Sabrina

Once upon a time,

on the north shore of Long Island, some 30 miles from New York,

there lived a small girl on a large estate.

The estate was very large indeed and had many servants.

There were gardeners to take care of the gardens

and a tree surgeon on a retainer.

There was a boatman to take care of the boats,

to put them in the water in the spring and scrape their bottoms in the winter.

There were specialists to take care of the grounds,

the outdoor tennis court and the indoor tennis court,

the outdoor swimming pool and the indoor swimming pool.

And there was a man of no particular title

who took care of the small pool in the garden

for a goldfish named George.

Also on the estate there was a chauffeur by the name of Fairchild,

who had been imported from England years ago

together with a new Rolls-Royce.

Fairchild was a fine chauffeur of considerable polish,

like the eight cars in his care.

And he had a daughter by the name of Sabrina.

It was the eve of the annual 6-metre yacht races,

and, as had been traditional on Long Island

for the past 30 years,

the Larrabees were giving a party.

It never rained on the night of the Larrabee party.

The Larrabees wouldn't have stood for it.

There were four Larrabees in all, father, mother and two sons.

Maude and Oliver Larrabee were married in 1906,

and among their many wedding presents

was the townhouse in New York and this estate for weekends.

The townhouse has since been converted into Saks Fifth Avenue.

Linus Larrabee, the elder son, graduated from Yale,

where his classmates voted him the man most likely

to leave his alma mater $50 million.

His brother, David, went through several of the best Eastern colleges

for short periods of time

and through several marriages for even shorter periods of time.

He is now a successful six-goal polo player

and is listed on Linus' tax return as a $600 deduction.

Life was pleasant among the Larrabees,

for this was as close to heaven as one could get on Long Island.

Come on down from there, Sabrina. Come on.

You better go to your room and finish your packing.

- Who's that girl, Father? - Which girl?

The one dancing with David.

Her name's Van Horn, Gretchen Van Horn.

Chase National Bank.

- I hate girls that giggle all the time. - You hate every girl David looks at.

Sabrina, you can't go on like this about David all your life,

you understand that? You've got to get over it.

Yes, Father.

It's good you're going away. I only hope it's far enough.

- Yes, Father. - Come along, Sabrina.

In a minute, Father. You go ahead. I'll be up soon.

- It's you, Sabrina. - Hello, David.

I thought I heard somebody.

No. It's nobody.

Gretchen! Yoo-hoo! Tennis, anyone?

Gretchen?

What do we call this, mixed singles?

Oh, no, no, no. Whatever you do, you have to stay on your side of the net.

That'll be a little difficult, Gretchen.

Now, David, you know the rules of the game.

Okay, I'll serve.

Sabrina.

Sabrina.

Yes, Father?

You won't forget your passport in the morning?

No, Father.

You know, it's not every girl that's lucky enough to go to Paris.

I know.

And it's the best cooking school in the world, Sabrina.

If your mother were alive,

she'd be very happy to know that you were going there.

After all, she was the best cook on Long Island.

I'm not telling you that you have to be a cook as she was

or that I want you to marry a chauffeur like me,

but you know how I feel about it.

Your mother and I had a good life together.

We were respected by everyone.

That's as much as anyone can want in this world.

Don't reach for the moon, child.

No, Father.

Besides, it never hurt a young girl to learn how to cook, did it, Sabrina?

I'll wake you at 7:00. The boat goes at noon.

- Good night. - Good night.

What's going on here?

Fairchild! Fairchild!

Anybody here?

Who's that?

Sabrina, come out of there. Come on. Come on out of there.

Hello.

- What are you doing here? - Just checking the spark plugs.

What?

Father was worried 'cause one of the spark plugs was missing.

I wanted to find out which one it was.

So you started all the motors and closed all the doors?

I didn't want to disturb anyone.

You might never have disturbed anyone again.

- Does your father know about this? - No! I wanted to surprise him.

You'd better get out of here.

Here, now. Now, breathe deep. That's right. Now deeper.

- What happened? - You passed out.

I'm all right. You don't have to carry me.

Of all the idiotic things.

Haven't you ever heard of carbon monoxide?

It kills people.

- It does? - Certainly.

What do suppose would have happened if I hadn't come along?

- I'd have died. - And fast.

Eight cars! One would've done it.

It's a good thing Mrs Van Horn asked me to drive her home.

Mrs Van Horn? Gretchen's mother?

- Why doesn't she drive her home? - Because we can't find Gretchen.

- She... - She what?

Nothing.

All right. The next time you start a car,

make sure you leave the garage doors open, you understand?

You'd think a chauffeur's daughter would know better.

Yes, sir.

Yesterday we have learned the correct way how to boil water.

Today we will learn the correct way how to crack an egg.

Voila . An egg.

Now, an egg is not a stone. It is not made of wood.

It is a living thing. It has a heart.

So when we crack it, we must not torment it.

We must be merciful and execute it quickly,

like with the guillotine.

It is done with one hand. Kindly watch the wrist.

Voila. One, two, three, crack!

You see? It is all in the wrist.

And now, everybody, take an egg. One, two, three, crack!

New egg. One, two, three, crack!

Take an egg. Crack!

The wrist. Like a whip. You watch. One, two, three, crack!

New egg. One, two, three, crack!

New egg. One, two...

"Dear Father, or cher papa , as we say over here,

"isn't my French getting good?

"Well, we finally finished our four-week course in sauces,

"and thank goodness.

"I thought soups were tough, but sauces just about killed me.

"I almost flunked my hollandaise. It kept separating on me."

Too much vinegar. Does she mention David?

It's Mr Linus, Tom. He's ready to go into town.

What about David? What does she say about David?

- Not a word. - That's good.

Wait a minute. Here's something.

"I don't think of David very much any more."

That's good.

- "Except at night." - That's bad.

"I decided to be sensible the other day and tore up David's picture."

That's good.

"Could you please air-mail me some Scotch tape?"

That's bad.

- Good morning, Fairchild. - Good morning, sir.

A beautiful day, sir.

All right, take the parkway, two windows open, 35 miles an hour.

Yes, sir.

- Morning, Linus. Where are you off to? - The office. Where do you think?

- The office? On Sunday? - Today is Wednesday.

Wednesday?

This is KL-75263. Get me Bowling Green-91099.

Good morning, Miss McCardle. How did the market open?

Industrials, 247.63, up $1.10.

Rails, 94.7, up 58 cents.

Utilities, 47.23, off 11 cents. I'm just leaving the house.

You can put the coffee on in 45 minutes.

Interoffice memo, Linus Larrabee to David Larrabee.

Dear David, this is to remind you

that you're a junior partner of Larrabee Industries.

Our building is located at 30 Broad Street, New York City.

Your office is on the 22nd Floor.

Our normal week is Monday through Friday.

Our working day is 9:00 to 5:00. Should you find this inconvenient,

you're free to retire under the Larrabee Pension Plan.

Having been with us one year,

this will entitle you to 65 cents a month for the rest of your life.

What do you hear from your daughter, Fairchild?

- She still loves him. - I beg your pardon?

I mean, she loves the cooking school, sir.

But she'll get over it.

And now, mesdames et messieurs , soon we will see

how you have learned the lesson of the soufflé.

The soufflé, it must be gay. Gay,

like two butterflies dancing the waltz in the summer breeze.

Very well.

You have five seconds, four seconds, three seconds,

two seconds, one second!

To the ovens!

Too low.

Too pale.

Too heavy.

Too low.

Too high. You are exaggerating.

Fair.

So-so.

Sloppy.

Superb!

My dear Baron, you have not lost your touch.