The Sense of an Ending Page #4

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And who's your favorite poet?

Mum.

Dylan Thomas.

David:
Ah, yes.

The gloomy Welshman.

Jack:
And the winds did bloom

and the brides

in the wooed field

did sew the coming summer frost

David:
Ah, bravo, Jack.

See what I have to

put up with, Tony.

I'm partial to

a little Larkin myself.

Oh, yes.

He's wonderful, also.

I work all day,

and get half drunk at night.

Waking at four

to soundless dark,

I stare.

In time the curtain-edges

will go bright.

Jack:
Hear, hear.

So...

Good night, then.

I didn't say anything

embarrassing at dinner, did I?

Why are you whispering?

I don't know.

Sorry.

I hope you sleep the sleep

of the wicked.

It's important you

understand the scale

of sexual frustration

of my younger self.

For god's sake.

You poor thing.

Are you sure there isn't

some un-doused fire

in your breast, Mr. Webster?

Quite sure.

So if the, let's presume,

still unmarried fruitcake

walked into this restaurant now

and sat in that table,

how would the long-divorced

Mr. Anthony Webster react?

I don't think I'd be

especially pleased to see her.

So you wouldn't start

rolling up your sleeves

and turning over your watch?

God. I wish

I'd never told you that.

Can we have another...

More coffee?

Come on, let's hear

the rest of it.

Sarah:
Morning.

You looking for something?

No, I was just looking.

The others have gone for a walk.

Veronica said

you'd prefer a lie-in,

so we opted not to disturb you.

You hungry?

Yes.

Have a seat.

You won't let Veronica

get away with too much,

will you?

Sorry?

Don't let her get away

with too much.

Sorry, I'm not quite sure

I follow your meaning.

Oh! Damn it!

Whoops.

Sorry.

I'm normally very good at eggs.

Tony.

Ah. Thank you.

Well, Jack.

He'll do, I suppose.

Thanks for staying

the weekend, Tony.

Thank you, Mrs. Ford.

I like your mum.

Sounds like

you've got a rival, Vron.

Come to think of it, sounds

like you're not the only one.

Excuse me, I'm still speaking.

You don't say.

Something is clearly going on.

Someone you knew long ago

has left you something or other.

Exactly. Which has been

unduly withheld from me

and to which

I am legally entitled.

Well, you could fight it,

or you can just let it go.

Cash the check, take me

on a budget holiday.

250 each, get us

to the channel islands.

Listen, the point I'm...

Something is certainly going on,

so just call me when you

really want to talk about it.

Oh, and the foot's much better,

thanks for asking.

How is it, the foot?

Eleanor:
So, I passed

on your letters,

all 13 of them, to miss Ford.

And?

While miss Ford

is still not ready

to part with the diary,

I can tell you that

the diary, it seems,

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