Angel Page #2

some favourite authors.

- I quite like Shakespeare.

Except when

he's trying to be funny.

- Miss Deverell,

I personally find

your very special...

... style totally compelling.

And I'm sure

many readers will too.

Which is why -

as I wrote to you -

we'd be delighted

to publish your novel.

Given one or two

minor adjustments.

- What adjustments?

- Well, for example, chapter nineteen:

your - ahem - description of childbirth

is a little on the shocking side.

I'm not sure the "pints of blood" passage

is strictly necessary.

- Then you clearly don't know

anything about having babies.

- No, but I am a father,

and I can assure you childbirth

is an extremely beautiful thing.

- That's because you're not the one bleeding.

- Now, chapter twenty-five.

Lady Irania's dinner party.

Just a detail, but you don't actually

need a corkscrew to open champagne.

- I think you're wrong.

- I don't think I am wrong, actually.

Well, look, it's nothing hugely important.

But what do you say: I give you

back the manuscript,

you make these changes

and then we publish.

- No.

- I'm sorry?

- I won't change a single word

or comma of my book.

- Final boarding!

Final boarding!

(background chatter)

- Miss Deverell.

- Oh. Mr. Gilbright.

What're you doing here?

- I came to apologize

for what happened just now.

It was... clumsy of me.

- That's really no need.

They're plenty of other

publishers who are interested.

- The fact is, I've been

speaking to my colleague

and we're prepared to take a risk

and publish Lady Irania

just as it is.

- I don't see that is a risk.

- I just wanted to protect you

from the critics, that's all.

- I'm not frightened of critics.

- Splendid.

Well, what time is your train?

- In an hour.

- What about travelling back tomorrow?

We could have dinner.

My wife would be delighted

to meet you.

Or perhaps another time,

when you've spoken

to your mother.

- I don't need

my mother's permission.

I've never tasted wine before.

- Hmm. Does it come up

to your expectations?

- I never really had any.

- That's Theo's

favourite claret.

We have it shipped over specially

from France.

(laughing)

- My mother would be

so shocked.

She wears

this funny little badge

to show she'd never touch

a drop of alcohol

even if offered it by Christ in Heaven.

- I don't like to think

we've given you something

your mother would disapprove of.

- I want to live my own life.

- For someone

who's never tasted wine,

you describe the effects

of drunkenness remarkably well.

- I know I do.

- Theo's read me parts

of Lady Irania.

You must've done

a great deal of research.

- Oh, no. I made the whole thing

up in my own head.

- I see. Which is presumably

why some of it

seems the fruit of a somewhat

youthful imagination.

- Miss Deverell and I

have already discussed

all of that, Hermione.

- Some of Miss Deverell's

descriptions are...

well, to say the least, daring.

- I didn't realize you were

my publisher, Mrs. Gilbright.

I thought you were my publisher's wife.

- Right...

Splendid.

Shall we go through for coffee?

I'm sure Miss Deverell

would appreciate some music.

(classical music)

- Are those real pearls

your wife's wearing,

Mr. Gilbright?

- Well, yes, I... I think so.

- And has your wife

ever met the Queen?

(meowing)

Oh! Isn't he adorable?!

I love animals.

- You'll make her sick

if she drinks that.

She's already been fed.

In the kitchen.

- It's good for him.

- Don't stop playing, Hermione.

- Oh, isn't that sweet?

Look, the poor little thing,

he's lapped it all up.

- She!

- Let's have another piece.

What about Scarlatti?

- No. If Miss Deverell

will excuse me,

I need to feed the canaries.

- Oh, canaries? I love birds.

Can I go and see?

- I'm afraid not.

- Well, I wish you'd tell me

something about your family,

Miss Deverell.

What does your father do?

- My father?

- Yes.

- He's dead.

- I'm so sorry.

- Don't be. I didn't know him.

- And you were born in Norley?

I don't think I know Norley.

What's it like?

- I don't want to talk about it.

- Really?

- I hate Norley.

It's hideous.

Miles and miles of ugly streets

and ugly brick houses.

The people

are all mean and stupid.

My mother owns a grocery shop

and we live upstairs.

But please, please,

I don't want anyone to know.

I don't want anyone

to find out where I'm from.

- I-I... I understand.

- You see...

... nothing I'm telling you...

seems real.

And one day...

... I might even stop

believing it myself.

- The thing is, Lottie...

... what if Angel

really is very gifted

and we just don't understand?

- A mother might be excused

for thinking that,

but the fact is, Emmy,

she's embarrassing us both

and it's got to be

put a stop to.

- Stop? She just writes

and writes.

It makes me shudder to think

what's coming out of that pen.

- And where in heaven's name

did she find out about...

you know...

the facts of life?

- Well, certainly not from me!

- Thank you very much.

- It's a pleasure.

Nice to meet you.

Who shall I make it out to?

- Alice.

- Just one more, please!

- ... the pleasure

of awarding this prize

to Miss Angel Deverell.

(applause)

- Where am I?

Where am I?

- You're here with me,

Lady Irania,

safe in the Castle

of Silver Tears.

- Oh, my darling Sebastian!

My eyes!

I can no longer see!

No longer see the silver tears!

- Rest now.

Let sweet sleep

possess your heart.

- Oh, my faithful Sebastian,

you who have never

once betrayed me,

say, has my whole life

been lived in vain?

(snoring)

Was it a dream?

A mere illusion?

- No, my Lady Irania, it was no dream.

Your life has been one

of beauty and magnificence.

And you live in the Castle of Silver Tears!

- Ah, Sebastian!

Only you...

have truly loved me.

- ... have truly loved me.

(audience):
Ah....

(applause)

- Ladies and gentlemen,

it is my great pleasure

to announce

that we have

here with us tonight

the author of our play,

Miss Angel Deverell.

(crowd reacting)

(applause)

- Stand up, Angel.

They want to see you.

(cheering)

- Thank you for coming.

- Truly marvellous.

- Thank you.

It's nice to meet you.

Thank you very much.

- Why don't you say hello

to her? She'd be so glad.

- Oh, I daren't.

- Why not?

She's your niece.

- Yes, but what if

she still hates me?

- Congratulations,

Miss Deverell.

- Oh, thank you, Lord Norley.

- A most magnificent evening.

- I'm glad you enjoyed it.

This is my publisher.

- Norley.

- Theo Gilbright.

- I was just saying to Theo--

- I'm so sorry. Allow me

to introduce my niece, Nora.

A most fervent admirer.

Come on now, Nora.

Up off the floor.

Homage from one writer

to another and so on.

- Uncle, you're not to mention

my feeble scribblings

in front of Miss Deverell.

- You're a writer too?

- I write a little verse, yes.

- Under what name?

- My own.

Nora Howe-Nevinson.

It's nothing compared

to your own...

astonishingly beautiful work,

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