Enchanted April Page #2

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I shall be out and about promoting my book.

Do you think we should

go on with this?

Sixty pounds, Lottie!

But 60 pounds, plus fares, plus

expenses for food and such like...

We could buy a great many boots

for the poor with that money...

We could advertise

for two ladies to join us.

That way it would only cost

There's something immoral about all this.

Oh, no.

No, thank you. No.

Excuse me, Mr. Briggs.

We've come in answer

to your letter about renting

the castle in Italy.

Oh, I do beg your pardon.

I am very sorry.

Do come in, ladies.

I'm very sorry about the mess.

I'm off in a couple of days.

Business, I'm afraid...

to Germany, uh, France,

and Italy.

Here's my card.

But my real love is the, uh...

oboe.

Do you play anything?

The pianoforte.

That's a ticket to the opera,

Mr. Briggs.

I do beg your pardon.

I played the flute when

I was at school.

I've always thought of myself

as a fluty kind of person.

Mr. Briggs...

Sixty pounds.

Oh, in cash.

Well, uh, Mrs. Arbuthnot,

checks are more usual, but, uh...

however, I'm richer, and you're

happier. I've got

the money, and you've got

San Salvatore,

and I think I know

which is best.

Well, um...

now, here are

all the details.

Yes, there we are.

Plus...

photographs.

There we are.

And the spare key...

and I'll give you a receipt.

Your, um...

your husband is going

with you, Mrs. Arbuthnot?

No.

No. I'm... I'm sorry.

I'd no right to...

I do understand.

sad times...

the war...

Thank you, Mr. Briggs.

Well, I think you'll fit in

very well at San Salvatore.

There are several portraits

of you on the walls.

Portraits of me?

Madonnas... exactly like you,

Mrs. Arbuthnot.

Are they looking disappointed?

No more than usual.

Rose.

Rose, we've done it!

We've done it!

You would've thought that

hundreds would have jumped

at the chance of sharing a month's

peace and quiet in San Salvatore.

I can't understand why

we've only had two replies.

It doesn't leave us much choice.

I knew them all, you know.

Dear Alfred Tennyson,

who pulled my pigtails

and said they were too long.

And I sat on Mr. Carlyle's knee.

Oh, how he scowled.

I'm a perfect sharer of your

holiday, Mrs. Arbuthnot.

All I wish to do is sit

in the shade

and remember better times

and better men.

I'm very fond of flowers, too,

and from what you tell me

in your advertisement,

San Salvatore will be perfect.

I remember spending a weekend

with my father at Box Hill.

Who lived at Box Hill?

George Meredith... the novelist.

Did you know Keats?

Keats?

No, I didn't,

and I didn't know Shakespeare

or Chaucer either.

Oh, no, of course not.

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