Head in the Clouds

There she is.

Bonjour, madame. How much for a reading?

Three francs, dear

and it's written on the door.

I'm sorry.

I cannot see.

We've got to go. We're late.

We'll miss the bus.

Thank you, madame.

What do you see?

I see your 34th year.

Shut up.

That's the porter.

He spotted me as I was making my getaway.

These are first- year rooms, aren't they?

They're very luxurious.

The ones at Yale are like monk's cells.

"Aristotle and Virtue." Oh, God, I'm sorry.

It doesn't matter.

Of course it does. I ruined them.

Wait.

It's getting heavier out there, huh?

Do you mind if I stay here till it eases off?

No. Of course you can.

I go out with one of the dons.

I know. Julian Ellsworth.

We just had an awful row.

I can't go back to his rooms.

I have to get out of these togs.

Excuse me.

Help.

It's completely stuck to me.

I don't mind if it tears.

Thanks.

Bless you.

I can't let you go out in this.

You can sleep in my bed.

But we haven't been introduced.

I'll sleep on the chair and keep watch.

That's very noble, but I wouldn't dream

of kidnapping your bed.

You're taking a terrible risk

having me here at all.

Sorry.

No. Don't apologise.

I'm flattered.

It doesn't normally...

I should hope it does.

I'm Gilda Bess.

I know who you are.

That sounds ominous.

You're famous around here.

Where are you from?

Dublin originally.

We moved up north after the Treaty.

Why was that?

My father was a policeman.

And he was killed during the Troubles.

So are you British or Irish?

On paper, I'm British.

But I don't believe in countries much.

Nor do I.

How did you end up here?

I got a scholarship.

Beauty, bravery, and brains.

What a catch.

You also have a nice willy

and I hope to dream about it.

Good night, Guy.

Good night.

We made it. I owe you my life.

You don't owe me anything. It was fun.

Everyone knew Gilda Bess.

Her father owned

one of the big French champagne houses.

Her mother was a rich American socialite.

The marriage hadn't lasted...

and Gilda had lived most of her life

in the United States.

She was quite notorious at Cambridge...

and last night

she had actually slept in my bed.

If anyone knew, I'd be a celebrity overnight.

Are you Guy Malyon?

Yeah.

Julian Ellsworth.

I'm incredibly grateful about the other night.

Gilda said you were a brick.

I really can't thank you enough.

You saved my bacon.

I'd have been dismissed and most likely

disinherited if they'd found her here.

Glad to have been of help.

Listen, we're having a bit of a beano

at the weekend.

Gilda wanted me to invite you.

Don't know

if you're much of a jitterbugger...

but the old man's away

I'll have the run of the place.

You need a girl, of course.

I can line one up.

When I was a freshman

I didn't know what girls were.

I'm afraid Mr. Ellsworth won't allow you in

unless you first drink one of these.

The password is"martini."

God, it tastes like paraffin!

One doesn't taste it, darling

one simply swallows.

New blood.

Hello, old boy.

You girls should want to dance with me

this evening...

because Gilda has got herself

stranded in Calais.

Poor Gilda.

Do come through.

Calais is such a dreadful place.

Hello, Guy.

Hi.

Glad you could make it.

You're the troubled boy...

whose girlfriend

Julian is planning to monster.

Are you sad?

I'm thrilled for her.

You don't mind if she gets debauched?

So long as the debaucher's from a

f***ing good family, I couldn't care less.

Do you imagine you're being

incredibly daring using words like that?

You should try them sometime.

It's good for constipation.

I'm going to feel so wicked in the morning.

What are you writing?

An ode to your tummy button.

Gilda.

Sir Knight.

Don't go up there.

Why shouldn't I go upstairs?

There's an orgy going on.

Sounds promising.

My partner for the evening's

the main course.

Your partner isn't Molly Twelvetrees

by any chance, is she?

Yeah. She's in danger of catching a cold.

Julian's writing a poem on her stomach.

What a cad.

Don't you mind?

I feel sorry for Molly. He's a terrible poet.

You're very modern, aren't you?

I don't feel very comfortable here.

I feel guilty being around all this wealth.

It's just a game. Don't take it seriously.

It's not much of a game if you're out of work

and trying to feed a family.

Fortunately, I'm not.

And neither are you.

I only came here tonight to see you.

There, I've said it.

Good.

You look lovely.

You don't.

Your eyes are all red.

You look like a bloodhound.

You have excellent recuperative powers.

What if someone comes?

We were here first.

Oh, God!

Think Sunday School.

What?

Think Sunday School.

Why?

Because this is a team sport.

Thank you, Unwin.

I thought it might be prudent to- -

Good idea.

Good morning, Unwin.

I thought we might have breakfast

on the terrace this morning.

Gilda!

What on earth are you doing down here?

Happy birthday, darling.

Who's that?

My friend, Guy.

You really had your hands full when I got in.

Gilda, he's a virtual primitive.

I know. He's the Piltdown man.

I'm planning to exhibit him.

Julian, nothing happened.

I don't for a moment think anything did.

Apart from us writing sonnets

all over each other.

All right. Do you mind getting up, please

before anyone else sees you?

Be a darling and lend me

your dressing gown, would you?

Gilda, what have you got on under there?

Well, seeing it's your big day...

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