Angel Page #4

out of you.

- Maybe being smudged

is nicer than it sounds.

- Let's see.

Very beautiful eyes...

Very clear skin...

And hair...

that glistens in the light...

(laugh shyly)

Don't tell me you're not used

to compliments, Miss Deverell.

- I really should be going.

- Of course.

And shall we say tomorrow,

at the same time?

- You don't mean

to paint the portrait here?

- Why not? I like the light.

- I... I'd just imagined

somewhere more--

- Trust me, this is perfect.

- And what about clothes?

I was thinking something

low-cut, with lace.

Or maybe something

completely simple like...

like a Greek toga.

(scoffing)

- No, come just as you are

today.

- But this dress is so drab.

- It's not the dress

I'm interested in, it's you.

I read one of your books,

by the way.

- Oh, really?

Aspasia.

My landlady lent it to me.

I read it straight through.

From cover to cover.

(Angel laughing slightly)

And I realized

what your secret is.

- My secret?

- I think the secret

of your power over people

is that you communicate

with yourself,

not your readers.

Am I right?

- Yes. Possibly.

Are... are you tired?

- No.

The thing is, Angel,

I find you utterly surprising

and delightful.

But how can I paint you

if I don't know

what's really going on inside?

Because you give me little hints

about yourself -

about your childhood,

growing up -

but none of it connects.

Something's missing.

How can I paint you

if I don't know what it is?

- Maybe I don't know

what it is myself.

- What happened to you in Italy?

- I've never been to Italy.

- Alright, maybe not in Italy,

but to do with Italy.

What was it?

Was it love?

I'm sure it was something

to do with love.

- It was jealousy.

(knocking)

(sighing)

- Who is it?

- It's Nora.

- Oh, Nora!

What a wonderful surprise!

Come in, come in!

- The doctor's very worried,

Angel.

I really think you ought

to consider coming home.

- It's very sweet of you to be

so concerned about my mother,

but I've lots of professional

commitments here,

particularly now.

As soon I'm finished

I'll come home, alright?

- You're seeing him,

aren't you?

- Seeing who? Theo?

- No - my brother.

- What makes you say that?

- Be careful.

He could hurt you.

(laughing)

- Hurt me?

I'm not a child, Nora.

And I hardly see Esme

as life-threatening.

I was pleasantly

surprised by his pictures.

They may not match

my own ideas of beauty,

but they have a definite--

- I'm not talking

about his paintings,

I'm talking about him.

- You're not jealous, are you?

- Jealous?

- Of my interest

in your brother's paintings.

- But it's not

just his paintings...

- It's true.

I do like Esme.

But in the same way

that I like you.

Come.

I hated being an only child.

I would have loved

to have had a sister, Nora.

A sister like you.

But what did the doctor say?

- He says her condition

is more dangerous

than he'd thought.

He's not sure she'll recover,

especially if she can't eat.

- Well, what's he doing about it?

There must be some kind

of medicine she can take.

- I'm just telling you

what he said.

- You're here...!

Angel...

My darling.

- Your hands are freezing.

- Have you told Aunt Lottie?

- Of course.

Nora sent a telegram.

- Why isn't she here?

- I don't know.

It is a long way.

- I'm frightened

I'll never see her again.

- Don't say that.

I used to love it...

when she could come

and visit us so often...

at the grocery.

Remember?

- Of course.

But you'll get better

and you'll see her again.

- You're so sweet to me.

Angel...

- Yes?

- I want you to forgive me

for bringing you up

the way I did.

I know it was hard for you,

and even harder

when your father died.

You were such

a pretty little thing.

So cheeky...

and clever.

He worshipped you.

(crying)

You know what I regret most?

- No?

- It's not having the time

to see you marrying

and have a child.

- But I don't have time

for a child, Mother.

I have my work.

- Your work...

your books...

(exhaling)

- Oh!

Oh, no!

Oh, no!

(sobbing)

No!

No, don't leave me!

Oh, please don't leave me...

(sobbing):

No...

please don't leave me.

- Well?

- It's over.

- Oh, my God...

(crying)

(crying)

- On behalf

of the Norley Gazette,

I would like to offer

my sincerest condolences

on the death of your mother,

a woman well known by us all

for her excellent grocery shop.

- My mother was above all else

a very great artist.

- Was she?

- She played the piano.

She was considered to be

one of England's

finest concert pianists.

- I see. That's something

I wasn't aware of.

- Her natural humility

prevented her

from advertising her...

... exceptional musical gift.

- And like yourself,

she was born here in Norley?

- My childhood

is wrapped in mystery.

It's true I was brought

to Norley at a very tender age,

but from where,

nobody knows.

I always thought

I had noble blood,

perhaps from my father's side.

But my mother passed away

before she could divulge

the true secret.

(background chatter)

(laughing mockingly)

- Well... I wonder

when we can expect her

to make an appearance.

- She should be already here.

- She's probably anxious.

- Oh, I think

she's more irritated

about the people

who haven't come.

- I did explain nobody

stays in London for summer.

It's not personal.

- Anyway, they're just snobs.

They resent the fact

that she's popular.

Have you seen my brother?

- Oh, yes.

Excuse me.

- Certainly.

- Mr. Howe-Nevinson,

Theo Gilbright.

- Of course.

Will you excuse me?

- Well, I think it's wonderful

that your sister's working

for Angel.

She seems absolutely devoted.

- In love with her, you mean.

- In love with her?

- Oh, yes. Passionately.

- Are you by any chance Miss

Howe-Nevinson's famous brother,

whose talents Miss Deverell

never ceases to impress on us?

- I am, actually.

- Then allow me

to introduce myself -

Hermione Gilbright,

"the publisher's wife."

- Delighted to meet you.

- My wife's a great devotee

of painting.

She's extremely keen

to see your work.

- Particularly your portrait

of Miss Deverell.

I can't wait to see it.

- Angel made off with it

the moment it was finished.

I believe she wants to use it

for one of her books.

- Haven't you been told?

- Told what?

- I think you'll find

she intends to unveil it here

in front of her guests.

- Didn't you know,

Mr. Howe-Nevinson?

(piano playing)

(applause)

Well, your darling Angel

seems to have gotten over

her mother's death

remarkably well.

- Oh, thank you for coming.

Thank you so much.

Thank you so much for coming.

It's my pleasure. Thank you.

Thank you.

- Tell her

I wasn't feeling very well.

- So kind.

Thank you so...

- Angel, you're beautiful.

- Where's Esme?

- Drinking, I should imagine.

- Actually, I think he left.

Wasn't looking at all well...

- How incredibly rude.

Angel arranged all this for him

specially.

- When did he leave?

- Just a moment ago.

- Angel!

(crowd reacting)

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