Angel Page #6

he was an idle degenerate

that you disinherited.

I had no idea his uniform

made him a hero.

- What a wonderful thing

the war is.

- I'm simply saying,

Miss Deverell,

that I'm glad to see Esme

finally becoming a man.

You must miss him a great deal.

- Yes.

- If there's anything I can do--

- There's nothing anyone can do!

I have my work.

- There's a great loss

to literature

every time we drag you

from your desk, Miss Deverell.

But I do believe that

by helping us in the war effort,

you might feel

that in your own small way

you were fighting

at Esme's side.

- What do you mean,

the war effort?

- Well, for example,

you could allow us

to set up a second hospital

here in Paradise.

- Paradise? A hospital?

- Yes.

It would be extremely useful

to us.

- This war...

has separated me

from my husband.

It has been the cause

of our first disagreement.

I do not allow Nora

or anyone else

to mention it in my presence.

And I will never let Paradise

fall into the hands

of warmongers and criminals.

More tea, Lord Norley?

- I think perhaps it would be

as well if I were to go.

- Better for the war effort,

certainly.

- Madam?

- Yes?

- I'm leaving.

(crying in pain)

- Oh!

(gasping)

- How advanced was it?

- Less than three months.

- If only my brother

had been here.

- I suppose it could've made

a difference.

- And what should I do now?

- Once she's over the shock,

she'll start to recover.

She just needs rest.

- You're feeling better?

- Not bad.

- Do you want me

to write and tell Esme?

- Tell him to come home...

... even if it's just on leave.

Tell him that I miss him

and that I forgive him.

But nothing about the baby.

- He has a right to know, Angel.

- He has no right to know.

He deserted me.

- He didn't desert you.

He just, for the first time

in his life,

made a grown-up decision.

- He's ruined everything.

Everything.

- He hasn't ruined everything.

- I'm still here.

And we've just got

to wait for him to come home.

- Esme's desperate

to become a father.

If he finds out I lost his baby,

he'll never come home.

Please...

promise me you won't tell him.

- I promise.

(train whistle blowing)

- Oh, darling!

(background chatter)

- Mr. Gilbright.

- Miss Howe-Nevinson.

Did you have a good trip?

- A long one,

but at least I'm here.

- Very good of you to come.

- I feel bad. I lied to Angel.

I said I was visiting

an elderly aunt in Kensington.

(chuckling)

- I had to lie to my wife

as well.

Thank you.

I don't know

what we're going to do.

Her last book, I'm afraid,

was a terrible disappointment.

- I thought

that was because of the war.

- No, I'm afraid

it was because of the book.

Her readers are disturbed

by this new-found pacifism.

They don't see what place it has

in a romantic novel.

And frankly, I agree with them.

I've said this to Angel,

naturally, but she won't listen.

- But she's still

a great writer.

Nothing can alter that.

- What she needs to do

is to get back

to the way she used to write

and give people something

to distract them

from this wretched war.

If she doesn't, I ask myself

what's going to happen.

And I'm not just saying this

as her publisher,

but as her friend.

Miss Howe, are you alright?

- Look behind you.

Carefully.

- Who on earth is she?

- She's an old acquaintance.

My God, what if Angel finds out

he was on leave?

How could Esme do this to her?

I'm going to talk to him.

- No, no, no! Nora, Nora, Nora.

Leave him be. Really.

- Well? What's it like?

- Not wonderful.

- Such a shame.

- Don't tell me

you're feeling sorry for Angel.

- Now everybody's

criticizing and rejecting her,

I do feel

a kind of pity for her.

Perhaps I understand you more.

- Understand me?

- Yes.

Because you had

the courage to publish her

when no one else would.

And you were right.

- I'm pleased to hear you

finally taking her side.

(scoffing)

- I can't take her side

as a writer.

There's not one of her books

I could ever enjoy.

But I've come

to admire the woman.

Despite all her bad taste

and absurdities,

she fought for her dreams

and got everything she wanted:

success, fame...

Even the man she loved.

- The man she loved.

- Are you still

in love with her?

(scoffing)

- What makes you say that?

- Your eyes.

- Angel!

A telegram!

- Well, open it.

Oh, my God, he's been killed.

- He's wounded.

They're sending him home.

They're sending him home!

- Oh! Oh!

- And what will you do

now you're home, Esme?

- Paint! I'd love you

to paint my peacocks.

You should see them

when they fan out their tails.

- I'm not sure Esme is going

to want to paint your pet birds.

Not after

what he's just been through.

- But we have

to forget all that.

None of it matters now.

Things'll be just as they were.

- Just as they were?

- Yes. You've lost your leg,

but it's not like you're dead.

And I'll buy you a wheelchair,

and then you can go

wherever you like.

Do you want me to help you?

- No.

- Good night.

What're you doing? What is it?

(sighing heavily)

- I've missed you, Angel.

- Are you sure

this is a good idea?

With your leg...?

(Esme breathing heavily)

(grunting)

- Actually, I don't think

Angel could bear it

if you left a second time.

- So what do you expect me

to do here in this mausoleum?

Try to bury me alive?

- No, I expect you

to use the studio to paint.

- Paint what?

Sultan?

Angel's cats?

- Paint what you saw in the war.

- Nobody's interested in that.

They'd rather forget.

- I was looking

at your Greek sketchbooks

and there were

some loose drawings--

- So what? Throw them away.

What's the point?

- I liked them.

(laughing)

- Come on, Nora.

Spare me your pity.

You've never liked

a single thing I've ever done.

You saw me in London,

didn't you?

- Yes.

- Did you tell her?

- No.

(Angel giggling)

- "Dear madam,

"having had personal experience

of the horrors of war,

"I would ask you

to spare your readers

"those sadistic descriptions

and stylistic mannerisms.

As a lover of literature

I feel the--"

(Angel laughing)

- Oh, stop!

That's enough. Burn it.

Thank you, my darling.

- Angel...

- Mm-hmm?

- There's something

I have to ask you.

- Oh?

- It's about money.

- What do you mean?

- I've got none left

and I'm drowning in debt.

I'm very, very sorry.

I realize how much

you must regret

having married a gambler.

A chronic one, at that.

- I've never regretted it.

Have you?

- You're the one

who has every reason to.

Nora always said

I married you for your money.

- I don't have any money.

- That's it, then,

I'm finished.

- Of course not.

I can get money.

It's just a case of giving

the public what they want.

- I feel despicable

asking you like this.

- How soon?

How soon do they want it?

- Well, with gambling debts,

I can always stall

for a little while,

but eventually...

- Don't worry,

I'm going to start writing,

and I'm not going

to leave this room

until I've written "The End."

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