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It came to me deep in the night, as it so often does.
We shall be as a meadow!
Clara - the landing.
Denise - Haberdashery.
From Miss Audrey.
Inspiration came to her in the night.
Inspiration must be blind.
Like love! And justice. And worms.
Oh, I wish I could do that, though. Arrange things. Don't you?
These days, I think I could do anything I set my mind to.
Really? Anything?
What is there to stop me?
I know. She scares me, too.
Clara!
Sorry, Ma'am. Customer.
You weren't back.
Ladies, please take a seat.
Denise! Le salon d'essayage.
We have searched cellar to roof.
A female could get in and out and no-one any the wiser.
We are vulnerable.
My department has always adhered to the highest standards!
Miss Audrey, no one supposes this a reflection on you or your staff.
He belongs in the police station.
No. I don't want him at the police station.
I want him here. Dudley, you know infants.
When Alice was sick last winter and couldn't nurse the baby,
what did you do?
Mellin's Infant Food. Able's across the street will have it.
Arthur!
Infant food. Able's. Yes, sir!
Jonas, get a message to Peter Adler.
Tell him I wish to speak to him, on a matter of urgency.
Dudley - the newspapers.
Yesterday we were paying a guinea a line for advertising space,
tomorrow they'll give us the front pages for free.
But Mr Moray, sir. Who is to look after him?
Why - us.
The Paradise!
They wish to donate money for the baby.
If we had a box, or a tin?
Miss Audrey. My name is at the top of the list.
I see that, but they have asked for Denise.
All the morning customers have been asking for Denise!
Indeed. She is quite the cause celebre -
the girl who found the Paradise Baby.
I believe it will be a new sales record.
I shouldn't worry.
With all the fuss being made of this one,
we'll have every unwanted brat in the city dumped at our door.
Plenty of bastards to go round, then.
Oh, I know! What business have I?
But I heard and I had to see for myself.
Allow me to introduce Mr Peter Adler.
Peter, Miss Katherine Glendenning.
I see you have already met my other guest.
Oh, he is quite the most beautiful thing.
A heartbreaker, in the lair of a shameless opportunist.
Oh, come on, Adler!
This is an opportunity that may serve us both.
Poor Miss Glendenning must be wondering what devilish pact
we have in hand.
I am the patron of a Foundling Home, Miss Glendenning.
Moray is hoping we will be able to find room for his unexpected guest.
Though not quite yet.
I want him in my store a day or two longer.
A baby? Here? Moray, what can you be thinking of?
The publicity.
You wanted me, Mr Moray, sir?
Yes. Take him into the Paradise.
I want him seen.
I want him loved.
Understand?
Yes, sir!
Our friend has a reputation as a man of innovation and drive.
Perhaps he is also hoping to demonstrate
that there is a softer side to him -
the human face of the all-conquering capitalist.
Hmm, you have my measure.
Do I have your support?
We will take him. On one condition.
A donation?
And a visit. Our foundlings to your store.
We do our best to fit them for work, give them a future.
Well, who knows?
If one of them impresses,
you may even be moved to extend the offer of a job.
Supposing the press were still on hand to report the gesture.
Miss Glendenning. Moray.
Adler.
You must let me know when this visit is to take place.
Your Foundlings interest me, Mr Adler,
I should like very much to be here.
Of course.
Miss Glendenning.
You're wasting your time, you know. He's far too high-minded.
Now I wonder, is that meant as a warning or a challenge?
Seriously, watch your back,
she'd do anything for the kind of money you earned today.
Isn't that right, Sam?
Who - Clara?
Ay, she'd kill her own grandmother to get commission on the hide.
Oh! Can I hold him? Please can I hold him!
It won't last. People want to tell their friends
they bought something from the girl who found the Paradise baby.
But he isn't! He isn't the Paradise baby!
He wasn't born here - he was just dumped.
In Miss Audrey's stupid saloon!
It's not funny! No, come on, come here. They're just being childish.
Everywhere I've took him they've called him that - the Paradise baby.
But I was born here in the loading bays.
And when you're rich and famous, there'll be a plaque out there.
Saying what?
His mam was the drayman's tart.
She dropped him like a turd then fell down dead of the shame.
God, you're full of spite! Don't take it out on him.
What? I was just saying what I've heard.
What? What you heard? Where, from who?
Oh, you know - people.
Oh, come on! She's just got it wrong.
Your ma was the drayman's daughter, she died of a fever.
Your pa was lost at Sebastopol
and you were brought up by the men who worked in the bays.
You told me the story, yourself.
But what if that's all it is - a story?
Last week, Moray bestrode the narrow world like a colossus,
this week he's Florence Nightingale in pantaloons.
The man's a genius.
What do you know about a man called Peter Adler?
Apart from his market value.
His market value is not to be sniffed at.
They call him Saint Peter at the club. Rich as Croesus.
Full-time philanthropist. Why?
I thought I might invite him to dine. Would you object?
Not at all.
But I don't imagine it's my displeasure
you're hoping to provoke.
Every front page bar one!
"City foundling finds new, celestial home",
"An angel in Paradise", "Cherub among the chinaware".
We are paying for your front pages -
Adler's brats trooping through at any moment.
I doubt the wheels of commerce will grind to a halt because
a few children pay us a visit.
Not children - foundlings, begotten in sin,
abandoned while God looked the other way.
They remind us of everything that's foul in ourselves.
If ever I feel despondent,
I need only a minute in the company of Jonas and lo!
The clouds lift.
Where's the baby?
Haberdashery got hold of him yesterday and hasn't let go since.
Well, warn haberdashery not to become too attached.
We have him on loan only.
People are starting to speculate.
As to why the child was left here.
And? What do they conclude?
That he is yours.
You should read the editorial in the Chronicle, Dudley.
"Once, such a child would have been left on the church steps.
"Today, the populace puts its trust not in God, but in commerce."
We are the new church. I slipped once. 18 months ago.
I have not done so since.
It is not - could not be mine.
Mr Dudley, sir.
Mr Moray, Mr Dudley.
It's private. A list.
A list with only two names.
They worked here, when it was Emmerson's.
No-one else left who did.
They tell tales in the bays, about how I came to lose my arm.
Ever heard any?
No. A story for every day of the year,
most of them not fit to be repeated.
None of them even close to the truth.
Why don't you put them right?
Because the story can change all it likes.
This never will.
Arthur?
Good luck.
They're on their way!
Moray! You've shown us all the way.
Everybody trusts a man holding a baby!
I hear you're throwing your doors open too, very charitable.
Mr Adler!
Children.
Welcome to the Paradise.
Go on, Grace.
I'm holding a party later - destitutes, vagrants,
gentlemen of the press, all welcome!
Keep holding hands.
Thank you.
After you, Peter.
Hurry! Hurry! They are on their way. Remember, girls.
We must not judge.
Suffer the little children, as the good Lord said.
Where are you going? Er, stock room.
I can see the crawlers in their hair from here. Filthy little things!
Don't let them touch anything.
And this is the Ladieswear department,
in which Miss Audrey is Queen.
Nonsense. I am not. Ridiculous child!
Why, what a beautiful curtsey!
But you know, Mr Moray meant only that Miss Audrey is in charge here.
Indeed, she is very fearsome and awfully elegant,
sometimes I quite feel like curtseying to her myself.
Miss Audrey,
may I have your permission to show the girls the gowns?
I feel sure they would like to see them.
And maybe touch.
Just a little.
Perhaps I could help.
Our very finest gowns are so precious
that only Miss Audrey may touch them,
even Mr Moray is forbidden.
But if we may beg some silk samples from the Great Hall,
you could feel for yourselves
how taffeta is so stiff it almost stands up
on its own and chiffon so soft that it runs over your skin like water.
After which, Mr Moray has put on a luncheon for us.
Well, if you think you might be hungry.
Luncheon - splendid!
Shall we have a look around?
THE CHILDREN MURMUR: Yes!
Only, do you know - I was vain enough to put on new shoes
for this visit, they are pinching me horribly.
I think I may need some help with the stairs.
I've got new shoes too.
New to her.
She means new to her.
Come on, Grace.
It was kind of you, earlier - to take the trouble with Grace.
Such a taking little thing.
Hmm. What's her story?
Grace is one of our "wanted" children.
Her bed and board are paid for - probably by a parent,
who hopes to reclaim her when their circumstances change.
It means she cannot be put up for adoption.
I'm glad. Everyone needs to know they are wanted,
don't you think?
Just as everyone needs clothes and shoes that fit.
Moray! I have an idea.
40 foundlings to be clothed and shod at her expense?
It'll cost a fortune!
Lucky she has one.
She's just playing games.
Trying to make Moray jealous, by setting her cap at that Adler.
Anyone can see.
What would you know? You spent the whole time in the stock room.
Hey, think of the commission! Who do you think will get it?
"A store that expanded in stages, And paid all its staff paltry wages,
"Saw fit to employ A sweet baby boy,
"And got itself on the front pages!" What do you think?
You won't leave that? Why not?
It's funny.
He's laughing.
You mustn't. You can't!
Don't let him scare you, Denise.
He pays your wages, doesn't mean he owns you.
I'm not speaking for him! I'm speaking for myself.
And the only thing I'm scared of is the whole city finding out
how childish you are. "Childish"?
Denise. I often take a night cap at this time, in my private parlour.
I wonder, would you care to join me?
You like ratafia?
Yes.
Something else we have in common.
I saw it in your face today, with the child -
that a babe in your arms was not fulfilment.
There is too much else first.
Perhaps there will be too much else always.
I received several offers of marriage in my youth.
One in particular - we were fond, very fond.
But a married woman may not be employed in a shop.
And after every offer, I would return to my work,
and the answer would come to me
before I had even asked myself the question.
"I choose this, over him."
Over everything, I choose this.
I have never regretted my choice.
I have loved my work and cherished it
and forsaken all others to cleave to it.
I will never let it be taken from me.
Miss Audrey,
if you are seeking assurance that I will not take my ideas to Mr Moray.
Even if the ideas come from me,
he will know they are yours.
There is a difference in the order of our minds.
I see that, now.
My notions are small, insular. We shall be as a meadow.
Yours are as quick and as vital
as the world to which they are a response.
So.
I have decided.
There will be no more ideas.
No more thoughts.
I am to stop thinking?
If you wish to remain at the Paradise.
There are things, Denise, he will not tolerate, even from a favourite.
You must make certain you never stand accused of them.
Don't mistake me. I have no wish to lose you.
But I refuse to lose this.
Now...
Run along.
Between Pauline's snoring, the baby's crying
and embarrassment over your uncle's ridiculous antics,
you are like to have an unsettled night.
You say you don't regret your choice.
But what if you did not have to choose?
What if you could have had both?
No more thoughts, Denise.
No ideas, no questions, no what-ifs.
Just willing hands and an empty mind.
Will Peter Adler be accompanying Miss Glendenning today,
do you think?
How else would I be able to see them together?
I'm glad you take it so lightly.
She is playing a game, Dudley. A very old, very simple game.
It's called "the other man".
You know her better than I.
Well enough to know she'll have tired of Saint Peter and his foundlings
by the time the week's out.
If I had not been taken in by the bays, not known by the bays,
and not taken in by you when you turned Emmerson's into the Paradise,
I should be a foundling too.
My ma, she was the drayman's daughter,
she was unloading cloth with her father when her pains came on...
Arthur, Arthur! We know all this.
But how? How do you know it?
I mean, you weren't there, at the bays.
So, who told you the story?
Helene. Yes.
But she wasn't present. She heard it from Miss Audrey.
Girl! What are you doing in here?
Oh, erm, please, Miss Audrey,
I thought he would like to see the birds,
on the wallpaper, before the customers come.
Birds? Nonsense! Shoo! Go on! Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!
Miss Audrey. And you boy! Stop lurking!
No good ever came of a lurker.
Mr Adler, the velvet or the delaine wool?
Above all, I wish them to look like children, rather than foundlings.
The velvet is very popular with the better class of family.
But the wool is less formal, more comfortable.
And considerably cheaper. Then I say the wool has it.
Seconded! And now undergarments.
Well done. That's half a crown each you just cost us.
Don't you ever think about anything but money?
60 yards of the delaine wool and they're making their way
to ladieswear for undergarments.
Girl, you are having an idea. I have told you.
There will be no more. No more, I say!
Yes, Miss Audrey. I understand.
Miss Audrey, I fear we have quite stripped your shelves.
Stripped? Oh no! Not stripped. I assure you. Never, stripped.
The seamstresses are already hard at work on the wool.
Preliminary fittings this evening.
Denise and Clara will be on hand to assist.
The children will arrive, as soon as the store is closed.
I will pass on the message, myself.
Miss Audrey! I cannot help with the fittings this evening.
I have pains. Women's trouble.
Indeed?
Terrible cramps, ma'am. I can barely stand.
And yet you did so whilst there was commission to be had.
You will assist with the fittings, Clara,
or I will consider your job half-finished
and your commission forfeit. Miss Audrey!
Not now. And stop lurking!
Thank you. You have been most helpful.
Perhaps Mr Moray should think of opening a department for children.
So many of his customers are mothers.
And it would have made your task today so very much easier.
Don't you think?
We are grateful to Miss Glendenning, of course. Who could not be?
But my ambition is to make the home independent of anyone's generosity.
If my name is to be remembered at all,
I should like it to be as the man who made the home
autonomous of any benefactor.
Well, you may soon find yourself with a new benefactor.
The collection started
by our customers has grown beyond all expectation.
The baby comes with a dowry.
Then the fund requires proper administration.
A patron. Give a public face to the giving
and the people will give more.
You raise a sufficient amount, you invest it wisely
and then Adler's home
may yet achieve the independence he hopes for.
Why a patron?
Why not a patroness?
You offer yourself, Miss Glendenning?
I do, Mr Adler. And what a delightful figurehead you would make.
Though, perhaps, more for decoration than use.
You doubt my capability? You are, an exquisite confection of froth,
frivolity and fashion, who gives delight wherever she goes.
Here, here. And that is, that is your glory and your gift.
Why seek to stray into areas for which you are so wholly unfitted?
Judging by your profits,
your customers seem a pretty deep-pocketed lot,
why should their giving come as a surprise?
It's the extent of it that's unexpected. How so?
The majority of them are women - mothers.
An unwanted child touches something in them.
I would have thought that obvious.
You are quite the expert on my customers.
Hardly that,
but I do feel you are missing an opportunity.
Indeed?
Naturally, my own experience is of the froth and frivolity variety.
But having spent the day attempting to outfit 40 infants,
I can assure you,
a department supplying ready-made items for the young
would be a godsend for their carers
and a goldmine for you.
A children's department?
Splendid notion, Moray.
What can have brought it to mind?
Though, in good conscience, I can't claim credit for the idea.
One of your shop girls was talking about it.
I feel sure you would have caught up with her,
at some point.
Aren't you the pretty one?
Yes.
I bet there's not a princess in the land bonnier than you.
Well. That's another one done.
What are you doing?
Same as you, just clearing up.
All done. Goodnight.
Mr Adler! I thought you had gone.
Well, unfortunately, without this. Hence my return.
Would you share your thoughts for the customary penny?
Oh, they are not worth so much.
I was thinking about a dress.
Thus proving Moray right.
I think Moray likes to vex you.
And you him.
Was it a nice dress?
Exquisite. My first, truly grown-up gown.
Black silk crepe, buttoned high to the throat.
Black? You were in mourning?
For my mother.
They hadn't told me she would die.
I was...
..lost.
I could neither be what I had been before,
nor see what I must become.
And then they put the dress on me.
And I knew exactly who I was.
I was sorrow incarnate.
I was grief.
I was my father's solace.
Ever since then,
I have used clothes to declare who I am.
And if, on a particular day, who I am is not who I've a mind to be,
why, then, I use clothes to transform myself.
And these last days, in my company,
who have you been, then?
These last days...
..I have been...
..someone I rather liked...
..someone I would like to be more often.
Well.
I am glad that provoking Moray's jealousy has not been my only value.
Miss Glendenning.
Katherine.
I have seen your kindness, I know you would not wish me pain.
If my attentions would be unwelcome,
if your affections are already engaged.
I would ask you, in kindness, to speak now.
Thief! You thief! Give it back or I'll kill you.
I swear, I'll kill you.
BABY CRIES
It was a nightmare. Clara had a nightmare.
It was the baby crying worked into her dream. Yes.
I'm sorry for waking you, Miss Audrey. I'm all right now.
I don't know what it is you think I've taken.
The money! You saw me, you knew I had it.
What money? You knew I wouldn't be able to go to anyone. What money?
From the collecting tin.
You stole money from the foundlings?
It was given for a child! What does it matter whose child?
She's yours. Isn't she?
That little girl, Grace.
She's yours.
I pay bed and board.
She can't be adopted if she's paid for.
But my commission's gone down since you came, and the money's due.
Clara, I swear to you. I didn't take it.
Then who did?
I don't know.
Well, then I've lost her.
I've lost her.
Denise. The collecting tin is full again.
When you have finished, take it down to the office.
Yes, Miss Audrey.
Girl! Miss Audrey.
You are dallying with a baby.
Oh, he likes the pretty glass. Enough!
I have had enough!
He cries, he disrupts.
There are nightmares and birds and glass.
It is not for us to understand what he likes, but the other way around!
Infants are as wax - to be imprinted with the proper way of things.
What is needed is method.
Now, then, master...
..baby.
Let us see.
Nine pounds, seven shillings and ten pence.
And still they give.
Bank it with the rest.
He has that effect on all of us.
I sometimes think if I were left alone with him too long,
I would find myself confessing to murder.
By the way, Mr Moray would like to see you.
Do you know why?
There is to be a public presentation.
Our baby and the money collected for him,
are to be given over the Foundling home.
I presume Mr Moray wants you to finish what you started.
A children's department, Denise?
How dare you?
How dare you move behind my back, using my connections,
laying me open to ridicule.
How dare you manipulate me!
No, sir. I... I gave you encouragement.
I gave you licence -
too much, it seems.
You may be clever,
but know this -
I am not to be played.
I am never to be played.
Do you understand?
KNOCK ON DOOR Yes?
Miss Glendenning. She asks for you.
Tell her...
..I am on my way.
I'm sorry.
Can we talk?
Not here.
Peter Adler wishes to pay court to me.
I told him that his attentions would not be unwelcome.
I see.
I wished you to hear it from me.
Well.
Why allow someone else the pleasure?
Oh, you are impossible!
I offer you honesty and you turn it into something - tainted.
You make me feel like something tainted.
And you wonder why I am choosing Adler over you.
(Hello, darling. Hello, baby.)
KNOCK ON DOOR
Miss Audrey!
Oh, Arthur. Lurking! Again!
I am not lurking. I'm waiting!
I've been waiting hours to talk to you - days!
When I was born, you told Mr Moray's wife.
But how did you know?
Know what?
About me! Were you there?
All I've got is a story!
I want to talk to someone who was actually there.
It's yours.
He must remember his mother's face, still.
But he will forget.
He will be like you.
I was not present at your birth.
I was told of it.
By someone who knew your grandfather.
Come!
You were right. Sorry?
Miss Glendenning and Adler.
And what are you going to do?
Nothing. Wish them well.
DUDLEY SIGHS
Oh, what would you... Pistols at dawn?
If she wants him, let her have him!
And if you are worrying about the effect
this will have on my relationship with her father...
I am worried about what effect it will have on you!
When I asked you, about the baby,
whether it could be yours, you said you had "slipped".
You knew that! I told you at the time.
"Slipped", Moray?
It is not a crime.
Why do you punish yourself for it?
Because...
..it...it felt like infidelity!
That time, with Clara.
It felt like infidelity.
And is it for the same reason that you refuse to fight for the comfort
and companionship of a woman
any man would feel proud to call his wife?
Helene is three years gone, Moray.
You are still here.
Clinging to your grief as if it were a lifeline.
And if Alice died?
Would you grieve?
Three years. It...
It is nothing!
It is yesterday.
It is not.
Forgive me, but...
I sometimes think you cleave to her memory with more passion
than you ever felt for her living.
A man who would so wed himself to the past,
is either ready for the grave himself,
or looking for a way to escape the pain of the present.
And I don't think you are ready for the grave.
What would you have me do?
I would have you be happy.
Mister Lovett knew my grandfather?
I'm sure your grandfather deserved better.
But what should I do? Ask.
It is time for you to take your turn.
BABY GURGLES
The longer one has been holding him, the emptier one's arms.
For this reason, if no other, do not give him back to Pauline.
'And I was taken in,'
by one of the yard-men's families and then another,
until Mister Moray turned Emmerson's into the Paradise
and gave me a place for life.
Well, the story had a happy ending then, didn't it?
But I want to know how it began!
My ma, she was the drayman's daughter.
She was. And she died in the epidemic, along with my grandad.
She did.
And my father, he was a soldier.
No.
He was a drayman.
But, if he wasn't killed, then why didn't he want to know me?
Well, there wasn't a lot left of him
when your grandfather had finished with him.
Big men, as a whole, draymen, all that lifting and shifting.
And your grandfather was the biggest.
It was on account of your mother being so young.
How old was she?
About the age you are now. Give or take.
And my pa?
Older.
She couldn't fight him off, you see.
He wanted to give you away, your grandfather.
But the lass was having none of it.
She said the situation was none of your doing.
Pretty little thing, she was.
You favour her, you know.
Anyone who'd seen her would know you belonged to her.
I heard a noise. I didn't know it was...
He sleeps when I hold him.
When I put him down, he wakes.
Sorry.
Denise!
Why a go-between?
Of all people, Miss Glendenning?
I told you to come to me.
I gave you licence - an invitation.
But Miss Audrey is my every day.
You are only my high days and holidays.
I think I see.
You find yourself in a difficult situation -
conflicting demands, loyalties, pulling you this way and that.
But, you are Denise.
You are resourceful.
You find a way and then
I crush you for it.
Yes?
Yes.
It must have seemed...very unfair.
I wish I had half your ingenuity to apply to my own predicaments.
I am sorry if you are troubled, sir.
My uncle always said, the only thing that matters, really matters,
is that you can meet your eyes in the mirror
each day and know you've been true to yourself.
Your uncle is a wise man
and a shockingly bad poet.
Well. Good...goodnight. Goodnight.
By the way...
..Adler has asked that we might name the baby.
Since they both share an early start in the Paradise,
I thought perhaps "Arthur".
What do you think?
Arthur. Yes.
Arthur, Arthur. Arthur.
Did you do something to Clara cos of what she said about your ma?
Did you take something from her?
You have to give it back. You know that, don't you?
I don't have it any more.
I only took it to pay her out.
I didn't want to keep it!
So, I put it in the tin -
for the foundlings.
Don't ask.
From the staff and customers of the Paradise,
with our best wishes, now and for the future.
APPLAUSE
Thank you very much.
I also wish to announce that as from next month,
the Paradise will be the first and only store in Europe
to provide its customers with a dedicated children's department.
An innovation for which I must thank
Miss Katherine Glendenning.
APPLAUSE
Arthur?
Bye, little Arthur. Be good. Don't forget us.
Thank you, Arthur.
APPLAUSE
Sir? We've all written things in it.
Things he might want to know - when he's older, about his time here.
Pauline, she's done ten pages!
But some of it's hard to read because of all the crying.
And if he ever does want to visit, could he ask for me?
I could show him where he was found!
Cos I'll still be here. I'll always be here.
I shall be sure to let him know, Arthur. Thank you.
Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm finding this all a little heartbreaking.
Oh! Not on this little chap's account.
He won't be with us long.
We've already had enquiries.
No, break your heart for children like Grace.
We could have found her a loving home many times over,
were we free to do so.
But she is wanted!
You told me when circumstances change she will be reclaimed.
99 times out of 100, circumstances do not change.
And in the meantime, she is denied everything,
because someone, somewhere would rather hold to a fantasy
than look the truth in the face.
Filthy little things.
I saw you in the street earlier.
Standing at my door.
Gave me quite a turn.
Made me think that these last years were a dream.
That you had said "yes" that last time I asked you.
That you were my wife,
coming home with our children.
I came to tell you,
that if you've had enough of making yourself ridiculous
with your dolls and your verses, you can take them down now.
The child's gone to the foundling home.
It was only ever meant to be the joke of a moment.
It was Denise, the way she looked at me.
It made me realise where her heart lies,
even if she does not know it herself.
And it is not here.
It's for her I have fought on, only for her
and now I don't know whether there's any fight left in me. Enough!
Denise, Denise, Denise!
She cannot stop herself.
I see that now, ideas flow from her like water from a spring.
And the longer it goes on,
the more he will see the difference between us.
Your niece and her ideas will be the death of me, in the end.
But the end is not yet come,
for either of us.
Your standards are slipping.
I needed someone to keep me in line.
Someone I could write real verses for.
As I recall, you were prevented from versifying as you wished
by your inability to find anything other than the word "tawdry"
to rhyme with my name.
Don't delude yourself, Edmund.
We wouldn't have suited.
Well.
We'll never know now, will we?
Clara!
Where have you been?
Out.
What happened to the money?
Oh, a lot of drinks. A lot of friends.
I hate you.
Not just saying it cos I'm drunk.
I really, really hate you.
WOMAN SOBS
Miss Audrey? Are you unwell? You look afflicted.
Miss Audrey?
I'm so glad that we've come through the bad times and we can be friends.
I am glad, as well.
You'll make no effort to tempt Catherine back
into some sort of reconciliation.
Denise will be in charge until further notice.
I will not let you undermine me.
You will face who you are and what you do to people who love you.
Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd