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End Of The Affair Script

This is a diary...

of...

hate.

And perhaps I wouldn't


be writing it...

if some devil hadn't made me


stop him that night...

in the rain.

You want to drown, Henry?

I wanted a bit of air.

How nice to see you, Bendrix.

How long has it been?


A year?

June, .

As long as that?

How's Sarah?

Oh, she's out and about


somewhere.

She at the cinema?

No, she never goes.

Oh, good night, Henry.

You should go home


before you catch your death.

Is something wrong?

Let me take you home, Henry.

Or perhaps I wouldn't
be writing this...

if I had known then


who I hated.

Was it Henry?
Was it his wife Sarah?

Or was it some other


who was yet to be revealed to me?

Sarah?

See? She's out still.

Come upstairs.
Come in.
Let me get you a drink.

Whiskey, thank you.

Whiskey.

So what's troubling you,


Henry?

Sarah.

She's out for a walk now,


Bendrix.

A walk.

Well, she always was


a great walker.

Jealousy's a terrible thing.

Well, you know you


can trust me, Henry.

You know, I went so far...

as to get the name


of a private detective.

You think she's seeing someone?

- Of course you think me a fool.


- No, Henry.
I don't think you're a fool.

- You mean you think it's possible?


- Of course.

Sarah's human.

Can't sleep.

Keep picking up...

this wretched card.

Burn it.

- I wish I could.
- Then go see what's-his-name, Savage?

And sit where all


the jealous husbands sit?

Do you think they have


a waiting room, Bendrix...

where we see each other's faces


as we pass through?

Why not let me go, Henry?

- You?
- Yes.

I could pretend
to be a jealous lover.

Jealous lovers are less ridiculous


than jealous husbands.

They're supported
by the weight of literature.

Tragic, never comic.


Think of Troilus.

Well, I shan't lose my amour propre


when I interview Mr. Savage.

This is ridiculous.

One can't spy on one's wife


through a friend...

and have the friend


pretend to be her lover.

- What else are friends for?


- You're a good chap, Bendrix.

All I needed was to talk,


clear my head.

The name was Savage,


and the address was Vigo Passage.

Forget what I've told you.


Doesn't make sense. I'll see a doctor.

That was the door.


Sarah's come in.
It's the maid.
She's been to the pictures.

No, it was Sarah's step.

Sarah, darling.

Henry.

- You... Is that you?


- Been out for a walk?

- Yes.
- It's a filthy night.

You're wet through, Sarah.


One day you'll catch your death of cold.

Good night.

Their marriage was conventional...

like their well-appointed house.

And I liked them both


the first night we met...

drinking bad South African sherry


because of the war in Spain.

Good evening, sir.

- May I take your hat?


- Thank you.

Mr. Miles is upstairs.

Sherry, sir?

Thank you.

She seemed restless.

In the summer of ...

the whole of London was restless


in the face of the coming storm.

How nice of you to come.

Sarah, this is our neighbor,


the novelist chap.

What on earth
is a novelist doing here?

- Research.
- On what?

On your husband.

I'm trying to write a character


who works for the Ministry of Pensions.

I need to find out his habits,


what he drinks before bedtime.
- Cocoa.
- And when.

: isn't it, Sarah?


Unless we're entertaining.

Would you be so kind


as to excuse your character?

- The ministry needs him.


- Unfortunately it does.

- So tell me.
- What?

- His secrets.
- Henry's a good man.

- Good men have no secrets.


- I was afraid you'd say that.

You see, goodness


has so little fictional value.

What does have fictional value?

- A minister of Home Security.


- Are you saying my husband is fiction?

I'm saying he could be,


in the right hands.

Oh, dear. This is alarming.


Can we get away from the service?

- You mean change the subject?


- I meant fresh air actually.

Of course.

- So how long have you been married?


- Is your character married?

Yes, he's been married happily


for ten years.

Henry's the perfect model then.


We've been married ten years.

You know that...

happiness is even harder to write


than goodness.

Henry prefers habit to happiness.

- I'll give them to you to sign.


- We were discussing the house, darling.

Let me fill that for you.

- It's a lovely house.


- My wife found it.

And your wife is charming.

- She's a great help to me.


- Yes, I'm sure.

They've made a picture


of one of your books, haven't they?
Yes, it's playing at the Rialto.

- I'll take you both.


- Far too busy for pictures, I'm afraid.

Should I make a note of that?

Make sure your character


never gets home before : .

- Come out, Henry, for once?


- You know I can't, darling.

But you go.


Take her, Bendrix.

- Sarah, one has to insist.


- Henry.

- Where are you going?


- To see wonder.

- But you promised.


- Murderer's promises keep.

- It's not what I wrote, you know.


- You can't keep saying that.

- It's true.
- I know.

There was one scene you did write.

Describe it.
Where he offered her onions
with her meal.

She refused because her husband


didn't like the smell.

He got angry.

And why did he get angry?

He didn't want to think of her


going home to him.

Does Henry like onions?

No.

I'm in love, you know.

Me too.

Susan?

Come upstairs.

Sarah?

One minute, dear.

What if he heard?
He wouldn't recognize the sound.

- Sarah, you been eating onions?


- Sorry, darling.

So, Bendrix,
how was the picture?

Up to scratch?

Of course, as she began to love me...

she learned to deceive Henry.

So why was I upset to find


that two years later...

she was deceiving him again?

Mr. Bendrix, I assume we


are discussing Mrs. Bendrix.

Not exactly. She's the wife


of a friend of mine.

Perhaps you and the lady


are intimate?

No.

I've only seen her once


since .

I don't understand.
You said this was a watching case.

Can't one love or hate


as long as that?

There's nothing discreditable


about jealousy, Mr. Bendrix.

I always salute it
as the mark of true love.

I've come on behalf of the husband.


He thinks she's deceiving him.

- She has secrets.


- Ah, secrets.

- Yes.
- There may be nothing in it, of course.

In my experience, Mr. Bendrix...

there almost invariably is.

Shall my man report to you


or the husband?

To me.

He must know nothing about it.

Most interesting case.


All my men use great discretion.
I will put one on it immediately.

And he will do his damndest


to put your mind at rest.

Or should I say the husband's?

Hello?

Good.
Yes, it was good to see you.

Yes, how long has it been?


Two years.

As long as that?

Well, you were always better


at anniversaries than me.

You want to meet?


Well, whatever for?

Not tomorrow, no.


I've got this article.

Wednesday? Let me check.

Would Thursday do?

Good.
The Park Lane Hotel at : ?
It was odd to think
that during the war...

we could be so totally at peace.

There were nights


when I wished those sirens...

would never end.

Tell me again.

I love you.

And I always will.

I'm sorry I'm late.


I came by tube, but it was crowded.

Well, taxi is quicker.

I know.
Didn't want to be quick.

I booked a table at Palmer's.

Can't we stay here?

Well, it's where


we always used to go.

You see,
I've never been back there.
Well, it was never
your restaurant, was it?

- So you still go there?


- Yeah, two or three times a week.

It's convenient.

Let's go.

Thank you. Thanks.

- Sorry about that.


- That's quite all right, sir.

Got my hand caught in the way.

Such a pleasure to see you, sir.

It's been so long,


I thought you'd forgotten us.

- I was afraid you'd say that.


- And you, ma'am.

- It's been a long time too.


- Two years, Alfred.

- There.
- Thank you.

Why did you lie?

- About my coming here?


- Yes.

Why did you want to meet?

I wanted to ask you about Henry.

Henry.

I'm worried about him.

How did you find him


the other night?

- Was he strange at all?


- I didn't notice anything wrong.

I wanted to ask you...


I know you're very busy...

whether you could


look him up occasionally.

I think he's lonely.

With you?

You know he's


never really noticed me...

not for years.

Maybe you've given him reason.


What reason could I give?

What reason did you give me?

None.

- Are you on a new book?


- Of course.

It's not about us, is it?


The one you threatened to write.

A book takes a year to write.


It's too hard work for revenge.

If you knew how little


you had to revenge.

I'm joking.
Yeah, we had a good time together.

We're adults, and we knew


it had to end sometime.

And now we can lunch


and talk about Henry.

I'm sorry.

This was stupid,


and I really shouldn't have called.

That cough needs attending to.

It's only a cough.


Good-bye, Maurice.

Good-bye.

- Your menu, sir.


- Thank you.

I'm sorry, but you have to realize


I'm jealous of everything that moves.

- I'm jealous of the rain.


- How can you be jealous of the rain?

Where did you get it?

Spain.

That was my war, I'm afraid.

It finished me off for this one.

You were shot. How romantic.

Not really.
They put a pin inside me.

I wondered about the limp.


Could I grow to love it?

And have you?

I have never, ever loved anyone


as much as you.

Yes?

A Mr. Parkis to see you, sir.

Show him in.

This way, please.

- I'll be with you in a minute, Mr...


- The name's Parkis.

Mr. Savage's man.

Sit down.
Take a cigarette.

Oh, no, sir.


Not on duty, sir.

Unless, of course,
for purposes of concealment.

But you're not on duty now.

Well, in a manner of speaking,


yes, sir.

I've just been relieved for half an hour


while I make my report.

So there's something to report?


It's not quite a blank sheet, sir.

Have me met
somewhere before, sir?

I don't think so.

Well, like I say, sir...

it's not quite a blank sheet.

But then it never is.

Me and my boy,
we followed the...

Your boy?

My son, sir.

Yeah, I'm teaching him


the business.

I mean, a boy can be useful


in all sorts of ways.

On the day in question, the party in


question went by tube to Piccadilly...

and proceeded
to the Park Lane Hotel.

She seemed quite agitated.


And there met a gentleman with whom
she was obviously quite close...

since they greeted each other


with an affectionate lack of ceremony...

and at one point...

although I cannot be certain of this...


held hands along the bar.

- They held hands?


- Yes, sir.

Gentleman pushed the lady's glass


towards her...

and...

the hand sort of stayed there...

for some time.

Which generally indicates


a squeeze of that nature.

After a short conversation,


they proceeded to a restaurant...

called...

Palmer's...
which was difficult to gain access to,
me being with the boy and all.

But I observed them


through the window.

And after a while,


the lady left...

laboring...
well, it seemed to me...

under great emotion.

Great emotion.
You're sure of that?

Oh, without doubt, sir.

Then I followed her down


Charing Cross Road to Maiden Lane...

where she turned into a church for what


I can only presume was a good cry.

She's not a Roman, is she, sir?

No.

Thought not.

She didn't kneel, sir,


but sat.

From the angle of her face,


I could tell...

tears were an issue.

- Forgive the personal touch.


- Of course.

You see, I liked the lady.


The party in question.

As did I, but you were wrong


about the hands.

The hands, sir?

We never so much as touched hands.

Oh, dear.

- I have made a fool of myself.


- Sarah has that effect.

Mr. Savage
should have introduced us.

Oh, no, sir.

- It was up to me.
- Well, it's not serious.

If you look at it from the outside,


it's quite funny.

But I'm on the inside, sir.


It's not Mr. Savage I'm worried about
so much. It's my boy, sir.

- When I tell him you're the husband...


- But you're wrong.

I'm acting on the husband's behalf.

So you've requested
an investigation yourself?

That's an interesting paradox.

But who's the wronged party then,


sir, if you'll forgive?

Pardon me, sir.

I am slow in such matters.

Both you and the husband have been


supplanted in the lady's affections by...

Another?

Try to think of it
the way I do, Mr. Parkis.

Jealousy can only exist


with desire.

You are on a hunt for desire.


Just regard yourself
as its servant.

Of course, sir.
That's my job.

Thank you.

The vicarious lover, Parkis.

- Good night, sir.


- Good night.

I wondered how much of her


he could reclaim for me.

And, for a moment,


I wished I was him...

shining his searchlight


around her world.

I am a jealous man.

- I'm jealous of this stocking.


- Why?

'Cause it does what I can't.

It kisses your whole leg.

And I'm jealous of this button.

- Poor, innocent button.


- It's not innocent at all.
It's with you all day,
and I'm not.

- I suppose you're jealous of my shoes.


- Yes.

Why?

Because they'll
take you away from me.

I measured love
by the extent of my jealousy.

And as my jealousy was infinite...

Anyone who loves is jealous.

My love should have


been infinite too.

I hate you being unhappy. I don't mind


anything you do that makes you happy.

- If I slept with someone else?


- That's neither here nor there.

I want you to be happy,


that's all.

Maybe you'd want an excuse


to do the same.

- I never would.
- But you do.

- Do what?
- Sleep with someone else.

You mean Henry?


How can anyone be jealous of Henry?

He has you. I don't.

We inhabit the same house.

That's all. You know that.


I'm the shadow he walks around.

And I love you.

I would rather be dead or see you dead


than with another man.

I will never, ever be


with another man.

You may see me dead,


but I will never be with another man.

- We should go down to the shelter.


- Stay here, Sarah.

If a bomb hit us now,


think of what wouldn't happen.

- What wouldn't happen?


- You wouldn't go back to Henry.
I would never imagine
another lover.

- My jealousy would end.


- Would that make you happy?

Do you believe me now?

But sadly, I didn't believe her.

There was a devil in my mind


that would never let me.

And now I had Parkis' boy


playing the devil's game.

My boy managed to gain access, sir.

Remarkably useful he can be.


I call that Exhibit "A."

They say a promise is forever,


but I don't know if I can keep this one.

He killed me with jealousy.


You're killing me with love.

So he's got the scent too,


Parkis.

- What scent?
- The scent of love.

Stalking it like a retriever.


Well, he's
remarkably persistent, sir.

He observed the party in question,


then in a state of partial undress...

with an unidentified male.

- Where?
- In the bedroom, sir.

The male party then closed the door,


and my boy made his exit.

The implications, and I think


you would agree, is that...

intimacy was...

imminent.

Indeed. Who is he?

Here, sir, is where progress


was definitely made.

As my boy left, he glanced at the


appointment book in the front hallway.

The party in question had a dental


appointment at :: the following day.

In fact, she visited at :: ...

a premises on Cedar Road


where no dentist sign was in evidence.

A Mr. Smythe owns the premises, sir.

Smythe, with a "Y"?

Yes, sir. S-M-Y-T-H-E.

And...

no...

Though we have no evidence


of intimacy...

the implication is clearly there.

How is it there?

Why the fictitious


dental appointment, sir?

Exhibit "B."

My boy took that.

The party in question emerged


two hours later.

Passage of time being


amply sufficient for...

intimacy to have taken place.


The courts generally demand
at least an hour, sir.

Now, my boy would have provided us


with photos of her reemergence...

but for the unfortunate


occurrence of him...

falling asleep.

Luckily, sir,
the party in question...

mistook him
for an abandoned urchin...

woke him up and led him


to the nearest tube station...

so that the time of reemergence


is definitely established...

as was an acquaintance which may have


its uses in the future, for all we know.

So should I walk in and confront him


like an injured husband?

I'm against it, sir.


It complicates things in the courts.

This will never reach court.


- An amicable settlement then.
- There's lack of interest.

One can hardly make a fuss


about a man called Smythe.

I'd just like to see him,


that's all.

Well, perhaps Lance can oblige us


next time with a frontal.

- Lance?
- My boy.

Called after Lancelot,


the Round Table.

He found the Holy Grail.

That was Galahad. Lancelot


was found in bed with Guinevere.

I hadn't heard.

I have to say, sir,


I would advise against it.

I'd just like to see


what a man called Smythe looks like.

Will you lend me your boy?

Well, if you'll assure me


there'll be nothing unpleasant.
Sarah isn't there. This scene
will have a universal certificate.

Come with me, young Lancelot.

Go on, Lance.

No need to worry.

Now, you're feeling ill,


remember?

- How ill, sir?


- Ill enough to faint.

Can you act that?

If I hold my breath
and go all pale, sir.

Good.

Excuse me, but does


a Dr. Wilson live here?

- No, I'm afraid he doesn't.


- Oh, dear.

See, I was given this address,


and my boy's quite ill.

We've traveled all this...


You all right?
- You better come in.
- Would you mind? I'm sorry.

I think he needs
to sit down badly.

Thank you.

- Can I fetch him a glass of water?


- That's very kind.

Or some orange squash?

- Water will be fine.


- Orange squash, please.

Say thank you, Arthur.

- Is his name Arthur?


- Yes, Arthur James.

- His mother was fond of Tennyson.


- Is she...

Yes, yes. Four years now.

- He must be of great comfort to you.


- And anxiety.

I ought to introduce myself.

- Bridges.
- My name is Smythe.

- With a "Y"?
- Yes. This is my brother Richard.

- With a "Y"?
- Yes. This is my brother Richard.

This is Mr. Bridges.


His boy isn't feeling well.

I was given this address


for a Dr. Wilson.

There's no such doctor here.

I've seen your boy before.

Maybe on the common.

What was the real purpose


of your visit?

I told you. A doctor.

No, you're not ill,


are you, boy?

People sometimes come to me...

and can't explain why.

But if there is a reason...

- My brother often deals...


- Hush, Susan.
They must ask themselves.

I recognize your boy,


but you...

- Who recommended you?


- We have a friend in common.

Sarah Miles.

And your name is?

Bendrix.

- I know all about you.


- I'm sure you do.

But you must enlighten me.

- Aren't you bound by vows of chastity?


- Oh, my dear!

Go, please.

Would you just go?

Come along, Lancelot.

Poor Sarah.
She had committed nothing but love.

And here were Parkis and his boy


watching her every move.
I would have called the spies off...

had the devil not tugged


at my elbow once more.

Henry.

Still in the rain?

Walking, Bendrix.
Doctor recommends it.

Well, walk with me.

I recommend a drink.

How's Sarah?

Pretty well.

Did you ever consult


that private detective?

I'd hoped you had forgotten that.

I was overworked.

I had Royal Commission brewing.

Don't worry, Henry.


I did it for you.
- You had absolutely no right.
- I'm paying all the charges.

It's infernal cheek.

Here's the report, Henry.

His name is Smythe, with a "Y."

You've been properly led up


the garden path, Henry.

- Will you let me pass?


- You don't want them?

Photographs, names, love letters?

Now will you let me go?

I can always get you


a carbon copy.

Strange how much dignity


there can be in a hat.

Without it, he seemed


one of the anonymous...

the dispossessed.

I had pitied myself for so long,


it was odd...

to pity him.
I'm sorry, Henry.

Sit down.

Were you two lovers, Bendrix?

It's the only explanation.

The only excuse too.

Can't you see


that what you've done...

is monstrous?

You must think me a fool


not to have guessed.

Why didn't she leave me?

Because you're a habit


she's formed.

You're her security.

- Why did she leave you?


- I became a bore.

Like you.

But I wasn't born one.


You created me.

She wouldn't leave you,


so I bored her with my jealousy.

- You can't be jealous of me.


- Well, you won, in a way.

We had come to the end of love.

She'd only make love with me,


but...

she could shop and cook


and fall asleep with you.

She's still very fond of you.

One isn't satisfied with fondness.

- I was.
- Yes, and that made you her pimp.

The bore of a husband


who knows where his slippers are...

but never notices his wife.

But you weren't


the only pimp, Henry.

The war was


the greatest pimp of all.
And the V- s
never affected us until...

the act of love was over.

So what will you do when it ends?

It won't end. I told you.

I meant the war.

It's the only certain thing.

What do you mean?

That allows me to see you.

You think love ends...

when you don't see me?

To be is to be perceived.

Do I exist for you


when you're with Henry?

Yes.

Isn't that why you stay


with Henry?

Because you know this will end?


No.

- We should go to the basement.


- My landlady might be there.

- Does that matter?


- Maybe to her.

- It's close, Maurice.


- I'll go and check.

- Let me go with you.


- I'll be one second.

Hello?

There's nobody there.


It's clear.

I never heard the bang.

I awoke after five minutes...

or five seconds...

to a changed world.

For a moment,
I was free of feeling...

Love, hate, jealousy.


And it all felt like happiness.

Oh, my God.

You're alive?

You sound disappointed.

You're hurt.

I just cut myself, that's all.

What were you doing


on the floor?

Praying.

To what?

To anything that might exist.

Well, it'd have been more practical


to have come downstairs.

I did.

Well, why didn't you wake me?

I tried.

You didn't move.


I don't understand.

I knew for certain


you were dead.

There wasn't much


to pray for then, was there?

A miracle.

And we don't believe in those.

No.

And that siren means you go.

Yes.

Please don't.

I have to. Henry will...

Forget Henry.

You don't understand.


You were gone.

Now I'm back.

I'm sorry to disappoint you,


Sarah, but...
Love doesn't end...

just because
we don't see each other.

Doesn't it?

People go on loving God,


don't they?

All their lives.

Without seeing Him.

That's not my kind of love.

Maybe there's no other kind.

So I was a disappointment
in the end.

I lived.

And that was the end


of the affair...

until I met you with that


detective's card in your hand.

I wondered why
we hadn't seen you.

You should go home, Henry.


You'll catch your death.
I'm sorry.

Hello.

It was quite easy, sir.


It was such a crush.

And Mrs. Miles thought I was one


of his friends from the ministry.

And Mr. Miles thought


I was one of her friends.

Well, I knew the way


to her room from my boy.

Anybody would have stopped me, I would


have been looking for the toilet.

Of course, nobody did.

Did you think it was


a good cocktail party?

Highly successful
I would say, sir.

But Mrs. Miles


looked a bit out of sorts.

I refer to this as Exhibit "D."

Did you look at it?


I ascertained its nature, sir.

And from one entry, judged


she wasn't the cautious type.

So happy. M returns today.

My experience of diaries
is they always give things away, sir.

People invent their little codes.


You soon see through them, sir.

I woke up and
the sun was shining.

This covers several years.

I hope you're satisfied, sir.

Life was going to be happy again.


But last night I dreamt...

I think this may well


close our account, Parkis.

Yeah. I had a feeling


it might, sir.

I have enjoyed
our association, sir...

if one can talk of enjoying


under the sad circumstances.
As have I.

So I hope you wouldn't


resent a memento, sir.

There's quite a history


with that.

- Do you remember the Bolton case?


- I can't say I do.

It caused quite
a stir at the time, sir.

Lady Bolton,
her maid and a man.

All discovered together.

That ashtray stood


beside the bed, sir.

On the lady's side.

Well, I shall treasure it, Parkis.

If ashtrays could speak, sir.

Indeed.

Perhaps I should call later, sir, just


to make sure there were no loose ends?

Thank you, Parkis.


- Good night, sir.
- Good night.

Sometimes I get tired of trying


to convince him that I love him...

and shall love him forever.

He pounces on my words
like a barrister and twists them.

So what will you do


when it ends?

You think love ends


when you don't see me?

To be is to be perceived.

Do I exist for you


when you're with Henry?

Yes.

Isn't that why you stay with Henry?


Because you know this will end?

- We should go to the basement.


- My landlady might be there.

- Does that matter?


- Maybe to her.

- It's close, Maurice.


- I'll go and check.

- Let me go with you.


- I'll be one second.

Hello?

There's nobody there.


It's clear.

Oh, God!

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Oh, God, don't take him.

But You had.

Whatever was him was gone.

You'd taken it.

I'd never believed in prayer.

Oh, God, please bring him back.


Let him live.

I don't believe in You,


but please let him live.

Dear God, please.

Let him...
Dear God, please. Let him live.

Please bring him back.

Please don't take him.

I'll give him up forever.

Only please, let him be alive.

Let him live and I promise


I'll never see him again.

Oh, my God.

You're alive?

You sound disappointed.

But if he was alive,


now I was dead.

What were you doing on the floor?

Praying.

To what?

To anything that might exist.


How could I explain to him
what made no sense to me?

You didn't move.

I knew for certain you were dead.

Then there wasn't much


to pray for then, was there?

A miracle.

And we don't believe in that.

And that siren means you go.

Yes.

And I knew that nothing in this world


would make sense to me again.

Sorry to disappoint you.

Love doesn't end...

just because we don't


see each other.

Doesn't it?

People go on loving God,


don't they...
all their lives
without seeing Him?

That's not my kind of love.

Maybe there's no other kind.

I can't be held to that promise.

But something told me I would be.

I had tempted fate...

and fate had accepted.

So I was in the desert now,


the desert without him.

I started a tour with Henry,


civil defense in southern England.

Henry and I sleeping side by side


like figures on tombs.

In the new reinforced shelter


at Bigwell-on-Sea...

a chief warden kissed me.

I allowed him to
but felt nothing.

I'm beginning to believe


in You, God...
and maybe that's how You work.

You empty me of love,


then fill that emptiness.

They're recommending me
for an O.B.E.

What's that?

A step below a C.B.E.

When I retire,
I'll probably be a K.B.E.

It's confusing. Couldn't


they stick to the same letters?

Wouldn't you like to be Lady Miles?

This was the British people's


finest day...

V- E day,
the end of the German war.

A man we seem to have


seen before somewhere...

Looks down
from a balcony in Whitehall.

The whole of London seemed happy


because there was peace...
and there were no more bombs.

But I'm not sure


I like the peace.

I walked his walks.

Tried to think where he'd be.

Then I gave up.

I thought that now


the world is at peace...

maybe I should have some.

I told him it all.

And Whoever heard my promise


must have heard it too...

and must have known it already...

since God knows everything.

How cruel that knowledge seemed.

It knew what I would say


before I made that promise.

Knew it would keep me to it.


Knew me the way
his hands knew me.

Sarah, darling.

You.

Knew I would meet him


on the stairs.

- Been out for a walk?


- Yes.

It's a filthy night.

You're wet through. One day


you'll catch your death of cold.

Good night.

Knew he would hate me.

- Wednesday.
- Wednesday. Let me check.

- Would Thursday do?


- Thursday then.

The Park Lane Hotel at :: .

I took my time.
I didn't want to be early.

Why did you want to meet?


I wanted to tell you I'd been dead
for the last two years.

I can't be without you any longer.

I think he's lonely.

But, of course, I didn't.

You know he's never really


noticed me, not for years.

Maybe you've given him reason.

What reason could I give?

What reason did you give me?

None.

- Are you on a new book?


- Of course.

It's not about us, is it?


The one you threatened to write.

A book takes a year to write.

It's too hard work for revenge.

If you knew how little


you had to revenge...
No, I'm joking.
We had a good time together.

I mean, we're adults and...

we knew it had to end sometime.

And now we can lunch


and talk about Henry.

In the old days,


he would have followed.

We would have made up


or made love.

I said to God, as I might


have said to my father...

"Dear God, I'm tired.

I'm tired of being without him.

And it's all because of You. "

Dr. Gilbert's appointment.


I'd almost forgotten.

He asked me how I felt.

I said I felt nothing.


There was a stone
where my heart should be.

I need help, Father.

You know, Sarah,


God granted us free will.

Good. So it's settled.


I'm leaving my husband.

- You can't.
- Why can't I? I'm a whore and a liar.

I'm asking Henry for a divorce.

You can't because you're good.

Better than any person I know.

You're wrong, Father,


and you don't know me.

I found a small boy


sleeping on the steps...

with a birthmark
covering his face...

and wondered what kind of God


would give a child that.

Are you lost?

It's all right.


It's all right.

Where do you live then?

- You'll be all right now?


- Yes, ma'am.

I kissed his cheek


and wished I could wash it away.

And suddenly I felt happy again.

I could free myself of this.

I am...

leaving you.

For the last five years...

I have been...

in love...

with Maurice.

I love you.

Do you know that?

Why now, Henry?


Why do you say that now?

I had a drink with Bendrix.

A horrible drink.

I can't do without you.

Oh, yes, you can, I thought.

You changed your newspaper once


and you soon got used to it.

What's wrong, Henry?

Did Bendrix upset you in some way?

I know I haven't been much


of a husband to you, my dear.

We are good friends.

You can do without a friend.

Don't leave me, Sarah.

Stick it out a few more years.

I'll try. I promise.

Is this coincidence?
I wondered.
Or the way life happens?

And if this is life,


am I stuck with it?

But whatever it is...

I can't fight it anymore.

It has won and we have lost.

- Hello?
- Sarah.

She's not here.

I know your voice, Sarah.


Talk to me.

Stop here.

- Thank you.
- Thank you very much, guv.

One, please.

Thank you, sir.

How did you get it?

You had a drinks party last week.


- Yes. That small man.
- Yes.

He is my snoop.

How ridiculous.

It's no more
ridiculous than you.

Why didn't you tell me?

I tried. Each time I tried,


something would happen.

- That's mumbo jumbo, Sarah.


- It doesn't work like that.

Accidents.

Little things.
God is in the details, Maurice.

You can't believe that.

Do you believe in things


you can't see?

- You mean Him?


- I mean you.

You see, I never stopped loving you,


even though I couldn't see you.
My mother baptized me a Catholic.

My father was Jewish,


so we never practiced.

But she always said


she hoped it would take.

Like a vaccination.

I've only made


two promises in my life.

One was to marry Henry...

the other to stop seeing you.

And I'm too weak to keep either.

I know you don't believe in Him...

but try to.

Talk to Him.

I can't.

Tell Him I'm sorry.

I'm too human...

too weak.
Tell Him I can't keep my promises.

I'm tired of being without you.

- Let's get you home.


- I don't want to go home.

I know.

So have we broken the spell?

The world didn't end, did it?

It did, in a way.

But then, it always did.

Can I sleep now, Maurice?

Please let me sleep.

- It's Henry.
- Don't answer it.

Why not? We'll have


to tell him sometime.

- Come away with me.


- Where?

Anywhere. Brighton.
I want a few days peace
before the arguments begin.

- Well, Henry never argues.


- I wasn't talking about Henry.

Pain is easy to write.

In pain, we're
all drably individual.

But what can one write


about happiness?

It doesn't suit you.


And it's mine.

- You want it? There's a price.


- How much?

Can I pay again?

- I want children, you know.


- How many?

- I'll start with one.


- Only one?

You want to start with two?

Is that a promise?

Yes.
Let's get you back to the hotel.

- Just those two.


- Very good, sir.

It is a bit of a mess.
Yeah, you're right.

- Business going well?


- Yes, it's going...

Still on the job?


Don't worry.

- Oh, dear.
- Here. Come with me.

Come. So where's
your boy this time?

I left him at home, sir.

Hardly a wise move. He'd have


had the sense not to get noticed.

You think so, sir?


Perhaps I wasn't cut out for this job.

Tell your employer


the circumstances are unique.

What was your phrase?


The party in question is a writer.

- They notice everything.


- They certainly seem to, sir.
- So who's hired you this time?
- I'm not at liberty to say, sir.

Let me guess. The jealous husband.

I never expected to be
recalled to this case, sir.

Yours is a secure profession.

As long as fools like us love,


your employment never ends.

You could put it like that.

And love never ends, does it?

It seems not.

So what do you need?

Photographs of us
in flagrante delicto?

Copies of hotel bills? Evidence of


soiled sheets? We'd be happy to oblige.

No, my brief is to follow you.


Inform him as to your whereabouts.

Which, of course, you'll do.


I'm obliged to, sir, under
the terms of my employment, posthaste.

Won't you need supplementary evidence?


The divorce courts will demand it.

They generally do, sir,


if it come to that.

Well, Exhibit "A."

Receipt for two sandwiches


bought on the train to Brighton.

Mutual sandwiches are surely


evidence of intimacy, aren't they?

- They could be so construed, sir.


- Exhibit "B."

Two tickets for a Big Dipper.

- You seem to be doing my job for me.


- Yes, but we haven't quite got there.

What would clinch it for us?

What would make


divorce a certainty?

Generally, sir, some kind


of photographic evidence of...

Of intimacy.
Would be most useful, sir,
if it came to such a pass.

It will, Parkis.
It most certainly will.

Here.

I dreamt we had a child.

We will.

We were on the bed together.

The room filled up with water.


There was a child between us.

Why water?

The sea had come in the window.

So you'll marry me.

That's a promise.

The prince regent began building it


for his mistress, Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Beautiful but flawed.

- How was she flawed?


- She was Catholic.
Impossible, of course.

So he loved her.

Yes, but he married Princess Caroline


of Brunswick who was Protestant...

but huge.

And he built this huge folly


to impossibility.

- Not now, Henry.


- Forgive me, Sarah. I had to.

- Oh, God, please. Henry, not now.


- You had to what, Henry?

- Talk.
- Go back home.

- You can't hold on to her forever.


- I know, but...

It hardly suits you, Henry,


the role of a jealous husband.

Please, I don't mean


to make a scene.

Henry, go home.

I'm not jealous, Bendrix.

What was it you said?


Lovers are jealous.
Husbands are ridiculous.

I was never her lover.

Not much of a husband either,


I'm afraid.

But you hired our detective.

I had to find out where she was.

So you know. She wants a divorce.

That won't be possible, old man.

You'll contest it?

No, but it would take


at least three months.

Well, what's three months, Henry,


out of a lifetime?

Half.

Half of what?

Of a lifetime, I'm afraid.

Sarah's dying.
Her doctor called the night
she didn't come back...

with the result of some tests.

I knocked on your door.

I imagined you were both there.

How oddly we behave


at such moments.

You shouldn't get wet, darling.

- Don't you like the rain, Henry?


- Yes, dear, but...

You've heard news, Henry.


Is it good?

No, dear.

You see, Maurice, never make a promise.


You may have to keep it.

You should never have been


jealous of me, Bendrix.

I did Sarah a great disservice


when I married her. I realize that now.

I'm not the sort


that makes a lover.
She wanted someone like you.

I'm not sure


it's as simple as that.

If you don't mind me asking...

I'd like you there


when the time comes.

It may not come.

You of all people


don't believe in miracles.

No, but Sarah does.

I'd always believed that


I'd be the one to die first...

and that Sarah


would know what to do.

Are you at a loss, Henry?

I am quite.

And it would save you a bit


if you moved in with us.

Sarah always said your books weren't


as successful as they should have been.

You could be there, working in


the daytime, while I'm at the ministry.

And at night, we could both...

And so I moved to the north side


of the common...

and, oddly enough,


I felt instantly at home.

Can I help you, Father?

- I've come about Mrs. Miles.


- She's indisposed.

You mean, she's ill, don't you?

- Yes, I suppose I do.


- Yes.

She's been to see me several times,


and I know she'd like to see me before...

She's left word with me


she's not to be disturbed.

Is her husband here?

- She told me about you.


- I know she did.

I'm the lover, Father.

Who was that?


The postman.

What did he bring?

He had the wrong address.

How odd for a postman.

You know what happened that day?

You thought I was dead...

and I wasn't.

No, darling.

Something happened in that room.

There were the same walls


around me...

the same sunlight


coming in the window...

but nothing will


ever be the same again.

You can't believe this, Sarah.

But it's true.


I never loved anyone
as I loved you.

And when you came through that door


with blood on your face...

another kind of love


came with you.

And I caught belief...

like a disease.

I fell into belief like I'd...

fallen into love.

And I tried to fight it...

but I haven't any fight left.

It wasn't the postman, was it?

No, it wasn't.

Dear Maurice,
you can't go on fighting.

It's only love, after all.

So You're taking her...

but You haven't got me yet.


I don't want Your peace
and Your love.

I wanted Sarah for a lifetime...

and You're taking her from me.

So I hate You, God.

I hate You as though You existed.

You have to help me, Bendrix.


I can't.

I will.

I can't live in a world


where she's gone.

I'll help you.

I would have taken care of


all the arrangements, if I'd known.

Surely you disapprove of cremation?

I would have arranged


a Catholic burial.

But she wasn't a Catholic,


was she, Henry?
We recognize
the baptism of desire.

She said things


that seemed like prayers.

We've made all the arrangements.


We can't alter things now, Father.

You wouldn't want talk, Henry.


There's the notice in the Times.

If you'd come a little sooner, Father...


Please, don't think...

I think nothing
bad of you, Mr. Miles.

- Perhaps me?
- Don't worry, Mr. Bendrix.

Nothing you can do


will affect her now.

- She was a good woman.


- She was nothing of the sort.

She could put the blinkers


on any man.

She deceived you, Father,


as she deceived her husband and me.

- She was a consummate liar.


- You've no right.

- Let the poor man rave.


- Don't give me your professional pity!

- Keep it for your confessional!


- You can find me there anytime you want.

I don't want you.


I'm no Sarah.

- I'm sorry, Father.


- No need to be.

I know when a man is in pain.

I'm not in pain, Father.


I'm in hate.

I hate Sarah, because she was


a tart to your mumbo jumbo.

I hate Henry,
because she stuck to him.

And I hate you and your imaginary God,


because you took her away from us.

- You are a good hater.


- To hell with all of you!

I'm sorry, Henry.

The thing is, Bendrix...

I always knew.

I knew she was with someone...


but I never thought you.

But the odd thing is...

I'm glad it was.

It's a sad pleasure


to see you here, sir...

where bygones are always bygones.

Do you always follow your people


as far as this?

She was a very fine lady, sir.

At a cocktail party,
she handed me a glass of sherry.

Was it South African sherry?

I wouldn't know, sir.

There weren't many like her.

My boy, now,
he's always speaking of her.

How is your boy, Parkis?

He's exceptionally well, sir.


Though he's a bit upset today.
He imagined she'd be buried
in a Catholic way.

And why would he think that?

Young boys, sir,


they get these ideas.

Though I have to admit,


even I can't explain it.

Explain what?

On the day of her assignation,


she walked him to a tube.

She thought he was lost, gave him


a coin and kissed him on his cheek.

On his afflicted cheek, sir.

And over the weeks


that followed...

his affliction gradually went away.

I tried to keep him rational,


but he swears it was because of her.

Say hello to Mr. Bendrix, Lance.

Hello, sir.
I wrote at the start
that this was a diary of hate.

I hated You as though You existed.

Now I am tired of hating...

but You're still there.

So Your cunning is infinite.

You used my hate to win


my acknowledgement.

Thank you, Henry.

And I've only one prayer left.

Dear God, forget about me.

Look after her and Henry.

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