All language subtitles for Brideshead Revisited - S01E06 - Julia

Bonjour, Madame.

Bonjour, Monsieur Ryder.

In the spring of 1925,
I returned to Paris

to the friends I had found there
and the habits I had formed.

Merci, Madame.

I thought I should hear
no more of Brideshead,

but life has few separations
as sharp as that.

Rex.

Where is he, Charles?

I came by this morning.

They told me where
you usually lunch,

but I couldn't find you.

Have you got him?

So he's given you
the slip too, has he?

We got here last night,

and we're going to go on
to Zurich today.

I left him at the Lotti
after dinner,

as he said he was tired,

then went round
to the Travelers' for a game.

And when you came back,
you found he was gone?

Not at all.

I wish I had.

No, he was waiting up for me.

I had a run of luck
at the Travelers'.

I cleaned up a packet.

Sebastian pinched the lot
while I was asleep.

All he left me was two
first-class tickets to Zurich

stuck in the edge
of the looking glass.

It was close under 300 quid,
blast him.

So now he may be anywhere?

Yeah. Anywhere.

You're not hiding him,
by any chance?

My dealings
with that family are over.

I think mine are just beginning.

I've got a lot
to talk to you about,

but I promised this chap

I'd give him his revenge
back at the Travelers'.

Will you dine with me?

Yes. Where?

I usually go to Ciro's.

Why not Paillard's?

Never heard of it.
I'm paying, you know.

I know you are.

I'll order the dinner.

I see.

What's the name
of that place again?

I'll write it down for you.

It was not expensive to live
in France then.

It was very seldom, however,
that I had an opportunity

for a dinner like this,

and if I had to spend
an evening with Rex,

it should at any rate
be in my own way.

Did you stay long at Brideshead
after I left?

Was my name mentioned much?

Was it mentioned?

I got sick
of the sound of it, old boy.

The Marchioness
got what she called

a bad conscience about you.

She piled it on pretty thick,
I gather, at your last meeting.

Callously wicked,
wantonly cruel.

Ouch. Hard words.

Well, it doesn't matter
what people call you

as long as they don't call you
pigeon pie and eat you up.

What?

It's a saying.

Oh.

Ah, now, I like a bit of onion
with my caviar.

Chap who knew said it brought
out the flavor.

Try it without first.

And tell me more news of myself.

Well, Greenacre,
or whatever he was called,

the snooty don.

Samgrass.

He came a cropper.

That was well-received by all.

He was the blue-eyed boy
for a day or two after you left.

He was always being
pushed down our throats,

so in the end,
Julia couldn't bear it anymore

and gave him away.

That was the end of Samgrass.

I'll tell you a thing, Charles,

the Ma Marchmain
hasn't let on to anyone.

She's a very sick woman.

Might peg out at any minute.

George Anstruther saw her
in the autumn

and put it at two years.

What is this soup?

It's sorrel.

I thought you'd find it
interesting after the caviar.

Is that true?

How do you know?

It's the kind of thing I hear.

With the way her family
are going on at the moment,

I wouldn't give her a year.

I know just the man
for her in Vienna,

but she won't
do anything about it.

I suppose it has something to do

with that crack-brained
religion of hers

not to take the body seriously.

You know, the food here
isn't half bad.

Someone ought
to take this place up

and make something out of it.

I'll tell you another thing.

They're in for a jolt
financially

if they don't look out.

But I thought they were
enormously rich.

They're rich
in the way that people are

who just let their money
sit quiet.

Everyone of that sort's
a lot poorer

than they were in 1914,

and the Flytes don't seem
to realize it.

Look at the way they live.

I closed my mind to him
as best I could

and gave myself to the food
before me.

But sentences came breaking in
on my happiness,

recalling me to the harsh,
acquisitive world

which Rex inhabited.

Those were the kind of things
he dealt with:

Mortal illness, debt, and greed.

Julia's just rising 20.

I don't want to wait
till she's of age.

But I don't want to marry her

without doing the thing
properly,

nothing hole-in-corner.

I have to see she isn't jockeyed
out of her proper settlement.

His theme was plain.

He wanted a woman.

He wanted the best
on the market,

and he wanted her cheap.

I've got to the time when
notoriety has done its bit.

I need setting up
solidly, you know.

St. Margaret's, Westminster,

whatever Catholics have.

Royalty,

the prime minister
being photographed

going into the church.

So as the Marchioness
won't play ball,

I'm off to see the old man
and square things with him.

I gather he's likely to agree
to anything that will upset her.

He's at Monte Carlo
at the moment.

I'd planned to go on there

after dropping Sebastian off
in Zurich.

That's why it's such
a bloody bore having lost him.

Now, brandy is one of the things
I do know a bit about.

Now, this color is too pale,

and I can't taste it
in this thimble.

Waiter.

Garçon.

Are you sure you won't join me?

No, thanks.
I'm quite happy with this.

Well, it's a crime to drink it

if you don't really
appreciate it.

The wedding was
at the beginning of June.

I saw the notice
in the continental Daily Mail

and assumed that Rex
had squared the old man,

but things did not go
as expected.

No royalty was present,
nor was the prime minister,

nor were any of Julia's family.

It sounded like
a hole-in-the-corner affair,

but it was not for several years
that I heard the full story.

It is time to speak of Julia,

who, till now,
has played an intermittent

and somewhat enigmatic part
in Sebastian's drama.

It was thus she appeared to me
at the time,

and I to her.

But as Sebastian
in his sharp decline

seemed daily to fade
and crumble,

so much more did Julia stand out
clear and firm.

When I first met her,

when she met me
in the station yard

and drove me home
through the twilight

that high summer of 1923,

she was just 18

and fresh
from her first London season.

Some said it was the most
brilliant season since the war

and that things were getting
into their stride again.

Through those halcyon weeks,
she darted and shone,

part of the sunshine
between the trees,

part of the candlelight
in the mirror's spectrum.

She outshone by far
all the girls of her age,

but she knew there were
grave disabilities

from which she suffered.

There was the scandal
of her father,

that slight inherited stain
upon her brightness

that seemed deepened
by something

in her own way of life,

a waywardness and willfulness,

a less-disciplined habit than
most of her contemporaries.

There was also her religion.

Wherever she turned,
it seemed to stand between her

and her natural goal.

But having been brought up
a Catholic,

if she renounced
her religion now,

she would go to hell,

while Protestant girls
of her acquaintance

schooled in happy ignorance
could marry eldest sons,

live at peace with the world,
and get to heaven before her.

There could be no eldest son
for Julia.

Perhaps in a family
of three or four boys,

a Catholic might get
the youngest without opposition,

but younger sons
who could not inherit

were indelicate things
not to be much spoken of.

There were, of course,
Catholics themselves,

but these came seldom
into the little world

Julia had made for herself.

What was there left?

That was Julia's problem after
her weeks of triumph in London.

I was not her man.

She told me as much
without a word

when she accepted
the cigarette from my lips.

When Julia left Sebastian
and me alone

for that first summer
at Brideshead,

she went to stay with an aunt,
Lady Rosscommon,

in her villa at Cap Ferrat.

There she pondered her problem.

She knew it was not
insurmountable.

There must, she thought,
be a number of people

outside her own world

who were well qualified
to be drawn into it.

The shame was
that she must seek them.

Rex Mottram and Brenda Champion

were staying at the next villa
on Cap Ferrat,

taken that year
by a newspaper magnate

and frequented by politicians.

They would not normally
have come

within Lady Rosscommon's ambit,

but living so close,
the parties mingled,

and at once, Rex began warily
to pay his court.

Rex's age was greatly
in his favor,

for among Julia's friends,

young men were held to be gauche
and pimply.

His seniors thought him
a pushful young cad,

but Julia recognized
the unmistakable chic,

the flavor
of the Prince of Wales

at the big table
in the Sporting Club,

the second magnum
and the fourth cigar,

of the chauffeur kept waiting
hour after hour

without compunction,
which her friends would envy.

His social position
had an air of mystery,

even of crime, about it.

People said Rex
went about armed,

and certainly the fact of his
being Brenda Champion's property

sharpened Julia's appetite.

All that summer,
he had been feeling restless.

Mrs. Champion had proved
a dead end.

It had all been intensely
exciting at first,

but now the bonds
began to chafe.

Rex demanded a wider horizon.

He wanted to consolidate
his gains.

It was time he married.

There was little Rex could do
at Cap Ferrat

except establish a friendship
which could be widened later.

He was never entirely alone
with Julia,

but he saw to it
that she was included

in most things they did,

and that was enough
to make Lady Rosscommon

write to Lady Marchmain,

and Mrs. Champion move him

sooner than
they had planned to Antibes.

But in the comparative freedom
of London,

Rex became abject to Julia.

He planned his life about hers,

going where he would meet her,

ingratiating himself with those

who could report
well of him to her.

He was always ready
in the Hispano-Suiza

to drive her wherever
she wanted to go,

and all the time,
he never once made love to her.

Ladies and gentlemen, please.

By that time at Brideshead
between Christmas and Easter,

he had become indispensable.

And then, without
in the least expecting it,

she found herself in love.

This disturbing
and unsought revelation

came to her one evening in May

when Rex had told her
he would be busy in the Commons.

Driving by chance
down Charles Street,

she saw him leaving
what she knew

to be Brenda Champion's house.

Yes, milady?

Wilcox, I'm starving.

Will you bring me
some bread and milk?

Bread and milk.
Is that all, milady?

Yes.

Oh, and, Wilcox,

when Mr. Mottram telephones
in the morning,

whatever time it is,
say I'm not to be disturbed.

Very good, milady.

I'm shopping with
her ladyship this afternoon,

so will you tell Lady Rosscommon
I won't be there till teatime?

Oh, and, Beddoes,

tell Wilcox I'm motoring
to the Chasms' on Friday,

so I'll need a car.

Did Mr. Mottram ring up,
by any chance?

Oh, yes, milady, four times.

Shall I put him through
when he rings up again?

Yes.

No. Tell him I'm out.

Mr. Mottram is waiting, milady.

I showed him into the library.

Oh, Mummy,
I can't be bothered with him.

Do tell him to go away.

Thank you, Wilcox.

That's not at all kind, Julia.

I've often said he's not
my favorite among your friends,

but I have grown quite
used to him, almost to like him.

You really cannot take people up
and drop them just like that,

particularly people
like Mr. Mottram.

Oh, Mummy, must I see him?

There'll be a terrible scene
if I do.

Nonsense, Julia.

You twist that poor man
round your finger.

Have you been waiting long?

I had to have lunch with Mummy.

She wanted me
to go shopping with her.

How was the house last night?

Best described as dull.

Did you sit late?

I was home about half past 1:00.

Why didn't you answer my calls?

What time did you get there?

About 8:00.

Maybe a bit later.
I had somewhere to go first.

Oh.

And where was that?

Julia, it's finished.

What is?

You know very well.

She wanted me to tell her
face-to-face.

I don't give a damn
about Brenda Champion,

and I don't give a damn
if you see her.

You can do just what you like.

Can I?

Can I?

I'll never see her again...

if that's what you want.

So Julia came out
of the library an hour later

engaged to be married.

I warned you this would happen
if I went in there.

You did nothing of the kind.

You merely said
there might be a scene.

I never conceived of a scene
of this kind.

Anyway, you do like him, Mummy.

You said so.

He's been very nice
in a number of ways.

I consider him entirely
unsuitable as your husband.

So will everyone.

Damn everyone.

We know nothing about him.

Darling, the whole thing
is impossible.

I can't see how you
could have been so foolish.

Well, what right have I got
otherwise to be angry with him

if he goes with
that horrible old woman?

You make a great thing
about rescuing fallen women.

Well, I'm rescuing a fallen man
for a change.

I'm saving Rex from mortal sin.

Don't be irreverent, Julia.

Well, isn't it a mortal sin
to sleep with Brenda Champion?

Or indecent.

He's promised
never to see her again.

I couldn't ask him to do that

unless I admitted I was
in love with him, could I?

Mrs. Champion's morals,
thank God, are not my business.

Your happiness is.

If you must know,
I think Mr. Mottram

a kind and useful friend,

but I wouldn't trust him
an inch,

and I'm sure he'll have
very unpleasant children.

They always revert.

I've no doubt you'll regret

the whole business
in a few days.

Meanwhile,
nothing is to be done.

No one must be told anything

or even allowed to suspect.

You must stop lunching with him.

You may see him here, of course,
but nowhere in public.

You'd better send him to me,

and I'll have a little talk
with him about it.

Thus began a year's
secret engagement for Julia,

a time of great stress,

for Rex made love to her

that afternoon
for the first time,

not as it had happened
to her once or twice before

with sentimental
and uncertain boys,

but with a passion
that disclosed the corner

of something like it in her.

Their passion frightened her,

and she came back
from the confessional one day

determined to put an end to it.

When I went to confession
at school,

I used to make up stories
about my sins

because they seemed so dull.

Once I was in there
for an hour and a quarter.

The rest of the class
were kneeling outside,

waiting their turn.

Sister Goddard was furious.

We all missed going swimming.

But she couldn't ask me
what I had said.

It's sacred, you see.

Today it only took five minutes.

And what did they give you?

Three Hail Marys.

And a clean slate?

That sounds
very attractive to me.

It's not really clean, though.

To be forgiven, you have to have
a good intention.

Julia, you always have
the best intentions.

That's the point, Rex.

It can't go on like this.

Otherwise I must stop
seeing you.

I have no desire
to make you unhappy.

I know that.

I don't want to be unhappy.

I can't help it.

Neither can l.

Hello, Wilcox.

Good afternoon, sir.

Are you well?

Very well, thank you, sir.

For six weeks,
they remained at arm's length,

kissing when they met
and parted,

sitting meantime at a distance,

talking of what they would do
and where they would live

and of Rex's chances
of an undersecretaryship.

Julia was content, deep in love,
living in the future.

Then, just before the end
of the session,

she learned that Rex
had been staying the weekend

with a stockbroker
at Sunningdale

and that Mrs. Champion
had been there too.

How was the constituency?

How do you mean?

The weekend.

You said you had a meeting
at your constituency.

As a matter of fact,
the plans were changed.

I got trapped into a weekend

with Teddy Behrens
down in Sunningdale.

Bankers and stockbrokers, Julia.

Not your style.
You'd have hated it.

How was your weekend?

I missed you a lot.

Did Brenda Champion
hate her weekend too?

I don't know.

I barely spoke with her.

It was quite a crowd.

Teddy had a houseful.

I see.

What an extraordinary
coincidence.

You must have been
pleasantly surprised.

No.

No, I was surprised
to find her there.

I had no idea that she knew
Teddy that well.

Rex, please don't lie to me.

Julia,

sometimes I find you very hard
to understand.

What the hell do you expect?

Don't you ever try
to see it my way?

Now, what right have you
to ask so much

when you give so little?

I'll telephone you later.

But surely, Father,
it can't be wrong

to commit a small sin myself

in order to keep him
from a far worse one.

The Church would regard,
Lady Julia,

that you would have committed
a mortal sin,

not a small one, a mortal sin,

and that the behavior
of the gentleman

in other circumstances

would in no way alter
or lessen your degree of sin.

I would like to be able to say
what you would like to hear,

but I cannot.

It's my duty to tell you
the Church's view

and to remind you that our Lord
understands your tribulations

and loves you all the more
for striving against them.

Now I think it's time
to hear your confession.

No, thank you.

I don't think I want to today.

Good-bye, Father.

From that moment,

she shut her mind
against her religion.

That Christmas,

Julia refused
to take Holy Communion,

and Lady Marchmain
found herself betrayed,

first by me,
then by Mr. Samgrass,

in the first gray days of 1925.

She decided to act.

She forbade all talk
of an engagement.

She forbade Julia and Rex
ever to meet.

It was characteristic
that even in this crisis,

she did not think it
unreasonable to put Sebastian

in Rex's charge on the journey
to Dr. Borethus.

And Rex, having failed her
in that matter,

went on to Lord Marchmain
in Monte Carlo

where he completed her rout.

You say my brother's lost?

Do you mean literally?
How very odd.

That's right.

Vanished into thin air

along with 300 quid that he took

to help him on his way.

We shall reimburse you
at once, of course.

No need for that, Bridey.

Are you sure
you can't find him again?

I understood you knew how
to go about this sort of thing.

This time it may be difficult.

Alcoholics
develop great cunning.

Yes, I can see that.

This will come as a very great
worry for my mother.

It's a bad time for her.

You know she intends
to take Julia

abroad with her
almost immediately.

I don't think
that'll happen, Bridey.

I don't understand you.

My mother plans to take Julia
away for most of the winter.

I'm afraid she feels
that it's time

that your association
with Julia came to an end.

Julia and I are getting married.

I don't think that's possible.

It's hardly likely

that my mother
would change her views.

Bridey, I've talked
with your father.

I saw him in Monte Carlo,

and I have his written consent.

You know, he seemed delighted
with the whole idea.

Rex gave himself
to the preparations with gusto.

He bought her a ring
not, as she expected,

from a tray at Cartier,

but in a back room
in Hatton Garden

from a man
who brought the stones

out of a safe in little bags

and displayed them
on a writing desk.

She was daily surprised
by the things Rex knew

and the things he did not know.

Both, at the time,
added to his attraction.

There was trouble about
the marriage settlement

with which Julia refused
to interest herself.

I don't care what Bridey says;
I'm not settling up my capital.

What the hell do I want
with trustee stock?

I don't know, darling.

The lawyers were in despair.

Rex absolutely refused
to settle any capital.

You see,
I make money work for me.

I expect 15% or 20%,
and I get it.

It's pure waste
tying up capital at 3 1/2.

I'm sure it is, darling.

I mean, these fellows act

as though
I were trying to rob you.

They're the ones
who do all the robbing.

They want to rob you
of 2/3 of the income

that I can make for you.

Does it matter, Rex?
We've got heaps, haven't we?

There's another thing
your damn fool brother

can't get into his head.

I want a decent wedding.

I went to the Bourbon-Parma
wedding in Madrid.

That's the sort of thing
I want for you.

It's one thing your church
can do is put on a good show.

You never saw anything to equal
those Cardinals.

How many do you have here
in England?

Only one, darling.

One?

Can we hire some others
from abroad?

Well, Rex, a mixed marriage

is usually conducted
very quietly,

no splash.

How do you mean mixed?
I'm not a nigger or anything.

No, darling, between
a Catholic and a Protestant.

Oh, if that's all,
it's soon unmixed.

I'll become a Catholic.

How does one go about it?

Belgrave Square, please.

Lady Marchmain was dismayed
and perplexed

by this new development.

It brought back memories
of her own courtship

and another conversion.

Rex,

I wonder if you realize
how big a thing

you are taking on in the faith.

It would be
a very wicked step to take

without believing sincerely.

Lady Marchmain,

I don't pretend to be
a very devout man,

and I'm not much
of a theologian.

I do know it's a bad plan to
have two religions in one house,

and a man does need religion.

If your church is good enough
for Julia,

then it's good enough for me.

Very well.

I'll see about
having you instructed.

Lady Marchmain, I haven't time.

Instruction
will be wasted on me.

Just give me the form.
I'll sign on the dotted line.

It usually takes some months,

often a lifetime.

Well, I'm a quick learner.
Try me.

So Rex was sent to Farm Street

to Father Mowbray,

a priest renowned
for his triumphs

with obdurate catechumens.

Of course, you'll know
in a general way

what is meant by prayer
and the power of prayer.

Now, I'd like you to tell me

what you yourself mean
by prayer.

Well, I don't mean anything.
You tell me.

Well,

through prayer, every man,

be he the most humble
or the most exalted,

is able to feel some sort of
communion with God the Father

to ask His forgiveness
and to beg for His mercy.

Right.

Well, so much for prayer.
What's the next thing?

Well, would you say our Lord
has more than one nature?

Just as many as you say, Father.

Let me try another question.

Supposing-

supposing the Pope looked up
and saw a cloud

and said it's going to rain.

Would that be bound to happen?

Oh, yes, Father.

But supposing it didn't?

Supposing there was no rain?

I suppose it would be sort of
raining spiritually,

only we were too sinful
to see it.

He's the most difficult
convert I've ever met.

Oh, dear, I thought he was
going to make it so easy.

I can't get anywhere near him.

He doesn't seem to have
the least intellectual curiosity

or natural piety.

In fact,
he doesn't even correspond

to any degree of paganism

known to the missionaries.

Julia,

are you sure Rex
isn't doing this thing

purely with the idea
of pleasing us?

I don't think it enters
his head.

He's really sincere
in his conversion?

He's absolutely determined
to become a Catholic, Mummy.

Our Father, which art in heaven,

hallowed by Thy name,

Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done

on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread

and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those

that trespass against us.

Lead us not into temptation,

and deliver us from evil.

Amen.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, mother of God...

Pray for us...

Pray for us sinners now
and in the hour of our death.

Amen.

Will you tell me now,
Mr. Mottram,

who it is who merits heaven?

Whosoever is good merits heaven-

that is, whosoever loves
and serves God faithfully

and dies in his grace.

Good.

And what do the wicked
who serve not God

and die in mortal sin deserve?

The wicked who serve not God

and die in mortal sin
deserve hell.

Well, that's
really quite encouraging.

We'll continue next time.

But before you go, Mr. Mottram,

is there anything particular
troubling you?

Look, Father, I don't think
you're being straight with me.

I want to join your church,

and I'm going
to join your church,

but you're holding
too much back.

What do you mean
"holding too much back"?

I've had a long talk
with a Catholic,

a very pious
and well-educated one,

and I've learned a thing or two.

For instance, you have to sleep
with your feet pointing east

because that's the direction
of heaven,

so if you die in the night,
you can walk there.

Now, I'll sleep with my feet

pointing any way
that suits Julia,

but do you expect a grown man to
believe about walking to heaven?

And what about the Pope who made
one of his horses a Cardinal?

And what about the box
you have in the church porch

where if you put in a pound note
with somebody's name on it,

they get sent to hell?

Mr. Mottram-

- I'm not saying there may not
be a good reason for all this,

but you ought to tell me
about it

and not let me go
and find out for myself.

But who can
he have been talking to?

Did he dream it all?

Cordelia, what's the matter?

What a chump!

What a glorious chump!

Cordelia, it was you.

Oh, Mummy,
who would have believed

that he would have swallowed it?

I told him such a lot besides

about sacred monkeys
in the Vatican

and all kinds of things.

Well, you've very considerably
increased my work.

Poor Rex.

You know, I think
it makes him rather loveable.

You must treat him like
an idiot child, Father Mowbray.

I'm no expert,
but this looks good.

Mr. and Mrs.
And Miss Pendle-Garthwaite,

one afternoon tea set.

Oh, sorry.

Buntings,
thirty bob I should think.

It's jolly mean.

Another tea set from the Chasms.

Cordelia, please don't mix
the cards up.

We're trying to make a list.

I was just looking.

It's going to be enough agony
thanking people as it is.

In the end,
Rex's instruction was continued,

and Father Mowbray consented
to receive him into the Church

just before his wedding.

Thus things stood.

The cards had gone out,

and presents
were coming in fast.

Then came what Julia called
"Bridey's bombshell."

Chinky vases from Aunt Betty.

More replies, milady.

Aren't they hideous?

They were on the stairs
at Buckborne.

I'm sure Rex will like them.

You'd better pack
all this stuff up again.

Bridey, what do you mean?

Only that the wedding's off.

Bridey!

I thought I'd better make
some investigations

into my prospective
brother-in-law

as no one else
seemed interested.

I've just got the answer.

He was married in Montreal
in 1915

to a Miss Sarah
Evangeline Cutler,

who is still living there.

Rex,

is this true?

Sure, it's true. What about it?

What about it?
"What about it," you say?

Have you taken leave
of your senses?

Are you quite mad?

Whoa. Steady, Bridey.

You'd better explain, Rex.

I don't know why you're all
looking so het up.

I mean, she isn't a thing to me.

I was just a kid.

It's the sort of mistake
anyone could make.

You think that, do you?

We got our divorce back in 1919.

Look, for God's sakes,
what's all the rumpus?

You might have told me.

You never asked.

Honestly, I haven't given her
a thought in years.

But don't you realize,
you poor sweet oaf,

you can't be married
as a Catholic

when you've got a wife
still living?

But I haven't.
Didn't I just tell you?

I was divorced six years ago.

But you can't be divorced
as a Catholic.

I wasn't a Catholic,
and I was divorced.

Now, I've got the papers
somewhere.

But didn't Father Mowbray
explain to you about marriage?

He said I wasn't
to be divorced from you.

Well, I don't want to be.

I can't remember
all Father Mowbray told me.

Sacred monkeys
and plenary indulgences

and the four last things.

If I remembered all he told me,

I shouldn't have time
for anything else.

Now, how about
your ltalian cousin, Francesca?

She married twice.

She had an annulment.

All right, then.
Then I'll get an annulment.

What does it cost,
and who do I get it from?

Or does Father Mowbray have one?

Look, I only want
to do what's right.

Nobody told me.

What do you want me to do?

Don't tell me there isn't
someone who can fix this.

There's nothing
that can be done, Rex.

It simply means your marriage
cannot now take place.

I'm sorry from everyone's
point of view

that this has come so suddenly.

You should have
told us yourself.

Look, maybe what you say
is right.

Maybe, strictly by law,

I shouldn't be married
in your cathedral.

But the cathedral is booked,

and no one there
is asking any questions.

The Cardinal and Father Mowbray
don't know about it.

Nobody except us knows a thing.

Why make trouble?

Why not just stay mum
and let the thing go through?

Who loses anything by that?

Well, maybe I risk
going to hell.

Well, I'll risk it.

But what's it got to do
with anyone else?

Why not?

I don't believe these priests
know everything.

I don't believe in hell
for things like that.

I don't know that I believe
in it for anything.

Anyway, that's our look out.

We're not asking you
to risk your souls.

Just keep away.

Julia, I hate you.

I think we're all very tired.

We should talk.

If there is
anything more to say,

I suggest we discuss it later.

There's nothing to discuss,

except what's
the least offensive way

we can close the whole incident.

Mother and I will decide that.

We must put a notice in
The Times and The Morning Post.

Presents will have to go back.

I don't know what is usual about
the bridesmaids' dresses.

Do you, Julia?

Oh, shut up, Bridey.

Just a moment. Just a moment.

Maybe what you say is right.

Maybe you can stop us
marrying in your cathedral.

All right.

To hell, we'll be married
in the Protestant church.

I can stop that too.

But I don't think
you will, Mummy.

You see, I've been Rex's
mistress for some time now,

and I shall go on,
being married or not.

Is this true?

No, damn it, it's not.
But I wish it were.

I see.

I can't go on any longer
just now.

We must discuss this later.

What on earth made you
tell your mother that?

That's exactly what Rex
wanted to know.

I meant I was much too deep
with Rex just to be able to say,

"The marriage arranged
will not now take place,"

and leave it at that.

I wanted to be made
an honest woman.

I've been wanting it ever since,
come to think of it.

So the talks went on and on.

Poor Mummy.

In the middle of it,
Rex just telegraphed to Papa:

"Julia and I prefer
wedding ceremony

"take place by Protestant rites.

Have you any objection?"

He answered, "Delighted."

Oh, Charles,
what a squalid weddingl.

The Savoy Chapel was the place
where divorced couples

got married in those days,

a poky little place, not at all
what Rex had intended.

I wanted just to slip into
a registry office one morning

and get the thing over

with a couple of charwomen
as witnesses,

but nothing else
would do but Rex

had to have bridesmaids
and orange blossom

and the Wedding March.

It was gruesome.

Poor Mummy behaved like a martyr

and insisted on my having
her lace in spite of everything.

Well, she more or less had to.

The dress had been planned
round it.

My own friends came, of course,

and the curious accomplices
Rex called his friends.

The rest of the party
were very oddly assorted.

None of Mummy's family came,
of course.

One or two of Papa's.

All the stuffy people
stayed away,

you know, the Anchorages
and Chasms and Vanbrughs,

and I thought,
"Thank God for that.

They always look down
their noses at me anyhow,"

but Rex was furious,

because it was just them
he wanted, apparently.

Poor Cordelia took it hardest.

At first,
she wouldn't speak to me.

Then on the morning
of the wedding,

she came bursting in
before I was up,

straight from Farm Street
in floods of tears,

begged me not to marry,

then hugged me,

gave me a dear little brooch
she'd bought,

and said she prayed
I'd always be happy.

Always happy, Charles.

So you see, things never
looked like going right.

There was a hoodoo on us
from the start.

But I was still nuts about Rex.

Funny to think of, isn't it?

You know, Father Mowbray
saw the truth about Rex at once

that it took me
a year of marriage to see.

He simply wasn't all there.

He wasn't
a complete human being at all.

He was a tiny bit of one,
unnaturally developed,

something in a bottle,
an organ kept in a laboratory.

I thought he was
a sort of primitive savage,

but he was something
absolutely modern and up-to-date

that only this ghastly age
could produce...

a tiny bit of a man
pretending he was whole.

Well, it's all over now.

It was ten years later
that she said this to me

in a storm in the Atlantic.