Dead of Night

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1

Ah, Walter Craig?

How do you do?

You're Eliot Foley?

That's right.

So glad you were able to come.

Let's have your bag and

put the car away afterwards.

It struck me after I telephoned you,

rather cheek on my part

asking a busy architect like yourself

to spend the weekend

with a set of complete strangers.

Not a bit.

We're pretty cramped for space here.

We need at least two more bedrooms.

- And with only one living room?

- Yes, only one living room.

However, we'll go into all that

in the morning, shall we?

- Know this part of the world at all?

- No, I've never been here before...

...not actually.

- Let me take your things.

Fancy you spotting that.

Trained professional eye, eh?

Yes, of course.

We've got several other guests,

so I've put you in the barn,

but don't get worried...

It has central heating

and every modern convenience.

The very words I was going to use.

Listen, I expect they've started tea.

Yes... yes, they have.

Mother, this is Mr Craig.

Oh, I'm so glad you're here.

How do you do?

Well, come along in.

Let me introduce you to the others.

Mrs Cortland.

How do you do?

Dr Van Straaten.

How do you do?

Very pleased to meet you.

- And, er... Mr Grainger.

- How do you do?

- And this is Sally O'Hara.

- How do you do?

You must be tired after your drive.

Come and sit over here by the fire.

I can't tell you how delighted I am

you were able to accept

my son's invitation.

You see we are both

such admirers of your work.

You'd like some tea, wouldn't you?

Do you take milk and sugar?

Milk and sugar, Mr Craig?

You're still there.

So it isn't a dream this time.

I beg your pardon.

As it isn't a dream this time,

I must be going out of my mind.

Of course!

Dr Van Straaten.

You're a psychiatrist.

You always treat me.

You'll treat me now, won't you?

Forgive me,

I don't quite understand the joke.

It isn't a joke. I only wish it were.

I've seen you in my dreams.

Sounds like a sentimental song,

doesn't it?

I've dreamt about you

over and over again, Doctor.

Hardly turns you into a mental case.

After all, recurring dreams

are quite common.

But how did I dream about you?

I've never set eyes on you in my life.

Very likely, you've seen

my photograph in the papers.

That's why my face

seems familiar to you.

I don't think so.

Even if it were, is that any reason why

I should keep on dreaming about you?

After all,

you don't mean anything to me.

There may be an association of ideas.

I may be linked to something

that means a great deal to you.

Such as?

I should have to psychoanalyse you

to find that out.

But it doesn't end there.

You see, everybody in this room

is part of my dream. Everybody.

- Gosh!

- Good Lord, really?

- You're kidding!

- What all of us?

I can only tell you that when I came

into this room, I recognised you all.

Having seen all our photographs in

the newspapers, eh, Dr Van Straaten?

You may have seen me on the sports

page. Motor racing's my line.

And there was one of me once,

in the "Kentish Mercury".

When I was a bridesmaid at

my sister's wedding. You remember?

Oh... But I shouldn't think

you've come across that.

- I've never had my photograph taken.

- Oh, yes, you did dear once.

You know the one.

Naked on a fur rug, six months old.

Good Lord, that's right. I don't think

he'd recognise me, I was much fatter.

Surely, Mr Craig, you might've seen

any of us some time or another.

- In the street or anywhere.

- Yes...

But why should I always dream

about meeting you all together,

here in this room that I've never

been in, in my life, until today?

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