Her Private Hell

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Damn it! Are they coming or not?

It's just about your mark.

I'm frightfully sorry, Neville. Are we awfully late?

One or two things cropped up, you -

- Are the dressing room lights on, Matt? - No.

Well?

- Am I going to be introduced? - Oh! Of course, I'm sorry.

Marisa, this is Bernie.

- Hi. - He's the photographer.

And this is?

I'm Hetherington. You're working for me.

Ah.

You're amused?

You are so British.

I'm sorry.

The important thing is what you are.

Not as British as you thought, am I?

- Well? - Fine.

She looks just fine.

Right, let's try, shall we? There's been enough time wasted.

She can change here. She'll have to get used to it.

- Change. - I'll tell you if there is any change.

She's different from what we expected.

I said, I'll tell you.

- London's very different. - What do you want?

What the subject requires.

Subject?

The dress, darling.

You move, I shoot.

When you're ready.

Good. Good.

Yes. Yes.

Yes. Very nice.

Good.

Very good.

- Excellent. - We'll decide that.

Hetherington.

What, now?

All right, all right, all right. Now tell me slowly.

Yes.

The directors are making a fuss. Why?

Well, how did they get on to that?

Hold on.

Margaret...

There's a bit of a rumpus at a meeting on that magazine we've taken over.

Somebody's leaked our plans. You know them there, don't you?

Of course.

I'll be there - with Margaret.

Oh, no. No trouble.

I'll be there in half an hour.

I'm leaving in five minutes with Margaret.

Margaret, tell her to get a move on, will you?

Come on, come on. Get the towel off.

- The car's ready, Mr Hetherington. - Right.

- Send me the prints in the morning. - Yeah.

Come on, Margaret.

Right, darling, just a few more shots and we're through.

- You're not frightened of me, are you? - No.

No.

We're offering you the chance to be a top model.

Within a few months, your face will be on the front cover

of almost every magazine in the country.

Yes, I know that.

Well, what is it then?

Are you unhappy about living in Bernie's flat?

Oh, no.

Oh, no. They never seem to mind that.

As a matter of fact, there are one or two people

who are very unhappy about making way for you.

Look, what is it?

Neville is very difficult to please, but he is delighted with you.

You could be famous.

On front covers.

I'm a fashion editor, just like that.

Will you please make up your mind?

It's the kind of photograph Mr Neville wants.

Now look, we've been through all this.

We are the biggest fashion organisation in the country.

And we can't afford to have nude pictures of you all over England.

Can we?

We have to protect you for our sakes as well as for yours.

That's why you will be living in Bernie's flat,

to protect you from other photographers.

Well?

Yes, I will.

I...

I'm sorry.

That's all right. I quite understand.

Good.

Now, we're in business.

- Do you really live here? - Not all of it.

- By yourself. - There's others.

Who?

- Friends. - Ah.

- Something wrong? - What? Oh, no, no.

Look.

- Try this one. - This one?

Uh-huh.

It's all right, dear. He knows.

Let's leave, Paula.

Don't look so shocked.

After all, I did live here first.

Long before you were discovered.

He thinks a lot of Paula, you know.

No wonder he's sleeping.

And so should you be, after last night.

The walls are very thin, you know.

See you around.

Ber-

Anyone here?

Anyone?

Marisa?

Marisa.

What do you want?

Leave me alone.

I wanted to apologise for surprising you.

I was just taking pictures of the house.

I don't want to talk. Please leave.

What's wrong, Marisa?

Why were you crying?

Nothing.

Was it Paula and Sally?

Take no notice. They're only jealous.

They live in this house and work for Mr Hetherington.

But they mean nothing.

Why not leave, Marisa?

Before you get in too deep.

This is no place for you.

Mr Hetherington, Margaret and Bernie...

they're just hustlers.

Con men.

They don't care about you.

Just the money they can make from you.

Please leave. Leave me alone.

I don't want to listen.

Are they ready yet? The magazine's screaming.

Marisa looks great.

Too good for this setup.

I don't know why you want to involve her.

I've been experimenting with these prints.

You have been what?

Bloody hell, can't you even -

Bloody hell, yourself! The negs were so patchy you could hardly -

Don't tell me what my film is like! You print what I tell you.

They'll have to go like that I suppose.

Not if you don't like them.

Not if you don't think they're an improvement.

Let them go. This time.

And I want the cameras loaded.

Are you ready?

Are you ready, Marisa?

Almost.

What's the trouble, Bernie?

You and Matt?

Nothing. Don't know what you mean.

The atmosphere.

There's no atmosphere.

There is when I'm around. There must be a reason.

Oh, it's the photographs, I suppose.

He wants to use you, and I won't let him.

Why?

Why what?

Why not? Why can't he?

Do you want him to?

Not really. But why don't you?

You are my model. He can find his own.

Who does he think he is anyway?

One photograph wins an award,

and he thinks he's the world's greatest photographer.

- And - - Yes?

And besides, it never pays to be an idealist.

What is this about a prize for a photograph?

Oh, I... I won an award.

What about you, Bernie, did you enter?

Forget it, Marisa. There's work to do.

No, Bernie. I want to talk to you.

You talk, I'll listen.

- How much money do I earn? - What?

Money. Money, Bernie.

The thing no one will ever talk about.

How much do I earn? Where is it?

You've got all you need, haven't you?

I've got what I'm given, or what people buy for me.

It's all being looked after, Marisa. It's quite safe.

Safe. Everything safe.

Especially me.

I can't even change my mind unless someone is watching.

So, what does it matter?

Bernie, please, just once. Will you talk with me?

Tell me something, that's all I want to know.

- So you don't trust me? - I trust you, but it's...

- It's your money. - Don't laugh, I have a right.

You can tell me that, can't you?

Or haven't you been given permission?