She turns to Harry, who’s looking also around dubiously.
HARRY
Last time I was here, they put me in the Savoy. This is a little… different.
Doris comes hurrying back, SQUEEZES behind the desk. As she talks she produces the sign-in book and a ROOM KEY (the TAG on the key is SMALL: this will be a plot point later).
DORIS
Yes, Mr. Collins, it’s just fine, can you sign here please? Here’s your key, you’re in room eighteen, that’s the third floor, third room down on your right as you come out of the lift, it’s all set for you, you have a nice rest now, breakfast is from seven to nine-thirty if you sleep late, I’m Mrs. Lewisham, if you need anything at all just call…
HARRY
Thank you.
He takes the key, loads himself with bags and heads down the hall. Joy takes the key off him, pauses by the desk as GEORGE LEWISHAM, Doris’s husband, in his mid-50’s and balding, comes out to look over Doris’s shoulder.
JOY
Thanks so much. He’s really tired…
(to George)
Oh, hello. Are you Mr. Lewisham?
GEORGE
That’s right. How do you do?
Joy puts her hand out to shake his. She doesn’t notice Doris’s suddenly concerned look. But George, his hands full of a stack of magazines, simply bows a little to Joy and smiles an apologetic smile. Joy smiles back.
JOY
I’m Joy Collins, I’m pleased to meet you, please excuse me, I’d better go make sure he doesn’t drop anything of mine on the way up, you know how jetlagged people are…
She heads after him. Doris and George exchange a glance: slight unease.
INT. COLLINS’S HOTEL ROOM—DAY
It’s minuscule, decorated in best British ‘70’s style: cheap wood paneling, ancient wall-mounted phone and pushbutton radio, tiny built-in desk and chair, the skinniest possible double bed: barely room to move. The bathroom is a tiny cubicle. As Harry and Joy ENTER (with difficulty), the room comes as a shock to both. Harry drops the suitcases, resigned, as Joy tosses her bag onto a chair.
JOY
Isn’t this… snug!
HARRY
Hey, nostalgia. I haven’t slept in a closet since before my divorce.
Joy tries to get past Harry to the bathroom. It’s a struggle: they squeeze past each other with difficulty. Now that they’re in the room, Harry’s tiredness really catches up with him. He pushes the bags up against the wall and collapses on the bed, eyes closed, while Joy continues examining the room.
JOY
Well, like you say, I’m going to be out sightseeing most of the time. And it’s only for a couple weeks…
HARRY
(sleepy but emphatic)
No, it’s not. As soon as we can, we’ll find someplace else. This is a dump.
JOY
Oh, isn’t that a little harsh, honey? The people downstairs seem nice. …Honey?
She GLANCES at him. He’s already ASLEEP: he SNORES.
Joy lets out an affectionate breath, goes to him: quietly gets Harry’s shoes off, puts a pillow under his head. Briefly she sits down by him with a “What do I do now?” look.
Her eye falls on her bag: the guidebook she was reading in Immigration has fallen out of it, the picture of Big Ben noticeable on its cover.
JOY (CONT’D)
Yeah…
She turns back to Harry, reaches around and under him and with a wife’s expertise gets out his wallet without waking him. From the wallet she removes a wad of sterling, counts some out for herself, then puts Harry’s wallet back.
Joy gets up and redistributes the money around her various secret pockets (much more Velcro business: she tries to keep the noise down, mostly fails, but Harry doesn’t notice). pauses to scribble a note on the bedside table, takes the key and EXITS.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL RECEPTION—DAY
Joy comes to the desk. Doris is there, taking care of paperwork. The two smile at each other. This is a “like at first sight” situation—Doris likes Joy’s enthusiasm, Joy likes Doris’s “cozy” feel.
JOY
Mrs. Lewisham, can you call me a cab?
DORIS
Why, you can get one right outside, dear. Just wave, they’ll stop for you. Going to do some sightseeing?
JOY
I couldn’t sleep. Not with Buckingham Palace just down the road!
DORIS
You know you can go inside, this time of year? They do tours now. Mind you, there are shocking queues, you might want to take something to read —
(sees the guidebooks)
No, I see you’re equipped!
Here George JOINS Doris behind the desk. Joy smiles at him.
JOY
Yes. I’m so glad to be here! The history here, the romance—it’s all so exciting!
GEORGE
Have a good time!
JOY
I will!
Joy hurries out the front door. George and Doris watch.
GEORGE
You shouldn’t, you know.
DORIS
Shouldn’t what?
GEORGE
Get involved with them. It’s not wise.
DORIS
I know.
(beat)
I can’t help it. Sometimes I just have to.
They look at each other. A moment of dull pain. Then George nods sadly, walks away.
GEORGE
I know. So do I.
EXT. LONDON, DAY—MONTAGE OF SHOTS
Joy’s day in London.
1) The street outside the hotel. She hails a cab, gets in all excited. It zooms away: we can see Joy talking to the cabbie, a mile a minute.
2) The cab heads up the Mall toward the Victoria Monument in the roundabout-circle outside Buckingham Palace.
3) Outside Buck House. The cabbie lets Joy out: she’s still talking. The cabbie smiles as she pays him, and drives off. Joy turns with great delight to look at the palace.
4) The Changing of the Guard. Among many other tourists from all over, Joy watches, eyes shining.
5) The gift shop in the Palace Mews. Joy buys souvenirs.
6) A sidewalk in Piccadilly. Burdened with shopping bags, Joy bustles along, looking at everything: it’s all new and strange, but she’s delighted.
7) The National Portrait Gallery from outside: Joy goes in.
8) Inside she checks her bags, then wanders among the portraits of the great: finally stands in front of the famous and dramatic Gheeraerts portrait of Elizabeth I, plainly very impressed.
9) Then outside again, in Trafalgar Square, Joy stands among the pigeons, under the benevolent gaze of one of the huge lions. She drops her bags, does a Mary Tyler Moore twirl, happy: pigeons scatter in every direction, their wings CLATTERING as they fly —
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—LATE AFTERNOON
The door opens and Joy comes back in, puts her bags down. She’s pooped too, now. Harry is still asleep.
Joy sits on the edge of the bed, turns the TV on low. It goes from a “Big Brother” rerun on ITV to a commercial. As this starts, it becomes clear that Joy’s heard similar commercials before and is sick of them.
COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCER
— Erickson Computer’s new PowerTools portable, featuring more power! Less weight! And a lower price than any other comparable machine on the market!
COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCER / JOY
(Joy in a “nyah-nyah” voice)
Come see why we say, If you need a computer, you need an Erickson!
And on the screen, the same young man we saw in his office and on the airport poster, oozing trustworthiness and charm:
ERICKSON
Tell them Mrs. Erickson’s boy sent you.
JOY
Yeah, right. Cheapskate.
Joy kicks her shoes off and pushes herself up the bed, trying to get comfortable—jams a pillow up against the headboard, looks at her husband. A mixed expression, tender but sad. She takes one of his hand
s, interlaces their fingers, leans back against the pillow: drops off to sleep almost instantly.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT
Joy and Harry are still asleep. The TV shows a lame car-wax infomercial involving a bizarrely-sweatered host setting a car’s hood on fire. A HAND reaches INTO SHOT and turns the TV down, then off.
George stands by the TV, straightening up from shutting it off. A wistful look on his face as he looks at the two sleepers, then moves OUT OF SHOT. We don’t see how he came in, or how he leaves. No sound of a door being used, though…
From outside the window comes some TRAFFIC NOISE. Through the window a van can be seen driving slowly past the hotel. The van says ERICKSON SCANNING LTD., and shows the Erickson Computers star-and-circle logo. The van has a scanning antenna on the top like those on UK TV license vans. It pauses, the antenna moving: then passes on.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL BREAKFAST ROOM—MORNING
A poky little breakfast room, middle-class ‘50’s decoration again. Along with Harry and Joy, maybe ten other GUESTS are seated here, picking at their food: no one seems to eat much. Some guests wear clothes and hairstyles that are out of date in a way that’s hard to pin down. Among them, at a table near Harry and Joy’s, is Gunter, the young German man who was in the lobby earlier.
Joy EATS: Harry sporadically TRIES to. A newspaper is folded on the table beside him.
HARRY
This is no place to wake up in at five in the morning. No room service, nothing. I’m starving.
JOY
So eat your breakfast!
HARRY
(sotto)
I refuse to eat any breakfast that originally had “Goodyear” stamped on it. This bacon should have treads.
JOY
So have some toast.
HARRY
It’s cold. Never mind… I’ll have something at the show when I get there.
(beat)
So what else did you do yesterday besides shop? Did you see the Queen?
JOY
Not the live one.
At the next table Gunter reacts slightly to this.
JOY (CONT’D)
But I don’t care. Everything’s so wonderful and old.
HARRY
Oh, come on, Joy. America is old. We just got there late.
Harry picks up the paper, starts reading: George comes by.
JOY
Oh, good morning, Mr. Lewisham!
GEORGE
Mrs. Collins! Mr. Collins. Good morning! Can I get you anything?
HARRY
(sotto: into the paper)
Food we can chew would be nice.
Joy KICKS him under the table.
JOY
I’d love some more tea.
GEORGE
Coming right up.
He goes off, comes back with the pot, pours for her. Harry opens his paper to the sports pages; a picture of a horse is visible.
GEORGE (CONT’D)
Ah, the gee-gees. Do you ever have a flutter, Mrs. Collins?
JOY
Call me Joy. A what?
GEORGE
A little bet on the horses.
JOY
I never tried.
HARRY
I do, sometimes.
GEORGE
I have a hot tip for Epsom this afternoon.
JOY
The salts?
HARRY
(interested)
The race course.
GEORGE
Bumper Crop in the two-fifteen. By a nose.
HARRY
Inside information, huh?
GEORGE
I know a jockey.
HARRY
Hey, thanks.
George goes off.
JOY
Isn’t that nice of him!
HARRY
If it’s a good tip, yeah. We’ll see. So what are your plans today?
JOY
I was thinking about going to Harrods.
HARRY
Sounds good. Listen, I’d better get a move on. Show opens in an hour.
He gets up.
HARRY (CONT’D)
You’ve got the mobile number. Text me if anything comes up.
JOY
When will you be done today?
HARRY
Eight, nine maybe. I’ll call you… we can go out somewhere for dinner.
He smooches her hurriedly and heads out. Joy looks after him a little sadly.
GUNTER (O.S.)
Excuse me —
She looks over to where Gunter’s finishing his breakfast.
GUNTER (CONT’D)
Mrs.—Collins? I know this city well, and have no plans today. If you did not object, I would be glad to show you some places.
JOY
(brief indecision, then:)
Yes, thank you, I’d like that —
GUNTER
Gunter. Gunter Meyring.
She holds out a hand. He doesn’t take it, gives her that slight bow. She takes her hand back, slightly bemused.
GUNTER (CONT’D)
As long as your husband would not object —
JOY
(smiling, a slight edge)
He’s not here to object, is he?
INT. HARRODS FOOD HALL—DAY
The two of them wander through the place, among the painted tiles and displays of food.
JOY
So if you don’t have family here, or business, why do you stay in London?
GUNTER
I suppose I am the eternal tourist. These people, their lives and surroundings…they fascinate me. I cannot seem to leave.
JOY
These surroundings? They’re a little commercial.
Gives her an appraising look.
GUNTER
True. But there are many places less so.
JOY
So show me someplace uncommercial.
EXT. ST. CLEMENT DANES CHURCH—DAY
The Royal Air Force’s little church in Fleet Street. They ENTER.
INT. ST. CLEMENT DANES CHURCH—DAY
They walk up the silent center aisle, past the slate tablets carved with the names of RAF units, up to the stained-glass window commemorating the RAF’s war dead.
JOY
What a beautiful place…
GUNTER
Saint Clement Danes is where the Royal Air Force remembers their people who died in the wars. I come here sometimes, to think, and hear the bells.
JOY
Odd kind of place for a young tourist to hang out.
The church’s bells start to RING the hour, the familiar “Oranges and lemons…” nursery tune.
GUNTER
Hear them? “Oranges and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clements…”
JOY
And Dick Whittington heard them and became Lord Mayor, right?
GUNTER
A different story.
(beat)
They fought such a tremendous battle, all those young men, at the start of the great war. But many of the people who remember what they did are dying now… It’s important not to forget.
Joy is troubled by his somberness.
JOY
Did you have relatives who —
GUNTER
No. I simply feel the loss. So many stupid mistakes made then. So much youth and loyalty wasted, so many lives cut short…and maybe it didn’t have to be. All very sad.
JOY
But it’s just history now.
He looks at her sadly, as if not entirely convinced.
GUNTER
You’re right, of course.
They walk out, slowly: not touching: he won’t let her that close. Joy notices: looks thoughtful as she follows him out.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL—NIGHT
Gunter and Joy go to the desk: Gunter gets his key.
GUNTER
Perhaps we will see each other tomorrow?
JOY
Uh, not tomorrow, there’s some dumb husb
and-and-wife thing Harry and I have to do at the computer show.
(beat)
Maybe the day after?
GUNTER
That would be delightful. Guten abend, then —
He bows to her again, actually clicking his heels, and heads off. Joy pauses by the front desk to talk to Mrs. Lewisham: then her cellphone RINGS. Joy ANSWERS, and Mrs. Lewisham watches with covert understanding as Joy’s face changes during the call.
JOY
Hello?
(listens)
Oh, hi! Listen, when are you—Oh. No, of course not—no, I’m fine. It’s OK. I went out and—sorry, sure, what time tomorrow?—Fine, I’ll see you then. Yeah. Bye.
She hangs up, DISAPPOINTED.
DORIS
He’s not coming back tonight?
JOY
He has to go to York for a sales meeting. He’ll stay there overnight and come back tomorrow.
DORIS
I’m so sorry. I know how it can be.
JOY
Does Mr. Lewisham have to travel much?
Nervously, Doris starts tidying behind the desk.
DORIS
Oh, no. He’s retired now, you know.
JOY
That must be nice for you, having him around all the time again.
DORIS
Yes, yes of course… it’s hard when they can’t be with you.
(musing, distant look)
Though it could be much worse —
JOY
(just being polite)
Oh? How?
DORIS
(snaps out of it, shocked)
Oh, goodness, excuse me, I’ve got to get the laundry ready…
She hurries off. Joy watches her go, bemused.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT
Joy is in pajamas, in bed, pillows punched up behind her. The TV is on; she’s reading another guidebook. An Erickson commercial comes on.
COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCER
Only Erickson brings you so much computing power for your pound. With the world-beating speed of the new Arion ten-fifty processor —
Joy drops the book in exasperation and pitches a pillow at the screen.
JOY
Oh, go away!
She grabs the remote and channel-surfs rapidly through various unacceptable alternatives: news on CNN (all bad), a dull documentary on the BBC, something on ITV that’s dull, something on Carlton that’s dull…
JOY (CONT’D)
So much for the land of quality television.
(beat: unhappy)
Oh, Harry…
She chucks the remote onto the table and starts reading again, leaving the TV on.
INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT
Joy is ASLEEP, propped against the pillows, book lying open on her lap. All lights are off except the one on the bedside table. The TV, still on, is showing yet another truly awful infomercial.