All language subtitles for Present Laughter

-Hel-- Hello, Cynthia, darling.
It's Daphne.

Yes.
Are you alone?

Listen, I'm you-know-where.

Yes, I did!

No, he isn't awake yet.

There's nobody about at all.

No, in the spare room.

I can't go on about it now.
Someone might come in.

If anybody rings up from home,
will you swear to say

that I spent the night with you?

Darling, you promised.

In that case, say I'm in
the bath or something.

I can't wait to tell you.

All right.

Good morning.

-Good morning.

-What time is Mr. Essendine
going to be called?

-He will ring.
-What time does he usually ring?

-That depends what time
he went to bed.

-Well, I'm afraid we were
rather late last night.

You see, we were at a party,

and Mr. Essendine very kindly
said he'd drive me home.

And then I'd found
I'd forgotten my latchkey.

And I knew I shouldn't be able
to make any of the servants hear

because they sleep
at the top of the house,

and so Mr. Essendine
very sweetly said

that I could spend
the night here.

And -- and so I did.

-If you were very late,

he will probably sleep
until the afternoon.

-Oh, dear!
Couldn't you call him?

-Alas, no.

We can never call him.

-Good morning!
-Good morning, miss.

-Have you any idea what time
Mr. Essendine will get up?

-Oh, might be any time.

He didn't leave no note.
-Couldn't you call him?

It's nearly 11:00.

-The whole place
goes up in smoke

if we wake him by accident,
let alone call him.

-Well, do you think I could
have some breakfast?

-Well, now,
what would you fancy?

-Some coffee, please,
and some orange juice!

-Righty-o, Miss.

-Good morning!

-Good morning.

I'm Mr. Essendine's secretary.

Is there anything
I can do for you?

-Well, I'm afraid
it's rather awkward.

You see, Mr. Essendine drove me
home last night from a party,

and I idiotically
forgot my latchkey,

and so Mr. Essendine
very sweetly said

that I could spend the night
here in the spare room.

-I hope you were warm enough.
-Oh, yes, quite.

Thank you.

-It's liable to be a bit nippy
in the spare room.

-I kept the heater on.

-Oh, very sensible.
-And, oh, I was wondering

if somebody could tell
Mr. Essendine

that I'm, well, here.

-I expect he'll remember
when he wakes up.

-Have you any idea
when that will be?

-I'm afraid not.

If he didn't leave any special
time to be called,

he might sleep on indefinitely.

-I wouldn't want to go away
without saying

goodbye and thanking him.

-If I were you, I should have
some breakfast and dress.

And if he isn't awake by then,
you can leave a message for him.

Have you asked
for any breakfast?

-Yes, I think the man
is bringing it.

-Have you known
Mr. Essendine long?

-Well, no, not exactly.

I mean, of course
I've known him for ages.

I think he's wonderful,

though we actually only met
last night for the first time.

-I see.

-I think he's even more charming

off the stage than on,
don't you?

-I can never quite
make up my mind.

-Have you been with him
for a long while?

-Just on 17 years.
-Ah!

How wonderful!

I expect you know him
better than anybody.

-Less intimately than some.

Better than most.

-Is he happy, do you think?
I mean, really happy.

-I don't believe
I've ever asked him.

-He has a sad look in his eyes
every now and then.

-Oh, you noticed that, did you?

-We talked for hours last night.

He told me all about
his early struggles.

-Did he by any chance mention
that life was passing him by?

-Yes, I think he did say
something like that.

-Oh, dear.
-Why?

-I just wondered.

-I do hope you don't think
it's awful of me

spending the night
here like this.

I mean, it does look
rather bad doesn't it?

-Well, really, Miss, um...

-Stillington.
Daphne Stillington.

-Miss Stillington, it's hardly
my business, is it?

-No, I suppose not.

But I wouldn't
like you to think --

-17 years is a long time,
Miss Stillington.

I gave up that sort of thinking
in the spring of 1922.

-Will you have it in here,
Miss, or in the bedroom?

-In here, please.
-Oh, no. Oh, no.

I really think you'd be more
comfortable in the bedroom.

The studio becomes rather active
round about 11:00.

People call, you know,
and the telephone rings.

-Very well.

-I'll let you know
the minute he wakes up.

-Thank you so much.

-Now you pop right back
into bed, Miss.

-All right.

-Is there any soap
in that bathroom?

-Uh, yes, but the tap
is a bit funny.

You have to go on turning it
till kingdom come.

-Did you tell her?

-She'll find out for herself.

-You better send
Miss Erikson in to her.

-She's gone to the grocers,

but I'll tell her
when she comes back.

-Were you here last night?
-Nah, she's news to me.

-Well, if he hasn't rung
by 12:00, we better wake him.

-You know what
happened last time!

-It can't be helped.
He's got a lunch out anyhow.

-Well, if the balloon
goes up, don't blame me.

-Suppose it's of no interest
to any of you

that I have been
awakened from a deep,

deep sleep by everybody
screaming like banshees.

What's going on?

-I've been talking
to Miss Stillington.

-Who the hell
is Miss Stillington?

-She's in the spare room.

-I didn't ask you
where she was, Monica, dear.

I asked you who she was.

-We might look her up
in the telephone book.

-She forgot her latchkey,
if you know what I mean.

-Go away, Fred.

And get me some coffee.

-Righty-o.
-And don't say, "Righty-o."

-Very good, sir.
-Thank you very much.

-You met her at a party,
and you brought her home here,

and you told her about
your early struggles,

and she stayed the night.

-I remember now.

She's a darling.

I'm mad about her.

What did you say her name was?

-Stillington,
Daphne Stillington.

-I knew it was Daphne,

but I hadn't the faintest idea
it was Stillington.

How did she look to you?
-Restive.

-Oh, poor little thing.
I hope you were nice to her.

Has anybody given her
anything to eat?

-Fred has taken her some coffee
and orange juice.

-What's she doing now?
-I don't know.

Drinking it, I suppose.

-It's dreadful, isn't it?
What are we to do?

-Well, she wants to say
goodbye and to thank you.

-Whatever for?

-That, Garry, dear,
I am in no position to say.

-Why didn't you tell her
to dress quietly

like a mouse and go home?

You know perfectly well
it's agony here in the morning

with everybody banging about.

-Well, you might have thought
of that before

you asked her to stay the night!

-She had to stay the night.
She'd lost her latchkey.

-The sooner we turn that spare
room into a library, the better.

-Probably sobbing her heart out.

-Why don't you go and see?

Lend me a comb, and I will.

-Here.

-Good God.

I look 98.

-Never mind.

-Just a few more years,
I'll be bald as a coot

with a row of angry, false teeth
leering at me from a glass.

Then you'll be sorry.

-On the contrary,
I shall be delighted.

There will be fewer
eager young debutantes

ready to lose
their latchkeys for you

when you've got a toupee
perched on top of your head.

-I shall never wear a toupee,
Monica, however bald I get.

Perhaps on the stage I might
have a little front piece,

but in life, never.

I intend to grow old
with distinction.

-I'm sure that will be
a great relief to all of us.

Now -- Oh.

Now do go and do a nice
goodbye scene.

There's a dear.

And get rid of her
as quickly as possible.

We've got to do the mail,

and Morris might appear
at any minute.

-I haven't done
my exercises yet.

-No, no.

You can do those
after she's gone.

-Well, I can't possibly go into
the spare room in my pajamas.

It's like an icebox.
-The heater is on.

It's been on all night.

-Very extravagant.

-Garry!
-Oh, my dear.

-I thought I heard your voice.
-If you want me,

I shall be in the office, Garry.

-Thank you, Monica.
-And you won't forget,

will you, that at 12:30,

you have given an appointment
to a Mr. Roland Maule?

-No, Monica.
-And at 1:00 sharp,

Morris is coming to discuss
what understudies

you're going to take to Africa.

-I shall remember, Monica.
-I'm so glad.

Goodbye, Miss Stillington.

-Goodbye.
-Darling.

-Garry.
Oh, Garry.

I'm ridiculously happy.

-I'm so glad, darling.

-Are you?

-Happy?
-Mm.

-There's something awfully sad
about happiness, isn't there?

-What a funny thing to say.

-It wasn't meant to be funny.

-I've been in love with you
for such a long time.

- Oh --
No, don't say that.

-Why? What's the matter?

-Don't love me too much, Daphne.

Promise me you won't.

You'll only be unhappy.

No good can come of loving
anyone like me.

I am not worthy of it, really.

I -- I -- I'm not.

-You're more worthy of it
than anyone in the world.

-Foolish child.

-I'm not a child. I'm 24.

-24?

24. If only I were younger.

If only you were older.

-What does age matter
when people love each other?

-I wonder how tragically often
that has been said?

-It's true.
-Now, look at me, Daphne.

Look at me kindly,
clearly, and honestly.

Look at the lines in my face,
my thinning hair.

Look at my eyes.
-You're not so very old.

-I didn't say I was so very old.

I merely said look at me.

In fact, I'm only 6-- 5-- 45.

-What's 45?
-It's too old for 24.

-You mean you don't love me?
-I don't mean any such thing.

-Do you love me?

Say it. Do you?
-Of course I do.

-Say it.

-I love you, Daphne.

-Oh, darling!

-But this is goodbye.

-Goodbye?
-Well, it must be.

Not for my sake, but for yours.

Last night, suddenly
a spark was struck.

The flame burned brightly
for a little.

That was happiness, tremendous,
wonderful happiness,

something to be
remembered always.

-You're different this morning.

You didn't mean any of
the things you said last night.

-Listen, my dear, you're not
in love with me, the real me.

You're in love with an illusion,

the illusion that I gave you
when you saw me on the stage.

Last night, I ran the risk
of breaking that dear,

young illusion forever.

But I didn't!

No. No. Thank God I didn't.
It's still there.

I can see it in your eyes,
but never again.

No. Never.

Never again.

No, that's all
I dare hope for now,

moments like last night.

That's why I'm so lonely.

Sometimes so desperately lonely,

but I have learned one
bitter lesson in my life.

And that lesson is to be
able to say, "Goodbye."

-Goodbye, but Garry --
-Let me go on!

"We meet not as we parted,

We feel more than all may see;

My bosom is heavy-hearted,

And thine full of doubt
for me: --

One moment has bound the free.

That moment is gone forever,

Like lightning that
flashed and died --

Like a snowflake
upon the river --

Like a sunbeam upon the tide,

Which the dark shadows hide."

-But Garry --
-Quiet.

There's more.

"That moment from time
was singled

As the first of a life of pain;

The cup of its joy
was mingled --

Delusion too sweet,
though vain!

Too sweet to be mine again."

There now.
That was Shelley.

Don't you think it's beautiful?

-Yes.
-There was nothing Shelley

didn't know about love,
not a thing.

All the sadness, all the joy,
all the unbearable pain.

-I don't see why love
should be so miserable.

-That's because you're young,

my sweet, young and eager
and greedy for life.

-You told me last night
that I was the one

that you had been
searching for always

and that now
that you had found me,

you would never let me go.

-That -- That --
That's perfectly true.

I shall never let you go.

You shall be here
in my heart forever.

- Oh, Garry!

-Please, please, don't cry.
I can't bear it.

-How can you say that I'm only
in love with an illusion

and not the real you at all?

-Because it's true.
-It isn't.

It isn't.

It was the real you last night.

You weren't on the stage.
You weren't acting!

-I'm always acting,

watching myself go by.

That's what's so horrible.

I see myself all the time,

eating, drinking,

loving, suffering.

Sometimes I think
I'm going mad, mad.

-I could help you
if only you'd let me.

-I'm sorry, dear,
what did you say?

-I could help you!
-If only you could.

But it's too late.
-It isn't.

It isn't, I swear it isn't.

You see, I'll prove it to you!

-No, you must get out
of the tiresome habit

of contradicting
everything I say.

It is too late.

It's not that I don't love you.

I do, but you see,
my life is not my own.

I am not free like other men
to take happiness

when it comes to them.

I belong to the public
and to my work.

In two weeks' time,
I'm going to Africa

with a repertory of six plays.

Do you realize what that means,

the work, the drudgery,
the nerve strain?

But that is my job,

the one thing to which
I must be faithful.

When I come back,

if
I come back,
I shall look at you again,

and I shall know
in the first glance

whether you have waited
for me or not.

Now, come kiss me.

Kiss me once,

just once and then go.

-Mm.

Mm, mm.

Oh, Garry!

-Au revoir.

Not goodbye, just au revoir.

Come, my dear.
Come, come, come.

Away with melancholy.

-Do you want your coffee
here or upstairs?

-Put it anywhere,
Fred, within reason.

-I'd have brought it in before,
but I heard all that weeping

and wailing going on
and thought,

"Perhaps I better wait."

-Put the tray down, Fred,
and go away.

- Righty-o.

-There's no peace,
no peace anywhere.

Who switched their
telephone in here?

-I switched it in here

because we've got to go
through the mail,

and I can't keep darting in and
out of the office all the time.

-Will you stop whistling, Fred?

It's like living
in Waterloo Station.

-Hello, Mr. Essendine's
secretary speaking.

Oh, well, I'm afraid he's not
available at the moment.

Is there anything I can do?

Well, he's very busy just now.

I really think it would
be better if you wrote.

Oh, no.
Oh, I'm sorry.

That's quite impossible, is it.

Very well. Goodbye.

-Who was that?
-Mr. Bramble.

-Never heard of him.
-Well, he says

you promised
to look at his invention.

-What sort of invention?
-I haven't the faintest.

-Very curious.
-Fred said I was to go

and speak to the young lady.

-Very well, Miss Erikson.
-What shall I say to her?

-I really don't know.

-I have been to the grocers.

-That's as good an opening
gambit as any.

-Just see that she has
everything she wants,

Miss Erikson,
and turn on a bath for her.

-Alas, that I cannot do.

The tap makes no water.

-Well, rise above
the whole situation

and do the best you can.

-I will try.

-Preserve that spirit of
cheerful optimism, Miss Erikson.

-Well, there's nothing
much this morning.

I shall go through them quickly.

-This coffee tastes
of curry powder.

-Never mind.
-I do mind.

I wish I had a French chef

instead of
a Scandinavian spiritualist.

-Oh, you could never get
rid of Miss Erikson.

She worships you.

-Everybody worships me.

It's nauseating.

-There's hell to pay
if they don't.

-What's that blue letter?
-Sylvia Laurie.

She says she must see you
before you go away.

-Well, she can't.

-And another from Lady Warren,

lunch on Tuesday
or dinner on Friday?

-Neither.
-And here is a postcard

I can't make head or tail of.

-It's from Brazil.
-I know.

It says so on the stamp.

-"I've done what you said,
and it's nearly finished."

I can't read the signature.

It looks like Pickett.

-Well, can you remember
anybody called Pickett

that you sent to Brazil
to finish something?

-Tear it up.

People should write legibly
or not at all.

-Not at all would be lovely.

Oh, is Miss Stillington
dressed yet?

-Yes, but she is crying,
which makes her slow.

-Crying.
-You better go upstairs, Garry.

-Tell Fred.
-Oh, Miss Erikson, tell Fred

Mr. Essendine wants his bath.

-I will tell him.

Fred!
-You better come up, too.

We can finish the rest of the
letters while I'm in the bath.

-Well, there's only one more,
an invitation

from Gertrude Lovette.

She's giving a coming-out dance

for that pimply looking daughter
of hers.

-What a horrible thought.

Polite refusal.

-Hello?

Oh, Henry.

Oh, yes, he is in, but he's gone
to have his bath.

Today?

Oh, I thought you weren't going
till the end of the week.

Oh, yes, of course.

He's not lunching
till half past.

Well, all right then.
We'll see you later today.

-Hello, Miss Erikson.
Is everybody in?

-Just sitting so.

-Good morning, Monica, dear.
-Liz, darling.

We thought you weren't
coming back until tonight.

-I came over by plane
loaded with gifts

like an Eastern potentate.

Here's one for you.
-Oh, how lovely!

-It's a bottle of perfume
and very expensive.

-Oh, thanks so much, Liz.

You're a darling.

-What's God up to?

-In the bath.
-I brought him a dressing gown.

-How thoughtful.
He's only got 18.

- Don't be acid, Monica.

You know how he loves peacocking
about in something new.

It's nice and thin
and highly suitable for Africa.

Miss Erikson looked more
peculiar than ever this morning.

Is her spiritualism
getting worse?

-She got in touch
with a dead friend

at a séance on Sunday night.
-Yes.

-And all he said was,
"No, no, no."

And "Christmas Day."

It upset her very much.

Hello, Fred.
How's everything?

-Ah, bit of a lash up, Miss.
Same as usual.

-Do you think I could
have a cup of coffee?

I feel a sinking.
-Righty-o, Miss.

-It's very resolute of Fred to
go on calling me Miss, isn't it?

-Well, I think he has
sort of an idea

that when you gave up
being Garry's wife,

you automatically
reverted to maidenhood.

-It's a pretty thought.
-Oh, I'm so sorry

about the bath,
Miss Stillington.

-It didn't matter a bit.

-This is Mrs. Essendine,
Miss Stillington.

-How do you do?
-Mrs. Essendine? Do you --

I mean, are you Garry's wife?
-Yes.

-Oh, I thought
you were divorced.

-Oh, we never quite
got around to it.

-Oh, I see.

-Oh, no, but please
don't look agitated.

I upped and left him years ago.

-Miss Stillington lost
her key last night,

and so she slept
in the spare room.

-You poor dear. You must be
absolutely congealed.

Do you think I could
get a taxi?

-I'll ring up for one.
-No, don't do that.

My car is downstairs.

It'll take you wherever
you want to go.

-That's most awfully
kind of you.

-Not at all.

The chauffeur's got bright red
hair, and his name is Frobisher.

You can't miss him.

-Thank you very much indeed.

You sure it's not inconvenient?
-Not in the least.

Just tell him to come
straight back here

after he's dropped you.

-Oh, yes, of course I will.

Thank you very much again!
-Not at all.

-Goodbye.
-Goodbye.

I do hope
you haven't caught cold.

-Oh, no, I don't think so.
Goodbye.

-I'll show you out.
-No, no, please.

Don't trouble.
-It's no trouble at all.

-Do you want anything
with it, Miss?

-No, thank you, Fred,
just the coffee.

-Righty-o. I'll go tell
his nibs you're here.

I don't think he knows.
-Thank you, Fred.

Well, has that been
going on long, or is it new?

-Quite new.

I found it wandering about
in Garry's pajamas.

-Poor little thing.

How awful for her
to be faced with me like that.

You ought to have pretended
I was somebody else.

-Well, it serves her right.

Oh, I don't mind.

If only they'd leave
Garry alone.

It makes the mornings
so complicated.

-He's just incapable
of saying no or goodbye.

-Oh, he says goodbye
often enough,

but he always manages
to give the impression

that he doesn't really mean it.

-I'll have a go at him.

After all,
it's high time he relax.

-Oh, if you think a big scene
is really necessary,

we could get Henry
and Morris, too,

and have a real rouser
the night before he sails.

Morris is awfully
hysterical these days.

And Henry's not
nearly so reliable

since he married Joanna.

-Do you like her, Joanna?

-She's a lovely creature,
but tricky.

Yes, I think I like her
all right.

-I don't.
-You never would, darling.

She's not your
cup of tea at all.

-Who isn't?
-Joanna.

-Oh, she's not bad.

A bit predatory, perhaps,
but then as far as I can tell,

everybody is predatory
in one way or another.

-I shall give it up for Lent.
-Good morning, darling.

-Good morning.
-Where's my present?

-On the piano bench.
-Oh.

It's not another
glass horse, is it?

-No.
It's a dressing gown for Africa.

-A dressing gown, Monica!

Just what we wanted.

Oh, it's absolutely charming,

and I'm mad about it.

Don't anybody say anything
important for five minutes.

Impeccable taste.

Just the right
sort of colonial propaganda.

Say something about it, Monica.

-I'm speechless.

-So beautifully austere.

-Oh, Henry rang up.
He's going to Brussels today,

and he's coming in to see you
before he goes.

-If these shoulders
were only mine.

-So is Morris, I think.

-Go away then, Monica.

I must talk to Garry
before Morris gets here.

It's important.

-You better hurry.

Mr. Maule will be here
in a minute.

-Who's Mr. Maule?

-Oh, you know
perfectly well who he is.

He's the young man who wrote
this mad play, "Half Inverse,"

and caught you on the telephone.

Oh, you were so busy being
attractive and unspoiled

by your great success that
you promised him an appointment.

-Monica, it is your pride
and pleasure

to protect me
from things like that.

I can't possibly see him.
-You must see him.

He's come all the way
from Uckfield,

and it serves you right

for snatching the telephone
when I wasn't looking.

-I've noticed a great change
in you lately, Monica.

I don't know whether it's
because you've given up

cramming yourself with potatoes
or what it is,

but you're getting nastier
with every day that passes.

-I shall be in the office
if you want me.

-Yes, of course
you'll be in the office,

spinning awful plots
and intrigues against me.

I shouldn't wonder.
-I will, if I can think of any.

-Go away.
-Liz.

-Yes, darling.
-Do try to persuade him

to have some electric
treatments on his hair.

It's getting terribly thin.

-And switch that telephone off!

-All right.

-Well, darling, tell me
all about everything.

-I saw the play.

-Is it good?
-Yes, very.

It's a perfect part for you.

We shall have to
change it a bit,

but the writer is quite willing

to do what we like
as long as you play it.

-All right.

-I'm seeing Morris after lunch
to see if he'll direct it.

Now then, I want to talk to you
about something else.

-I don't like that tone at all.

What's on your mind?
-You.

Your general behavior.

-Oh, Liz, what have I done now?

-Don't you think it's time
you started to relax?

-I don't know what
you're talking about.

-Who was that poor
little creature

I saw here this morning
in evening dress?

-She'd lost her latchkey!
-They often do.

-Now, Liz --
-In my humble opinion,

all this casual scampering about
is rather undignified.

-Casual scampering, indeed.

You have a genius
for putting things unpleasantly.

-Don't misunderstand me.

I'm not taking the moral view.

I gave that up
as hopeless years ago.

No, I'm merely basing my little
homily on reason, dignity,

position
and, let's face it, age.

-May God forgive you.

It's all very fine for you
to come roaring back from Paris

where you've been up to
God knows what

and start to bully me.

-Oh, I'm not bullying you.
-Yes, you are!

You're --you're --
you're sitting smug as be damned

on an awful little cloud
and blowing down on me.

-Don't bluster.

-Who deserted me
in the first place,

abandoned me, and left me
a prey to everybody?

Answer me that.

-I did, thank God.
-Well then.

-Would you like me
to have stayed?

-Certainly not.
You drove me mad.

-Stop shilly-shallying about
then and pay attention!

-This to date is the most
irritating morning of my life.

-Be good.
There's a darling.

I mean it.
-What do you mean?

-Exactly this.

Your behavior
naturally affects all of us.

Morris, Henry, Monica and me,
you're responsible for us,

and we are responsible for you.

You never miss an opportunity
of lecturing us

and wagging your finger
in our faces

when we happen to do something
you don't approve of.

-Of all the base ingratitude.

-I think the time
has come for you

to look very carefully
at yourself

and see if you really need
all this buccaneering.

- Buccaneering?

-Just try not to be
so devastatingly charming

to people for a little.

Think what fun it would be
to be unattractive

for a minute or two.

Why, you might take to it
like a duck to water.

-Oh, Liz.

You know, you really
are very sweet.

-Oh, dear.

I might as well
be talking Chinese.

-Oh, don't be cross,
Liz, please.

I admit, I am a trifle feckless
every now and then,

but I really don't do
any harm to anybody.

-You do harm to yourself
and to the few,

to the very few
who really mind about you.

-Oh, I suppose you've been
discussing this already

with Monica
and Henry and Morris.

-Well, I haven't yet,
but I will unless

I see some sign of improvement.

-Blackmail, hey?

-Well, you know how you hate it

when we all make
a concerted pounce.

-The thing that astonishes me
in life is people's arrogance.

-Well, you're a fine one
to talk about arrogance.

-Well, it's fantastic.

Look at you all
gossiping in corners,

whispering behind your fans,

telling me what to do
and what not to do.

It's downright sauce.
That's what it is.

And what happens
if I relax my loving hold

on any of you for one minute?

Disaster!

I'm having to play a three-month
season in New York.

Henry immediately
gets pneumonia,

goes to Biarritz to recover,
meets Joanna, and marries her.

-Isn't this all a little
beside the point?

-I go for a brief holiday
in Saint-Tropez,

and when I come back,
what do I find?

-We're not going to have
that all over again.

-You and Henry have put
all of Henry's money

into "The Lost Cavalier."

And who played it for 18 months

to capacity with extra matinees?

I did!
-You did!

-And who started
his whole career

as a director in that play?

-Morris.

-And who's idea --
-Oh, I wish you would stop

asking questions
and answering them yourself.

It's making me giddy.

-Well, where would they
have been without me?

Where would Monica be now
if I hadn't snatched her away

from that sinister old aunt
of hers and given her a job?

-With the sinister old aunt.
-And you, my dear,

one of the most melancholy
depressing actresses

on the English stage,

where would you be now
if I hadn't forced you

to give up acting
and start writing?

Good God, I even had
to marry you to do it.

-Oh, yes.

And a fine gesture
that turned out to be.

-Well, I was in love with you

for longer than I was
with anyone else.

You can't grumble.
-I never grumbled.

I believe in going through
any experience,

however shattering.
-You adored me.

You know you did.
-I still do, dear.

You're so chivalrous, rubbing it
in how dependent we all

are on you
for every breath we take.

-I didn't say that.

-You are just as dependent
on us anyway, now.

We stop you being extravagant

and buying houses
every five minutes.

We stopped you in the nick of
time from playing Peer Gynt.

-I still maintain I would have
been magnificent as Peer Gynt.

-Above all, we stop you
from overacting.

-You have now gone too far.

I think you had better
go away somewhere.

-I've only just come back.
-Monica.

Monica, come here at once.

-What on Earth is the matter?

-Have you or have you
not seen me overact?

-Frequently.

-It's a conspiracy.
I knew it!

-As a matter of fact,
you're overacting now.

-Oh. Very well.

I give in.

You're all against me.

It doesn't matter about me.

Oh, no.
I'm only the breadwinner.

It doesn't matter that
I'm wounded and insulted.

It doesn't matter that
my timorous belief in myself

should be subtly undermined.

-Your belief in yourself is
about as timorous as Napoleon's.

-And look what happened to him.

He died forsaken and alone
on a beastly little island

all surrounded by water.

-Islands have that in common.

Now then, about Morris,

I want you to concentrate
for a minute.

-How can I concentrate?
-I'm very worried.

-About Morris?
Why? What's wrong?

-I'm not definitely sure
anything is, really,

but I've heard things.
-Well, what sort of thing?

-It's Joanna.

-Joa-- Joanna?

-Apparently Morris is
in love with her.

I don't know how far it's gone
or any details,

but I do know that if it's true,

something ought to be done
about it and at once.

-Morris and Joanna.

He must be mad.

Does Henry suspect anything?

-I don't think so, but you know
he never would, would he,

unless it were shoved
under his nose.

-He ought never to have
married that

stereotyped diamond-studded
siren in the first place.

I always said it was
a grave mistake.

-Well, I don't think she's
as stereotyped as all that,

but she's dangerous all right.

-I've always run
a mile from her.

Oh, Morris!

Really, it's too tiresome.

Just as I'm about
to go away and everything.

This could bust up
our whole business.

-If Henry finds out,
it certainly will.

-What are we to do?

-First of all, find out from
Morris whether it's true or not.

And if it is, how far it's gone.

Then read him the riot act,
get him away somewhere.

Take him to Africa with you,
anything.

-Oh, it's that beastly
young man from Uckfield.

And here I am trembling
like a leaf.

I can't face him.
I can't.

-You've got to if you promised.

-My life is one long torment,

and none of you
even remotely cares.

-It might not be
the young man at all.

It might be Morris.
-To hell with Morris.

To hell with everybody.
-Don't be idiotic.

You have got to find out.

I shall be in until 1:15.

Telephone me as soon
as he's gone.

-I'm lunching with him.

He won't go.
-Oh.

-I can't very well give you a
detailed report of his love life

over the telephone
with him sitting there.

Dial my number by mistake
and just say,

"I'm so sorry.
It's the wrong number."

Then I shall know.

-What will you know?
-That everything is all right.

But if you say, "I'm so terribly
sorry, it's the wrong number,"

I'll know everything
is all wrong,

and I'll be round
in a flash to back you up.

-Intrigue.

My whole life
is enmeshed in intrigue.

-Have you got that clear?
Will you promise to do it?

- Yes, all right.

I'll tell you another
fascinating thing

about my life here
if you're interested.

No one in this house in any
circumstance whatsoever

answers a bell in under an hour.

Miss Erikson! Fred!

-I'm going now.

-The front doorbell,
Miss Erikson,

has been pealing
incessantly for 28 minutes.

-Alas, yes, but there is
a woman at the back door

with a tiny baby.

-What does she want?
-I do not know.

There was no time to ask her.

-Most of the silver
is gone by now I expect.

Monica, Monica.

Monica, there's a woman at
the back door with a tiny baby.

Go and deal with her.

-What does she want?
-That, Monica, dear,

can only be accurately

ascertained by bloody well
asking her.

Kindly do so.
-There's no need to snap at me.

-Mr. Maule.

-How do you do?
-How do you do?

-This is my wife.

Mr. Maule.
-Oh, how do you do?

-How do you do?
Ah!

I know you have
an appointment with Garry,

and I wouldn't dream
of interrupting it,

so I'll say goodbye.

-Goodbye.
-Goodbye.

Ah!

Remember, Garry, I shall be
sitting by the telephone.

-Yes, I'm so sorry.

It's the wrong number.
-All right.

-I'm so terrible sorry.

It's the wrong number.
-All wrong.

-All right.

Goodbye, darling.

Thank you.
And, well, good luck.

Do sit down, Mr. Maule.

-Oh, thank you.

-Cigarette?

-No, thank you.
-Don't you smoke?

-No.
-Drink?

-No. Thank you.

-How old are you?
-25. Why?

-Oh, doesn't matter.
Just wondered.

-Well, how old are you?

-43 in December.

Jupiter, you know,
very energetic.

Yes, of course.

-So, you've come all the way
from Uckfield.

-It isn't very far.
-Yes, I know,

but it sort of sounds far,
doesn't it?

-Oh, it's a sweet little thing,
but it looks far from well.

-What did she want?
-Her sister.

-Well, we haven't got her,
have we?

-She lives two doors down
in the Mews.

It was all a mistake.

-I must introduce you.

Mr. Maule, this is
my secretary, Miss Reed.

-How do you do?
-How do you do?

There's your script, Mr. Maule.

-Oh, thank you very much!

-Do sit down again, Mr. Maule.

I must talk to you
about your play.

-Well, I expect you hated it.

-Well, to be candid, I thought
it was a little uneven.

-I thought you'd say that.

-I'm glad I'm running
so true to form.

-Well, I mean, it really
isn't the sort of thing

you would like, is it?

-In that case, why on Earth
did you send it to me?

-Well, I just took a chance.

I mean, I know you only play
rather trashy stuff as a rule,

but I thought you just
might like to have a shot

at something deeper.

-And what is there
in your play, Mr. Maule,

that you consider so deep,
apart from the plot,

which is completely submerged
after the first four pages?

-Plots aren't important.

It's ideas that matter.

Look at Chekhov.

-In addition to ideas,
I think we might concede

Chekhov a certain flimsy sense
of psychology, don't you?

-You mean my play isn't
psychologically accurate.

-It isn't very good, you know?

Really, it isn't.

-Well, I think
it's very good indeed.

-I understand that perfectly.

But you must admit
that my opinion,

based on a lifelong experience
of the theater,

might be the right one.

-The commercial theater.

-Oh, dear.

-I suppose you'll say that
if Shakespeare wrote for

the commercial theater,

and the only point of doing
anything with the drama at all

is to make money,
all those old arguments...

What you don't realize is that
the theater of the future

is the theater of ideas.
-That may be.

But at the moment, I am occupied
with the theater of the present.

-And what do you do with it?

Every play you appear in
is exactly the same --

superficial, frivolous,

without the slightest
intellectual significance.

You have a great following
and a strong personality.

And all you do
is prostitute yourself

every night of your life.

All you do with your talent

is to wear dressing gowns
and --

and make witty remarks

when you might really
be helping people,

making them think,
making them feel.

You --

-There can be no two
opinions about it.

I am having a most
discouraging morning.

-If you want to live
in people's memories,

to go down to posterity
as an important man,

you better do something
about it quickly.

There isn't a moment to be lost.

-I-I don't give a hoot
about posterity.

Why should I worry about
what people think of me

when I'm dead
as a doornail anyway?

My worst defect is that
I'm apt to worry too much

about what people think of me
when I'm alive.

But I'm not going
to do that anymore.

I'm changing my methods.

And you,
my high-brow young friend,

are my first experiment.

Sit down.

To begin with, your play
isn't a play at all.

It's a meaningless jumble

of adolescent
pseudo-intellectual poppycock.

It bears no relation
to the theater

or to life

or to anything.

And you wouldn't
even be here now

if I hadn't been
bloody fool enough

to pick up the telephone when
my secretary wasn't looking.

Now that you are here, though,

I would like to tell you this.

If you wish to be a playwright,

you just need
the theater of tomorrow

to take care of itself.

Go and get yourself
a job as a butler

in a repertory company
if they'll have you.

Learn from the ground up

how plays are constructed,

what is actable and what isn't.

Then sit down and write
at least 20 plays,

one after the other.

And if you can manage
to get the 21st produced

for a Sunday night performance,

you'll be damned lucky.

-I had no idea
you were like this.

You're wonderful!

-Oh, God.

-I'm awfully sorry if you think
I was impertinent just now.

But I'm awfully glad, too,

because if I hadn't been,

you wouldn't have got angry.

And if you hadn't got angry,

I wouldn't have known
what you're really like.

-You don't in the least know
what I'm really like.

-Oh, yes, I do now.

-I can't see that
it matters anyway.

-No, no.
It matters to me.

-How do you mean?
-Do you really want to know?

-Uh...

What are you talking about?

-Well, it's rather difficult
to explain, really.

-What's difficult to explain?
-What I feel about you.

-Now look here, young man.
-No, no, no!

Let me speak, please.
Please.

You see, in a way, I've been
rather unhappy about you

for quite a long time.

You've been a sort of

obsession with me.

I saw you in your
last play 47 times.

One week, I went every night

because I was up in town
trying to pass an exam.

-Did you pass it?
-Oh, no, I didn't.

-I'm not surprised.

-My father wants me
to be a lawyer.

Imagine.
-Imagine.

-That's what the exam was for.

But actually, I've been studying
psychology a great deal

because somehow I felt that
I wasn't at peace with myself.

But then gradually, bit by bit,

I-I-I began to realize that
you signified something to me.

-What sort of something?

-I don't quite know.

Not yet.

-Do you know that "not yet" is
one of the most sinister remarks

I've ever heard in my life?

-Don't laugh at me, please.

I'm always sick
if anyone laughs at me.

-Forgive me, but you know
you really

are the most peculiar young man.

-Can I come and see you again?

-I'm afraid I'm going to Africa.

-Would you see me
if I came to Africa, too?

-I really think you'd be
far happier in Uckfield.

-Well, I expect
you think I'm mad.

But I'm not, really!

I just mind deeply
about certain things.

But --
But I feel much better now

because I think I shall be able

to sublimate you all right.

-Sublimate me.

-Yes.
-Good. Well, in that case,

I'm afraid
I shall have to ask you to go

and start the sublimation
process immediately.

I'm expecting my director,
and we have business to discuss.

-Oh, no.
No, that's all right.

I'm going immediately.

-Don't forget your script.

-No, no.

Tear it up.

You were quite right about it.

It was only written
with part of myself.

I see that now.

Goodbye.

-Goodbye.

-Goodbye.

- Goodbye.

Monica!

Moni-- Monica!

-Has he gone?

-If ever that young man
rings up again,

get rid of him at once!

He's mad as a hatter.

-What did he do?
-He started by insulting me,

and he finished
by sublimating me.

-Poor dear, you look
quite shattered.

-I am.
-Have a glass of sherry.

-Those are the first kind words
I've heard all morning.

- I think I'll have a nip, too.

-There's Morris.
What time is it?

-Oh, 20 to 1:00.
Here you are, dear.

-Oh, thank you.
-It's, well, I --

-You'd better.

Too late.

-There's a strange young man
sitting on the stairs.

-What's he doing?
-Crying.

-Yes, what have you
been up to, Garry?

-I haven't been up to anything.

I merely told him
what I thought of his play.

-Well, I'm glad to see you
haven't lost your touch.

-Sherry, Morris?
-Yes, thanks.

-Henry?

-Is it the same sherry
that we always have?

-Yes.
-No, thanks.

-Why?
What's the matter with it?

-Nothing much.
It's just not very nice.

-You ought never to have
joined the Athenaeum Club.

It's made you pompous.

-Well, Henry is quite right
about the sherry.

It's disgusting.

-If anybody complains
about anything else,

I shall go out of my mind.

This studio has been like
a wailing wall all morning.

-What's the matter
with the old boy, Monica?

He seems remarkably crotchety.

-Liz went for him a bit, and
then I told him he overacted.

He really has had rather
a beastly time.

And then that dotty young man
on top of everything.

-Well, never mind, Garry.

God's in his heaven and all
is right with the world.

I've got some lovely
bad news for you.

-What?

-Nora Fenwick
can't go to Africa.

-Why not?
-She's broken her leg.

-Well, really.

-Isn't actually
so terribly important.

-Oh, oh, dear me, no.

It couldn't matter less.

It only means that I have to
spend the entire voyage out

rehearsing a new woman in
six different character parts.

How did she do it?

-Well, she fell down
at Victoria Station.

-She had no right to be
at Victoria Station!

Who can we get?

-Well, Morris wants
Beryl Willard,

but I don't think
she's quite right.

-Beryl Willard.
-Beryl Willard, yes.

-Morris wants Beryl Willard,
does he?

-Well, why not?
She's extremely competent!

-Oh, I-I quite agree.

Beryl Willard is
extremely competent.

Beryl Willard has been
extremely competent,

man and boy,
for over 40 years.

-In addition to
her extreme competence,

she has contrived
with uncanny skill

to sustain a spotless reputation

for being the most paralyzing,

monumental, world-shattering,

God-awful bore
that ever drew breath.

-Really, Garry! I don't see how
you can speak of her like that!

-Let me explain
one thing further.

No prayer, no bribe, no threat,

no power human or divine

would induce me to go to Africa
with Beryl Willard!

I wouldn't go as far as
Wimbledon with Beryl Willard!

-What he's trying to say is he
doesn't care for Beryl Willard.

-All right. All right.
She's out.

Whom do you suggest?
-Just a minute.

If you're going to start one
of those casting arguments,

I'm going.

I've got to catch a plane
for Brussels.

I just want to let you know
that you can't have

the Mayfair Theater

for the French play
in the autumn.

-Why not?

-Robert's got it for the whole
season starting in September.

-Why did you let him?
You knew I wanted it!

-The Lyceum is very much nicer,
and the capacity is bigger.

-It's a conspiracy.

You, both of you have been
trying to get me

into that under-heated morgue
for years!

-It's been done up
and redecorated.

-It'll have to be rebuilt
brick by brick

before I set foot in it.

-Arrange it later,
will you, Morris?

He's obviously in one
of his states this morning.

I can't stop now.

-What are you going
to Brussels for, anyhow?

-For business.

Nice, ordinary,
straightforward business.

Nothing to do
with the theater at all.

I can't wait to get there.

Goodbye, sweetie.

Try to be a little more
amiable when I come back.

Goodbye, Morris.
-Yes.

-By the way, you might
call up Joanna.

She's all alone.
-Oh, I have.

I'm taking her to the opening
at the Haymarket tomorrow night.

-Fine.
Goodbye, Monica.

-Do you want me anymore?
-Why?

What are you going to do?

-I'm going to write
to Beryl Willard

and ask her to come
and live with you.

-So you're taking Joanna
to the opening

at the Haymarket tomorrow night?

-Yes. Why?

-Why not?

Why not, indeed.

-What on Earth do you mean?

-I think I shall come, too.
-All right.

That'll be grand!
I've got a box.

There's lots of room.

-Morris, why have you been
looking so mournful lately?

-I haven't been looking
in the least mournful.

I'm -- I'm perfectly happy.

-Morris, y-you like Joanna,
don't you?

-Of course I do.
She's a darling.

-Well, I wouldn't exactly
describe her as a darling,

but then I don't see
that much of her.

I gather you do.

-What --
What are you getting at?

-People are beginning
to talk, Morris.

-What about?
-You and Joanna.

-Rubbish.

-Are you in love with her?
-In love with Joanna?

Of course I'm not!

-Are you preparing to be?

I can generally tell when
you're about to embark

on one of your
emotional rampages.

-Oh, I like that, I must say.

What about you?
-Never mind about me.

Nobody could accuse me
of being emotional.

- Couldn't they just!

Look at Sylvia Laurie!

You carried on like a maniac
over her for weeks,

all that sobbing and screaming.

-That was years and years ago.
-Never mind when it was.

It was.
You wore us all to shreds.

-I notice you very adroitly
turned the conversation

into an attack on me.

-Now, really, Garry,
what's the point?

-Do you swear to me
that you haven't had

an affair with Joanna?

-Well, I'm damned if I'll be
cross-questioned like this.

-If you're fooling about
with Joanna on the side,

and Henry finds out, do you
realize what it will mean?

-I refuse to go on
with this conversation!

-You can refuse till
you're blue in the face.

You're going to listen to me!
-I'm not!

-Oh, Morris.

It's true, then, isn't it?

Oh, God.
God, oh, this is serious.

This is really serious.
Please, please, sit down.

Sit down!
-No.

No, I have no intention
of submitting to

one of your famous
finger-wagging tirades.

I'm sick to death of them.

-Now, look here.

We have never lied to each other

about anything
really vital to us.

Have we?
-Well, no.

-Then it would be
rather foolish

to start now, wouldn't it?
-You're right! All right!

But as far as I can see,
nobody has!

-I'm not going to ask you
any more questions.

I am, however, going to make you
see one thing clearly,

and it is this.

You, Henry, Monica, Liz, and I

share something of inestimable
importance to all of us.

That something is
mutual respect and trust.

Here we are, five people closely
woven together by affection

and work and intimate
knowledge of each other.

It's too important to set up,
to risk breaking

for any outside emotional reason
whatsoever.

Joanna is alien to us.

She doesn't really belong to us
and never could.

Henry realizes that
perfectly well.

And to do him justice,

I must say he has never
tried to force her on us.

But don't you believe
for one minute

she's not a potential danger,
because she is.

She is exceedingly attractive

and ruthlessly implacable

in the pursuit of
anything she wants.

If she could succeed in wreaking
havoc among all of us,

I'm sure there's no stone
she would leave unturned.

She's a scalp hunter,
that baby, a go-getter,

a collector if ever I saw one.

And all I'm asking you,
all I'm imploring you is this --

be careful.

-But I haven't the least
intention --

--You needn't say anything now,

but be careful.

Is that clear?

-Quite.

I think I'll have
a little more sherry.

-I think I will, too.

It's delicious.
-Yes.

-Would you?
-Yes.

-I forgot to ring up
for a table.

-Oh, there's no need.
We can always go upstairs.

-Oh, no, no, no.

Upstairs smells of
potted shrimps.

It won't take a moment.

I'm so sorry.

It's the wrong number.

-It's very pretty,

very pretty indeed.

-Oh, you look very dressy
tonight, Fred.

Where are you going?

-Tagani's.

-Tagani's -- is that a nightclub
or a dance hall or what?

-A bit of all sorts, really.

Doris works there.

-Oh, what does she do?

-She sings a couple of numbers

and does a dance
with a skipping rope.

-Very enjoyable.

-I think it's a bit wet,
if you ask me.

But still, goes down all right.

-Are you going to marry Doris?

-Me, marry?

What a laugh.

-No, Fred,
you are dreadfully immoral.

-That's right.

-I happen to know for a fact
that you've been what is known

as taking advantages of Doris
for over two years now.

-Well, why not? She likes it.

I like it.
And a good time is had by all.

-What's she going to do
when we got to Africa?

-Ah, she'll manage.

She's got a couple blokes
running around after her now.

-Oh. I see.

She's communal.

-Will you ring in the morning
as usual,

or do you want to be called?

-I'll ring.
Has Miss Erikson gone?

-Yes, she went early.

She's, uh, she's gone
to a friend in Hammersmith.

They turn out all the lights,

play a gramophone,

and talk to an Indian.

-Well, if it amuses them
and pleases the Indian,

I suppose it's all right.

-Well, she's a good worker,
you know,

even if she is a bit scatty,

and you can't have everything,
can you?

-No, Fred,
you most certainly can't.

-Will that be all?

-Yes, thank you.

Enjoy yourself.
-Same to you.

Be good.

-Hello, hello.
Who's this speaking?

Oh, hello, Liz.

Yes, I've been in
about half an hour.

Yes, quite alone.

I'm turning over a new leaf.

Hadn't you heard?

Yes, I-I went to the play
with him last night,

to the Savoy
afterwards for supper,

and then, uh, Morris and I
dropped her home.

No. No.

No, as a matter of fact,
she was very charming.

She's quite intelligent,
you know.

And I must say, she's
a permanent pleasure to the eye.

All right.

I'm going straight to bed.

Yes, alone.

All right.

You too. Be good.

Good night.

Darling.

Ohh.

Damn.

Joanna.

-Oh, I can't tell you how
relieved I am that you're in.

I've done
the most idiotic thing.

-Why?
Whatever has happened?

-Well,
I've forgotten my latchkey.

-Oh, Joanna.

-Oh, don't look at me like that!

I'm not in the least
inefficient as a rule.

This is the first time I've ever
done such a thing in my life.

I'm in an absolute fury.

I had to get dressed
in the most awful rush

to get to the Toscanini concert,

and I left it in my other bag.

-And the servants all sleep at
the top of the house I suppose?

-They do more than sleep.

They apparently go off
into a coma.

I've been battering on the door
nearly a half an hour.

-Would you like
something to drink?

-Very much indeed.

Well, I'm exhausted.

-Well, we must decide
what is best to be --

to be done.

-I went to a call box
and I rang up Liz,

but she must be out
because there wasn't a reply.

-You rang up Liz
and there wasn't any reply?

-Mm.
As I hadn't any more change,

and the taxi man hadn't either,

I came straight here.

Oh, thank you.

You're looking very whimsical.

Don't you believe me?

-Of course I believe you,
Joanna.

Why on Earth shouldn't I?

-I don't know.

You always look at me as if
you didn't trust me an inch.

It's a shame because
I'm so nice, really.

-I'm sure you are, Joanna.

-I know that voice, Garry.

You used it in every play
you've ever been in.

-Complete naturalness on
the stage is my strong suit.

You've never liked me really,
have you?

-No, not particularly.

-I wonder why.

-I always had a feeling
you were rather tiresome.

-Oh.

In what way tiresome?

-I don't know. There's a certain
arrogance about you.

A little too much
self assurance.

-You don't care
for competition, I see.

-You're lovely looking,
of course.

I've
always thought that.

-Well, thank you.

-If perhaps a little
too aware of it.

-You're being
conventionally odious,

but somehow it doesn't
quite ring true.

But then you never do
quite ring true, do you?

I expect it's because
you're an actor.

They're always apt to be
a bit papier-mâché.

-Puppets, Joanna, dear.

Creatures of tinsel and sawdust.

How clever of you
to have noticed it.

-I wish you'd stop being suave
just for a minute.

-What would you like me to do?

Fly into a tantrum?
Burst into tears?

-I think I should
like you to be kind.

-Kind.

-Yes.

At least kind enough
to make an effort

to overcome your perfectly
obvious prejudice against me.

-I'm sorry it's so obvious.

-I know you resented me
marrying Henry.

You all did, and I entirely see
why you should have

anyhow, at first.

But after all,
that's five years ago.

During that time, I've done
my best not to obtrude myself,

not to encroach on
any special preserves.

But my reward has been
rather meager,

from you particularly, nothing
but artificial politeness

and a slightly frigid tolerance.

-Poor Joanna.

-I see my appeal has fallen
on stony ground.

I'm sorry.

I think I should like you
to call me a taxi.

-Nonsense.
There's nothing you'd hate more.

You came here for a purpose,
didn't you?

-Of course I did.
I lost my latchkey.

I knew you had a spare room,
and...

-Well?

-I wanted to get to know
you a little better.

-I see.

-No, you don't.

I know what you think,

but I can't altogether
blame you.

In your position
as one of the world's

most famous romantic comedians,

it's only natural you should
imagine every woman

is anxious to hurl herself
at your head.

I'm sure, for instance,
you don't believe for a moment

that I lost my latchkey.

-You're good.
My God, you're good.

-What's the number
for the taxi rank?

I'll ring it up myself.

-Sloan 2-6-6-4.

-Yes, hello.
Is that Sloan 2-6-6-4?

I -- I'm sorry.
It's the wrong number.

-What are you laughing at?

-If only you knew.

-You're enjoying yourself
enormously, aren't you?

-You win.
-Oh, give me the phone.

And don't be so infuriating.

-Have another drink.
-No, thank you.

-Please. I-I am sorry.

-I wish you were really sorry.

-Maybe I am.

-I could cry now.

You know, very effectively.

If I only had the technique.

-Technique certainly is
very important.

-Oh, dear.

-Conversation seems to
have come to a standstill.

-I think perhaps I would like
to have another drink after all.

Just a very small one.

-Soupçon.
-Thank you.

Oh, you make me feel
extraordinarily self-conscious.

That's one of your
most renowned gifts,

isn't it, frightening people?

-Oh, surely you're not going to
pretend that I frighten you.

-It's personality, I expect.

You look strangely young
every now and then.

It would be nice to know

what you were really like
under all the trappings.

-Just a simple boy,
stinking with idealism.

-Sentimental, too.
-Mm.

-Are you happy on the whole?

-Ecstatically.

Would you like me to
play you something?

-No, thank you.
-Why ever not?

You must be mad.
-Oh, not mad, just musical.

-Snappy, too.

Quite rude, in fact.

-Oh.

Yes, that was rather rude,
wasn't it?

I'm sorry.

-Never mind.

What should be we do now?

-Do?

Is there any necessity
to do anything?

-I don't know.

My social sense tells me
something is demanded,

but for the life of me,
I can't think what it is.

That's why I suggested
playing to you.

-You must be pretty shattering
to the young and inexperienced.

-Is that a subtle allusion
to my charm?

-You glitter so brightly.

You're so gaily caparisoned,

all the little bells tinkling.

-I sound like a circus horse.

-You are rather
like a circus horse,

as a matter of fact, prancing
into the ring to be admired,

jumping with such assurance
through all the paper hoops.

-Listen, Joanna, dear, you
really must make up your mind.

This provocative skirmishing
is getting me down.

What do you want?

-I want you to be
what I believe you really are --

friendly and genuine,

someone to be trusted.

I want you to do me the honor

of stopping your eternal
performance for a little.

Bring down the curtain.

Take off your makeup and relax.

-Everybody keeps
telling me to relax.

-Why are you so afraid
of being vulnerable?

Wouldn't it rather be a relief?

To be perpetually on guard
must be terribly tiring.

-Oh, I was right about you
from the first!

-Were you?
-Yes!

You're --
You're predatory as hell!

-Oh, Garry.

-You got poor Henry
when he was convalescent.

You made a dead set at Morris,

and now, by God,
you're after me.

No, don't -- don't deny it.

You suddenly appear
out of the night

reeking with
the lust of conquest.

The whole atmosphere
is quivering with it.

That's a new dress, isn't it?

Those are new shoes.
You've had your hair done.

And your mind even more
expertly groomed

to vanquish than your body.

Every word, every phrase,

every change of mood,

cunningly planned.

You want to know
what I'm really like, do you?

Under all the glittering veneer,
well, this is it.

This is what I'm really like.

Fundamentally honest.

When I'm driven into a corner,
I tell the truth,

and the truth at the moment
is that I know you, Joanna.

I know what you're after.

Go away and leave me alone!

-Curtain.

Oh.

-Will you please
go away at once?

-You're really the reason
I married Henry.

-Are there no depths to which
you won't descend?

-Absolutely none.

I'm in love with you.

I've been in love with you
for over seven years now,

and it's high time
something was done about it.

-This is the end.
-Oh, no.

No, my sweet.
Only the beginning.

-Now, listen to me, Joanna.

-I think you better
listen to me first.

-I shall do no such thing.
-You must.

It's terribly important
to us all.

Please. Sit down.

-I-I'd rather walk about
if you don't mind.

-Sit down!

Dear, sweet Garry, please.

Please sit down.

I've got to explain,
and I can't if you're whirling

about all the time.

-This is dreadful.
-First of all,

I want you to promise to answer

one question
absolutely truthfully.

Will you?

-What is it?
-Will you promise?

-Yes, all right. Go on.

-If you had never seen me
in your life before,

if we met for the first time
tonight,

if I were in no way concerned
with anyone you knew,

would you have made love to me?

Would you have wanted me?

-Yes!

-Well, that's that.
-No, no, no. Wait.

-Oh, no. Shut up. No, shut up.
No, shut up.

-I -- No, right.
-No, you must be fair.

You must let me explain.

I'm devoted to Henry.

I'm much fonder of him
than he is of me.

Oh, he was madly in love with me
for the first two years,

but he isn't now.

You stood between us.

Not only in my heart,
but in his.

He hated your thinly veiled
disapproval of me,

and it gradually strangled
his love for me.

Henry has been
lightly unfaithful to me

11 times to my certain knowledge
during the last three years.

He's probably having
a high old time in Brussels

at this very moment.
-You're lying, Joanna.

-I don't mind enough to lie.

Henry is a darling.

I wouldn't leave him
for anything in the world.

We get on perfectly.

Oh, much better now, really,
than we ever did before.

But you are the one
that I'm love with

and always have been.

I don't want to live with you,
God forbid.

Oh, you'd drive me mad
in a week.

But you are to me the most
charming, infuriating,

most passionately attractive man
I've ever known in all my life.

-What about Morris?

-Morris?
-Mm-hmm.

-Oh, don't be so idiotic.

He was only a step nearer you.

-Has there been anything
between you?

-Of course there hasn't.

-You swear that?

-Well, there's no need
for me to swear it.

You can see, can't you?

And even if you can't see, you
must at least be able to feel

that what I'm saying is true.

Well, neither of us
exactly adolescent.

We both know enough
by experience that

when our instincts
are pushing us

with all their force
in one direction,

that it's painful
to rush off in the other.

Who could you and I
possibly harm

by loving each other
for a little?

-May I please get up now?

-Yes.

-How was the Toscanini concert?

-Glorious. He played the "8th"
and the "7th."

-Personally, I always
prefer the "5th."

-Oh, I like the "9th"
best of all.

-Nothing like
the dear old "9th."

-I love Covent Garden.

It's so uncompromising.

-I love the Albert Hall
much, much more.

-I wonder why.
I always find it depressing.

-Not when they do "Hiawatha,"
surely.

-Even then.

-I won't hear one word
against the Albert Hall.

-Oh, good morning.
-Good morning.

-Is Mr. Essendine awake yet?
-He has not rung.

-Oh, I wonder
if you'd be very kind

and let him know that I'm awake?

-Alas, no.

He would be crazy with anger.

-Oh, would he indeed.

I should be crazy
with anger myself

unless I get some breakfast.

I've been ringing that bell
in there for hours.

-It does not work.

-Oddly enough, that dawned on me
after a while.

-It is the mice.

They eat right through
the wires.

They are very destructive.

-Good morning.

-Oh, good morning Miss --
Oh, dear.

-I beg your pardon?

-You're Mrs. Lyppiatt,
aren't you?

-Yes, I am.

-That I gather was
Mr. Essendine's valet.

Does he always behave like that?

-He was a steward
on a very large ship.

-Most of the ship stewards
I've met have good manners.

-He is only one I know.

-I would like some China tea,

some thin toast without butter,
and a soft-boiled egg please.

-We have no tea
and no eggs either,

but I will make
the toast with pleasure.

-Ugh. Have you any coffee?

-Yes. We have coffee.

-Then kindly bring me some
as quickly as you can.

-I will tell Fred.

-And as he was on
a very large ship,

perhaps he can do something

about that faucet
in the bathroom.

-Alas, no.

He was not a bathroom steward.

-Oh, dear.

-Oh, Joanna.
-Oh, good morning, Monica.

-Joanna!

-Ah --

Oh, thank Heaven you've come.

I've had such a complicated chat
with the housekeeper.

-Did you stay the night here?
-Oh, yes.

Wasn't it sweet of Garry
to let me?

I did the most idiotic thing.

I lost my latchkey.

-You lost your latchkey.

-I was in absolute despair

and then I suddenly
thought of Garry.

-Suddenly thought of Garry.

-Why do you keep repeating
everything I say?

-I don't know.

It seems easier
than saying anything else.

-Why, Monica, you actually look

as if you disapprove
of my staying the night here.

-I think it was tactless,
to say the least of it.

-In heaven's name, why?

It was a perfectly natural thing
to do in the circumstances.

-When in Henry coming home?

-Tomorrow morning
on the 11:00 plane.

Is there anything else
you'd like to know?

-No. No, no.

I don't think I want to know
anything else at all.

-I really do resent your manner
a little bit.

Anyone would think
I'd done something awful.

-Obviously you are
a better judge of that than I.

I really don't feel equal
to continuing this

rather strained conversation
before I've had some coffee.

Perhaps you'd be kind enough
to hurry it up for me.

-I always knew it.
-Always knew what?

- That you'd cause trouble!

- I'll see about your coffee.

There's somebody at the door!

You better go back
into the spare room.

-Oh, I'm quite happy here.
Thank you.

-Just as you please.

-Good morning, Monica.

-Hello, Liz!
I'm so glad you've come.

Joanna is here.

-Oh.

Good morning, Joanna.

This is a surprise.

-Oh, Liz, darling, I tried
to get you for hours last night.

I lost my latchkey and was
in the most awful state,

but you weren't in.

-I was in from 10:00 onwards.

You must have been ringing
the wrong number.

-Well, I rang
the number you gave me.

-Then I must have given you
the wrong number.

-Oh.

-I shall be in the office
if you want me, Liz.

-I do want you, Monica,
so don't budge.

-Ah, breakfast.

-Where will you have it?
-Oh, um, here please.

-I think it would be more
comfortable for Mrs. Lyppiatt

to have her coffee
in the spare room.

-Yes, Miss.

-Oh, I'd rather have it out here
if you don't mind.

I like to see what's going on.

-Put it down there
for the moment, Fred.

We will decide later
where Mrs. Lyppiatt

is going to have her coffee.

-Oh, I have already decided,

Liz, but it's sweet of you
to take so much trouble.

-That will be all.
Thank you, Fred.

-Righty-o. Just give us a shout
if you want anything.

-Thanks, I will.

I suppose Garry hasn't been
called yet, has he, Monica?

-I don't know.
Shall I go and wake him?

-No. Not yet.

-Oh, he ought to be
wakened at once, Liz.

It's disgraceful, lying in bed
on a lovely morning like this.

So unhealthy.

He'll be getting fat and flabby
if he's not careful.

-Oh, I wish to God he would!

-I wonder what she put in this
coffee, apart the coffee I mean.

-Weed killer,
if she had any sense.

-You're being remarkably
offensive this morning, Monica.

One always hears that
the secretaries of famous men

are rather frustrated
and dragon-like.

It's funny you should turn out
so true to type.

-But the only thing that is
frustrating me at the moment

is a wholesome fear
of the gallows.

-Poor thing.

I suppose she's mad about Garry
like all of us.

-All of us, Joanna?

-Oh, I must say,
he is enchanting.

We had the most lovely talk
last night.

-I think it would be better
if neither Morris nor Henry

knew you stayed the night here,
Joanna.

-Good heavens, why?

Henry wouldn't mind a bit.

-I wouldn't be too sure
if I were you.

Anyhow, Morris would.

-Morris?

What's it to do with Morris?

-Listen, we don't have
much time to waste

fencing with each other.

I know perfectly well that
you have been unfaithful

to Henry with Morris,

so you needn't trouble
to deny it any further.

-It's a most abominable lie!

-Unfortunately, I dined
quietly with Morris

last night upstairs at the Ivy.

He was very upset
and became rather hysterical,

as you know he sometimes does,
and he told me everything.

-How dare he discuss me
with you, or with anyone.

-I don't think Garry
would like to know

that you have been
Morris' mistress,

and I don't think Morris
would like to know

that you have been
Garry's mistress,

which I suspect you have.

-Mistress, indeed!

Melodramatic nonsense.

-And I don't think Henry
would like to know anything

about any of this.

-Are you trying to blackmail me?

-Yes. I am.

-You mean you'd be low enough
to tell Garry?

-Yes, and Morris and Henry.

I will tell them all
unless you do as I say.

-Hmm. I suppose you're still
in love with Garry yourself?

- Not in the least.

But even if I were,
that is beside the point.

I certainly love him.

I love Henry and Morris, too.

We have been devoted to
one another for many years,

and I'm not taking any risk

that you will upset it
even temporarily.

You are going to do
as I tell you.

-And what if I don't?

-You'll be out, my dear,
with all of us forever,

with Garry most of all.

-You're very sure.
-Absolutely positive.

I know Garry very well,
you know.

After all, I've had
every opportunity.

-Pity you ever left him.

-For him, yes, I think it is.

-And why should you imagine

I should mind
so terribly being out

with all of you, as you put it?

-Principally because you made
such a terrific effort

to get in.

You'd have had a much better
result, and much quicker too,

if you hadn't been
so determined to be alluring.

-Wh-- I have never been spoken
to like this in my life.

-Well, make the most of it.

- Oh!

-I want you to promise me that
you will not see Garry again

before he goes to Africa.
-Well, really.

-Will you promise that?
-No.

Certainly not.
It's nonsense.

I'm bound to see him again.

How could I avoid it?
-You can be ill.

You can go to Paris, anywhere.

-Oh, I have no intention
of doing any such thing.

-Very well. Fred! Fred!

-It'll be you who's breaking
everything up and not me.

-You called, Miss?

-Go and wake Mr. Garry
immediately, will you?

- Righty-o, Miss.

-But answer the door, first!
-Yes, Miss.

-It's Morris.

He told me last night he was
coming to see Garry at 11:00.

-Look here, Liz!
-No, I'm glad really.

It'll be more convenient.

-I can't face him.
It'll be too unpleasant.

I'll...I'll do what you say.
-You swear it?

You swear you won't
see him again?

You'll go away?

-Yes. Yes, I swear it.
-Quickly.

Go back into the spare room.

Don't come out until I tell you!

-It's a Mr. Maule.

He says he has an appointment.

-A mister who?

-Maule.
He looks a bit wet to me.

-Oh, dear. Well, I suppose
you better show him in.

Miss Reed can deal with him.

I'll tell her.
-Righty-o, Miss.

-Monica. Monica!

-What is it?
-A Mr. Maule is here.

-He has no right to be.

He's raving mad!
-Mr. Maule.

-Oh.
-How do you do?

We met before.
Do you remember?

-Yes, very well,

just the other day.
-Yes.

-Have you an appointment
with Mr. Essendine?

-Oh, yes, indeed.

I spoke to him last night
on the telephone.

He told me I was
to come at 10:30.

I fear I'm a little late.

-I'm afraid you can't possibly
see him just at the moment.

Could you come back later?

-Isn't there anywhere
I can wait?

-You can wait in the office...

-Yes!
-...and I will find out

when Mr. Essendine can see you.

-That's very kind of you.
Thanks very much.

-Oh, not at all -- No!

-Oughtn't I to have let him in?
-I don't know!

He says Mr. Garry told him
to come,

although I can hardly believe
that he did.

You better go and wake him
and ask him!

-No, Monica!
Don't wake Garry yet!

I'd rather he slept on
for a bit.

-All right, Fred.

We'll call him later.
-It's all the same to me.

-Listen, Monica, I have
guaranteed that you and I

won't say anything
to Henry or Morris

or anybody about her being here
as long as she swears

not to see Garry again

before he goes to Africa.

-And did she?
-Yes, she did,

but Morris will be here
at any moment

and it's going to be awkward!

There's a telephone in
the spare room, isn't there?

-Yes.
-Is it the same number as this

or is it different?
-It's the private line.

This one's an extension
of the office.

-What's the number?
-You know it.

It's the private line,
Sloan 2-6-4-2.

- Here he is.

Leave this to me.
I'll explain later!

-Oh, Mr. Maule!

What are you doing?

-Garry!
-Oh!

Don't ever do that again
as long as you live.

-Where are you going?
-Out.

-Out where?
-Just out.

I suppose I can't go out
if I want to, can't I?

-Oh, I never even knew
you was up.

You are a dark horse,
and no mistake.

-Don't be impertinent,
Fred, and...

-And go away. All right.
-...go away.

-Oh, uh, the gentleman
is in the office

and the lady is
in the spare room

if you happen to want
either one of them.

-What's he talking about?

The boy is off his rocker.

-Lady? Really, Garry,
you're impossible.

Who is it?
-I would be very much obliged

if everyone would just mind
their own damned business!

-Well, for heaven's sake,
get rid of her!

I've got to talk to you.

I'm in a bad way!
-What's the matter?

-Get rid of her first,
whoever it is.

She's probably got her ear
clamped to the keyhole.

-How can I get rid of her?
She may be in the bath.

-Tell her to hurry!
-Now look here, Morris.

-If you won't, I will.

-I forbid you to go
near that room.

Morris!
-Will you please, please,

please come out of there
as soon as you can?

-I'm coming. I was only just
powdering my nose.

-Liz, it's you?

-It's you?

-Of course.

Who did you think it was?

-Yes, who d--
who did you think it was?

-Well -- Well, I don't know
what you were making

such a fuss about, Garry.

-I, make a fuss?
I-I-I don't know what you mean.

I was just sitting here.

-Why are you so completely
dressed so very suddenly?

You were asleep
a few minutes ago.

-Oh, no, I wasn't.

I most gravely doubt whether
I shall ever sleep again.

-Perhaps your conscience
was troubling you?

-I can't for the life
of me imagine

why everybody is
so absolutely beastly to me.

I can't wait to get to Africa
to be away from the lot of you.

-It won't be exactly
unrelieved sadness for us.

-No sarcasm, please.

-For God's sake,
stop bickering both of you!

I'm in the most awful state!

-Why, what's the matter?

-Liz knows.

I told her last night.
-What does Liz know?

What did you
tell her last night?

-Pull yourself together,
Morris.

Have a drink or something.
Try not to be silly.

-I don't want a drink.

If I have a drink,
it will make it much worse.

It always does.

I haven't slept
for three nights, Garry,

ever since you talked to me
the other morning.

-Oh, dear.
-Why not?

-It's bad enough getting one of
my awful obsessions.

You know what I'm like
when I get an obsession.

God knows you helped me
through enough of them,

but this time I've made
another fool of myself

and -- and -- and -- and...

and I've lied to you
into the bargain.

-Lied to me? What about?

-Joanna and I love each other.

- Ohhhh.

-It's been going on
for several months,

but we made a pact that we would
lie about it to everyone,

whatever happened,

in order not to make an awful
mess and upset everything,

but I'm not used
to lying to you!

I never have before, and it's
been absolutely driving me mad

ever since yesterday afternoon.

I-I couldn't bear it any longer,

and I told Joanna
I was going to tell you,

and she was furious.

She said she'd never speak
to me again if I did

and she -- she went away
and left me.

I've been looking for her
ever since.

She's disappeared.

Her servants say
she hasn't been home all night.

I'm -- I'm so terrified that
something has happened to her.

-Perhaps it has.

You don't like her, Liz.

You never did.

I'm not sure that I do, really,

but -- but I love her.

-The whole thing is
very fragrant, isn't it, Garry?

You needn't fuss any more,
Morris.

Joanna spent the night with me.

-She spent the night with you?
-Yes, on the sofa.

She lost her latchkey.

-No!
-Yes!

She's there now.

I told her I'd tell you
to ring her up if I saw you.

-Yeah, I'll go 'round now!
-No, you better

ring her up first
and she if she's still there.

I'm getting the number for you.

-Oh, thanks, Liz.
-Hello, Maggie.

Is Mrs. Lyppiatt still there?

All right.
Here you are, Morris.

-Hello, Joanna?
-You are a triple fool.

-I was so terrified.

Why didn't you tell me
you were with Liz?

-How did you get her out?
-She's not out.

She's in the spare room
on the other line.

-Well, I was afraid that
something had happened to you!

Yes, I am.

Yes, I am!
I'm at the studio.

Yes, I have!

I had to!

How could you be so cruel?

Listen, Joanna. I must see --

Joanna? Joanna!

Joanna! She's hung up.

-Serves you right.
-I must see her.

I must s--
What am I to do?

-Control yourself
and don't be hysterical!

-I'll go 'round your flat now!

-No!
-No!

-You're coming with me.

-Coming with you?
Where to?

-Westminster Abbey.

-It's cruel and heartless of you

to try to be funny
at a moment like this

when you know
I'm utterly miserable.

-I'm not trying to be funny.

What's the matter
with Westminster Abbey?

It's historic!
-Oh, be quiet, Garry!

Listen, Morris,
it really would be better

if you didn't try to see Joanna
in your present state!

Have a drink and calm down.

-Will you stop flogging
everybody into dipsomania?

-You can see her
later in the day.

-I'm surrounded by lies
and intrigue

and sickening emotionalism,

and I'm telling you
here and now,

I will not put up with it
for one more min--

Oh, what do you want?

-Did you or did you not

give an appointment to
Roland Maule this morning?

-I most emphatically did not!

He terrifies the life out of me!

-Well, he's here.
-Hello!

-Oh, Mr. Maule!
-Oh, no!

-I'm afraid I told a wicked lie
about the appointment,

but I must see you!

It's very, very important!

I want to tell you
that it's all right.

-What's all right?

-About what I felt about you.

I've got the whole thing
straightened out.

-I'm absolutely delighted

and I congratulate you
from the bottom of my heart,

but you really must go n--

-Miss Erikson! Fred!

There's somebody at the door!

-Mr. Maule, I really do think
it would be better

if you were to come back later.

-Couldn't I stay
a little longer?

-No, you really --

-You see, every moment
I'm near him

I get smoother and smoother
and smoother.

-I really don't --
I don't understand.

-Where's Joanna?

Well, she's disappeared.

Oh.

I-I -- W--

I thought you weren't
coming back until tomorrow?

-Joanna -- she hasn't
been home all night.

Nobody knows where she is.
-It's all right, Henry!

She stayed the night with me.

-But I rang the house and
the housekeeper hadn't seen her.

-There's a reason for that.

I'll explain later.

-Wait till you hear it.

-No, something has happened.

I had a presentiment
in the aeroplane.

-I always have a presentiment
in an aeroplane --

a presentiment that
I'm going to be sick.

I think I'm going
to be sick now.

-But why would the housekeeper
say she hadn't seen her?

-Ring her up
if you don't believe me.

Monica, get my flat
on the telephone.

-Thank you, Monica.
If you would.

-How do you do?
My name is Roland Maule.

-How do you do?

-Roland Maule --
I don't think we've met!

-Mr. Maule.
-Hello, Joanna.

Henry wants to speak to you.

It's -- Yes.

He's here.

-Darling?

You gave me
the most awful fright!

-What?
What is happening?

-Are you coming back
to the house?

All right. I'll be in to change
in about half an hour.

All right, darling.

I'll tell her.

Liz?
-Yes?

-She says she's going out
in a minute.

-Oh!

Um, tell her to stay
where she is.

I will pop in
and see her presently.

-Joanna l-- What?

She says she feels as if
she were in a French farce

and is sick to death of it.

She's hung up.

-There's a Lady Saltburn
outside, Miss Reed.

She says she has
an appointment for 11:30.

-Lady who?
-Good heavens!

What's today?

-Black Thursday.

-Thursday, oh,
I've completely forgotten!

Lady Saltburn's niece.

You promised you'd give her
an audition and recommend her

to the Royal Academy
of Dramatic Arts or something.

Don't you remember?
-I most certainly do not.

She must be sent away
immediately!

-You can't send
Lady Saltburn away!

She gave us £50
for the footlights fund!

-I don't care
if she gave us £5,000

for the Dorcester Midwives
Conservative Association.

I'm in no condition to listen
to people's nieces this morning.

I'm on the verge of
a nervous breakdown as it is.

-Why?
What's happened?

-W--

Too much, Henry.

Far, far too much.

-You must see her.
-No.

-It will only take a minute.
-No!

-It would be most
terribly rude not to.

-No!

-Fred, ask her in.
-Righty-o.

-It's all very exciting,
isn't it?

-We better go.

I-I can come back later,
Garry. Liz, Henry, please.

-Lady Saltburn.

Miss Daphne Stillington.

-Mr. Essendine!

This is so charming of you.

-Not at all.
It's a pleasure.

-This is my niece, Daphne.

-Oh, how do you do?

-I believe you knew her mother
years ago.

She died, you know.

-No.

-In Africa.

-In Africa, how dreadful.

-I've been longing to meet you,
Mr. Essendine.

I've loved everything
you've ever done.

-What a charming tribute.

-Daphne simply wouldn't
give me peace

until I had rung up
your secretary

and absolutely implored her
for an appointment.

She is so tremendously
keen, you know.

-She must be.

Oh, I must introduce you
to everyone.

This is my wife, Lady Saltburn.

-How do you do?
-How do you do?

-My secretary, Ms. Reed.
-How do you do?

You were so kind
on the telephone.

-Thank you.

-And these two vivacious figures

are Mr. Dixon and Mr. Lyppiatt.

-How do you do?
-How do you do?

-How do you do?
-Oh, and, uh, Mr. Maule.

-How do you do?
-Oh!

Oh, this is quite a peep

behind the scenes,
isn't it, Daphne dear?

--One peep is quite enough.

-This is the most

thrilling moment of my life,
Mr. Essendine.

I've always wondered
what you'd be like close to.

-You mustn't embarrass
Mr. Essendine, Daphne dear.

-I'm sure he understands,
don't you, Mr. Essendine?

-Of course, my dear,
but I'm afraid

I can only give you
just a few minutes.

You see, I'm terribly busy
just at the moment

making arrangements
for my tour of Africa.

-I had no idea you were
going to Africa.

How very interesting!

You really must pay a visit
to my brother-in-law.

He lives on the most
beautiful mountain, on the top.

-Right on the top?

Right on the top.

-Please excuse us.
We really must go.

We have to go to the office.

Goodbye.
-Oh, how sad.

Goodbye!

-Morris, Liz.
-I'm staying here for a little.

I'll come later.
-All right. Goodbye.

-Goodbye.
-Goodbye, Mr. Maule.

- No, I'm staying, too.

-Are you ready, Daphne dear?

You know how busy
Mr. Essendine is.

I'm sure it was very sweet
of him to see us at all.

Thank you.
We mustn't impose on him.

-Yes. I'm ready.

-What are you going to do?

-Nothing very much.

I'll try not to bore you.

You see, I want you
to hear me say very much.

It means everything to me.

You will hear me, won't you?

You can hear me, can't you?

And you're not angry, are you?

-Daphne, really.
What are you talking about?

-Mr. Essendine understands,
don't you, Mr. Essendine?

-Mr. Essendine
understands everything.

Mr. Essendine always understands
absolutely everything.

What no one else
seems to understand

is that the strain of it
is driving him,

step by step,
to a suicide's grave.

-Don't be affected, Garry.
-My wife, Lady Saltburn,

left me several years ago.

Gnawing regret
has embittered her.

-There's nothing worse
than regret.

Look at Chekhov -- he knew!

-We have no time for Chekhov
at the moment, Mr. Maule.

What are you going to do, sing?

-No, I'm not going to sing.

I'm just going to say
a few lines.

-Say a few lines. Good.

Well, you do you want
to stand on anything?

-No.
-Sit on anything?

-No.
-Glass of water?

-No.
-Very well.

Fire away.

-"We meet not as we parted..."

- I knew it.

-"We feel more than all may see;

My bosom is heavy-hearted,

And thine full of doubt
for me: --

One moment has bound the free.

That moment is gone forever,

Like lightning that
flashed and died --

Like a snowball
upon the river" --

-Flake. "Snowflake," my dear.

-"Like a snowflake
upon the river --

Like a sunbeam upon the tide,

Which the dark shadows hide."

That moment from time
with 'sing-led'" --

-What? "Sing-led"?
Oh, oh, oh, singled.

Of course, yes.
Oh, that's very good.

I've never heard that before.

-"As the first of
a life of pain;

The cup of its joy
was 'ming-led'" --

-Even better, "ming-led."

-"Delusion too sweet,
though vain!

Too sweet to be mine again."

- Very good. Very good indeed.

-That room is like a Frigidaire,

and I have no intention

of staying in it
one moment longer.

Would somebody kindly
call me a taxi?

-Oh, dear.
You better take my car, Joanna.

It's downstairs.

-The chauffeur has got red hair
and his name is Frobisher.

-Daphne!

-Thank you very much.

I shan't see you again, Garry,

as I'm going to Paris tomorrow
for a month,

so this is goodbye.

Oh, please, don't imagine

I haven't enjoyed the circus
enormously.

I have.

But in the circuses
I've been used to,

it was always the ring master
who cracked the whip,

not the clowns.

-Oh!
-This is splendid!

Splendid!

I feel reborn!
-Daphne, darling, darling.

-"I shall never forget
those lovely days in Madeira

and our picnics on the rocks.

What fun we had.

It really was wonderful getting
to know you intimately like that

without..."

"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

I know for my exciting news.

I am coming to England --
imagine.

I arrive on the 28th

and shall be in London
for three whole weeks.

I'm so longing to see you again.

With my love and many,
many glorious memories,

yours, Winnie."

-Poor Winnie.

How old is this one?

-It's dated November the 7th.

-That's over six months ago!

She must be gone by now!

-Well, you're the one
who told me to put it

in Mount Pleasant
with all the others.

-Too late to do anything
about it now.

-Much.

And here's one signed "Joe."

-Joe what?
-Just Joe.

It's dated February the 2nd.

It seems he met you
in the south of France.

-I do get about, don't I?

Oh, it's Joe!

-That's what I said.

-Joe is wonderful.

I met him in Marseilles.

He comes from Madras.
What does he want?

-It's at the end,

after the bit about
his sister having a baby.

-Curious piece of information
to be sending me.

Oh, why didn't you send him one?

All he wanted was
an autographed photograph.

-Because I didn't
consider that "Joe, Madras"

was sufficient address.

-Well, I'm damned if I remember
his other name.

-Well, he's out of luck
then, isn't he?

-I wonder if I shall ever
see green England again?

-I see no reason
why you shouldn't.

-I might die of some
awful tropical disease

or be bitten by a snake.

-I doubt there are many snakes
in the larger cities.

-I can see myself now
under a mosquito net

fighting for breath.

-Who with?

-You have a flat,
literal mind, Monica.

It must be
very depressing for you.

-I get by.

-How many more are there?

- Oh, about -- about 20.

-Oh, I can't bear it.

Put them away until I come back.

-Well, just now you seemed
to be in doubt

as to whether
you were coming back.

-Well, I can't answer letters
if I'm dead, can I?

-You finished with the tray?

I want to be getting along.
-Yes, Fred.

Is everything packed?

-All except
the last-minute stuff.

We can pop that in
in the morning.

-Is this poor Doris' swan song?

-How do you mean?

-Nothing, Fred.
Couldn't matter less.

-She's coming to the station
tomorrow morning to see us off.

You don't mind, do you?

-I can't wait.

-Well, I must be
getting home now.

-Oh, no. No.

P-P-Please don't.
You can't leave.

I-I feel depressed.

-I'll be here first thing
in the morning.

-I do wish
you were coming with me.

I shall be utterly lost
in Africa

with some dreary temporary.

-Is Liz coming to the station?

-No.

-Why don't you go around
and see her?

-You know perfectly well.

She's still in a rage.

I haven't seen her for a week.

-Have you tried?

-I've telephoned her
three times.

Each time she spoke to me
kindly and remotely

as if I were an idiot child.

I'm not sure she didn't spell
some of the words out to me.

-Would you like me
to have a go at her?

-No.

If she wants to behave like
an outraged Mother Superior,

let her get on with it.

-I do see her point.

You really did go
a little too far.

-Now, Monica, don't you
start on me, too.

-I'll take these
into the office.

-You'll miss me
when I'm in Africa.

-Nothing more you want?

-No, Fred.

-Well, this place looks
a fair lash-up, don't it?

How many do we have?

-Oh, I don't know, about --
about 60 I suppose.

-Well, between them all,

they put away enough gin
to float the
Queen Mary.

-Oh, you better call me
at 8:00 in the morning.

We've got to leave
the house by 10:00.

-Righty-o.

-Right, Fred. Go on.
Go on. Go on.

Enjoy yourself.

-Same to you.

Be good.

-By the way, you'd better be
careful if the telephone rings.

Roland Maule has been
calling up all the week.

-You know, think I'd actually
welcome him tonight.

At least he'd be interesting
psychologically.

-So would Rasputin.

-I feel dreadfully flat.

I suppose one always does
when one goes away.

-It's your own fault
that you're alone, you know.

You refused all offers.

You pleaded for
a few hours solitude

in order to say farewell
to your books and pictures,

and said you'd throw
yourself out the window

if you didn't get it,

and that then
we should all be sorry.

-I'm perfectly certain
that you wouldn't be.

-Now, now, now.

You're getting a big boy,
you know.

You'll be 47 next birthday.

Just fancy.

-57 next birthday,
just fancy.

-Good night, darling.
-I do envy you, Monica.

Y-Y-You're so unruffled
and efficient.

You go churning through life

like some frightening
old warship.

-Thank you, darling.

That sounds most attractive.

-Have one more drink.

-No, thanks.
I really must be getting home.

-A little game of something.

-Good night.

-Good night.

Hello?

Who?

No, Colonel Pichard is not here.

He died of drink on Tuesday.

-I am going away now,
Mr. Essendine.

Have you everything you want?

-Frankly, Miss Erikson, no.

I have nothing that I want.

-Oh.
What a pity.

-Have you?
Have any of us got what we want?

-Oh, Mr. Essendine.

You are only acting.

For a moment, I was quite upset.

-You lead a very strange life,
Miss Erikson.

Do you enjoy it?

-Yeah.

-Tell me all about it,
won't you?

From A to Zed.

-Do you mind if
I pinch a cigarette?

-Pinch anything you like,
Miss Erikson.

-I smoke so much.

I'm always running out.

It is most silly.

-You've dropped one.

Where are you going now,
for instance?

-I am going to my friend
in Hammersmith.

-I understand from Fred
that she's a medium.

-Oh, dear, yes.

Sometimes she makes a trance.

It is very surprising.

She would lie on the ground
for hours making noises.

-What sort of noises?

-They are different.

Sometimes she will sing
high up like a bird.

Other times she may make
a little bark.

Often she is very ill.

-I'm not surprised.

-Well, I must be pushing
off now, Mr. Essendine.

-Push away, Miss Erikson.

That was most interesting.

Thank you very much.

-Not at all.

Good night.

-Good night.

-Hello! It's me!
-Daphne.

What --
What is the meaning of this?

-I'm coming with you to Africa.

I bought my ticket
this afternoon.

-You what?
-I've run away.

I left a note for my aunt.

You see, I know something now.

I've known it all week really,

ever since that awful morning
when I fainted.

I know that you need me
just as much as I need you.

-Now, Daphne --
-No, no, please.

Don't say anything for a moment.

I've thought it all over
very carefully.

I know I'm very much younger
than you and all that,

but I can help you
and look after you.

-Daphne, dear,
this is really too absurd.

You must go home immediately.

-I knew you'd say that.
-Daphne, please.

Put your coat back on
and don't be silly.

-I know you better
than you think I do.

I know when you're acting
and when you're not.

You're acting now.

-I'm doing no such thing.

-I felt ashamed on Thursday
at first,

ashamed of playing
a trick on you

by making Auntie ring up
for an audition,

but when I was here I was glad.

-Oh, you were glad, were you?

-I think that's why I fainted.

You see, I suddenly
realized the truth!

-What truth?

-How desperately lonely
you really are.

In spite of all those people
around you,

in spite of all your success,

I knew how deep your longing
must be to have someone

really to love you,
to be with you.

And when I saw that
dreadful prostitute

come out of the spare room

and in that tawdry
evening dress, then I knew!

-Daphne, that was
not a prostitute.

That was the wife of one
of my dearest friends.

-No, Garry.
You can't deceive me.

I know.
-Daphne, I wish to state loudly

and clearly
that I am not acting.

I am speaking to you
with the utmost sincerity

of which I am capable
when I tell you --

I order you -- to put on your
coat and get into a taxi

and go back to your aunt's.

- No!

You needn't be frightened.

I won't make any demands
on you whatever.

I don't want you to marry me
or anything like that.

I don't believe that real love
should be bound

by church or law.

I'm just coming with you.

That's all!

I'll just be there
when you want me,

when you're tired and lonely

and want someone to put
their arms around you.

-No.
-I won't even see you

on the boat
if you don't want me to.

I'm not a very
good sailor anyhow.

- Now --

T-That's the front doorbell.
-Who is it?

-How do I know?

You'd better wait
in the spare room.

-No! Garry, please!
Not the spare room!

-D--

D--

Daphne!

That's what it's for!

-Get rid of them soon,
promise, whoever it is!

-Of course, of course.
Button up now.

Quiet as a mouse!

Oh, no, no, no.

Mr. Maule!

-I'm afraid I must see you!
-Well, I'm very sorry.

You can't.
I'm just going to bed.

-It's a matter of life
and death.

-Will you please --
What the hell do you mean

forcing yourself
into my house like this?

-That's right.
Shout, shout.

You're magnificent
when you're angry.

-I'll tell you something,
young man.

You're just raving bloody mad.

That's all that's
the matter with you.

-Oh, no, I'm not!
You're the one who's mad!

-Will you please leave
this house at once!

-I'm afraid I can't!

It's quite impossible.

I've burnt my boats.

-Burnt your what?

-Boats.

-What are you talking about?

I told a wicked lie
just now when I said

it was a matter
of life and death.

It isn't really quite
as bad as that,

but it's very, very serious.

-I'm going to telephone
the police.

-I shan't let you!

-No?

-I'm tremendously strong
you know!

I can lift the heaviest objects
imaginable

without turning a hair.

- Here, put that down.

Put that down!

Now look here, Mr. Maule.

-You may call my Roland.

-Thank you.

Well, Roland, I want to put this
to you calmly and sensibly.

This is my last night in England
and I have a great deal to do.

-Well, you said just now
that you were going to bed.

-Be that as it may --

I know you think I'm mad,

and I really don't
blame you a bit,

but I assure you
I'm not.

At all.

I merely have an exceptional
brain in many ways,

a brain, incidentally,
that may be of

inestimable service to you.

As I told you the other day,
you signify a great deal to me.

You are in fact part of me.

-I-I'm sure I am very flattered,
Roland, but --

-I wonder if I could
have a biscuit.

-A what?
-A biscuit.

-There are biscuits
just over there.

Help yourself, Roland.

-Thank you very much.

I promise you faithfully,

I shall go the moment

I have finished this biscuit.

After all, there's no valid
reason, is there,

why I shouldn't
be acting being mad

just as you're
acting being sane?

-I'm not acting!

- You're always acting!

That is what is so fascinating.

Only, you are so used to it,

you don't realize it yourself.

I am always acting, too!

I have been acting mad with you

because it amuses me

to see you put on
a surprised face.

I am absolutely devoted
to your face in every mood.

-I suppose you wouldn't
consider acting

getting the hell out of here,
would you?

- That's wonderful!

-Look, what exactly do you want?

-To be with you.
That's why I'm coming to Africa.

-That's why you're what?

-Oh, I bought my ticket
this morning.

It's only steerage,

but it's better than a poke in
the eye with a burnt stick.

I've given up my law studies

and left Uckfield for good.

That's why I'm rather
excitable tonight.

You needn't be frightened
I shall get in your way

or make any demands on you.

-Y-You mean, you don't
expect me to marry you?

That's the front doorbell.
There's somebody here!

Do be a good boy
and go away now.

You promised you would when
you'd finished your biscuit.

-Please don't send me away!

I can protect you.

-Protect me?
-From yourself.

Every step you take
is fraught with peril.

But your head is in the stars
and you can't see.

-Now, look here, Mr. Maule --
-No, no, no!

I won't let you send me away!
-Well, I'm afraid --

-You'll regret it your whole
life long if you do!

- Now, Roland, really. Some --

Where are you --
Oh, no, no, no!

Roland!
Open this door!

Don't be such a bloody fool!

Roland! Roland!

Roland, dear.

Oh, Joanna.

-Hello, darling.

-What is the meaning of this?

-Oh, don't you know?
-Yes, I do.

You're coming with me to Africa.

You bought your ticket
this afternoon.

You're not going to make
any demands,

and you're not a good sailor.

-Oh, but I'm a perfect sailor.

What are you doing?

-Oh, telephoning.

I'm so terribly, terribly,
terribly sorry!

It's the wrong number!

Yes!

-Darling.

Underneath this rather taught,
strained manner of yours,

deep down inside,

aren't you just
a little bit glad to see me?

-Oh, I'm absolutely delighted.

It'll settle things
once and for all.

-That's what I thought.

-When did you get back?

I thought you were staying
in Paris for a month.

-No, you didn't.

You knew perfectly well
I wouldn't be able to.

I must say, I tried
for the first few days

to put you out of my mind.

I railed against you,

said the most dreadful things
that you weren't there to hear.

Then I remembered.
-What did you remember?

-I remembered what you said
to me the other night.

You said, "No matter
what comes after this,

what circumstances
combine against us,

what tears are shed,
this is magic,

the loveliest magic
that I've ever known."

-That's from the second act
of "Love Is So Simple."

-Yes, I recognized it.

I saw the play several times,
you know.

-In that case, why on Earth
did you believe it?

-Oh, I didn't,

but your saying it
proved something to me.

It proved that you're no more
sincere emotionally than I am.

You no longer need or desire
the pangs of love,

but are perfectly willing
to settle for the fun of love.

It's an adult point of view,
and I salute it.

I couldn't agree with you more.

-That is the most
immoral statement

I've ever heard in my life.

-It's true enough,
though, isn't it?

As I told you the other night,
I've always wanted you.

I've always known instinctively

that we were right
for each other.

You need me.

The people around you
are no longer enough.

I need you.

You're the first man I've met
who's worthy of my steel.

Now, I can't guarantee
that we shall be

domestically happy together,

but we'll have a good time.

-Well, I'll be damned.

-You're quite right
what you said just now

with remarkable clairvoyance

that I was coming
to Africa with you.

I am.

I've got the bridal suite.

-The bridal s--
-It was all they had left.

In addition, I've written a note
to Henry telling him everything.

He's dining with Morris
at the Athenaeum,

so they can read it together.

Who is that?

-I'm so terribly,
terribly sorry.

It's the wrong number.

-Hello, Joanna.

-Liz, darling,
how nice you look.

-Thank you so much.
I do my best.

-I think it's only fair
to tell you

I'm sailing with Garry tomorrow.

-What fun? So am I.

-What, dear?
-I decided this afternoon.

-It's certainly a big day
for the Cunard Line.

-If I may say so, Liz,

I think that's
rather silly of you.

-I really don't see why.
It'll be charming.

We can eat at the same table and
do our lifeboat drill together.

-Joanna has written a note
to Henry and Morris

explaining everything.

-Oh, good, then they'll
probably be coming too.

-I should like to take
this opportunity of saying,

"I wish I were dead!"

-Nonsense, darling, you'll enjoy
the voyage enormously.

There won't be a dull moment.

-You think you're being
very clever, Liz, don't you?

Personally, I've always
thought it was foolish

not to have the courage
to admit defeat.

-You seem to imagine that
I'm competing with you.

I do assure you
it's nothing of the sort.

I think it best that
for publicity purposes,

you will be there
as a friend of mine.

-I'll give you just two guesses
as to who that is.

-I'll go, Garry.

-Perhaps I was wrong
about you after all.

You haven't got the guts
of a rabbit.

-I'm very glad I haven't.

I'm sure they'd be
extremely inadequate.

-Is it true?

That's all I want to know!
Is it true?

-False friend, false friend.

-Come, come.

You're not at
the Athenaeum Club now.

-This is a miserable, disgusting
situation, and you know it.

-It's a stab in the back,
that's what it is!

I literally am stabbed
in the back.

-Not too low down, I hope.

-I've got a note from Joanna.

-I suppose you know then,
don't you?

-Yes, he does.
-Is what she says in it true?

-How do I know?
I haven't read it.

-No. Don't prevaricate.

She says that you've been lovers

and that you're going away
together tomorrow.

Is that true?

-Perfectly true.

-Answer me, Garry.

Answer me!

-I'll tell you what's true
and what's not true,

and you can stop fluttering your
wings like a penguin and listen.

-Be careful, Garry!
-Careful?

I've been a damn sight
too careful with the lot of you

for years.

-Have you or have you not
been Joanna's lover?

-Yes, I have.

-Oh, you miserable cad!
-Oh, dear.

-You should never have married
her in the first place.

I always told you
it was idiotic.

-You have the damned
impertinence to stand there

after seducing my wife...
-Oh, no, no, no.

-...and tell--
-Henry! Henry.

It's time you and I got down
to brass tacks once and for all.

I did not seduce your wife,
and well you know it.

You're taking a very high
and mighty attitude over this.

If you'll trouble to look at
the facts honestly

for one minute,

you'll find that you
don't really mind at all.

-Well?

-No, Morris is the one
who minds.

-Morris?
What do you mean?

-Garry, that was
disgraceful of you!

-Disgraceful my foot.

I'm sick of everybody
lying and intriguing

and acting all over the place.

-All right, Garry.
You win.

I never thought anyone
could sink so low.

-Oh, fiddledeedee.

-What did you mean about Morris?
Now answer me!

-I mean that Morris and Joanna
have been carrying on

an aborted little ding dong

under your silly nose
for months.

-I shall never speak to you
again until the day I die.

-Well, we can have a nice chat
then, can't we?

-Morris!

Joanna, is this true?

-Of course it's true.

Mind you, it hasn't lasted
quite as long

as your rather dreary affair
with Vera Radcliff.

That's been hiccuping along
for nearly a year now.

-Henry? Oh, no.

-Oh, please. No, Joanna.
Joanna. No, no, no, no.

Don't pretend that
you didn't know about it.

You were absolutely delighted.

It gave you room to expand.

-I told you that in
the deepest confidence!

How could you be so vile
as to betray it?

-I'm sick to death
of being stuffed

with everybody's confidences!

I'm bulging with them!

You, all of you, come to me
over and over again

and you pour your damned
tears and emotions

and sentiment over me
until I'm wet through.

You're all just as badly
behaved as I am, really.

In many ways a great deal worse.

You believe in
your amorous hangovers.

I at least have the grace
to take mine lightly.

I mean, you wallow.

And I laugh
because I believe now,

and I always have believed,

that there's too much damned
nonsense talked about sex.

To me, the whole business
is vastly overrated.

No, I enjoy it
for what it's worth,

and what is more,
I fully intend to go on doing so

for as long as
anybody is interested.

And when the time
comes that they are not,

I shall be perfectly
content to go to bed

with an apple and a good book.

-Well, I'll be damned!

-Of all the brazen arrogance!

-You have the nerve
to work yourself up

into a state of
moral indignation about us.

Oh, no!

-I haven't worked myself
into anything.

I'm merely defending my right
to speak the truth for once.

-Truth?

You wouldn't recognize
the truth if you saw it!

You spend your whole
life attitudinizing

and posturing, showing off!

-And where would we be
if I didn't?

I should like to know!

-Oh, stop shouting all of you!

You'll have the roof off!

-I'm sick to death
of this idiotic performance.

I'm going.
-Anyhow,

if it hadn't been for our
restraining influence,

you'd be making
B-pictures by now.

-I suppose you'll be
telling me next that

it's your restraining influence

that has maintained me as the
idol of the public for 30 years.

-You're not the idol
of the public!

-Oh?
-Oh, no.

They'll come and see you in the
right play, in the right part,

and you've got to be
good at that.

Look what happened to you
in "Pity the Blind."

-I was magnificent
in "Pity the Blind."

-Yes, for 10 days.

-11!

-If it hadn't been for us,
he'd have done "Peer Gynt."

-I'm going. I'm leaving.

-If anybody mentions the name
"Peer Gynt" in this house,

I shall -- I --
I swear before heaven,

I shall mount the most
expensive production

imaginable in the largest
theater in London!

-Not on my money you won't!

-Oh, we're back at that
again, are we?

One-track mind.

Money! Money! Money!

-If it wasn't for the fact
that Morris and I

signed the contract for
the Lyceum Theatre this morning,

we should both of us wash
our hands of you forever.

-You what?
-No, Garry, for Heaven's sake!

-I'm going!

I'm leaving!

Well, do you hear me,
all of you?

I'm going for good.

-Take my car.
It's downstairs.

-This has been a great evening

for speaking the truth,
hasn't it?

Well, I should like to add
just one little contribution.

I consider you,
Mr. Garry Essendine,

to be not only an overbearing,
affected egomaniac,

but the most unmitigated cad

that it has ever been
my misfortune to meet,

and I most devoutly hope

I shall never set eyes on you
again as long as I live.

-You mean to tell me you signed
a contract for that theater

w-w-when I particularly told you
that no power on God's Earth

would induce me to play in it?

-Now look here, Garry.
-No, I won't look here!

No! No, no, no, no.

This is nothing more nor less

than the most outrageous
betrayal of faith,

and I am deeply, deeply angry.

-Listen, Garry, as I told you
the other day,

they're doing up
the whole theater.

They're simply mad
to have you there

and have even consented to put
a shower in your dressing room.

-I don't care
if they put a swimming pool

in my dressing room.

I will not play
a light French comedy

to an auditorium
that looks like

a Gothic edition
of Wembley Stadium!

-It won't look like that,
honestly, darling!

I've seen the designs.

They're really awfully good.

-Oh!

You've seen the designs,
have you?

You're in this too.

Traitorous!
-Oh, Garry!

-Oh, really, Garry!
-Go away!

Go away, all of you!
All of you, go!

Go!
I can bear no more.

I've got to face that dreadful
sea voyage tomorrow,

and then all those
agonizing months of drudgery

across the length and breadth
of what is admitted

to be the most sinister
continent there is.

Please, go.
Please. Please. Please.

Parasites, vultures waiting to
claw the flesh from my bones.

For 30 years
I've given you everything.

I gave you my youth.

Where is my youth today?

Sent whistling down the wind!

I gave you my vitality!

Where is my vitality?

Dream not of me,

now when I'm nothing but a husk,

an empty shell.

I'm to be sent out to die
in a jungle far, far away.

Oh, oh, oh, oh.

-Go on, both of you.
I'll talk to him.

-Well, that performance
wouldn't deceive a kitten.

He's losing his grip.

Come on, Henry!
-I don't know.

It might actually work...

in New York.

What's that?

Who's that?

Oh, Liz.

I think I should like
a little sip of something.

I really do feel quite tired.

-Whiskey or brandy?

-Brandy. It's more stimulating.

Quick.
Quick, Liz.

Don't muck about!

-All right.

-Turn the lights on.

-The lights are on.
-Oh.

What's that?
-Brandy.

-Oh, yes, brandy.

Moisten my lips.

I said my lips, not my nose!

Liz, you're not really coming
to Africa with me, are you?

-Certainly I am,
and not only to Africa.

I'm coming back to you for good.

-More brandy.

Liz, darling, I-I-I don't
want you to come back to me.

I-I'm perfectly happy as I am.

-That can't be helped.
You behave abominably anyway.

You might not be able to be
quite so bad with me there.

-Please, Liz,

I implore you not
to come back to me.

Ha-- Have you no sympathy?

No heart?

-I'm thinking of the good
of the firm.

Oh, that reminds me.

I must leave a note
for Monica in the office.

I want her to ring up the bank

for me first thing
in the morning.

-The office, oh, God!
-What?

-Liz, Liz, Liz.

-Oh.

-You're not coming back to me.

I'm coming back to you.