All language subtitles for SE1E1

We welcome you, ladies and
gentlemen, to an exhibit of art...

A collection of oils and still lifes
that share one thing in common.

You won't find them in the average
salon or exhibition hall or art museum.

Painting number one.
Its title: The Dead Man.

An interesting meeting
between flesh and bone...

between that which
walks and that which...

You should excuse the
expression... Gets buried.

So we submit for your
approval this and other

frozen moments of
nightmare placed on canvas.

Yes? Who is it? What is it?

I am precisely on time,
according to your invitation,

which ought to give you some
idea as to who or what I may be.

Dr. Talmadge. Short of time, temper
and patience as usual. Come in. Come in.

Miles! Good to see you.

It's been too long.

Oh, for me too.

Well, how long can you give
us this time? And don't be stingy.

Well, I have till 5:00
a.m. on Monday.

And if you insist, I just happen to
have a second suitcase in my car.

Put that one down there.

They'll both reappear in your
room as if by magic. Come on up.

Something's missing.
Now, what is it?

Your patients! I haven't seen
a single one. They're gone.

Gone? All of them? All but one.

That's him? Your prize patient?

- He seems to be a healthy specimen.
- You think so?

Well, at first glance.

No, you wouldn't give up your practice
to concentrate on a healthy individual.

So, what's wrong with him?

You're the diagnostician.

I'm not in your class.
But, then, who is?

I'm flattered, but
it doesn't take a

diagnostician to remark
that a man looks well.

- If you want a diagnosis...
- Oh, I hardly think that's necessary.

His ailment would appear
to me to be quite obvious.

A first-year medical
student would see it.

What? Look again.

What's happened to him?

You still maintain
he looks well?

Of course not. This
man is extremely ill.

And as you say, the symptoms
would appear obvious to anyone.

Symptoms? What symptoms?

Well, you know very well. The
general pallor, the shrunken body,

those hectic spots of color
above the cheekbones,

the wrists and arms emaciated,
the ribs too prominent,

those deep depressions
here around the collarbone.

Yes, as you say,
it's quite obvious.

The man would appear to
be dying of endopulmonosis.

- You'd swear to that?
- Well, not to the nature of the disease,

since I'm well aware that you're on
to something far more complicated.

But to the external
symptoms, yes.

Well, all right, Max. What's causing
it? What brings it on so suddenly?

The effect of some
unstable drug?

A recurrent fever?
Perhaps a poison?

Nope. None of that.

As a matter of fact, Doctor, I don't
agree with your diagnosis at all.

- You don't agree?
- No, I don't.

I would say the patient exhibits no
external signs of endopulmonosis. Not one.

You must be joking. Look again.

I've already looked.
Go on. Look again.

What kind of trickery is this?

Well, Doctor, care to
take another guess?

Of course it's some illusion, but
to attempt a serious diagnosis...

Yes. Snap judgment. Go on.
Tell me. Just tell me what you see.

Well, on the surface, a moment
ago he appeared cadaverous.

Now the body is swollen.

The skin is puffed,
the color bluish.

The wrists were emaciated.
Now they're thickened.

So it's not endopulmonosis?
What would you call it, then?

Auricular edema? Thank you,
Doctor. No prompting, please.

I would say...
Werblin's Disease.

Wrong again. Take another look.

Max, I've had enough of this!

Please, take another look.
And meet John Fearing.

Dr. Talmadge.

This is a great pleasure.
Were you surprised?

Were you impressed?
What diseases did I do?

Endopulmonosis
and Werblin's Disease.

Quite accurately,
according to Dr. Talmadge.

I, uh, consider that
praise from Caesar.

Your recovery was
even more remarkable,

and I see no evidence of
any disease, present or past.

Admit it! You've never
seen a man so fit.

All right, I admit it. And I
hope this time it's no illusion.

It isn't. You can
practically feel the good

health emanating,
radiating from his body.

- It's like an aura.
- Well, that's a somewhat
unscientific hypothesis.

John, you'd better
get dressed for dinner.

All right.

Doctor, see you then.

How does he do it?

How does he simulate the
symptoms, duplicate the diseases?

He doesn't. You couldn't be
fooled by fakery. No, Miles.

When Fearing appears
to be ill, he is ill...

because he sincerely
believes he is.

Are you trying to tell me that all these
ailments of his are psychosomatic?

- Completely.
- But the physical manifestations...

Miles, how often have you been faced
with the tangible symptoms of disease...

when that physical evidence
was induced entirely by the mind?

But never so extreme... or
brought about so suddenly.

The difference is
just one of degree.

To some extent, we're all
psychosomatic. Fearing is fantastically so.

- Where did you find him?
- Here, as a patient, three years ago.

But not the, uh, beautifully
balanced young man he is today.

He was a sick,
neurotic weakling...

recovering from a case
of bronchial asthma.

Two weeks after I discharged
him, he was back again...

with a case of
rheumatoid arthritis.

Then back again and still again,
parading one disease after another.

He baffled all his
doctors, including me.

The onsets were too sudden,
the recoveries too swift.

So we never guessed
at their emotional origin...

until one day he came
in with a germ disease...

and my microscope showed
me no such germ in his body.

- What accounts for it?
- Mmm, heredity, possibly.

His mother was hysterical,
emotionally unsound,

given to one imaginary
illness after another.

His father was exactly the same.

Now, if he inherited that
combination, he more than doubled it...

and used it subconsciously in
self-defense against the two of them.

- Where are they now?
- Both dead.

But his body is still slavishly
obedient to suggestion,

except that now it's controlled
by a stronger mentality.

He doesn't strike me
as cerebral, even now.

Not his mentality. Mine.

Hypnosis?

The image of every disease
he "does," as he puts it,

has been planted in
his subconscious by me.

Of course! That... That annoying
tic I was afraid you'd developed,

those rappings with a pencil...

Those were cues to execute
commands given earlier during the trance.

Exactly. He can't do a thing
until he gets the proper signal.

In each case, there
was a different pattern...

to trigger a different
response, a different illness!

The most important and
significant response was the last one:

the complete absence
of illness, perfect health!

- That was psychosomatic?
- That's the miracle!

That's why I've given up
everything else to concentrate on this.

Miles, can you imagine the benefits
if I can transmit this power to others?

The minds of men could cast
disease out of their bodies,

resist degeneration,
reverse the aging process,

pace the heart, stifle cancer,

conquer death!

Come now. Come now.

I share your enthusiasm,
but you carry it too far.

Beyond death? Why
stop there? Hmm?

What is death? A wall?

Or a door? Give me a definition.

Hmm. We have some new ones,
haven't we, since the heart transplants?

We have. And if a man can
live beyond his heartbeat,

why not beyond his brain waves?

At least beyond those we can
measure. I say there's no limit!

And I say, Max, there is a limit as
to how long Cook will wait for dinner.

I'll be right with you. Velda!

Miles. The one man I would like most
in the world to take me down to dinner.

Mrs. Redford, you
are halfway there.

I hate to comment on the obvious, Velda,
but I've never seen you more beautiful.

Miles, dear, that's because I'm a
happy woman. Completely content.

Well...

There's coffee and brandy, and cigars
for those of you who can bear them.

Not for me. They make me
sick. And I mean really sick.

John neither smokes nor drinks.

And coffee keeps me awake.

It seems that there's nothing
here we can tempt you with.

We'll have to develop
a vice for you, John.

How about, um... How about
some fresh air? That's habit-forming.

I could do with a
bit of that. No, Miles.

I can see that you and
Max are dying to drown

yourselves in cigar smoke
and deep scientific talk.

Miles.

Did you see them at dinner?
Never took her eyes off him.

- You do nothing to discourage it.
- How else can I keep him here?

He doesn't need me. He's got
money, as well as everything else.

If it weren't for Velda, he'd
be skiing in Switzerland...

or sunning himself in
the South of France.

He knows this work we do
here isn't pleasant for him.

Then do it elsewhere. I'll give
you space in my own clinic.

Remove your work from
your home and get him out.

Miles, don't you see?
I can't separate them.

- If I do, I'll lose him.
- That's more important than losing her?

I love Velda. She's been
my life. You know that.

But Fearing... my immortality.

If it's worth that much to you, accept
the price and get on with the work.

I try. I've done it so far, but
the truth is I'm not that clinical.

Can you imagine what
a lover he must be?

Perfect confidence in
himself. None of the guilt...

or doubt or cowardice of body
that betrays the average man.

I've created the perfect rival.

If you believe you've
created that perfection,

you must've considered
un-creating it?

Make him ugly?

Physically preadolescent?

Of course I've thought of it.

I could turn him into an idiot, an
invalid, a grotesquely crippled monster!

Stop it, Max. Stop.

You think I'm capable of that?

♪♪

♪♪

Hmm. Good morning.

Good morning, Miles.
Did you rest well?

Very. The flowers are
beautiful. Thank you.

Did you grow them yourself? Yes.

- They don't give me much pleasure anymore.
- Why not?

It hurts me when
they die. Miles!

I'm being paged.

♪♪

He hasn't changed. Not
yet, but he's prepared to.

And this time, you'll
see the change.

To what? Watch.

If you're attempting
what I think you are...

Take his pulse.

He has no pulse.

No heartbeat.

Nothing.

Last night, I asked you
for a definition of death.

Here is death, Doctor.
Perfectly counterfeited.

Death in life.

And I would defy any medical
authority on earth to prove this man alive.

- You instructed him to be dead?
- Yes.

I don't like this,
Max. Get him out of it!

Watch.

Touch him.

Rigor mortis.

That's enough,
Max! Bring him out!

For heaven's sake,
Max, bring him out!

I don't know what you think you're trying
to prove, but I know what you're doing!

And you can't! Not
to him! Not to Velda!

You don't know what you're
saying. You can't believe that.

You know me better, Miles.
I thought so. Now prove it.

- Bring him out!
- You'll see you're wrong, Miles.

You'll see.

See?

It's quite obvious.

A-Already there's a
noticeable relaxation of the...

There is no change,
Max. None at all.

Wait.

Dear God!

- John.
- Get her out of here!

No! No!

No!

You... You've killed him.

You've killed him!

Oh, it's a trick, an illusion.

He's dead! You wanted it!

You willed it! You ordered it!

You told him to die, and he did!

Velda... Please,
Doctor, no postmortem.

You have to listen.

Max has tried every known
method to bring John back...

Injections, electrical stimulus,
surgical entry into the chest,

direct heart massage.

Bad enough he had to
kill him. But to cut him up?

I'm trying to say no one could
have made a greater effort...

or a more skillful one.

Whatever personal doubts
I may have had about Max...

were overcome as
I watched him work.

You thought he was
dead when he was alive.

Suppose he is alive even now.

What if his mind is alive
and locked in a dead body?

That's impossible.

Is it, Doctor?

Can you tell me
without any reservation...

that when they bury John
Fearing in one or two days...

he won't be buried alive?

Velda, John's death was tragic.

But that's all it
was... his death.

You'll have to accept that.

Yes, I can accept death.

I could even welcome it now.

What I can't accept...

is living on.

♪♪

For this corruptible
must put on incorruption...

and this mortal
put on immortality.

O death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory?

This concludes our services
for John Michael Fearing.

♪♪

She hasn't spoken nor
looked at me since it happened.

But I'd be grateful if
you took her home.

Velda.

Let me drive you home.

Thank you. It's not far, you
know. It's just beyond the hill.

We used to joke about it. A
cemetery so close to the hospital.

The walk will do me good.

You shouldn't be alone.

I've always been alone.

Velda?

What is it?

Well, surely you haven't forgotten
me. Has it been so long since...

The funeral. Oh, yes.

But what are you doing here
if you know John is dead?

I've come to see
Max. He sent for me.

Max?

Don't talk to him.
Don't go near him.

He has the power.

You'd better go upstairs.
You need some rest.

Come in, Miles.

Can you stay the night?
As long as you want me.

We're all so fragile...

when our thoughts can
do that to our bodies.

You don't look
well yourself, Max.

I had hoped your invitation
after so long a time...

might mean you were
taking up your work again.

No. I'm gonna take Velda away.

Maybe somewhere
where the sun is brighter I

may be able to bring
her out of the shadows.

First there's something
I want you to have.

It's a complete account of
my experiments with Fearing.

I've been all this
time preparing it...

Well, my notes and theories.

Here are the actual
voice recordings...

of my work with
Fearing under hypnosis...

along with a full statement of
my responsibility for his death.

That's insanity.

Oh, I... I never
meant to kill him.

Not consciously.

My work was a stronger
drive than my jealousy.

But... suppressed emotions
have a way of breaking through.

When I think of that magnificent
body rotting in the tomb...

Stop it. Stop it. You did
all you could to revive him.

But did I fail him...
because I wanted to?

Miles, study this.

And if you still believe
there was no guilt in me,

make me believe it.

Do you understand, John?

If so, raise your hand.

Ah, good. Relax.

Yes, you will respond, John,

just as Lazarus did.

The illusion of death will
be dispelled completely.

You will return to
full and vibrant life...

when you hear this signal.

Now listen, John.

If you understand the
signal, raise your hand.

Put it down. You have it.

Yes? Who is it?

It's me, Max.

Oh, Miles, the door's
not locked. Come on in.

The signal... What?

The signal... You gave it
wrong. What are you saying?

To bring Fearing
back. This was it.

Of course. Don't you think I
know that? That's the signal I gave.

Max, can't you
hear it, even now?

His cue to revive was three and
two. I've been listening to the tapes.

So have I. A thousand times.
And that's the signal I gave.

Three and two. Three and
two. Over and over again.

No! The signal you gave
again and again was this!

Three and one!

Impossible. I remember.

I was there! I was
there! I'll never forget it.

- Three and one. Three and one!
- No.

Max, don't you understand
what you've done?

Even when you heard your mistake on the
tapes, your unconscious mind corrected it.

Even now you're blocking it!
Consciously, you gave the signal right.

But unconsciously,
you gave it wrong!

Then it's true. I killed him.

Or did you?

Velda!

She heard. She knows the signal.

Max, wait. Wait? Don't you
realize where she's going?

Velda!

Velda!

Velda!

Velda, no!

Velda, no!

Painting number two.
Something on the abstract side...

to annotate that which
is not abstract at all:

greed, avarice and
man's constant hunger to

change what he doesn't
like by whatever means.

Said means in this case being a little
science mixed with a little black magic.

Welcome, if you will,
"The Housekeeper."

What does he want?

I mean, did he ask for a
poor, funny-looking old lady?

Well, as you insist on hearing it, Miss
Wattle, that's exactly what he did ask for.

Oh, I'm sorry. I really
am. Look, do sit down.

Oh, thank you.

There was another qualification:

a good heart, by which
he meant a kind heart.

The blessed man.

Why, that means that he's an
awful kind-hearted old gent "hisself."

Oh, he is. Only not old.

And oh so handsome.

Frankly, if I was older
and funnier looking...

Oh, I'm sorry. But
you did say it yourself.

Such cruel words, but I know his
intentions are anything but cruel.

Frankly, when he first came
to me for a housekeeper,

it never occurred to me to
offer you. Well, I should think not!

Oh, I thought he'd naturally
want someone more, um...

- Well, someone more.
- I should think so.

But he surprised
me. He told me...

And you can imagine
my astonishment... I do.

He said, "I want someone
that no one else would want."

- The blessed man!
- "An old hag."

The darling!

"Someone whose chances of
getting a job with anyone else...

would be absolutely sub-zero."

I was made to order!

And you have no family,
Miss Wattle? None at all?

No, sir. They all passed on.

And no friends?

- They moved away.
- And no references?

No, sir. Not in
the last five years.

I see. I'll get it. Oh!

Do you feel
cheated, Miss Wattle?

Cheat... Did you
say cheated, sir?

Yes, yes. Cheated by nature.
Oh, be frank with me, I beg of you.

When you see the lavish gifts
bestowed by nature upon her favorites...

When you see another
woman, young and beautiful,

whose stride swings and
whose shape swings with energy,

can you help but
ask yourself why?

Why her? Why not me?

Oh, Miss Wattle, won't
you let me help you?

Are you a doctor, sir?

Oh, no. No, Miss Wattle.
Just someone who cares.

Well, sir, I guess I have felt
something of the sort over the years,

now that the subject comes up.

And you told yourself
you'd give anything...

Anything you had, short
of your immortal soul...

To look as she does,
to feel as she must,

to embrace that surge of
vitality that carries her past you?

Well, sir, as a
matter of fact...

Only, if I'm not
speakin' out of turn,

what good can it
do to talk about it?

It don't change the
price of potatoes.

Speaking of potatoes...
No, thank you.

This way, please.

Mr. Acton, are you quite sure I
can't give you your usual table?

No. That table's excellent. The
lady and I wish to be alone, Maurice.

Very well, sir.

Let me.

May I, madam?

Oh. Thank you.

Oh, I'll take that.
Thank you, sir.

I feel I must point out, sir,

your wife is sitting
right over there.

Oh, yes, of course she
is. But she's much too

concerned with that
young man to notice us.

Yes, sir. Your wife, sir?

Yes, Miss Wattle.

That is my wife.

Exactly the kind of woman
we've been talking about.

Possessed of every attribute you
lack, every favor you've been denied.

A face and a figure
to grace a goddess.

My! Oh, dear, my!
She has got everything.

Frog's legs. No, I'm
having the frog's legs.

Miss Wattle is having
the pig's knuckles.

Oh, they look delicious!

May I? I'll take
it. Pull the cork.

Thank you. I'll do it.

Has got everything.

Yes. And more. More?

Mm. A great deal more.
Seven million dollars more.

My goodness!

Mm-hmm. That's
what she has not got.

Beg your pardon, sir?

Your goodness. In that department,
she has nothing. Less than nothing!

For inside that ripe and
perfect shell, Miss Wattle,

there dwells one
withered, wizzled... peanut.

Peanut? Did you say peanut?

The selfishness. The ingratitude.
The way she talks of leaving me.

As if she were the injured
one. All right. So be it. So be it.

As you say, sir.

Of course, except for
the seven million dollars.

Because if she goes... believe me,
Miss Wattle... there goes the money.

She'd think nothing of taking it
and turning me out to shift for myself.

Well, I don't think you
should be tellin' me, sir.

I'm sorry. I am sorry. When I speak
of that woman, I... Please forgive me.

Miss Wattle,

what would you give to
change places with her?

Change places?

Well, sir, I haven't given
that a great deal of thought.

You'd be wonderful. You
have everything she lacks.

- I have?
- Yes.

A warm heart, a gentle nature,
a mellow and forgiving soul.

Yes. You'd be marvelous.

You should be the one to
occupy that magnificent edifice,

and she should be there, inside
that run-down old hovel of yours.

Well, I don't think I'd
better think about that, sir.

There's no sense in
breakin' your heart...

over what's not possible.

Oh, but it is possible!
Quite possible!

Do you, by any chance, know
anything of personality transplant?

Personality...

Well, no matter. For my purpose,
all you need to know is the principle.

In effect, one personality is
uprooted and made to flourish...

in other soil... other flesh...

While the previous
occupant undergoes a

simultaneous transplantation
to the body vacated.

Do you see?

Ah, yes, sir. It all
sounds very scientific.

But I thought you was looking
for a housekeeper, sir, so to speak.

Yes, that's exactly it. What I
am looking for, Miss Wattle.

Someone who will keep my
house for me, so to speak.

♪♪

Get the idea, Miss Wattle?

Yes, sir. But do
you mind tellin' me,

how do you do it?

Oh, the process is very
difficult to learn, Miss Wattle.

Oh, yes. I've spent many long hours poring
over these ancient books and records,

committing to memory
certain incantations,

instructing myself in the
skillful compounding of

certain herbs and toxins
to be added to the diet...

to prepare and fertilize
the soil prior to transfer.

Well, I'm not too quick, sir, but
you are givin' me the shudders.

Oh, I... I am sorry.

I suppose all this
talk of potions and

incantations sounds
like black magic to you.

But I assure you, the
principle is crystal clear,

and it works without
a lot of mumbo jumbo.

Yes. One live
frog does the trick.

A frog, sir?

Yes. The common jumping frog.

Are you surprised? I know I was.

Oh, they're really
remarkable creatures.

They're mentioned in the
Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Thoth, the god of
the underworld...

Oh, but I don't want to
bore you with these details.

You can do almost
anything with them.

Hmm. Yes.

They're especially good
as transformers or conduits.

Oh, dear! Oh, my!

Well, if you don't
mind my sayin' so, sir,

I think it's time I'm on my way.

To where, Miss Wattle?

To what?

I don't exactly know.
No, of course you don't.

Because there is
nowhere to go, is there?

And nothing for you to do.

Miss Wattle, here and
now is your last chance.

And what a chance!

Consider the years of youth
and beauty that can be yours.

Or, if you prefer, consider
the money. The money?

The seven million dollars.

Oh, yes, that's part of what you
get, along with the face and figure.

Miss Wattle, consider...
Consider the, uh... the jewels,

the servants, the houses,
the homes, the yacht.

- The yachts, if you wish.
- I'm a bit too old for the sailor's life.

But you'd be young...
and rich and beautiful...

with three-and-half-million
dollars of your very own.

Seven. Oh, yes.

But of course we'll share
it. We're not greedy people.

Not like that miserable
peanut in her beautiful

shell that wants to
keep it all for herself.

And later on, if you find you
can't care for me as a husband,

you can divorce me. I
wouldn't want to do that.

Yeah, but if you should
want to, I won't contest it.

We can draw up the papers
first, dividing the estate.

And then, with three-and-a-half-million
dollars of your very own,

and a face and figure
worth another million,

you'll be free to pick and
choose any man you want...

Any man at all... If I
should prove unsuitable.

Well, I wouldn't
want to be greedy.

No.

Cedric, get rid of her!
She's quite impossible!

Get her out of here!

Pay her off. Give her two
weeks' salary, anything,

but I want her out of
this house within the hour.

Really, Cedric, this
time you've gone too far.

To presume to take upon
yourself the hiring of my domestics.

This is the final straw!

Well, sir, there
goes the ball game.

Oh, nonsense.
What did you expect?

A welcome, or even
civility, from her?

I told you that shriveled peanut
of a personality simply has to go.

Checkmate.

I'll show you to
your room. Come.

My room? It's only temporary.

Tonight you'll be
sleeping in a bed of roses.

Now, we've just had this redecorated
for our farm... housekeeper,

and I'm sure you'll
be very pleased.

Right up here.
Head of the stairs.

Miss Wattle, from now
until one minute before 9:00,

you must concentrate
on this picture.

Here. Sit down.

I want you to bring all
your strength of thought...

and effort of will
to bear upon it.

I want you to see it with
more than your eyes,

with all the perception
that lies behind your eyes.

Now concentrate, concentrate.

That's right. And
leave the rest to me.

I'd like to see you at
9:00 exactly in the library.

Now concentrate.

Cedric, you constantly subject me
to these ridiculous embarrassments.

You twist and turn the picture
to put me in the cruelest light,

to make me look as hard and
shallow as you are yourself!

Well, no more!
Not again! Not ever!

You've had it for the last time!

Do you hear me? Yes.
I've had it for the last time.

I'm leaving you.
Don't you understand?

Twenty-two, 21, 20. When I
come back, you're not to be here.

You're to be gone,
out, bag and baggage.

I'm divorcing you with remarkable
justification and excellent evidence,

and you'll not come out of it
with one cent of my money.

Not a penny! I guarantee it!

- Nine, eight, seven...
- What is that?

Is that a frog?

Five, four, three,
Cedric, are you really

insane? Will you get
the creature out of here!

Two, one. Help! Somebody!
He's turned a frog on me!

Oh, my! Oh, dear! Oh, my!

Cedric, stop it! Stop
it! Stop it, Cedric!

You understand, Mrs. Acton? I
never knew what he had in mind.

Not that part. He never
explained to me about that.

Not a word.

Oh, how beautiful you are!

Yes.

Now I can see character
and compassion in those eyes.

A new light shines through
the window of your soul.

Oh, my sweet.

Oh, no, sir! No, you don't! Don't you
touch me! Don't you dare touch me!

I hardly need point
out, Miss Wattle,

that you now defend the
citadel to which I hold the lease.

Not no more, sir! Not
while I'm in charge!

Sir, you'll forgive me for sayin'
so, but you're a terrible man!

Sir, you're nothin'
but a monster!

And you, my darling Miss
Wattle, are a monster no more.

You see the power
of your instincts?

You're doing very well.

Our bedroom is at the
head of these stairs.

Our what? Oh, it's all right.

We are married, you know.
Not to my way of thinkin'!

But that's a
technicality. Not to me!

Surely you haven't forgotten
what it means to be a woman.

I ain't so sure I ever knew.

You are one. You're twice the
woman either one of you ever was.

I used to be mad about your face and your
figure. Now I can love your soul as well.

Oh, no, you can't!

And that ain't no
way to talk to a lady.

I hate to be obvious,
darling, but you're no lady.

You're my wife.

Wait! Wait!

All right, darling.
I understand.

You need time...

Time to adjust to the
miracle of your youth...

and your health and wealth.

Take all the time you
need. You can afford it now.

We can both afford it now.

Miss Wattle?

Breakfast, darling!

Oh, surely you've had enough
time. It's been three days now.

Eventually you're gonna have
to come out, so why not now?

The world is waiting to welcome
you. It's wide and wonderful.

Won't you let me
introduce you to it?

We could go away.
We could travel.

Go to Cannes,
Biarritz, Saint-Tropez.

Let me show you what it
means to be a woman...

To be envied, admired and loved.

If not by me, by
any man you want.

Come on. Show me your powers.

Test your powers.
Unlock the door.

Darling?

You look wonderful!

Darling, you
look just beautiful!

Beggin' your pardon, sir,
but I'm turnin' in my notice.

What? Well, you can't do... You're
my wife! You really can't do that.

As for bein' your wife,
I've got it all thought out.

And the upshot of it is I'm leavin' you. I
knew something like this would happen!

That bein' the case, sir,
good-bye. Please let me talk to you.

Just give me one moment of your
time. Surely I'm entitled to one moment.

Very well. But just for a
moment. Let me have it. Of course.

Would you go in there, please?

What do you want to talk about?

Well, I would like to talk
about the... the settlement.

The settlement. Oh, yes.
Well, sir, there's not to be any.

Not to be any?

No, sir. As I say, I
got it all thought out,

and it wouldn't do at all for
you to profit by a single cent...

out of the terrible
thing you've done.

Your wife would say
the same in my place.

So I owe it to her to
take the money and go.

- The whole seven million?
- To the last penny.

Oh. You're
ungrateful, Miss Wattle.

- What did you expect, sir?
- Something of the sort.

Oh, dear! How many times?

Dear God! How many times?

Until we get it right.