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I've been working for most of the year

in this big house in London.

I'm on the door.

It belongs to Elliot Graham, who,

in the list of the richest people in Britain,

was number eight.

Nobody lives here now.

Mr. Graham himself lives across the street, in number 31.

All that happens in this house

is that it's cleaned every day,

and people arrange flowers here.

There is always flesh flowers.

And then, when the cleaners all leave, I'm alone here.

From between 6:00 and 9:00, I am by myself...

until the security guard turns up.

I have this whole place to myself every day.

I'm not allowed to let anybody in,

not permitted to open the front door

to any stranger.

I never break this rule, ever...

not without Mr. Graham's personal permission.

But yesterday I did break it.

The house shouldn't have been empty then.

It was only ten to 3:00,

but the cleaners had left early.

I really don't know why I broke the rule.

It was just something about her.

- Yeah? - Is Mrs. Hopkins in?

She don't work here anymore.

Right. I see.

I spoke to her on the phone

a little while ago, and she was

kind enough to say if I was passing

and would like to look inside,

I should just ring the bell.

And today I was passing.

No, she stopped working here

two weeks ago.

I'll go, then.

- I can let you in, though. - Can you?

Please. Come in.

Thank you.

Thank you.

That door--

it's extraordinary, isn't it?

Yeah.

It is strange.

You get used to it, though.

Was there something you wanted to see especially?

- I mean, apart from the door. - No.

No, nothing-- nothing I need to see.

No, I was just passing, as I said.

I thought it would be

fascinating to see inside after all this time.

Yeah, I used to come here

when I was young.

- Okay. - Almost as young as you.

All right.

Well, I've got all the keys here,

so if you change your mind, I can show you

whatever you want.

- Yeah, there's lots to see. - No, no, of course,

that won't be necessary.

I don't want to cause any bother.

It's no bother.

And I have another appointment.

I can't-- honestly,

- I can't be here long. - It won't take long.

No, I don't want to see

the rest of the house.

I didn't come prepared for a guided tour,

you know, that's what I mean.

It's beautifully kept, I must say.

Ooh, fresh flowers and everything.

My name's Mary.

- Mary Gilbert. - I'm Joe.

Hello, Joe.

Joe Dix.

Hello, Joe Dix.

Shall I get you some tea? I can do it quickly.

Very quickly, so you don't miss your appointment.

Yes. Yes, that would be very kind.

Thank you.

It's beautiful tea, Joe. Thank you so much.

And these are delicious.

Good.

I'll just drink this, then I'll be gone.

I have to get to my appointment.

Well, I'll be over here.

Don't worry about me.

Just got to fill in a few things in this ledger,

all the hours I've done this week.

- Miss!

Miss!

Oh, I'm so sorry. How clumsy of me.

Oh, it's okay. Wait there.

Oh, I'm--

I'm sure I shouldn't have let this one in.

- Hey. - So sorry.

It's all right.

This'll do it.

- Oh, please, let me. - No, no, no.

You kindly ask me in here, and I spill things

all over the beautiful floor.

Don't worry. It's only milk.

What happened here?

Mmm... Sir, what do you mean?

Well, something happened to you here, didn't it?

I mean before, when you were young.

Is that what you think, Joe?

Yeah.

Just because I don't want to see the rest of the house

doesn't mean something happened here.

Why'd you used to come here?

I came as a guest.

What, to big parties?

No, quite small parties.

Oh. Small parties.

Mmm, they were very select.

It was amazing, this house then.

I'd never seen anything like it.

Mr. Graham's father invited people here

he considered important.

Once a week, he had a little soiree.

So, when you came here, there were few guests,

but nearly all of them were giants--

great novelists,

famous people from the movies,

actors and directors, scientists,

politicians, of course, too.

Those were the only guests.

I mean, y-you'd crane your neck all night

to try to get a glimpse.

"Was that-- was that E.M. Forster

that just walked past you?

Is that figure over there

in the chair Alfred Hitchcock?

Is that the back of Evelyn Waugh's head?

I think that's Ava Gardner over there,

deep in the shadows."

- Why where you there? - How on earth was I invited?

Me, a young woman who'd just lost

her Manchester accent?

You wouldn't have guessed that's where I came from, would you?

I hadn't thought about it.

I forced myself to lose my accent at university.

I taught myself to speak like this.

I was there because I'd been very lucky

and become rather well known in my own right.

See, at Oxford, I wrote a lot of journalism,

and one of my pieces got picked up

by a Sunday newspaper.

Suddenly, I wa-- I was writing about movies and culture.

You really can't imagine what the world was like then.

It was a very class-bound time, of course,

full of absurd rules

and ridiculous prejudices,

ev-even about how you held your fork at mealtimes.

Suddenly, I... I had my own column...

and I wrote a book with a--

it's a silly title.

"Slicing the Apple,"

which caused a stir.

It was an attack against the male elite.

It was nothing remarkable, of course, Joe.

It was who was saying it that excited people.

I mean, this was before The Beatles

and all that, of course.

Yeah? God, before The Beatles.

The confidence of youth.

A month ago, regular readers

of this column will remember

I advocated a little more passion in our native cinema,

that perhaps physical love was not best expressed

by a small peck on our jaunty hero's cheek

by his long-suffering wife

as he sets off for work in the morning whistling.

I also ventured the thought that it was important

that audiences were treated as adults,

and, therefore, sexual love was clearly

a proper subject for cinema,

and that ultimately we might see some representation

of the actual sexual act in mainstream pictures.

I wrote an article saying

there should be more sex in the movies.

I mean, all hell broke loose.

There I was. I kept being invited.

And I felt really alive...

buzzing with ideas,

and the possibility of things.

Miss?

Was it in here? In one of these rooms?

The singing?

- Partly in there.

Come and have a look at it now.

Oh, no. No, I don't need to do that.

Come on.

Someone die in here or something?

Looks smaller.

The funniest thing is...

the person I found most interesting

wasn't one of the living legends.

I found myself becoming really fascinated

by this man who wasn't at all famous.

But nobody there was quite sure what he did.

I noticed people seemed a little...

nervous when he approached,

even Alfred Hitchcock.

And then I began to understand why

when I managed to eavesdrop on what he was saying.

He would whisper to these great writers

and movie directors and actors...

"Your latest doesn't seem to have caused

quite such a stir as your last.

It's still on, isn't it?

Well, I d-- I liked it.

I don't know why I'm so alone."

You must be so relieved.

People seem to be going despite the notices.

He seemed to weave a web...

around these famous people.

I think people are just a little confused.

That's what I think,

but it won't have done you any harm, will it?

People said he was in publishing,

that as a very young man, he'd worked

for Lloyd George on his papers,

getting them in order.

Now he was doing the same for Winston Churchill.

He was very friendly with the great

newspaper proprietors of the time,

so he knew everyone who mattered.

He was one of those mysterious people

who seem to do both everything and nothing.

Sometimes, I would see him

thrash this ball about in the passage.

People said he knew so many secrets...

but he never, ever disclosed what he knew.

The other extraordinary thing he did,

he brought these extremely young girls with him.

Gorgeous young things, but definitely underage.

On my fourth visit,

there was this particularly glorious creature.

I don't know how he introduced her.

His niece? Friend of the family?

I'd never spoken to him. Not yet.

Occasionally, I would see him

glance towards me in a slightly knowing way.

And on this evening,

he was getting closer and closer.

Phyllis. How are you?

I felt myself getting excited.

More excited, absurdly, than if Alfred Hitchcock had been

coming to talk to me.

What did he say?

- Oh, sorry. - Sorry.

I'd just gone into the kitchen

to get a glass of water.

It seemed absurd to ask a servant to do that.

I'm not disturbing you, am I?

No. No, of course not.

Both of us have escaped to the kitchen.

No, I just came to get myself some water.

Right. Well, as for me, I'm really going

to shock you, I think.

Oh, are you? I doubt that.

I've come here to make myself a salad.

- I have.

One of my little foibles when it gets late.

The staff leave me the ingredients,

and I make myself a salad.

- Does that shock you? - No, of course not.

It is a little eccentric, I admit.

I haven't introduced myself--

It is me who has to introduce himself.

I'm Greville White.

I know, of course, who you are,

Mary Gilbert, because you are famous.

- No, hardly. - Absolutely.

You are.

I hang on your every word.

I can quote whole paragraphs.

You're an acid observer, isn't that right?

Slicing people down to size.

I do a bit of that too, I suppose,

though of course I don't write it down,

but I know a few things.

- I bet you do. - "The Voice of Youth."

- Isn't that what it says? - No.

Your byline in the newspaper,

"The True Voice of Youth"?

That was awful. I stopped them doing it.

What a fantastic opportunity that is, though.

To be the voice of youth.

I would grab it if I were you.

I'm trying to.

You know, one thing I often do--

well, often is a lie.

One thing I occasionally do

is see myself as others see me.

Quite vividly, in fact. Do you ever do that?

No.

You sure?

I'm not certain I know what you mean.

I'll tell you exactly what I mean.

When I think about myself,

most of the time, I see myself as...

- dapper.

Maybe I've got a little more energy than some other people.

You have that too, Mary.

And I've got a good memory, you know.

A reasonably lively mind.

That's how I see myself.

But sometimes, I conjure up

a picture other people have of me... what they see.

They see me as quite a slimy,

maybe treacherous fellow.

Sweaty. Always with little beads of sweat on his brow--

as if I'm working too hard to be charming,

covering what's really going on inside,

and the effort shows.

Whatever the temperature of the room...

whatever the season... they see the sweat.

Don't worry. A little party trick.

Hopefully not too many people see me like that.

I'm sure they don't.

Come on, no need to be bland with me, Mary Gilbert.

That's not what you're famous for.

I'm quite certain you, for a start, have viewed me like that.

- No, I'm sure I haven't. - Don't worry.

I'm not offended in the slightest.

- I can tell you, Mr. White-- - Please...

Greville.

- Please, Bernard.

I promise you, I really promise you, I'm not offended.

And what's more, I'm gonna prove it to you now.

- Prove it to me? - By doing something

I never normally do, telling you a few

little things that might amuse you

since you are an observer yourself.

- I never gossip, as a rule. - I'd heard.

Oh? So you do know something about me.

I'd heard that.

Yes, well, I never ever gossip.

I mean, too many useful things

would be compromised if I did.

But for you, young Mary Gilbert...

I will make an exception.

My only exception.

He told me a few little titbits.

A famous politician who was having an affair

with a minor royal

was probably the only juicy revelation.

Yeah, they were mostly mild, harmless stories,

like a civil servant who had an obsessive need

to pick people's pockets.

And not just watches and wallets,

but sometimes people's cough lozenges.

There was a funny story

about a famous Hollywood star

who'd come over to England to make a film,

and she was terrified of Pekingese dogs,

regarded seeing them as a terrible omen.

So if she caught sight of one

on her way to the film studios in the morning,

she would refuse to film that day.

So the film company was reduced

to hiring special dog walkers,

all with great big dogs

to amble through the streets near her hotel

each time she set off in the morning.

I met her once.

Apart from the business with dogs,

she was rather nice.

She swore an awful lot.

She had a charming Southern accent.

It was fascinating,

being deluged with gossip

while he made his healthy-looking salad.

He was funny and charming,

but I had no doubt as I watched him,

I was under no illusion

that, though, I was quite well-known then,

and nobody outside the elite circle

knew who he was,

he was someone who was far more powerful than me,

someone I had to be extremely careful of.

I've had mine done by him more than once.

Oh, does he charge, as well?

No, quite the opposite.

You get a glass of sherry and some cheese biscuits.

Why is he telling me all this?

It's more than just trying to get me into bed.

What's he really after?

- Where are you going?

I'm going to see where it happened.

- You coming? - Do we have to?

Well, what do you think?

It looks terrific.

It's hardly changed.

Well, that's terrible.

It's like it's been preserved.

It should've changed more.

Yeah.

Did you get to eat his salad?

It's funny you should ask that.

I was just thinking that very second,

I never got to taste it.

It is beautiful, isn't it?

You're right.

- Yes. - Thank you.

And it is just for us two.

Just for us?

We'll never finish it.

Should we go and choose some wine to go with it?

- Oh! Oh, you mean-- - From the cellar.

The cellar?

Yes, I often do that.

Mr. Graham has a fantastic wine cellar,

though I'm not sure he knows his way around it.

He frequently asks me for recommendations.

He lets me take a bottle home when I wish.

One of my little perks.

Do you want to come and help me choose?

Ever written about wine?

No, I know

absolutely nothing about wine.

So there are some things you don't have

- an opinion on, then. - Of course,

there are all sorts of things I don't know

anything about, naturally.

Really? I can't believe

- that's true, Mary. - Well, it is.

I see myself very much as a beginner still.

I've been very lucky in my career.

It's good to have strong opinions.

I approve of that.

I realized he was most probably

trying to seduce me, but I don't know why

I wasn't the least afraid of him.

I knew he wasn't going to try to rape me.

And I knew, instinctively,

there was something else he wanted to tell me.

And of course, a bit of me was thinking,

"Maybe there's a story here."

Up until 20 years ago,

the food used to come along here from the kitchens.

Can you believe that?

I know it seems spooky down here, but it isn't.

It is, in fact, rather beautiful.

Beautiful?

Maybe... in a way.

- Isn't this magnificent? - Yes.

It is.

Some of these bottles

are over a hundred years old.

Mr. Graham bought up other people's wine collections

and stuck them down here.

There's some real treasures

that are worth a fortune.

I persuaded him recently to do some better labeling.

I wrote some of these myself.

- Great labels. - Thanks.

Yes, they are rather nice.

- You know about films? - Yes.

Well, this is a bit like something in that fat chap upstairs' movie.

You know "Notorious," where they go down to the wine cellar?

Cary Grant, you don't know what he's going to discover,

and then Ingrid Bergman joins him.

Well, I'm not sure we're going to find

some uranium down here

in one of these bottles.

That's what Cary Grant found.

I know. Maybe not.

And here we have this.

We have a Château Latour from 1900,

one of the greatest wines of the century.

And little did they know as they were drinking this,

what a great disaster was going to overcome them all--

the fighting, the trenches in just a few years.

I like doing this,

imagining what was happening

as certain wines were bottled.

Château Haut-Brion,

often described as a very feminine wine.

1929 was a truly great year.

Just the stock markets of the world

were collapsing, and people were

throwing themselves out of buildings.

- Exactly.

And Clerc Milon, 1943, the best vintage during the war.

I mean, the connoisseur's life

very definitely didn't stop, you see.

You do know a lot about wine.

Well, I spend an awful lot of my time in country houses,

drinking the stuff as I help them out.

Well, I wouldn't complain if I were you.

It's a nice way to spend your time.

Was I complaining?

I didn't mean to.

There's more.

Oh.

Should we, uh... should we choose a bottle, then?

Maybe the one that's worth a fortune.

That would surprise them,

if we went upstairs waving that around,

having opened it.

I lied to you.

About what?

The reason for us coming down here?

No. What do you take me for, Mary?

I don't normally lure young women down into cellars

to take advantage of them.

No, I lied about the stories I told you.

You mean they weren't true?

No, they were true, all right,

but they were silly, unimportant froth.

They weren't the real story, Mary.

I should have been more truthful.

Do you want to hear the real story, Mary?

As he said that,

I could feel myself go cold.

Do you want to hear that?

The real story, Mary?

Yes.

Right.

And then he tells me a series

of what I can only call horrific things.

He was very calm, very specific.

The year, the exact location,

and, of course, all the real names.

At first, I thought I could handle it.

It started with something fairly nasty but not unbearable.

About an archbishop

who thrashed little boys till they bled and were raw.

Continued even when he was a famous prelate.

He thrashed and thrashed them.

And then he moved on to a famous public figure

who'd apparently kept a young woman

like a slave in his house,

degraded her in the most horrible fashion

for year after year.

When it was over,

her own sister didn't recognize her.

There was a story that... particularly shocked me,

one he himself had directly witnessed

about a very senior politician,

somebody who'd helped lead us through the war,

watching a documentary about the Holocaust

and coming out afterwards and saying to Greville...

"The fucking Jews, they were really asking for it."

That's what he said to me, Mary.

That's... that's terrible.

Yes.

He seemed very surprised

when I went rather quiet after he'd said it.

There were stories of cruelty to children.

There were one or two things so disgusting,

I've never been able to get them out of my head.

I find myself thinking about them

nearly every week, even now.

Everything he told me was sordid,

and sometimes

unbearably sad, too.

And I believed every word.

I don't think he was making it up.

In fact, I know he wasn't making it up.

I mean, I know there are stories

you can tell about the powerful in any age--

I'm sure you could collect awful things now--

but hearing them pour out all together...

coming right at me...

took me totally by surprise.

I liked to think of myself...

as being very sophisticated, unshockable,

but he really shocked me.

Nice life I lead.

There is a line of cruelty, Mary,

that I have watched personally,

running from before the war

right through to where we are now.

I think I'm a great witness.

Many things I've seen.

It's just I can never tell people.

Well, why are you telling me?

I don't know.

I really don't know the answer to that, Mary.

Maybe you seemed a good person to tell.

The voice of youth.

And also perhaps I wanted to tell you

because... I wanted

- to show you something. - Show me what?

Show you that even though I know all these things,

in one or two instances have actually been

in the house when they happened,

I still believe the alternative is worse.

What's the alternative?

Reducing everybody and everything to the same level.

Letting the great unwashed run everything.

And suddenly,

he's all bright and argumentative.

Do you agree with me, Mary?

As if after telling me

all these disgusting things,

none of it mattered.

As if all he wanted was a little

dinner party political ding-dong,

- to take me on. - What's your view, Mary?

- You're going to run away

now, aren't you?

Well, I think I'd better leave, don't you?

No, I don't think you should leave.

Well, I'm going to.

We haven't chosen our bottle yet.

No, we haven't.

You know, of course,

- everything you've told me... - Yes?

...will remain completely confidential.

Naturally.

I won't breathe a word.

Do I really believe that?

Yes, you do believe that.

If that is what you promise, Mary.

That's what I promise.

It still looks creepy,

even with all this light on.

I suppose most basements are creepy.

Hey, I've never seen a rat down here,

- so it must be clean. - Mmm.

I suppose so little goes on in the house now,

there's not much for them to eat.

All the wine,

it's still here.

Nobody drinks it?

No.

You're thinking I shouldn't ever

have come down here with him, aren't you, Joe?

I weren't thinking that.

Would you have said no?

I don't think so.

I told myself I would let everything go.

You know, let it wash away,

and by the time I got home, it would be gone.

Of course, within minutes of me sitting there,

I realized that it wasn't going to happen

because as soon as I was alone with my thoughts,

everything he told me became even more vivid.

For some reason, I started seeing this newsreel footage.

I was thinking, "All these things he's told me

are running underneath-- underneath these events."

Do you have a cigarette?

And then...

something else dawned on me.

Because he'd been so specific--

every date, every name,

people that were still alive,

and when he came back into the room, I realized...

he's told me all these things

which he might not have told anybody else...

so he's not gonna let go of me that easily.

Just running away from him in the cellar

isn't going to finish the business.

Let's get out of here, Joe.

I need you to lead me, Joe.

I don't know my way out of this bloody place.

Well, it's this way.

Thank you.

That's better, Joe. Thank you.

Just keeping out the winter cold.

- Did you get away from him?

Away from this man?

Well, that was my intention, Joe.

And for that to be possible,

I knew I needed to see him again.

I would act so vague when I saw him.

So forgetful, he'll realize he has no hold over me.

I mean, I knew he could still do me

professional harm if he chose.

It was the first time

I'd been invited to spend the night here.

We'd been to Wimbledon to see the tennis.

In the morning, we were going down the river.

As always, there was a small group of guests.

They were all very famous,

but no Greville White.

Mr. Graham's theme for the evening

seemed to be Edwardian Music Hall.

The house was ringing

with these old songs.

I was feeling

very excited, I remember.

I'd just been given an important assignment--

a series of articles in America.

It would be my first visit there.

Mr. Graham, it's been a fantastic day. Thank you.

I'm heading to America soon.

I'm going to do a few articles out there.

- How wonderful. - Yes, a fantastic opportunity.

I'm only going for a short time, but I'm very excited.

- Good night. - Good night.

- Who is it?

It's me, Greville. I don't need to come in.

I've just got something here for you.

- Hmm. - I thought you might like

some strawberries.

I missed the tennis, but I brought

the strawberries with clotted cream.

- Do you want some? - Thank you, that's very kind.

I'll have a spoonful.

It's all right, I don't need to come in.

- You look really well. - Thank you.

- I am. - I just wanted to say, Mary,

about the last time we saw each other--

Oh, yes, when you--

when you made that big salad.

Yes, there was the salad...

and then there was what I told you.

Oh, yes, was it something--

was it about a film star and dogs?

Yes, that was part of it,

amongst other things.

I just want to explain why I told you those things.

No! No, you don't have to.

Please.

I just wanted to say I really didn't mean to upset you.

Oh, was I upset? No!

No, I don't think so.

Right. That's good.

I'm glad you weren't.

Sorry, eating these like this

just reminded me of something.

Since I didn't upset you last time,

I'll risk one more-- one more--

Please, it's late and I'm--

No, no, no, this is tiny.

It's funny, not like the other ones.

I was in a private room in a gentlemen's club,

the Beefsteak Club.

A group of us were trying owl

for reasons I don't remember.

Also there was some ghastly, oversweet Greek puddings

with names like Galaktoboureko.

I mean, they were so sticky, it was like eating glue.

There must be a new cook, mustn't there?

We've had the same six puddings for the last 20 years.

And as we were trying to unstick ourselves,

these men were saying, very senior figures in the government,

"You know how I hate niggers,

but we're going to have to give them something,

especially in Africa."

Somebody else was saying,

"The niggers will never be able to run anything.

It's madness."

I mean, it was very standard stuff.

But as they talked, they were all fiddling with their teeth.

Their mouths were literally being gummed up.

Why are you telling me this?

Well, I thought you'd like that image.

These men sitting around, "I hate the niggers,"

with all this syrup in their mouths.

And did you agree with them?

I didn't say that, did I?

Thank you for the strawberries.

I really must go to bed now.

Of course.

I just have one other thing I want to give you.

No. No, it's late

- and I really-- - Please.

Just let me for a moment.

I know you think I'm a snob, Mary.

I really don't know what you think or believe,

- and I don't need to know. - I like taste, refinement.

I really value that.

I don't think that's a crime.

And the idea of everything

being reduced to total mediocrity,

to the lowest common denominator,

that does terrify me.

- I hate the common herd. - So you must hate me,

then, mustn't you?

Because that's where I'm from.

You really imagine I'd be here

if that's what I felt?

Is that what you think of me, Mary?

I'd be really disappointed

if that's what you thought of me.

I had my chance then.

I could tell him what I thought of him now.

I so wish I could've found the words, Joe.

I often think of that moment,

imagine it again in my head,

and when I do that, I really demolish him.

I'm incredibly eloquent.

But I was a very young woman,

and there was this older man

playing some strange game with me.

I don't think I did too badly.

You want to know what I think of you, Greville?

Well, I think you're a bit sad.

Sad?

- In what way? - For some reason,

you see me as a threat.

A threat to your nice life

and your country houses.

Why on earth you should think that,

I don't know.

You know, maybe it's because I'm young

and a woman, of course.

And you think I don't show enough respect or something.

And you want to stop me being a threat.

And that's rather sad, don't you think?

Spending so much energy over somebody like me?

Thank you for the strawberries

and, um... and good night.

Right.

That is what you feel, you probably won't

want this, then.

But I really would like you to take it.

I don't want it, whatever it is.

Please, look inside.

Then I'll go, I promise.

What is this?

The key to the wine cellar?

It's the key to my house.

- To your house? - Yes, and it doesn't mean

- what you think it does. - No, whatever it means,

- I don't want it. - This isn't a trick

or some cheap gesture.

I want you to have the imagination

to accept it, the key to my house.

You can come there whenever you want.

You can visit just once or many times.

Just drop by, let yourself in,

either alone or with a friend.

Why on earth would I want to do that?

There are all sorts of things in that house

that I've collected over many years--

over my whole life.

If I happen to be there when you come by,

I wouldn't try to touch you.

I would never attempt to be your lover.

Greville, that really is too strange.

I really would urge you not to refuse straightaway.

How many of these do you hand out to girls each season?

That is unkind, Mary.

I had that specially made for you.

You won't believe me, but I've never done

this before.

I thought we might help each other.

Help each other? In what way?

- In all sorts of ways. - What does that mean?

Professionally, of course.

That goes without saying.

And in other ways, too.

Help each other understand the world.

- Good night, Greville.

Don't give it back to me now.

Think about it overnight, at least.

I've thought about it.

He didn't come bursting back in, did he?

Well, he didn't knock the door down, come rushing at you?

No. No, Joe, he was a bit cleverer than that.

I can still feel that night.

How warm it was,

how good I felt in that dress.

But I was bloody nervous after he'd gone...

with that creepy key.

I thought,

"I'll leave very early.

Get away from this house.

Get on with my life.

Never come back."

Hello, Mary.

I've got a letter for you.

A letter for me?

Yes, from Greville.

- It's very early. - Yes, it is, isn't it?

Sometimes I love to get up early.

I don't think we've been properly introduced.

I'm Mary Gilbert.

And I'm Liza Henton.

There, now we've done it properly.

She looked so beautiful.

I couldn't help thinking,

"Does he have sex with this girl?

Does he keep several of them in his house?

I mean, did it all start with them being given keys?"

Thank you.

He said that you should read it now,

and that I should wait to see if there was a reply.

I'll read it when I get home.

He said if you could open it now.

And then I suddenly thought,

"What if it's the key again, and I have accepted it,

you know, unwittingly?"

Why don't you just open it?

No need to be nervous.

Oh, I assure you, I'm not nervous.

Greville's voice: My dear Mary,

you disappointed me last night.

You should've taken the key.

Liza has handed you this letter.

Just look at her.

Does she appear in any way frightened of me?

Why don't you ask her about me?

Please come out for dinner with me tonight,

so we can settle our differences

and part friends.

It would be a much better way for us to end things.

Thank you for waiting. There's no reply.

- No reply at all? - No.

For a few days, nothing at all happened.

I thought I'd got rid of him.

Life was going on as normal.

But then my trip to America was canceled.

They said to me, my bosses,

they decided the timing wasn't quite right.

And a few months later,

my contract wasn't renewed.

I was told my style of journalism,

you know, the voice of youth,

was no longer in fashion.

I mean, I wasn't too disturbed.

I felt I could get a job on any national newspaper

after the success I had, but one by one,

for a whole variety of reasons,

they said no.

I heard that I was meant

to be very difficult

and unreliable and greedy.

I realized Greville was behind it, of course.

He was friendly with the newspaper proprietors

and knew a lot about their personal lives, too.

Well, didn't you find Greville

and make him do something or--

No, I didn't, Joe.

I just thought, "Well, what the hell?"

I've saved a little money.

I need a break, you know, I'll go abroad.

Travel, and write another book."

And I did travel, Joe.

I had a few love affairs...

one of which was great fun,

but I wasn't doing much writing.

So one day, I decided to come home.

And I came back here.

I was going out with a young painter at that time.

And he'd become very fashionable,

and he was invited by Mr. Graham.

And my lover said to me,

"You know, why don't you come?"

And I thought, "Why not?

If Greville happens to be there,

which seems highly unlikely after all this time,

I mean, what can he do to me now?

He can do nothing."

And I thought, "You know, maybe I can do something to him.

Be devastating, you know, be witty.

Reduce him to a little heap."

It's so different.

Mr. Graham had torn out the beautiful conservatory,

and built this horrible modern room,

you know, in an attempt to be with it.

- I'm okay. How are you? - Yeah, I'm fine.

You know, she used to write some really racy stuff.

- Didn't you? - What do you mean, "used to"?

And some quite heavy stuff, too.

She can really write, this one.

- Oh, that's good to know. - Yes, you're right.

- See you in a while. - OK.

- Where have you been?

Well, I've been abroad. In the sun, you know, working, of course.

Writing and planning.

And what have you been planning?

Oh, I'm planning a trilogy of books about now.

And what are the titles?

The title, well, I think the title

will definitely have the word,

you know, "change" in it.

Something about change.

Or else, I was thinking...

And there he was, quite suddenly, right there.

He was all trussed up in a waistcoat,

though it was summer.

He seemed like he was from another age,

like one of his wines,

trying to weave his spell as he worked the room.

Soon we will be nostalgic for glamour again,

long dresses, and the funny

old conservatory that used to be here.

You don't see faces coming towards you anymore,

just an army of legs.

It's the same with these new movies.

People don't want their noses rubbed along the kitchen floor.

Who is that guy?

Oh, that's just somebody I used to know a long time ago.

Yeah, we once nearly shared a salad in this very house.

And we-- we did eat some strawberries together, too...

...with clotted cream.

Squalid piece of work.

I thought it was... depressing.

Oh, God.

Oh, God!

Oh! Oh, God, this is

an ugly room, isn't it?

Didn't you go up to him at this party?

Didn't you say something?

You should've got hold of him,

yanked him in front of people.

Did you do that?

Did you say, "You fucking prick.

You done this to me, now you fucking do

something about it, and get me my job back"?

I didn't say that, Joe, no.

- You didn't? - I couldn't.

- But why not? - Don't get impatient with me,

Joe, please.

Sorry, I didn't mean to shout.

I just wanted you to get this fucker, that's all.

Well, it wasn't gonna be easy, Joe.

Everything had moved on while I'd been on my travels.

I was wearing the right clothes, of course,

but inside I felt a stranger.

It rarely pays to be on the vanguard of things, Joe,

to be one of the first.

You're superseded very quickly.

But much more important than that,

I wasn't there in my own right.

I was just with my boyfriend.

I was thinking, "I used to be invited here

when I was a fashionable writer."

I just want to talk to somebody over there.

- I'll be back. - Don't be long.

People want fantasy and stories

and beautiful worlds to escape to.

I mean, that's always been the case,

and it always will.

And there you have it.

Writers tell us how to live our lives.

Can't go wrong with Turkish Delight,

and probably the Turks have never even heard of it.

- Sorry, I'm just gabbling.

Excuse me.

Something happened at this party

that had a big effect on me.

I mean, a lot of what they say is new about these movies

has, in fact, been done loads of times before...

Greville likes to talk, doesn't he?

...by people who were true artists.

That is why their work hasn't dated.

Unlike this new breed now,

addicted to gimmicks and the latest fad.

And this man suddenly piped up.

Man #2: That's complete crap.

Everything you've said

is just such utter bollocks.

No respect for this older man in a waistcoat,

he just gave it to him and went.

What a charming young man.

Fascinating that he wanted

to share his opinions with us.

I thought, "I should've done that.

Why didn't I do that to Greville?"

Ah, then of course, I realized

I could never talk to Greville like that--

brutal and rude.

I don't know.

I just-- maybe because I belonged to another time?

I... I don't know why I couldn't.

Because I was afraid. I couldn't even go up to him at that party.

He's looking for someone else to talk to,

to engage with, and I'm almost hiding.

And then... he looks at me.

He looks across at me.

And though he didn't say anything,

I could hear him saying...

But you are still mine.

But you are still mine,

aren't you, Mary?

I tried not to run,

not to look like I was fleeing his presence.

I didn't want to creep out of there either,

but I got away from this house as quick as I could.

What, you left here without saying

anything to him?

That's right. I left him looking for me.

Yeah, but you did speak to him again, didn't you?

- Go on.

For a few months...

or maybe a year, I sunk myself

into my love affair with the artist.

He was getting really successful, almost famous.

But he was very careful with money.

Extremely mean, in fact.

So, for a time, we lived in this bedsit,

and he disappeared for days on end to his studio.

When he wasn't painting,

he was thinking deep thoughts.

He had an awful lot of deep thoughts, it seems,

none of which I ever got to hear.

And the room was just crammed with his things,

as well as his thoughts.

And I started having a little tipple

at various moments of the day.

I found it helped the creative flow.

- Shit! Fuck!

Oh, I nearly cut myself.

Stepped on one of your bloody wineglasses.

I told you so many times,

don't leave glasses on the floor, okay?

It's a real pigsty in here.

You have to clear it all up, you understand?

Yeah, I understand.

I'll write it down a hundred times.

- "It's a real pigsty in here." - And then what

- are you gonna do about it? - What am I gonna do about it?

Yes.

Well, maybe I'll start by making a list

of all the things of yours

I'm not allowed to throw out.

"What are you doing, Mary?

You've moved the cornflake packet."

When have I ever said that?

You always say things like that.

I mean, just the other day you accused me

of throwing out that stupid little green cloth

you're forever wiping the gramophone with.

Just clean the place up, okay?

After all, you've got the time, haven't you?

Oh, unlike you, you mean?

Yes. I don't know what you do all day, Mary.

I was beginning to write again--

another attempt at a novel.

Outside all sorts of new things were happening,

and I thought I should be able

to catch them, describe them.

But the funny thing was...

...it didn't matter whether I started the story

on a train or in the desert

or outside Buckingham Palace.

It always-- always led back

to the cellar and Greville.

One day, I started to write

directly on a typewriter.

Up till then, I'd always done the first draft in longhand.

It was a nice day.

There were church bells outside the window.

Somebody was getting married down the street.

And I was flying--

absolutely flying with my story.

And then I wasn't flying anymore.

Every time this happened,

my confidence took a further little knock.

When you have success... without really

thinking about it when you're very young,

and you're not quite sure how you did all that...

your confidence can go amazingly quickly

when things go wrong.

Escape wasn't proving easy, Joe.

I knew a lot of people,

you know, friends, acquaintances,

who'd become successful around that time,

and then destroyed themselves with drink and drugs.

And I decided I was definitely

not going to be one of them.

Try my hardest.

Good.

- I pulled myself together. - Great.

Yeah, I started going out again,

attending private views with my boyfriend.

Come on!

Hurry up!

- Woman #2: Coming. - Come on.

Of course, I realized that

there was a slight chance I might see Greville,

but I was ready for it.

Well, yeah, because you ain't spoken to him

about him getting you fired.

I hadn't, no.

And you got to speak to him about that.

That's right.

- So at one

particular private view,

being held at a house in the country,

I was sitting there with my boyfriend.

We'd been breaking up for months,

only we'd been doing it in slow motion,

a little bit each week.

On this particular night, what we were saying

to each other was... it's fairly terminal.

Maybe it's because I...

need more space.

I think I really do need

a lot more space.

He was too mean to buy more space,

so he had to kick me out instead.

Actually, I wasn't slow in pointing this out.

You know what, Zach?

The other day, I was trying to think

of the last thing you bought me--

any kind of present.

You know what it was?

A single pink balloon

to celebrate my birthday.

I don't believe in birthdays, never have.

Now, why doesn't that surprise me?

But I know what you'd like.

What would I like?

You'd like a crate of vodka delivered

at the beginning of every week.

You'd wake up, there it'd be

at the end of the bed.

Once a week? Well, that certainly wouldn't be enough.

So there we were, right in the middle

of our breakup, and there...

- there was Greville. - Hello, I saw you

at the Glyn Perry's in August.

You don't remember? I think we were sitting quite near each other.

He was dressed in his usual

old-fashioned way,

almost defiantly out of keeping with the times.

Keeps avoiding catching my eye.

I mean, he knows I'm there.

I know he's seen me, but he...

he won't look at me.

No, he's smiling

and trying to gossip with people.

I did enjoy the exhibition.

Tell me, were they meant to be people or fruit?

- What? - The shapes.

They looked like fruit to me,

but somebody said they were meant to be people.

And Liza was there as well.

She was dressed very oddly, too--

almost like her mother might have been.

I'm having a party in my little flat

in Kensington in a few weeks.

I do hope you'll come.

She was still very young,

and yet she looked so out of place.

Apparently, there are only

12 interesting people in London,

and so it will have to be a very

tiny gathering, as you can imagine,

but you are one of them.

Hello, did you get my letter?

Post is terrible, but I've had an idea for a book.

I was wondering if we could talk about it.

It's a memoir, really.

I think it would make quite a lively read--

the time I spent with Lloyd George and Churchill.

You see, I worked on Churchill's papers.

Got to know him quite well.

Got drunk with him, actually.

It was like their joke on the world.

You know, this strange couple weaving some sort of spell

wasn't really working anymore.

I think you'll be surprised in more ways than one.

Give me a call.

But it's like he knew his power

- was on the wane.

The great newspaper proprietors

he was close to were now dead.

He didn't have nearly so many influential friends.

He was standing very straight--

you know, like he was determined

not to be engulfed by this new world--

this world he had first sensed maybe

when he met me.

I was almost relishing watching him like that.

And I was-- I was thinking about Liza.

Was that what he wanted me to become?

Was he one of the 12 most interesting men in London?

Apparently, yes. Yes.

What number does that make me, I wonder?

Well, of course, you're number one, Greville.

And then their car draws up,

and they both get in.

I'm feeling almost relaxed now.

They're going, and nothing has happened.

Nothing bad has occurred at all.

And I remember so clearly,

watching them together in the back of the car.

The car draws off...

...and then he stares straight at me.

- He mouths... - Help me.

Help me.

"Help me, Mary."

Help me, Mary.

Help me.

It wasn't a pathetic cry, Joe.

Quite the reverse. It was terrifying.

Help me, Mary.

Help me.

And then I never saw him again, Joe.

What? You didn't?

- No. - You never ever said

anything about what he'd done to you?

No.

You didn't ring him up or anything

and say, "Why should I help you?

You did this terrible thing to me."

No.

I didn't see him again, Joe.

Until today.

Today?

I saw him today.

But, well, he must be old, mustn't he?

I mean, it's a long time ago.

He must be an incredibly old man.

You would've thought so, wouldn't you, Joe?

What do you mean?

Where did you see him?

I often go for a walk in the park in the morning,

and usually it's all right,

alone with one's thoughts, planning the next day.

Mary!

Mary!

I didn't hear my name again,

so I just got on with my walk.

I'm dimly aware of this figure

just a little further on

keeping pace with me, walking along another path.

He didn't seem to be looking at me.

I realized, you know, he must have been calling somebody else.

And I get to my usual spot.

I often sit there for a few minutes.

Mary.

- Mary! - I thought,

"Looks terribly like Greville.

No, that's impossible 'cause he's not old...

and Greville was much older than me.

No, no, it must be somebody else."

Now, I know what you're thinking. It was the drink.

This drink, in fact.

And of course, you could be right, Joe...

because this isn't a ghost story.

No.

No, this is worse than a ghost story.

For me, anyway.

Why?

What happened? Did he come any closer?

It's very important, because of what

happens next, for you to understand.

I don't usually sit in the park

in the morning feeling sorry for myself.

I hate the idea. I haven't spent all these years in self-pity.

Do you follow that, Joe?

- Yeah. - I mean, I had rebuilt,

you know, a sort of career for myself

after the setbacks caused by Greville.

I've written for magazines

about gardening and lifestyle and antiques.

I've been able to earn a reasonable living.

You know, many people would think

I'd been lucky to lead such a life.

You understand me, Joe?

Yeah, I do.

I thought it was you, Mary.

What are you doing here...

all on your own?

I always thought if I saw you again,

it would be in this park,

and you would be on your own.

I couldn't speak,

but he seemed to sense what I was thinking.

I'm not alone, in fact.

I peered at them.

Could one of them have been Liza?

How's it been, Mary?

Everything you hoped?

Silly girl.

If it was an hallucination, it was a very sustained one.

Suddenly, he was close.

I kept looking for your name.

I could never find it.

I've had some painful things happen to me, too.

We could've helped each other...

like I said.

All you could think was that I wanted

to catch you-- control you.

Where have you been all this time, Mary?

Where is the bright young girl?

I can see no sign of her.

No sign at all.

The very first thing I thought about

after he'd gone was funny.

It was I suddenly understood

why he was always there at Mr. Graham's parties.

I realized right then it must have been

because he knew something about Mr. Graham's past.

For a moment, I was quite excited

to have worked that out.

But then...

...I started thinking the worst possible thoughts.

What might have been.

How stupid I was

to think I could take on that world

when I was so very young.

If only I'd been 10 years older

or been born a few years later

when things were different.

A young woman in that house...

...shouldn't ever have happened.

And I've never been able to shake it off

all this time.

How idiotic is that?

And I was thinking too,

have I used what happened with Greville

as an excuse

my whole life,

for the loss of my talent?

I remembered his party trick

of seeing yourself as others see you.

And all the time

there was this sensation...

like the lights being turned down...

...things closing in, shutting down.

Suddenly, I-- I found it difficult to breathe.

It's an absolutely horrible feeling, Joe.

It was disgraceful, Joe, my exhibition.

You know, crying for one's youth.

What a useless thing to do.

I ran away.

I ran away from the park.

But at least

that feeling... of things shutting down...

of it all ending...

...I fought that.

He didn't manage that.

And then, somehow,

I managed to come here.

Something I've been thinking about for years,

to come back here,

confront the place.

Today, after the park...

...I just walked straight here.

Seemed the obvious thing to do.

And you were kind enough to let me in.

You came to see if he was here?

To see if I could get rid of a ghost...

which isn't a ghost, of course.

Not a proper ghost.

And have you?

Have you?

I'm sorry, Joe, I have to go now.

Well, you have, haven't you?

Got rid of him?

- Yes. - Promise me.

Yes. Don't bother to show me out, Joe, I know the way.

I've just got to get out of this house.

Are you going to the park tomorrow?

Yeah, I might do.

- Can I come, too?

See where it happened?

See if he's still there, you mean?

- 11:00. Hope I turn up. - Which park?

But you ain't told me which park.

Kensington Gardens.

She'd given me the time,

and the park,

but not where she'd be.

I looked and looked for her.

I didn't find her.

And then, at last,

just when I was going, there she was.

Hello, Joe.

Here I am.

You didn't think I'd come.

We walked in silence.

She didn't seem to want to talk.

I don't know what she was thinking.

What, is this the spot?

Yeah, this is the spot.

I still didn't know what to say...

so I didn't say anything.

You can go now, Joe.

Thank you for staying. It's okay.

It'll be fine. I'll be fine.

- You helped me. - All right.

But I just-- I just need to be on my own now.

You can leave, Joe. It's okay.

I promise.

So I left her there...

and she did seem better.

I think.

She was sitting there looking quite elegant,

reading a book when I left her.

I keep thinking about her,

things I still want to ask.

I'll go back tomorrow to the park...

but I expect she won't be there.

There was something about her.

I liked that lady.

I hope she never sees him again.