Gaslight

Stand back.

No, Paula. Don't look back.

You've got to forget everything

that's happened here.

That's why you're going to Italy,

to Signor Guardi.

He was the best friend your aunt ever had,

and he'll be yours, too.

Perhaps Signor Guardi will make you

into a great singer, as she was.

Wouldn't you like that?

You must think of the future, dear,

not the past.

No. Now, look. Wait a moment, signorina.

There's no use.

Paula, you are not concentrating.

Your mind's not on your singing.

All these years you've worked so hard.

Now what's come over you?

This opera is tragedy, signorina.

You seem incapable of understanding.

Did you never hear your aunt sing Lucia?

You look like her.

But I don't sing like her. I know.

Signor Guardi,

may I speak to you seriously?

- Very seriously.

- Maestro.

It is 10 minutes to the hour.

If you're not continuing the lesson,

I'd like to be excused.

- Very well, Signor Anton.

- Thank you. Good afternoon, signorina.

Now, what is it you wish

to say to me seriously?

"Very seriously."

Signor Guardi, I've tried.

I've worked hard, but it's no use.

- I haven't the voice, have I?

- The trouble is not in your voice alone.

Your heart is not in your singing anymore.

Each time you come here now,

you look happier and you sing worse.

Tell me, Paula, you're in love?

Yes. It's something

that has never happened to me before...

something I never expected

would happen...

but suddenly

it is as if nothing else existed...

even my music,

which used to mean so much to me.

Yes, you are right. My thoughts

were wandering while singing just now.

I'm too happy. That's why you said...

the tragedy was something

I could never understand.

I'm sorry. It was cruel of me to say that...

cruel and untrue.

Real tragedy has touched your life...

and very deeply.

But now there is a chance

to forget tragedy, my child.

Take it. Free yourself from the past...

and forget your singing, too, for a while.

Happiness is better than art.

Dear Maestro, no one has ever been

as kind to me as you have since she died.

Will you let me meet the man

who is taking my pupil away from me?

Yes, of course.

You have a rendezvous with him.

The moment your lesson is over,

you fly to him.

Is he jealous of your music,

these hours you spend away from him?

Dear Maestro...

I don't know when we'll meet again.

Thank you.

- Did you tell him?

- He told me. He didn't know who.

- What did he say?

- He said I should take my happiness.

And will you? Now?

Why do you still hesitate, Paula?

But I don't know you.

I don't know anything about you.

Nor I about you, but I want to marry you.

- Are you afraid?

- I think I am, a little.

- Of me?

- No.

No, never, but of happiness.

I haven't had a lot,

and I feel I can't trust it.

You must give me time

to get used to the idea.

You shall have all the time you want.

I've waited for you so long.

Waited? We've only known

each other two weeks.

I've waited all my life till now.

I can wait a little longer.

But it will not be easy to wait,

to be patient, seeing you every day.

No, it won't be easy for me, either.

- I should go away.

- Go away?

By myself for a week, only a week...

just to know what I'm doing,

just to be sure.

- Where will you go?

- I thought perhaps to the Lakes.

- And when will you go?

- I thought tomorrow.

- Tomorrow?

- Is that too soon?

No, the sooner you go,

the sooner you will come back.

But while you're away, never forget

for one moment I'm here waiting...

and in love with you.

My dearest.

Oh, my goodness! Good gracious!

- It's so exciting.

- Your book?

Yes. It's about a girl who marries a man,

and what do you think?

- He's got six wives buried in the cellar.

- That seems a lot.

Yes, and I'm only on Page 200,

so I'm sure there's still more to come.

- It's a wonderful book.

- It sounds a little gruesome.

Yes. I'm afraid I enjoy a good murder

now and then.

My brother always calls me

"Bloodthirsty Bessie."

- Have a biscuit, dear.

- Thank you.

Digestive biscuits.

Unpleasant name, isn't it?

I always call them "diggy biscuits."

I never travel without them.

- You're not English, are you?

- No.

I was brought up there.

My aunt lived in London.

- Are you on your way there now?

- No. I'm going to Lake Como.

- All by yourself?

- Yes, all by myself.

- But is that wise?

- I don't think any harm will come to me.

I'm going to London.

I must be in London for the spring.

The crocuses, you know,

and the daffodils and the tulips.

The gardens are so beautiful in the spring.

I say "Good morning" to my flowers

in Thornton Square every day.

- Thornton Square?

- Yes. That's where I live, Number 16.

Do you know it?

- I know Thornton Square.

- Do you know anyone living there?

- I used to. Not anymore.

- I wonder who that could be.

I know almost everyone

who lives there now.

We're all so very friendly,

popping in and out of each other's houses.

- What number did your friends live at?

- I'm afraid I don't remember.

You know, we had a real,

live murder there.

Yes, I'd heard of it.

Unfortunately, it's before I went

to live there, just a year before.

Ten years ago, at Number 9,

a famous singer called Alice Alquist.

- Have another biscuit, dear.

- No, thank you.

It was a most mysterious case.

They never found out who killed her.

They never even found a motive.

I've tried to get in the house many a time.

I think it's so exciting. Don't you?

I mean, just to see.

Nothing's been changed...

- all the furniture and everything...

- I think we're getting into Como.

So we are.

- Is anyone meeting you?

- No.

- You will be careful, won't you?

- I will. Goodbye.

Goodbye. Come and see me

if you're ever in London.

My name is Thwaites, Miss Thwaites.

I'll point out the window of the room

in Number 9 where it happened.

You can see it from my drawing room.

- You're not angry with me?

- Angry?

If you hadn't come,

I should have sent for you.

Come and look at the morning.

Aren't you cold like this?

What were you dreaming of?

- Our life together.

- And how do you see it?

I saw all the places

where we'll be together.

Lovely places like this.

I was thinking of our life together, too,

only I heard it in music.

- Something that I want to write.

- Yes, what?

The whole thing is alive with happiness.

I want a feeling of the early morning.

- This morning.

- Yes.

With the sun rising,

lighting your hair as it is now.

I don't know how it ends.

Perhaps it never ends until I do.

- When will you start on it?

- Some day...

after we've had our honeymoon...

and settled down

in a home of our own somewhere.

- Where?

- Where would you like us to settle?

- I haven't thought. Paris, perhaps.

- Paris?

Or Rome?

How would you feel about London?

London?

Paula, if you won't laugh at me,

I'd like to tell you something.

I won't laugh at you. What is it?

It's an idea, a silly idea

that's been with me for years.

I was in London once in the winter.

Rate this script:5.0 / 2 votes