Search

Ripley – VIII Narcissus | Transcript

Tom reinvents himself again, creating an enviable life in Venice - as long as his lies hold.

Ripley
Episode title:
VIII Narcissus
Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Neo-noir
Created by: Steven Zaillian
Based on: The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith
Written by: Steven Zaillian
Directed by: Steven Zaillian
Starring: Andrew Scott, Dakota Fanning, Johnny Flynn, Eliot Sumner, Margherita Buy, Maurizio Lombardi
Original release date:
April 4, 2024

Plot: Tom rents a palazzo in Venice under his real name and informs the Venetian police he is alive. He successfully disguises himself when Ravini arrives to interview him. Tom is welcomed by Venice’s high society, curious about Dickie, who is dubbed the “fugitive playboy” by the press. Marge arrives and they attend a party together thrown by Pegeen Guggenheim. Herbert arrives in Italy and accepts the story that a despondent Dickie, depressed over his failure as an artist and involved in Freddie’s death, took his own life. Marge sends a copy of her book about Atrani to Ravini, who is shocked when he sees her photo of the real Dickie Greenleaf.

* * *

[indistinct whooshing, muffled]

[ominous music playing]

[footsteps approaching]

[in Italian] The light.

It’s Ranuccio.

Let’s go.

[ominous music continues]

[banging on door]

[man] Caravaggio!

[keys jingling]

[door unlocking]

[dog barking distantly]

[disembodied voices rasping]

[hammering]

[ominous music continues]

[horse whinnies]

[owl hooting]

[snorts]

[fire crackling]

[disembodied voices whispering]

[child laughing]

[snake hissing]

[haunting choral music playing]

What have you done now?

[Caravaggio] I just need a place to stay.

[disembodied voice rasping]

[bell tolling distantly]

[music fades]

[indistinct chatter outside]

[mellow Italian music playing]

After you.

[birds chirping and cawing]

Prego.

[door opens]

[door closes]

[footsteps ascending]

This is the music room.

[disembodied voice whispers]

[realtor] This is Anna and Ugo.

They come with the place.

[both] Signore.

Nice to meet you.

[realtor] Over there is the reading room.

And this is the living room.

[music fades]

[birds squawking]

May I show you the main entrance?

What did we come in?

[chuckles] The back door.

Prego.

Down these stairs is the lower hall.

Rather large.

It leads to the main entrance: a private canal dock.

Prego.

[suspenseful music playing]

[music intensifies, stops]

Careful.

It’s slippery.

Moss.

I think I’ll use the servants’ entrance.

[chuckles]

May I show you the bedrooms? Prego.

The lease is six months minimum.

That’s fine.

I may stay longer.

You will.

You’ll never want to leave this place.

You may be right.

[chuckles]

Here, right? Sì.

[bell tolling]

[birds squawking]

[indistinct chatter]

[telephone ringing]

Lieutenant Ferrara.

[Ravini] It’s Inspector Ravini in Rome.

Richard Greenleaf.

He never showed up.

Did you tell him what I asked you to tell him?

[Ferrara] I did.

Word for word.

“Failure to present yourself to Inspector Ravini will force him to take certain measures which will be inconvenient for both him and you.”

Fine.

Listen, what I need to know now is if he actually left Palermo.

He may not have.

How would I know?

You might start by checking the place you found him at.

And then?

When he’s not there?

Then, I would say, detective, you do some detective work.

[line disconnects, beeps]

[inhales deeply]

[mellow Italian music playing]

[dog tag jingling]

[barks]

[indistinct chatter]

[enthralling music playing]

[birds chirping]

[paper rustling]

[music decreases in tempo]

[wistful music playing]

[clerk] Richard Greenleaf, Richard Greenleaf…

It’s here. I’m sure.

Greenleaf… Richard Greenleaf…

[sighs]

It’s here. I’ll find it any second now.

Yeah, yeah, take it easy.

Richard Greenleaf…

Here it is, as you can see.

He checked out January 27th.

[sighs] Did he say where he was going?

He asked if there was a ferry to Tunis that evening.

To Tunis?

[clerk sighs]

Tunis. 27th of January.

Was there?

There was.

[pen clatters]

Thank you.

He seemed depressed to me.

Depressed.

Hmm.

In what way?

You know… [sighs]

Lost in thought.

That’s not really the same thing.

“Depressed” and “lost in thought” are two different things, right?

[mutters]

Depressed like a guilty man might be? Remorseful?

[chuckles]

I wouldn’t say that.

How would I know that?

I don’t know how you’d know he was depressed

if he was just distracted.

I was distracted getting dressed this morning, but I wasn’t depressed.

Do I look depressed?

It seemed like he was to me, all right?

[sighs]

[Ferrara] The man is a desk clerk who thinks he’s a psychologist, and isn’t very good at either profession.

[Ravini] Actually, desk clerks know everything.

They’ve solved murders for me.

Depressed in what way?

He was rather vague,

but when pressed, he finally chose the word “resigned.”

Did he have any idea of where he was going?

North Africa.

What?

Yes, he inquired about the ferry to Tunis.

Inspector…

May I consider my part in the investigation over then?

Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you.

[indistinct police radio chatter]

[mellow Italian music playing]

[indistinct chatter]

[birds cooing]

[flashbulbs popping]

[people chattering]

Mr. Greenleaf was last seen in Palermo.

[flashbulbs popping]

He was requested by Rome Police, by me personally, to return here to answer some questions.

He failed to do so.

As such, we believe he may be attempting to evade our inquiries.

Which begs the question: Why?

Let me state this clearly, in case Mr. Greenleaf is reading this: By refusing to answer our questions, he is exposing himself to suspicion of participation in the murder of Mr. Miles.

And the disappearance and possible murder of Mr. Ripley.

Grazie, signori.

[reporter] Ispettore, può rispondere ad un altro paio di domande?

[music fades]

You are Thomas Ripley?

[Tom] Yes, sir.

I saw in this newspaper I’m believed to be missing.

It’s strange when you see something like that.

Come with me, please.

No, that’s not correct.

Is there someone there who speaks Italian?

[woman] Non.

English?

Non.

[sighs in exasperation]

[in French] An American passport.

Number 1-6-7-6-4-8.

The name:

Richard Greenleaf.

Date of entry would be: January 28th.

Palermo to Tunis.

C’est importante?

I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.

Bon. Vous devrais patienter un peu.

Yes, I know it may take some time.

Au revoir.

[telephone ringing]

Ravini.

[in Italian] Inspector, this is Lieutenant Moretti in Venice.

I’m sitting here with Thomas Ripley.

Ripley?

Are you sure?

I’m sure. His passport is on my desk.

Incredible. Where did you find him?

He just walked in.

Ask him where he’s staying.

Where in Venice are you staying?

Calle Sella Rota, 8.

Calle Sella Rota, 8.

Tell him I’m coming to Venice to talk to him tonight.

You wouldn’t rather he went there?

No, that’s okay.

I could question him here.

No, I’ll go there.

Fine.

[receiver clicks]

All right then, Mr. Ripley. Resolved.

This evening, at your residence, an inspector from Rome will come see you.

He’ll explain what’s going on.

The inspector in the newspaper?

Not important.

Yes?

May I have my passport?

Yes, you may.

[drawer slides open]

Tomorrow.

[suspenseful music playing]

[mysterious music playing]

[music fades]

[sexton] The light.

[mysterious music resumes]

Always the light.

[mellow Italian music playing]

[shop bell tinkles]

[Tom] Buonasera.

[shopkeeper] Buonasera.

How may I help you, sir?

[mellow music continues]

[Anna] Mr. Ripley is expecting you, Inspector.

[typewriter clacking]

In the parlor.

[Ravini] Grazie.

[music fades]

Signor Ripley?

I’m Inspector Pietro Ravini, Rome Police.

[Tom] Yes, please come in.

[thunder rumbling]

[in English] I hope I’ve not interrupted anything important.

[Tom] No. I was just writing a letter home.

Please, have a seat.

Thank you.

[Ravini sighs]

Nice place.

Thank you. I like it.

I may smoke?

‘Course.

[Ravini inhales deeply]

[exhales]

So the fact we sit here settles one important matter.

You were not killed in a boat.

[chuckling] Sorry?

You did not read about this in the newspaper?

I’ve been in small towns mainly before I came here.

And your friend, Signor Greenleaf, didn’t tell you the police wanted to speak with you?

No.

A boat was found in San Remo at the time you were there with Signor Greenleaf.

Sunk. With blood stains.

Naturally, when you were missing, missing as far as we knew, we thought it might have been your blood.

Mine?

Did Dickie not tell you I saw him after San Remo?

I brought him his things from Atrani.

Atrani? My wife is from Atrani.

Is she?

Yes. A beautiful place, but too many stairs.

Yeah.

Yes, he did tell me you brought him some things to Roma, but I had no reason to believe him.

In any case, here you are.

Not dead.

[thunder rumbling]

You are one of the few people who knows Signor Greenleaf who is willing to talk to me.

His other friends are extremely unhelpful.

An Italian trait, I’m afraid.

And especially around Napoli, their unwillingness to talk to police.

Well, I’m happy to.

When I spoke with him in Roma after the murder…

You know about the murder of Frederick Miles?

Yes, I read about that.

Yes. After it, Signor Greenleaf was very cooperative with me, or so I thought.

So I permitted him to leave Roma, as long as he promised to let me know his whereabouts in Palermo.

He failed to do this.

He then left Palermo again without telling me.

Now, it seems he has left the country.

To where?

North Africa, I think.

Tunisia immigrazione is rather careless.

But I have reason to believe he has gone there.

You don’t think he’s just off by himself somewhere?

He does that sometimes to paint.

To paint? Yes, I’ve seen his painting.

[wind chimes tinkling]

[waves lapping gently]

No, he’s not gone off to paint.

No, I’m certain his travels are about something else.

Like what?

What do you think?

I’ve no idea.

Like a suspect in a murder.

You really think Dickie had something to do with what happened to Freddie Miles?

He’s not behaving as such?

And there is a witness.

To what?

Two men. One very drunk, the other propping him up against the car.

The same as Miles’s body was found in, a Cinquecento.

We cannot say for sure the other man was Signor Greenleaf, but this was very near his apartment.

[clicks tongue] You don’t think it’s possible the reason you can’t find him is because something happened to him?

To him?

That someone has murdered him?

Why would you say that?

Well, the checks I read about. “Forged by someone,” they said.

They may have done something to him.

Hmm, check, not checks.

It was one check.

And no, it was not a forgery.

This was confirmed by a letter he wrote to the bank.

Not by what he said in the letter, but what it was typed on.

Typewriter flaws can be as good as fingerprints.

It was his typewriter. An Hermes with a slightly raised “E.”

[thunder rumbling]

[typewriter dings]

No thief would think to do that.

No.

[cigarette sizzling]

You knew Signor Miles.

Not really. I met him briefly last year in Naples when I was staying with Dickie in Atrani.

But just meeting him once was enough for you to not like him, according to Signor Greenleaf.

Yes, that’s true.

He tried to suggest you may have had something to do with the murder of Signor Miles.

Me?

Yes, to me in Rome.

But I saw it for the lie it was.

Well, good. [chuckles]

Is it possible, do you think, they had an argument?

I wouldn’t know.

You wouldn’t know if they did that night, but perhaps you know if there were any issues between them.

Issues? No, but…

But?

I’m not the right person to talk about Dickie’s personal life.

I think you are.

You can perhaps offer insights into his character we could not otherwise know.

This is the reason I came up here to see you.

Signor Greenleaf never talked to you about affairs of the heart?

I will say it then, since you won’t.

I cannot dismiss the possibility that Signor Greenleaf and Miles were perhaps…

[thunder rumbling distantly]

…involved.

So, he has no alibi for the night of the murder.

He has refused to present himself for questioning.

He has gone someplace, and not to paint, and tells no one, not even you, where he is.

I know you don’t want to believe the worst about your friend, but those are the facts.

Yes.

Thank you for talking with me, Thomas.

Your insights are valuable.

I will tell Tenente Moretti to have your passport returned to you here in the morning.

Thank you.

Buonasera.

Buonasera.

[Ravini] Grazie, Signora Anna.

[Anna] L’accompagno alla porta.

[Ravini in Italian] No, no, thank you. I can find my way out.

[“Mile Volte” by Nilla Pizzi playing]

♪ Mille volte tu m’hai detto baciami ♪

♪ Mille volte tu m’hai detto lasciami ♪

[camera shutter clicking]

♪ Ma una volta tu mi hai fatto piangere ♪

♪ Ed io non so perché ♪

♪ Come il vento che nell’aria turbina ♪

♪ Sollevando per le vie la polvere ♪

♪ Vorticoso, perfido e mutevole ♪

♪ Così… ♪

Buongiorno. Grazie.

[shopkeeper] Grazie a te.

♪ Io t’ho baciato più di mille volte ♪

♪ E non t’ho invece ♪

♪ Lasciato mai ♪

♪ Se penso poi d’andarmene, tu sai ♪

[over speakers] ♪ Che il mio cuor batte solo per te ♪

[footsteps approaching]

♪ Mille volte tu m’hai detto lasciami ♪

[door opens]

♪ Mille volte tu m’hai detto baciami ♪

[door closes]

♪ Ma una volta tu mi hai fatto piangere ♪

♪ Chi sei, chi sei per me? ♪

[scoffs softly]

♪ Mille volte ♪

♪ Mille volte… ♪

Pardon, Tommaso. This just arrived.

Grazie, Anna.

[song fades]

[footsteps receding]

[man] Count Vittorio Araldi desires to host you at a party

on 10th March at Palazzo Araldi

in San Marco, Venice, at 3:00 in the afternoon.

[“Datemi Un Martello” by Rita Pavone playing]

[lively chatter, laughter]

[song continues over speakers]

[woman] Where do you think Dickie is? You know, don’t you?

I don’t. Maybe the South of France.

Painting.

He paints? I haven’t read that.

He’s a very good painter.

He studied with Di Massimo.

[in English] Wow.

[in Italian] He painted a portrait of me once.

[man] I’d be interested in representing him.

Especially if he killed Miles.

His paintings would bring a higher price.

[woman laughs]

Oh, I hope he did.

Excuse me.

It’s all so exciting.

[smooth jazz music playing over speakers]

[Tom] Grazie.

[glass chiming]

[man in English] It’s all very boring, isn’t it?

So much money and so little else.

I just come for the Château Margaux.

Don’t tell anyone.

Reeves Minot. Please.

[indistinct chatter]

Tom.

Oh, yes. I know.

Have you met our host, the count?

Ah, just to say hello.

He races cars.

The contessa produces films.

In other words…

[softly]…they do nothing.

[chuckles]

[in normal voice] You’re the new blood their anemia needs.

You’re from New York?

Yeah.

But now you live in Italy.

I keep a place in Venice. You?

When I’m not somewhere else, yes.

At the moment, yes.

What do you do?

[Reeves] That’s a good question.

What do I do?

What do I do? [chuckles softly]

I know. I’m an art dealer.

Yes, that’s it.

You? The articles never say your profession,

only “loyal friend to the fugitive.”

I’m an art dealer too.

I thought you would be. I can usually tell.

So can I.

Well, if you would ever like to…

discuss, say…

art…

give me a call.

Now, I must mingle.

The price of the wine.

Pleasure to meet you, Tom.

[indistinct chatter]

[bell tolling distantly]

[“Una Furtiva Lagrima” playing]

♪ Una furtiva lacrima ♪

♪ Negli occhi suoi spuntò ♪

[disembodied voices screaming]

[hammering]

[telephone ringing] ♪ Quelle festose ♪

♪ Giovani ♪

[door opens]

[disembodied voices chattering faintly]

[footsteps approaching]

[disembodied voice rasping]

[in Italian] Miss Marjorie Sherwood on the phone for you.

♪ Che più cercando io vo? ♪

Pronto?

[in English] Tom? It’s Marge.

Marge. Hi.

Who was that? Who answered the phone?

That was Ugo, the butler.

The what?

Where are you?

I’m at the train station.

Oh.

Here? Santa Lucia?

Yeah.

Oh, great. I’ll come pick you up.

No, you don’t have to. I’ve got almost no luggage.

Nonsense. You’ll never find the place by yourself.

Well, I think I can.

It’s by Madonna della Salute, isn’t it?

It is, yeah.

Okay. Well, if you insist.

Watch your step on the vaporetto.

[line beeping]

[song continues softly over speakers]

[Anna in Italian] A little to the right.

No, that’s too much.

Così?

A little higher.

Un poco più alto.

Così?

Più al centro. Un poco più a de…

Così? Guarda che pesa.

[Anna] No, devi andare un poco più in là. Ma la devi alzare.

Sì, ho capito, ma pesa.

We had it framed.

You like it?

Yes, beautiful. Thanks.

Listen. A friend’s coming over and we’ll probably get dinner out,

so you and Ugo can have the rest of the day off.

A young lady?

As a matter of fact.

Well done, Thomas.

[chuckles]

It’s not like that.

She’s just an old friend.

Okay.

Go on.

He just said we could take the day off.

[ominous music playing]

[knocking at door]

[music fades]

[in English] Marge, so good to see you.

Look at you.

Oh, this. Well, you know, why not?

Come in. This is all you got?

It’s this way.

[Marge] Wow.

This is all yours?

Well, you can rent these places for a song in the off-season.

And a butler?

And a maid. They both come with it.

I don’t believe it.

I mean, it’s beautiful.

Wine?

Sure.

[mellow piano music playing]

[liquid pouring]

[Marge] Just beautiful.

Oh, I saw some of your photos in the magazine.

Oh, really?

Yeah.

[both sigh]

They’re very good.

Oh, thank you.

They were actually in two magazines.

Oggi and Le Ore.

Oh, really? I only saw one.

Cincin.

I spoke with Mr. Greenleaf.

He’s terribly upset, as you can imagine.

Well, how could he not be?

He’ll probably want to come up here and talk to you.

Come up here?

He’s in Italy.

In Rome. Talking to the police.

Oh, I hope he does come up.

Anything I can do to help.

Although, I don’t think he likes me very much.

Well, quite frankly, he doesn’t.

He thinks you took advantage of him and Dickie.

I’m sorry he feels that way.

I never took anything from Dickie.

Have the police talked to you?

Yeah, I talked to, uh, Inspector, uh…

Ravini.

Ravini. I think that was it.

Did he tell you about his so-called witness?

The one by Dickie’s apartment?

Maybe it’s true that who he saw was Freddie, and Dickie with him.

But what does that prove?

That Dickie was helping someone to their car. So what?

Exactly. It doesn’t say he murdered him.

Did he tell you about the traveler’s checks?

No.

Dickie cashed thousands of dollars

in traveler’s checks just before he left Palermo.

Does that mean something?

It doesn’t seem like something you’d do if you were going to kill yourself.

Wow, who’s saying that?

Ravini. What a dreadful man.

[scoffs] He seemed okay to me. But…

No, I’m sure he’s wrong about that.

So am I. Dickie wouldn’t do that.

But I am worried about him.

I’m sure he’s fine.

He’s probably sitting in some bar in Tangier drinking mint tea…

[chuckles]

…and has no idea what’s going on here.

He didn’t write to you from Palermo though, did he?

No. Why?

I’m just trying to figure out what his state of mind was there.

Did you write him?

I’m not trying to pry.

It’s just he was probably pretty vulnerable then,

after Freddie and the way the police were treating him.

I did write to him.

It wasn’t a terrible letter,

but it wasn’t very nice either, I’m sorry to say.

You don’t think something like that might have…

Pushed him over the edge?

Honestly, I have no idea what I meant to him.

Seriously, who died?

What?

This place. It’s a palace.

And two servants.

Um, my aunt.

What?

My Aunt Dottie, who raised me

after my parents died in a car accident when I was five. She died.

Tom, I was kidding.

I didn’t think something had actually happened.

You think the people you love are going to live forever, but they don’t.

[whirring]

[yelling]

I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.

It’s okay. She had a good long life.

It’s not a lot of money. I figured it would be okay to treat myself

after the way I’ve been living this winter, like a gypsy.

She would have wanted me to, I think.

Where have you been since I saw you last?

You disappeared, according to the papers.

Yes, but not with Tom. Not with Dickie.

You probably thought that I was with him,

but I saw just about as much of him as you did all winter.

Oh!

Oh!

I got it. I got it.

Oh, no. Tom, I’m sorry.

It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.

[Tom breathing heavily]

It’s all right now.

Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.

[Tom sighs]

[dabbing]

[disembodied voice rasping]

It’s fine.

It’s just a book.

I should just go to my hotel.

Oh, you reserved a room already?

From the train station. The Accademia.

The Accademia. That’s nice.

I was going to say you could stay here, but…

Oh, really?

Well, thank you. I can cancel the room.

Love to see the rest of the place.

[music fades]

[Tom] My room.

[ominous music playing]

Nice.

Okay.

Your room.

I like my room.

[Tom] Good.

[suspenseful music playing]

[keys jingling]

[Marge sighs deeply]

So romantic.

[door closes]

[Tony Renis] ♪ Ogni istante attenderò ♪

♪ Fino a quando quando quando ♪

♪ D’improvviso ti vedrò ♪

[Marge] This is tonight.

Is it? I get a lot of those.

From Peggy Guggenheim?

I believe it’s from her daughter.

Oh, yeah, “Pegeen Guggenheim.”

Still, we should go.

Hmm, I don’t think I’m up to that, Marge.

Oh, come on. Think of who might be there.

♪ La mia vita senza te ♪

[song continues over speakers]

[lively chatter]

[man] I have a theory.

Dickie has traded passports with someone.

A Neapolitan fisherman, or a Roman vendor,

so that he can go off and lead a quiet life.

That’s why no one can find him.

And it’s this guy who forged the bank checks.

So if the police can find him,

they’ll know the name that Dickie’s using.

The trouble with that idea is the so-called forgery was in January,

and lots of people who know Dickie saw him in February.

Who?

Well, I did, for one.

So you say.

[laughs]

[chuckles] I’m joking.

I know you are.

[in Italian] Excuse me.

I think he’s dead.

Murdered by the forger.

[lively jazz music playing over speakers]

[in English] After Oggi came out with my photographs in it,

I was contacted by two New York publishers about my book.

Is it about you and Dickie?

It’s about Atrani. It’s photographic.

But my next book will be about Dickie and me,

and our life together.

Uh, we should go.

I don’t want to go yet.

Could you excuse us?

Sure.

What are you doing? I was talking to people.

Marge, none of these people care about Dickie.

Yes, they do. They want to know everything about him.

To distract them from their boring lives. That’s all.

Well, I disagree.

It’s unseemly of us to let them use Dickie like this.

It makes me sick.

I’m going to have another drink.

I think you’ve had enough to drink.

Let’s go.

[indistinct chatter]

[dog whining]

[sighs]

[music fades]

Marge. This way.

[Marge] I want to take a gondola back.

[Tom] No.

[Marge] Oh, come on.

[Tom] No, it’ll take forever.

[Marge] Please.

Please, Tommy.

[romantic music playing]

Scusi, signora.

Marge. We’re here.

[Marge grunts]

[music fades]

Grazie.

[gondolier] Grazie, signore.

[Tom sighs]

[gondolier mutters]

Okay, come on. [sighs]

[groans]

[chuckles]

You didn’t bring the key.

No, I didn’t, and you know why?

Because it’s this long and it’s as heavy as a revolver,

and I don’t usually take gondolas home.

Uh, per favore, signore?

[in Italian] Um, can you come back?

I can’t, sir.

I forgot the keys.

Sorry, my shift’s over. Get another gondola.

[chuckles]

[in English] That’s funny.

[sighs]

I’m sure someone will come along.

Okay, we could just climb that and go out front. I have that key.

I’m not climbing that.

It has spikes.

Come on, Marge. Look at it. It’s easy.

Mm-mm.

Fine, I’ll do it.

[Marge] Can you leave me your coat?

[Tom sighs]

It’s cold.

Thank you.

[grunting]

[snickering]

[oar splashing softly]

[mysterious music playing]

“Tommy”?

Don’t call me Tommy.

[Tom] She told me she wanted to wait for me there.

I thought it would be fine, even though she’d had a lot to drink.

She must have slipped and hit her head.

They can be very slippery. Canal steps.

[in Italian] The moss.

[in English] Yeah.

[mysterious music continues]

[music stops]

Got it.

Oh, good.

[loud snoring]

[wood creaking]

[birds chirping]

[footsteps approaching]

[Mina] ♪ Quando sei qui con me ♪

♪ Questa stanza non ha più pareti ♪

[people shouting indistinctly]

♪ Ma alberi… ♪

How you feeling?

Awful. Hungover.

Coffee?

Yes.

♪ Questo soffitto viola, no ♪

This came early this morning. From Mr. Greenleaf.

♪ Io vedo il cielo sopra noi ♪

“Would like to see ye.”

The “ye” is a little…

Creepy?

Yeah. Kind of.

Yeah.

We should probably go over there pretty soon.

Well, I shouldn’t go.

Of course you should. Why not?

It says “ye” not “we”, after all.

“Ye” is plural.

Is it?

Isn’t it?

I think so.

He made a mistake then. He wants to see you, not me.

♪ Su nell’immensità… ♪

[mysterious music playing]

[indistinct chatter]

[Herbert] I was hoping you’d come alone.

I saw as much of that Marge as I care to in Rome.

What do you think of her?

I really don’t know her very well.

Well, neither do I.

Don’t you find her a bit tiring?

[classical music playing softly]

[chuckles] Uh…

Sometimes. I think she’s okay.

I think she was after one thing from Richard.

Have a seat.

Well, Tom, this is a strange end, isn’t it?

End?

You living in Italy. Richard wherever he is.

I talked to the police in Rome. [sighs] That inspector whatever-it-is.

Ravini?

He didn’t say it straight out,

but you can tell he thinks that Richard killed that young man.

Do you think he’s capable of such a thing?

No.

Do you?

You know your son a lot better than I do.

But I don’t. And that’s my fault.

I never tried that hard to really know him.

Do you think

he might have done something to himself?

I don’t want to think about that.

I’m sure he’s fine.

Are you?

As I told the police, he might just be off painting somewhere.

With Di Massimo? Tom, it’s ludicrous.

No one’s ever heard of him.

I think Richard just made him up

to make me think he was serious about his painting.

Which I should have taken more seriously. [sighs]

How did he seem to you the last time you saw him?

He seemed…

under some stress.

To be honest.

Yeah, he did in the last letter we got from him too.

He said he was fine, but he wasn’t.

I don’t think you should give up hope.

Oh, I haven’t.

Yet.

[water trickling]

[water running]

[crackling]

[water stops]

[wood creaking]

[drawers opening and closing]

[objects rattling]

Tom.

Martinis.

I was looking for a needle and thread.

That’s fine. There’s some in there.

Dickie’s ring is in here.

Right, I… I put it there.

Why would you put it anywhere? Why would you have it?

Because he gave it to me.

[cocktail shaker thuds on table]

Not gave to me, not to keep, to keep safe.

What are you talking about?

When he went to Palermo.

He was worried he was going to get robbed there, I think.

[clears throat]

[ominous music playing]

He never worried about that before.

He’d never been to Sicily before. It concerned him, he said.

Oh, Tom.

[haunting choral music playing]

[ominous music intensifies]

He knew he wasn’t coming back.

[music fades]

What?

Is that why?

Did he already know what he was going to do to himself?

Oh, God. I hope not.

[“Il Cielo In Una Stanza” playing on piano]

[Marge] Of course.

I will. Thanks, Mr. Greenleaf. Bye.

What did he say?

Well, he thinks the same thing I do.

He wants us to come over.

He’s with a private detective from New York, who says he knows you.

[Al] Tom Ripley.

You’re a very hard man to find.

[intriguing music playing]

[Herbert] I gave this to him when he turned 21.

May I see it?

Thank you.

Nice ring.

[sighs]

Can I speak to you a moment?

Of course.

Excuse us.

[intriguing music continues]

[Al inhales deeply]

[exhales]

So, where does all the money come from, Tom?

How did you really come into possession of that ring?

Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I’m blind?

You killed Dickie, didn’t you?

You killed them both.

[music fades]

So, Mr. Ripley…

[classical music playing softly over speakers]

…tell me about Dickie.

I’m not sure what you mean.

I’m asking you to tell me everything you know about him… as a person.

I’ll keep it in strict confidence.

All right.

He comes from a wealthy family, as you know.

He came to Europe years ago to get away from it.

He said he wanted to be a writer.

But never wrote anything.

He said he wanted to be a painter.

But knew he could never be that either.

He wondered if he would ever be good at anything.

Everything about him was an act.

He knew he was… supremely untalented.

He knew his father disapproved of him.

And it weighed on him greatly.

He knew Marge loved him,

and that he couldn’t love her in the way that she wanted him to.

She knew why.

And he knew she knew.

Why?

Because he loved me.

He confessed it to me in San Remo.

That’s why he took me there, not Marge.

To tell me he wanted to live with me.

And you said?

Something awful.

I told him I found him pathetic, and that I wanted nothing more to do with him.

I wish I hadn’t said it like that.

It hurt him.

Do you think he killed Freddie Miles?

I can’t be sure he didn’t anymore.

Do you think he’s killed himself?

I’m afraid he might have.

I think he has.

And now, with what you’ve said, I have a better understanding why.

[grim music playing]

The facts we know are these.

The last time anyone saw your son was when he checked out of the Hotel Savona in Palermo.

The clerk there said he asked about ferries to Tunisia.

So we can assume that’s where he was headed.

The clerk also said that he seemed depressed, resigned.

No one can say they saw him after that.

And there’s been no communications from him.

Except for one letter to his landlady in Rome, who, with concern for his wellbeing, took it to Inspector Ravini, who gave it to me to bring to you.

It was mailed from Palermo on January 27th, the night he left for Tunisia.

There’s no record of him arriving there.

So, somewhere between Sicily and North Africa, on the ferry, in the middle of the night, something happened.

The landlady doesn’t speak English, which is why he wrote it in Italian.

Tom, please read the letter to Mr. Greenleaf.

[intriguing music playing]

“Dear Signora Buffi, I hope this letter finds you well, and I apologize that I am writing it instead of talking to you in person.”

“I’ve decided to give up the apartment.”

“I love it.”

“And I appreciate all you did for me to make it feel like home.”

“But I am not coming back to Rome.”

[paper slicing]

“I’m sorry to just leave like this

and enclose some money here to cover the costs you’ll incur

by having an empty apartment until you can rent it.”

“As for the things in it, my clothes and books and art supplies,

you can sell them or throw them away.”

“You will certainly want to throw my paintings out.”

“They’re worthless.”

[in Italian] I didn’t think too much about it,

until I read those stories in the newspaper that he’s disappeared.

[Tom in English] “There’s mail there too, both personal letters from family and friends and business correspondence, banking, and so on.”

“You can throw it all away. I don’t need any of it anymore.”

“Where am I going?”

“I’m not sure about that or what I’ll do.”

“To be honest, I feel kind of lost.”

“I know the reasons, but I won’t burden you with them, except to say that I have some deep regrets about some things that have happened, some things I’ve done.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me.”

Eh?

“You are one of very few who has been.”

“Sincerely…

Richard.”

[music fades]

Well, I guess that makes things pretty clear.

[train horn blowing]

Please send my love and condolences to Mrs. Greenleaf.

I will.

You should take this.

Oh, no, I can’t keep that.

Yes, you can, and you should. He wasn’t afraid of it being stolen.

He knew he wasn’t coming back. That’s why he gave it to you. Take it.

[indistinct announcement over PA system]

Are you sure?

[Herbert] I’m sure.

If he’d wanted me to have it, he would have said so.

[train engine hisses]

Thank you.

Thank you, Tom.

I’m sorry there was a moment there when I doubted your motives, I see now that the sincere young man I met and liked in New York is who you are, and I wish you all good things.

[Tom] Thank you.

[Herbert] Take care.

[Tom] You okay?

I will be.

Will you be going home?

I think so. I think it’s time.

Well, take care of yourself, Marge.

You too.

[mellow Italian music playing]

[train engine hissing]

[birds cawing]

[Reeves] What a dreary day.

It’s perfect.

[Reeves chuckles]

So, how is it?

I think you’ll be pleased.

Very good.

Pascal’s been at it a long time.

[waiter] Prego.

Grazie.

I like the name.

Timothy Fanshaw.

[chuckling]

[glass chiming]

[sniffs]

Cin-cin.

[mellow music continues]

[Tom] Grazie.

[clerk] Grazie a lei, Signor Fanshaw.

Arrivederci.

[music fades]

[enthralling music playing]

[disembodied voices clamoring]

[enthralling music continues]

[snake hissing]

[enthralling music swelling]

♪…viola, no ♪

[enthralling music continues]

[people clapping]

[indistinct chatter]

[Ravini] Mm-hmm.

Oh.

Va bene. Arrivederci.

[sighs]

[enthralling music continues]

[chuckles]

[chuckles]

[music swelling]

[Dickie, weakly] Tom.

[Ravini] Tom?

Who is Tom?

[Marge] Tom Ripley.

[Ravini] Spell it.

[Trento] Roma, Imola, Palermo, Livorno, Empoli, Ypsilon.

[music crescendos]

[music ends]

[intriguing music playing]

[train wheels clacking]

[indistinct announcement over PA system in German]

[indistinct announcement over PA system]

[indistinct announcement over PA system in German]

[indistinct announcement over PA system in Spanish]

[indistinct announcement over PA system in French]

[indistinct chatter, laughter]

[thunder rumbling]

[insects trilling]

[thunder rumbling]

[footsteps approaching]

[gravel crunching]

[rain pattering]

[metal gate opening]

[indistinct rustling]

[shoveling]

[indistinct chatter, laughter]

[“L’amour d’autrefois” playing]

[thunder rumbling]

[thudding]

[vehicles passing]

[thunder rumbling]

[rain pattering]

[bell tolling distantly]

[siren wailing]

[water rushing]

[thunder rumbling]

SHARE THIS ARTICLE

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Read More

Weekly Magazine

Get the best articles once a week directly to your inbox!