Behind the Scenes: The End of the Affair

---

This is a diary...

of...

hate.

And perhaps I wouldn't

be writing it...

if some devil hadn't made me

stop him that night...

in the rain.

You want to drown, Henry?

I wanted a bit of air.

How nice to see you, Bendrix.

How long has it been?

Ayear?

June, 1944.

As long as that?

How's Sarah?

Oh, she's out and about

somewhere.

She at the cinema?

No, she never goes.

Oh, good night, Henry.

You should go home

before you catch your death.

Is something wrong?

Let me take you home, Henry.

Or perhaps I wouldn't

be writing this...

if I had known then

who I hated.

Was it Henry?

Was it his wife Sarah?

Or was it some other

who was yet to be revealed to me?

Sarah?

See? She's out still.

Come upstairs.

Come in.

Let me get you a drink.

Whiskey, thank you.

Whiskey.

So what's troubling you,

Henry?

Sarah.

She's out for a walk now,

Bendrix.

A walk.

Well, she always was

a great walker.

Jealousy's a terrible thing.

Well, you know you

can trust me, Henry.

You know, I went so far...

as to get the name

of a private detective.

You think she's seeing someone?

- Of course you think me a fool.

- No, Henry.

I don't think you're a fool.

- You mean you think it's possible?

- Of course.

Sarah's human.

Can't sleep.

Keep picking up...

this wretched card.

Burn it.

- I wish I could.

- Then go see what's-his-name, Savage?

And sit where all

the jealous husbands sit?

Do you think they have

a waiting room, Bendrix...

where we see each other's faces

as we pass through?

Why not let me go, Henry?

- You?

- Yes.

I could pretend

to be a jealous lover.

Jealous lovers are less ridiculous

than jealous husbands.

They're supported

by the weight of literature.

Tragic, never comic.

Think ofTroilus.

Well, I shan't lose my amour propre

when I interview Mr. Savage.

This is ridiculous.

One can't spy on one's wife

through a friend...

and have the friend

pretend to be her lover.

- What else are friends for?

- You're a good chap, Bendrix.

All I needed was to talk,

clear my head.

The name was Savage,

and the address was 3 Vigo Passage.

Forget what I've told you.

Doesn't make sense. I'll see a doctor.

That was the door.

Sarah's come in.

It's the maid.

She's been to the pictures.

No, it was Sarah's step.

Sarah, darling.

Henry.

- You... Is that you?

- Been out for a walk?

- Yes.

- It's a filthy night.

You're wet through, Sarah.

One day you'll catch your death of cold.

Good night.

Their marriage was conventional...

like their well-appointed house.

And I liked them both

the first night we met...

drinking bad South African sherry

because of the war in Spain.

Good evening, sir.

- May I take your hat?

- Thank you.

Mr. Miles is upstairs.

Sherry, sir?

Thank you.

She seemed restless.

In the summer of 1939...

the whole of London was restless

in the face of the coming storm.

How nice of you to come.

Sarah, this is our neighbor,

the novelist chap.

What on earth

is a novelist doing here?

- Research.

- On what?

On your husband.

I'm trying to write a character

who works for the Ministry of Pensions.

I need to find out his habits,

what he drinks before bedtime.

- Cocoa.

- And when.

Unless we're entertaining.

Would you be so kind

as to excuse your character?

- The ministry needs him.

- Unfortunately it does.

- So tell me.

- What?

- His secrets.

- Henry's a good man.

- Good men have no secrets.

- I was afraid you'd say that.

You see, goodness

has so little fictional value.

What does have fictional value?

- A minister of Home Security.

- Are you saying my husband is fiction?

I'm saying he could be,

in the right hands.

Oh, dear. This is alarming.

Can we get away from the service?

- You mean change the subject?

- I meant fresh air actually.

Of course.

- So how long have you been married?

- Is your character married?

Yes, he's been married happily

for ten years.

Henry's the perfect model then.

We've been married ten years.

You know that...

happiness is even harder to write

than goodness.

Henry prefers habit to happiness.

- I'll give them to you to sign.

- We were discussing the house, darling.

Let me fill that for you.

- It's a lovely house.

- My wife found it.

And your wife is charming.

- She's a great help to me.

- Yes, I'm sure.

They've made a picture

of one of your books, haven't they?

Yes, it's playing at the Rialto.

- I'll take you both.

- Far too busy for pictures, I'm afraid.

Should I make a note of that?

Make sure your character

never gets home before 10:00.

- Come out, Henry, for once?

- You know I can't, darling.

But you go.

Take her, Bendrix.

- Sarah, one has to insist.

- Henry.

- Where are you going?

- To see wonder.

- But you promised.

- Murderer's promises keep.

- It's not what I wrote, you know.

- You can't keep saying that.

- It's true.

- I know.

There was one scene you did write.

Describe it.

Where he offered her onions

with her meal.

She refused because her husband

didn't like the smell.

He got angry.

And why did he get angry?

He didn't want to think of her

going home to him.

Does Henry like onions?

No.

I'm in love, you know.

Me too.

Susan?

Come upstairs.

Sarah?

One minute, dear.

What if he heard?

He wouldn't recognize the sound.

- Sarah, you been eating onions?

- Sorry, darling.

So, Bendrix,

how was the picture?

Up to scratch?

Of course, as she began to love me...

she learned to deceive Henry.

So why was I upset to find

that two years later...

she was deceiving him again?

Mr. Bendrix, I assume we

are discussing Mrs. Bendrix.

Not exactly. She's the wife

of a friend of mine.

Perhaps you and the lady

are intimate?

No.

I've only seen her once

since 1944.

I don't understand.

You said this was a watching case.

Can't one love or hate

as long as that?

There's nothing discreditable

about jealousy, Mr. Bendrix.

I always salute it

as the mark of true love.

I've come on behalf of the husband.

He thinks she's deceiving him.

- She has secrets.

- Ah, secrets.

- Yes.

- There may be nothing in it, of course.

In my experience, Mr. Bendrix...

there almost invariably is.

Shall my man report to you

or the husband?

To me.

He must know nothing about it.

Most interesting case.

All my men use great discretion.

I will put one on it immediately.

And he will do his damndest

to put your mind at rest.

Or should I say the husband's?

Hello?

Good.

Yes, it was good to see you.

Yes, how long has it been?

Two years.

As long as that?

Well, you were always better

at anniversaries than me.

You want to meet?

Well, whatever for?

Not tomorrow, no.

I've got this article.

Wednesday? Let me check.

Would Thursday do?

Good.

The Park Lane Hotel at 1:00?

It was odd to think

that during the war...

we could be so totally at peace.

There were nights

when I wished those sirens...

would never end.

Tell me again.

I love you.

And I always will.

I'm sorry I'm late.

I came by tube, but it was crowded.

Well, taxi is quicker.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes