Episode #150 - The flames in the fireplace at Collinwood blazed fiercely as a painting was consumed by fire, but no one at Collinwood can explain the unearthly scream that filled the great house.
Roger gazes nervously into the fireplace, where nothing is now left of the painting but the frame. Vicki comes in and reports that Mr. Evans is gone. I'm glad for small favors, remarks Roger. He was very disturbed, she says. You are the master of the understatement, he says drolly. That scream--where could it have come from? she asks. I don't know, Roger says, I just wonder if we really heard it. It was a woman's scream, says Vicki. It seems to have come from the fireplace, of all ridiculous places, he says. Yes, she says, you threw that painting in, and that's when we heard it. Oh, I don't think it was a scream at all, says Roger--it was just carried away with the hysteria of the moment. We all heard it, points out Vicki, what was it if it wasn't a scream? We were all looking at the fireplace, he says, it was probably the wind blowing in the chimney. Perhaps, she says. It couldn't have been a scream, he insists--there's just got to be a logical answer for it, that's all. Then what is the logical answer for David's face being painted into that picture? she asks.
Roger has no answer for that one, and his face shows annoyance at that.
I'm sick of hearing about that painting, complains Roger. We all are, Vicki agrees. The best thing we can do about it is forget it, he says, pouring a drink. We can't! says Vicki. I can, and will, says Roger. That's your privilege, she says, but there are too many questions left unanswered and too much to be faced. All right then, he says, you face it, and when you get the answers, you let me know. (great father.) He drinks. There's something you're going to have to face in a little while, she reminds him--David--he's going to have to be told about that painting. He'll be told, says Roger. What are you going to tell him? Vicki asks. I don't know, I'll make it up as I go along, says Roger. You've got to prepare something, she says. It isn't necessary for you to tell me how to deal with my own son, says Roger. He's going to want to know about everything, says Vicki. I'll tell him what he needs to know, Roger says. Liz enters, removing her coat. Know about what? she asks. Hello, Liz, says Roger--we were just debating how much of this nonsense to tell David, all or half. What nonsense are you referring to? she asks. Where have you been? he asks. Walking the grounds, she says. You missed the fireworks--literally, he tells her, sitting on the sofa--I decided the time had come to destroy the painting, the ashes of which lie yonder. You burned it? asks Liz, gazing into the fireplace. It had to be done, says Roger. I agree, but what made you do it? she asks. A series of circumstances which unfortunately had gone too far, he says--I tried getting that thing out of my head, and every time I talk about it, I hope it's the last time. Will there ever be a last time? inquires Liz. Yes, he says. What makes you so certain? She asks. The painting is done with, and as soon as we can get it out of David's mind, then it's finished. Is that why you did it? she asks. Basically, he says. I think Mrs. Stoddard should be told everything, says Vicki. I know how to deal with this, says Roger, I know what to tell her. All right, relents Vicki--excuse me, I want to check on David's dinner. Liz sits beside Roger as he explains that Vicki's referring to a little incident that happened a little while ago--Sam Evans gave us the pleasure of his company. To present us with another painting? she asks. No, he wanted to see the one he'd done of Laura, says Roger, oh, it all sounds so phony to me--he claimed he had a feeling the painting had been finished--and the curious part of it was, it was finished--the empty space had been filled in. What was there? asks Liz. David, replies Roger. I don't understand, says Liz. The last time we saw that painting, there were two people in it--Laura and David, says Roger. Did Sam paint it in? asks Liz. He says he didn't, says Roger. Did he have access to it? she asks. Not that I know of, says Roger. Then how? asks Liz. All I know is, says Roger, that some time between this morning and this evening, the painting was finished. I'd have known if there was someone in the house, insists Liz. All right! he says, the painting was completed--we may find out who did it and we may never know--as far as I'm concerned, it couldn't matter less, it's just another question mark about the things that go on around here. Doesn't it bother you that there was a painting of your wife and son burning in a fire? asks Liz, rising from the sofa. Why should it, it was only a painting? he says. Much as I wanted to be rid of it, she says, I think you made a mistake. Did I really? he asks, nibbling on something (nuts, perhaps?), everybody hated the painting and did nothing about it--it was a thorn in everybody's side, and I removed it. You haven't taken David's reaction into consideration, she says. David is not the judge of what is good or bad for him, says Roger, that is my responsibility. Then I hope you're prepared to deal with him, says Liz, because I don't think he's going to take it easily. She focuses on the fire, Roger looks uncomfortable.
David enters his room, a wrapped gift in his arms. He removes his coat and turns, spotting the empty space where the painting was. My painting! he cries, and begins to frantically search his room.
Drawing room - David has got to learn that life isn't always going to go to the way he wants it to, Roger tells Liz. There are ways of teaching him other than destroying an object he has strong feelings about, says Liz. Toss him in the water, I say, says Roger--he'll either sink or swim. (great father #2) The possibility of sinking is much too strong, I'm afraid, says Liz. Where's my painting? demands David petulantly, entering the drawing room. Here it comes, says Roger. You'd better deal with it carefully, advises Liz. David runs in. What do you mean, running through the house like this? asks Roger. My painting's gone, he says. Listen, you're all excited, just calm down, says Roger. Where is it? asks David, I want it! If you're going to talk to me, you change your tone, young man, commands Roger. You took it! accuses David. Listen, there are some things that you have to understand, says Roger. Give it to me, it's mine! says David.
I want you to listen to me very carefully, says Roger. I don't want to listen! says David. If you want to find out about that painting, you'll have to listen! says Roger. Then you did take it! says David. It has nothing to do with taking, says Roger--it has to do with what's right, good and what's bad--that painting is definitely bad. I want it! says David. You have had the worst possible dreams, says Roger, and your behavior has been very peculiar since that painting came into this house--the time had come for it to stop. I don't want it to stop, says David--the painting was trying to tell me something--last night I almost knew what it was trying to say--now tonight I know I'll know--that's why you've got to give it back. I can't, says Roger. You'd better give it back, threatens David. Now David, says Liz warningly. I won't have you threaten me, young man, says Roger angrily. What did you do with it? demands David. The painting has been permanently gotten rid of, says Roger. What do you mean? asks David, arms crossed over his chest. I had to destroy it, says Roger. Destroy it? asks David, horrified. It had to be done, says Roger. No, wails David, no. Liz takes him in her arms. You burned it, says David--you burned it. How did you know? asks Roger. David runs to the fireplace. My painting! he wails. Don't get too close, warns Liz. David gazes into the flames. My painting! he cries, it's all burned up--now I'll never see it again--there's nothing left of it--now I won't know what it was trying to tell me. I'll be glad when you get that notion out of your head, says Roger. Everyone's against me, says David, nobody wanted me to have that painting--nobody wants me to have it now--you all hate me--you hate me! And he races from the room, upstairs, Liz calling plaintively after him. Vicki comes out of the kitchen, asking what's the matter. He just found out about the painting, says Liz, you'd better go upstairs and try to calm him down. I will, says Vicki, and heads upstairs. You certainly dealt deftly with him, says Liz sarcastically. (great father #3) I was very direct, I admit, says Roger--it's all part of the growing up process, he's got to learn it sooner or later, this is the first step. You really don't seem to care what you say to him, says Liz, how much you hurt him, how much you alienate him. That's why I'm so sure he's be much better off with his mother, says Roger. Are you? asks Liz. Absolutely, says Roger. (#4) Let me tell you something, she says, I can see right through your little campaign of giving David to Laura, but I won't let you do it--the child is frightened of her--and I've had enough of her and the air of mystery that surrounds her--someone must tell her she can't see David anymore.
Don't do that, says Roger. I'm going to do it--right now, says Liz, and marches off determinedly, out the door. Roger looks perturbed.
David lies on his bed in his room, crying, tears all over his face (they overdid the waterworks). Vicki enters; he buries his head in the pillow. She sits next to him--David, she says. What do you want? he asks. I want you to stop crying, she says. Leave me alone, he says. I'm sorry about the painting, she says. Sure, he says. I mean it, I am, she assures him. You let my father throw it in the fireplace, he accuses. I can't tell your father what not to do, says Vicki. Why does everybody want to take everything away from me? he asks. That's not true, she says, smoothing back his hair, everybody wants what's best for you. I don't believe you, he says. You must, she says. You gave me the painting, he reminds her, then you tried to take it away--I don't understand! I don't either, she admits. That's because you're against me, too, he says resentfully. Don't say that, she says. It's true, you are, he says, and commences to sobbing again.
Cottage - Laura's fireplace. She sits there, in her usual odd trance, not hearing Liz' knock at the door at first. Coming out of it, she answers the door and invites Liz in, saying it's nice to see her--I don't often have visitors. I suppose it is a bit lonely here for you, says Liz. I don't mind, says Laura, actually, I'm used to be being alone--and perhaps things will be different in the near future. That's hard to say, says Liz evasively, I wouldn't want to predict. I'm sorry we're not getting along, says Laura, I know you've always had a strong feeling against me, I wish I knew some way to change it. I wish I knew too, honestly, says Liz, but I'm sure you wouldn't want me to be a hypocrite and assume an attitude I didn't feel. Of course not, says Laura, you've always been straightforward, it would be silly for you to change now--won't you take off your coat and sit down? No thank you, says Liz. Can I fix you something? asks Laura. I'll only be a minute, says Liz. I have the feeling that you're about to say something unpleasant, says Laura, sitting by the fire. I wish I didn't have to, says Liz, I wish I could say something to make you happy--I think you deserve it. Then I assume you've come to re-affirm your position of the other night, says Laura, that David and I are making no progress. I'm going to go farther than that, says Liz--I'm convinced your coming back here was a terrible mistake--David's behavior is like something we've never seen before, and it's all centered on you. I'm certain it's going to work out, says Laura, this is just a temporary stage he's going through--he's affected by many little things, but my presence here can only show him his life can change. His life has changed, says Liz, for the worse--he has constant nightmares, and is retreating more and more from reality--and there's no doubt in my mind that it's because of your presence here--so I don't think you should see him anymore. Laura rises. That's a very strong statement to make, she says. I don't like making it, but I've given it a lot of through, says Liz. You think you have the right to say a thing like that? demands Laura. Yes, replies Liz. Well I don't, I'm his mother! says Laura. Regardless of the relationship, he doesn't want to be with you--isn't that enough? asks Liz. No! says Laura, I haven't had enough time with him, I need more time. He doesn't want to be with you, says Liz, and I think you should stay away from him. I'll never learn to know him that way, says Laura, I've got to talk to him. That wouldn't be advisable, says Liz, he's particularly upset tonight. Why? asks Laura. Because the painting was destroyed, says Liz--Roger finally lost his patience and threw it into the fireplace. Then it's more important than ever that I see him, insists Laura--that painting was the one obstacle standing in my path and now it's been removed. I'm afraid it won't work, says Liz, it's best you leave him alone, give him more time. Time is not an easy thing to give, says Laura. You'll have to wait, says Liz. I can't, says Laura. I insist, says Liz.
Do you? asks Laura, an edge to her voice. Yes, says Liz. Then we'll see which of us will be the timekeeper, says Laura. (ooh, Liz, watch out!)
David, wearing pajamas, lies in bed, under the covers. You didn't have to stay here, he tells Vicki, who is sitting on his bed. I thought I'd just stay until you fell asleep, she says. I wish you wouldn't, he says. Why not? she asks. Because I don't feel like having somebody watch over me, he says. I thought you might want to talk, she says. I don't, David tells her, all I wish I could do is look at my painting. You've got to forget about that painting, she says. I can't, he says. You will, in time, she assures him. I'll always remember it, he says. For now, why don't you close your eyes, she says. He protests, but does so. Before you know it, you'll be fast asleep, she promises him. Do you remember the story my mother told me the other night? he asks. The one about the phoenix, she recalls. Yes, he says--if I close my eyes and try to go to sleep, would you tell it to me? I don't know all of it, she says. Just tell me whatever you know, he asks. All right, she agrees, and he huddles happily under the covers. Once upon a time, in a sunny land, says Vicki, there lived a magnificent bird called the phoenix--every day it would soar high over the countryside--but one day, it knew it was going to die--so it built a nest of spices in the finest tree it could find and spent one last night there--next morning, the sun's rays warmed the nest, and the phoenix fanned the heat with its wings into enormous flames...
We see the flames leaping in Laura's fireplace as she looks out the window.
Liz returns to Collinwood, takes off her coat and tosses it onto a chair. Did you see Laura? asks Roger, who is stretched out on the sofa, reading a book. Yes, says Liz. What was the outcome? asks Roger. The outcome will be determined, she replies. How? he asks. By which one of us is the stronger, she says. Sounds like you ladies squared off, says Roger. Possibly, says Liz. That would have been something to see, he says, flipping the pages of his book. I'm glad you're taking it so lightly, says Liz, your wife and son have a problem--and you're ducking the issue just like you duck everything else. (nasty, but true.) Very vindictive tonight, he notes. I told Laura she couldn't see David anymore, reveals Liz. That's pretty drastic, says Roger, standing. It's the best I can do for now, says Liz, if she doesn't stop seeing him, I'll have to go further. I see says Roger. Vicki enters. Roger asks her if she calmed David down. He's asleep, she says. Let's hope he sleeps through the night, says Liz. I think he's used up all his tears, says Vicki. My concern is he doesn't have to shed anymore, says Liz--David must be protected.
David, tears still on his face, cries in his sleep. Laura, in his room, calls to him. I'm here, I've come to you, she croons...David, you're crying. He sits up in bed. Who's there? he demands. It's Mother, she says, why are you crying? They took my painting away, he says. I don't like to see you so sad, she says. They shouldn't have done that! he says. Here, dry your eyes, she says, handing him a handkerchief. He wipes his face and tries to hand it back. You keep it, she says, in case you have to cry again. I won't cry, he says. I've missed you these last few days, she says. I've been very busy, he hedges. We'll make up for it, she says. Yes, I guess we will, he says. We'll spend more time together, she says. Sure, he says. I'll never leave you alone, I'll take you with me, she says (creepy words, somehow). Are you going away? he asks. Well, perhaps I might have to go, she says, but I'll never leave without you. That's good, he says, wiping his face again.
He moves to hand her back the handkerchief, but she's disappeared. Mother? he asks, settling back in bed, puzzled. He lies back down, dropping the handkerchief on the floor.
NOTES: Laura was able to appear in David's room suddenly, and disappear just as suddenly. Is this one of her supernatural talents? Did her giving him the handkerchief mean something? Now that the painting, which may very well have been a form of supernatural protection from Josette, has been destroyed, will Laura be able to get to her son? Will Liz' decision to forbid Laura seeing her son be for naught?
I think Liz is in trouble. This woman is not human, and might possess powers that could really harm Liz.
I love the way Liz goes after Roger, telling him truths about himself he might not want to hear. He really does want to brush David off as if he's an annoying fly, get rid of him, in the guise of doing what's right for him. He still hasn't become a decent father, but I guess that will take time.
Episode #151 - After a night of mysterious events and unexplainable visitations, morning comes to Collinwood with the guise of innocence that will soon be shattered by disturbing news.
David lies sleeping. Liz enters and closes his window. David, she calls, it's time to wake up. Good morning, he says. My what a sleepyhead you are, she says--it's not very late, but it's time you were up and around--it's a beautiful day. To tell the truth, I didn't get to sleep for a long time, he says. What was the matter? his aunt asks--were you upset about not having your painting anymore? Yes, he says. Believe me, she says, it's for the best. But it was my painting, he says. We'll get you another one, she assures him. It doesn't make any difference, he says, I cried and I cried an awful lot. I'm sorry, darling, she says. Then when my mother came...he begins. Your mother? asks Liz. Yes, he says, she came and visited me. She couldn't have, says Liz, you must have dreamed it. It wasn't a dream, says David, she was real, here. Your mother couldn't have been here last night, insists Liz. She was, says David, it was real, not a dream, honest--I can prove it, too--he reaches for the fallen handkerchief and hands it to Liz. That's hers, he says. Yes it is, agrees Liz, surprised.
Where did you get this? Liz asks her nephew. My mother gave it to me, he says. Are you sure it was last night? she asks. Yes, he says, here, she was here, honest! All right, I believe you, she says--when, about what time? It was right after I found out about them taking away my picture, he says--I was alone, and boy, did I feel awful. How was your mother? asks Liz--as in your dream, did she frighten you?
Not at all, he says. I'm glad of that, says Liz. She was very nice, says David--it was sort of like my dream, not like the ones I had after she came here, but the ones before, when I dreamed what it would be like when she didn't come here--I didn't see her come in--I woke up and there she was. Did it startle you? asks Liz. Yes, says David, thinking it was a dream and everything--but she was nice, she made me feel better--but she was really here. I'm glad she was nice, says Liz--and it's time for you to get out of bed--rise and shine. He smiles and climbs out of bed. Now I know how silly I was when I didn't like her, he says. Sometimes bad dreams make us do strange things, says Liz, things we don't want to do at all--what are you going to wear today? Whatever is there on the chair, he says--but there's nothing there. I guess Miss Winters didn't put it out, says David. Aren't you forgetting something? asks Liz--the operation of getting washed? Why? he asks. Habit, she says. OK, he agrees--you know, I don't understand grownups, one minute they're telling you to start a habit, and then the very same exact minute, you've got to break one. I'm glad to see you cheerful again, she says. You've got to thank my mother for that, says David, his robe on his arm. That's what I intend to do, says Liz. She made me feel good, says David, only... Only what? asks Liz--did something happen you didn't tell me about? Nothing happened, he says, it's something we said--we just talked about me going away with her, together, just the two of us. I see, says Liz. What did she mean? asks David. I don't know, says Liz. Is it true? he asks. Perhaps she meant she'd take you on a vacation someday, suggests Liz. Not someday, says David--sooner than that. He exits his room. Liz, standing in the doorway, asks him if he'd like to go away with his mother. I don't know, he says, I haven't thought about it--maybe. He walks off, and Liz looks unhappy.
Liz and Roger sit at the breakfast table. I won't have it, insists Liz, I simply won't have it! Really, says Roger, all this anguish at breakfast--it can't be good for the digestion. He works on his food. Can't you ever think of anyone but yourself? she asks. Darling, when you get right down to it, says Roger, what else is there? Your son, she says. I'm sure things will be a lot easier when he goes away with his mother, says Roger--I'll think of him often--I'll recall him fondly--from a distance. I'm sure you're only trying to be clever, she says. Roger pops two slices of bread into the toaster. I don't think you'll get that opportunity, says Liz. I don't think you have much to say about the matter, Roger tells her, after all, Laura and I are the boy's parents. I told Laura I didn't want her to see David, says Liz,. You think you can still run the world, he says--sadly, it's your problem, not ours, but you can't, you know. While you're living under this roof, you'll respect my wishes, says Liz. Things can always change, says Roger. Be careful, she says, please don't push me so I'm forced to ask you to leave this house. Remember, he says, taking what appears to be untoasted toast from the toaster and handing it to Liz, if you send me away, you lose David--he goes with me. If you let Laura have him, he goes anyway, says Liz. If David really wants to be with Laura, says Roger--if it makes him, happy, isn't that the best thing for him? If he genuinely wants to go with her, and she proves to me she's capable of taking care of him, then yes, says Liz. Then you wouldn't stand in his way? asks Roger. No, I suppose not, says Liz. That's all I wanted to know, says Roger. Carolyn enters. What's all you wanted to know? she asks. The latest recipe for a witch's brew, he teases--you know what a gourmet I am. (wait for Cassandra.) If it's an expensive habit, you have it, says Carolyn, kissing Liz' cheek. I'd better be off, says Roger, I have a million things to do. You only have one thing to do, says Liz, and you know what it is. Good morning, ladies, says Roger, and exits. What was that all about? asks Carolyn, pouring coffee for herself. Just Roger playing one of his games with me, says Liz. Have you seen David this morning? asks Carolyn. Yes, he's upstairs dressing, says Liz--he seemed happy as a lark. That's strange, says Carolyn, sitting at the table--after that picture burned up, I thought he'd be miserable--he had that ghoulish attachment to it. She sips her coffee. The picture may have been ghoulish, says Liz, but I don't think his attachment to it was--it was a picture of his mother. Some mother she is, says Carolyn. I won't have you talking that way about her, says Liz, she's still your aunt, and your elder. Not by that much, says Carolyn, we seem to enjoy the same playmates. What do you mean by that cryptic remark? asks Liz. Nothing, says Carolyn, rising from the table, skip it. No, tell me, says Liz. Very well, agrees Carolyn--my favorite playmate was Burke Devlin. Was, says Liz--glad to see you're being sensible. I'm not the one who's being sensible, says Carolyn--he is. I'm glad he's capable of it, says Liz. He's capable of many things, she says, like finding a new playmate--I'm referring, of course, to dear, sweet Aunt Laura. What? asks Liz. Once a playmate, always a playmate, says Carolyn bitterly. I insist that you tell me everything you know about Laura and Burke, says Liz.
I'm waiting, says Liz to her daughter--tell me what you know about Laura and Burke. It's no secret that he wanted to marry her before Uncle Roger did, says Carolyn. I wish he had, says Liz venomously. It's also no secret that he hates this family, says Carolyn. That didn't stop him from seeing you whenever he could, says Liz. Yes, I though I was the one great exception, says Carolyn. Weren't you? asks Liz. No, says Carolyn, he was just using me the way he uses everybody--you once told me that Burke as out to destroy this family--I didn't believe you, I thought you were exaggerating. And now I take it you don't think that,. says Liz. No, says Carolyn--he doesn't see me anymore because he's found somebody else who will be even more helpful to him in that purpose--Laura. I doubt whether she'll be very helpful to him, says Liz--Laura knows what she wants--custody of David--she can only get that if she's in our good graces--surely she knows that if she sees Burke, she'll alienate us. Carolyn grins. You talk as if Laura was a normal, well-balanced woman, says Carolyn, normal, well balanced women are not committed to insane asylums. Laura has a breakdown; that was some time ago, says Liz--she's all right now. A person who breaks down once can break down again, points out Carolyn. Laura's a little headstrong, says Liz, but I'm quite certain she isn't even slightly insane. All right, have it your way, says Carolyn, she's perfectly sane--her feeling for Burke is a normal, healthy passion--a woman who's experiencing that might do almost anything for the man involved--what would Burke most want her to do? You're forgetting about David, says Liz, she wants him, and mother love is a strong emotion. After all these years, where does it suddenly come from? asks Carolyn--why did she never make any attempts to communicate with David, even when she was getting well. Because she knew he wouldn't like it, says Liz. That would account for a kind of weak mother love, says Carolyn--when she suddenly appeared, without telling anyone she was coming back, why was Burke one of the first people to speak with her? I don't know, admits Liz. After everything we've put her through, how fond do you think she is of Uncle Roger--of any of us? wonders Carolyn--do you think she'd be above wanting to hurt us?--do you think it might not even be considered normal for her to want to? I suppose it could, admits Liz. What would be the best way for Laura and Burke to hurt us? asks Carolyn.
Through David, says Liz, the last of the Collins--the one hope of our name being carried on--oh, Carolyn--David! Yes, Mother, says Carolyn--David. Liz gets up from the table. Laura must go, she must leave here immediately! Insists Liz.
David plays on his bed with soldiers, moving them around on a chess board. when someone knocks, he hides the soldiers under the pillow and sits on his bed with a book. It's Roger. I just thought I'd stop by and have a little chat with you, son, he says. What about? asks David. It so happens you've done something to please me for a change, says Roger, sitting on the bed with him. I have? asks David. Yes, says Roger. I can't think of what that could be, says David. It seems that you had a visitor last night, says Roger. If my mother wants to see me, says David defensively, I can't help it, you wouldn't want me to be rude, would you? I don't mind you seeing your mother, says Roger. You don't? asks David. Of course not, says Roger, I'm very glad that you're beginning to enjoy your mother's company--I think it's very good for you--there are some things that only a mother can give a boy--aunts and governesses are no substitute--one could say that it's even better for a little boy to be with his mother than with his father. You could? asks David. No, I didn't say that *I* could, says Roger, I said one could--I really must speak to Vicki about your syntax. My WHAT? asks David. Never mind, says Roger, and also, it's very good for your mother to be with you--she needs you--her life hasn't been very easy. It hasn't? he asks. I wish you would stop asking me these two-word questions, complains Roger--you're doing it only to irritate me--I'm trying to have a man to man talk with you, boy, and all I'm trying to says is, I'd like you to get to know your mother a little closer--and I think you'd like that, too. I think so, says David. You might even take a trip with her, says Roger. She did mention something about a trip, recalls David. That would be jolly (!) says Roger--you'd have a wonderful time. I guess it would be all right, agrees David. Of course it would, says Roger--that's what you really want--you just keep thinking of that--and you might mention it to your aunt Liz.
He gives David a friendly pat on the arm and adds, "You know, David, when you want to, you can be a very intelligent little fella." He leaves his son's room, smiling at him. David doesn't return the smile, but seems deep in thought.
David goes back to playing with his soldiers on the checker board. Another knock at his door makes him hide it all and pretend again to be reading a book. It's Carolyn, who says she hopes she's not disturbing him. No, he tells her, I'm having so many visitors today--I don't know how you can expect me to study with all these interruptions. (LOL!) She picks up a solider from the bed and holds it in front of him--yes I see how hard you've been studying, she teases. He takes it from her. Secret? He asks. Secret, she agrees. (finally, a nice scene between these two.) That's good, he says, and takes all the other soldiers out and sets them up on the board. Carolyn sits on his bed. I was sorry to hear about your picture, she says. That's all right, he says, it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't?--I thought you were so fond of it, she says. That was before, not now, he says. Oh, that's certainly a fast turnabout, she says. With my real mother around, who needs a picture? He asks. Your real mother was around before you had the picture, points out Carolyn, and you didn't feel that way. That was different, he says. You were even frightened of her, says Carolyn. Not of her, of my dream, he says, but I don't have those dreams anymore--now I know how much I like her, and that I was so stupid before. I wouldn't get too attached to her if I were you, she advises. Who not? he asks. Because she might have to go away again, says Carolyn. If she went away, she'd take me, he says. How do you know? she asks. She said so, he says. Your father might not permit that, says Carolyn. He will, he said he will! cries David, upset. All right, soothes Carolyn, calm down. You don't like my mother, do you? he ask. Of course I do, says Carolyn, I'd just hate to see you leave us--I thought you were happy here
--I thought you loved us. I do, he says. Then why do you want to go away from us? asks Carolyn. It wouldn't be forever, he says. If you go with your mother, it would be, insists Carolyn. I don't understand, says David, everyone's telling me to go and to stay. I'm sorry, says Carolyn, it's just that we want what's best for you--we want you to be happy--you do whatever you want to do most--if it's what you want, it's what we want--I'll see you later. She leaves. He continues playing with his soldiers. You're dead, he says, knocking over one solider with another--you're dead.
Carolyn finds her uncle in the drawing room and asks what he's doing. Finishing my puzzle, Kitten, he tells her. Which one? she asks. The crossword, he says. Oh, she says, THAT puzzle. What puzzle did you have in mind? he asks. One much closer to you, she hints. The crossword puzzle's on my lap, he says, what could be closer? The puzzle of Burke Devlin and your wife, she says. That's no puzzle at all, says Roger--Burke's been trying to use Laura, and I put a stop to it. Have you really? she asks, sitting next to him--Burke doesn't seem to be aware of that fact. The degree of Mr. Devlin's sense of awareness couldn't interest me less, says Roger, as long as Laura is my wife and wants David, she'll do what I say until after the divorce. What about after the divorce? Asks Carolyn--Laura will have David, Burke will have her--and what will you have? You don't know what you're talking about, he says. Don't I? she asks, she and Burke had a thing for each other before she married you--Burke still feels the same way--and Laura hasn't done anything to discourage that feeling. We'll see about that, promises Roger--I'll take care of that, put a stop to it--you just watch. I'll be watching, she assures him, smiling
--you can bet on that--I'll be watching. Roger goes back to his puzzle...
NOTES: David's dreams about his mother have undergone a big change--now they're more like the happy ones he had of her before she showed up. Some might think that a change for the good, and Liz seems to be heading in that direction. Now that the painting is gone, the one obstacle between Laura and David has been removed. That painting caused David's nightmares, his fear toward his mother, which WE know is a good thing, a protection from supernatural creatures who care about David, but no one else does. While all the adults felt it best to destroy the painting, the audience knows otherwise. Only Liz had doubts, and they almost seemed erased in the light of David's seemingly normal, happy awakening. However, the fact that Laura appears to have renewed her relationship with Burke might prove to be the only saving grace; Liz will renew her campaign to keep Laura and David apart if she believes Laura to be consorting with the enemy.
However, I don't see much in the way of love in Burke's relationship with Laura--they each want something from the other, and it isn't shared passion. He wants a re-trial, she wants David. I haven't really seen much, beside the heated scene in the cottage, that indicates they've gone back to their former feelings. In Burke's case, I think it's supernaturally caused, anyway.
Cute scene between Carolyn and David. Did she really mean it when she told David to do what he wants? Is she pretending to like him, given her constant "little monster" comments in the past? It was nice to see them acting kindly toward each other, foreign, too.
What will Roger do to ensure Burke and Laura don't hook up? What will Liz do to prevent Laura from taking David away? Now that he seems willing to go with her, is he in more danger than ever? Scorecard: Liz is dead set against David being with his mother. Roger is all for it, as is Laura. Carolyn seemed to discourage it, then said he should make up his own mind. No wonder the poor kid is so mixed up.
Love, Robin
