Denial Page #17

RAMPTON is lethal, in complete control now.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

You see I’m trying to understand,

if there was this dual function,

if you can help me, if the corpses

were also gassed in there, then as

I understand it, they were then

sent to be incinerated?

IRVING:

Yes.

RAMPTON:

Mr Irving, what would be the point

of gassing a corpse which was

shortly going to be burnt?

IRVING looks away. DEBORAH stares in intense anger.

IRVING:

I am not sure, saying this off the

top of my head, Mr Rampton. I’m not

a Holocaust historian, I’m a Hitler

historian.

RAMPTON:

Then why don’t you keep your mouth

shut about the Holocaust?

RAMPTON’s contempt is now complete.

Full Blue Script // December 4th 2015 8282.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

The truth is that, as usual, Mr

Irving, you dive in off the board,

saying whatever rubbish comes into

your head in order to avoid drawing

the obvious conclusion. This is not

because you’re a rotten historian.

It’s because you’re a bent one, as

well.

Silence. No-one moves. Inadvertently IRVING finds DEBORAH’s

stare, but looks away at once as if nothing has happened.

114 INT. LOBBY. HIGH COURT. DAY 114

DEBORAH comes out, very moved by what she has heard. There

are not many people about. She sees VERA sitting by herself

on a bench, also plainly stunned by the morning. DEBORAH,

saying nothing, goes and sits next to her. Then she takes her

hand and holds it her. VERA squeezes hers in response.

115 INT. ATHENAEUM. NIGHT 115

RAMPTON is standing in the corridor. He is holding a bottle

of red wine. He knocks on the door. He waits a few moments,

and DEBORAH opens it. She is wearing a dressing gown over her

day clothes, and is plainly not expecting him. She’s shocked.

RAMPTON:

Forgive me. Perhaps I should have

rung. I thought it would be

interesting to see where you lived.

DEBORAH says nothing.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

Is that all right?

DEBORAH:

Yes. Of course it’s all right. Come

in.

RAMPTON:

Thank you.

DEBORAH:

I’m afraid I’m a little bit

disorganized.

RAMPTON:

Well I’m sure that’s not going to

bother me.

RAMPTON enters. It’s a bit of a pigsty. She’s been here for

weeks, and stuff has accumulated. He holds up the wine.

Full Blue Script // December 4th 2015 8383.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

The 1995 Pommard Les Epenots is

quite special, I think, don’t you?

You had it before, remember?

DEBORAH:

Oh. Yes.

RAMPTON:

You could call it our wine.

DEBORAH:

There are glasses here.

RAMPTON:

Shame. I rather like plastic, but

you can’t have everything.

He smiles at her, easy. She’s bewildered by his visit. She

gets the glasses. He sits down with the corkscrew.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

I like to treat myself a little,

don’t you? Why should all the bad

people have all the good things in

life? Like this?

He holds the bottle up again.

DEBORAH:

You had a good morning.

RAMPTON:

I did, didn’t I? I felt it rather

went my way. Cheers.

DEBORAH:

Cheers.

They raises glasses and drink.

DEBORAH (CONT’D)

It’s paying off.

RAMPTON:

What is?

DEBORAH:

Your technique. The idea you had of

never catching his eye.

RAMPTON:

Oh you’ve noticed, have you?

DEBORAH:

What do you think I’ve been doing

the last few weeks?

Full Blue Script // December 4th 2015 8484.

RAMPTON:

It’s my way of telling him what I

think of him. I don’t even look at

him. It’s getting under his skin.

DEBORAH is looking at him now.

DEBORAH:

I owe you an apology.

RAMPTON:

Do you? I can’t think what for.

DEBORAH:

At Auschwitz.

RAMPTON:

Ah.

DEBORAH:

I thought you were late. And I

thought you were rude. Of course

now I understand. You were pacing

the distance.

RAMPTON:

I had to.

DEBORAH:

I understand that now.

RAMPTON:

It’s a murder scene, you go to the

site of the crime.

DEBORAH:

You were preparing a case. You had

to be sure. However disrespectful

you seemed. However heartless.

RAMPTON:

Of course. That’s what I do.

RAMPTON looks at her. He is very moved.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

I had no idea what to expect. It

was a brief. My previous brief,

believe it or not, was working for

Macdonalds. I thought I knew what

six million meant. But I didn’t. It

was just a number. If I’d stayed in

that place any longer, I would have

been too angry to handle the case.

How could Auschwitz just be a

brief? I was amazed that you seemed

to think it could ever be that.

Full Blue Script // December 4th 2015 8585.

DEBORAH acknowledges this silently.

RAMPTON (CONT’D)

It’s painful for me to watch a

client in such distress. We didn’t

set out to make you unhappy.

DEBORAH:

I know that.

RAMPTON:

Well?

DEBORAH hesitates.

DEBORAH:

I never trusted anyone to do

anything. Since I was a child. All

I have is my voice, my conscience.

Just that. And I have to listen to

it.

RAMPTON:

Your conscience?

DEBORAH:

Yes.

RAMPTON:

Interesting things, consciences.

Problem is:
What feels best isn’t

always what works best. By all

means, stand up, look the devil in

the eye, have a go at him. Yes,

very satisfying. Why not? See what

happens. And risk losing. Not just

for yourself. For the others. For

everyone. For ever.

DEBORAH gets up and moves across the room. It’s unbearable.

DEBORAH:

Or?

RAMPTON:

You know ‘or’. Stay seated. Bite

your tongue. Defeat him for good. I

need an act of denial.

DEBORAH:

How can you ask me that? Do you

have any idea how hard it is to

hand your conscience over to

somebody else? It’s everything I

thought I never would do. All

right, I’ll hand mine over to a fly-

fishing, whisky-drinking Scotsman.

Full Blue Script // December 4th 2015 8686.

RAMPTON:

Thank you, Deborah. I appreciate

that.

116 INT. ATHENAEUM. NIGHT 116

DEBORAH closes the door. RAMPTON has gone. She goes to the

table. There, the empty bottle of red wine, the two glasses.

She picks up a cartoon which RAMPTON has left for her. She

looks at it, relieved. Then she drains the wine from one of

the glasses.

117 EXT. STRAND. DAY 117

The law-courts in the morning. Across the street, a small,

unpretentious cafe.

118 INT. CAFE. DAY 118

Eggs sizzle on a grill. RAMPTON is sitting eating bacon and

eggs. There’s condensation on the windows, back-lit by pale

wintry sunshine. DEBORAH comes in to join him. She nods at

the large fearsome-looking black lump on his plate.

DEBORAH:

There you are. What is that?

RAMPTON:

Black pudding. Traditional. It’s

made from blood.

DEBORAH:

And you want to live to the end of

the trial, do you?

RAMPTON:

Well you’ve cheered up since last

night.

DEBORAH:

I’ve cheered up because of last

night.

A WAITRESS has appeared.

RAMPTON:

Black pudding for my friend please.

DEBORAH:

Ignore him. A bagel. You know?

Plain. Round. With a hole. Like a

doughnut.

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