A Room with a View Page #4

Mind you marry her next January.

Her music, the style of her...

how she kept to Schubert when,

like an idiot, I wanted Beethoven.

Schubert was right for this evening.

Mother, I shall have our children

educated just like Lucy.

Bring them up among honest country folk

for freshness,

send them to Italy for... subtlety.

And not till then bring them to London.

Not a day beyond January.

Cecil... darling.

So, you do love me, little thing?

Lucy!

I want to show her this letter

from the Miss Alans.

The tiresome Miss Alans.

I hate their "if"-ing and "but"-ing.

Well, now they're really coming.

I had a letter from Miss Teresa

asking how often the butcher called.

My reply impressed her favorably. Lucy?

Go for her. Get her round the shins.

- Freddy, be careful!

- You really are savages, you know.

Impossible to make oneself heard.

Don't you want to hear about the Miss Alans?

- Who?

- Sir Harry's new tenants.

- That wasn't the name.

- Wasn't whose name?

Sir Harry's tenants.

I met him this morning and he said,

"I have procured desirable tenants."

I said, "Hurray,"

and slapped him on the back.

- Exactly. The Miss Alans.

- More like Anderson.

I knew there'd be another muddle.

I'm always right.

Only Freddy's muddle,

who doesn't even know their name.

Yes, I do. I've got it. It was Emerson.

- What a weathercock Sir Harry is.

- I hope they're the right kind of people.

Yes, Freddy,

there is a right and a wrong sort.

These must be all right.

They're friends of Cecil's.

- Cecil?

- So you can all call in perfect safety.

- Cecil?!

- We met some Emersons in Florence.

The oddest people, Mrs. Honeychurch,

but we rather liked them.

Emerson's a common enough name.

"So really desirable. I've telegraphed them."

Don't be silly, Freddy. You always overdo it.

A most remarkable father and son.

Father's something of a radical.

The son, full of possibilities.

Don't move.

Stay where you are. "Ginevra de Benci"!

Did you know you were a Leonardo,

smiling at things beyond our ken?

What's this about Sir Harry's new tenants?

I have found him tenants for his Cissie Villa.

I've won a great victory for the comic muse.

After all the trouble I took over the Miss Alans.

Of course I'd prefer friends of yours...

Friends of mine? The joke is to come.

They're strangers

I met in the National Gallery.

They had been to Italy.

A father and son. The oddest couple.

In the course of conversazione,

they said they wanted a country cottage.

A simple burrow

where they could smell the earth.

Of course, London has its own character,

but we've a longing for green things growing,

don't we, George?

The sweetness of the English countryside...

of wet hedgerows

with birds singing inside them.

I know we should make

our heaven and earth where we are.

However, I fear I've faltered

and need some help from outside.

Well, in short, sir, what I seek is a country

cottage where George can come at weekends.

I happen to know of just the place.

Not exactly a cottage, more... a villa.

Dear sir, I implore you...

If you'd give me your card...

I fear we have no card,

but George will write down the address.

Sir Harry Otway. It is in Surrey,

a place called Summer Street.

Summer Street! I've dreamed of Summer Street.

It will teach that snob Sir Harry a lesson.

The classes should mix, there should be

intermarriage. I believe in democracy.

No, you don't!

You don't know what the word means.

It isn't fair! I've probably met them before.

Perfectly fair if it punishes a snob.

I blame you. You had no business

to undo my work about the Miss Alans.

You've scored off Sir Harry, but at my expense.

It was most disloyal of you.

Temper, Lucy, temper. Please!

- Hello?

- Hello.

- I've brought someone to see you.

- One minute.

Byron. Exactly.

"A Shropshire Lad".

Never heard of it.

"The Way of All Flesh".

Never heard of it.

Hello? George reads German.

I'm certain that's old Emerson.

What are those people doing? Hello!

Wait on, Mr. Beebe.

- This is Mr. Honeychurch.

- How do you do?

How do you do? Come in.

Come and have a bathe!

I'd like that.

What a conversational opening!

"How do you do? Come and have a bathe."

Emerson, this is Honeychurch.

You remember his sister.

Oh, yes. How do you do? Glad to see you.

Very glad to hear your sister is marrying.

I'm sure she'll be... happy.

We know Mr. Vyse, too.

He's been very... kind.

Go and bathe. It will do you good.

Then all come back for some tea.

- Do you really want this bathe?

- Yes, I've said so.

Bye, Emerson.

Bring some milk and honey

and... er, cakes. Cakes!

Yours is glorious country, Honeychurch!

As a matter of fact,

coincidence is much rarer than we suppose.

For example, on reflection,

it's not coincidental that you're here now.

I have reflected. It's fate. Everything is fate.

You've not reflected.

Let me cross-examine you.

Where did you meet Mr. Vyse?

- The National Gallery.

- Looking at Italian art.

You see? You talk of coincidence and fate.

You're naturally drawn to things Italian,

as are we and all our friends.

That narrows the field immeasurably.

It is fate, but call it Italy

if it pleases you, Vicar.

Are you bathing, Mr. Beebe?

- Don't be shy!

- Why not?

Oh, it's wonderful! Simply ripping.

Hurry up, Emerson!

- Come along, Mr. Beebe!

- I may as well wash, too.

Here goes.

Race you round it!

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

a stately pleasure dome decree..."

You've gone too far! Really, I...

I have a boot!

And some trousers...

Graces alive!

- Come this way immediately!

- Who were those unfortunate people?

This way, Mrs. Honeychurch. Follow me.

Oh, dears. Look away!

Poor Mr. Beebe, too!

You're treading on me!

It is you! Why not have a comfortable bath

at home with hot and cold laid on?

- Mother!

- You're in no position to argue. Come, Lucy.

Oh, look! No, don't look! Poor Mr. Beebe!

Poor Charlotte.

Poor, poor Charlotte!

Standard reaction to any letter

from Cousin Charlotte.

Poor, poor Charlotte!

This is serious.

Her boiler is to be had out and the cistern

cleaned and all kinds of to-doing.

I think we should ask her to stay.

Give her a holiday while the plumbers finish.

No! We're squeezed to death

with Freddy's friend and Minnie Beebe.

Freddy, must you?

The truth is, you don't like Charlotte.

Well, she gets on my nerves.

The time she met Cecil,

she drove him quite frantic.

So, please, don't worry us this last summer.

Spoil us by not asking her to come.

Hear, hear. We vote no Miss Bartlett.

This isn't very kind of you two.

You have each other and poor Charlotte...

- Again! Poor Charlotte.

...has the water turned off and plumbers.

Strike the concertina's melancholy string

Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything

Let the piano's martial blast

Rouse the echoes of the past

They played their next sonata, let me see

Medulla oblongata, key of G...

However, we're in E flat.

- Wasn't it any good?

- It's lovely, dear.

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