Brief Encounter Page #4

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if I can't afford a couple

of one-and-ninepennies.

- I insist.

- I hoped you were going to treat me.

- Which is it:
Palace or Palladium?

- Palladium.

I was once very sick on a channel

steamer called Cardinal Richelieu.

Excuse me.

I feel awfully grand perched up here.

It was very extravagant of you.

- It was a famous victory.

- Do you feel guilty as all? I do.

- Guilty?

- You ought to more than me.

You neglected your work.

I worked this morning. A little

relaxation never did harm to anyone.

Why should either of us

feel guilty?

- I don't know.

- How awfully nice you are.

It can't be.

It is.

We walked back

to the station together.

Just as we reached the gates,

he put his hand under my arm.

I didn't notice it then,

but I remember it now.

- What's she like... your wife?

- Madeleine?

Small, dark,

rather delicate.

How funny. I should have thought

she would've been fair.

And your husband?

What's he like?

Medium height, brown hair, kindly,

unemotional and not delicate at all.

- You said that proudly.

- Did I?

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

We've just got time for a cup of tea

before our trains go.

And for the third time in one week, he

brought that common man and his wife...

to the house without so much as

a "by your leave."

- Two teas, please.

- Cake or pastry?

- Cake or pastry?

- No, thank you.

- Are those Bath buns fresh?

- Certainly they are. Made this morning.

Two, please.

That'll be sevenpence.

- Take the tea to the table, Beryl.

- I'll carry the buns.

You must eat one of these.

Fresh this morning.

- Very fattening.

- I don't hold to such foolishness.

- They do look good, I must say.

- One of my earliest passions in life...

never outgrown it.

- What happened then, Mrs. Bagot?

- Well...

Well, it's all very fne, I said,

expecting me to do this,

that and that other,

but what do I get out of it?

You can't expect me to be a cook,

housekeeper and char during the day...

and a loving wife in the evening,

just because you feel like it.

Oh, dear me, no. There are just as good

fsh in the sea as ever came out of it.

And I packed me boxes

then and there and left him.

- Didn't you never go back?

- Never.

Went to my sister's place

at Folkestone for a bit.

Then I went in with a friend of mine,

and we opened a tea shop in Hythe.

- What happened to him?

- Dead as a doornail inside three years.

Well, I never.

Is tea bad for one?

Worse than coffee, I mean?

If this is a professional interview,

my fee is a guinea.

- Why did you become a doctor?

- That's a long story.

- Perhaps because I'm an idealist.

- I should think all doctors

ought to have ideals.

- Otherwise their work

would be unbearable.

- Encouraging me to talk shop?

It's what interests you most.

Yes, it is.

I'm terribly ambitious really.

Not ambitious for myself

so much as for my special pigeon.

- What is your special pigeon?

- Preventive medicine.

- I see.

- I'm afraid you don't.

- I was trying to be intelligent.

- Most good doctors,

especially when they're young,

have private dreams.

That's the best part of them.

Sometimes, though,

those get over-professionalized

and strangulated... am I boring you?

No, I don't quite understand,

but you're not boring me.

What I mean is this: All good doctors

must primarily be enthusiasts.

They must, like writers

and painters and priests...

they must have

a sense of vocation,

- a deep-rooted, unsentimental

desire to do good.

- Yes, I see that.

Well, obviously one way of preventing

disease is worth 50 ways of curing it.

That's where my ideal comes in.

Preventive medicine isn't

anything to do with medicine at all.

It's concerned with conditions... living

conditions, hygiene and common sense.

For instance,

my speciality is pneumoconiosis.

- Oh, dear.

- Don't be alarmed.

It's simpler than it sounds.

It's nothing but a slow process

of fbrosis of the lung...

due to the inhalation

of particles of dust.

In the hospital here there are

splendid opportunities for

observing cures, making notes...

- because of the coal mines.

- You suddenly look much younger.

- Do I?

- Almost like a little boy.

What made you say that?

I don't know. Yes, I do.

Tell me.

Oh, no, I couldn't, really.

You were saying about the coal mines.

Oh, yes, the inhalation

of coal dust.

That's one specific form of the disease.

It's called anthracosis.

What are the others?

Chalicosis...

that comes from metal dust...

steel works, you know.

Yes, of course, steel works.

And silicosis...

that's stone dust...

gold mines.

I see.

- There's your train.

- Yes.

- You mustn't miss it.

- No.

- What's the matter?

- Nothing. Nothing at all, really.

It's been so very nice.

I've enjoyed my afternoon enormously.

I'm so glad. So have I. I apologize

for boring you with long medical words.

I feel dull and stupid

not to be able to understand more.

Shall I see you again?

It's the other platform, isn't it?

You'll have to run.

Don't bother about me.

- Shall I see you again?

- Yes, of course. Perhaps you'd

come to Ketchworth one Sunday.

- It's rather far, I know,

but we should be delighted.

- Please, please.

- What is it?

- Next Thursday, the same time.

- No, I couldn't possibly.

- Please.

I ask you most humbly.

- You'll miss your train.

- All right.

- Run. I'll be there.

- Good-bye.

Thank you, my dear.

I stood there and watched

his train draw out of the station.

I stared after it until its taillight

had vanished into the darkness.

I imagined him getting out

at Churley,

giving up his ticket,

walking back

through the streets,

letting himself into his house

with his latchkey.

His wife... Madeleine...

would probably be in the hall

to meet him.

Or perhaps upstairs in her room,

not feeling very well.

"Small, dark

and rather delicate. "

I wondered if he'd say,

"I met such a nice woman

at the Kardomah.

We had lunch

and went to the pictures. "

Then suddenly,

I knew that he wouldn't.

I knew beyond a shadow of doubt

that he wouldn't say a word,

At that moment, the first awful feeling

of danger swept over me.

I got into the first compartment

I saw.

I wanted to get home

as quickly as possible.

I looked hurriedly around the carriage

to see if anyone was looking at me,

as if they could read

my secret thoughts.

No one was, except a clergyman

in the opposite corner.

I felt myself blushing and opened

my library book and pretended to read.

By the time I'd got to Ketchworth,

I had made up my mind definitely...

- that I wasn't going

to see Alec anymore.

- Good evening, Mrs. Jesson.

It was silly and undignified flirting

like that with a complete stranger.

Oh, good evening.

I walked up to the house

quite briskly and cheerfully.

I'd been behaving like an idiot,

admittedly, but after all,

no harm had been done.

You met me in the hall. Your face was

strained and worried, and my heart sank.

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