The Killing of Sister George Page #9

Really kept you at it, did he?

Right through the lunch hour.

Honestly, that man.

Just because he sends out

for a couple of moldy sandwiches...

he thinks he's entitled to bore you to death.

- What does he talk about?

- I don't know.

Everything. His wife,

where they're going on holiday.

How brilliantly his son plays the violin.

- Something of an infant prodigy, is he?

- Mr. Katz seems to think so.

Do they know that you share a flat with me?

At the office? I think so. Why?

I just wondered if you thought

it was more discreet not to let on...

or perhaps you didn't want people to know

that you weren't available.

Available? For Mr. Katz?

No, not exactly for Mr. Katz.

But perhaps he isn't as harmful

as you've led me to believe.

What is this? I tell you I can't make lunch...

and you make a whole stupid thing about it.

Why do you always have

to be so hysterically suspicious?

Because you're a bloody little liar.

That's why.

You didn't have sandwiches with Mr. Katz.

You didn't have lunch with Mr. Katz.

You weren't in the office at lunchtime.

What do you mean, I wasn't in the office?

Did you ring me up again?

No, I didn't. But I just happen to know

that you weren't in the office, that's all.

All right, so I went out.

- I don't see what that's got to do with you.

- Don't you?

Considering you've lied to me...

considering it was my last day

in the studio...

and you couldn't have lunch with me,

I think it's got quite a lot to do with me.

I said I was sorry about lunch...

but it so happens

I had a previous appointment.

- Did you? Who with?

- It's none of your business.

I don't see why

I should tell you everything.

Really?

That was a pretty silly answer.

If you must know,

it was a perfectly innocent lunch.

With one of the girls

who used to work in the office.

Is that so?

- Yes, that's so.

- One of the girls.

Not all girls are raving bloody lesbians,

you know.

That is a misfortune

that I'm perfectly well aware of.

You must have had an exhausting lunch.

You don't usually creep into bed

at this time.

- Well, I'm tired.

- I can see that.

I take it you're going

to sleep in here tonight?

It is my bedroom.

As you say, it is your bedroom.

What did you do

for the rest of the afternoon?

My God.

- I went back.

- No, you didn't go back to the office.

Who were you with?

- I wasn't with anyone.

- Don't lie to me.

I've just come back

from seeing your Mr. Katz.

And he is a harmless old man.

But for some reason, you wanted me

to believe he is a sex maniac...

who chased you around the office all day.

Now why would you do a thing like that?

Are you mad? That was your idea.

That was what you chose to believe.

Perhaps I did. But you encouraged it.

You've been with that little bastard

Jonathan again, haven't you?

- No, I haven't.

- Who was it, then?

One of those men

that you're always talking to on the phone?

No.

It must've been.

- It wasn't.

- Who was it, then?

How do you know I didn't go out by myself?

By yourself?

You couldn't cross the road by yourself!

You think I can't even exist on my own,

don't you?

You think I'm too dim, too stupid,

to have any interests of my own.

Exactly.

You're too bloody stupid!

Now tell me who you were with.

- I wasn't with anyone.

- Do you think I'm an idiot? Tell me.

Tell me.

If you must know, I met Mrs. Croft.

Mrs. Croft.

Yes, I ran into her in Regent Street.

You what?

I was coming back from lunch,

and I bumped into her in Regent Street.

Accidentally, I suppose?

If you make a very big effort...

you may just remember

that Mrs. Croft wanted to see my poems.

She had an appointment

in Broadcasting House this afternoon.

So I went with her

and we talked about my poems.

She made you go all the way

to Broadcasting House to talk about poetry?

Is that what you're trying to tell me?

- What else?

- What else indeed.

I don't know what else.

But since what you know about poetry...

wouldn't cover one towel

in a public lavatory...

it is reasonable to suppose...

that Mrs. Mercy bloody Croft's

overpowering interest in you...

is other than poetic.

- Don't be stupid.

- Shut up, you little b*tch.

George, where are you going?

It's none of your business.

Go screw yourself.

Or better still...

why don't you try Mrs. Croft?

- Can I come in?

- Yes, of course you can.

What is it? What's the matter?

I'm sorry.

I don't want to,

but I think I need somewhere to cry.

Come in.

- If you need anything, just shout.

- Okay.

Ladies and gentlemen, and my dears.

As you know,

I'm a woman of very few words...

and I don't believe in voices from the grave.

But there are lots of people here...

who think Sister George has talked

much too much and for much too long.

So before I say thank you,

and leave it at that...

I would like to point out that I think...

the DMC has been altogether too hasty...

in burying me.

I've been talking to my agent.

So, if you don't mind,

I would like to postpone...

the final goodbyes to another occasion.

And stop before I turn this little party

into a wake.

Thank you.

Sounds wonderful, June.

What job is your agent talking about?

You've got to tell this lot something,

haven't you?

Miss Buckridge, since you refused

to speak to us at any great length...

I'm sure you'll at least accept a drink.

As a matter of fact, I've ordered one,

but it hasn't come yet.

- A pint of bitter.

- A pint of bitter.

I'm sure that we can...

Do we have such a thing as a pint of bitter?

Yes, sir. I'll get you one.

Cinderella.

You shall go to the ball.

I knew I'd find you here, so I came along.

I did look for you at the house.

- You must have looked very hard.

- But you said...

We'll talk about that later.

Miss Buckridge.

What exactly are your plans for the future?

In point of fact, that was something

I was hoping to be able...

to discuss with Miss Buckridge myself.

I've had an absolutely marvelous idea.

I'm going to join the opposition.

- There you are, love.

- Thanks.

Yes, none of this soap opera stuff,

mind you. No.

I'm going to give the people

what they really want to watch:

commercials.

Sounds fascinating.

It is. It really is.

I've thought about this very seriously,

you know...

and I've sold the advertising people

a really revolutionary idea.

None of these subdued, feeble commercials.

I'm going to give them something really

with some punch.

I'm afraid that I don't quite understand

what is...

No, how could you?

Take false teeth, for instance.

It's low tide on the Thames Estuary.

There are four white-coated scientists...

trudging through the mud

in their gum boots.

Burying dentures to test brand x!

And then, flash. Cut!

There's blood and guts all over the place.

One of the scientists turns and says:

"If you've got false teeth...

"why don't you do what my old mom does.

"Don't bother

with all this scientific nonsense.

"Just scrub them with Johnson's Carbolic. "

"There's nothing like it. "

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