Daphne (2007) - full transcript

POSTMAN: Good morning.

DAPHNE: Good morning, Philip.

Ghastly weather again.

POSTMAN: It certainly is.

DAPHNE: Thanks.

(DOOR OPENS)

(DAPHNE SIGHS)

She's dead.

(SOBS)

DAPHNE: My love,

what have you done to me?



What have you done to the girl
who never wanted to grow up?

The shy girl
with a boy's heart,

Daphne du Maurier.

Who wrote her books
and had young men.

And later a husband
and children,
and life was lovely,

sometimes rather sad.

(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)

TOD: Oh, Kits, slow down now.

(KITS HUMMING)

Mummy, Mummy, the war's over!

I know it is, darling.
Now go back to Tod.

DAPHNE: Tommy didn't come home
until the following year,
the 19th of July.

It was our
wedding anniversary,

which seemed to me
the best of omens.



I stood there waiting for
the door of the plane to open,

and I was gripped
by a great wave of emotion.

I suddenly knew it was
all going to be all right.

Everything was
going to be all right.

TV ANNOUNCER:
Daphne du Maurier, Britain's
leading romantic novelist,

is thrilled to have
romance back in her life

now that her husband
is home from the war.

She's married to
Lieutenant General
Sir Frederick Browning,

and they have three
charming children,

Tessa,
away at boarding school,
Flavia and Kits.

Not that her
novels and film scripts

leave her much time
for family life.

Rebecca, Miss du Maurier's
bestselling novel,

still flies out of bookshops
every week.

Ideas, when they come,
must be jotted down at once,

or they'll slip away again.

The sinister fascination of
the character Rebecca

has brought Miss du Maurier
a legion of fans.

Here's one
you might recognise.

Yes, you guessed it.
The Duke of Edinburgh,
dropping in for lunch.

But Daphne's biggest fan?
Her husband, of course.

No, there's nothing sinister
about the life
of this happy wife.

And by the way,
she's a keen archer too.

(CHILDREN SHOUTING)

(TOMMY IMITATING FIGHTER JET)

FLAVIA: It's coming back!
Air raid, air raid, air raid,
air raid, air raid, air raid!

(FLAVIA IMITATING SIREN)

KITS: Evacuate the stations!

-Dropping bombs.
-FLAVIA: Air raid, air raid!

TOMMY: Darling,

I hope it's not
a queer anti-climax for you.

Of course not.

(KITS IMITATING FIGHTER JET)

Christ's sake,
don't touch my things!

Get back to bed!

What the hell do you think
you're doing, boy?
Get back to bed!

Christ.

I'm not cut out for this.

We'll soon be
jamming along again.

Yes.

These last years,
not being properly together...

It'll take some time to
get back to our old roots.

DAPHNE: The great homecoming
fell flat as a pancake.

I waited and waited
for some kind of sign.

Nothing.

It was a hell of a blow.

(KNOCKING)

The outlook was dreary.

It was dreadful to think
that side of marriage
was finished forever.

It was frightfully bad
for my morale.

Feeling such a dull,
grey-haired,

nearly-40 wife.

That's absurd.

Did I say that out loud?

If it wasn't for you,
I'd be a nervous wreck.

Probably neurotic.

The last five years,
the hell of it...

It was thoughts of you,
buoyed a man up.

Oh.

Darling.

Let's go upstairs.

-Now?
-Why not?

But Tod.

Damn Tod.

It's odd for a man, you know,
coming home and being put in
that damn cold second bedroom.

Oh, I...

I thought your mind
would be so full of war.

Well, not just war.

I haven't been able to sleep.

Darling, neither have I.

I dream so often of Daddy.

You miss him?

I don't know. I...

Kiss me.

I am sorry, darling.

I was so determined
to make an effort, and not
seem different at all, and...

And give you a great welcome.

(PHONE RINGS)

-Oh...
-Leave it, blasted thing.

TOD: Hello, Menabilly.

No, I must, I...

TOD: Can I ask who's calling?

Who is it, Tod?

It's Rebecca.

Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Long distance call.

Hello?

(HIGH-PITCHED)
Hello, Rebecca here.

Nelson.

-(NELSON CHUCKLES)
-It's my American publisher.

Tell me, Miss du Maurier,
you know that silly woman,

that awful mouse,
the second Mrs de Winter...

Why did you never
give her a name?

Oh, Nelson, stop that at once.

If only you knew how
sick I was of Rebecca.

Always Rebecca,
Rebecca, Rebecca.
I'll never be rid of Rebecca.

(NELSON LAUGHS)

Well, she's not finished
with you yet.

How does a trip to
the States grab ya?

-What can you mean?
-Well...

There's a dame here
wants to sue you.

She says you stole the idea
of Rebecca from her book.

What nonsense.

I'm telling you, Daphne.
They want you in court.

You're going to have to
pack your bags.

But Tommy's back.

I can't, Nelson.

Really.

* Hopping here, hopping there,
hopping anywhere *

DAPHNE:
I expect the whole boat is
teeming with Witherspoons.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR)

Shh.

(WHISPERS)
We're not receiving.

WOMAN: Hello. Anybody there?

(WHISPERS) America.

-Hello?
-Say, is the author of
Rebecca here?

Shh.

I heard that.

I don't bite, you know.
At least not until cornered.

Besides, the Yankee hordes
are half civilised these days.

You must be Daphne.

I'm Nelson's wife, Ellen.

Ellen Doubleday.

How do you do?

Nelson arranged for us to be
on the same ship.
Wasn't it swell of him?

One of our most
important writers.

I had to welcome you aboard.

Andrew, don't just
stand there.

They'll go right there.

Nelson tells me you've never
been to the States before.

We must put you up
in the style

to which you're accustomed.
Make you feel right at home.

This will go there, won't it?

Do you have rats
in your house?

Rats?

FLAVIA: We're accustomed to
the style of rats.

ELLEN: In Cornwall?

Well, it's not Manderley.

Ah. Rebecca kept such a
beautiful house, didn't she?

Children,
go open your presents.

Yay!

Cigarette?

We're going to be
great friends. I can tell.

DAPHNE:
But I thought more than that.
You were quite glorious.

And I avoided you
like the plague
for the rest of the trip.

TV ANNOUNCER:
Daphne du Maurier,
celebrated author of Rebecca,

arrived in New York today,

to defend herself against
charges of plagiarism.

But the welcome isn't
all unfriendly.

Miss du Maurier will be
tasting stateside luxury

while she's here
staying on Long Island,

as guest of
the renowned society hostess
Ellen Doubleday.

Now what, Mummy?

I don't know, darling.

Where's Mrs Simpson?

Do you mean Mrs Doubleday?

I'm hungry.

Me too.

Perhaps there'll be a biscuit.

(LAUGHING)

You've got your
sea legs still! I'm sure!

DAPHNE: Then you came back.
Bringing ease and comfort
in your wake.

Good morning, Miss du Maurier.

Good morning.

MAID: It sure is a fine day.

DAPHNE: Ah, orange juice.

Ah.

I'd forgotten.

Yes, ma'am.

Mmm.

You mustn't give one thought
to that lousy court case.

It's a stinker, I know.

But no one will believe
you stole from that
second-rate book,

swell writer like you.

And you must stay here for
as long as you like.

Nelson and I are
your biggest fans.

Oh, no. Not fans.

ELLEN: Hmm.

I often get letters, you know,
full of gash from fans.

Sometimes I think
how funny it would be

if one went and turned up
at someone's house,

who was a fan,
you know, and said

"Look, here I am.

"You wrote me
such a lovely letter,

"I thought perhaps you'd
like it if I came to stay."

Or imagine if you had
stayed the night somewhere

with people that you
hardly know at all,

and then, just as
you were going,

just as the suitcase
was in the car,

you'd say, "Well, actually,
I'd rather like to stay on.

"Is that all right?"

(LAUGHING) And get out again.

Hmm. That rather happened
to me once.

Yes, the... The mademoiselle
at my French finishing school.

Quite alarming, really.

She came to stay
with us in London,

and then just as
she was leaving,

turned out she wanted
my father to put her
on the stage.

Oh, quite alarming.

Really.

DAPHNE: Mmm.

Well, I loved her,
awfully, in fact.

Yes, I was cross at first,
because I wasn't a...
The favourite.

Then she lured me
and coiled me in her net.

She had a kind of
fatal attraction.

It gave one the most
extraordinary thrill.

Say, that butter is melting.
You better suck your fingers.

ELLEN: How did you get
the idea for Rebecca?

DAPHNE: Everything I write
comes from inside me.

ELLEN:
But you're not Rebecca, say.

DAPHNE: Oh, but I always
have a peg, you see.

ELLEN: A peg?

A peg is a real person who...

Well,

sometimes the only way
to deal with a peg is

to make them into
a character in a book.

Or sometimes it
works the other way.

A character can get pegged
on to a real person.

After the book's written?

Yes.

It's all very muddling.

Oh, do peg me, won't you?
Either way.

Got to be jolly careful
with pegs, you know.

-Really?
-They can be
quite bottomless.

ELLEN: Does it make you mad,
what they say about Rebecca?

-Mad?
-I mean, the critics.

Calling it a potboiler.

I don't know when
I've read a book as strange.

It's a grim story, isn't it?

Unpleasant, even.

It's fearless, my dear.

(WHOOPING)

This is unfair!

NELSON: Killers! Oh, yikes!
Oh, no, no!

Okay, I've got my...
I've got my guns.

Okay, come on.

(CHILDREN WHOOPING)

You know, I wanted
to write about

that dreadful thing of
power in a marriage.

The battle it can be,
not about love.

Ha! A-ha!

Bang! Bang!

Argh!

Yeah!

It's about jealousy.

Whole bloody business between
men and women.

I'm dying!

-Shall we go in?
-Mmm.

Now I'm a widow,
I think I deserve an
enormous dry martini.

So the American consul
in London says to her,

"How many novels have you
read in your lifetime?"

You think I'm kidding?
This man doesn't know
who he's talking to.

Miss Daphne du Maurier,
who wrote Rebecca.

This woman lives
for the novel.

How many has she read?
1,500? 2,000?

The man's an imbecile.
A cretin.

And then he says to her,
"State on which dates
you read them."

(LAUGHTER)

"See you in court."
That's what I said.

See you in court!

And you know what
we're gonna do?

We're going to take that
little Miss Litigious
Edwina L. MacDonald,

and we're gonna bury her.

But you know
what the trouble is?
She ain't gonna mind.

Because she's dead already.

(LAUGHTER)

You think I'm kidding?
No, she died after
she brought the suit.

BAILIFF:
Would Miss Daphne du Maurier
please take the stand?

Place your right hand
on the Bible.

(GAVEL THUDDING)

BAILIFF: You promise to tell
the truth, the whole truth,

and nothing but the truth,
so help you God?

I do.

PROSECUTOR: Miss du Maurier,
would you explain to the court

how you came to
write the story?

What, Miss du Maurier,
is the moral message
of the novel?

Miss du Maurier,
I believe you regularly
read a publication...

Tell us how all this
make believe...

Are you familiar with the
concept of fair usage
of common themes?

Miss du Maurier, what is
the inspiration you draw on?

Miss du Maurier...

Was it lousy?

Ghastly.

Hell.

Come and have a drink.

Oh...

It's so utterly degrading.

It's obscene.

I have to answer questions.

They've no right.

But you have nothing to hide.

Don't they understand that
these things are private?

-They're personal.
-Oh, darling.

I feel

so humiliated.

DAPHNE:
You looked lovelier every day.
It just defeated me.

This is Grand Illusion
by Edgar Wallace.
Have you read this book?

Yes, I have.

And this edition. This is
the first British edition.

Yes, probably that edition.

Then you will have
seen the advertisement, uh,

here in the back,
for Blind Windows,

the book you stole
the story of Rebecca from.

No, I don't remember
seeing that advertisement.

(WHISPERING) Where is he?

-Shift.
-Okay.

(WHISPERING CONSPIRATORIALLY)

Yippee!

(IMITATES ARROWS WHOOSHING)

NELSON: Argh!

(SINGING INDISTINCTLY)

-Oh Mummy, Mummy!
-Mummy!

Darlings, what are you
doing out of bed?

We watched television.
We saw a rodeo.

We've been bucking and rearing
all over the place.

Really?

Where's Ellen?

We haven't seen her.

But a doctor came in.

For Nelson, he had an
injection in his bottom.

We spied through
the crack of the door.

Flave, you mustn't
spy on people.

And you mustn't make up
silly stories unless you're
being paid to do so.

(NELSON YELLING INDISTINCTLY)

It's been going on all day.

Shh.

I will not!

No! No, I won't!

(ROMANTIC SONG PLAYING)

DAPHNE: You were so
elegant and poised,

so sophisticated, so perfect,
and yet...

Bedtime, darling.

Mummy says it's bedtime,
does she?

You've had enough.

-Enough?
-Yes.

What does Mummy know
about enough?

What does Mummy know?
Pain in the ass!

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Maxim de Winter is
a dreadful creature, isn't he?

He murders Rebecca,

treats his second wife
no better than a...

Better than a dog.

Oh, yes, it was more
hatred than love.

Yet she begs
to be with him. Why?

Ellen...

Why does she beg him?

Why does...

Is Rebecca based on
your marriage?

Not exactly.

What, then?

I don't know.

A writer doesn't always know.

I put it to you that you're
a liar, Miss du Maurier.

You read Blind Windows
and you thought,

"Hey, now, there's a story

"I can make something of.
There's a..."

DAPHNE: How very perceptive
it was of him.

My life had been one long lie
for as far back as
I could remember.

(NELSON YELLING INDISTINCTLY)

Oh, Ellen.

-Nelson has neuritis.
-Oh.

-He isn't well.
-No.

Don't tell anyone.

Miss du Maurier,

I put it to you that
there are 46 parallelisms

between Rebecca and
Blind Windows.

Forty-six!

And I put it to you that
that book is about murder,
pure and simple,

and Rebecca isn't about
murder at all.

It's about the things
we cover up,
the lengths we go to.

It's about the fact that
there is nothing worse,

nothing so degrading
and shaming as
a marriage that has failed.

DAPHNE: I wasn't just fighting
a foolish case of
plagiarism any more.

I was fighting all
the rottenness that's
in every one of us.

TV ANNOUNCER:
Daphne du Maurier left court
a winner today.

All present declared
she acquitted herself

magnificently in the
witness box.

In his summing up,
Judge Swan said,

"I am convinced there was
no copying."

He dismissed the complaint
with costs awarded to
the defendant.

Mr Coward.

Mr Noel Coward.

Welcome to Barberrys.

Heavenly Barberrys.

Come on in! Come on in!

(INAUDIBLE)

(CHILDREN MURMURING)

Mummy, you look like a queen.

Children.

You look so beautiful!

Hmm.

Why can't I just wear velvet
trousers and a boyish belt?

To tell you the truth, I'm not
that keen on Hollywood.

I'd rather have
a nice cup of cocoa.

I'd rather have cocoa
than almost anything.

Not keen on parties?

(CHUCKLES)

The effort of talking. I don't
know how people stand it.

My dear girl.

I knew your father, you know.
The legendary man
of the theatre.

Look. Gertie!

Daphne, do you know Gertie?
She's one of us.

Daphne du Maurier,
Gertrude Lawrence.

Ah, the Rebecca of Barberrys.

DAPHNE: I was a boy of 18
all over again.

Nervous hands and
a beating heart.

Incurably romantic.

And wanting to throw a cloak
before his lady's feet.

I wanted to ride out
and fight dragons for you.

(ECHOING) Daphne.

Daphne.

May I call you Daphne?

Well, look at you,
all grown up.

Your father used to
talk about you so much,
you know?

How he loved
his little Daph. Oh!

Us girls had our work
cut out for us, competing with
you, a 12-year-old child.

(LAUGHS)

He thought you were
so like him. He really did.
He always used to say so.

And now that I look at you,
I think, well, yes, you are.

Of course, he was
in love with himself.
What man isn't?

No doubt he wanted a son.
Men do, don't they?
Oh, they're fools.

Would you excuse me
for a moment, please?

Darling, she's much shorter
than I thought.

But she's very talented.
Very talented.

GERTRUDE: Where have you been?

I think I got it wrong
last time.

Oh, thank you so much.
Appreciate it.

(ALL LAUGHING)

Thank you for
a wonderful evening.

Oh, thank you so much
for coming.

Good night.

Good night, Max.
Good night, Juliet.

I love the stillness of a room
after a party's over.

Chairs are moved,
cushions disarranged.

Everything is there
to show that people
enjoyed themselves.

And one's so happy it's over.

Tell me what's bothering you.

Something is.

I have an animal instinct
for trouble, you know.

It seems to me that

I've been the source of
some kind of...

Consternation.

I have ever since I walked
into your cabin that day.

Consternation?

What a marvellous word for it.

I want to give you this.

My father gave it me.

-This is really...
-Precious.

Yes.

I'll wear it always.

You know, I've...

I've enjoyed
our conversations.

They've been important to me.

And I've always believed that
everyone has a right to love,

just as their
passion dictates,

without any kind of censure.

But...

I can't love you in that way.

I know that you don't hope for
anything more than friendship,

because you understand that
I can't give it.

(SIGHS)

DAPHNE: Love is love.
How can there different ways?

And by God, and by Christ,
if anyone should call it
that unattractive name

that begins with "L",
I'll tear their guts out.

You'd wrecked my life
more completely than
an atom bomb ever could.

The old familiar routes were
queer and wrong.

(RECORD PLAYING)

CHILDREN: (SINGING ALONG)
* We get speeches
from our skipper

* And advice from Tokyo Rose

* And letters
doused with perfume

* We get dizzy from the smell

* What don't we get?

* You know darn well

* We got nothing to put on
a clean white suit for

* What we need is what
there ain't no substitute for

* There is nothing like a dame

* Nothing in the world

* There is nothing
you can name

* That is anything like a dame

* We feel restless,
we feel blue

* We feel lonely and in grief

* We feel every
kind of feeling
but the feeling of relief

* We feel hungry
as the wolf felt
when he met Red Riding Hood

* What don't we feel?

* We don't feel good

* Lots of things in life
are beautiful, but...

DAPHNE: I even began to
think of having another baby,
before it was too late.

* There is nothing whatsoever,
in any way, shape or form

* Like any other *

(DAPHNE HUMMING
THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A DAME)

Daphne, I want to discuss
something very serious.

Yes, me too.

I can't tell you how I feel...

For God's sake, Daph,
let me finish.

Let me spill the bloody beans.
I've been bottling them
up so long.

Oh.

I've got the most
hellish overdraft.

I simply can't pay my bills.

Bills?

You're appalled.

No.

No, I'm not appalled.

It's all right.

I'll pay the bills.
I'll pay some money
into your account.

The blasted thing is...

Can we talk about it
in the morning?

We'll deal with the
whole thing in the morning.

I'm frightfully tired.

Night-night, ducky.

Night-night.

DAPHNE: It's people like me
who've bitched up

the old relationship between
men and women.

I mean, really,
women shouldn't have careers.

They should be
wives and mothers.

In a fever of composition,
I started to write a play.

It was about you, darling.
But you mustn't worry,
no one will ever know.

I disguised you as
a very proper mother.

Mother's very domestic
and old fashioned.

I always tell her she ought to
have lived 100 years ago.

You fill me with
more and more dread.

I won't know what to say
to her at all.

(WHISPERS)
I've got a wonderful
surprise for you.

You better tell me at once.

I've got
the most frightful jitters
about this whole thing.

Wait and see.

ACTOR: Christ's sake,
stop touching my things.

How do you do? I'm Mother.

We're immensely lucky
to get her.

But you said Peggy Ashcroft.

Peggy changed her mind.

But Gertrude Lawrence?

I'm taking three sleeping
tablets a night as it is.

I mean... Gertrude Lawrence?

She's a Broadway star.

She's too old.

Surely not!

Clinging to youthfulness.

What on earth do you mean?

She couldn't be more wrong.
She's... She's silly, she's...

She's a good actress.

She's a dyed-haired tart.

(EXOTIC MUSIC PLAYING)

Very kind of you
to give me a lift.

We'll stop over at the Ritz.

I rather hate the Ritz.

Nonsense.
No one hates the Ritz.

So after dinner,
Gertie says to me,
"I'm worried about George.

"I'm worried that he's going
to kick the bucket before
he casts me in the next play.

"You know, he's almost 69."

I said, "Go upstairs
with him and

"he'll live till he's 99."

(LAUGHTER)

I love that little joke.

-Oh, you're a darling husband.
-Thank you.

Darling.

Thank you.

So, she's seen you now.

Oh. Well.

Oh, now. Listen to this,
it's absolutely marvellous.

Women are like geography.

From 16 to 22,
they're like Africa.

Part virgin, part explored.

From 22 to 35,

they're like Asia,
hot and mysterious.

From 35 to 45,

they're like the USA,
all high-toned and technical.

From 45 to 55,
they're like Europe,

quite devastated,
but interesting in places.

And from 60 upwards,
ugh! Like Australia.

Everyone knows about it,
but no one wants to go there.

(LAUGHTER)

Isn't that marvellous?

Thank you.

Thank you.

Gertie's been telling me
about your play.

Oh?

I understand Gertie's
playing a mother figure,

and the theme is
forbidden passion.

Well, yes. It's, um...
It's about a young man

who has a passion for
his mother-in-law.

Oh, I see.

How is Ellen Doubleday?

Do you know?

Oh, Evan, don't
be such a child.

You and I can't love
each other that way.

There's only one way to love,
and that's to give everything.

Mind, body and heart.

Well, you can have all three
of mine, for what it's worth.

GERTRUDE: Oh, we are speaking
a different language.

ACTOR: Are we? How?

GERTRUDE: I was brought up to
respect morals and standards,

and I respect them still.

Whatever I feel in my heart,

they must come first.

GERTRUDE: Why did you do that?

Now you've spoilt everything.

DAPHNE: She kissed
the boy all wrong.

The two of them
in a sort of clinch,

as if they'd have
each other's pants off.

GERTRUDE: You're being
very ridiculous, you know.

You're behaving like a sulky
schoolboy who needs
his bottom spanked.

(LIGHTER CLICKS)

The kiss was wrong.

It's not all about bed,
you know.

Isn't it?

No, it's not.

Do you know what you need?

How shall I put this?

You need a good...

Time.

You need to have some fun.

(SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

She's...
She's very flamboyant.

Oh, it's delicious.

-(TYRES SCREECHING)
-(CAR HONKING)

-(HORN HONKING)
-(MAN YELLING)

Oh, fuck off! We're on a hit!

ACTOR: For Christ's sake,
stop touching my things!

How do you do?

I'm Mother.

ACTOR: How do you do?

GERTRUDE: Do I kiss you?

ACTOR: I don't know.

(CHUCKLES) It's absurd.
I don't know how to behave.

I've never
had a son-in-law before.

Perhaps I'm the first of many.

GERTRUDE: Where's Cherry?

ACTOR: I brought them for you.

Oh.

(SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

May I ask you something?

What does your husband
think of the play?

Oh, Tommy's not sniffy
about made-up things.

Lieutenant General
Sir Frederick Browning.

My first sight of Tommy
was when he sailed into
Fowey Harbour one day.

He was so fine and confident.

At the helm of his boat.

It was love at first sight.

The real thing.

Such a queer stroke of fate
to be picked by someone

with ideals and principles,
who'd

show me the difference
between right and wrong.

I always said it would take
five brandy and sodas,

sloe gin and
a handkerchief of ether

to get me to the altar rail.

(CHUCKLES)

But in the end,

I proposed to him.

My mother was a very basic
type of woman, you know?

I expect I inherited
the thing of wanting
to be married from her.

Poor Tommy.

If you think because
of the play

that I've had an affair with
a younger man, you're wrong!

Oh, pipe down, dear.

I know you're not Mother.

I know you're the boy.

(SIGHING)

In you go.

Ah!

Yes, yes, yes.

No, yes.

Ugh, no! Yes, yes, yes.

(LAUGHING)

(GERTRUDE SIGHS)

(WHISPERING) Oh, God.
I hate that.

Do you always
behave like this?

Off! Take it off!

I don't want to see
it ever again.

So tight.

No, I've changed my mind.
Not that one. The pink.

Oh, no. Not the pink.

TV ANNOUNCER: Yes,
after the years of black-out,

the lights are on
again in London.

And here's
Miss Daphne du Maurier,

arriving for the premiere
of her new play,
September Tide.

And look, there's Noel Coward.

Mr Coward remembers
Miss du Maurier's
famous father,

the great actor manager,
Gerald du Maurier.

"He's with us in
spirit tonight," he said.

(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Cheers.

Where is she?

You and Gertie have
become such friends.

Yes.

Of course, when I first
discovered Gertie,

she was acting in one
of your father's productions.

Yes.

One of his better
choices of mistress.

Mistress?

Didn't you know?

Oh, there you are.

I've got something for you.

I was at the stage door.
The fans, you know,
one must...

What is it?

What have you got for me?

A kiss.

Let's go to your room.

There's a certain
type of woman

who should be
enjoyed on a divan

rather than a double bed.

That's what Daddy said.

And he was right.

(WHISPERING) What did
you say you had for me?

ELLEN: Nelson critical.

Talks of you.

Pray for us.

Ellen.

(SOBBING)

Shh.

Not long now.

(SOBBING)

DAPHNE: Australia. Everyone's
heard about it, but no
one wants to go there.

(ELLEN SNICKERING)

DAPHNE: It's like geography,
do you see?

(LAUGHING)

(COUGHING)

At least we're still
high-toned and technical,
you and me.

The oxygen of laughter.
Thank you for bringing it.

Oh, well. That joke was
courtesy of la Lawrence.

ELLEN: Hmm.

She's a silly bitch, really.

Still, I think I broke down
a few of her defences.

Not that she has many.

Her acting was
a revelation, though.

You sound quite smitten.

Gertie's like Europe,
you know?

Quite devastated.

(ELLEN LAUGHING)

My father always used to say

there was a difference between
the women men marry

and the women they don't.

Well, now I see it
truly and squarely.

There's all the
bloody difference.

Can't respect her.

You're the kind men marry.

Gertrude's the kind men don't.

Darling.

He's gone.

You know, you're the only
person I feel I can
say anything to.

I don't have to edit
myself for you.

I don't feel sad about
Nelson, you see.

Just...

Destroyed.

You strained every muscle
to make his last
few months happy.

I know you did.

You've just got...

Battle fatigue.

(SIGHING)

I've been brewing

a marvellous plan.

A change of scene.

DAPHNE: It was then,

when we were alone together,

that I realised I'd
suffered from a strange
kind of loneliness.

Not the loneliness which comes
from having loved and lost,

but rather the
loneliness of a love

one has never known.

-Shall we go up?
-Mmm.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Where have you been?

I had a digestif on
the terrace with that
nice Canadian couple.

With those absolute
Witherspoons?

Daphne, don't get sore.
They amuse me in
a funny sort of way.

It's their first trip
to Europe.

They spent the whole time
talking about the fact

that they couldn't
smoke on the ship.

The cigarettes were in bond.

Oh.

Shame on you, Daphne.

You should be more...

You should try loving someone
who's been in bond
ever since you met them.

Darling...

Maybe if I changed
my hormones,

I'd feel differently.

Oh, there's no need to blub.

I feel so guilty.

Guilty?

Guilty?

I'm not another of your
acolytes to be indulged,
you know. Christ!

Who do you think I am?

Do you think I have no pride?

Think about it. I'm...

I'm like the River Arno,
with its force all pent up.

I can't get out to sea, and...

What am I meant to do?

Flee to a monastery?
Or a mad house?

Perhaps I'll go down to
Ponte Vecchio and
pick up a prostitute.

(GASPS)

Yes, I have thought about it.

Thought about it.

I'd have to shoot myself
afterwards with the revulsion.

I came here to laugh with you,
but it seems you're
always angry.

Angry if I want
to go shopping.

Angry if I want to have
dinner in a decent restaurant

instead of a Hunky bar.

Angry if I so much as talk
to another person.

What's happened to you?

As a matter of fact, I'm
shaking with silent laughter
most of the time.

(SUITCASE THUDS)

Where are you going?

Home, where you should be.

(AEROPLANE DRONING)

DAPHNE: I resolved to be nice
to my husband when I got home.

Mummy!

I resolved to walk straight up
to him at the airport
and give him a big kiss.

But Kits was wearing his
first pair of long trousers.

Are those for me?

(CHUCKLING)

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

-(WIND HOWLING)
-(CROWS CAWING)

(WHEELBARROW SQUEAKING)

(HORN HONKING)

Daphne!

(HORN HONKING)

(BRAKES SCREECHING)

Now, what's all this?

I'm doing Charley's Aunt.
I'm in Plymouth for a week,

and you haven't
been to see me.

It's simply not possible.
Hello, dear.

Hello.

Darling.

You should have called.

What, and have you fob me off?
Not likely.

You're looking
dreadfully pale.

We must put some
colour in those cheeks.

Now, you're going to
show me the house.

And then afterwards, in case
you haven't guessed it,

you're giving me cocktails
and a slap-up lunch.

-(CLOCK TICKING LOUDLY)
-(TOMMY JINGLING COINS)

Are you brewing?

All doom in that department,
I'm afraid.

I see.

I meant what I said about
putting some colour in
those cheeks, you know?

Oh.

My tour finishes in a month.

(GLASS CLINKS)

Thanks, ducky.

(COINS JINGLING)

GERTRUDE: I've been
reading Rebecca again.

DAPHNE: Always Rebecca!

Anything else I do
gets stinking reviews.

GERTRUDE: Well, of course,
you'll never be forgiven

for writing a bestseller.

You're a wonderful writer,
and you must never forget it.

DAPHNE: And you're an
awful Witherspoon.

Daphne! Daphne!

Are you very unhappy, darling?

I've been blundering
and hopeless.

(SIGHING)

I suppose you wanted
everything to have
a fairy tale ending.

I know what you're like.
You're a romantic.

You cast everyone as
heroes and princesses,

and then you're disappointed
when they're real.

But I'm not.
I am not a romantic.

There is no such thing as
romantic love. That is a fact.

Romantic love's just a name
for something illicit.

Some bloody business with
unhappiness for all.

-(HONKS HORN)
-Toodle-pip, darling!

(HORN HONKING)

(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING)

(LAUGHING)

DAPHNE: Gertie was back,

and I was drawn to her
like an alcoholic

who must get to
the bottle or bust.

For Gertie, there was
no right and wrong
where love was concerned.

No standards to be maintained.

We were like two
silly schoolgirls.

Oh!

Come here.

DAPHNE: I was like
someone sleeping,

who woke suddenly
and found the world.

GERTRUDE: Uh, toast
and marmalade.

Marmalade.

Thank you.

Of course, ever since the
mademoiselle I told you about,

you know, the one
at finishing school...

-Hmm.
-I've known...

I've known

I had Venetian tendencies.

Venetian?

Du Maurier code
for the "L" people.

Mustn't despise the
"L" people, you know.

All right, but I'm not
one of them.

No, don't look
at me like that.

Hmm.

(PHONE RINGING)

-Hello.
-WOMAN: Gertrude, it's me.

-What?
-Doris.

-Oh, hello, Doris.
It's my secretary.
-DORIS: Look, I have

Ellen Doubleday here,
she wants to speak to you.

Oh, goodness,
is she insisting?

Yes.

All right, put her on.

Here she is.

-ELLEN: Gertie?
-Darling.

I'm giving a party for Noel's
new play on the 20th.

Ooh, a party for Noel's
new play. Oh, how dull.

(CHUCKLES)
You know how I loathe a party.

Especially one in honour
of my best friend.

You'll come then?

But listen, you'll never guess
who's here with me.

-Who?
-(WHISPERS) Ellen.

(ELLEN SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

-Daphne!
-Oh!

Yes, I promise you.

I brought her on a rest cure.

I found her at Menabilly
with the most awful of glooms.

Would you like to have a word?

-How lovely.
-She's right here.

-Hello.
-Darling, it's Ellen.

Have you been having
a lovely holiday?

Oh, yes, endless
basking in the sun.

Listen, I'm giving a party
for Noel on the 20th.

That sounds lovely,
but I'm not sure.

But you must come.
I won't take no for an answer.

I've missed you so much.

Really?

It's been far too long since
we've seen each other.

-Yes, it has been.
-So, you'll come?

I really can't bear
to think of you in America,
and no plans to visit me.

-All right.
-That's settled then.

Till the 20th.

Till then. Goodbye.

Goodbye, darling.

Well, fancy that.

I had a childish feeling of
wanting to give Ellen things.

All the time.

Like a child thrusting
a bunch of daisies into
its mother's hand.

Christ, the psycho boys
would have fun with you.

You don't mind me talking
about Ellen, do you?

I don't want to cry pity
about my childhood.

Never, never,

did I have a glimmer of
understanding from Mummy.

Not one touch of her hand.

Can't remember once
being held by her.

Feeling her arms around me.

Your father thought
you were swell.

I can vouch for that.

Yes. Yes, he thought I was.

Mmm.

But he was with my mother,

and his women.

With you.

And then you played Ellen.

Hmm.

All right, Dr Devastate.
Don't get your knickers
in a twist.

Gertie, you all right?

Just got a headache.

Oh, Gertie.

It's awfully simple, really.

I just...

I just like being with you.

Hmm.

Do you know what?

I like being with you, too.

Don't let's fuck around.

Life's too short.

Darling. Oh, you make a
spectacular widow, of course.

(GASPS) Ooh, nice ice.

Real, of course,
and worth a packet.

(GIGGLING)

So you've been frolicking
in the sun, you two?

Brewing hard.

-Really?
-Really?

Yes, Gertie's knocked
the block right out of me.

Exactly what
the doctor ordered.

I feel the first faint
stirrings of a new book.
Really, I do.

Come! Come!

-Darling?
-Hmm?

-You seem different.
-Do I?

-You are different.
-Hmm.

Oh, yes, perhaps
I've changed...

Out of mourning.

Say, let's drink these
upstairs. I'm longing
for one of our talks.

Daphne...

I thought about you a great
deal after Florence.

It ended badly, I know. But...

You shake me up, Daphne,
the way a friend should.

You're the only one who
knows about Nelson,

the truth, what I've
been through.

He died of drink, you know.

Nothing fancy,
just old fashioned liquor.

It's that simple.

I've been reading Rebecca
again and thinking
about marriage, and

the demons
there can be, but...

Once you know,

once you really know,
when you've been in the flames
like we have, then...

It doesn't have to be
that way. Oh...

There's so much
I've got to tell you.

You must stay. Stay for ages.
You'll have your old room.

You're wearing the brooch.

Of course. I always do.

What about Gertie?

Dearest Gertie!

I want to hear
all about Gertie.

You know,
I couldn't believe...

Tell her that you'd love
to have her to stay,
but you simply can't.

The house is going
to be full, and

you're having to put me up
on a sofa as it is.

(CHUCKLING)

Daphne, shame on you
and your dramas.

There's no need, really.

Come.

She simply can't.

Do you see?

The house is fit to burst.

(NOEL PLAYING PIANO)

I'll probably be
making do with a sofa.

But you've always said you
rather liked me on a divan.

(PLAYS DISSONANT CHORD)

No room at the inn?

Pardon me?

The house is full
to the rafters, Ellen.

Don't lie, Daphne.
You stink at it.

Daphne tells me
that she's staying,

but there's no room
for la Lawrence.

Daphne's mistaken.
There's a great deal of room.
I'd like you to stay.

I do hope you will.

(CAR ENGINE STARTING)

Gertie!

(TYRES SCREECHING)

Gertie!

Daphne.

Dickie?

What are you doing here?

Looking for my wife.

(TYRES SQUEALING)

Oh, my God!

(GROANS)

Baby, are you okay?

-Oh!
-Are you okay?

Yeah.

-Are you all right?
-Take me home, Dickie.

-Okay? Not hurt?
-No. Take me home.

Okay. Yeah.

I'll drive us home.

DICKIE: Okay.
I'll be right back.

She's all right.
Just a black-out.

I didn't think she was drunk.

She's not drunk, you fool!

Hasn't she told you?

She's not been well.

What kind of unwell?

I'm going to take her home.

But she's been so happy.

(CAR DOOR SHUTS)

Where's Ellen?

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

(GIGGLES)

Daphne.

This is Jack Houlihan.

Jack, Daphne du Maurier.

So, the lady is for
burning after all.

Daphne wrote Rebecca,
of course.

And she's been in Florida,
brewing up another
one of her stories,

equally scary, I hope.

Yes.

Yes. It's about a widow,
rather sinister.

You never really know whether
she's an angel or a devil.

-Oh, dear.
-Yes.

She dies in the end.

Daphne!

I know.

I know you always said you
couldn't love me that way.

But how can there be different
ways where love is concerned?

You think there's a right
and a wrong that must
be recognised.

It's all right to keep me
hanging on. It's all right
to long for our talks.

But true happiness
must be denied us.

Standards must be maintained.

Who are you talking
about, Daphne?

Are you talking about me?

You're talking about yourself.

You're the one who
cares about standards.

I'm not denying myself.

I don't want it.

I don't want love with you.

You may go to Venice

with whomever you please.

(SEAGULLS CALLING)

(TYPEWRITER CLACKING)

DAPHNE: I suppose
it's funny to think

that if there'd been
no rift between us,

I would never have left
Barberrys that night.

I would never have come home.

I would never have
written my new novel.

It's the most emotionally felt
book I've ever written.

Good morning, Philip.

POSTMAN: Good morning.

DAPHNE: Ghastly weather again.

POSTMAN: It certainly is.

DAPHNE: Thanks.

DICKIE: Daphne, darling Gertie
passed away last night.

Dickie.

(DOOR OPENS)

(SIGHS)

She's dead.

Who's dead?

(SOBS)

Who's dead?

DAPHNE: You who know me
better than anyone, Ellen,

will understand my grief.

Because in a strange way,
it's all mixed up with you.

Not your fault, darling.

But when you walked into the
cabin that day on the boat,

I was transported back
20 years in time,

to when I was a boy of 18.

Yes, a boy,

not a girl.

A boy I locked up in a box.

I tried to push that boy
back into his box.

God knows, I tried to write
you out of my system.

It's funny to think that if
there had never been the play,

I would never have seen
Gertie, in fantasy,

being what I wanted you to be.

I would never have gone
to Florida with her.

No regrets.

She was so alive.

So entrancing and yet real.

Do you see?

It was never sordid.

The odd thing is,

that once you have loved
a person physically,

it makes the strangest bond.

There was so much
warmth there,

so much generosity of giving.

Sometimes, when I'm alone,

I shall open up that box again

and let the phantom
who is neither boy nor girl
but disembodied spirit

dance in the evening,

when there's no one to see.

Ellen,

I offer you these words,
as I used to want
to bring you flowers.

I offer you this letter

as testimony

of my love

for Gertrude.

TV ANNOUNCER:
A new book is topping
the bestseller lists.

A dazzling yet disturbing
romance that has captured
the nation's imagination.

Who's it by?

You'll have heard of her.

Daphne du Maurier.