Angel Page #3

Miss Deverell.

- Thank you, you're very kind.

- May I also present

my nephew,

Mr Esme Howe-Nevinson.

- So you must be...

- Nora's brother. Exactly.

- It was Miss Deverell, Esme,

who gave us the Watts.

- Most generous.

- Presented a very fine painting

by Watts

to the City Art Gallery.

One of the town's

great treasures.

Another, of course,

being Miss Deverell herself.

- I'm sorry to say,

I wasn't acquainted

with your work, Miss Deverell.

- Oh, well, the play

is just an adaptation.

It hardly does justice

to the complexities

of the novel.

- And why Watts?

- I'm sorry?

- Out of all the painters

in this world,

why would you choose Watts?

I'd always wondered how these

awful pictures found their way

into provincial galleries.

Now I understand.

- Esme!

- What?

It must've cost

a great deal of money;

in a few years,

it'll be worth nothing.

I'm simply letting

Miss Deverell

know the facts.

- Well, in future,

I must ask your advice.

- Please do.

To offer it

would give me great pleasure.

- You must forgive my nephew.

Esme is a painter himself,

you know.

Such miserable pictures.

Back streets

in the pouring rain...

No sparing the sordid details.

- That was quite a compliment

Miss Howe-Nevinson paid you.

I'm always pleased to see

writers being appreciated.

The brother, though...

Rather rude.

Good-looking, though.

- Stop!

- What?

- Stop the car!

- What is it?

- Turn off to the right.

- Splendid old place.

D'you know it?

- Yes.

- Is it empty?

- My aunt used to work there,

but the family lost everything

and had to move to London.

- Did you go there as a child?

- Never.

When I was little,

I used to think I would live

at Paradise House.

It was all I ever dreamed of.

Everyone told me

my dreams were lies -

because I said out loud

the things

I should've kept secret.

But all I wanted

was to make it true.

To wish and to wish

and to wish -

and to make it true.

- A gift from Paradise.

- Thank you.

- It's getting rather cold.

Perhaps we should go.

- Come on!

- Don't you think

it's too big for us, Angel?

- Of course not.

It just needs furniture.

- Just to think of your aunt

Lottie being a servant here...

- Well, I'm not a servant.

I'm the mistress.

You should be proud of me.

- Oh, of course

I'm proud of you, Angel.

It's just so big...

- Round to the left.

- Yes, madam.

- Be careful,

they're very expensive.

Oh...

Oh, good! Come on!

Lovely!

Oh, excellent!

Yes, be very careful...

Oh, did you see your bedroom?

- Oh, yes, yes,

it's beautiful. It's...

(playing some notes)

- "She knew...

"... from the first...

"moment...

in her short--"

- Angel, Miss Howe-Nevinson

is here.

She wants to see you.

- Who?

- I think she's the sister

of that young painter

you talked about.

- And he is here?

- No, just the sister.

- I brought you the poems,

like you asked me to.

- Oh, yes... of course.

- Please don't be too critical.

They're really

just first attempts.

- Oh, no doubt.

- But the real reason I...

I wanted to see you again,

Miss Deverell,

is that I have the...

... the hugest... hugest favour

to ask.

- I... Mother! I thought

I told you not to do that.

It is the servants' job.

- But you know

how I like to help.

- It would be much more helpful

if you went upstairs

and rested.

You know what the doctor said.

- Alright, sweetheart.

- You were saying, Nora?

- I wanted to offer you

my services.

- Services?

- I mean as personal secretary.

I could help

with all the trivial things

a great novelist like yourself

should be protected from.

- But I already have

all the servants I need.

- But not someone

who understands your genius.

Not someone

who really respects you.

Do they even

read your books?

- No, I suppose not.

- Then please take me on.

To work for you

would be the most beautiful...

beautiful way

to serve literature.

There are so many things,

Miss Deverell,

I could do for you.

- You still haven't told me

anything about your brother.

- Don't talk to me about Esme.

- Why ever not?

- When my uncle paid for

the two of us to go to Italy,

my brother behaved so badly

I'm ashamed to mention it.

- In Italy? What do you mean?

- Seducing women, of course.

There was one who was

only too happy to let herself

be ruined on his account -

until her husband found out.

He threatened to kill Esme,

and we had to pack up

and rush back to London.

- What was this woman like?

- Beautiful - a countessa -

but with Esme,

she had absolutely no shame.

- Was he in love with her?

- Oh! Love? My brother's

never loved anyone -

other than himself, that is.

And it was all

such a horrid mess,

I was forced to sell my own

jewelry to pay the fare home.

- You mustn't be

too hard on him, Nora.

One day he'll find his feet

and live from his painting,

just as I live

from my writing.

- But you've never even seen

his paintings.

- No, but I've imagined them.

Well, well...

Miss Deverell.

This is... unexpected.

- I was in the neighbourhood,

and seeing as your sister

had given me your address,

I just thought--

- Absolutely. Please. Come in.

Forgive the mess,

but I've only

just got out of bed.

If I'd known a lady was coming,

I'd have...

cleared some of this up.

- Oh, you mustn't worry.

I-I'm something

of a Bohemian myself.

- And... how's my sister?

- Nora is very well

and very happy.

- I can imagine.

She's always had a gift

for living

in another person's shadow.

Please.

- Well, she certainly

doesn't live in mine.

I've always encouraged her

to share in the brilliance

of my success.

- So... to what do I owe

the pleasure

of this visit?

- I've come

to see your paintings.

- Really?

- Well, since you were so cruel

to me that time about the Watts,

I thought I could make amends

by having them hang

one of your paintings

next to it.

(laughing)

- Well, they'd never let you.

Anyway, I don't think

you'd like my kind of work.

- That's what I'm here

to find out.

Ah.

- Italy.

I can't paint Italy.

It's too much colour.

- Yes. Of course.

Italy is so banal.

You're much more inspired

in England.

- I'm so pleased you say that.

I didn't think you'd like

my smudge-paintings,

as Nora calls them.

- My favourite's the, uh...

level-crossing.

- Mine as well.

That's why I showed it first.

- I'd like to buy it,

if it's for sale.

- I don't know.

- Would you be prepared

to accept... 300 pounds?

Well, I... paid 300

for the Watts,

and I'm sure your paintings

are worth

at least as much,

if not more.

- Considering all your kindness

towards my Nora,

you can have it for...

... shall we say 400?

- Four-hundred pounds?

- I'm glad you didn't like the Italian one.

- There's something about Italy

which brings out the vulgar

in all of us.

Don't you think?

And...

what are your fees

for a portrait?

- For a portrait?

I don't paint portraits.

- Not even mine?

- I wouldn't want to be accused

of making a smudge-painting

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes