Purple Noon Page #2

Which is ironic,

since he's the one who sent me here.

He thought I was too smart...

for a poor kid.

To look distinguished,

which is a low-class ambition,

never use a meat knife with fish.

What's more,

knives aren't held like that.

Like this.

Just trying to help.

Can you steer a course?

I think so.

southeast.

We'll bring up your coffee.

I wouldn't accept half

of what you put him through.

It's fun, seeing how much he'll take.

- Stop being so nasty.

- Don't feel sorry for him.

All he cares about is money.

If that's what you think,

why'd you go to Rome with him?

Are you bored being with just me?

Darling, are you crazy?

If you are, I'd rather leave now.

Where?

My love, don't be silly.

Listen,

he'll be the one leaving.

Right away, if you like.

Then it'll be just the two of us.

Like before.

Are you nuts?

Give me a hand!

Jump! She'll scrape the hull!

- Jump! Well tow it!

- I can't! I'm afraid!

- Of what?

- The sea!

I don't give a damn!

It's your fault, now jump!

Philippe!

Philippe! What are you doing?

That'll teach you!

A little taste of exile.

Marge!

The dinghy is gone.

Tom!

He's got terrible sunstroke.

This time, you went too far.

What kind of game

are you playing with him?

Were you like that

when you were 15?

Strange kids.

He's not a childhood friend.

He made it up.

I've never seen him before.

He's amazing!

Are you sure you're not mistaken?

I don't think so.

He's chilly.

Go get his sweater.

BANK OF VENICE... ACCOUNT #5908

BALANCE:

I like you,

so I don't want to hurt you.

When we get to Taormina...

- It'd be better if I left?

- Yes.

He's not like this

when we're alone.

Believe me, going home

is what's best for you.

I'm sorry.

Do you understand?

Perfectly.

I understand you love

a Philippe that doesn't exist.

The sweater?

He's too sick.

Cover him with blankets.

Thatll do.

You okay?

Yeah.

You know,

I meant it as a joke,

but it went wrong.

Forget it.

It's my fault...

I have this stupid fear of the water.

No, it's my fault.

How's the sunburn?

Getting better.

Nine of spades.

Actually, didn't you want to kill me

when you got out of the dinghy?

Not when I got out,

but a few times before.

How very interesting...

- What did you say?

- Nothing!

Were joking.

That's why you took

my bank statements?

Exactly.

so you kill me, and you're rich?

Don't miss a trick, do you?

It seems awfully complicated.

You'd get caught immediately.

- Not necessarily.

I might not look it,

but I've got lots of imagination.

She's listening.

Quick, say something, anything.

- Eight of spades, eight of hearts!

- A voyage.

Ah, Taormina, Etna!

- Philippe!

- The stick and the...

- Carrot!

- Carrot!

Philippe.

Yes.

Philippe!

Yes!

Come here.

I need your opinion.

Listen.

- To what?

- The new preface.

"Fra Angelico

can be considered a link

between Gothic painting

and Renaissance painting."

- Haven't I read that before?

- Just wait.

Maybe later.

Now's not a good time.

- See? You don't care about my work.

- Of course I do!

You don't love me.

What's your problem?

My feelings for you have nothing

to do with Fra Angelico!

- You mock everything I do.

- Oh, boy.

First, that's not true.

second, calling Fra Angelico

a "link' is quite tactless.

Pardon me.

- And this?

Is this tactful?

What's that?

- A souvenir from the Coliseum?

- It's not from there.

Don't start this again, I beg you.

Don't ruin everything!

I love you and you know it!

Now leave me alone!

- It's that easy?

Everything I do is dumb,

but you do great things! As if!

At least I do something.

- You call that work?

I do. And if it bothers you,

I can easily do it elsewhere!

- Fine! Off you go!

- Philippe, don't touch that!

- Go work somewhere else!

- Don't do it!

Get the hell out!

- Marge.

- No!

Marge.

What's going on?

What's wrong, sweetie?

- Bring me ashore.

- What?

- Bring me ashore.

She wants to go ashore.

Fine!

I don't understand.

If you want me to go...

Okay.

Marge!

Where are you going?

I don't know.

To Mongibello?

Maybe.

Marge.

Thanks.

I'm going to Mongibello.

I can't leave her like that.

Now that we're alone,

let's resume our little chat.

- With pleasure.

Assuming you kill me.

Okay.

Then what?

- I bury you reverently.

- And then?

Faking your signature,

I sign your letters of credit.

- It's not that easy!

- I learn quickly.

Of course.

The earring.

Was it you?

- No.

Come on, don't lie.

Okay, I admit it.

Well settle that later.

I caught you in front of the mirror

imitating me.

Do it again.

I said, "Marge. My love, my angel.

That nasty man will never separate us.

I won't go back to San Francisco

and he won't get his $5,000.

I won't allow anything

to stand between us."

The stakes:
the watch my father

gave you against $2,500.

Poker. One hand only.

Bringing me back

would've gotten you twice that.

We're not going to san Francisco?

I love Marge.

Let. s do it.

One card.

Well?

Flush.

Damn! Two pair.

Ill write you a check.

You cheated to lose.

You broke up a three of a kind.

I won't be bought off so cheaply.

$2,500 isn't bad.

small change.

Even $5,000 doesn't interest me.

I can have it all.

How?

I have a plan.

Imitate my signature.

Do it.

It takes practice.

Like I said, Ill learn.

Even if you fake my signature,

you'd never manage a whole letter!

I'd use your typewriter.

They are easily identifiable.

What if I throw it overboard?

What then?

That'd be naughty of you.

It's yours.

Marge!

Miserable wretch.

Marge?

Philippe!

I thought you were Philippe.

Where is he?

- Philippe!

- Marge.

He's not here.

He didnt want to come back?

Thanks, Tom.

I'm glad you're here.

Did he go off with Freddy?

Is he in Rome?

I'm babbling.

Why didn't he come back?

Is he still angry?

Yes.

Will he be gone long?

You must know if he took his things.

Tell me, Tom, please.

He didn't take anything.

He asked you to get his things.

You don't look very proud of your job.

I won't run after him.

His bathrobe.

The rest is in the boat.

Miss! I saw the boat.

I have mail for Mr. Greenleaf.

- Thanks.

- Bye.

He left his boat with you?

He never let anyone use it.

Just like him.

Takes the typewriter

and forgets his pajamas.

Ill get changed.

Get going.

Ill go with you. Philippe should

get this letter immediately.

He owes 500,000 lire

for the boat and I'm broke.

I'm really stuck.

I'm going back to Paris.

Be reasonable.

Give me the letter,

Ill make sure he gets it.

No.

HOTEL PARADISE:

Mr. Ripley!

Your passport.

Thanks.

Even if you're selling it,

you still owe us 500,000 lire.

Plus, you want an advance.

Ill have to speak to the director.

Sign this, please.

It's a sales agreement

for your boat.

It's too late in the season

to fetch a good price.

- Sure... I'll send it to you.

- As you wish.

You're still in Mongibello?

- No, Rome.

At the Hotel Excelsior.

- Good-bye, Mr. Greenleaf.

- Greenleaf.

I reserved a room.

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