Rebecca

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive,

and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me.

Then, like all dreamers,

I was possessed of a sudden with supernatural powers

and passed like a spirit through the barrier before me.

The drive wound away in front of me,

twisting and turning as it had always done.

But as I advanced, I was aware that a change had come upon it.

Nature had come into her own again,

and little by little had encroached upon the drive

with long, tenacious fingers.

On and on wound the poor thread that had once been our drive.

And finally there was Manderley.

Manderley ‒ secretive and silent.

Time could not mar the perfect symmetry of those walls.

Moonlight can play odd tricks upon the fancy,

and suddenly it seemed to me that light came from the windows.

And then a cloud came upon the moon

and hovered an instant like a dark hand before a face.

The illusion went with it.

I looked upon a desolate shell

with no whisper of the past about its staring walls.

We can never go back to Manderley again.

That much is certain.

But sometimes in my dreams

I do go back to the strange days of my life

which began for me in the South of France.

No! Stop!

What the devil are you shouting about?

Who are you? What are you staring at?

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. But I... I only thought ‒

Oh, you did, did you? Well, what are you doing here?

I was only walking.

Well, get on with your walking. Don't hang about here screaming.

I'll never come to Monte Carlo out of season again.

Not a single well-known personality in the hotel.

Stone cold! Waiter. Garçon. Call him.

Tell him to get me some ‒

Why, it's Max de Winter.

How do you do?

- How do you do? - I'm Edith Van Hopper.

It's so nice to run into you here,

just when I was beginning to despair of finding any old friends here in Monte.

But do sit down and have some coffee.

Mr. de Winter is having coffee with me. Ask that stupid waiter for another cup.

I'm afraid I must contradict you. You shall both have coffee with me.

- Garçon. Coffee, please. - Oui, monsieur.

- A cigarette? - No, thank you.

You know, I recognized you just as soon as you came in,

though I haven't seen you since that night at the casino at Palm Beach.

Perhaps you don't remember an old woman like me.

Are you playing the tables much here at Monte?

No, I'm afraid that sort of thing ceased to amuse me years ago.

I can well understand that.

As for me, if I had a home like Manderley, I should certainly never come to Monte.

I hear it's one of the biggest places in that part of the country,

and you just can't beat it for beauty.

What do you think of Monte Carlo? Or don't you think of it at all?

Oh, well, I think it's rather artificial.

She's spoiled, Mr. de Winter. That's her trouble.

Most girls would give their eyes for a chance to see Monte.

Wouldn't that rather defeat the purpose?

Now that we've found each other again, I hope I shall see something of you.

You must come and have a drink in my suite. I hope they've given you a good room.

The place is empty. So if you're uncomfortable, mind you, make a fuss.

Your valet has unpacked for you, I suppose?

I'm afraid I don't possess one. Perhaps you'd like to do it for me?

Well, I... I hardly think ‒

Perhaps you could make yourself useful to Mr. de Winter if he wants anything done.

You're a capable child in many ways.

That's a charming suggestion, but I'm afraid I cling to the old motto:

"He travels fastest who travels alone."

Perhaps you've not heard of it. Good night.

What do you make of that?

Do you suppose that sudden departure was intended to be funny?

Come, don't sit there gawking. Let's go upstairs.

- Have you got the key? - Yes, Mrs. Van Hopper.

I remember when I was younger there was a well-known writer

who used to dart down the back way whenever he saw me coming.

I suppose he was in love with me and wasn't quite sure of himself.

Well, c'est la vie.

By the way, my dear, don't think that I mean to be unkind,

but you were just a teeny, weeny bit forward with Mr. de Winter.

Your effort to enter the conversation quite embarrassed me,

and I'm sure it did him.

Men loathe that sort of thing. Oh, come. Don't sulk.

After all, I am responsible for your behavior here.

Perhaps he didn't notice it. Poor thing.

I suppose he just can't get over his wife's death.

They say he simply adored her.

Louis.

Oh! How awkward of me.

What a stupid thing to do. Oh, I'm so sorry.

Please don't bother. It doesn't really matter.

Leave that. Leave that. Go and lay another place at my table.

- Mademoiselle will have lunch with me. - Oh, but I couldn't possibly.

- Why not? - Oh, please don't be polite.

It's very kind of you, but I'll be all right if they just change the cloth.

I wasn't being polite.

I should have asked you to have lunch with me even if you hadn't upset the vase so clumsily.

Come along. We needn't talk to each other if we don't feel like it.

Thank you very much.

Oh, I'll just ha-have s-some scrambled eggs.

Oui, mademoiselle.

- What's happened to your friend? - Oh, she's ill in bed with a cold.

I'm sorry I was so rude to you yesterday.

The only excuse I can offer is that I've become boorish through living alone.

You weren't really. You simply wanted to be alone, and ‒

Tell me, is Mrs. Van Hopper a friend of yours or just a relation?

No, she's my employer. I'm what is known as a paid companion.

I didn't know companionship could be bought.

I looked up the word "companion" in the dictionary once.

It said, "a friend of the bosom."

I don't envy you the privilege.

Oh, she's very kind, really, and I have to earn my living.

- Haven't you any family? - No, my mother died years and years ago.

And then there was only my father.

And he died last summer, and then I took this job.

How rotten for you.

Yes, it was rather, because, you see, we got on so well together.

You and your father?

Yes. He was a lovely person. Very unusual.

- What was he? - A painter.

- Ah. Was he a good one? - Well, I thought so.

But people didn't understand him.

Yes, that's often the trouble.

He painted trees. At least it was one tree.

You mean he painted the same tree over and over again?

Yes. You see, he had a theory that if you should find one perfect thing or place or person,

you should stick to it.

Do you think that's very silly?

Not at all. I'm a firm believer in that myself.

And what did you find to do with yourself while he was painting his tree?

Oh, I sat with him and I sketched a little. I don't do it very well though.

- You're going sketching this afternoon? - Yes.

- Where? - I haven't made up my mind.

- I'll drive you somewhere in the car. - Oh, no, please. I didn't mean ‒

Oh, nonsense. Finish up that mess and we'll get along.

Thank you. It's very kind of you. But I'm not very hungry.

Oh, come on. Eat it up like a good girl.

You've taken long enough for that sketch. I shall expect a really fine work of art.

Oh, no, don't look at it. It's not nearly good enough.

Well, it can't be as bad as all that. Don't rub it all out. Let me see it first.

- It's the perspective. I never can get it right. - Let me see.

Oh, dear. Tell me, is it the perspective

that gives my nose that curious twist in the middle?

- Well, you're not a very easy subject to sketch. - No?

- Your expression keeps changing all the time. - Does it?

Well, I'd concentrate on the view instead if I were you.

Much more worthwhile.

It rather reminds me of our coastline at home. Do you know Cornwall at all?

Yes. I went there once with my father on holiday.

I was in a shop once, and I saw a postcard

with a beautiful house on it, right by the sea.

And I asked whose house it was, and the old lady said, "That's Manderley."

- I felt ashamed for not knowing. - Manderley is beautiful.

To me, it's just the place where I was born

and have lived in all my life.

But now, I don't suppose I shall ever see it again.

We're lucky not to be home during the bad weather, aren't we?

Hmm.

I can't ever remember enjoying swimming in England until June, can you?

The water's so warm here that I could stay in all day.

There's a dangerous undertow, and there was a man drowned here last year.

I never have any fear of drowning. Have you?

Come. I'll take you home.

Oh, yes. I know Mr. de Winter well. I knew his wife too.

Before she married, she was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.

She was drowned, poor dear, while she was sailing near Manderley.

He never talks about it, of course, but he's a broken man.

I suppose I'd better have it. Wretched stuff!

Give me a chocolate, quick!

Oh, there you are. It's about time. Hurry up. I want to play some rummy.

She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.

They say he simply adored her.

She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.

I suppose he just can't get over his wife's death.

She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.

But he's a broken man.

- Bonjour. - Well, where are you going?

- Oh, I thought I'd take a tennis lesson. - I see.

I suppose you've had a look at the pro, and he's desperately handsome

and you've conceived a schoolgirl crush on him.

All right, go ahead. Make the most of it.

- Off duty? - Oh, yes.

Mrs. Van Hopper's cold has turned into flu, so she's got a trained nurse.

- I'm sorry for the nurse. You keen on tennis? - No, not particularly.

That's good. We'll go for a drive.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Van Hopper. How are you feeling?

You got on rather well with him, didn't you?

That pro must have been teaching you other things than tennis.

Hurry up. I want you to make some calls.

I wonder if Mr. de Winter is still in the hotel.

May I go now?

For the number of lessons you've had, you ought to be ready for Wimbledon.

But this will be your last, so make the most of it.

The trouble is, with me laid up like this, you haven't had enough to do.

But I'm getting rid of that nurse today, and from now on you'll stick to your job.

Yes, Mrs. Van Hopper.