Original subtitles

Any day is a good day to start a journal.

To promise again to tell the truth, the whole, nothing but, etcetera, etcetera.

Gaps don't matter. It's the writing down that counts.

So, ten years on, let's start again.

Health, good. Tell the truth, Logan.

Health, middling.

Drinking too much. Not enough exercise.

Job, running the New York gallery for Ben.

No real writing to speak of.

Sex life, active yet conservative.

State of mind...

A life is all about luck.

In the end that's all there is,

all the good luck and the bad luck you've had.

Yes?

Mr Tate is waiting for you.

Nat!

Perfect timing. I've just sold it. $5,000.

- Five thousand? - Mmm-hmm.

- God... All that money... - Cheer up, for goodness sake.

I need water. I can't keep up with you, Logan.

Nonsense. We're celebrating.

I'm looking for Mrs Mountstuart.

You found her, buddy.

- What's the present for? - Second anniversary.

Well! It's original.

And guess what? I don't have one.

It's symbolic.

Your second anniversary is your "cotton" anniversary.

Should've bought me a cotton plantation then, honey.

Actually, Logan, you're wrong.

Your second anniversary is your "china" anniversary.

In England it's your "cotton" anniversary.

In case you hadn't noticed, you actually live in America.

Who is this child? Have her removed.

Off to bed, young lady.

No! I wanna tell Logan a joke for your anniversary.

- Please, Mom! - It's got to be a one-liner.

Okay. Logan.

How do you recite the alphabet in Brooklyn?

I have no idea.

Fuckin' A, fuckin' B, fuckin' C.

Logan, please don't encourage her.

Here's my one-liner, "Bed. Now. Go!"

Good night, Mom. Good night, Logan.

She'll go far, that girl.

Logan!

Gail might come back in. Thank you for my handkerchief.

I have something a little less original.

I don't feel like it tonight, darling.

How do you know? I haven't even started yet.

I just don't. And I don't want you to be disappointed.

And to think I gave you a cotton handkerchief.

- Maybe tomorrow. - I'll make an appointment.

Maybe she just doesn't have your sex drive.

It was our anniversary.

Don't be so traditional. It's 1955.

Well, maybe that's why I'm here.

My wife wanted me to do something modern and American.

I get the feeling that you're not buying into this process.

Oh, give me time. I've only been living here a few years.

Why did you marry Allanah?

Because, she's sexy, smart...

She's got a good job in television.

She was a widow. I'm a widower.

Got a sweet young girl.

She said she loved me.

What's not to like, as they say over here?

Tell me about your suicide attempt.

How do you know about that?

Your wife mentioned it.

Oh.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry...

It doesn't matter. It happens.

Clearly you didn't succeed.

She'd forgotten her lighter.

Came back to get it.

Fortunately.

And she gave it to me. For good luck.

Do you still think about suicide?

And, obviously, it's on your mind.

Actually, I'm turning into a bit of a voyeur.

There's a girl in an apartment

across from the office where I work.

She wanders around with no clothes on.

I even bought a pair of binoculars.

- Do you masturbate while you watch her? - Oh, please.

Is she pretty?

Sort of.

Stacked?

Well, I find that to be completely normal.

We're done. I will see you next week.

Oh, I can't make next week. I've got to go to London.

Oh, yeah? Why? Work? Vacation?

Compassionate leave. My mother's not very well.

Yeah.

Logan.

She go this morning.

I say, "Wait for Logan" but she go to God.

Hello, how do you do?

Pimlico is very up-and-coming, lots of amenities.

It's just an investment. I was left some money.

I don't plan on living here. I'll take it.

Now, the kitchenette is a little on the small side, I'll admit.

- Still it's very functional, easy to clean. - It'll do fine, I'll take it.

Bricks and mortar, sir. It really is the...

I'll... take it.

My mother would have liked it here, Cyprien.

Maybe not enough gold leaf for her taste, though.

She liked ostentation?

Oh, God, yes. Flaunt it when you have it.

Not that she had it for long.

I do enjoy our "Cosmopolitan" dinners, Logan.

And I bless that little book of yours, The Cosmopolitans.

It's still running, this wave you started.

And I'm standing on it, on my surfboard,

waving to everyone, saying, "Yes, of course, it's me."

I couldn't be happier for you, Cyprien. I really couldn't.

You know, my agent begged me not to write it.

What do they know?

Anyhow, I am in your debt, Logan,

and I buy you dinner here in London once in a while.

It's nothing, really, nothing.

Excuse me. Are you Logan Mountstuart?

Yes. Yes, I am.

I'm Gloria Scabius, Peter's wife.

- I've seen a hundred photographs. - My God, you're Gloria.

He talks about you all the time.

Don't move an inch.

Who's she?

She... A friend's wife. His third.

Oh la la. It's the most dangerous.

I don't bloody believe it!

I'm Gloria.

Logan's novel was a revelation to me.

What was it called? Girls at Play.

No, no. The Girl Factory.

That's it. And I suddenly, out of the blue, I saw how it could be done.

And you've never looked back, have you, darling?

So you owe all your fabulous success to me, Peter.

Very droll, Logan. Let's have another drink.

Are you still writing?

- Ah. Mainly art criticism. - Fascinating.

I'll leave you two laddies to reminisce.

- It's lovely to meet you. - Yes.

Cyprien.

I must go too. I am going to call you tomorrow.

Don't overdo it, darling, you've got a plane to catch tomorrow.

I'll see you in half an hour. Yes?

Half an hour.

Amazing woman, Logan.

Fucks like a stoat, but bloody dangerous.

March 16th, 1944.

I leave on the mission to Switzerland in an hour.

Freya's convinced I'll meet a buxom Swiss milkmaid,

fall in love and never come back.

I told her milkmaids weren't my type.

- Good morning. - Thank you for coming.

I wouldn't have missed it.

It was very good to meet you.

And to see Peter. He's doing fantastically well.

He's flying off to South Africa tonight to do research on his next interminable novel.

I thought I might take a holiday in Europe while he's away.

- Yes, right. Good idea. - But I need a travelling companion.

Interested?

- I'm a married man. - I'm a married woman.

What could be safer? Or better?

- Why me? - I don't know, exactly.

I think it's because I'm very curious about you.

You know, when you hear so much about a person and you finally meet them.

It just came to me last night, in that bar. In a split second.

Well, I'm very flattered, I must say.

But you notice neither of us said "happily married".

Why don't we do a trial run? A boff de politesse, hmm?

See how we like each other.

That was all very satisfactory. You're hired.

Thank you.

You can have no idea how grateful I am.

You certainly do live in a very frugal way.

I haven't started buying furniture here yet. It's an investment really.

I'll get it redecorated, don't worry.

It's very useful, at least.

I'm glad you bought the bed first.

I was thinking about our holiday.

How about Capri?

That will be lovely.

But only a few days though.

Perfect. I'll call you tonight once I've seen Peter on the plane.

Have you a telephone in this hovel?

I have. Pimlico 4455.

Hmm. Even I can remember that.

We'll have fun. I know we will.

Thank you.

You must stop saying "thank you" all the time.

You're making me feel like a social worker.

Sorry.

I'll never leave Peter.

I'm very glad to hear it.

I phoned Allanah to tell her I had to stay on in Europe.

Had to travel a bit, meet new artists.

Time spent with Gloria will be good for me, a change from Allanah.

And a change is as good as a rest, so they say.

No. We are going to Madrid. Weather's better in Madrid.

- We're going to Barcelona. - We're going to Madrid.

- Barcelona... - Madrid! Ow!

Ow!

I didn't know the place meant quite so much to you.

Barcelona it is.

You'll be eternally grateful.

However, any more violence like that and you won't see me for dust.

Don't be silly.

We're having too much fun.

It's meant to be good luck, isn't it,

if you see a shooting star?

Are you happy, Logan?

'Cause I'm not so sure you are.

Right. Look for a speck of light, travelling in a straight line.

It doesn't twinkle.

- So a non-twinkling star. - Exactly.

There it is!

I see it! I can see it, Logan!

Well done you!

There it is! My God.

I keep wondering about that poor little dog on board.

What must he be thinking?

Yes, it's not exactly part of your dog-world, is it?

Hurtling through space in a steel ball. Can't be very happy.

You never answered my question.

Are you happy, Logan?

Of course I am.

It's a silly question.

I couldn't be happier lying on the roof with you looking for Sputnik.

No, I mean, are you and Mom happy?

We're very happy, darling.

I'll be back at noon.

Remember we've got lunch with Ted and Junie.

Oh, fabulous.

You're drinking already.

- It's only beer. - It's only 9:30.

Why not have a martini? Go for it.

It's Sunday morning, for God's sake. Got to have some pleasure in life.

Go fuck yourself.

I'd rather do that than fuck you.

The chance would be a fine thing.

An affair? Anyone I know?

Have you met her? Gloria? Peter's new wife.

What the fuck are you playing at? History repeating itself, eh?

There's no plan. Things are just happening to me.

Bullshit!

You're going to have to move on, you know. One of these days.

- Stop competing with him. - Come on, Ben.

He won that race ages ago.

- Still, revenge is sweet. - Oh, I know, I know.

Because Freya died, I married Allanah.

Because Allanah can't be Freya, I can't be happy with her,

so I look elsewhere.

- This is all Freya's fault? - Yes!

Yes, it is.

The world knows that there is no reason

for a crisis over Berlin today

and that if one develops, it will be caused by the Soviet Union

and their government's attempt to invade the rights of others

and manufacture tension.

That was President John F. Kennedy

responding to the growing crisis in Berlin.

The writer Ernest Hemingway has died, aged 61, in Ketchum, Idaho.

Shotgun found at the scene.

Mr Hemingway is believed to have committed suicide.

It's like I always say,

the day I cease to enjoy life, Logan,

adios, planet Earth.

Followed by the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954...

Shit!

Having written such classics, The Sun Also Rises,

For Whom the Bell Tolls and The Old Man and the Sea...

It's a wonderful piece. Enjoy it.

Sorry, darling. Thought it was someone else.

I suppose you think that's funny.

It's the way I tell them.

We have to talk, Logan.

Of course I am not going to divorce you.

Yes, you will.

You're a drunk.

You pour liquor down your throat all day.

And I don't want you home with my daughter any more.

Oh, don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly capable of...

And I've been seeing someone for the last two years.

Ah!

Ah... Now I get it. Right.

Who is he? Anyone I know?

His name is Paul Strang, he's a colleague at CBS.

We're in love. I want to marry him.

No.

No, you can fucking forget it.

There's nothing...

There's nothing you can do about it, Logan.

I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to tell you what's happening.

Can I see Gail?

No.

I don't think that would be appropriate.

We're moving out of the apartment next week. I'll let you know when we've gone.

So, tell me how you feel.

How do I feel?

I feel completely sodomised by that calculating, manipulative bitch!

She's been fucking her colleague for two years

and all she does is complain about my fucking drinking.

I just miss Stella, you know. I miss seeing her.

Got to find a way to see her. She writes to me, at least.

You mean Gail.

Yes.

Gail. What did I say, "Stella"?

Yeah, you did.

Maybe you should look at your motivation a little more closely.

What exactly drew you into this marriage?

Mother or child? Maybe you have another agenda here.

Yeah, let me ask you a question, Dr Byrne. What is your professional discipline?

Hmm?

Is it Freudian, or is it Jungian or is it Reichian?

Hmm? What's your angle on someone like me?

Well, none of the above.

It's very simple. I am what you would call an old-fashioned "S and M" man.

S and M?

Sex and money.

In my experience, if you're not clinically ill, schizophrenic, manic-depressive,

then 99% of most people's neuroses are generated by sex or money.

Or both. Simple as that.

Right.

So, how would you categorise yourself?

Sex or money?

I'm definitely a sex man.

Darling Logan, will you ever get this letter, I wonder.

Still, I feel I have to write to you. Perhaps it will find you, wherever you are.

I have the most wonderful news. We are going to have another child.

I have the strangest feeling, an absolute conviction,

that we'll have another daughter, a sister for Stella.

Am I being a complete fool? Would you laugh at me?

I write lists of girls' names...

Imagine your welcome home, your three girls waiting for you.

There'll be four of us, my darling, and we'll celebrate.

Another year, another birthday.

Life seems simpler and clearer without Allanah.

I feel freer. Happier now that I am on my own.

Health, marginally better. No more teeth out.

Haven't had any Dexedrine for months.

Drinking, hmm, under control.

Just the one cocktail at lunch. Evenings are trickier, though.

Smoking, one pack a day, if I stay in.

Weight, heavy. Bit of a belly. Hair, thinning. It's only to be expected.

Yeah?

There's a young man called Leo here to see you.

Leo who?

He says you know each other.

I'll be right there.

Father, it's me. Lionel.

Lionel.

Well, I'm called Leo now.

- I hated being called Lionel. - Good.

So what's the name of this band that you manage?

- Dead Souls. - Ah, Gogol.

Sorry?

Oh, nothing. A Russian writer called Gogol, wrote a great book called Dead Souls.

- That won't be a problem? - No, no, no. He's long gone.

Great.

Yes, so we thought there are so many bands in London

- that we should come to New York. - Fantastic.

See if things went better over here. English bands might be more hip here now.

Mmm. Of course.

And I thought that you were here as well.

We could get to know each other.

Yes. That would be good. That will be wonderful.

So. Here I am.

That's the band.

Well, it can't cost you a lot, anyway.

Monday, this is my father, Logan Mountstuart.

- Dad, this is Monday. - Your dad? That's so groovy.

Hi, Mr... Leo's dad.

Hi there, Monday. Good to meet you.

Goodness.

So...

How've you been?

What brings you to New York, Mrs Scabius? Oops, sorry, sorry.

Is it any different now I'm the ex-Mrs Peter Scabius?

Strangely, it's better now the guilt quotient has gone.

You mean the guilt dividend is gone.

I always thought it made it more exciting for you.

- It's you I love fucking, darling, not Peter. - Ow!

How is Peter, by the way?

Extremely, effortlessly, endlessly successful, I'm glad to say.

He's just sold his tenth novel to Paramount Studio.

Lots and lots of lovely alimony. Money pouring in.

All right, all right, all right, message received, loud and clear.

I'll remove my worthless, impoverished self from your presence.

Oh, don't chip down, darling. It doesn't suit you.

Anyway,

I want you to come to a party tomorrow night at the Italian Consulate.

You can meet my new paramour, Giancarlo.

- Does he have a second name? - Yes, and he's a count.

Il Conte di Cordato.

He's very sweet. Very intelligent. You'll like him.

I'm going to enjoy enormously being a contessa.

I don't think I should meet your boyfriends, Gloria.

I don't think it's right.

Darling?

All right, all right. I'll be there, I'll be there.

But I'm going to bring my son, Leo. I want you to meet him.

It'll be a night of meetings.

Giancarlo must be late.

Have another drink, Leo. Try and keep up with your father.

I haven't the stamina. A beer'll be fine.

I've got to get to a gallery opening downtown.

Ladies and gentlemen, please, our guests of honour.

What's going on, darling? Are you all right?

You look as if you've seen a ghost.

Dad?

Get out!

I've got to get out of here.

But you haven't met Giancarlo yet.

- Logan? - Another time.

Judas!

Logan? What's...

This is our cultural...

That's Mountstuart, isn't it?

I want that man thrown out of here.

Portatelo via.

Judas!

Did you see her face?

Like you were Lucifer come to drag her back to hell.

Yes, my God. That was incredible. Positively medieval. "Off with his head"!

- Why are we waiting here, by the way? - Because I can't leave now.

Why don't we all get a huge drink in a bar and curse the horrible couple?

No, no. They won't be long. There's something I have to finish off.

What did you do to her? If looks could kill...

Milk-curdling. She doesn't like you at all. Made me shiver.

In the war, when I was in The Bahamas, there was a murder.

The Duke tried to frame an innocent man. I refused to play along.

You are a man of mystery, Mr Mountstuart.

New York Times, Your Royal Highness,

welcome back to New York.

Who killed Sir Harry Oakes?

Who murdered Sir Harry Oakes?

Who killed Sir Harry Oakes?

Who was the murderer? Who was the murderer?

Can you step away from the stairs, sir?

Your past never leaves you.

You want to rub it out, forget it...

But it comes back and grabs you by the throat.

The President and Mrs Kennedy may have been struck by shots!

How could anybody kill Kennedy? He's the best, man.

I just can't believe it.

It's like a dream.

The worst fucking dream ever!

It must be some kind of a plot. A Russian plot.

It's good stuff, Dad, nothing but the best.

It's like... As if everything stopped.

And then started again.

Well, you know, Gail, things happen in life. Life doesn't run on railroad tracks.

Something happens, out of the blue, and everything changes. Everything.

- Like the divorce. - Well, maybe not quite that earth-shattering.

Well, it was to me.

I mean, Paul's nice, don't get me wrong,

but he's not you, if you know what I mean.

He's not interesting. You're a writer, Logan.

That's what makes you so different and strange.

In a nice way, I mean.

I'll always love you, Gail. I want you to remember that.

You're like a daughter to me.

Like Stella?

Ah, left a bit.

Bit more.

Mr Mountstuart?

There's a Miss Monday on the phone for you? She sounds a bit upset.

Leo, Leo!

Oh, my God! Jesus Christ!

Leo?

- Did you call the ambulance? - Is he going to be all right?

- Did you call the ambulance? - They're coming.

- Is he going to be all right? - Leo?

He must be in a deep coma.

They'll bring him round in time.

- What the fuck happened, anyway? - We had a fight.

And Leo kind of stormed out and when I came back here, he was stoned, man.

Tripping. Wild. All night.

And then finally he fell asleep, so I just left him.

And then when I came back in, I saw that he'd been sick.

I can't stay here tonight, Logan. I can't be by myself.

It's all right. I know. It's fine. I know.

- I just want Leo to get well. - I've got a spare room. Don't worry.

Don't worry.

Don't worry. Don't worry. It's all right. It's all right.

Lionel? Lionel?

Lionel?

Lottie, where are you going?

Lottie, you can't leave now.

I've buried my son, what else is there to do?

Come back to the apartment, please. Come and meet his friends.

They want to talk to you. They want to meet Leo's mother.

Lionel!

He should never have come here, never!

Of course he should have. This was where his music was.

This is where his band was having success. He loved it here.

It was for you.

He wanted to see you, to be near to you.

He never would have come here if it wasn't for you.

What're you trying to say?

Are you blaming me?

Logan? Is that you?

Did you remember to pick up more milk?

Jesus Christ, Monday! You've got to stop doing this.

- Put on some clothes, for God's sake. - I am wearing clothes.

No, I mean a fucking T-shirt or something normal like that!

Okay. Huh. Okay. If you want. Cool down.

When we were in the Village apartment we just walked around naked all the time.

- It's no big deal... - This is not the fucking Village!

This is my apartment! You got that?

Anyway, I'd prefer it. Do it for me. Me. Okay?

I'm sorry.

Sorry.

And I did forget the milk.

I'll go and get some now.

Oh, Logan, and some Dr Pepper? Please.

We were just getting to know each other.

One of those meaningless, utterly fucking stupid accidents.

It's what you always say.

Yeah, good luck, bad luck.

My father's view of life was very clear.

Hi, Logan. I got the munchies too.

Want some cornflakes? Some cookies?

- Monday, I told you... - Hey, it's the middle of the night.

Give me a break. I wasn't expecting us to meet up like this.

Found it.

Where shall we meet for lunch today? Shall I come to the gallery?

I'm tired of that bar that we go to.

Okay, I'll meet you but I'm kind of busy today, it'll have to be fast.

You choose.

How about that pizza place on Lexington, where we went last week?

See you there, one o'clock.

I love you, Logan.

It's been so great these last few weeks that...

Don't say anything. Don't stay in bed all morning.

I still dream about Leo.

Night after night.

That's completely understandable.

Do you blame yourself for his death in any way?

No, I don't blame myself.

I might as well blame myself for the death of Freya and Stella.

So, otherwise, how are things?

Anything new? Dating anyone?

Yes, I am, actually.

I am and I'd really like to talk to you about it. I think you'll find it intriguing.

Excuse me.

Yeah?

Oh, okay, I'll be right there.

I just need two minutes.

Don't forget we have to book next month's session.

Oh, of course. Of course. Another month gone by.

- Time flies when you're having fun. - Exactly.

Mr Mountstuart, there are two men waiting to see you.

They wouldn't tell me why. They said it was personal.

That's them over there.

Oh, right. Fine.

Gentlemen, what can I do for you?

- Are you Mr Logan Mountstuart? - Yes.

Do you know a Miss Laura Schmidt?

No, I don't know anyone called Laura Schmidt.

She has a nickname.

"Monday".

My son's girlfriend is called Monday, as it happens.

We believe she's living in your apartment.

She...

Yeah, she's been staying there since my son's death.

She was very upset. Why?

She's my daughter.

She's 16 years old.

Oh.

Are you sleeping with her, you English bastard?

Are you sleeping with my 16-year-old daughter, you fucking English loser!

Sixteen?

Jesus. That's not good.

She told me she was 19. Lionel told me she was 19.

What's Lionel got to do with it?

She was Lionel's girlfriend.

Listen, Ben, I can explain. It's not at all how it sounds, not how it seems.

You know, every time, Logan, I say to myself, "No, he can't top that,"

and every time I'm wrong.

Okay. Um...

Look, the trouble is, if she's 16, they can get you on statutory rape.

Rape?

She's underage, Logan.

Even if she lied about her age, even if she consented.

The age of consent in New York State is 17.

Oh, fuck! Fuck!

What am I supposed to do?

Get out of town. No, no, get out of the country.

Don't worry about the gallery. I'll stay on, sort everything out.

Just go, it's the only way. Go now, straight to the airport.

Get your passport and go.

And try not to fuck anyone on the way.

I don't feel like I'm 16. I feel like I'm 19.

- But I was breaking the law. - I hate being 16.

Where are you from?

A place called Alameda. A small town near San Francisco.

Go back to Alameda.

Be a good girl and call me when you're 17.

I love you, Logan. I'll always love you.

Yeah. I love you too, Monday.

Good luck.

Does it matter that I haven't written in this journal for years?

No, you keep writing. The gaps are unimportant.

However, I have to record

that I'm astonished at how easy it is to become poor.

Suddenly you wake up one day and realise you have very little money.

My New York wealth and affluence are a distant memory now.

And yet, there's something strangely liberating

about being free from money.

When you're looking up from the bottom of the heap

the world is a much less complicated place.

I am determined to enjoy the years left to me. I live very simply.

I drink beer and cider, I eat frugal meals of pulses and corned beef.

A culinary leitmotif of my existence.

I'm soon to be 70, and the writing jobs are drying up for someone like me.

Thank God I bought this flat when I did. Bless you, Mother.

Anyway, income from published books, nil.

Not surprising, as they are all out of print.

From freelance journalism, erratic.

Last year, I earned approximately £650.

From occasional jobs from Ben, £235.

And, of course, my old-age pension.

Not to forget that princely sum, 7 pounds 75 a week.

If it wasn't for Ben I'd be screwed.

- How's your tea? - Delicious.

Third time those tea bags have been used. Perfectly good.

Logan, you can't live like this.

Come back and work with me.

We can find you something at the London Gallery.

Nonsense, you've done more than enough for me.

Besides, I've got my novel to concentrate on.

I've got a couple of publishers interested, actually.

Well, I'm glad to hear it.

Logan, I've some unfortunate news.

I'm not well.

Cancer.

Oh, my dear chap.

Don't tell me. Prostate?

How'd you guess?

I am surprised I haven't got it myself.

It's like a rite of passage for men of our age.

They're very encouraging...

The surgeon, the oncologist...

It's like having your tonsils out these days. You'll be running around in no time.

That's what Sandrine says. "Positive thinking."

I don't feel that well.

You know what they say, listen to your body.

My body's a bit gloomy.

Nonsense. It's the "C" word. It makes you feel low.

I bought an Andy Warhol yesterday.

Incredibly expensive this Pop Art. Astonishing.

I call it "Snack Art". Not very satisfying. No nutrition.

Exactly. Like eating a biscuit.

Or a packet of crisps.

It's a death sentence. I must go and see him.

Three of my friends have died of prostate cancer.

Well, three acquaintances.

- Any I'd know? - No. People I've met in the Channel Islands.

God! Think about it, you, me and Ben.

Funny, I always thought I'd be trailing in your wake, Logan.

We haven't finished yet.

Christ, no. I've got a dozen novels left in me.

What're they like, the Channel Islands?

What? Oh, not too bad, actually.

When I get deadly bored, I just think of all the tax I'm not paying.

Hello? Waiter. The bill, please.

That's a consolation.

- What? - Not paying any tax.

If my accountant knew I was in London, he'd have a heart attack.

Thank God I haven't got your money.

That's a joke, by the way.

Supertax.

Ninety pence in the pound? It's scandalous. State larceny, I tell you.

How's the new novel going?

Mmm.

I feel I've rather dominated the conversation. How's life with you?

- Oh, couldn't be better. - Yes, you look well.

Do you ever hear from Gloria?

Me? No. Why?

She's a contessa now.

Amazing woman, amazing. One of a kind.

I should never have let her go.

- I'll be in touch if ever I'm in Jersey. - Guernsey.

- Guernsey. - Give Ben my love.

- Tell him I'll come and see him. - Will do.

Pimlico, please.

Can you just stop round the corner, please?

- You joking? - Thank you.

That'll do fine. Thank you.

I've decided I'd rather walk. Good night.

Tight old git.

- Good morning. - Do you have an appointment?

No, I'm a client of this firm, Logan Mountstuart.

I've come to use the photocopying machine.

D'you know the library charge is two pence a copy?

Daylight robbery.

Would you mind waiting a minute, sir? I'll check with my...

Don't worry about me. I'll be out of here in a minute.

Mr Mountstuart.

Sheila Adrar. It's very good to meet you, finally. An honour.

How do you do? I hope you don't mind me popping in.

Wallace Douglas said I could always use the office facilities if ever I had a need.

You wouldn't believe what the library charges for photocopying.

It's outrageous.

Wallace Douglas retired over ten years ago. We keep his name as a mark of respect.

Do feel free to photocopy, but we have to make a charge.

I beg your pardon?

A charge?

Do you realise how much money I've made for this firm?

- A fortune. - I just checked.

The last commission we earned from you was in World War Il.

This is a literary agency, we're not a charity.

Well, I am sorry,

but that leaves me with no alternative...

It's just to cover our costs. Paper, ink...

I'm afraid I'm going to have to sack you.

- Consider yourself sacked. - Calm down, Logan.

I'm dead calm. You can see how fucking calm I am.

And, by the way, it's Mr Mountstuart, to you.

So you're sacked, fired.

I'll get another agent.

I won't tolerate such mean-spirited, unprofessional behaviour

from people in my employ.

What are you lot staring at? You're all fucking sacked as well.

Is this the watershed, I wonder.

My life as a writer hits a new low

in a petty and unseemly row over photocopying charges?

Symbolic.

Did my success come too early?

Was that my problem?

Did I peak too young?

Mountstuart.

Oh, my God!

How wonderful to hear your voice.

Yes, of course.

Your memory is very modest.

Yes, it does have a bed.

It's only cooking sherry, I'm afraid, it's all I can afford.

Oh, don't worry, we'll get some proper stuff tomorrow.

Live it up. The Count's been very generous.

No longer La Contessa?

He was deadly dull, as it turned out.

I'm so sorry.

It's rather sweet, your little flat.

I'm going to enjoy staying here.

Like the old days.

Lovely Leo...

- I can't be on my own, Logan. - All right.

Have you any idea how long you'll be staying?

How long does it take to die, darling?

You tell me.

Follow me.

Mmm.

- Ow! - Delicious...

- So what're we celebrating, anyway? - Life.

So the tests were good? Oh, wonderful.

Mmm. No, no, no, uniformly bad.

Metastasizing pancreatic carcinoma.

It's racing through me, my spine, my lungs, my liver.

Don't! Not a word of sympathy.

I'm not going to hospital. I'm staying here.

Nurses will come here.

They've promised that I won't feel a twinge of pain.

And we're going to have fun. We're going to live like kings.

I've got enough money. We can indulge ourselves.

No, no.

Don't look so sad.

If I could manage a boff de politesse I would, for old times' sake.

It's just that I feel so frustrated!

What cannot be avoided, my darling, must be accepted.

Now, eat some more.

Before I polish it off myself.

- Morning, Logan. - Good morning, Subadar.

How is madam the Countess doing?

She's comfortable, thank you. Just a little bit woozy, you know.

It's all these drugs.

Oh, dear. Give her my ardent good wishes.

Yes, I will. Thank you. I'll see you later.

Figs, lychees and kumquats. That's as exotic as I could get.

Kumquats, I've never had a kumquat.

It's amazing.

What you are going to experience is far more fun

than what you've already experienced.

You remember that, Logan.

Mmm.

Actually, I think I'd rather have another sip of my cocktail.

My back is sore.

Mmm.

How's that?

Blessed opiates.

What's the news?

Do you remember my old friend Cyprien Dieudonné, old French poet?

I remember him.

It seems he's left me a house in his will, in southwest France.

It's near a village, Sainte Sabine, in the Lot.

The house is called Cinq Cyprès.

Five cypresses, cinq cyprès.

Oh, it sounds lovely.

Sounds like I should sell it.

No. Hold onto it, Logan.

It's come out of the blue. You never know when you might need it.

You promise me that you won't sell it.

It's a boon, a blessing.

Cherish it.

What's the point if you can't afford to visit it? No, put it on the market, I say.

I remember once...

Once, when I was a young girl, down on my last pennies,

I could have bought a sandwich

but I bought a bunch of violets instead.

I would never have remembered the sandwich but I remembered those violets.

Violets.

The nurse will be here in half an hour, darling. Tea is on its way.

Room service. Are you decent?

No milk, slice of lemon, half a teaspoon of honey.

Everything that madam desires.

Logan.

Logan!

It's not about looking back, darling.

It's about looking ahead.

Monsieur. Monsieur.

Faudrait pas aller au lit, là?

Pardon, Monsieur. Pardonnez-moi.

Pardon.

I'm sorry.

Attention en rentrant.

Amazing woman. Such energies.

She'd have killed me. That's why we had to divorce.

Self-preservation, pure and simple.

She was one of a kind.

But how come she ended up dying in your flat?

Ah, I think she was...

I think she wanted it to be all very discreet.

Yes. Makes sense.

Very good of you, Logan. Fabulous woman.

No disrespect to the dead, but the sex was out of this world.

- Can I drive you back to town? - You can drop me at the nearest tube station.

Public transport? How very socialist of you.

Thank you.

Mind how you go.

- Morning, George. - Morning, Mr Mountstuart.

I'll have a bunch of violets, please.

Don't bother to wrap them.

Lovely.

- There we are. Spring at last. - Thanks very much, Mr Mountstuart.

Not much of a spring we're having. Bloody freezing.

Well, it's not about looking back, is it, George?

- It's about looking ahead. - Too right.

Bye.