London Spy
Page 7
DANNY
Do you believe me?
The question is wonderfully naive. She says, sincerely --
JOURNALIST
It doesn’t matter what I believe.
(to Danny it does)
But yes, I do.
Danny watches her go, a little more hopeful.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD. STREETS. DAY
Scottie and Danny walking towards a pub or a restaurant. Their pace is slow. Leaden. Danny seems solemn, guarded, hanging back a little from Scottie. Their energy is off.
SCOTTIE
Journalists make difficult bedfellows. You can’t just tell them what to print.
(Danny doesn’t respond)
You didn’t want to discuss it with me first?
DANNY
I was sure you’d talk me out of it. Make me realize what a dumb idea it was.
Danny sharp. Scottie stops walking. He studies Danny.
SCOTTIE
What is this?
(beat)
Mistrust?
(beat)
It is.
(beat)
I see...
Scottie struggles to process it. He’s hurt.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You’ve trusted me with your life. But not now? Not with this?
DANNY
My life is small. This is... organizations... Institutions...
SCOTTIE
You see me as ‘one of them’, don’t you? The suit. The education. The job. I’m part of the establishment?
DANNY
Aren’t you?
SCOTTIE
How dare you - young man. How dare you presume to know me. I know you because I’ve heard every secret you have to tell. But what do you know about me? Answer me!
Scottie’s angry seems to come from nowhere. And it takes Danny by surprise. He can’t process it.
DANNY
I know...
SCOTTIE
Where I live? What films I like? What music I listen to?
(beat)
Did you know I suffer from depression?
(Danny didn’t)
Did you know that in the past I drank. Every night. Every day. Every morning. I drank. Until a stranger could smell it on me --
(he didn’t)
And do you know - young man - how fucking far I am from being part of the establishment?
(he doesn’t)
How dare you. Mistrust me. When you don’t know.
It’s the first, and only time, we’ll hear Scottie swear. It’s the first, and only time, we’ll see Scottie lose his temper.
It surprises Scottie as much as it does Danny.
Danny is taken aback by this anger. He’s never seen it before. But he isn’t swayed, either.
Scottie walks away from him, trying to calm down. His attention turning to the heath. At the end of the street.
An idea strikes Scottie. His anger turns into solemn contemplation.
The heath....
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You want to know who I am? Who I really am? I’ll show you.
Scottie sets off toward the heath. Danny remains where he is. Scottie looks back. He’s firm.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Come on! Then you can decide if you trust me or not.
Danny follows. Just behind. They enter the heath.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. DAY
Scottie leads Danny towards a magnificent oak tree. They pause, admiring its awesome size and shape.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. SADNESS TREE. DAY
Up close Scottie presses a hand against its trunk as if reunited with an old friend. Danny observes.
Scottie looks into the branches above.
SCOTTIE
We are at the spot my career as a spy came to an end.
For Danny, it’s a revelation.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
I was a spy, once.
Scottie’s mood turns sombre.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
A long time ago. In a world very different to this one.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. FOREST. SADNESS TREE. DAY
Scottie and Danny seated, side by side, on a dead, moss-spotted trunk, staring at the ‘sadness tree’.
SCOTTIE
I was recruited at Cambridge. I said yes partly because it wouldn’t be a normal life, with regular hours, and I was desperate to avoid a five o’clock home time, while not being bohemian enough to imagine life without a proper profession. Not very patriotic motives, I suppose. They rather liked that about me. An utter lack of idealism. Romantics make unreliable spies.
Danny reacts to that idea.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
It was my third year with MI6. I was travelling back to London by night train. A handsome man joined my carriage. He sat close to me. The tips of our shoes touched. Our eyes chanced. He asked the most mundane questions in the most exciting way. When we arrived at Paddington I went to the ‘Gentlemen’s’, waiting in a cubicle, door ajar, hoping...
(beat)
I cannot express how happy I was to see him. It meant I hadn’t been wrong. And for the next fifteen minutes, or so, I wouldn’t be alone.
(embarrassed)
After all these years - prudishness runs deep. The next day I was approached by a Soviet operative. He described how the Soviet Union welcomed ‘men like me’. Under Communism we were all equals. Once I’d completed my mission here, in a country that would always hate my kind, I could make a home in Moscow and be free.
Scottie’s hands shake. Despite his measured account this is upsetting. Unspoken about. He glances at Danny.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Some ‘men like us’ actually believed that lie. But I wasn’t one of them. So all that remained was the blackmail. I’d be exposed. Arrested. Disgraced. That night I bought a rope. And walked here.
Scottie’s eyes move to a specific branch.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
But sitting on that branch, noose ready, I thought to myself - there is another way.
DANNY
You told your bosses that you were gay?
SCOTTIE
That’s a wonderful wrong answer. However, the option did not yet exist. No, I explained to my section head that I’d been approached by a Soviet operative and detailed the nature of the blackmail. He asked if the allegations were true. I admitted that I’d made a mistake. With a man. And that the operative might have evidence. Of that mistake. But it was only once. An act of madness. An act of disgusting madness --
(re-enacts)
‘I am not a homosexual!’
(beat)
And I am not a traitor.
(beat)
Hard to believe the second statement when the first is a lie. So I proposed, preposterously, that they employ someone to follow me for the rest of my life. Photograph my every move. I’d never touch a man. I didn’t discover until later that it hadn’t been a Soviet operative. It had been an internal investigation. You’ve heard of a mole hunt? This was a fag hunt. Which they saw as more or less the same thing. Her Majesty’s Secret Service had its fingers burnt by one too many queer spies. My prompt confession saved my life. I was moved out of MI6 and into, as it was then called, The Ministry for Transport, where I became little more than a bookkeeper, whispered about by those in the know. Out of gratitude, and fear, I kept my end of the bargain. And for eleven years I did not touch another man.
Silence.
Danny reaches out and takes hold of Scottie’s hand. The gesture catches Scottie off guard.
He looks down at Danny’s hand around his - the different skins, one marked with age, one glossy with youth.
Cementing their rapprochement, Scottie clasps his other hand around Danny’s.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. KITCHEN. NIGHT
Scottie has made fresh soup. Danny and Scottie eat.
SCOTTIE
Will you sleep?
Danny shakes his head.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
&nbs
p; Then I propose we stay up all night and wait for the morning papers together.
Danny nods - accepting the proposal.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
Shelves of books, antiques, not fusty but cosy. Like a gentleman’s club. Without the formality.
Scottie in a leather chair, reading Berg’s biography of Woodrow Wilson.
Danny lying in the sofa. Not reading. He peers over at Scottie’s book. Scottie catches his glance.
We think, for a second, that he’s going to read some aloud. And Danny wants him to. But Scottie isn’t sure whether to suggest it. Danny isn’t sure whether to ask.
The moment passes.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. DAWN
Danny at the window as day breaks. He turns to Scottie. Scottie puts the book down. It’s time.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD VILLAGE. DAWN
Danny and Scottie walk to the newsagents. Nervousness from both. The streets are deserted.
They stop at the stack of various papers being delivered. The truck still there.
Danny breaks the plastic and takes out a classy looking broadsheet. Scans the front. Not on the cover.
Danny turns the pages, slowly at first, then faster.
There’s nothing.
About to check from the beginning for a second time Danny sees, to the side, the front page of a tabloid --
Danny’s face is on the front.
The photo was taken outside the diner. By a photographer that Danny never saw or knew was there.
Even though it was daytime the photo appears dark, as if it were nighttime. A fragment of the neon sign in the frame. But it’s a blur. Unable to identify the letters the overall effect is strip-club-soho-sleazy.
The headline: “Attic Spy Sex Partner Secrets”.
Danny opens the paper to reveal a double page spread --
“I took drugs.” “I never knew his name.”
There’s a lurid graphic illustrating the attic - the sex toys, the video, the drugs, and trunk.
Danny’s admission that he’d been with guys who had rooms “just like this one” before.
Danny’s expression falters as he realizes the depth of his miscalculation.
INT. HAMPSTEAD. CAFE. MORNING
Scottie and Danny sit at a table. Danny seems dazed. Vacant. Unable to believe his own stupidity.
Scottie is concerned. But unable to do anything, unable to say anything, he merely pours a tea for Danny.
Unable to say anything, or do anything, Danny stares at the tea, until finally he takes a small sip.
EXT. WAREHOUSE. DAY
Danny arriving for work. Other members of staff glance at him. Not hostile. They’re curious. He’s news.
INT. WAREHOUSE. LOCKER ROOM. DAY
Danny’s getting changed into work clothes. He stops as a man in a suit enters.
INT. WAREHOUSE. BOSS’S OFFICE. DAY
Danny seated opposite his boss. Newspaper on table.
DANNY
Drug test me.
(beat)
I need this.
But we know the answer is no.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAY
Danny, despondent, slumped on the bed.
Sara brings in a letter. She sits on his bed. Danny doesn’t stir. She shows him the letter. Handwritten.
SARA
I’m going to open it, okay?
Sara opens it. She finds, inside, a pair of train tickets. And reads the accompanying letter.
SARA (CONT’D)
It’s from his parents.
Danny moves like a bullet, taking the letter, devouring the words. He turns his attention to the train tickets --
INT/EXT. INTERCITY TRAIN / COUNTRYSIDE. DAY
Danny seated in a packed standard class carriage. Racing through English countryside.
At first glance it looks like Danny is doing the jumbo crossword. In fact he’s writing the name “Alistair” in the across grid and “Alex” in the down grid.
EXT. STATION PLATFORM. REMOTE VILLAGE. NIGHT
Danny waiting alone. An old station building. Countryside. Could be in an England from sixty years ago.
Danny has completely filled the jumbo crossword with Alex / Alistair, and continues writing over the letters.
A couple in their early sixties appear at the far end of the platform. Standing under a moody lamppost.
Danny spots them. He stands, picks up his bag, and walks towards the couple. They come plainly into view --
The mother, Mrs. Turner, is imperious. Dressed in vintage black designer.
The father, Mr. Turner, appears in excellent shape. Physically strong. Country manor tweed.
DANNY
Mr. and Mrs. Turner?
Mr. Turner gives a nod and offers his hand. Danny shakes it. The man seems cold, not hostile - neutral.
Mrs. Turner puts on an affected air of aloofness, but Danny can tell that she’s curious & warmer.
No polite questions. No mention of their being late.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Thank you for sending the tickets. I’m happy to pay for them myself.
Danny reaches for his wallet. The parents watch as Danny takes out an envelope. Mr. Turner accepts the envelope. Checks the money. And then offers it back to Danny.
MR. TURNER
There’s no need.
Mr. Turner holds the money outstretched towards Danny.
DANNY
It wouldn’t feel right.
MRS. TURNER
You’re our guest.
DANNY
(uncertain)
If you’re sure...
MR. TURNER
We’re sure.
It feels like a test. Danny calculates it’s ruder to refuse. He gives in. Accepts the money back.
Mr. Turner looks at his wife, as if he just won a bet.
Mr. Turner picks up Danny’s bag, walking off. Danny’s embarrassed but is unable to extricate it.
Mrs. Turner walks by Danny’s side, looking him up and down. Danny catches her glances. He smiles at her.
She seems flustered by the smile.
EXT. TRAIN STATION. REMOTE VILLAGE. NIGHT
A vintage car. Impressive but not well preserved.
Mr. Turner deposits the bag in the back. There are walking boots, maps, various other outdoor items.
INT/EXT. VINTAGE CAR / COUNTRYSIDE. NIGHT
Danny in the backseat. Alex’s parents in the front.
Danny’s eyes pick up on every detail.
The view outside is darkness and gloomy forest.
Mr. Turner looks at Danny in the rear view mirror.
INT/EXT. VINTAGE CAR / TURNERS’ HOUSE. NIGHT
The car turns off the road onto a narrow drive.
An old stone house embedded in a forest. No neighbours. Modest in size. And run down.
Danny fascinated with his first view of the property.
EXT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. NIGHT
Danny gets out of the car. He stands before the house. Eyeing it up and down. As if it were a character.
DANNY
How long have you lived here?
MR. TURNER
Alistair didn’t tell you?
DANNY
No.
His parents look at each other.
MRS. TURNER
What did he tell you about us?
DANNY
He told me you were dead.
With ice-cold British understatement --
MR. TURNER
We weren’t close.
The Turners head in.
Danny takes a moment to walk to the edge of the wintery forest - menace and beauty in equal measure.
He’s about to go inside when he sees a distant light in the depths of the trees -- the flicker of a flashlight.
And then it’s gone. Danny waits. Nothing more. He heads back to the house, glancing over his shoulder.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. HALLWAY & STAIRS. NIGHT
Danny enters,
shutting the front door. The interior is angular and unsettling. Not homely.
Mrs. Turner is halfway up the stairs. Waiting. Like a statue. It’s weird.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY. NIGHT
The corridor is long and narrow with eight identical doors, creating a cramped and claustrophobic feeling.
Mrs. Turner opens a door for him. In the harsh light Danny regards her peculiar heightened anxiety.
He enters the bedroom.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
A single bed. A side cabinet. A wardrobe. Lace curtains. A towel and hand-towel neatly folded on the bed. Along with a small square of pale soap.
A bedroom from fifty years ago.
She enters the room, as if she were intending to stay and talk. Danny can sense she wants to.
MRS. TURNER
Bathroom’s opposite. It’s all yours. Is one towel enough?
DANNY
Plenty.
MRS. TURNER
You’ll want some time. Before dinner. Is one hour enough?
She seems unaware of the repeated phrase. Danny fights the urge to say ‘plenty’.
DANNY
More than enough.
She still doesn’t want to leave, stealing glances at Danny, pretending to check the room is in order.
Danny watches her. In the end, as if caught by a sudden thought, she hurries out, shutting the door.
A small crucifix on the wall. Danny takes it off the hook. Wallpaper faded underneath.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BATHROOM. NIGHT
Awkward jarring cut as Danny opens the vanity cabinet in the bathroom. On one shelf there is a laminated sign. “For Guest Use”. The other shelves are empty.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny has showered. He takes out of his bag a dry-cleaned white shirt. And unwraps it.
INT. TURNERS’ HOUSE. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY. NIGHT
Danny smart in a crisp white shirt. The house is silent. He studies the various closed doors. His hand rests on a handle, tempted to explore. But he doesn’t.