One for me, too.
SCENE 47: FRONT DOOR/SITTING ROOM
George’s footsteps going downstairs. The doorbell rings. George opens the door.
GEORGE
Gary! Come in, old son. Come in.
GARY
Oh George, I’m a soldier. I’m used to death, but my father gone, Nicola in a coma – I can’t believe it.
GEORGE
Nothing to say. Nothing to say. Have a drink.
NARRATOR
George and Gary go on into the sitting room. George ladles himself a glass of punch from the bowl with one for Gwen and one for Gary. Gary stares out of the window at Charles and Harriet playing French cricket.
Voices of Charles and Harriet float in from garden.
GEORGE
I know. Don’t say it. A gnat’s more grief might not come amiss. Remorse. That’s the name of the game.
GARY
I loved my father.
GEORGE
What time do we kick off?
GARY
Two.
GEORGE
I’d better get the old skates on. Help yourself.
George leaving room.
NARRATOR
Gary gulps down the punch as he continues to stare moodily out of the window at Charles and Harriet.
GARY
I loved him. (Drinks.)
SCENE 48: GARDEN
CHARLES
You’re useless. I thought you said you were good at this!
HARRIET
I’m a girl, alright?
CHARLES
Well, that’s no excuse.
GWEN
(calling from bedroom)
I don’t think you should be playing games, children. Someone’s dead.
CHARLES
Thank you, Gwen.
SCENE 49: GWEN’S BEDROOM
NARRATOR
George comes up behind her, puts the drink in front of her and she drinks some and they embrace. Gwen drinks some more and is undoing her bra when a shadow crosses George’s face.
GWEN
What’s the matter?
SCENE 50: SITTING ROOM
Effects accompany narration.
NARRATOR
Charles stumps with his pot leg through the French windows. The sitting room is seemingly empty. He takes a drink from the punch bowl. As he finishes it he hears a glass fall to the floor, and sees a khaki-clad arm lolling over the sofa. He looks behind it: Gary is lying there face distorted and unable to speak.
CHARLES
Help. Mum! Mum!
SCENE 51: STAIRS/LANDING
Footsteps running upstairs.
NARRATOR
George is slumped by the door of the bedroom breathing his last. Charles savagely shakes him.
CHARLES
What is it? What is it?
NARRATOR
Gwen is crawling along the corridor with not long to live either.
GWEN
(faintly)
The drink, Charles. It’s the drink.
NARRATOR
At which point the drink gets to Charles and he staggers himself.
GEORGE
(making a last effort)
Gwen!
GWEN
Charles!
CHARLES
God!
SCENE 52: SITTING ROOM/FRONT DOOR
Harriet sings to herself.
NARRATOR
In the garden Harriet is contemplating the sunlit house. She sighs, then gets up and goes towards the French windows. In the sitting room Gary is lying dead. Harriet looks at him, more puzzled than shocked. She goes out into the hall.
Front doorbell. Harriet opens the door.
CANVASSER
I’m calling on behalf of the Green Party. We want to change the face of politics.
HARRIET
Oh yes. Come in. I’m just doing Allegory with Miss McArthur.
NARRATOR
She moves aside and on the stairs is a tableau of Charles, sprawled dead at the bottom, Gwen above him, and George above her.
CANVASSER
Is this a bad moment?
SCENE 53: CREMATORIUM
Music. Congregation sings ‘Abide with Me’. Fades out.
NARRATOR
At the crematorium Harriet stands back from the coffins as they are borne away.
HARRIET
‘The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath born most; we that are young
Shall never see so much nor live so long.’
NARRATOR
Beside her stands a tall dignified woman. It is plainly Miss McArthur. Miss McArthur pats Harriet comfortingly on the shoulder. Harriet smiles at her, bravely.
The Hand of God
INT. SISTINE CHAPEL – DAY
The chapel is empty. Silent shots of the roof, close-ups of the Michelangelo frescoes.
A noble, measured sequence in silence and then the silence brutally interrupted by a babel of voices. The chapel is now crowded with tourists gaping up at the ceiling or clustered round their various guides. Periodically a voice over the loudspeaker calls for silence in English, German and French.
INT. CORRIDOR LEADING TO SISTINE CHAPEL – DAY
Crowds throng along the corridor and we focus in on two young men, eighteen or nineteen, Chris Huggins and Ollie Barnes. Ollie has the guidebook or a cassette and he periodically informs Chris where they are and what they are looking at. Chris is filming it all on his iPhone or iPad, though he seems to be chiefly looking at girls. They go into the Sistine Chapel.
OLLIE
‘It was commissioned by Michelangelo’s patron, Pope Julius II, and finished in 1512. Between the roof panels are the famous Ignudi.’
CHRIS
The tits are wrong.
Maybe they looked different then.
CHRIS
And why are the dicks always so pathetic?
OLLIE
It’s art.
CHRIS
They make even yours look respectable.
As they fight their way in through the throng, Chris sees a girl gazing transfixed at the Creation of Man, in which God’s hand stretches out and gives life to Adam. (All this is seen mainly from the iPad’s point of view.)
Chris winks at the girl, and gives her (or Ollie) the iPad. As Ollie watches, he encourages the girl to point the iPad at God’s hand stretching out towards Adam. Which is then joined by a third hand, Chris’s.
Cut to:
INT. BECK’S HOUSE – DAY
A pair of mittened hands putting an envelope in a briefcase. Beck, a shabby, battered figure in his sixties.
BECK
(calling)
Kristina.
There is no answer.
INT. BECK’S HOUSE BEDROOM – DAY
Kristina, a young woman’s face on the pillow, listening, hearing the door close.
EXT. LONDON STREETS – DAY
Chris is cycling to work. Various shots until he overtakes a chauffeur-driven car.
INT. CAR – DAY
Marryatt-Smith, the chairman of Garrard’s, is in the back.
CHAUFFEUR
Good holiday, sir?
MARRYATT-SMITH
One was hardly on the beach. We were opening the new office.
CHAUFFEUR
How was it?
MARRYATT-SMITH
Mumbai? Hot.
EXT. GARRARD’S – DAY
The car has drawn up outside Garrard’s. From the pictures being loaded into a van and furniture and works of art being offloaded we realise this is a big auction house, situated, say, where the Royal Institution stands in Albemarle Street.
As Marryat-Smith is getting out, Chris is chaining his bike to the railings.
Chris’s Lycra-clad bum as he bends over his bike. An umbrella comes into shot and lightly pokes it.
MARRYATT-SMITH
No.
CHRIS
No?
<
br /> He unchains the bike and carries it down the staff entrance.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Who is that?
CHAUFFEUR
Huggins, sir.
We see Chris carrying his bike down some steps to the staff entrance. On his back, his bag with the handle of a squash racket sticking out.
INT. GARRARD’S, BASEMENT – DAY
Chris ticks his name off on the squash ladder on the staff noticeboard. Dunlop, one of the partners, and so blue-suited and altogether smarter than Chris, leans over Chris’s shoulder, crosses his opponent off.
DUNLOP
You and me then, Huggins. You’ll have to do better than Oriental Manuscripts. Seven o’clock any good?
CHRIS
I think I can fit you in.
Meanwhile two of the other partners are trying to arrange a time with their phones.
PARTNER 1
When you say Thursday do you mean Friday?
PARTNER 2
Well …
PARTNER 3
Because if we’re talking about Friday we’re actually talking about Monday.
INT. GARRARD’S, LOCKER ROOM – DAY
Chris is getting out of his Lycra and into his brown coat. Shirtless, he turns to Ollie who is already dressed.
CHRIS
Do you know who I feel sorry for? The boy who thinks he has the brownest belly in Bond Street.
INT. GARRARD’S, CORRIDOR – DAY
Marryatt-Smith, now accompanied by his PA, Vanessa, who hands him papers as they go, with Cresswell, a partner in his thirties, bringing up the rear.
MARRYATT-SMITH
I don’t know. I’m away a week and the place falls apart. Is there anything urgent?
Vanessa hesitates.
VANESSA
Not really.
But making sure that Cresswell doesn’t hear.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Not really what?
VANESSA
Farquarson wants a meeting. The bank?
MARRYATT-SMITH
(dodging into an alcove)
No. NO. Vanessa. I’m in Mumbai.
VANESSA
I said.
They pass into the main room.
INT. GARRARD’S, MAIN ROOM – DAY
The hanging of the pictures for the Old Master sale is being supervised by Mr Moberley, a nice, placid, old-fashioned figure on the verge of retirement.
With a long cane Moberley directs precisely where the pictures should go, assisted by Chris and Ollie, who hold the pictures up while another porter waits with hooks and tackle.
MOBERLEY
Up a touch. Right a fraction. There.
MARRYATT-SMITH
He hangs a good picture.
CRESSWELL
Yes. How was the sub-continent?
MARRYATT-SMITH
Hot. Of course nowadays it’s an utter waste of time.
CRESSWELL
Mumbai?
MARRYATT-SMITH
One wants the room to look pretty but if you’re on the phone from Tokyo you don’t give a toss whether it’s pretty or not. But it keeps Moberley happy. And it’s very nice to look at.
Watching the porters edging the pictures into position.
CRESSWELL
The room?
MARRYATT-SMITH
And the room. Ah.
The room is being set up, including a dais with a red rope round it. The dais is empty.
Maybe we should pay a visit to the dungeon.
INT. GARRARD’S – DAY
Marryatt-Smith, Cresswell and Moberley, followed by Chris and Ollie, go through to the hoist, an antiquated piece of machinery with gates etc. As they are getting in, Cresswell bars the way to Chris and Ollie.
CRESSWELL
Stairs.
They peel off. We note that Cresswell repeatedly presses the button for the hoist to descend but it doesn’t move.
MOBERLEY
Allow me.
He presses once and the hoist immediately jerks into life.
EXT. GARRARD’S, STAIRS – DAY
Chris and Ollie are going down.
OLLIE
Who’re you playing tonight?
CHRIS
Dunlop.
OLLIE
Any good?
CHRIS
Dunlop? No. Tires easily. (Pause.) Joke.
OLLIE
What happened last night? She stay?
Chris smiles.
Yes? What did you do?
CHRIS
Well, there’s a limited number of things you can do.
OLLIE
I know. And I never tire of hearing about them. You going to see her again?
CHRIS
Can’t, can I?
OLLIE
Why?
CHRIS
I’m a long-distance lorry driver. Got to be in Penzance. She thought I led a romantic life.
The hoist arrives at the stockroom.
INT. GARRARD’S, STOCKROOM – DAY
The stockroom is crowded with paintings, some of them in wrappings, others just leaning against the wall. In the centre of the room is a kind of cage, where behind the barred grille a Rembrandt self-portrait is hanging. Moberley unlocks it. Marryatt-Smith and Cresswell go inside and are thus out of earshot of the others.
MARRYATT-SMITH
So. What news on the Rialto?
CRESSWELL
My friend at Claridge’s rang.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Yes?
CRESSWELL
Mr Steiner is in town.
MARRYATT-SMITH
(indicating the Rembrandt)
But of course.
They come out of the cage, which Moberley locks, leaving Rembrandt gazing at them through the bars. As they go we hear Marryatt-Smith on his mobile.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Vanessa. Could you put in a call to Claridge’s?
INT. GARRARD’S, SALES CLERK’S OFFICE – DAY
Mr Moberley would once have been thought to be the backbone of the firm but in many such old-established firms backbones are being relocated and so it is with Garrard’s. So Mr Moberley now shares his office with a computer and there, not looking at the screen but wrestling with his laptop, is Cresswell. Chris and Ollie are also there.
The walls of the room are lined with shelves of catalogues. The whole of the firm’s history is here. There is also a painting of the front of the firm hanging behind Moberley’s desk, and another painting on his desk itself. These are by Moberley himself, who is an accomplished amateur painter.
OLLIE
You been to Rome, Mr Moberley?
MOBERLEY
I’ve never been abroad, Oliver.
CHRIS
What, not even to Benidorm? You must be the last one. You want to try it, look at this.
OLLIE
Did you get our postcard?
Moberley has a pin board behind him covered in postcards, private view invitations etc.
MOBERLEY
No.
CHRIS
We sent you a postcard.
There is a snort from Cresswell as he stares at his laptop screen.
MOBERLEY
(blandly)
No joy, Mr Cresswell?
Cresswell scowls and goes on punching up displays, watched, grinned at by Chris.
Ollie looks at the picture on Moberley’s desk.
OLLIE
Royal Academy again, Mr Moberley?
MOBERLEY
Three in this year, Oliver. Two oils and a gouache.
CHRIS
Problem with the software, Mr Cresswell?
MOBERLEY
First time I’ve gone in for gouache.
He indicates the picture of the frontage of the firm behind his desk.
This one I used a mixture of techniques.
CRESSWELL
If you could forget the do-it-yourself Rembrandts for a moment, Moberley, you might try and find me this.
Cres
swell hands Moberley a slip of paper.
MOBERLEY
‘Study of drapery and part of a torso’, Tiepolo, question mark. Has it been through the rooms before?
CRESSWELL
Yes, it has been through the rooms before or why do you think I’m beating hell out of the computer?
Moberley goes along the shelves. Looks at one catalogue. Puts it back. Gets another, finds the item and hands it to Cresswell, who takes and studies it without thanks or apology.
CHRIS
(innocently)
What happens when you retire, Mr Moberley?
The telephone rings.
MOBERLEY
Sales clerk. Now? Right you are.
He puts the telephone down.
Picture from the stockroom.
He straightens Ollie’s tie.
CRESSWELL
(handing him the catalogue)
Put this back for me, Moberley. We don’t want to disrupt your weird and wonderful system.
Cresswell leaves as Moberley puts the catalogue back on the shelves and follows Chris and Ollie as they go out.
EXT. PICCADILLY – DAY
Beck gets off a bus, cradling his parcel.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM – DAY
The room is crowded with furniture, the walls hung with pictures. People viewing the items.
Moberley looks at the pictures, runs his hand over the furniture as he walks through with the boys.
MOBERLEY
They’ve all got degrees in art history now, of course. You don’t need a degree in art history. All you need, Oliver, is a pair of eyes. It’s all here. Looking, touching. Smelling even. Feel that.
He runs his hands over a table.
Another blue-suited partner, Dunlop, calls across the room.
DUNLOP
Moberley!
Moberley unhurriedly answers the call as Chris and Ollie go towards the stockroom. We see Beck’s mittened hand run over the table.
INT. GARRARD’S, BOARDROOM – DAY
Marryatt-Smith is standing by the window looking at a miniature or small piece of porcelain. He has an eye-glass screwed into his eye as he examines a detail.
MARRYATT-SMITH
What you must never forget, gentlemen, is that we are barrow-boys. We are not guardians of the nation’s treasurers. We are not custodians of the heritage. We are spivs, gentlemen. Our job is simply to shift the stuff. Very pretty, David.
He hands the miniature or whatever back to one of the partners, and we see that we are in Garrard’s boardroom. It is a handsome room, hung with portraits of founders and past chairmen plus other relics. Around the table sit the various partners and heads of departments. Average age is around thirty.
We don’t need to know their names, but if we did they would be good wholesome English names like Cromwell, Salter and Grigg, and a young, very grand woman, Suki. Marryatt-Smith, exercising a chairman’s privilege, is perhaps in his elegant shirtsleeves and braces.
Keeping On Keeping On Page 53
