- Mrs Bales. - Dr Whitset.
Dr Whitset, whatever's happened?
I'll call...
Oh, my God. Oh, help me.
Help me, somebody, please. Help, please!
Don't. No-one else.
Come closer, please.
No strength. How strange to lose it.
Listen, please. I've bungled it.
Tell them I..., I...
I've messed it up.
- Nobody to blame but me. - No, no, Doctor.
Not you. Never you, Doctor.
Yes, me. Nobody to blame.
Doctor, please. Please, I...
Tell them to look after...
Sir Frederick? Sir Frederick, are you all right?
I've never felt better in my life.
Why?
Dr Gillen, why should he do it?
Why should he do something that contradicts everything he stood for?
Without him, there wouldn't even be
a British Analytical Institute.
And what about his patients? How lost they must feel.
Would you read that back please, Miss Tanner?
"Therefore, gentlemen, it is imperative...
"imperative..."
I wonder, Mr Morgan, would you excuse me for a moment?
Anything I...
I'm sorry, Dr Whitset.
I'm so sorry.
£2,000 for a crayon drawing?
Really, Mr Price-Gorham.
But I don't think you quite understand, Mrs Pelton.
I don't care if it is a Delacroix. It's a crayon drawing,
and it's for the hall bathroom.
Oh, surely, you're not going to put a Delacroix in the, er...
in a bathroom?
Mr Price-Gorham, you've been making a fortune out of us for the past ten years.
I've no objection. You have nice things. You're convenient.
I've even bought some of your own work, so don't let's have a nasty scene.
Send it around. Oh, I like that frame. Don't change it.
- A Delacroix in... in the bathroom? - Exactly.
So, Doctor.
So, as we mark the third anniversary of this American experiment
of a so-called Peace Corps,
shall we acknowledge it only as a noble gesture,
merely a tease to the rest of the world,
indicating that the United States has some fleeting moments of conscience?
Or will it snowball, as many symbolic gestures do,
and become the pioneer of a massive re-evaluation of man's obligation to man?
This is Alex Stedman for The American Page.
Thank you and good night.
Hold it, studio. Hold it.
That's it, Mr Stedman. Could you hold on for a video check?
Marvellous, Alex. Absolutely marvellous. This is gonna be a great show.
Do you think they're really interested?
Interested? They eat it up.
Of course it's gotta have the sour side. They do like it a bit nasty.
You do it beautifully and they believe you, Alex.
An American reporting on his own kind.
You mean turning on his own kind.
Why so testy tonight?
Don't you like being able to do a show about something good that's happening?
Are you taking this show seriously?
The whole world is unravelling.
And we're trying to tell the British public that their American cousins
have come up with a Boy Scout movement to stop space-age delinquents.
You know what, Alex? Stay gloomy.
- It's money in the bank. - Everything's product to you, Lew.
Even a point of view.
You're an impressive person, Alex. An unusually sober news commentator,
with a world-weary personality that people find attractive.
Yes, that is a product.
What would you call it?
Product.
Cheer up, Alex. You're off camera now.
Videotape okay, Mr Stedman.
All right, studio. Thank you. Wrap it up. Home to mother, boys.
Good night, Mr Stedman.
Good night, boys.
It's very complicated, isn't it?
- It has to be. - Why?
It saves people from having to think about what they're really doing.
They have to concentrate on how to do it.
That's therapy. Doesn't really help.
Therapy.
Are you looking for anyone? I believe they've all gone home.
You haven't.
- How did you get in? - I lied to the guard.
- Why? - I'm obsessive. I lie to guards.
That's not very serious.
I love TV, even when it's terrible.
I think I'm going blind from watching TV.
Do you see? Look closely.
See the deterioration?
I'm a victim of the electronic age.
Me too.
My father says you're a collector's item.
He said you're an honest man.
I've seen you in real life before, Mr Stedman.
- Where was that? - At father's house.
Who is your father?
Leo Whitset. I'm Catherine.
I don't know your father. You'd better go home now.
- You do know him. - It's late. You should be home.
I don't have a home any more.
My aunt and uncle have inherited me, I think.
My house is closed. It's all locked up.
We had such a lovely house. Don't you remember?
They won't even let me go there any more.
What can I do, Miss Whitset? What do you want of me?
My father didn't kill himself.
You know about people like my father did.
Do you think he could do such a thing?
- Do you? - That's what the police said.
- Your housekeeper heard his last words. - She's a liar.
Why should she lie?
Why should she tell the police that he told her he did it himself?
Why should she?
He was dying. People don't make sense when they're dying.
- They do, Miss Whitset. They do. - He couldn't have.
The matter is closed! Finished.
- The inquest ruled it... - Don't say it.
They said it couldn't be anything else.
His own gun. His fingerprints on it.
His friends said that he was depressed.
Extremely depressed.
My father felt deeply about things. That's not being depressed.
A man who grieves is not a freak. Are you?
My father was murdered.
He was. The idea of suicide
would be the most terrible thing in the world to my father.
He was murdered. I know it. You must know it.
Please help me.
- Why me? - I saw my father watch you on TV.
He read all your articles.
Thought you were fine, so fine.
It's not wrong to ask for help, is it?
You must've spoken to the police.
Over and over again. And what do they do? They comforted me.
But I don't want to be comforted.
Do you think my father would do such a thing?
It was one of his patients, Mr Stedman.
My father knew that one of his patients wanted to kill him.
Did he tell you that?
He didn't tell me who. He never would discuss his patients.
He never even kept files, never wanted anyone to have access to them.
But I know that one of his patients wanted to kill him.
He was terribly worried about one of them.
The house was locked. How could they...
You know he'd open the door to anyone in trouble. It was one of them.
- I'm one of them. - I know you.
You're like my father. You want people to live.
Will you help me, Mr Stedman?
Like my father helped you?
Liar.
Please don't hate him.
- Know how to ride a bike? - Yes.
- Never forget, do you? - I don't know.
You're young. You've had no time to forget anything.
I forgot
how to whistle,
how to grin,
how to talk to children
without frightening them.
But then a man told me I could remember.
He... he tried
to make me believe I hadn't seen what I had seen.
So I tried.
I really tried.
And then I heard a shot.
The lesson was over.
But I did learn how to whistle again.
Listen.
And I have learned to laugh all over again.
Look at me.
Please look at me.
I swear to you, Mr Stedman, on my father's grave,
that he did not fool you,
that he cared,
that he did not die the way they said.
The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven?
Because they are not eight.
- Is he in? - Tied up.
- Tell him I'm here, will you? - Can't.
- I'll just stick my head in. - Don't. Alex Stedman's with him.
Oh. Well, here we go again. They won't refuse him.
You ever seen his shows? Even when he's nice about things,
you feel he knows something is terrible.
Don't you ever look up when people talk to you?
No.
- Why not? - I'm Civil Service.
Alex, let it alone.
The fellow simply killed himself. Let it alone.
- Why? - Alex, please. I don't know why.
I'm a public relations man, not a policeman.
What are you doing at the Yard? Sub-letting an office?
Do you want us to start a thing about a perfectly competent police inspector,
question the decision of a meticulous coroner's court,
make a fool out of one of our best pathologists?
Do you know how difficult it is to get good doctors for that sort of work?
Alex, this is a clean one. Oh, you can make something of it.
Just look suspicious about a death and the public is with you,
but this one is clean. They rarely come so clean.
His housekeeper heard his last words. Look, here we are.
"Tell them I messed it up. Nobody to blame but me.
"Blame no-one but me." Et cetera, et cetera.
"Et cetera, et cetera" is what I'm interested in.
The gentleman simply killed himself.
His own gun, his own fingerprints on it, the angle of the wound,
- the house locked tighter than a drum. - There's no such house.
Well, I don't know about those things. I'm no locksmith.
- Have they checked every patient? - Every one.
- How far back? - Far enough.
- I'd like that list. - I don't have it.
The CID doesn't throw that material around. It's privileged information.
You mean, conveniently privileged.
- The police can use it. The courts can use it. - And that's it.
Not even the patient has access to them. They're doctor's files.
There aren't any files. I just want the names of the patients.
I'll make it even easier for you.
Just the names of the patients he was treating at the time.
Even the names of the patients fall into the same category.
And your people have checked them all?
"Patients seem all right. Case closed." Right?
I want the names of the patients.
I don't have them. Only the CID would.
You know, Larry,
if there's someone on that list who was being looked after,
your people would be making a mistake.
Are you accusing us of protecting somebody?
Not to cover a crime. No, never that.
But somebody might want to save someone the embarrassment
of being revealed as a person in analysis.
It's misguided affection.
It's no disgrace.
You ought to sneak a look at that list, Larry.
You'd be amazed at who's on it.
Mr Stedman, I'm not debating with you, and I'm not being interviewed by you.
I revered Leo Whitset.
I revered him, as did the whole profession, but he's dead.
He committed suicide. That's a fact.
- It will not affect my work. - Won't it?
A leading analyst takes his own life, contradicting everything he stands for.
How do you explain that to your patients?
I tell them it's not pertinent.
It's not pertinent to their treatment.
Would it be pertinent if you could tell them that he didn't commit suicide,
that he was murdered?
By a patient?
It's impossible.
And Leo Whitset did not treat psychotics.
You know the time he spent teaching at the Institute, lecturing, writing.
He limited his private patients to good, healthy neurotics.
- Good, healthy neurotics? - Yes.
People able to function within reality.
A neurotic knows who he is, what he is.
He's disturbed, yes. Most people are.
- But he's not a psychotic. - And analysts do not treat psychotics?
Some do, with entirely different methods.
Mr Stedman, a psychotic is a person who is suffering a major illness,
unlike the neurotic, whose ability to...
to judge reality is impaired.
He lacks a kind of glue.
Yes, we call it "glue".
We don't really know what it is, but it's the force,
certain kind of strength,
which enables a person to adjust, to adapt to stress and change.
Lacking this glue, a person cannot cope with the pressures of life,
unless he sets up defences which are sometimes irrational,
sometimes debilitating,
sometimes...
Sometimes what, Doctor?
Violent?
Would Leo Whitset have accepted such a patient, Dr Gillen?
No.
Not knowingly.
- How else? - Sometimes, you might accept a patient,
then discover in the course of treatment that you have a borderline schizophrenic.
If Leo Whitset had not knowingly accepted such a patient,
would he have stopped treating him?
Not necessarily.
He might feel the patient would be more hurt than helped by a change.
Change, Mr Stedman, is the most traumatic pressure on the psychotic.
If in fact Leo Whitset did have among his patients a psychotic,
would it be possible for Whitset not to know
that he was treating a patient who might kill him?
There's one type that might fool anyone: the paranoid schizophrenic.
Would it be possible for this type of patient to murder him and make it look like suicide?
This type might kill his doctor.
The doctor might represent the agonies, the inability to cope.
The destruction of the doctor would temporarily alleviate the psychic pain.
And this type might, and I repeat "might",
conspire to make it look a suicide.
How would he behave afterwards?
He could behave like any patient hearing of his doctor's death,
appear to be heartbroken, even happy.
He might be bitter.
He might not even remember what had happened.
And he would be the most difficult one to find.
No conscience, no fear, nothing to hide, a mask of innocence.
They could behave in so many ways.
They could appear to be absolutely rational.
He could behave like you, Mr Stedman.
Could he continue to hide it,
- to keep up the pretence? - Yes.
And the violence, the desire to kill?
- Would it reappear? - Inevitably.
When the stresses became too much,
when the pressure grew unbearable.
Suddenly, on impulse?
Sometimes, it might be the result of very deliberate plotting,
very careful scheming,
sometimes a sudden violent outburst.
Mr Stedman, what I'm describing to you
is one of the most terrible illnesses we know of.
Then we should find that person.
Dr Gillen,
I want a list of his patients.
Mr Stedman, there was no such patient.
Are you sure?
- I'll find the patient. - Don't.
Why not?
If there's any chance, the slightest chance that you're right,
you're looking for one of the most dangerous people in existence.
You won't know until...
You won't know what to do, what to say.
I do know how to listen,
how to look, to wait.
I'm a trained reporter, Doctor.
I've spent most of my life looking for the truth.
Not this kind of truth.
It's special.
Look around the world, Doctor.
What's so special about madness?
What's so special about murder?
- What is it, Mark? - Your lecture begins in a few minutes.
I know.
- Anything wrong, Doctor? - Nothing.
I've merely been interviewed. I think quite thoroughly.
- What are you staring at? - Er, nothing.
I've rarely seen you smoking.
Stop being so damned observant.
You student analysts are compulsively observant. That's all you do is observe.
Spend so much time observing, you don't have time to think.
Let's go.
Keep in mind, Doctor. There may be times when a man smokes a cigar
because he wishes to smoke a cigar.
You've twisted everything! You're cannibals!
- Cathy, please. I didn't mean anything. - I know exactly what you meant.
Come on, Cathy. I'll go home with you.
- Don't go back to that house again. - Cathy?
Don't walk along the river by yourself.
I've always walked home that way.
But you don't live there any more, Catherine. Your father...
My father did a lot more good than all your ancestors put together.
Cathy, Laura didn't mean anything.
I know exactly what she meant, and you all defend her. That's just as cruel.
Cathy, I will not explain again. I did not insult your father.
You think you've won something, don't you?
You really should know more. You're not babies, you know.
What a silly sight, you know.
I'd like to help.
I don't believe you. Why did you follow me?
I didn't follow you. I was waiting for you.
Why did you follow me?
Why should I follow you?
Why should I frighten you, Cathy?
My father called me Cathy.
- How did you find me here? - Your housekeeper.
- Mrs Bales. - She's very valuable.
She told me you still walked back to where you used to live.
Don't your aunt and uncle worry when you come home late?
That's not my home.
I'm never that late anyway.
I only look at the house for a little while.
That's not much to ask, is it?
Is it?
Alex, do you like those sounds?
Yes, very much.
Why should someone follow me?
What more is wanted from the Whitsets?
- What did we do? - Let's just listen for a while.
- Are you used to being famous? - I think so.
I'd never get used to it. I'd never think it was real.
- Do you mind when people stare at you? - Depends.
- On what? - What kind of stare.
- How about like this? - That's a nice stare.
He has to stare forever, no matter what.
He just has to keep staring.
The price of telling tall tales.
Hans Christian Andersen,
born in Odense, April the second, 1805,
published his first volume in 1822,
was considered a lunatic by much of the community.
Died in Copenhagen, August the fourth, 1875.
That's very impressive, if accurate.
Oh, it's accurate. My father said I was compulsively accurate.
I never make mistakes on facts.
- Is that to the good? - I don't know. It just is.
My father said we all spend too much time
wanting to know the good or bad in things.
He said some things... are. They just are.
- Didn't he tell you that? - No.
- I didn't make it up. He did say it. - I don't question it.
He rarely said anything to me. I did most of the talking.
He knows the third secret.
The third secret?
My father said everyone has three secrets:
the ones they won't tell people, the ones they won't tell themselves...
- And? - That's a secret.
You're the nicest adult I ever met, except my father.
And you're the nicest non-adult I ever met, except...
Except who, Alex? Who?
My daughter.
My father's dead,
so I like you best now.
- And I, you. - Why?
My daughter's dead too, Cathy.
Do I remind you of her, Alex?
- I'm sorry. - You do, a little.
Am I anywhere near as pretty?
You're both beautiful.
It's all right. My father didn't get them all either.
I bet you copied them as you wrote.
Never. Honest, I didn't. I just remembered things.
I'd write part of a line from Shakespeare on the wall in front of the house.
The next day, my father would sneak down and finish it.
We never told each other, but we knew. Then he stopped.
And then you started to finish them, Alex.
- How did you know it was me? - I watched you.
You always walked along the river before your appointment with him.
You never missed one, till now. Never.
- It's early. - It's late.
Please, before we go.
My father, he didn't...
- Please believe me. - I believe you, Cathy.
You do? Then you'll tell everyone, won't you, Alex? They'll believe you.
I'm afraid not.
Cathy, I've been to the police,
then to your father's colleagues.
I can't even get the names of his patients. I've tried.
I know them.
You know them? But your father wouldn't...
He wouldn't dream of telling me. But I knew anyway.
You see, he'd always leave his mail in the outside hall, his outgoing mail.
Mrs Bales took it to the corner. I'd see who he was writing to.
Cathy, your father probably had correspondents all over the world.
But every month, the first of every month,
there were four letters.
He wrote four certain letters the first of every month.
- Didn't he write one to you every month, Alex? - Of course, the bills.
Right. And I remember the names and addresses.
I remember them. That's enough, isn't it?
It was one of his patients. I know who they are.
I know their names.
Isn't that enough?
Go home now, Cathy.
- Isn't that enough, Alex? - It's enough.
- Shall we meet here tomorrow? - Yes.
Thank you, Alex. I'll bring you a list of the names.
I always thought I wanted to own a Vlaminck.
They've practically disappeared.
- Stolen? - What?
Oh, no, museums.
And of course, the Americans.
They'd buy Nelson's Column if we let them.
Sure. Why not?
Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean...
It's just that we've practically forgotten that you are an American, Mr Stedman.
You've almost become a fixture.
That's terribly hospitable of you.
May I, er... May I be of any service?
- I don't think so. The proprietor will show me... - Oh, I'm the proprietor.
Although that's not a phrase we use very much in our business.
- My assistant, Miss Humphries, was helping you. - Stedman, Alex Stedman.
Price-Gorham, Alfred Price-Gorham.
We... we're very honoured to have you here, Mr Stedman. I know of you, of course.
Although I'm afraid I get very little chance to watch your programme.
A place like this must keep you very busy.
Oh, this is just the end result. There's so much more, you know.
Checking bankruptcy proceedings of large estates,
going to auctions, travelling, buying.
And of course, the product is steadily shrinking.
I know. The museums and the Americans.
An oversimplification, perhaps a little unjust.
The world produces... few masterpieces, Mr Stedman,
but many millionaires.
You, um... you really admire this one, don't you?
Yes, very much.
There's something familiar about that place.
Familiar, and a little frightening.
Yes, well, we... we've all been to places like that, Mr Stedman,
one way or another.
There's a kind of despair in it somewhere.
Yes, there is.
A sense of possible violence, a hint of horror.
Yes.
Yet all under control.
It's a talented line
between chaos and order.
And an elusive line.
You seem to have a predilection for the dark soul,
violence on a leash, so to speak.
Oh, no, no. Not me, Mr Stedman. My customers.
The gentle, the light,
the lyric...
all dated.
- I'm afraid my place is completely old hat. - Why?
Well, I only have the gentle things,
tender things,
sometimes funny things.
Could I see that sort of thing?
Oh, you wouldn't be interested. They're mostly my own work.
But I would. I'm not name-conscious.
Ada... er, Miss Humphries.
Mr Stedman is interested in seeing some of my work.
I... I'm not in to anyone, understand?
- Of course, Mr Price-Gorham. - Anyone.
The sun is the most, er... precious thing for my kind of work.
I would think so.
East Anglia, isn't it?
Oh, you know that part of the country.
- My wife was born in Norwich. - Oh, beautiful city. Beautiful.
Yes.
Well, er... what do you think?
They're very pleasant.
Pleasant?
- Don't you see anything else? - They're very relaxing.
Vitality, Mr Stedman, doesn't have to be, er...
gaudy, crude, sick.
The real spine shouldn't be
twisted all over the canvas.
- Something in work? - No.
No, it's just something I've been
toying with.
It isn't working out. That happens sometimes.
I'll tell you something, Mr Stedman. I don't sell these, don't even try.
I'm not an aggressive man, not on my own behalf.
I could sell them, of course.
There are those who admire my work. But it's, er...
it's an ugly process.
They tease you a little.
They want to try them in the country house.
Then they want to buy them for nothing.
No, I, um...
No, they're not for sale.
He's never busy. Come along, Victor.
It wasn't very clever of you, Mr Price-Gorham,
to refuse to sell me the Delacroix.
Put them anywhere, Victor.
My God. There's enough junk here for a two-year calendar.
Mrs Pelton, please, you... you bought them.
I... I... I won't take them back.
Won't you? Why? Because they're yours?
I've... I've told my friends that I've sold.
If you think they're too expensive, I'll make an adjustment.
Whatever you think is fair. But... don't return them, please.
You... you don't know what it means to sell, to really sell.
Get up, Mr Price-Gorham.
You look ridiculous crouching there.
I'd like to buy one of your paintings, Mr Price-Gorham.
No charity, please.
Charity?
I'm sorry.
What we've done to that word.
Oh, Mr Stedman, we have a new collection coming in.
I hope you'll visit us again.
I don't think so.
We'll never get rid of them that way. But why get rid of them?
They're the only things we can count on to stay the same in London.
Ah, good luck to the pigeons.
You think they appreciate it?
Or do they take it for granted by now?
Probably take it for granted.
Don't do that. They're not bothering you.
- But you are. - I'm not bothering anybody.
Don't generalise. You won't talk to me. I'm not used to it.
I've never seen a pretty girl having lunch here.
Haven't you?
And feeding the pigeons, and not talking to me.
- I followed you. - Why?
I saw you come out of a building.
I said, "Alex Stedman,
"there is an astonishingly lovely girl."
I'm sorry you lost her in the crowd.
When I was 18, I saw a girl standing in line at Radio City Music Hall.
- You know Radio City? - Everybody knows Radio City.
Not that I've ever been there.
Well, this girl, my Radio City girl,
was so astonishing I loved her immediately.
But I didn't go over to her.
I watched her go into that theatre.
Never saw her again.
She really must have liked the picture.
I think you've missed the point.
No, you haven't.
Anyway, it ruined my life.
Please say, "How did it ruin your life?"
- How? - Thank you.
I've never been able to stop asking myself whether I would've married her,
had twelve children, and become gentle.
If people want to meet someone,
they just have to go over or something, haven't they?
I don't know.
I think it's easier for some than others.
My name is Alex Stedman. I'm thoroughly harmless.
My name's Anne Tanner.
I... I saw you too, Mr Stedman.
- I was just trying to unfreeze. - You were what?
I was trying to unfreeze,
to get up and say hello.
To say hello to a man who...
who's given me thought and pleasure.
And I didn't think I ought to intrude.
Well, I think that people like you ought to be left alone.
I mean...
Oh, damn.
I can't even get picked up with any style.
Yes, you can. You've been very elegant.
Oh, elegant.
The only time I tried to curtsy, my father had to call the doctor.
It's really not much of a park, is it, without children?
Well, it's not really very pretty at all.
Even if it is out of doors.
Well, I told you it was easier for some than others.
If you had your choice, and could spend the rest of the afternoon
doing anything you wished, what would you do?
I'd tell my friends how we met, and how I dazzled you.
No, seriously. What would you do?
- Would you call your boyfriend? - I don't have one.
- Shocking. - Not at all.
Be frivolous for a moment, just as a game.
What would you really like to do on a soft, friendly day like today?
- Could I be frivolous and rich? - They go together.
Then I'd hire a car,
and I'd go sightseeing, to special places,
which are probably not special to anyone except me.
You know, I've been in London over a year now
and I've never been to...
Well, I just never have.
That's monstrous.
- But curable. I'll personally... - The game's over.
- I have a job. I must get back. - No, it's still on.
Could you call them?
Tell them something happened. If you will, I will.
And then?
And then? And then?
And then...
I decided that if I didn't know what to do,
to be,
I'd come to London and find out.
And?
I found out that the only thing I could really do was type fast,
and then faster and faster.
Is that all you've found out, Anne?
No.
I found out other things.
What other things?
Don't ask me, Alex.
It's been such a wonderful holiday.
It's been so full.
I still don't know why you asked me, but I don't care.
Don't you have full days, Anne?
Aren't you enjoying London? You should be doing fine.
You'll never own anything more than these years.
Let things happen to you.
Take the word of Mrs Patrick Campbell:
"You can do anything you like in London as long as you don't do it in the street.
"And don't frighten the horses."
Look at all the cars, Alex.
Everybody's going home.
Bumper to bumper.
That doesn't matter.
They're going home.
He said it would happen to me.
He said...
Who said?
What's wrong, Anne?
Can't I finish just one single solitary day,
just one,
without feeling desperate?
Oh, please, come in.
I'm Millie Hoving, Catherine's aunt.
I just took a chance of stopping by to see Cathy.
- I hope I'm not intruding. - Oh, no, no, no. It's quite all right.
Catherine talks of you all the time, Mr Stedman.
You've been so kind to her.
- Won't you sit down? - Thank you.
I'll tell her you're here. She'll be so excited.
She's such a nice child, Mr Stedman.
Frankly, after my brother's death, I thought she'd become ill,
but she's doing fine.
Oh, I had that made from a photograph.
Leo would never sit for a portrait.
- Cathy looks a great deal like her father. - She does.
They used to say I looked like him when we were young.
You look nothing like him, Mildred. Nothing like him at all.
- This is Mr Ste... - I know who it is.
I'm Alden Hoving, Mr Stedman, Catherine's uncle.
Very pleased to meet you.
Catherine says you were a friend of her father's.
- I was. - Horrible thing, the whole business.
Of course, Leo needed a doctor himself.
But who knows? What good are they?
If Leo couldn't cope, which of them can?
- Alden, please. - Please? Please what, Mildred?
- I'll go and fetch Catherine. - Some brandy, Mr Stedman?
- No, thank you. - It's not easy for us.
We've never had children.
But now she's ours.
There's no money, you know. None.
Except for the house, and that's on a mortgage.
It took us years to get Leo to buy some insurance,
so that Catherine would be taken care of.
He was so involved in other people's lives
that he forgot to take care of his own.
- Finally, we convinced him. - Then Catherine will be taken care of.
All the policies were cancelled. They pay nothing on a suicide.
It wasn't suicide! It was not! Don't you say that again, ever!
Catherine, don't you dare talk to me like that.
- If you do, I'll... - You'll do what, Uncle?
- Good night, Mr Stedman. - Good night.
- It's late, Catherine. - Isn't it?
You ought to give them a chance, Cathy.
They are new at it.
It's nice of you to come and see me. I was wondering when.
- How are you? - Fine.
But I don't belong here, Alex. I'm a stranger here.
They're your closest relatives, Cathy.
They're going to sell the house, my house!
- Can they do that, Alex? Can they? - I'm afraid so.
Your father's executors can sell. Of course the money is yours in trust.
I don't want the money. I want the house.
What would you do with it, Cathy?
I'd visit it, look after it,
guard it,
and then, when I'm old enough, I'd move back there.
- Isn't that fair? - That's very fair.
But I'm afraid too romantic for solicitors, accountants, probate courts.
Those kind of people seem to run the world, don't they, Alex?
And I'd never even heard of them before.
They were always there, Cathy.
I guess you can only see them in the dark.
- I'd love you to see it before it's gone. - I've been there.
Not really. Just to my father's office. The rest is so beautiful.
I want to show you my house, Alex.
I want to show it to you, just once before they sell it.
- All right? - All right.
- I have to go now. - Don't go yet.
I must.
Alex, any news? Have you seen them?
- A few. - But I gave you all the names.
It was one of them, but you'll find out. I know it.
You look nice. You're all dressed up.
- Where are you going? - I have a date, young lady.
I don't suppose you'd wait for me? It wouldn't be so many years.
You won't look at me by then. I'd be a relic.
- Never. - I'd be old and ugly.
- Never. - There's no such thing as never.
Yes, there is. My father will never kiss me good night again.
Never again.
- Good night. - Oh, Alex, you make me cry.
I don't see any tears.
- Inside? - Always inside.
You read them all?
No, but I count them all the time.
If you don't like it, I'll die.
I like it. Don't die.
Right.
Well, it's almost ready.
I'm terribly sorry, Alex, but I...
- I really am in trouble. - Trouble?
I still don't know how to talk to you.
And you have given me time to practise.
I don't know how to talk to any man, I suppose.
You talk very well.
No, I don't. I... I just react.
I never initiate anything.
I can't go through life just reacting.
Like "oh, really?" and "do you mean it?"
And I have things to ask you.
I've even tried to memorise them.
I wanted to ask you simply, non-aggressively.
I want to ask lean questions that even if you don't answer,
neither of us will be embarrassed.
But what comes out is a sort of
sticky silence.
and the smell of two hours' nervous shopping.
You're very articulate.
Only about stuttering.
Anne.
Anne...
The beginning is everything, isn't it?
No, don't do that. Please.
You see, I... I just react.
And I'm so attracted to you.
It's awful, isn't it?
Turn around.
See how graceful you are?
See how elegant,
how really elegant you are?
No.
Let me do it on my own.
Whitset... Whitset...
Whitset...
Whitset.
Anne?
What's wrong, Anne?
Wrong?
Here?
Where this empty cave turned beautiful?
So beautiful,
when you made love to me.
- Let me help you. - Help me?
You want to help me?
Help me, then.
I had a bad dream. Such a bad dream.
About millions of years of loneliness.
Continents of cemeteries.
You dream about the dead too, don't you?
You dream about a dead doctor.
Poor dead doctor.
Oh, I dream about him all the time. All the time.
But not tonight.
I didn't need him tonight.
I had you.
But still he was with us,
tapping his way round like a blind, defrocked ghost.
- But it was your dream this time... - For God's sake!
Yeah, for God's sake!
You dream about your doctor, Alex,
and you talk about him in your dreams.
Our doctor.
Our dead doctor!
What do you want of me? Why humiliate a nobody?
I was looking for the person who killed him.
He was killed?
That's not what they said.
And you thought that I might have
killed him?
Don't you care anything about people?
- Don't you feel anything for them? - I feel for Leo Whitset!
And that makes you so noble!
A commitment to the dead!
So easy. No witnesses.
And what about the living?
Is there something so antiseptic about us?
Does warmth revolt you?
Does being loved make you impotent?
It took Whitset's death to make you care for him.
He did not die the way they said. Not him!
Kill him?
I pray for his poor soul every day of my life.
He doesn't need your prayers.
He needs his reputation.
Oh, Alex.
Is there no gentleness left?
Doesn't anyone care about people?
Did the last of pity die with Leo Whitset?
...proceeds from an experienced team director.
The tower had already been erected to its full height of about 120 feet.
But stagings required to be erected at various points up and down the structure,
provide platforms where the riveters could rivet the steelwork.
The method of erecting such stagings involve the fastening of battens of wood,
known as needles, horizontally at the sides of the structure.
The inner ends thereof being approximately in line with the centre of the tower,
And the outer ends protruding out at some feet beyond...
Mr Bickes, I think we'll adjourn now.
- Tomorrow morning at ten-thirty. - Of course, my lord.
- Mr Stedman? - Yes.
How do you do? My name is McHenry, Dermot McHenry.
- Yes. - I am His Lordship's clerk.
- His Lordship's clerk. - I see.
Well, actually, His Lordship was wondering whether you would care to come to his room.
- I don't know Sir Frederick. - You don't?
- Oh. Well, His Lordship... - I know of Sir Frederick, of course.
It must take a great deal of patience to sit through one of these.
Actually, it's a most interesting case.
I probably didn't get the full implication.
- I'm sorry. - That's all right.
Actually, His Lordship was wondering whether you'd care to take tea with him.
- Sure! - Oh, well, then if you'd kindly follow me.
- Great! - Yes, well...
Is there anything special that interests you about this case, Mr Stedman?
It's really a dreary industrial injury matter.
They're endless. The whole business could have been settled by the solicitors.
You know, the chaps who sit in front of the barristers.
- I know. - Yes, of course you'd know.
Lived here quite a long time.
A long time.
Would you like some more?
I assume that you're thinking of doing a programme concerning the courts?
For the moment, I'm just browsing around.
Oh, yes, gestation before...
I prefer to call it browsing.
There's no commitment, not even to myself.
Oh, yes, but an idea is an idea. Once you have it,
it's a little more difficult to control it, hmm?
You... you cannot film in the courts, you know.
- Of course not. - Oh, yes, of course you know that.
Well, I was delighted that you were able to stop by.
We're always pleased to see distinguished visitors in court.
Erm, perhaps I could drop you somewhere?
No, thank you. By the way, Sir Frederick,
as long as I'm here, I wonder if you might help me out
with a legal point that's been troubling me?
It's just a small thing.
Well, I should be delighted to clear it up for you.
I want to know if there is a legal method for me to recover my file from my doctor?
Under what circumstances?
Actually, from my doctor's estate. He was an analyst.
Surely your solicitor must have advised you
that it's next to impossible?
He said "quite impossible".
He said an analyst's files were never available to his patient.
"Privileged writings," he called it.
Well, not technically.
But in principle they're treated that way.
And a very wise concept.
I was able to see the files just before the place was sealed.
Unfortunately, there was no time to destroy mine.
Of course, I don't want anyone else to see it.
What can I do, Sir Frederick?
Why, I don't think you need worry.
After the estate has been probated,
the, er, executors will probably destroy them.
They usually do. I think you can assume
that no-one will see your file.
How can I be sure? I saw them.
- Them? - I went through all of them.
Mr Stedman,
I think that was an unconscionable thing to have done.
My instinct, I guess.
I can't resist looking at any information available, even privileged.
Besides, Whitset's dead. He can't possibly...
Leo Whitset? He kept no files.
I once thought so. But he did.
And what a memory for detail.
You were a long time getting around to this.
I had an impression of your being a direct man.
I should have been.
Then you know.
So he did keep files.
No! No, I knew that office as well as I know my own.
He had no files. None.
No secretary. No nurse.
He didn't believe there should be any access. He had no files. None.
Not in the office, but he did live upstairs.
Didn't you know that?
I did.
You know all about my career, of course.
You've heard that I may be promoted to the Court of Appeal.
Yes, Sir Frederick.
I must confess, you're as distinguished as you can get.
Mr Stedman, you really are a disappointment.
You're not a gossip columnist.
You've never been grouped with cheap sensation mongers.
- I'm a reporter. - You're also a guest in this country.
I live here!
Yes, of course. No need for that.
Frederick, you wanted me to be direct. I'll try.
The death of Leo Whitset.
Well, at first I couldn't believe it.
A man like Leo Whitset?
But it was true.
When I got back to London,
they had confirmed that it was suicide.
You got back? Where were you?
I'd been sitting in Bristol. Mr Justice Maxim had been taken ill.
You were away?
You were not in London when he died?
What does it matter where I was? It's a matter of public record anyway.
What is important is where you were.
And we know, don't we?
Looking through the recorded anguish of other people.
Mr Stedman, please.
It was a long time ago. Nobody remembers. Nobody.
It's never happened again.
Please. Only he knew.
I told him. I trusted him.
Please, Mr Stedman. It was a long time ago.
I trusted him.
There are no files, Judge.
There are no files.
None.
Just the names.
A mere list of patients.
But why, Mr Stedman? Why?
To be this cruel.
- Why? - To save a man's reputation.
That's not enough. That's not enough,
for one man to do this to another!
Why?
I thought it was for his reputation,
but it's for me.
I have to know. Me.
Why?
Because if he died that way,
I can't believe anything he said.
He told me I could live again.
I believed him.
See that one, Alex?
That's his honorary degree from the University of Vienna.
And this is my favourite chair.
That's for distinguished service,
from the American Psychoanalytic Association.
Wasn't that nice of them?
I've heard they can be very grumpy about other countries.
- Oh, that's a personally autographed picture... - That's Dana Hayward.
Right. He was a great pioneer in...
- something or other. - Yes, something or other.
Read the inscription, Alex.
"To Leo Whitset, companion in nightmare."
Look, Alex. See this one?
Cathy, don't you think I'd better take you home? It's getting late.
This is my home, Alex. Please. You promised.
I want to show you where we lived.
We shouldn't even be here. This place is sealed by law.
Just a little longer, Alex. Please.
- What's that? - Oh, my father used to go there.
It's near Colchester. I've never been there.
That was his place.
He went there to walk and think. He wrote his articles and books there.
I used to nag him to take me.
But he said there was nothing but
"mean trees, unruly shrubbery, a hard bed and a bumpy road."
Come on, Alex. I want you to see more.
I think I've dreamt about that place.
I've never been there, but I've dreamt about it.
My father says we all dream about a quiet place.
Come on.
It is your room, Cathy.
I don't mean to be childish, honest,
but I can't let them sell it.
It's like selling your memories,
like taking away the year, like they never were.
It's not fair to sell a person's memories, is it, Alex?
You'll keep your memories, Cathy. Believe me.
It's just a room in a house. Long ago, it wasn't here.
Something else was here.
Cathy, everything changes. That's the real truth.
Maybe that's true.
But it doesn't mean anything to me.
Isn't it true that the rain is wet or the grass smells sweet?
But that doesn't matter.
What matters, Alex, is how you feel.
And I feel that the end of this house
is the end of me.
You see? It's just as comfortable a sitting bed as it is a sleeping bed.
Catherine!
Mr Hoving.
Wait outside, Cathy.
Outside, Cathy!
The girl is fourteen. Fourteen, Mr Stedman.
- Did you just remember her age? - You pig!
You filthy-minded pig!
You rigid, narrow, dirty-thinking pig!
- I'll have you arrested! - For what?
- I know your type, you worldly men. - Stop it! Stop it!
- You're jaded! - You filthy sick man!
I'll kill you! I'll kill you!
Alex! Alex, don't! Don't!
Alex, no! Not again! Let him go, Alex!
- Alex, you were going to kill him! - No, Cathy! No!
- You were going to kill him too! - It's not true! You don't understand!
Oh, Alex.
No, Cathy. No.
Think we have time to make these changes, Alex?
It's nothing drastic. I just think we ought to lighten it a little bit.
Either we do it or we don't.
That's the story, Lew. We can't...
Please turn up the sound.
...has come to light concerning the death,
some weeks ago, of Dr Leo Whitset.
The police, who had accepted the coroner's verdict of suicide,
reopened their investigations when a patient of Whitset's
apparently took her own life late last night.
The patient, 28-year-old secretary Anne Tanner,
had been under Whitset's care for about six months.
Found beside the body of Miss Tanner
was a note confessing her responsibility for the death of the noted analyst.
Now for our report on today's international match. Over to Wembley.
Won't you talk to me ever?
I'm sorry, Alex, about what happened at my house.
I was terribly frightened.
My uncle... well, he is what you said.
He was putting his thoughts into your head.
I'm sorry about your friend, Alex.
Even though she...
I am sorry, Alex.
They haven't finished the investigation, Cathy.
- It's not certain yet. - It has to be her, doesn't it?
They said I can keep the house after they have a formal report.
The insurance will be all right then. I'll be able to keep everything.
My father wouldn't want strangers living in the house, Alex.
I know he wouldn't.
I don't want anything of his to be sold.
What about the other house?
Oh, the one in Colchester. We didn't own it.
I've never been there. It had nothing to do with me.
My father said I wouldn't like it anyway.
"Just some mean trees, a hard bed and a bumpy road."
Yes. But I can keep my house, Alex.
And I can come and go as I please.
We may rent it for a while, but only for a while.
It never need have happened, Alex.
She was his newest patient. You shouldn't have taken...
- How do you know she was the newest? - The mail.
The monthly letters to her started after the others.
See how observant I am?
- It's frightening. - If only he hadn't taken her.
He was tired. He worked so hard at the Institute.
Five patients were too many. He shouldn't have...
Five? But there were only four. Four patients, Cathy.
Of course four. Didn't I say four?
No, you said five,
and you're never wrong with facts, are you?
Go on. Try me again. Anything. Go ahead. Try me.
All right.
- Who lived there? - Hogarth. Mr William Hogarth.
He resided there from 1738 to 1740.
He's buried not far from here, Alex, in the Chiswick Churchyard.
- Try me again. - And who lived there?
Mr Horace Walpole. He lived there from 1748 to 1770.
He died at the age of 80 as the fourth Earl of Orford.
A lifelong victim of the gout.
Why is there something funny about the gout, Alex?
If it can kill people, why does it sound so funny?
It makes people walk peculiarly.
And it's a name from another time,
far enough away for us to laugh.
You really know things, Alex. I only know facts.
Did the police ever go to the house in Colchester, Cathy?
No, they didn't know about it.
- Why not? - It's my aunt's. You know, Aunt Millie.
It was given to her by my grandparents.
They died after she married that...
She never told him it was hers. She didn't want to go there with him.
So she let my father use it as his own.
She loved my father very much.
She wanted him to be so much happier than he was.
Come on, Alex. Ask me some more things.
All right.
The address of the house in Colchester.
Now, that's difficult, an address you've never been to.
Easy. 128 Willow Tree Lane, Stenham Farms, Colchester.
Cathy?
Cathy.
Are you here?
Cathy.
Don't hide from me.
Hello, Alex.
I was downstairs, Alex.
I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you.
I was worried about you, Cathy.
Your housekeeper said you were staying with a friend.
I am.
Were you going to stay here all alone?
I'm not alone.
I think we ought to go home now, Cathy.
Where's that, Alex?
Where there are people.
People who care.
There's no such place.
I had such a funny dream last night, Alex.
I dreamt we were standing in front of the statue, the one in the park.
You remember, near my school.
The one of Mr Hans Christian Andersen.
Near where we were standing was a dead rosebush and a little pool of water.
And you said,
"You see, Cathy, there are no secrets there.
"The rosebush is dead and the water is dying."
You said, "Look into the water, Cathy.
"There's no reflection.
"The water is dying."
Let's go, Cathy. There's nothing left here.
You said that in the dream, Alex.
"Let's go, Cathy. There's nothing left here."
You're cleverer than I am, Alex.
- Just older, that's all. - Much cleverer.
You knew I meant five patients, didn't you?
Yes.
That game about Mr Hogarth's house and Mr Walpole's house
- was not a game, was it? - No, it wasn't.
Do you know what the third secret is, Alex?
The first is what we don't tell people.
The second is what we don't tell ourselves.
And the third...
The third...
The third secret...
is the truth?
Yes.
You see, you find out by understanding.
I only know because my father knew.
Don't stay here, Alex. This place is closed.
It's all sealed up. Please go home!
I love you, Alex.
And I you.
- We'll go together. - No!
- Wait, Cathy!
No!
Don't run away!
That doctor was a devil!
He wanted to put me away! He wanted to shut me away!
Your father loved you, Cathy. He wanted to help you.
You think I killed my father, don't you?
He loved me! He begged the doctor not to send me away!
Cathy, there was only one person.
They had a fight. I know they did.
I went looking for my father.
I wanted to make him some dinner. He was getting so thin.
But he wasn't home. There was someone else in the house.
I took his gun, I came down here,
- and I... I... - Cathy...
- You didn't mean to. - It was the doctor I killed.
But they sent another one, you!
And you want to send me away too, like him!
- No, Cathy. - It was the doctor, not my father!
- I loved him! - Cathy...
- Don't. - Not my father! I loved him! I loved him!
Alex! Help me! Please help me!
Alex!
Alex, help me!
It was the doctor I killed! Where are you, Alex?
Hurry, Alex! Hurry!
Alex! Help!
Hurry, Alex! Where are you?
Alex!
Mr Stedman, why did my brother wait?
He loved her.
He was human. He was weak.
My brother was one of the strongest people I know.
And a doctor, a fine doctor.
He was.
And as a doctor, he made an early diagnosis.
Borderline schizophrenia.
Yet there was a chance she could still go to school.
He took that chance.
There was a chance she could stay with him.
He took that chance.
My brother wouldn't consider taking such a chance,
and never with Catherine.
Only with Catherine.
Mrs Hoving,
your brother must have been heartbroken.
Trying to keep his child out of a world of screams,
of silences,
out of a world where she would grow old without growing up.
But why did she come to you? Why?
She probably thought her father had some
little respect for me.
A confused, lost child.
The sensationalism surrounding her father's death must have shocked her.
- And she came to me. - And you believed her.
Why not? I wanted to believe her.
I was the man in search.
I had thought if your brother had killed himself, he had failed me.
That's not true.
However Leo Whitset lived and died,
he was a fine physician.
He couldn't have failed me.
He was only my doctor,
not my God.
I've stayed too long. You rest now.
Do you know who saved your life, Mr Stedman?
Do you know who called me, who called an ambulance?
Do you know whose arms were holding you when we came?
Catherine.
You won't enjoy this, Mr Stedman.
I don't expect to.
She won't speak. She won't hear you.
Why do you want to see her?
Because she's my friend.
Morning, nurse. This is Miss Whitset's visitor.
You look fine, Cathy. Just fine.
I'm fine too. All better.
I have permission to visit you all the time, just like family.
All inside, Cathy.
Always inside.
It's a good thing what you found out, Alex.
And what's that, Cathy?
That he didn't die badly.
It's a good thing, isn't it, Alex?
It's a good thing.
Look, Alex.
I'm crying.
Subtitles by gnl