yes, of course. -I don't know whether Peter's in or not.
DAVID: He's in his room, working.
-I'll get Williams to call him. -No, don't do that.
You see, it's David, really, I came to see.
Oh. Well, he's here are all right. Aren't you, David?
I've got something to talk over with him.
Business, you might call it.
Well, it's just as well I'm going, then. So long, Helen. See you later.
So long, Joan.
But if you want to talk business with David,
you can get rid of that good-for-nothing on the sofa
by sending him into the dining room to do some work.
She must have meant me.
Oh, no, John. How could she have meant you?
Sarcasm in the young is most displeasing.
Oh.
-The dining room's that way. -You don't say.
What are you gonna do in my room?
Well, if you remember, my room is being transformed into a convenience.
I'm going to use yours.
Oh. Well, don't steal anything.
I'm merely going to lie down on your bed
and read such letters as you left lying about.
"Steal anything," really.
Poor John. Must be an awful strain for him to keep on finding things to say
that are going to make you laugh.
Don't be so depressing, Helen.
I'm sorry, David.
Well?
Well... I've read it.
You've been very quick.
I stayed up practically all last night reading it.
I gather from your silence you don't like it.
David, you did ask me to be absolutely honest, didn't you?
Certainly.
Then I'm afraid I have to tell you that I think it's very bad.
Oh.
It's terribly hard for me, David. I'd love to say I thought it was good.
What do you think is wrong with it?
Everything.
-Not exactly encouraging, are you? -I don't mean to be.
-Would you like me to scrap it? -Yes. Scrap it all together.
That's impossible.
I've been working on that for five years.
Oh, no, you haven't.
You put a few weeks' work into it and spread it over five years.
The trouble is in yourself, not in the book.
Every fault in the book comes from your own laziness.
Would you mind being a little more explicit?
Hmm.
You haven't taken the trouble to read the documents and things you ought to.
So, all you've written is a lazy undergraduate's essay.
Brushing over things you haven't read up.
And stressing things that aren't important
just because you do happen to know about them.
I didn't realise you knew so much about King Ferdinand of Naples.
Well, I don't know a damn thing about him and I don't want to.
He's a boring character anyway.
You're hardly competent to judge that, are you?
I know bad work when I see it.
-You're very clever. -Just clear-sighted, that's all.
Well, thank you for taking so much trouble.
You've been most helpful.
Is that my cue to go?
I have things to do. I hope you don't mind.
I suppose you think I'm being so childishly peevish
because you don't like my book.
David, you did ask me to be honest.
I didn't ask you to smash something altogether
that happens to mean a lot to me.
Well, then I think it's wrong that it should mean anything to you at all.
Believe me, David, it's not worth a moment's thought.
-It's plain downright bad. -Of course it's bad.
You don't think you're telling me anything I don't know.
Then why did you ask me to read it? I don't understand.
No, you don't.
That's where I was so idiotically wrong.
I thought you of all people would understand.
Oh, I see. I was a fool.
You didn't want me to be honest about your book.
I wanted to you to lie as you've never lied before.
I wanted you to tell me it was good and I wanted to believe you.
You were the only person in the world I wanted to hear that from.
I didn't realise your book was only a symbol.
I thought it was something more.
How could it be anything more when it's as bad as it is?
It could be something more if you started it again.
Don't make stupid jokes. They bore me.
I think you're the most spineless, gutless creature in the world.
Good. I'm glad you found me out.
But I think I'm happier at this moment than I've ever been in my whole life.
Why?
Because now I know you need me.
-You're wrong. I don't need you. -I know you do now.
Why don't you go back to Peter and stop chasing me for a second?
(DAVID BREATHING HEAVILY)
Oh, God! I wish I could hate you.
(SOFTLY) Don't try, David. Please don't try.
I think I'd die if you ever stopped being in love with me.
When have I ever said I love you?
You never needed to. I've always known.
Why we haven't done that before, I'll never know.
Come on.
(EXHALING)
Are you a human being, or are you a fish, by any chance?
Does that feel like a human being?
You'll die if you go on like that.
What about yours?
-It's much slower than mine. -It's more constant.
-Far more constant. -Don't say that, David.
-It frightens me. -Why?
Because we happen to be in love with each other.
I can't bear it when you talk to me
as if I was just one of those girls you sleep with one night
and forget about the next.
-Don't... -Come on.
Let's be sensible.
Why did I fall in love with you?
Why don't you leave me alone?
I'm never going to leave you alone for the rest of your life.
That's the most alarming thing I've ever heard.
You bet it's alarming.
It's bound to be alarming to be whisked back 20 years
and made to start your life all over again.
Is that what's going to happen to me?
It is.
I could start again with someone's help.
You said that once to me, do you remember?
Mmm-hmm. And you said it wasn't possible.
But it is, David. Now I know it is.
I hope it is.
God, I hope it is.
David, how is Joan going to take this?
Is that necessary?
Yes, it is.
God. I suppose I'd better tell her.
I'll tell her.
-No, no, I ought to. -I'll tell her, David.
You take a pretty gloomy view of my character, don't you?
It's easier for me.
She's not in love with you, is she?
(SNORTING) Good Lord, no.
-Has she ever been? -No, I don't suppose so.
Why did you marry then?
I've no idea.
It sort of just happened.
You don't think she'll mind much then, about us?
No. She won't show any emotion at all.
She'll probably be rude to you in a vague sort of way.
Oh, that's all right. I can cope with that.
What about Peter?
Oh.
He'll be terribly hurt.
Poor Peter.
I'd better tell him.
Darling, I love it when you're noble and self-sacrificing.
-It's so unlike you. -Oh, thank you so much.
I'll tell Peter. I'm having dinner with him. I'll tell him tonight.
David, what's the matter?
(INHALING DEEPLY)
Promise me you won't leave me and go back to Peter.
No, I won't.
I only thought I was in love with Peter.
I liked him. I still like him enormously.
If I hadn't met you, I'd have married him.
He's your age.
You have everything in common.
But now I've met you, I have no intention of marrying Peter.
I have every intention of marrying you.
So, David, will you please marry me?
Yes, Helen, I'm afraid I will.
I just hope to God I don't make you too miserable, that's all.
I shan't care.
(DOOR RATTLING)
JOAN: Oh, damn! This door. It always sticks.
Williams.
Oh! Thanks so much, darling.
Fifty, at threepence each.
(SIGHING) Thank heavens for Woolworths.
Helen, I've got you a little present.
Oh! Thank you, Joan. It's sweet. What is it?
You put it in your hat, darling.
-David? I bought you some shaving soap. -I don't need any shaving soap.
Well, it'll come in useful later anyway.
-Well, thank you so much. -Not at all.
Whenever I go to Woolworths, I love to buy up the whole shop.
Williams!
I've bought John a little duck for his bath.
-There. Do you think he'll like it? -DAVID: I'm sure he'll love it.
Williams, these are the glasses for the party.
-Take care of them, will you? -Yes, madam.
How are things going in the dining room?
Quite well I think, madam.
I'll come and help you later.
Oh, Lord.
I don't know why one gives parties.
David, I just remembered.
We haven't got any wine up here for the supper.
You'll have to go down to the cellar and get some.
-Well, can't Williams get it? -No, he's far too busy helping me.
Nobody is going to drink any wine anyway.
Well, it just looks better all the same.
-How much do we want? -About a dozen bottles.
How many pairs of hands do you think I've got?
I'll get John to help you. Where is the old drunk?
In David's room.
Oh. The keys are hanging up in the kitchen.
Oh, right.
John! Come out of there.
-I bet he's in a delicious coma. -I am not
nor have I been in a coma. I've been reading Gibbon.
John, you're to help David bring some bottles up from the cellar.
-But there are some stairs to go down. -It'll do you good.
Well, can't David bring them up by himself?
Now don't argue. Be a good boy.
When you come back, I'll give you a little present.
Well, give it to me now and I'll see if it's worth my while.
All right.
Here you are.
It's for your bath.
Thank you very much, Joan. It's very nice.
I'm just going to see how Williams is getting on.
Come on, John. Let's get this ordeal over.
You go ahead and choose the wine
and I'll follow you down in a couple of minutes.
May I be the first to tender my congratulations?
You've been listening.
Only to parts of your conversation.
Some of it I found too embarrassingly sentimental, even for me.
-What a filthy trick. -Isn't it?
It's a habit I've never been able to break myself of.
You know, I'm not in the least bit sincere in my congratulations.
I think both of you are making a huge mistake.
I don't think it matters very much
to either David or myself what you think.
No, no, no, no, I realise that.
Still, I don't think I'd ever be able to forgive myself
if I'd let this moment slip without uttering at least one word of warning.
You can keep it to yourself. I'm not interested.
Now, I was at school with David
and I've known him pretty closely ever since.
You, I think, have known him a month?
That makes no difference. I know him better than any of you.
(LAUGHING) My dear little lamb, you're in love with him.
You've so glamorised and romanticised him
that as far as you're concerned
he hardly exists outside your imagination.
-A romantic, little girl's imagination. -That's a lie.
Now, I give you credit for enough brains
to see quite clearly one side of David which most people miss.
You've seen that he has a vague desire
to get away from the life he's leading now.
And that's exactly what he's going to do.
And that's exactly where you're both making your mistake.
He can't do it.
Believe me, my dear Helen, it's quite crazy of you
to bring this ambition of his out into the light as you're doing
because it's not a real thing at all.
When you do bring it out, it will just vanish into nothing,
just like that.
I don't believe you.
Why should you? You're in love with him.
Oh, well, duty calls.
Oh, I'll...I'll just leave you with one more thought.
David can't go back and start again
because, although he wants to, he hasn't got the character to do it.
Now I, I have got the character to do it.
But then, of course, I don't want to. So there you are, you see, that's life.
Ponder it, my child. It's worth pondering.
-Joan? -Yes, darling.
Can I see you?
Darling, you're all alone. I'm so sorry. How rude of us all.
No, it's not that. I wanted to talk to you.
Yes, Helen?
This may be a great shock to you
but I'm afraid I can't wait for a better opportunity
and I had to tell you now.
Yes, Helen. What is it?
David and I are in love with each other.
Yes, I knew that.
That makes it easier then. How did you know? Did David tell you?
No, no. But I've known he was in love with you for some little time now.
From the time I got him to give up drinking?
Yes, yes. That was when I first knew.
Why are you telling me now?
Because we want to get married, Joan.
Oh. Oh, I see.
And that means you'll have to divorce him.
Yes. Yes, of course.
I'm sorry, Joan. It's horrible for me having to tell you like this.
Why didn't David tell me?
He wanted to but I thought it would be easier for me.
Yes, it would be harder for him, I suppose.
Joan, I hope you don't feel all this too badly.
Oh, my dear Helen.
Only this afternoon I was having a good laugh with David
about this very situation.
Well, then, you did discuss me with him?
As a joke, yes.
When one knows something is going to happen
it makes it seem further off somehow to joke about it.
And I see you do feel this.
One gets used to things after 15 years.
I know.
But it makes it easier your not being in love with him, doesn't it?
Much easier, yes.
David told me about your marriage.
It makes a good story, doesn't it? It's one of his best.
He only told me that
you weren't in love with each other when you got married.
Oh. Didn't he tell you about the party we gave after the wedding?
How we got the police to join in and drink our health?
Or about how we woke up the next morning, he said,
"Darling, I think we've forgotten something.
"Isn't today the day we're getting married?"
Or about...
Hell. It's a wonderful story, it goes on forever.
It got a bit exaggerated over 15 years but it's still very funny.
Poor Joan.
Helen, do you mind if we talk about this whole thing some other time?
No, of course not.
Any way, I'm sure there are a lot of boring little details to be discussed
about the divorce and so on.
We'll get our lawyers to sort out all that.
Oh, yes, I suppose we can.
Let's have a quiet little divorce, shall we,
with only the family as guests?
Thank you, Joan, for taking this so well.
Have I taken it well? I didn't know.
You've taken it wonderfully.
I want you to know that this,
all this isn't going to make any difference.
I mean, I know that David's very fond of you
and he couldn't bear it if he weren't going to see you again or anything.
Thank you so much.
Well, I must go.
I do hope I haven't been too brutal about this,
but I didn't know how else to tell you.
You've been very... Sympathetic, I think the word is.
-You're not going to hate me, are you? -Darling, why should I hate you?
Goodbye, Helen.
Now, you're coming to this god-awful party, aren't you?
-I'd never forgive you if you didn't. -Of course.
-I'm looking forward to it. -Liar.
(RATTLING)
Damn! That door! It always sticks.
Turn it harder. Try and surprise it, if you know what I mean.
That's right.
Goodbye, Helen. See you later.
Goodbye, Joan. And thank you.
God.
(EXHALING)
I suppose she's told you.
I'm terribly sorry, Joan.
(SOBBING)
Why didn't you tell her you're in love with him?
It wouldn't have done any good.
It was worth trying. She doesn't know.
Anyway...
What's the use if he loves her?
-I don't believe he does, really. -Oh, yes, he does.
He's quite mad.
He knows what he's doing.
I'm no use to him any more now I've got old.
You should have let him know you're in love with him.
It's all he wants, really, is somebody to be in love with him.
Not me.
He doesn't want me to be in love with him.
I'd have bored him to death if I'd ever let him see it,
I know that.
It's terrible how two people can misunderstand each other
as much as you and David have for 15 years.
-Was I wrong, John, not to let him know? -It's all he wants.
Too late now.
-What are you going to do? -I don't know.
Oh, God!
John, I...I do need him so much.
And so much more than Helen.
You'll forget him.
(DOOR SHUTTING)
DAVID: That's nine altogether.
That's got to do. Now, where do you want these?
-In here or in the dining room? -In the dining room.
Ah. All right. John, bring those in, will you?
I'm just a slave around the house. That's all I am.
-David? -Hmm?
Somebody appears to have thrown your book into the wastepaper basket.
Oh, thanks.
As matter of fact, I'm scrapping it. And I'm starting again.
Are you sure?
I think it's very good.
You really are going to start again?
Well, don't throw it away.
Keep it as a sentimental memory at least.
It may not be of any value now
but it might be pleasant to look back on,
when you're an old and successful man.
I'm going into the dining room.
That idiot Williams has got everything all balled up in there.
Bring me a gin and tonic, will you, darling?
And don't drown it. I want to taste the gin.
(CHEERFUL PIANO MUSIC PLAYING)
(GUESTS CHATTING)
-Darling, darling, darling. -Yes?
(INAUDIBLE)
All right.
Poor Kate. I can't imagine how anyone could sit in the cinema
for two hours looking at rubbish.
Of course, it was rubbish.
Don't be such a silly, little bore.
I'm not being a bore. You are being a bore.
I've a good mind to slap you, very hard indeed.
Go on. Slap away and I'll slap back.
(EXCLAIMING)
Excuse me. Queensbury rules, please.
David, Moya's being a silly bitch.
I'm sure she is. You always are, aren't you, darling?
David. Heavenly party. Joan's looking lovely.
And you're my favourite man anyhow.
-Don't try to get out of it, Moya. -All right, tell me.
-Moya, don't. -I'm not ashamed of it!
She said she thought the Marx Brothers were torture.
It's all this going to and from Australia.
I want you to meet somebody. Joan...
-David? -Yes?
Have I told you I'm flying over the Pole next month?
Yes, I read about it all in the papers.
I suppose you think Mickey Mouse is better than Donald Duck.
I do, as a matter of fact.
My God!
Oh! There's Doris.
I must go and find out if it's true about the taxi man.
David, this is a heavenly party. It's like old times.
Very old times, I'm afraid.
My dear, I've just had the most horrible experience.
What?
Have you heard I'm flying over the Pole?
Why?
I think she's very bold to go over the Pole.
Hi, everybody.
If you haven't fed already, you better go and do it now,
otherwise there'll be nothing left at all.
Those pigs in there have got a good start on you.
Moya! My angel! How are you? When did you sneak in?
Darling, I've been here for ages. You've said hello to me twice already.
(LAUGHING) Have I, now, Moya? How awful. I'm stinking.
It suits you, darling, you look heavenly tonight.
I'm almost drunk enough to believe you.
Joan, isn't it terrible?
It's not true about Doris and the taxi man.
God. I've been dining out on that story for weeks. What a shame.
-Any more news, Moya? -Nothing much.
I suppose you've heard I'm flying over the Pole next week.
Are you really, Moya? Mind you wrap up well.
Here's somebody who's been trying to say hello to you all the evening.
Arthur! It's my own lovely Arthur.
This is my first love. How are you?
I haven't seen you for ages. What are you doing?
My dear, haven't you heard? He's gone dreary on us.
He's cleaning windows in Manchester.
No, he could never be dreary. He's a heavenly man.
Do you know Arthur and I nearly got married once?
It was just as well you didn't, or you'd be cleaning windows by now.
You stick to David, darling. He's much more your mark.
I don't see what's so dreary about cleaning windows.
I should think it would be rather gay.
Give one a new insight into human nature.
I don't clean them myself, you know. I just run the business.
I like it, too. That's the funny thing.
You see, he's not at all like the old Arthur we used to know.
You mean the young Arthur you used to know.
Oh, there you are, you see? He keeps on saying things like that.
I tell you, he's gone dreary on us.
It's awful how all our old friends are going dreary on us.
Either that or they're dying.
Thank God for you and Joan. You too, anyway, will always be here.
Shall we go into the next room for some food?
Good idea, I'm starving. Come along, David.
(CONTINUES TALKING)
Don't you think it's funny to think I nearly married Arthur, John?
-Not particularly. -I think it's funny.
Well, Arthur, how are you enjoying the party?
ARTHUR: I'm hating it like hell. JOHN: Why?
I think it's obscene to see a lot of middle-aged men and women
behaving like children at a school treat.
It's the bright, young people over again. Only they never were bright.
Now, they're not even young.
Oh, I don't think one should ever grudge people
the form of escape that they choose,
however childish it is. I think they are very wise.
Well, it may be wise to try to escape from the world as it is at the moment,
but it isn't exactly brave.
Who wants to be brave, anyway? I'm very happy to run away from world.
Until the world catches you up by blowing you to pieces in the next war.
Yes, or making me trip over a banana skin in the street.
I can't see much difference.
Well, the banana skin wouldn't be there if someone had picked it up first.
And the next war wouldn't be there
if people took the trouble to prevent it.
Well, I hope people do prevent it, I'll be very grateful to them.
We had our chance after the last war, but we all ran away instead.
And the awful thing is that we're still running away.
I didn't realise it so much until tonight.
You're not running away, Arthur. You're cleaning windows.
Yes, I'm cleaning windows.
One must have to face life squarely in order to clean windows for a living.
It's depressing how many of the old crowd
have settled into the common rut of a dreary life like you.
The majority, thank God.
People like you and David and Joan
and the rest of this awful crowd here tonight are as dated as hell.
I suppose you realise that.
Of course we realise it. It makes it all the more fun.
Don't you ever feel bored with all this?
Only very rarely.
Look here, why don't you come and work for me?
(LAUGHING)
Seriously, why don't you?
I'm sorry. I thought you were having your little joke.
No, really. I'm serious.
I need someone to help me and I'd like to have you.
-How much would you pay me? -Let's say five pounds a week?
And how furious you'd be if I accepted your offer?
I'd be surprised but I'd be delighted.
Of course you realise you will have to live in Manchester, don't you?
Well, now obviously, you're regretting your decision.
You're trying to put me off.
It's a genuine offer. Are you going to take it?
(SIGHING) Five pounds a week in Manchester.
Hmm. No, thanks.
-I'll make it six pounds a week. -It would still be Manchester.
My God! I must be stinking. Cleaning windows in Manchester?
Me? How dare you?
(LAUGHING) The offer's open whenever you'd like to take it.
(LAUGHING) John, I have to tell you. It'll kill you.
Better be good after this.
I've just heard Moya trying to get Lawrence
to sniff a little of her uppies.
And he said he was afraid of it being habit forming.
So, she said, "Habit forming? My dear, how could it be?
"Look at me. I've been taking them for 14 years."
It's true. I just heard her.
Oh, damn you both for not finding it funny!
Oh, God. I'm tired.
-Stay in here and be quiet for a bit. -No, no. Got to keep going.
Gosh! It's like an oven in here. Oh, dear.
(GIGGLING)
(GASPING) Oh, I'm so sorry.
No. Not at all. I...
If you can bear it, there's some food for you next door.
Thanks. That would be delightful.
Can you beat that?
That's Piggy Mainwaring's boyfriend with that Pinney girl.
Can't wait to tell Moya. It'll kill her.
My God, how Joan has changed.
You really were in love with her once, weren't you?
Why does Joan behave like this? She used not to.
It's become a habit, like Moya's uppies.
-Then why did she start the habit? -To please David.
I see.
No, you don't. But let's leave it.
I'm going next door, in case I'm missing anything.
Hello, Peter. Are you leaving?
-Is David in the dining room? -Yeah, I think so.
I don't want to go in there myself.
Would you mind awfully telling him I'd like to see him for a moment?
Not at all, if I can tear him away from his guests.
-You coming, Arthur? -Hell, yes, I suppose so.
(PEOPLE CHATTERING)
Hello, Peter. I hear you want to speak to me.
Yes, I do. Only keep you a moment.
I just want to tell you that I'm leaving this house.
I'm going to stay with a friend of mine.
-I'm getting out tonight. -Peter, I can't let you do that.
-Don't worry, I'll be all right. -I have to worry.
Ever since your mother's death,
I've been more or less responsible for you.
-How're you going to live? -I'll get myself a decent job.
My God! I'll be glad to get out of this flat.
You'll need some money until you get a job.
You can keep your filthy money, I don't need it!
I never want to see you or speak to you again as long as I live,
or Helen.
-I'm so sorry, Peter. -Don't you!
Don't be sorry for me. I'm not sorry for myself.
I'm glad this has happened. I've learned a hell of a lot.
You see, I believe in a few things, things you don't believe in.
I know I'm a bore. That's the word, isn't it?
According you and John and Helen.
Well, I'm still a bore and I'm going on being a bore.
If Helen would rather lead your sort of life,
then I wish her luck.
I can only thank God I found out about her in time.
Peter, aren't you being a little un-grownup about this?
I'm sure you'll get over it. I know how you feel at the moment.
Oh, do you?
Goodbye.
Peter, where can I find you?
You can't find me.
Don't stop me helping you till you get a job.
(DOOR CLOSING)
(PEOPLE CHATTING)
I'm going, David. Thank you for a most delightful evening.
I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed myself.
I've just been talking to Peter.
Oh. Was it very difficult?
-I didn't know what to say. -Poor David.
"Poor Peter" is what you ought to be saying, isn't it?
No, we've got to forget about Peter.
(SIGHING) I wish to God I could.
This afternoon, I only thought of him as some sort of abstract problem
that I could easily solve.
I never thought of him as an unhappy little boy.
Shut up, David. Come and kiss me.
Oh, Helen, what have you got me into?
Cheer up. The worst is over.
We told them both, and one of them, anyway, has taken it marvellously.
(CHUCKLING) She's taken it too marvellously.
I'm rather hurt.
You haven't talked to her yet, have you?
I haven't had a chance.
She's been too busy being the life and soul of the party.
I couldn't get near her.
David, you will stay friends with her, won't you, after we're married?
Well, of course.
I couldn't bear it if I never saw her again.
-Anyway, Joan's not the problem. -Darling, I've told you.
You're not to think about Peter. Come here.
Hello, Joan. I was just coming to find you
to tell you how much I've enjoyed your party.
You're not going, are you?
-The party's hardly started. -I'm afraid I must.
Ooh, good heavens, half past one.
Is it only that? I thought it was much later.
Well, it's quite late enough for me.
Goodbye, Joan. Thanks so much.
-Goodbye, Helen. -I'll come and see you tomorrow, then.
-Tomorrow? -Or are you doing something?
No, no. I'm not doing anything tomorrow.
I'll come sometime in the afternoon then.
I know you'll want to sleep late. Goodbye, David.
Goodbye, Helen.
She's a nice girl.
I'm sure you'll be very happy.
I'm glad you don't mind too much.
You don't, do you?
It was bound to happen sooner or later.
I'm sorry it ever happened at all.
You don't mean that, so you shouldn't say it.
I only mean that we've had such a lovely time together for so long,
it seems idiotic to break it all now.
Fifteen years and seven months.
We didn't think it would last that long when we married, did we?
You speak for yourself.
-I hoped it might last a lifetime. -Did you, David?
Well, didn't you?
There's a difference between hoping and thinking.
Anyway, I'm glad that we never made the mistake
of falling in love with each other.
Sometimes I think, perhaps,
ours is the best basis of all for marriage.
-Perhaps it is. -It has worked for us, hasn't it?
It might have worked even better
if we'd fallen in love with each other like you and Helen.
That's something different altogether.
I'm not even sure that I like Helen as a person.
Not in the way I like you.
I only know that I love her.
That's something I can't explain.
You didn't want to fall in love with Helen, did you?
I tried very hard not to.
It's hell, that, isn't it? Trying to stop yourself falling in love?
Can't be done, I'm afraid.
Well, if it could, life would be a lot easier.
I'm going to have another drink. What about you?
-No, thanks. -I'm sorry. I was forgetting...
David, I could have helped you to stop drinking
if I'd known you'd really wanted to.
I didn't want to.
I'd have died of cirrhosis if I'd gone on.
You didn't tell me that.
(SIGHING) I didn't want to bother you with it.
I'm afraid I haven't been a very good wife.
No, you've been a marvellous wife.
You see, I made a silly mistake about you. I...
I thought you really were bored with people,
you know, like Helen, with the trying to stop drinking,
and leading a serious life and so forth.
If I'd known, I could have maybe helped you more
with your work and things, like Helen is doing now.
Only I wouldn't have done it so well.
I suppose I didn't want to show you that side of myself.
Didn't want to bore you with it.
Isn't it funny? I wouldn't have been bored at all.
(PEOPLE LAUGHING LOUDLY)
I suppose...
We'd better go and break up that party in there.
No, no. I'll bring them in.
Look, why don't you sit down for a while, eh?
-You look dead tired. -Don't go.
Why don't you play something?
-It'll be easier if... -Oh, do. Play something.
They'll come in when they hear that.
All right. What you want me to play?
"Avalon." Do you mind?
I can't even remember it. I'll try.
-I used to love this tune. -I still do.
I'm not playing it very well, I'm afraid.
You never did play it very well.
Go on playing.
Go on playing for a bit, David. Do you mind?
(GUESTS SINGING A VALON)
You think I'm a damn fool, don't you?
Much worse than that.
Heavenly tune, this! I came out to it.
-(INDISTINCT) -Exquisite.
Who was that divine man who used to sing it?
My dear, he went to Australia.
How awful!
# And so I think I'll travel on
# To Avalon
# I've found my love in Avalon
# Beside the bay
# I left my love in Avalon
# And sailed away #
There are one or two of these novels that I don't want, Miss Potter,
if you care to have them.
That's very kind of you, Mr Reid,
but I think you'd better give them to someone else.
You see, I very rarely read novels.
What do you do with yourself all day long, then?
When I'm not working, I like to knit.
-You've no objection to not working? -Who has?
-Your predecessor had. -Then she was a fool.
It wasn't a she, it was a he. And a young he, too, which explains it.
Williams, these are the books I'd like packing.
-Yes, sir. -What are those things you've got there?
They came from your drawer, sir.
Six handkerchiefs, four pairs of socks, three shirts, sir.
-Well? -They're marked with
Mr Scott-Fowler's name, sir.
I was wondering whether I shouldn't return them to him, sir.
Well, stop wondering and go and pack them.
Suppose Mr Scott-Fowler should notice that they've gone, sir?
Well, in that case, I'll send them back to him.
And he won't notice, don't worry. He owes me a parting gift anyway.
-Yes, sir. -How are things going?
Quite well, I think, sir. I have packed practically everything.
Good. Call me a taxi in about half an hour, will you?
Yes, sir.
(SIGHING)
They say the sun never shines in Manchester.
MISS POTTER: That's nonsense. It does, quite often.
It's not the Riviera, of course.
But when the sun does shine in Manchester,
you'll find you'll appreciate it all the more.
Shall I turn back before it's too late, Miss Potter?
Of course not. You'll enjoy it.
Not a very beautiful city, I'll admit,
but the people are friendly and charming.
Hail, fellow, well met, if you know what I mean.
Yes.
Please don't talk about Manchester any more, Miss Potter.
My resolve is fading with every word you utter.
Well, John, I just thought I'd come in and say goodbye and wish you good luck.
-Good afternoon, Miss Potter. -Good afternoon.
-Thank you, Helen. -How're you feeling?
A bit frightened, I should think, aren't you?
Not frightened, no. In the depths of despair, that's all.
It all happened so suddenly.
David only told me about it the other day.
When did you decide to go?
Oh, when Arthur first offered me the job.
But it's taken me six months to decide to act on my decision.
I bet you'll be back in a week.
No, I'm never coming back. I'm going to my grave,
a sooty, hail-fellow-well-met grave.
If you'll excuse me, Helen, I must go and supervise the packing.
-I'll be with you shortly, sir. -Oh, thank you, Williams.
Well, he didn't seem to like your description of Manchester, Miss Potter.
It's just as well he should be depressed now.
Then he won't be so depressed when he gets there.
Where's Mr Scott-Fowler?
-He's in his room, I believe. -Working?
I've no idea.
I see you've got these books from the London Library.
Yes, I went out to get them yesterday.
Talleyrand by Duff Cooper.
Life and times of Talleyrand.
Mmm. Les mémoires de Talleyrand.
They're all the books the head librarian recommended.
Did he do any work on them last night?
No, he did The Times crossword puzzle. I helped him.
He promised me he'd do some work on them.
That's why I especially didn't come around.
I expect he'll start tonight.
You must be getting very bored here after a week with no work to do.
Not at all. I'm perfectly happy doing nothing.
I thought that, by engaging you, he might start to work again.
Don't you think, perhaps, it's a little too soon
after his wife's death for him to concentrate on work?
Is that the reason he gave you for not working?
No, he's never mentioned his wife to me.
But, naturally, I read about the accident in the papers.
And I can well imagine it must have been a terrible shock for him.
Were you at the party that night?
Yes, but I had left before it happened.
I went out on the balcony one night and sat on the parapet,
just as she must have done.
It's very easy to imagine how it could have happened.
If you lean back a little too far and then look down suddenly,
it would be the easiest thing in the world to lose your balance,
especially as she...wasn't feeling too well.
What do you mean, she wasn't feeling too well?
That's just the way of saying what they said openly at the inquest
that she'd had a couple of drinks too many.
-I think it'd be a good idea to... -DAVID: Hello, Helen.
I didn't know you were here. Why didn't you let me know?
I thought perhaps you'd be working and I didn't want to disturb you.
I couldn't have been working less.
-Death in the Albert Hall. -Yes. It's not very good.
-If you like it, you can have it. -No, thank you.
Will you be needing me this afternoon, Mr Scott-Fowler?
No, Miss Potter.
I think I'll go to my room and write some letters then.
Would it be possible for me to have my tea in there?
Certainly.
You can have it in your bedroom, Miss Potter.
-Have it anywhere you like. -Thank you.
I want my tea.
I wasn't expecting you this afternoon. It's quite a thrill.
Well, I thought I'd better come around and say goodbye to John.
Poor old thing. He's terribly depressed by it all.
Well, so am I. I hate the thought of his going.
You didn't try and put him off, did you?
Certainly, I did. Argued with him for hours to stop him going.
You shouldn't have done that.
After all, what he's doing is a good thing.
It was very selfish of you.
-I am selfish, you know that. -Yes, you are.
So are you. So, don't look so pleased with yourself.
But I'm only selfish about you, not about anything else.
(CHUCKLING)
You know, David, I used to hate John, but now I rather like him.
Funny, isn't it? He was terribly fond of Joan.
Her death must have made a difference to him, too.
Yes, I suppose it did.
You still can't bear me to talk about Joan, can you?
I just don't like to be reminded of it, that's all.
Darling, you've got to make up your mind
that you're going to be reminded of it all of your life.
You're going to save yourself a lot of unpleasantness in the future,
if you can learn now to talk about her without being hurt.
-I'm sorry, David. -It's all right. I'm sorry, too.
(SIGHING)
Did you see that boy yesterday, that friend of Peter's?
Yes, I saw him, but it wasn't any use.
He was looking for Peter himself.
-He must have left London. -He may have.
I've rung up every place in London he could possibly be staying at.
What a damn fool he is.
Don't say that, David.
Oh! I know what I've got to tell you.
I went to that agency yesterday.
David, they've got just the cottage we want.
-Cottage? -Call it a house, if you like.
Five acres, all by itself in the New Forest.
-Electric light? -No.
Water laid on?
No, we can get the gardener to pump it up every morning.
New Forest is a long way from London, isn't it?
All the better.
You didn't do anything about it, did you?
I took an option on it.
-When for? -Immediate occupancy.
You seem a little doubtful. What's the matter?
Darling, look,
you know I want us to get married as soon as possible, don't you?
-But... -But?
Isn't it a little soon after Joan's death?
I mean, you know the sort of thing people say.
I don't think we need to care what people say.
Well, I'm sorry, but I do care, I'm afraid.
Not so much for ourselves, but for Joan's sake.
David, I hate waiting.
-Well, don't you think I do? -I hope so.
(CHUCKLES) Only hope so?
You know damn well I can't live a day without you.
Now, are you going to come around tonight,
or shall we go out somewhere?
I'm leaving you alone to get started on those.
-You're not leaving me alone tonight? -Yes, I am.
I'm not having you using me as an excuse for not working.
I don't need any excuse for not working.
(LAUGHING)
If you leave me alone tonight,
I shall do the crossword puzzle with Miss Potter, as I did last night.
Oh, darling, I'd be so much happier if you'd keep your promise to me
and really start to do some work.
There is plenty of time for Monsieur Talleyrand
when we're in that horrible cottage.
-What's it called, by the way? -Rose Cottage.
(LAUGHING) I knew as much.
Now, where shall we have dinner tonight? Joseph's?
I've told you, we're not having dinner tonight.
I will meet you at Joseph's at seven thirty
and then, if we want to, we can go and see Garbo.
Oh, all right, damn you.
And I'll tell you what I'll do.
I'll ask Mrs Potter along so that if I get any brilliant thoughts
about Talleyrand, she can take them down.
I'll take them down.
I'm getting quite jealous of Miss Potter.
Oh, by the way, Moya's having a party tonight
and she's asked us both. What do you think?
Shall we call in before dinner? Might be fun.
-Oh, David... -What's the matter?
You know what I think of Miss Moya Lexington.
It's nothing to what I think of her. But her parties are usually quite gay.
Well, you can go if you like.
But nothing on earth would drag me there.
Oh, all right.
-Am I being a bore, David? -No, not in the least.
You don't want to go to Moya's party, so we won't go to Moya's party.
-Why don't you go on your own? -I might.
-I'll see how I feel. -I'd rather you didn't.
-Well then, why suggest it? -I suppose I was being unselfish.
Really, I'd rather you didn't have anything more to do with that crowd.
You can't touch pitch without being defiled, eh?
-Don't be silly, David. -Well, that's what you meant, isn't it?
You know perfectly well what I mean.
Let's drop the subject, shall we?
-Are you going to the party? -No, not if you don't want to.
The whole thing seems supremely unimportant to me, anyway.
Does it, David? It seems to me rather important.
-(KNOCKING ON DOOR) -Come in.
Peter.
I let myself in with my key. I hope you don't mind.
Peter, you little fool. Where have you been hiding yourself?
I stayed with Pat Morris for a bit
and then I got some digs in Hammersmith.
-I'm awfully glad to see you. -Hi, David.
Pat Morris, of all people.
I thought of everyone else but not of him.
How are you, Peter?
Are you well? Have you been all right?
Yes, thank you.
You don't look like you've been eating enough.
-You look half-starved. -I'm fine, thank you.
Why don't you come and sit down? Have some tea or something.
PETER: I'm sorry, I can't stay long. I want to speak to you alone.
-Well, can't Helen... -I'd rather not.
That's all right. I'll go.
You know, I should be very angry with you.
You don't know what a time I've had running all over London looking for you.
I don't see why you should be worried about me.
Don't you?
Really, you know, there was no need to run away.
Let's meet tomorrow, shall we? What about lunch?
Come and pick me up at my house about one.
Oh, I've got lots to talk to you about. Tell me about Pat Morris.
Is he still as red as ever?
Well, he's pretty violent about things at the moment.
I don't blame him. And what about you?
Has he converted you or are you still just mildly pink?
I don't know.
I don't think I'm anything at all.
Well, you must be something just at this moment.
You can't very well just stand back and watch the bombs drop.
Let's postpone the political discussion, shall we?
I think Peter wants to talk to me.
All right, I must go. Goodbye, Peter.
Remember our date tomorrow.
And don't run away again, will you?
-Bye, David. -Bye, Helen.
-May I? -Please.
She was rather impressive.
Might almost would've thought she was glad to see me.
-She is glad to see you. -Why? Is she getting tired of you?
What you want to say to me, Peter?
-I want some money. -Oh. Is that why you came back?
You didn't think this was a social call, did you?
I hoped you might have forgiven me after all this time.
After all this time. Anyway, I've got nothing to forgive.
I'm sorry. I hoped things might be different.
Look, can you let me have 20 pounds?
I owe most of it in rent and I've got to have something to live on.
Well, of course.
-Do sit down. Let's have a... -I'm sorry, I've got to go.
-Could I have it now, please? -All right.
-You sure that's enough? -For the moment, yes.
By the way, I know someone in the Exchange Telegraph
who says they need young men who can type
and who don't mind doing night work.
I thought of you, of course, but I couldn't get in touch.
How much do they pay?
Well, practically nothing to begin with.
But, apparently, it's a job which can lead to good things in the future.
(SCOFFING) The future.
That's a nice, little prospect, isn't it?
Yes. It's a little hard to look ahead these times, isn't it?
(DOORBELL BUZZING)
Still, it's hardly worth turning a good job down
just because one's afraid of what might happen.
That sentiment comes a little strangely from you,
-if you don't mind me saying so. -I suppose it does.
But, somehow, about you, I mean it.
Thanks, but I don't think I'll take that job all the same.
-Have you got something else to go to? -No.
What are you going to do then?
I don't know. It doesn't seem to matter much.
(KNOCKING ON DOOR)
-Mrs Browne is here, sir. -I can't see anyone now.
She says she's on her way to Miss Lexington's party
and just looked in to say goodbye to Mr Reid.
Well, show her in to Mr Reid's room. He's packing.
-Very good, sir. -(SIGHING)
What's happened to you, Peter?
Oh, I've grown up a bit, that's all.
You told me to grow up the last time I saw you,
-do you remember? -Did I?
You said I was being un-grownup about you and Helen.
You said I'd soon get over it.
I'm sorry.
That was a stupid thing to say.
I didn't realise then how much she meant to you.
And do you now?
-Yes, I do, now. -I don't believe it.
You've never had any real feeling for anyone in your life.
You don't know what it is to need somebody.
Yes, I do.
Anyway, what the hell. I'm not crying about it.
Possibly you're right. I may get over it one day.
Well, goodbye. Thanks for this.
I'm sorry about Joan, David.
-Thank you, Peter. -I liked her awfully.
It must have been a frightful shock for you.
Yes, it was. Thank you for your letter.
That's all right. Goodbye.
Peter! Listen,
I'm not being a hypocrite.
I know how you feel about me and, in many ways, I don't blame you.
But I do mean this.
I nearly made a mess of my life.
For God's sake, don't make a mess of yours.
Do you know, I think I preferred the old David Scott-Fowler to the new one?
I'd never thought you'd become a bore.
JULIA: David!
David!
That dirty, old brute's packing all your shirts.
Well, I think he ought to be stopped.
(GASPING) Why, Peter! Of all people!
How are you, angel face?
Where have you been hiding yourself all these months?
I've been away.
-I was just going. Goodbye. -Oh, where are you going?
-Anywhere in particular? -Hammersmith.
Hammersmith? So that's why you're dressed like that.
I'll tell you what. Why don't you come to Moya's party with me?
I know she'd love to see you.
-Party? -Yes.
If you just wait one second while I have a drink,
-I'll take you along with me. -All right, thank you very much.
Good. Little brandy, please, darling.
(SIGHING)
You don't want to go to the party, do you, Peter?
Why not?
-How much soda? -Not too much, ducky.
-Woah! That's enough. -All right.
Well, Peter, my angel, how are you?
Isn't it funny, you hiding yourself away all this time
and never coming near us?
I suppose you wouldn't have heard the frightful news about Cyril.
My dear, I can hardly bear to speak about it.
I've been absolutely shattered.
-Why? Is he dead? -My dear, as good as.
He's been conscripted. Isn't it terrible?
He's being awfully brave about it, poor lamb, and so am I.
But, of course, it's been the most terrible time for us all,
-as you can imagine. -Yes, of course it would be.
David, my angel, how are you?
I'm fine, thank you.
I haven't been in to see you for an awful long time, have I?
As a matter of fact, I hate coming to this flat at all.
Oh, it gives me the shudders every time I look at that balcony.
Ooh! Poor Joan.
Life isn't the same without her. She was such fun.
-Shut up, Julia, do you mind? -I know how you feel, ducky.
We all do.
Still, there's one consolation, isn't there?
She couldn't have known anything about it for a second.
It must've been just like that party years ago
when Johnny Benson fell over the balustrade...
Shut up, Julia, do you hear! Shut up!
Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't upset you for the world.
Well, we'd better be going, Peter.
Goodbye, darling.
-You're coming to Moya's, aren't you? -No.
No? Oh, I think you should. It's going to be a good party.
-Peter, you're not 20, are you? -No, I'm 22.
Thank God for that.
DAVID: Peter.
Don't go yet. I want to talk to you.
I think we've said everything there is to say, haven't we? Goodbye.
Moya thought of making this a gas mask party.
You know. (INHALING)
Then she realised no one would be able to drink.
So, what sort of party it's going to be I don't know.
Julia's visit has quickened my resolve, which was fading a moment ago.
What a drink-sodden old hag she's become, hasn't she?
I can remember her when she was amusing.
Peter's just been here.
Is all forgiven and forgotten, then?
No. He just came for some money for his rent or something.
Poor little Peter.
-How he must have hated doing that. -He's changed, John.
He seems to have lost the drive and enthusiasm he used to have.
-I'm delighted to hear it. -He was quite apathetic just now.
Doesn't even seem to hate me any more.
Apathy is just another word for contentment.
Peter's lucky if he can achieve it without this.
-He turned down a job, too. -Did he now?
I always said there was good in that boy.
Oh, cut the wisecracks, John.
-I'm worried. -Why?
'Cause I don't want him to mess up his life!
-Did you tell him so? -Yes.
(SCOFFING) That was tactful, I must say.
-Well, I'm his guardian. -Well, that makes it worse, if anything.
If I were your guardian, it wouldn't give me the right
to hit you over the head with a bottle
and then reprove you sternly for looking dazed.
-Meaning, I'm responsible. -Well, aren't you?
Well, I suppose I am.
I don't know what the hell to do about it.
You really want to do something about it?
Yes, of course.
-Well, then, it shouldn't be difficult. -What can I do?
-You really want me to tell you? -Certainly.
-Give up Helen. -I told you to drop the wisecracks.
The awful thing about being a wisecracker is that
when you see something serious, people still think it's a wisecrack.
Look, John, I don't want to be too rude to you
because you're leaving in a few minutes.
But has it, by any chance, escaped your notice
that Helen and I happen to love each other?
Yes, I had noticed that.
Then, do you think I'm crazy enough to make that kind of sacrifice?
For Peter or anyone in the world? Or that Helen is, either?
Helen needn't be consulted. You could just
fade into the distance romantically like Sydney Carton.
Oh. May I remind you that Sydney Carton killed himself?
The idea is yours, for what it's worth.
-You're not drunk, are you? -Not yet, no.
If you're not drunk, you're mad.
Well, I think if you won't give up Helen for Peter's sake,
you should give her up for her own sake.
Of course, I admit it's nothing to do with me.
Are you trying to tell me that Helen isn't in love with me?
Oh, no. No.
No, she's in love with you and you're in love with her.
The only difference between you is that, in a year's time,
she'll be even more in love with you than she is now,
and you will undoubtedly hate her like hell.
What makes you say that?
Well, the fact that you half hate her already.
-I've watched you this last month. -Our quarrels don't mean anything.
Well, they mean this much,
that you've already started to resent her managing your life.
Look, it is an effort to change my life.
It's like giving up drinking. It makes one peevish and nervy.
But I want to do it. And I need her help,
even though I do seem to resent it sometimes.
Oh, David, you're not talking to Helen now.
You don't have to put on this act with me.
-It's not an act! -You know damn well it's an act.
Look at yourself clearly for a second, will you?
Honestly and truthfully, tell me,
do you see a man who's going to be happy living in the country
with an earnest schoolgirl
sitting on his head forcing him to work 10 hours a day?
-Yes, I do. -Oh!
I admit I may fail. Well, there's no harm in trying anyway.
Well, no harm for you, perhaps, just a few boring weeks in a cottage.
You'll soon forget that when you get back to London,
start to lead your old life again.
You think I'm too weak to go through with it, don't you?
My dear David, I don't think, I know you are.
Well, supposing I am.
Supposing I do give up.
Well, then Helen will just have to adapt herself to my life.
At least I'll have tried to adapt myself to hers.
Yes, you will have tried and Helen will try.
And you'll kill her just as surely as you killed...
Damn you! God damn you!
Then, you do know you killed her?
Get out of here. Go on. Get out!
(SIGHING)
Joan killed herself because of you and you've never dared to admit it.
You think I'll do the same to Helen?
I think it's very possible.
You were in love with Joan, weren't you?
You know, I suppose I was.
Then why couldn't you do anything to help her?
What could I have done? It was you she was in love with.
You could have told me the truth.
And what good would that have done Joan?
You're right about me, John.
I'm entirely selfish.
And that's exactly why I can't give up Helen now.
(DOORBELL RINGING)
No, I never thought you could.
You asked for my advice and I gave it to you, that's all.
Everything you said may be right.
Same with Helen, I don't know.
But I need her and that's enough.
And Peter needs her, too.
And Helen really and honestly needs Peter.
-What the hell is that to me? -Oh, nothing, of course.
Nothing to me, either. I think that both of them bores.
Both probably deserve what they get.
I can't let her go. I can't.
No, of course you can't. I quite see that.
-Your taxi is here, sir. -Good.
I found this in the bathroom, sir. Does it belong to you?
Yes, I'll put it in my pocket, thank you.
(CLEARING THROAT) Well, goodbye, David.
I'll come downstairs with you.
Oh, no, don't do that.
I won't be able to think of anything to say,
and we'll both probably shock the hall porter by bursting into tears.
Goodbye.
I'll send you a coloured postcard of the Town Hall.
Yes, I'd love that.
Well, you'd better hurry, or you'll miss your train.
Yes, mustn't do that.
It's got a restaurant car.
I have every intention of seeing Manchester for the first time
through a mist of alcohol.
Oh, God! Why am I doing this?
Excuse me, sir.
What is it, Williams?
Will you be dining in or out tonight, sir?
In.
Yes, sir. How many?
Just two. Myself and Miss Potter.
Yes, sir.
Oh, Williams?
-Do you know Joseph's restaurant? -Yes, sir.
I want you to take a letter around there to Miss Banner at half past seven.
And, Williams, pack.
-Pack, sir? -Yes, pack.
I'm going away tomorrow.
Very good, sir.
(PHONE RINGING)
-(LOUD MUSIC PLAYING) -MOYA: Moya Lexington's party.
-Hello, Moya. -Who's that?
-David. -Who?
-David. -Fabulous party.
Yes, I can hear it. Sounds like a good party.
Moya, is Peter still there?
Julia's just kissing him goodbye.
-Well, stop him, will you? -I'll do my best.
Yes. Wait a minute. Don't tell him it's me.
I'd do anything for you, you know that.
All right.
PETER: Who's that?
-Listen, Peter. -I have nothing more to say.
-I want you to promise me something. -Go to hell.
I told you I never wanted to see you again for the rest of my life.
Promise me you won't cut your date with Helen tomorrow.
-Why? -Because it's important.
-You must be joking. -No, I'm not joking.
-What on earth do you mean? -It's important for her and for you.
-Why? -Promise.
I'll think about it. Is that all?
Yes, that's...that's all.
I don't know why you should think I'd cut it anyway.
Would you get Moya back, please?
-MOYA: What did you say to Peter? -Hello? Moya?
-He looks very peculiar. -What are you doing after dinner?
The party won't stop at dinner. It's just getting going.
-Oh, that's great. -Come on over. As soon as you can?
-Yes, I'd love to. Yes... -Don't be long. I've got this amazing...
No, I can't come now. I've got a letter to write,
-and it's going to take hours. -And it turns out he's a great cook.
-I'll come around later. -Not too late.
-Who's there? -Who isn't there?
-All the old crowd, I suppose, eh? -You will come, won't you?
-Yes, later. -Promise?
-I'll be feeling lonely. -Oh, bye.
(SIGHING)
(PLAYING A VALON)