Random Harvest Page #4

It would never occur to you

to buy me a present, would it?

Never.

- Smithy.

- They're not very much.

- I adore them, darling.

- They're just the color of your eyes.

You're an awfully nice

color scheme, darling...

and your hair is like a bright new penny.

- Mr. And Mrs. Smith here?

- Yes.

It must be the vicar.

- Hello, Vicar! Come in.

- Good morning.

Is it all right for the vicar to come in?

Good heavens!

How do you do, Mrs. Smith? How are you?

Very well, thank you, Vicar.

- And how is the heir?

- Take a look.

Hello, young fellow.

He's quite a size, isn't he?

Bigger and stronger

than babies twice his age.

I was at the post office just now.

I found Mrs. Goodbody

in a lather of excitement.

There had been an extraordinary event.

A telegram!

- No.

- How very thrilling. Who got it?

- You did.

- I?

Probably someone congratulating you

upon becoming a father.

Aren't you ever going to tell me

what's in it?

I can't believe it. It's fantastic.

Darling, please,

I can't stand it another second.

It's from Liverpool,

from the editor of The Mercury.

Read it out loud.

"Can you appear at Mercury office

10:
00 tomorrow morning...

"November 14,

regarding permanent position on paper?

"Samuel C. Henson, Editor."

Oh, darling.

Smithy, how marvelous.

Marvelous? It's incredible.

"Can you appear at Mercury office

tomorrow morning..."

Goodness, you're a terrible packer.

Let me see, shirts, socks, tie...

May I ask what you're going to sleep in?

Great Scott! Have I forgotten

the pajamas?

This cuff's a bit frayed,

but I don't suppose Keats was very dressy.

That's better.

All these labels.

He'll think I'm a commercial traveler.

- Are you excited?

- Wildly.

Think what it means.

A start in life, a career.

I'll be able to do things for you,

things I've always dreamed of.

I wish I could come, too.

Yes. I've been thinking of that,

but I daren't wait.

He might change his mind.

Darling, you're not worrying about me,

are you?

I'll be all right.

I feel absolutely sure of myself.

I know. I shan't worry.

It's just...

Our first parting.

- When will you be back?

- Tomorrow night.

I'll be in on the 8:00 train.

- Where will you stay?

- I hadn't thought.

The Great Northern isn't bad.

It's the best of the cheap hotels

and it's near the station.

- Got your key?

- Yes.

That must be the vicar. I must run.

Goodbye, darling.

Goodbye, young fellow.

- Take very good care of my little family.

- Indeed, I will, sir.

Goodbye, darling.

See you tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night. Good luck, Smithy.

Can you tell me,

where is the Mercury office?

The Liverpool Mercury.

Second on the left, sir, off George Street.

- Thanks.

- Taxi, sir? Looks like rain.

No, thanks. I'll take a chance.

Paper! Get your paper! Paper, sir?

Read The Liverpool Mercury!

Election results! Paper, ma'am? Paper, sir?

Read The Liverpool Mercury!

Election results! Paper, sir?

- Liverpool Mercury...

- Is this George Street?

- I'm looking for the Mercury office.

- Right across the street, on the corner.

Paper! Paper, sir?

Look out!

Call an ambulance.

He'll be all right. He's coming around now.

Feeling better?

You've got an unholy bump there.

Looks worse than it is, though.

You're lucky, I'd say.

- Do you feel any pain?

- My head aches a bit.

It would be funny if it didn't.

Quite a wallop.

My shoes.

A good blacking is all they need.

What on earth...

This is all wrong.

- I've no business to be in civvies.

- What should you be in?

In uniform, of course.

I'm on active service.

- Where the devil am I, anyway?

- You're in Liverpool.

Liverpool?

You've had a nasty shock.

You better go somewhere

and rest for a while.

Try not to think about anything.

- Is this the party who had the accident?

- Yes, Officer.

It's not my fault.

He slipped in the mud right in front of me.

- Is that the right of it?

- It's the truth, Captain.

- I think so.

- What cabby says is correct, Officer.

I saw the accident from my window there.

- Can I have your name, please, sir?

- Rainier, Charles Rainier.

- Rainier. Profession, sir?

- Captain of the Wessex Regiment.

Address, please.

The trenches, Arras.

I beg your pardon, sir?

- Random Hall, North Random, Surrey.

- Thank you, sir.

You don't wish to lodge a complaint, sir?

Thank you, no.

I'm sure whatever happened was my fault.

All right. Thanks, Mr. Rainier.

Thanks, guvnor.

Sure you feel strong enough to walk?

A little dizzy still, but I'll manage it.

Quite a bump.

Apart from that, what do I owe you?

- Never mind that.

- Thank you.

- Thanks.

- It's all right, sir.

- Here's your hat.

- Yes.

- Sure you don't want me to call a cab?

- No, thanks. The air will brace me up.

By the way, would you mind telling me...

what day is this?

This is Thursday.

Thursday, yes, but the date?

November 14, 1920.

Thanks.

1920. Three years gone.

Three years.

France, I remember distinctly.

An ensign was killed. Young Davis.

But after that?

What after that?

Liverpool? What am I doing here?

Where have I been?

Better go home. Yes. May clear things up.

Better go home.

Mr. Sheldon, I'm sorry to wake you...

but there's a gentleman here

asking for you.

He says he's Mr. Charles. Charles.

I'm sorry, Mr. Sheldon.

That's what he says.

The butler says

he'll come straight down, sir.

Step inside, sir.

Take a seat, sir.

You'll excuse me taking precautions, sir,

it being late and all.

It's quite all right.

Is Miss Bridget at home, do you know?

Yes, sir. The whole family's at home.

Really? Everything's all right

up at the house, I hope.

Haven't you heard, sir?

Old Mr. Rainier died Sunday.

The funeral was today, sir.

Was he a relative of yours, sir?

He was my father.

I'm sorry, sir.

I don't feel much like eating, but still.

I must say I think it most peculiar.

After three years of complete silence...

he suddenly comes back from the grave

with this cock-and-bull story...

and at the very moment

when the will is to be read.

Very convenient, if you ask me.

- You talk as if my brother were a fraud.

- Who's to say he isn't?

- You seem to forget Sheldon's seen him.

- Yes, in the dark...

and Sheldon was probably half-asleep.

Isn't this argument rather a waste of time?

We shall see him for ourselves

in a moment...

and with all respect to Lydia...

I think we shall be able

to recognize our own brother.

- Morning, everybody.

- Good morning.

- Morning, Mother.

- Morning, darling.

Where's Uncle Charles?

He's not down yet.

Besides, we're not all deaf, dear.

I'm sorry. I'm just dying to see him.

It's all so romantic...

like a thriller in the railway bookstore...

Back From The Dead

or The Disappearing Uncle.

Yes, or Three Years In Darkest Amnesia.

Three years! Think of it.

Where do you suppose he's been

all that time?

That's just what I've been asking.

In jail, for all we know.

Did Truslove say positively

that the will was written 10 years ago?

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