Rebecca

Last night

I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

It seemed to me I stood by the

iron gate leading to the drive,

and for a while

I could not enter...

for the way was barred to me.

Then, like all dreamers,

I was possessed of a sudden

with supernatural powers...

and passed like a spirit

through the barrier before me.

The drive wound away

in front of me,

twisting and turning

as it had always done.

But as I advanced, I was aware

that a change had come upon it.

Nature had come

into her own again,

and little by little

had encroached upon the drive...

with long, tenacious fingers.

On and on wound the poor thread

that had once been our drive,

and finally

there was Manderley.

Manderley...

secretive and silent.

Time could not mar the perfect

symmetry of those walls.

Moonlight can play

odd tricks upon the fancy,

and suddenly it seemed to me that light

came from the windows.

And then a cloud

came upon the moon...

and hovered an instant

like a dark hand before a face.

The illusion went with it.

I looked upon

a desolate shell...

with no whisper of the past

about its staring walls.

We can never

go back to Manderley again.

That much is certain.

But sometimes in my dreams...

I do go back to the strange

days of my life...

which began for me

in the South of France.

No! Stop!

What the devil

are you shouting about?

Who are you?

What are you staring at?

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare.

But I, I only thought...

Oh, you did, did you?

Well, what are you doing here?

I was only walking.

Well, get on with your walking.

Don't hang about here screaming.

I'll never come to Monte Carlo

out of season again.

Not a single well-known

personality in the hotel.

Stone cold! Waiter.

Garcon. Call him.

Tell him to get me some...

Why, it's Max de Winter.

How do you do?

- How do you do?

- I'm Edith Van Hopper.

It's so nice

to run into you here,

just when I was beginning to despair of

finding any old friends here in Monte.

But do sit down

and have some coffee.

Mr. De Winter is having coffee with me.

Ask that stupid waiter for another cup.

I'm afraid I must contradict you.

You shall both have coffee with me.

- Garcon. Coffee, please.

- Oui, monsieur.

- A cigarette?

- No, thank you.

You know, I recognized you

just as soon as you came in,

though I haven't seen you since

that night at the casino at Palm Beach.

Perhaps you don't remember

an old woman like me.

Are you playing the tables much here?

No, I'm afraid that sort of thing

ceased to amuse me years ago.

I can well understand that.

As for me,

if I had a home like Manderley,

I should certainly never come to Monte.

It's one of the biggest places

in that part of the country, and

you can't beat it for beauty.

What do you think of Monte Carlo?

Or don't you think of it at all?

Oh, well,

I think it's rather artificial.

She's spoiled, Mr. De Winter.

That's her trouble.

Most giris would give their eyes

for a chance to see Monte.

Wouldn't that rather

defeat the purpose?

Now that we've found each other again,

I hope I shall see something of you.

You must come

and have a drink in my suite.

I hope they've given you a good room.

The place is empty. So if you're

uncomfortable, mind you, make a fuss.

Your valet has unpacked for you,

I suppose?

I'm afraid I don't possess one.

Perhaps you'd like to do it for me?

Well, I, I hardly think...

Perhaps you could make

yourself useful to Mr. De Winter

if he wants anything done.

You're a capable child in many ways.

That's a charming suggestion,

but I'm afraid I cling to the old motto:

"He travels fastest

who travels alone."

Perhaps you've not heard of it.

Good night.

What do you make of that?

Do you suppose that sudden departure

was intended to be funny?

Come, don't sit there gawking.

Let's go upstairs.

- Have you got the key?

- Yes, Mrs. Van Hopper.

I remember when I was younger

there was a well-known writer...

who used to dart down the back

way whenever he saw me coming.

I suppose he was in love with me

and wasn't quite sure of himself.

Well, c'est la vie.

By the way, my dear,

don't think that I mean to be unkind,

but you were just a teeny, weeny bit

forward with Mr. De Winter.

Your effort to enter

the conversation...

quite embarrassed me,

and I'm sure it did him.

Men loathe that sort of thing.

Oh, come. Don't sulk.

After all, I am responsible

for your behavior here.

Perhaps he didn't notice it.

Poor thing!

I suppose he just can't

get over his wife's death.

They say he simply adored her.

Oui.

Oh! How awkward of me.

What a stupid thing to do.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Please don't bother.

It doesn't really matter.

Leave that. Leave that.

Go and lay another place at my table.

- Mademoiselle will have lunch with me.

- Oh, but I couldn't possibly.

- Why not?

- Oh, please don't be polite.

It's very kind of you,

- but I'll be all right if

they just change the cloth.

- I wasn't being polite.

I should have asked you to have

lunch with me even if you hadn't

upset the vase so clumsily.

Come along. We needn't talk to

each other if we don't feel like it.

Thank you very much.

Oh, I'll just ha-have

s- some scrambled eggs.

Oui, mademoiselle.

What's happened to your friend?

Oh, she's ill in bed with a cold.

I'm sorry

I was so rude to you yesterday.

The only excuse I can offer is that I've

become boorish through living alone.

You weren't really.

You simply wanted to be alone, and...

Tell me, is Mrs. Van Hopper

a friend of yours or just a relation?

No, she's my employer.

I'm what is known as a paid companion.

I didn't know companionship

could be bought.

I looked up the word "companion"

in the dictionary once.

It said,

"a friend of the bosom."

I don't envy you the privilege.

Oh, she's very kind, really,

and I have to earn my living.

- Haven't you any family?

- No, my mother died years and years ago,

and then there was only my father.

And he died last summer,

and then I took this job.

- How rotten for you.

- Yes, it was rather,

because, you see,

we got on so well together.

You and your father?

Yes. He was a lovely person...

very unusual.

- What was he?

- A painter.

- Ah. Was he a good one?

- Well, I thought so.

But people didn't understand him.

Yes, that's often the trouble.

He painted trees.

At least it was one tree.

You mean he painted the same

tree over and over again?

Yes. You see, he had a theory that

if you should find one perfect thing...

or place or person,

you should stick to it.

Do you think that's very silly?

Not at all.

I'm a firm believer in that myself.

And what did you find

to do with yourself

while he was painting his tree?

Oh, I sat with him and I sketched

a little. I don't do it well, though.

- You're going sketching this afternoon?

- Yes.

- Where?

- I haven't made up my mind.

- I'll drive you somewhere in the car.

- Oh, no, please. I didn't mean...

Oh, nonsense.

Finish up that mess and we'll get along.

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