"The Talented Mr Ripley", shooting draft, by Anthony Minghella



   








                    THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY


                         Screenplay By
                       ANTHONY MINGHELLA

                     Based On The Novel By
                      PATRICIA  HIGHSMITH




                                                 1st November 1999







     NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
     AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
     THIS SOFT COPY.




     1958

     PROLOGUE:  INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. EVENING.

     Fade up on Ripley, as in the final scene of the film,
     sitting, desolate in a ship's cabin. The camera rotates
     around his face, which begins in light and ends in darkness.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               If I could just go back.  If I could rub
               everything out.  Starting with myself.
               Starting with borrowing a jacket.

     EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST TERRACE. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley is at the piano, accompanying FRAN, a young soprano.
     CREDITS begin.

                         FRAN (SINGS)
               Ah, such fleeting paradise
               such innocent delight
               to love,
               be loved,
               a lullabye,
               then silence.

     The song finishes.  Applause.  They're the entertainment at a
     cocktail party to celebrate a silver wedding anniversary.
     Some partygoers congratulate Fran on her performance. A
     distinguished looking man, pushing his wife in a wheelchair,
     approaches Ripley, offers his hand.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Most enjoyable. Herbert Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
               Tom Ripley. Thank you, sir.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (pointing at Ripley's borrowed
                    jacket)
               I see you were at Princeton.
               Then you'll most likely know our son,
               Dick. Dickie Greenleaf...

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               We couldn't help noticing your jacket.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Yes.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Class of '56?

                         RIPLEY
                   (hesitating)
               How is Dickie?

     INT. ELEVATOR OPENING OUT INTO LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.

     Fran, Ripley, Mr and Mrs Greenleaf and others emerge from an
     elevator. Emily talks to Fran, Herbert to Ripley.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
                   (to Fran)
               I hope you'll come and see us...

                         FRAN
               That's very kind.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Both of you...

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Of course, Dickie's idea of music is
               Jazz. He has a saxophone.  To my ear Jazz
               is just noise, just an insolent noise.

     EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley shakes hands with Herbert Greenleaf as he gets into
     his Rolls Royce. They are making an appointment. Ripley
     crosses the street to Fran, pecks her cheek. She hands him
     his share of their fee.

                         RIPLEY
               Gotta run. I'm so late.
                   (he hands Fran's boyfriend the
                    jacket he's been wearing)
               Thanks for the jacket.

                         BOYFRIEND
               Sure.  Thanks for filling in for me.

     From Greenleaf's point of view he sees a couple embracing.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Darling couple, aren't they?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Yes.  An exceptional young man.

     From another vantage point Ripley hurries on as Fran gets
     into her boyfriend's car. A piano quartet starts up.

     EXT. THEATER. EVENING.

     Ripley runs past the droves of arriving concert-goers and
     heads for the theater. Music continues.

     INT. MEN'S ROOM, THEATER. NIGHT.

     The interval: A thick mass of men in tuxedoes grooming
     themselves at the basins. Ripley turns on faucets, offers
     towels, brushes off dandruff. Men talk over, round, and
     through him.  Put coins in a bowl.

     INT. A BOX AT THE THEATER. NIGHT

     The concert continues. Ripley peers through the curtain at
     the performances.  A haughty woman in the box turns round and
     he closes the curtain.

     INT. BACKSTAGE. 1:30 A.M.

     An empty auditorium. Ripley plays Bach in the blue
     ghostlight.  A caretaker emerges from his rounds, flips on
     the house lights.  Ripley jerks up from his playing, waves
     apologetically.

                         RIPLEY
               Sorry, sorry.  I know.  Sorry.

     EXT. GREENLEAF SHIPYARDS, BROOKLYN. DAY.

     Greenleaf and Ripley walk through one of the drydocks.  A
     huge void in the shape of a boat, swarming with workers
     preparing the shell of a new liner.  If Central Park is where
     the money is spent, this is clearly where it's made.  And a
     lot of it. Workers nod deferentially to the man with his name
     over the buildings behind them.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Mongibello. Tiny place. South of Naples.
               Marge, his uh, the young lade is
               supposedly writing some kind of book. God
               knows what he does. By all accounts they
               spend the whole time on the beach. Or his
               sailboat. That's my son's talent,
               spending his allowance.

     Ripley, in his green corduroy jacket the very model of a
     sober young man, listens attentively.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF (cont'd)
               Could you ever conceive of going to
               Italy, Tom, persuade my son to come home?
                   (Ripley looks doubtful)
               I'd pay you.  I'd pay you 1000 dollars.

                         RIPLEY
               I've always wanted to go to Europe, sir,
               but...

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Good. Now you can go for a reason.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, NEW YORK. DAY.

     A vinyl RECORD revolves in close up.  An exuberant and
     mysterious VOICE is scat singing. Wild. Then the sound slides
     into a raucous big band jazz number:  Dizzy Gillespie's The
     Champ. A HAND ejects the record. When the camera finds the
     man's face it is BLINDFOLDED. He's hot. He's wearing an
     undershirt. He's trying to identify the recording.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               I don't know. Count Basie?  Duke
               Ellington. I don't know. Count Basie.

     The man pulls of the blindfold, examines the record cover of
     the disc he's been trying to learn, needs to put on glasses
     to do so, is irritated by his mistake. He ejects the record.

     A pile of other jazz records are strewn across a cluttered
     table which includes classical sheet music and a paper
     keyboard. One hand idly mimes at the keys.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Another song for Ripley to identify is on the gramophone.
     Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine.  Signs everywhere of
     packing. A suitcase. Books about Italy.  Ripley paces in this
     BASEMENT room, which is bathroom, kitchen, living room and
     bedroom all in one.  Tiny, tidy, squalid and sad. The windows
     give onto bars and a wall.

                         RIPLEY
               Don't even know if this is a man or a
               woman.

     There's a violent row going on in the room above his head. He
     flinches.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley, shining his shoes, packing almost done, is testing
     himself on another piece of music. Free jazz saxophone:
     Charlie Parker's Koko.  He listens hard, recognizes the
     track.

                         RIPLEY
               That's Charlie Parker. Bird.

     He skips over to the gramophone, checks the record. He's
     right, he smiles.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley studies an old photograph of Dickie Greenleaf in a
     Princeton Yearbook. He shoves the book in a bag, picks up
     his suitcase and takes a last look around the dingy apartment
     before closing the door behind him.

     EXT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley hauls his luggage up the stairs and into the sunlight.
     He is met at the top of the stairs by Mr Greenleaf's
     chauffeur.

                         CHAUFFEUR
               Here.  I'll take that.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

                         CARETAKER
                   (nodding towards the apartment)
               That thousand bucks should come in handy.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, sir.

                         CHAUFFEUR
                   (interupts Ripley, who is
                    about to open the car door)
               I'll get that.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

                         CHAUFFEUR
                   (as he holds open the door for
                    Ripley)
               Sir.
                   (Ripley laughs excitedly)
               You're gonna have a great trip.  Mr
               Greenleaf is personal friends with the
               Cunard people.

     INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S CAR. DAY.

     Ripley luxuriates in the back of the Greenleaf limousine. He
     opens up an envelope he's carrying with Greenleaf stationery.
     Inside a First Class Cunard Ticket, some traveler's checks
     and dollars.

                         CHAUFFEUR
               I can tell you.  The Greenleaf name opens
               a lot of doors.

     EXT. QUEEN MARY, MANHATTAN SKYLINE. DAY.

     The liner leaves New York en route to Italy.  END CREDITS.

     INT. NAPLES HARBOR, CUSTOMS & IMMIGRATION HALL. DAY.

     ITALY. Brilliant sunshine. The Queen Mary has just docked.
     Passengers can be seen disembarking through the huge windows.
     Coming from the First Class gangways they are greeted,
     escorted, fussed over into the hall.  Their bags have been
     unloaded ahead of them, and are now being sorted in the hall
     under the initials of their owners.  STANDS WITH THE LETTERS
     OF THE ALPHABET CHALKED ON THEM are dotted about, and trunks
     and suitcases of all shapes and sizes form small hills around
     them. Ripley enters and an Italian Porter approaches, wants
     his name.  Ripley. Ripley. Ripley! he repeats in the hubbub
     and joins the crowd around the letter R.  A striking young
     woman (MEREDITH) is nearby. She notices him.

     Ripley proceeds to the Customs area, where he's held in a
     line as a large suitcase is opened and searched. Meredith
     catches up with him. Her luggage a mountain next to his.

                         MEREDITH
               What's your secret?

                         RIPLEY
               Excuse me?

                         MEREDITH
               No, it's just - you are American, aren't
               you? - no, I just, I have so much
               luggage, and you're so, uh, streamlined.
               It's humiliating.

     Ripley shrugs.  Now they're opening a second case of the
     passenger ahead.  Hard not to converse.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               I'm Meredith, by the way. Meredith
               Randall.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie, Dickie Greenleaf. Hello.

                         MEREDITH
               Hello.

     They are passed through immigration, head down the long
     stairs towards the street.  Meredith catches up with Ripley.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               You're not the Shipping Greenleaf's?

                         RIPLEY
                   (thinking quickly)
               Trying not to be. Trying to jump ship.

                         MEREDITH
               So now, did they put your suitcase in the
               wrong pile? It's just - upstairs -
               weren't you under the R stand? I thought
               I saw you there.

                         RIPLEY
               My father wants me in New York. He builds
               boats. I'd rather sail them.  I travel
               under my mother's name.

                         MEREDITH
               Which is?

                         RIPLEY
               Emily.
                   (Meredith's bewildered)
               Just kidding.

                         MEREDITH
               The funny thing is, I'm not Randall
               either. I'm Logue.

                         RIPLEY
                   (nods, recognizing the name)
               As in the...?

                         MEREDITH
               As in the Textile Logues. Trying to shrug
               off the dress. I travel under my mother's
               name, too.

                         RIPLEY
               Randall.

                         MEREDITH
               Right.

     They've arrived at a crossroads on the stairs - graphic signs
     explain the choices: one way for Buses, Taxis and exits - the
     other for Trains: ROMA, VENEZIA, MILANO.  They're going in
     different directions.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
                   (offering her hand)
               So - partners in disguise.
                   (looks at the signs)
               Bye.

     EXT. COASTAL ROAD FROM NAPLES. LATE AFTERNOON.

     A BUS rolls around a coastal road cut into the side of a
     cliff, mountain above, blue sea below.

     INT. BUS. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley sits surrounded by teeming life. The bus slows at a
     new town. People get off.

     INT/EXTERIOR. BUS ARRIVES MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.

     Later, the day ending. Ripley looks out as they continue on
     their journey. Arriving at a small fishing port they wind
     down through a square, passing the local church.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. LATE DAY.

     And then the bus is in the heart of a wharf. On one side
     there's evidence of the fisherman's life, nets, old men
     working. Opposite there's a tiny cafe spilling out onto the
     street, young guys hang out, play table football, lounge on
     their Vespas. The Driver chants -

                         DRIVER
               MONGIBELLO!

     Ripley gets out, lugging his cases, as the bus continues on
     its way. He looks around him. He feels completely foreign.

     EXT. MIRAMARE HOTEL/BOAT AT SEA. MORNING.

     A SAILBOAT has slid into his view, now drops anchor, drops
     the sail.  A couple dive off and swim towards shore.

     ALL OF THIS IS FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF RIPLEY, who's
     watching the events through binoculars from his tiny balcony
     in the Miramare Hotel. An Italian Vocabulary Book is perched
     on his knees and, during this, he continues his study,
     mouthing the Italian words.

                         RIPLEY
                   (looking at a long, lean girl
                    about to dive)
               La fidanzata a una faccia.  The fiancÈe
               has a face.  La fidanzata e Marge.

     Her partner, DICKIE GREENLEAF, dives too. They're brown,
     beautiful, perfect. Ripley notices the name of the boat:
     "BIRD".

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Questo e la mia faccia.....

     The golden couple emerge from the sea. Dickie shakes off the
     water, grins.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               This is my face.

     He double-checks himself with the vocabulary book.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Questa...e la mia faccia. Questa e la
               faccia di Dickie.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley emerges from one of the beach cabins, and stands on
     the edge of the sand on a wooden walkway. He's wearing A TINY
     LIME-GREEN BATHING SUIT. He loathes beaches. A couple of boys
     turn laconically and watch him.

     Ripley puts on his shoes and scurries to the sea. He feels
     ridiculous, his skin alabaster against the brown bodies.
     Finally, the shame is too great and he pulls off his shoes
     and dashes to the water, where he luxuriates in the coolness
     of it before wading out of the sea, and walking straight up
     to Dickie.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie Greenleaf?

     Dickie squints at Ripley, who holds his shoes, lamely.

                         DICKIE
               Who's this?

                         RIPLEY
               It's Tom. Tom Ripley. We were at
               Princeton together.

                         DICKIE
               Okay.
                   (he sits up)
               And did we know each other?

                         RIPLEY
               Well, I knew you, so I suppose you must
               have known me.

                         DICKIE
                   (to Marge)
               Princeton is like a fog, America's like a
               fog.
                   (to Ripley)
               This is Marge Sherwood. Tom - sorry, what
               was it?

                         RIPLEY
               Ripley. Hullo. How do you do.

                         MARGE
               How do you do.

                         DICKIE
               What are you doing in Mongi?

                         RIPLEY
               Nothing. Nothing much. Passing through.

                         DICKIE
                   (finds this idea absurd)
               Passing through! You're so white. Did you
               ever see a guy so white, Marge?  Gray,
               actually.

                         RIPLEY
               It's just an undercoat.
                   (Marge laughs)

                         DICKIE
               Say again?

                         RIPLEY
               You know, a primer.

                         DICKIE
               That's funny.

     He shares some intimacy with Marge, makes her laugh.  Ripley
     stands as they wrestle around him. Marge looks up.

                         MARGE
               You should come and have lunch with us,
               before you go - Dickie?

                         DICKIE
               Sure.  Any time.

                         MARGE
               And be careful in the sun. Your gray's in
               danger of turning a little pink.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks. Well, a coincidence.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. EARLY MORNING.

     ANOTHER DAY.  Church Bells ringing. Dickie, dressed in
     shorts, comes bumping up the cobbled path towards the square
     on his MOTORSCOOTER. He stops by a steep flight of steps.
     RIPLEY, a book in hand, unseen, walking up a hill, catches
     all this and, intrigued, watches as a young Italian beauty,
     SILVANA, has a spikey, flirtatious exchange with Dickie, then
     climbs on the scooter, behind him.

                         DICKIE
               I've been looking for you everywhere.

                         SILVANA
               Ah, today you're looking for me.  And
               where have you been the rest of the week?
               Pig.  With your American girl?  I hate
               you, you know?

                         DICKIE
               What?

                         SILVANA
               I hate you.

     And RIPLEY watches them as they rattle down the hill towards
     the sea.

     EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.

     Dickie appears in Marge's garden, the sea behind his head.
     Marge is sitting at her outside table surrounded by some of
     the remnants of lunch.  Dickie's sheepish, showered, late.

                         DICKIE
               Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know, I'm late,
               I'm a swine.

                         MARGE
               Did you forget where I live? It's four
               o'clock.

                         DICKIE
               I just woke up.  I'm sorry.

                         MARGE
               You just woke up!

                         DICKIE
               Fausto and I - we took the boat out, we
               were fishing, and then it was dawn and
               we'd caught absolutely nothing.

                         MARGE
               Well, we ate everything without you.

                         DICKIE
               We?

                         MARGE
               Yes, Tom Ripley's here.

     As Ripley appears with the tray to collect more dishes.

                         DICKIE
               Who? Oh, Tom, hello, how are you? We
               thought you'd disappeared. We were going
               to send out a search party.

                         RIPLEY
               No, still here.

                         MARGE
               Tom was telling me about his trip over.
               Made me laugh so much I got a nosebleed.

                         DICKIE
               Is that good?

                         MARGE
               Shut up!

     Marge flicks him with a napkin. They start to wrestle,
     excluding Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm intruding.

                         DICKIE
               Can you mix a martini?

                         RIPLEY
                   (hesitant)
               Sure.

                         MARGE
                   (going inside)
               I'll do it. I make a fabulous martini.

                         DICKIE
               Everybody should have one talent.
                   (to Ripley)
               What's yours?

                         RIPLEY
                   (without a beat)
               Forging signatures. Telling lies.
               Impersonating practically anybody.

                         DICKIE
                   (enjoying this banter)
               That's three. Nobody should have more
               than one talent. Okay, do an impression.

                         RIPLEY
               Now?  Okay.  Wait a minute.  Talent -
                   (his voice ages, his face
                    changes)
               The only talent my son has is for cashing
               his allowance.

                         DICKIE
                   (absolutely thrown)
               What? What's this?

                         RIPLEY
               I like to sail, believe me, I love to
               sail! Instead I make boats and other
               people sail them.

                         DICKIE
                   (incredibly impressed)
               Stop! It's too much!  You're making all
               the hairs on my neck stand up!

                         RIPLEY
                   (relishing it)
               Jazz, let's face it, it's just an
               insolent noise.

                         DICKIE
               I feel like he's here. Horrible. Like the
               old bastard is here right now!  That's
               brilliant!  How do you know him?

                         RIPLEY
               I met him in New York.

                         DICKIE
               Marge! You've got to hear this!

                         MARGE
                   (returning with the drinks)
               What?  What?

                         DICKIE
               Meet my father, Herbert Richard Greenleaf
               1st.

                         RIPLEY
               Pleasure to meet you, Dickie's made a
               fine catch. I know Emily thinks so.

                         MARGE
               What's going on?

                         DICKIE
               Uncanny!

                         MARGE
               I don't get it.

                         RIPLEY
               Could you ever conceive of going there,
               Tom, and bringing him back?

                         DICKIE
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               I'd pay you. If you would go to Italy and
               persuade my son to come home. I'd pay you
               $1000.

     INT/EXT. MONGIBELLO CHURCH AND SQUARE. DUSK.

     A christening is over and now the whole village is pouring
     out of Church for the Passeggiata in Sunday best. Girls arm
     in arm parade. Boys arm in arm evaluate. New babies are
     compared and fussed over. Old people smoke, talk, shrug.
     Dickie is walking with Ripley, seething about his father's
     scheming.

                         DICKIE
               I'm never going back. To actually hire
               somebody to come all the way here to drag
               me back home - got to be insane, hasn't
               he?

     SILVANA comes out of church arm in arm with a man, her
     fiancee, as part of a foursome which includes Dickie's pal
     FAUSTO. Silvana's eyes flick towards Dickie, otherwise
     there's no acknowledgement as they all greet each other.
     Dickie introduces Tom, then they move on.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               I'm never going back!

                         RIPLEY
               No, I think your mother, her illness -

                         DICKIE
               It's got nothing to do with my mother!
               She's had leukemia for - ! This is what
               makes me boil about him! HE wants me
               back! - it's got nothing to do with my
               mother.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know, Dickie, I'm just telling
               you what I -

                         DICKIE
                   (interrupting)
               Go back!  Go back to New York or call him
               if you can find a telephone that works,
               and tell him wild horses wouldn't drag me
               back to him or his shipyard.

     EXT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, MONGIBELLO. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley appears, with his meagre luggage at Dickie's front
     door. He's carrying his tote bag under his arm, the bottom of
     which seems to be unstitched and held together only by his
     fingers. Marge is on the terrace, she looks down to see Tom
     talking with Dickie.

                         MARGE
               Hi Tom.

                         DICKIE
                   (looks up)
               Marge, Ripley's saying goodbye.

                         MARGE
               I'll come down.

                         DICKIE
                   (to Ripley)
               Did you speak to my father?

                         RIPLEY
               You were right about the telephones.
               There are no lines, there's some problem.

                         MARGE
                   (coming out of the front door)
               Hello Tom. You're off? What are your
               plans?

                         RIPLEY
               Back, I suppose, slowly as I can.

     He goes to shake her hand and as he releases the tote bag the
     seam splits and records spill to the ground, scattering. He
     bends down, starts gathering them up. Marge helps.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Oh, damn, sorry, this bag's -

     Dickie's delighted when he sees the Jazz titles.

                         DICKIE
               You like jazz!

                         RIPLEY
                   (gathering up the records)
               I love jazz.

                         DICKIE
                   (holding up a Chet Baker)
               This is the best. Marge says she likes
               jazz, but she things Glenn Miller is
               jazz.

                         MARGE
               I never said that!

                         RIPLEY
               Bird. That's jazz.

                         DICKIE
               Bird! Ask me the name of my sailboat -

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. What's the name of your
               sailboat?

                         DICKIE
               Bird!

                         MARGE
               Which is ridiculous. Boats are female,
               everyone knows you can't call a boat
               after a man.

                         RIPLEY
               He's not a man, he's a god.

                         DICKIE
                   (excited)
               Okay, we're going to Naples. There's a
               club, it's not a club, it's a cellar.

                         MARGE
               It's vile.

                         DICKIE
               Yes, it's vile. Don't worry, you don't
               have to come.
                   (to Ripley)
               It's great.  You're going to love it.

     INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.

     A cavern blue with smoke. A surprisingly good QUINTET blast
     out their version of MOANIN'. Dickie and Ripley arrive and
     make their way to a table where Fausto is sitting with
     friends. It's too noisy for conversation, but Dickie shouts
     introductions and they shake Ripley's hand.  Dickie is
     instantly absorbed in the music, Ripley absorbed in Dickie.
     An attractive Italian Girl, DAHLIA, comes over, kisses
     Dickie, pulls off his hat, puts it on, there's no room for
     her to sit, so she sits on Dickie's lap, smoking his
     cigarette.  Dickie raises his eyebrow at Tom, but it's
     clearly no hardship. Then the band strikes up the intro to Tu
     vuo' fa' L'Americano - a hit which reflects the current craze
     for all things American - and Fausto pulls a protesting Dickie
     up onto the stage.

                         FAUSTO
                   (improvising in Italian)
               Ladies and Gentlemen. Dickie Greenleaf,
               all the way from America... etc.

     Fausto starts to sing. Dickie joins in the chorus. Everybody
     claps. Dickie talks off-mic to Fausto.

                         FAUSTO (cont'd)
               And a big round of applause for a new
               friend from New York - Tom Ripley!

     Ripley's mortified, but Dickie jumps off the stage and pulls
     him up.  The song continues and now, at the chorus, it's
     Dickie and Ripley who have to sing. Ripley, of course, can
     sing well, if not confident in this arena. Soon the audience
     is clapping, standing on tables, dancing, Dahlia prominent.

                         DICKIE (O/S)
                   (reading)
               I have bumped into an old friend from
               Princeton - a fellow named Tom Ripley.
               He says he's going to haunt me until I
               agree to come back to New York with
               him...

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NOON.

     Dickie, in his new dressing gown, is sitting at the table,
     typing. Ripley's head emerges from behind the couch on which
     he has been enjoying a blissful sleep.

                         DICKIE
                   (grins)
               Good afternoon!

                         RIPLEY
               What time is it?
                   (puts on his glasses and checks
                    his watch)
               Oh God!  Do you always type your letters?
                   (points at the letter)
               That should be two Ts.

                         DICKIE
               I can't write and I can't spell.  That's
               the privilege of a first-class education.
               You're upstairs at the back. I think
               Ermelinda made the bed up.

                         RIPLEY
               This is so good of you.

                         DICKIE
               Don't say it again. Now you're a Double
               Agent and we're going to string my Dad
               alone, I was thinking we might buy a
               little car with the expense money he's
               sending you. What do you think, Marge...a
               little Cinquecento with my Dad's money?

     Marge has appeared, carrying Camparis.

                         MARGE
               Dickie, you can't even drive a car!  No,
               what we need urgently is an icebox. What
               do you think, Tom? Agree with me and I'll
               be your friend for life.

                         RIPLEY
               I absolutely agree with Marge.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, UPSTAIRS. DAY.

     Ripley locates his room, puts down his luggage in what is a
     comfortable and simple room, then heads back downstairs only
     to be tempted by the open door of Dickie's bedroom.

     INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. DAY.

     Ripley explores the casual elegance of Dickie's bedroom - the
     Louis Vuitton chest, the closet's open door spilling out
     shirts, ties. On the dressing table there are toiletries,
     cufflinks scattered, a silk tie.  Ripley picks up the tie and
     walks towards the open window below which is a terrace where
     lunch is being laid. Marge and Dickie are chatting. Shreds of
     conversation float up to Ripley.

                         DICKIE
               It'll just be for a little while.  He can
               be... he makes me laugh.

                         MARGE
               Okay, darling.

                         DICKIE
               You'd say if you mind?

                         MARGE
               No, I like him.

                         DICKIE
               Marge, you like everybody.

                         MARGE
               I don't like you.

                         DICKIE
               Then I'll go to your place and you can
               move in with Tom.

     Above them, Ripley repeats these phrases, carefully, testing
     the cadences, No, I like him. Marge, you like everybody,
     until he's as accurate as a taperecorder.

     EXT. TERRACE OF DICKIE'S HOUSE. DAY.

     Ermelinda is clearing away lunch. Ripley is changed and
     sitting at the table with Marge while Dickie works on the
     coffee. Ripley watches him, studying everything: the way he
     uses the expresso machine, the way he wears no socks, his
     pants, his rings.

                         DICKIE
               Now you know why Miss Sherwood always
               shows up for breakfast.  It's not love
               it's the coffee machine.

                         MARGE
               It's the one task Dickie can do on his
               own - make coffee.

                         DICKIE
               Shut up.

                         MARGE
               Oh darling - is that for me?

                         DICKIE
               No it's for Tom as he didn't complain.

                         RIPLEY
                   (as Dickie hands him his cup)
               That ring's so great. The green one.

                         MARGE
                   (delighted)
               Tom, I love you!
                   (to Dickie)
               See!
                   (to Ripley)
               I bought it for him, for his birthday.

                         RIPLEY
               It's superb.

                         DICKIE
               I had to promise, capital P, never to
               take it off - otherwise I'd give it to
               you.

                         MARGE
                   (flicking a crumb at him)
               Bastard!
                   (to Ripley)
               Isn't it great, Tom? I found it in
               Naples.  I bargained for about two weeks.

                         DICKIE
               I hope it wasn't cheap.

                         MARGE
               Oh, it was.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Marge)
               I have to find a birthday present for
               Frances. Perhaps you can help me?

                         MARGE
               Frances?

                         RIPLEY
               My fiancÈe.

                         DICKIE
               You're a dark horse, Ripley. Engaged?

                         RIPLEY
               Your parents met her.

                         DICKIE
               Oh God - I can just imagine - if only
               Dickie would settle down... doesn't every
               parent deserve a grandchild?  Never! I
               swear on your ring, Marge.  I am never
               going back.

     EXT. BIRD SAILBOAT. DAY.

     The Bird is sailing off the coast of Mongibello. There's a
     manoeuvre going on with the sail.  Captain Dickie supervises
     his crew of Marge and a painfully awkward anxious-to-please
     Ripley.  Dickie goes over to help him.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?

                         DICKIE
               You're doing great. We'll make a sailor
               of you yet. You're doing really well.

                         MARGE
               Dubious but special honor, Tom - crewing
               Dickie's boat.  Alright, bar's open.

                         DICKIE
               Yes please!

     She heads for the cabin. Dickie settles down beside Ripley.

                         RIPLEY
               Could we sail to Venice?

                         DICKIE
               Sure.  I love Venice.

                         RIPLEY
               I have to go to Venice.

                         DICKIE
               See Venice and die, isn't that right? Or
               is it Rome? You do something and die,
               don't you?  Okay, Venice is on the list.

                         RIPLEY
               And Rome.

                         DICKIE
               Do you ski?
                   (Ripley frowns)
               Don't tell me - you're a lost cause!
               That's the next thing to deal with. We're
               planning to go to Cortina at Christmas.
               Excellent skiing. Excellent.
                   (as Marge reappears)
               Marge - Ripley can't ski.  We'll have to
               teach him that, too. Have you ever known
               such low class?

                         MARGE
               Poor Tom. Good thing we're not getting
               married. We might have to invite him on
               our honeymoon.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.

     Marge and Ripley are on a shopping expedition. They walk down
     the hill towards the grocery shop, next to the bar in the
     little square. Ripley has asked Marge how she and Dickie met.

                         MARGE
               Oh I hated New York - that Park Avenue
               crowd - so I fled to Paris to work on my
               book, and I was always going to this cafe
               with Jean-Jacques, and Dickie used to
               play his saxophone outside and I would
               see him and he would see me, and he would
               play My Funny Valentine. It was only
               later that I realised he only knows about
               six songs.

     They've arrived at the Grocery Store. Alessandra, the woman
     who owns the store greets them.  Silvana, who's her daughter,
     is also there, and less comfortable. She waits for Marge's
     order.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
                   (to Silvana, in Italian)
               Buono Sera, Silvana. Por favore: arance e
               pane, e del prosciutto.

                         SILVANA
               E fichi?  Come sempre?

                         MARGE
               Si.  Come sempre.  Grazie.

     Silvana goes inside for the meat and bread. Marge frowns.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
                   (back to Ripley)
               Anyway, then one day, we go in, I see
               Dickie, he starts playing My Funny
               Valentine, and then all of a sudden he
               just walks into the cafe, right in front
               of Jean-Jacques, and grabs me! Now I had
               never spoken to him in my life - he said
               I'm going to Italy, tomorrow, and I want
               you to come with me. So I did.

     At the edge of the square there's A BOCCE AREA, where men
     throw metal balls along a track, aiming to get closest to a
     small cue. Dickie is there, playing intensely with Fausto and
     two other guys, one of whom we've seen before with Silvana.
     Ripley and Marge loop back towards home, taking in the Bocce
     en route. Dickie waves. They wave back. Marge calls to him.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               If you're not at my place by 7.00, Tom
               and I are running off together.

                         DICKIE
               Okay.

     EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. EARLY EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley are leaving.  They're fooling around.
     Dickie jumps on Ripley's shoulders. Marge watches from the
     top of the garden.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO SQUARE. EARLY EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley, still horsing about, pass Silvana's
     grocery store.  Dickie dismounts, goes over to Silvana, who's
     tense, a little troubled. They huddle, Ripley isolated.

                         SILVANA
               Did you get my message?  I want to talk
               to you.

                         DICKIE
               I want to talk to you too...Smile for me.

     And Dickie's already gone, back to Ripley feinting to box him
     then dancing, satyr-like, down the hill.

     EXT. COASTAL ROAD TO NAPLES. EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley on the Vespa. There's a steep incline where
     the road winds down towards Naples and, as the Vespa gains
     speed, Ripley is happy to cling to Dickie.

                         DICKIE
               You're breaking my ribs!

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               You're breaking my ribs!

     INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.

     Ripley's really singing, carrying the burden of My Funny
     Valentine in a flawless imitation of Chet Baker. Dickie is
     playing some sax. After a verse, there's spontaneous
     applause. Dickie, impressed beams at Ripley.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NIGHT.

     A NEW ICEBOX, incongruous in pride of place in the living
     room, casts its glow on a delighted Dickie as he pulls out a
     couple of beers, handing one to Ripley who is paging through
     his copy of the Collected Works of Shakespeare.

                         DICKIE
               I could fuck this icebox I love it so
               much.
                   (considering Ripley)
               What were you actually doing in New York?

                         RIPLEY
               I played piano in a few places.

                         DICKIE
               That's one job, you told me a lot of
               jobs.

                         RIPLEY
               A few places - that's a few jobs. Anyway,
               I don't want to think about New York.

                         DICKIE
               The mysterious Mr Ripley. Marge and I
               spend hours speculating.
                   (drinking)
               Cold beer. Thank you Dad.

                         RIPLEY
               Copy out from here...

     He hands the book to Dickie, pointing out the lines.

                         DICKIE
                   (staring to write on the back
                    of a postcard)
               I love the fact you brought Shakespeare
               with you and no clothes.  Ermelinda says
               you wash the same shirt out every night.
               Is that true?

                         RIPLEY
               No! I've got more than one shirt!

                         DICKIE
               She can do that stuff for you. Anyway,
               just wear some of my things, wear
               anything you want, most of it's ancient.
                   (he's finished writing)

                         RIPLEY
               Now your signature.
                   (watching him write)
               Not "Dickie". Your signature.

     Dickie writes his signature at the bottom of the postcard.
     Ripley studies the writing, takes off his glasses to clean
     them. Dickie looks at him.

                         DICKIE
               Without the glasses you're not even ugly.
                   (takes them, tries them on)
               I don't need them because I never read.
               How do I look.

                         RIPLEY
               Like Clark Kent.
                   (takes them back, puts them on
                    beaming at Dickie)
               Now Superman.

     Dickie cuffs him.  Ripley looks down at the postcard.

                         DICKIE
               I know. I write like a child.

                         RIPLEY
               Pretty vile. See this: The S and the T,
               do you see? - fine, vulnerable - that's
               pain, that's secret pain.

                         DICKIE
               It must be a deep secret, cause I don't
               know about it.

                         RIPLEY
               Your handwriting - nothing more naked.
               See - nothing's quite touching the line -
               that's vanity.

                         DICKIE
                   (flattered)
               Well we certainly know that's true.

     INT. DICKIE'S BATHROOM. NIGHT.

     Dickie's in the bath. Ripley, dressed, sits on the stool next
     to the bath. They're in the middle of playing chess, the
     board propped on the bath tray. Ripley puts his hand in the
     water, checking the temperature. He turns on the faucet for a
     burst of hot. Ripley is absurdly happy. He pours some wine.

                         DICKIE
               Do you have any brothers?

                         RIPLEY
               No, no brothers, no sisters.

                         DICKIE
               me neither. Nor does Marge. All only
               children - what does that mean?

     He looks at Ripley who looks at him, a little too long.

                         RIPLEY
               Means we never shared a bath.
               I'm cold. Can I get in?

                         DICKIE
               No!

                         RIPLEY
               I didn't mean with you in it.

                         DICKIE
                   (standing)
               Okay, you get in. I'm like a prune
               anyway.

     He gets out, walks past Ripley, who doesn't turn around. But
     Dickie's reflected in the mirror. Ripley looks, then Dickie
     turns, holds his look momentarily before flicking him with
     his towel.

     INT/EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, NAPLES. DAY.

     An OFFICIAL is studying Dickie's passport photograph. It's
     not a recent picture. The official looks suspicious. Dickie
     is used to it.

                         DICKIE
               It is me. It's an old picture.
                   (sighs at Ripley)
               Every time - 'is it you?  Doesn't look
               like you'.

     He's signing for his allowance. He has a smart document case
     with his initials prominently embossed.  Ripley watches him
     sign and collect a large wad of notes.

                         CLERK
               Letters - Greenleaf, and for Ripley.

     Ripley collects and studies his mail. As they walk outside he
     holds up one letter to Dickie.

                         RIPLEY
               Fran.
                   (anticipating her letter)
               I miss you, where are you coming home?
               Stop telling me what a great time you're
               having, how you love Dickie... and Marge
               and...
                   (the next letter)
               And this one, I think, is your dad...

     INT. TRAIN TO ROME. DAY.

     Ripley sits reading the LETTER from Herbert Greenleaf.  He
     frowns, stops reading, looks out of the window.

                         DICKIE
               What does he say?

                         RIPLEY
               He's getting impatient. He wants me to
               reassure him you'll be home by
               Thanksgiving.

                         DICKIE
               You've got to get a new jacket. Really.
               You must be sick of the same clothes. I'm
               sick of seeing you in them.

                         RIPLEY
               I can't. I can't keep spending your
               father's money.

                         DICKIE
               I love how responsible you are. My Dad
               should make you Chief Accountant or
               something.  Let me buy you a jacket.
               There's a great place when we get to
               Rome, Batistoni.

     Ripley loves this idea and mouths the word, "Batistoni".

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Andiamo a Roma.  We're taking Tom to
               Roma!

     EXT. ARCARI'S CAFE, PIAZZA NAVONA, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley and Dickie sit outside at a Cafe in the Piazza Navona.
     Very smart, very sophisticated, very young crowd.  There are
     already several empty coffee cups and a half empty bottle of
     Frascati.  Ripley has his guide book out and is incredibly
     impatient. Dickie, meanwhile, has stretched out for the
     duration.

                         RIPLEY
               Where do we find a carozza for the Forum,
               or can we hire any of them - ?

                         DICKIE
               Relax.

                         RIPLEY
               It's just there's so much to do in a
               single day.

                         DICKIE
               Relax. The most important question is
               where to eat. I hope Freddie made a
               reservation.

                         RIPLEY
               Freddie?

                         DICKIE
               Freddie Miles.  You know - he's
               organizing the Cortina skiing trip.

     Ripley hates the idea of having this special day invaded. A
     horn makes him look up as FREDDIE MILES illegally parks his
     open top sports car opposite the cafe, sees Dickie and
     bustles over.  He's a heavy-set American with a reddish
     crewcut. Ripley finds him disgusting to look at. Dickie is
     delighted.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Frederico!

                         FREDDIE
               Ciao bello.
                   (noticing a beautiful woman in
                    an open-topped car)
               Don't you want to fuck every woman you
               see.  Just once.

     They kiss cheeks, continental-style.

                         DICKIE
               This is Tom Ripley. Freddie Miles.

                         FREDDIE
                   (mugging)
               Hey, if I'm late, think what her
               husband's saying!

     He fills Dickie's glass with wine and drinks it standing up.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               So let's go. I got us a table outside at
               Fabrizio's.

     And Dickie's up, leaving Ripley to pick up all the tiny
     checks to work out the bill and pay it.

                         DICKIE
               I'll tell you - I am so cabin-crazy with
               Mongi.

     Freddie and Dickie link arms Italian-style and cross the
     street to Freddie's car.

                         FREDDIE
               I know.  I was there.
                   (looks back to see Ripley
                    struggling to settle the
                    check)
               Tommy!  It's S.R.O.  Two seater.
               Standing Room Only.  Chop, chop, Tommy!

     Ripley, abandoned, goes over. There's no room in the car. He
     has to crouch in the rear.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               You're going to have to sit between us.
               But don't put your shoes on the seat,
               know what I mean, put them one on top of
               the other.  Okay?

     INT. A JAZZ RECORD STORE. LATE AFTERNOON.

     This record store is hidden away down a cobbled alley, and
     stuffed with the trendiest Romans, all of whom rifle the
     stacks under a fog of cigarette smoke.  There are two
     LISTENING BOOTHS, one of which has Freddie and Dickie crammed
     into it, sharing a set of headphones.  Ripley stands outside
     the booth, holding both of their jackets like a manservant,
     while inside and behind the glass doors they chat animatedly.
     He looks longingly at the street, where the light is fading.
     Dickie catches his hangdog expression and pushes open the
     accordion doors.

                         DICKIE
               Look, Tom, we've got to go to a club and
               meet some friends of Freddie's. The best
               thing is - if you want to be a tourist -
               grab a cab and we can meet up at the
               railway station.

                         RIPLEY
                   (absolutely crestfallen)
               What club?

                         DICKIE
               Freddie's arranged it with some of the
               skiing crowd. Come if you want but I
               thought you wanted to see the Forum...?

                         RIPLEY
               I did. And then maybe get the jacket and
               what have you...

                         FREDDIE
                   (from inside the booth)
               Dick - you've got to hear this!

                         DICKIE
                   (oblivious to Ripley's pain)
               Listen, just take one of mine when we get
               back. Don't worry about it.  I did the
               Forum with Marge and, frankly, once is
               enough in anyone's life.

     Ripley hands him the coats, turns away.

                         DICKIE
               Ciao.  Have fun.

     Ripley heads for the door, then comes back, raps on the
     booth.  Dickie pushes it open.

                         RIPLEY
               You said to make sure you didn't miss the
               train. It leaves at eight.

     EXT. THE CAPITOL. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley hikes up Michelangelo's Arcoeli Steps. Then he's
     looking down from the Campodoglio at the Forum below. Then
     he's walking by the oversized fragments of the Colossus. This
     is the real Ripley, the lover of beauty, inspired by art, by
     antiquity. He's awed. He's cold. He so much wishes he weren't
     alone.

     INT. ROME RAILWAY STATION. NIGHT.

     It's past eight, Ripley stands, one foot on the guard step of
     the Naples train, waiting forlornly for Dickie, then giving
     up as the train pulls away. He pulls the door to his
     compartment closed, and sits inside the train alone.

     INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

     There's music playing, Bing Crosby's "May I". Very loud.
     Ripley dances to the mirror, SPECTACLES ABANDONED and DRESSED
     AS DICKIE IN HIS TUXEDO, MINUS TROUSERS. He adjusts his hair,
     catches one of Dickie's expressions.  There are clothes
     abandoned everywhere.  He's been having a big dressing-up
     session. He sings along with Bing.

                         DICKIE (O/S)
               What are you doing?

     Ripley turns, horrified, to see Dickie standing in the
     doorway.  The music thumps away.

                         RIPLEY
               Oh - just amusing myself.  Sorry, Dickie.
                   (pause)
               I didn't think you were coming back.

     Dickie turns off the record player.

                         DICKIE
               I wish you'd get out of my clothes.

     Ripley starts undressing, his fingers clumsy with
     mortification and shock.  Dickie looks at his feet, shakes
     his head.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Shoes too?

                         RIPLEY
                   (lame, ashamed)
               You said I could pick out a jacket and I
               just... Sorry.

                         DICKIE
               Get undressed in your own room, would
               you?

                         RIPLEY
               I thought you'd missed the train.

                         DICKIE
               Freddie drove me back in his car.

                         RIPLEY
                   (horrified)
               Is Freddie here?

                         DICKIE
               He's downstairs.

                         RIPLEY
               I was just fooling around. Don't say
               anything. Sorry.

     Dickie lets him leave and then sits amongst the debris of the
     dressing-up session, not amused.

     EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. DAY.

     Ripley comes down, apprehensive, to find Marge and Dickie and
     Freddie having a jolly breakfast on the terrace. Dickie looks
     perfectly happy.

                         MARGE
               Hi, Tom.  Come join us.

                         FREDDIE
               I want this job of yours, Tommy. I was
               just saying - You live in Italy, sleep in
               Dickie's house, eat Dickie's food, wear
               his clothes, and his father picks up the
               tab. If you get bored, let me know, I'll
               do it!

     EXT. THE OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DAY.

     The boat is drifting.  Freddie and Dickie and Marge are
     swimming, then Marge climbs back onto the boat, where Ripley
     is sitting alone, reading.

                         MARGE
               You really should go in, it's marvellous.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm fine.

     She approaches him, conscious of his isolation. She's in a
     red bikini, and she towels herself dry as they speak.

                         MARGE
               Are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               Sure.

     They watch Dickie and Freddie fooling around in the water.

                         MARGE
               The thing with Dickie - it's like the sun
               shines on you and it's glorious, then he
               forgets you and it's very very cold.

                         RIPLEY
               So I'm learning.

                         MARGE
               He's not even aware of it. When you've
               got his attention you feel like you're
               the only person in the world. That's why
               everybody loves him. Other times...

     There's a yell from Dickie as Freddie wrestles with him.

                         DICKIE
                   (laughing and choking)
               He's drowning me!

                         MARGE
               It's always the same whenever someone new
               comes into his life - Freddie, Fausto,
               Peter Smith-Kingsley - he's wonderful -
               did you meet him, he's a musician? -
               ... and especially you, of course... and
               that's only the boys.

     They watch as Freddie pushes Dickie under the surface.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               Tell me, why is it when men play they
               always play at killing each other...?
               I'm sorry about Cortina by the way.

                         RIPLEY
               What about Cortina?

                         MARGE
               Didn't Dick say? - he talked to
               Freddie... apparently it's not going to
               work out -
                   (Ripley's devastated, Marge
                    notices, can't look at him)
               Freddie says there aren't enough rooms.

     EXT. OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DUSK.

     LATER and now the boat is sailing again. Ripley is sitting in
     his spot. Dickie and Freddie are at the tiller.

                         DICKIE
               Come on, Frederico, do you really have
               to go back?  At least stick around for
               the Festival of the Madonna.

                         FREDDIE
               I don't think so. Come back with me to
               Rome. There's this great new club.  Have
               some drinks, lotta ladies...

     Marge, still in her bikini, disappears into the cabin. Dickie
     makes a face at Freddie.

                         DICKIE
               Do you think you can steer this thing?

                         FREDDIE
               Sure.

                         DICKIE
               Just point her at Capri and avoid the
               rocks.

                         FREDDIE
               What are you doing?

                         DICKIE
               Marge-maintenance.

                         FREDDIE
               Aye, aye.

     Dickie heads towards the cabin. Freddie takes over the
     tiller. There's a breeze and the sailboat cuts through the
     water.

     From where Ripley sits he can see Capri in the distance, but
     he can also look down into the cabin, its porthole offering
     him a restricted view.  He looks down and there's a flash of
     flesh, then nothing.  Then as the boat swings with the waves,
     he glimpses the bikini top flung over a chair, and then
     Marge's bare foot kicking out rhythmically, the red-painted
     toes straining.  Ripley's mesmerized, aroused, and absolutely
     betrayed.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               Tommy - How's the peeping? Come on Tommy,
               you were looking.  Tommy Tommy Tommy.

     Shamed, Ripley looks away. He stares at the water, parting
     before the boat, its turmoil reflecting his.

     EXT. DICKIE'S MOORING. DAY.

     The Bird returns to the mooring by Dickie's House.  Dickie as
     ever Captain of the Ship, clambering around, shouting
     instructions, with Ripley, Marge and Freddie as crew.  Ripley
     looks back at shore. Silvana stands watching, staring.
     Dickie notices her too.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO SLIPWAY. LATE DAY.

     A WOMAN'S HEAD suddenly breaks the surface of the water.

     It's a statue of the Virgin Mary, life size, adorned with
     flowers and a lace veil.  As she is revealed, wooden,
     staring, four men emerge, lifting the statue on a palette,
     wading towards the shore, the Madonna aloft on their
     shoulders.

     The whole town of Mongibello is in attendance for this Annual
     Festival of the Madonna del Mare, either standing in their
     fishing boats, or on shore and flanking the Parish Priest and
     altar boys and incense. RIPLEY, DICKIE and MARGE watch from
     Dickie's terrace. There are hymns and, as the statue is
     carried to the shore, the men's heads barely above the waves,
     the congregation applauds at the illusion that the Madonna is
     walking on water.

     Suddenly ANOTHER HEAD appears on the surface of the water,
     about fifty yards from the statue. There's a scream from
     among the crowd as someone notices the body. It's SILVANA.
     One of the MEN carrying the statue turns first towards the
     direction of the scream and then towards the floating corpse.
     It's Silvana's fiancee, and in a second he has let go of the
     palette, CAUSING IT TO TOPPLE, and - in absolute grief -
     wades, swims, splashes towards the body.

     PANDEMONIUM in the crowd, which breaks up, with other people
     splashing, fully clothed, into the water. From the terrace,
     Ripley turns and looks at Dickie, catching his eye.

     EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. LATE DAY.

     Marge and Ripley and Dickie watch from the terrace as below
     them an AMBULANCE takes away the body. It seems as if the
     whole town looks on - fiancee, parents, brothers, sisters,
     police, priest, etc. As the corpse is loaded into the vehicle
     A BRIEF SCUFFLE occurs between Silvana's fiancee and her
     brother. They are pulled apart. Then the ambulance pulls
     away.

                         RIPLEY
               What's the fight about? That's her
               fiancÈ, isn't it?  Are they blaming him?

                         DICKIE
                   (sharp)
               I don't know! Why are you asking me?
                   (agitated)
               How can it take an hour to find an
               ambulance?

                         MARGE
                   (conciliatory)
               Well, she was already dead, darling,
               wasn't she, so I suppose -

                         DICKIE
               I don't know why people say this
               country's civilised. It isn't. It's
               fucking primitive.

     And with that HE KICKS OUT VIOLENTLY AT A CHAIR SUPPORTING
     THE RECORDPLAYER. Records, machine, chair go flying across
     the terrace. Dickie storms inside.

                         MARGE
               Dickie!

                         RIPLEY
               I'll go and see what's the matter.

                         MARGE
               I'll go.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Later, Dickie is slumped in an armchair at the open window
     overlooking the slipway. He's playing sax. A forlorn, keening
     phrase from YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS. Ripley appears,
     begins tidying the mess in the living room.  He picks up
     empty bottles, an abandoned bikini top.

                         RIPLEY
               I know why you're upset.
                   (Dickie continues playing)
               I know about Silvana, Dickie. About you
               and Silvana.

     Dickie stops playing.

                         DICKIE
               What about us?

     He now has an armful of dishes and glasses and bottles.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
                   (losing his temper)
               You don't have to clean up! Really!

     Ripley disappears into the kitchen.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
                   (as Ripley returns)
               She was pregnant. Did you know that? Do
               you know what that means in a place like
               this?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm prepared to take the blame.

                         DICKIE
               What are you talking about?

                         RIPLEY
               You've been so good to me. You're the
               brother I never had. I'm the brother you
               never had.

                         DICKIE
               She came to me for help, she needed
               money, and I didn't help her. I didn't
               help her. Now she's dead and it's my
               fault.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm not going to say anything - to Marge,
               or anybody, the police - It's a secret
               between us and I'll keep it.

     And he disappears again, leaving Dickie to resume the sax,
     somehow in thrall to Ripley.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               Dear Tom, I think the time has come to
               discontinue your expense checks...

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, NAPLES. DAY.

     Ripley and Dickie are walking out of the American Express
     Office, Dickie pushing the rest of his money into his case,
     Ripley - despondent - reading aloud extracts from a letter
     from Herbert Greenleaf -

                         RIPLEY
               ...The thousand dollars, of course, was
               only due in the event that you succeeded
               in bringing Dickie home. Naturally, I
               hope the trip has afforded you some
               pleasure despite the failure of its main
               objective you need no longer consider
               yourself obligated to us in any way...

                         DICKIE
               You can't blame him.  You could hardly
               expect this to go on forever.

                         RIPLEY
               I thought you might write again. Now that
               we're brothers...

                         DICKIE
               I can't, how can I, in all decency? We've
               had a good run, haven't we?

                         RIPLEY
                   (increasingly miserable)
               What about Venice? Can we stick to that
               plan at least?

                         DICKIE
               I don't think so, Tom. You can't stay on
               here without money.  It's time we all
               moved on.  Besides I'm sick of Mongi.
               Especially now with everything - I really
               want to move to the North. I need to
               check out San Remo next week, find
               somewhere new to keep the boat.
               But it would be great, though, if you
               came with me.  Our last trip before you
               leave. There's a jazz festival - we could
               say goodbye in style.  What do you think?
               A last trip?

     INT. TRAIN TO SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.

     Dickie and Ripley travel up to San Remo. They sit next to
     each other. Dickie's asleep. Ripley lays his head on Dickie's
     shoulder, but as he does that, the ticket inspector announces
     the San Remo stop, taps on the window and Dickie stirs. Then
     Ripley plays his familiar game of studying his face in the
     reflection of the train window, so that he can move his head
     and see his reflection, then back and see Dickie's.  Dickie
     suddenly catches him staring. Ripley looks away.

                         DICKIE
                   (terse)
               Why do you do that thing - with your
               neck? On trains you always do that thing,
               it's so spooky.

     EXT. HOTEL TERRACE RESTAURANT, SAN REMO. NIGHT.

     Dickie and Ripley walk through the terrace of an hotel which
     lips out towards the sea. There's a restaurant and palms and
     a JAZZ QUINTET playing, American. Very cool. They pass the
     band. Dickie's captivated as they head for their table. They
     pass some girls at a table. Dickie smiles greedily.

                         DICKIE
               This is more like it. Didn't I tell you
               San Remo was crazy!

     They're shown to a good table. Dickie watches the band while
     their glasses are filled with champagne. Ripley looks happy.
     He's got Dickie all to himself.

                         RIPLEY
               To Mongibello and the happiest days of my
               life.

                         DICKIE
               To Mongi.  You're cheerful tonight.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm suddenly quite happy to be going
               back.

                         DICKIE
               That's good.

                         RIPLEY
               I've got plans!

                         DICKIE
               Ripley's plans.

                         RIPLEY
               Esatto. I'm always planning.

                         DICKIE
               Did I know you at Princeton, Tom? I
               didn't, did I?

                         RIPLEY
               Why are you asking all of a sudden?

                         DICKIE
               No reason. Because you're leaving, I
               guess. I don't think you were there, were
               you?

                         RIPLEY
               Why?

                         DICKIE
               I mean it as a compliment. You've got
               such great taste, I don't know. Most of
               the thugs at Princeton had tasted
               everything and had no taste. Used to say,
               the cream of America: rich and thick.
               Freddie's the perfect example.

                         RIPLEY
               Then I'll take it as a compliment.

                         DICKIE
               I knew it! I had a bet with Marge!

                         RIPLEY
                   (a beat)
               Ha.

                         DICKIE
               Do you even like jazz - or was that
               something for my benefit?

                         RIPLEY
                   (conceding, without guile)
               I've gotten to like it. I've gotten to
               like everything about the way you live.
               It's one big love affair. If you knew my
               life back home in New York...

     Dickie's distracted by the drummer who's playing an extrovert
     solo, doesn't hear the confession of love.

                         DICKIE
               I'm thinking of giving up the sax, what
               do you think about drums?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               So cool.

     He mimes a high-hat and snare. Ripley can't quite credit this
     - it's superficiality.

     EXT. MID OCEAN. DAY.

     The bay of San Remo. DICKIE and RIPLEY have hired a motor 
     boat.

                         DICKIE
               That's how I found my place in Mongi.
               Took a boat out round the bay.  The first
               place I liked, I got it.

     The motor boat is ploughing the waves. Dickie exhilarated by
     the speed.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie, slow down, come on!

     Ripley grips the oar, his knuckles white. Dickie cuts the
     motor, and the boat slows to a crawl, miles from the shore.

                         DICKIE
                   (ecstatic)
               I love it here! Gonna live here!

     Dickie takes off his jacket, then drums against the edge of
     the boat, developing a rhythm with his lighter and fingers,
     already on the way to becoming Buddy Rich.

                         RIPLEY
               I wanted to tell you my plan.

                         DICKIE
               So tell me.

                         RIPLEY
               I thought I might come back. In the New
               Year. Under my own steam.

                         DICKIE
                   (suddenly tight)
               Really?  To Italy?

                         RIPLEY
               Of course. Let's say, for argument's
               sake, you were here - perhaps we could
               split the rent on a house - I'll get a
               job - or, better still, I could get a
               place in Rome and when we're there we
               could be there and if we're here we could
               be here -

                         DICKIE
               Oh God, I don't think so.

                         RIPLEY
               - you see, particularly with the Marge
               problem, you can just blame me.

                         DICKIE
               Marge and I are getting married.

                         RIPLEY
                   (appalled)
               How?

                         DICKIE
               How?

                         RIPLEY
               Yesterday you're ogling girls on the
               terrace, today you're getting married.
               It's absurd.

                         DICKIE
               I love Marge.

                         RIPLEY
               You love me and you're not marrying me.

                         DICKIE
                   (cold)
               Tom, I don't love you.

                         RIPLEY
               No, no, it's not a threat, I've explained
               all of that.

                         DICKIE
               I'm actually a little relieved you're
               going, to be honest. I think we've seen
               enough of each other for a while.

     Ripley stares at him, his eyes suddenly reptilian.

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               You can be a leech - you know this - and
               it's boring. You can be quite boring.

                         RIPLEY
                   (volcanic)
               The funny thing - I'm not pretending to
               be somebody else and you are. I'm
               absolutely honest with you. I've told you
               my feelings. But you, first of all I know
               there's something - that evening when we
               played chess, for instance, it was
               obvious -

                         DICKIE
                   (incredulous)
               What evening?

                         RIPLEY
               Sure - I know, that's too dangerous for
               you, fair enough, hey! we're brothers,
               fine, then you do this sordid thing with
               Marge, fucking her on the boat while we
               all have to listen, which was
               excruciating, frankly, plus you follow
               your cock around like a - and now you're
               getting married! I'm bewildered, forgive
               me...you're lying to Marge then getting
               married to her, you're knocking up
               Silvana, you've got to play sax, you've
               got to play drums, which is it, Dickie,
               what do you really play?

     Dickie, furious, gets up, and lurches towards Ripley.

                         DICKIE
                   (attacking him, administering
                    tiny slaps as punctuation to
                    his tirade)
               Who are you - some imposter, some third
               class mooch - who are you to tell me
               anything? Actually, I really really
               really don't want to be on this boat with
               you, I can't move without you moving,
               which is exactly how it feels and it
               gives me the creeps.
                   (he goes to rev up the engine)
               I can't move without - "Dickie, Dickie,
               Dickie" - like a little girl.  You give
               me the -

     RIPLEY SMASHES HIM ACROSS THE HEAD WITH THE OAR. DICKIE SLIPS
     OFF THE WOODEN SEAT, HIS EYES ROLLING IN GROGGY SURPRISE.

                         RIPLEY
               Shut up! Just shut up! Just shut up!

     The boat slows as Dickie releases the tiller.  Dickie looks
     up at Ripley wearily and slides onto his back.

                         DICKIE
               For God's sake.

     Ripley, shocked at himself, goes to Dickie, rocking the boat,
     catches him up, then is horrified to see Dickie's face,
     apparently unmarked, SUDDENLY SPLIT OPEN, a line of blood and
     then a peeling like a fruit bursting. Ripley's appalled.  A
     terrible roar issues from Dickie as he launches himself at
     Ripley.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               I'll kill you!

     Ripley finds himself pushing him away, picking up the oar,
     kicking off Dickie's hand around his ankle. The boat is
     rocking and swerving crazily as Dickie falls against the
     tiller. Ripley almost loses his balance. His glasses come
     off. They struggle, locked together in a life or death
     wrestle to get control of the oar. Dickie's blinded by his
     own blood, loses his grip.

     Ripley, terrified, hits Dickie again and again, the oar like
     a carpet-beater banging down flat, blood on the blade, blood
     on Ripley, until he's on his knees, heaving for breath,
     letting his arm drop, then realizing, disgusted, that he's
     let it rest in a pool of blood. He starts to sob, sprawls
     there, sobbing, next to Dickie, horrified by what he's done.

     Nobody's in sight.  The boat rocks, gently, the sun sparkling
     indifferently on the waves.  Ripley lies by Dickie in the
     bottom of the boat, in the embrace he's always wanted.

     The pretty blue-and-white boat rocks peacefully.  The sea
     calms.

     EXT. A COVE NEAR SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.

     A deserted cove, several miles along the coast. Ripley
     clambers onto a rock over the shore.  He's watching the boat
     slowly sinking. Shuddering from the exertion, the cold, he
     finds Dickie's jacket, puts it on and watches as the boat
     disappears under the surface.

     EXT. SAN REMO. DUSK.

     Ripley walks back towards the hotel, still wearing Dickie's
     jacket, cold and wet, his bag over his shoulder.

     INT. HOTEL LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley approaches the front desk.  He's shivering.  He's not
     wearing his glasses.

                         RIPLEY
               Can I have my key, please?

                         RECEPTIONIST
                   (at the key rack)
               Of course - But you must be very cold?
               Signor Greenleaf?  Yes? -

                         RIPLEY
                   (mind racing)
               No, it's - I'm...

     EXT. ROAD BETWEEN NAPLES AND MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley sits on the bus as it rumbles towards Mongi.  He
     stares out of the window, full of what he's done. No idea
     what to do.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. DAY.

     The BUS comes into town. Ripley gets out, looks calm, very
     together.

     INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM, MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley walks into the living room, slowly approaches
     Dickie's saxophone which is on its stand on the table.  He
     can't get close to it, it evokes Dickie too much.

     INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. DAY.

     Ripley has Dickie's Hermes Baby typewriter on the desk and is
     busy writing letters. He has finished a letter to the
     Greenleafs, now he's at the end of one to Marge. We can read
     part of it - C/O American Express, Rome 9 November 1958. Dear
     Marge, this is a difficult letter for me to write... Ripley
     produces the Shakespeare and Signature page and COPIES
     DICKIE'S SIGNATURE at the end of the letter.

     EXT. MARGE'S GARDEN, MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley stands at the entrance to Marge's garden where she is
     working at her book on the outside table, surrounded by
     references and notes, held down by bricks. He looks at her
     until she looks at him. She's startled, gasps.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Marge.

                         MARGE
               Tom, you startled me!  You're back.

                         RIPLEY
               How are you? Sorry. Is your book going
               well?

                         MARGE
               Yes - I'm on a good streak, thanks.

                         RIPLEY
               I was just looking at you -
                   (looking at her tenderly)
               - so quiet.

                         MARGE
               Where's Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               I think he's planning on staying in Rome
               for a few days.

                         MARGE
                   (looks at him)
               Ha. Did he say why?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. I don't understand Dickie,
               Marge, so your guess is as good as mine.

                         MARGE
               What does that mean?

                         RIPLEY
               Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the
               next day I'm not, one day we're all one
               family, the next day he wants to be
               alone. You tell me.

                         MARGE
               Is that what he said - he wanted to be
               alone?

                         RIPLEY
               He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked
               me to deliver this.

     He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume.

                         MARGE
               Thanks. he knows I love this, although
               why it couldn't have waited...

                         RIPLEY
               Errand number one - deliver Marge's
               perfume. Errand number two, pack some
               clothes and his precious saxophone.

                         MARGE
                   (alarmed)
               How long's he staying for?

                         RIPLEY
               Search me. I guess we're abandoned.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING.

     Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty,
     forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning.

     INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING.

     As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in
     the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox
     open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks
     back into the kitchen area.

                         MARGE
               There was a letter from Dickie in with my
               perfume. You realize it's more than a few
               days? He's thinking of moving to Rome.

     She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling
     everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear
     them up.  She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts
     fresh ice into her glass.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               The thing is, the night before he left,
               we talked about moving, together, going
               North - and I suppose I put some pressure
               on him, about getting married, I just
               might have scared him off. There's a side
               to him, when our heads are on the pillow,
               I know no-one else sees it, which is
               really tender.
                   (unravelling)
               I think I should come with you to Rome
               and just confront him.

     Ripley lights a cigarette.  Marge loses confidence.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               He hates being confronted.

                         RIPLEY
               I think you're right.

     INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY.

     RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of
     this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for
     his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to
     the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH:

     INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY.

     DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a 
     baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER.

     Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes
     back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive
     rings.  As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the
     passport, he looks at the owner.  Ripley wears a terrific
     suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His
     voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl.

                         ALDO
               Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
                   (walking away)
               Thank you.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY.

     The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks
     around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in
     its opulence.  He immediately picks up the telephone.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel
               Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor
               Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes.
               Grazie.

     He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R
     Greenleaf.  Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing
     case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting
     specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased.

     The telephone rings.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd
               like to leave a message. Yes. Please call
               Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY.

     A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone.

                         RIPLEY
               He's not there?  Very well. I'll leave a
               message - Got your call. Dinner tonight
               sounds fine. Ripley.
                   (listens as it's read back)
               Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank
               you.

     INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and
     overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks.

                         RIPLEY
               I'd like these to have my initials -
               embossed, I don't know the word in
               Italian ...embossed?

                         GUCCI ASSISTANT
               Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf.

     There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE!
     Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside,
     alone and delighted to see him.  He grins and mouths hello.

                         MEREDITH
                   (entering the shop)
               Dickie! Oh my God!  Ciao.

     EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY.

     Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe.

                         MEREDITH
               But you're going skiing with us Yankees,
               aren't you?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MEREDITH
               At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie
               Miles and -

                         RIPLEY
                   (interrupting, astonished)
               How did you know that?

                         MEREDITH
               Everybody knows Freddie Miles.

                         RIPLEY
                   (unsettled)
               Is Freddie in Rome?

                         MEREDITH
               Now? I don't think so. But I've met him,
               of course, and we've chatted and I know
               about you and Marge and Mongi and what an
               unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you
               were a rat and I thought to myself now I
               know why he travels under R.

                         RIPLEY
               I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So
               the rat's here now, in Rome.

                         MEREDITH
               Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if -

                         RIPLEY
               Don't be sorry. I've never been happier.
               I feel like I've been handed a new life.

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.

     Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head
     inside the office.

                         MEREDITH
               The truth is if you've had money your
               entire life, even if you despise it,
               which we do - agreed? - you're only truly
               comfortable around other people who have
               it and despise it.

                         RIPLEY
               I know.

                         MEREDITH
               I've never admitted that to anyone.

     INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with
     him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed
     by her presence.  She goes to the window ahead of him.

     She takes her money, turns to him.

     He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's
     signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at
     him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't want too many large bills. Nobody
               will change them.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY.

     Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket
     for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates
     the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against
     Ripley.

                         MEREDITH
               Show me the other one again.
                   (the Tailor obliges)
               I like them both.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll take them both.

     Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside,
     Meredith shows the Tailor out.  As she returns she notices
     the open sax case, peers inside.

                         MEREDITH (O/S)
               I know you're a jazz fiend but do you
               absolutely hate the Opera?  I've been
               trying to give my tickets away, it's
               tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be
               dragged...

     She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by
     him, the romance she feels to be in the air.

                         RIPLEY
                   (emerging)
               You could drag me.

     INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME.

     On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin.  Lensky sings his aria
     before the duel with Onegin.

     Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous
     Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE.  He knows what comes next.
     Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the
     snow.  Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes
     over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing,
     kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion...
     Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced.

     INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME.

     The Interval.  Ripley and Meredith exit their box with
     Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval
     drinks).

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks so much for inviting me tonight.

                         JOAN
               Can you bear it?  We hear you're a friend
               of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera
               tattooed on his chest.

                         RIPLEY
               There's room for a whole libretto on
               Freddie's chest.

                         JOAN
                   (laughs)
               I'm sure we've met.

     They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks.

                         JOAN (cont'd)
               I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted?
               This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks, yes, I think we did.

                         JOAN
               One minute you people are children and
               the next you're getting tattooed.

     INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT.

     Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the
     Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured
     Englishman.  They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is
     beside them.

                         MARGE
                   (as if she's seen a ghost)
               Oh my God. Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, how are you? What are you doing in
               Rome?

                         MARGE
               Is he here? Are you with Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               No.
                   (to Smith-Kingsley)
               Hello, I'm Tom Ripley.

                         PETER
               Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about
               you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie.

                         MARGE
                   (works out what's strange)
               No glasses.

     He fishes out the glasses.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Peter)
               Ditto.

                         PETER
               Where are you hiding him? He's
               impossible, isn't he?

                         MARGE
               Is he really not here?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera
               tattooed on his chest.

                         MARGE
               You were going to Venice.

                         PETER
               Yes, what happened? I heard you were
               desperate to come. I was looking forward
               to rowing you around.

                         RIPLEY
               I am.  I really am. And I've been
               travelling. I just can't seem to get that
               far north.

                         PETER
               Well hurry, before we sink.
                   (reaches into his jacket)
               Should I give you my telephone number in
               Venice?

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

     The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to
     Ripley, sees Meredith.

                         PETER
               Look there's Meredith thingy - who's
               that, Marge? - they're in textiles...
               Meredith -
                   (embarrassed at not
                    remembering)
               God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in
               her house...!

                         MARGE
               I don't know her.
                   (to Ripley)
               He hasn't called, he's hardly written,
               just these cryptic notes. You don't just
               dump people.

     The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return.

                         PETER
               Will we see you later?

                         RIPLEY
               I can't later.

                         PETER
               And tomorrow?

                         RIPLEY
               Tomorrow's possible. Do you know
               Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna?

                         PETER
               I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time?

                         RIPLEY
               Ten thirty?

                         PETER
               We'll be there.

                         RIPLEY
               Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow.
                   (to Peter)
               It's really good to meet you.

     INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT.

     Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her.

                         RIPLEY
               Let's go.

                         MEREDITH
               I thought you were enjoying yourself?

                         RIPLEY
               Let's take a Carozza and look at the
               moon.

                         MEREDITH
               You're crazy! It's freezing out there.

     He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading
     through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting
     dangerously near as they approach their seats.

                         RIPLEY
               C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the
               two of us.

                         MEREDITH
                   (quite taken)
               Okay then, you're crazy.

     EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT.

     Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber.
     Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge.

                         MEREDITH
               Don't worry. Really. Don't worry.

                         RIPLEY
               You're such a pal to understand. It's as
               if Marge is here now - I look at you and
               I see her face - and I can't, whatever
               I'm feeling towards you - I just can't...

                         MEREDITH
               No, I absolutely understand. Of course.

                         RIPLEY
               Otherwise you'd be fighting me off.

                         MEREDITH
               Beating you away.

     EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME.

     They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment
     Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go
     inside, then looks at him.

                         MEREDITH
               Will you meet me tomorrow?  Just to say
               goodbye in the daylight, properly? So
               it's not just this, it's too...you should
               always save pain for daylight...

                         RIPLEY
               Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll
               meet you. Let's have coffee in the
               morning at Dinelli's.

                         MEREDITH
                   (fluttering)
               I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps?

                         RIPLEY
               Exactly. 10.30 -
                   (instantly correcting himself)
               10.15.

     He gets back into the carozza. It moves off.

     EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING.

     Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish
     Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps,
     among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an
     outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via
     Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith.  She
     acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her.

                         MEREDITH
               Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue.

                         PETER
               Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm
               sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is
               Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue.

                         MARGE
               Hello.

     Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes.

                         PETER
               Join us, won't you? We're just waiting
               for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did
               we see you at the Opera last night?

                         MEREDITH
               I won't actually, although I think this
               might - are you waiting for Dickie?

                         PETER
               Well no, as it happens, although...

                         MARGE
                   (stunned at the mention of his
                    name)
               Dickie? Do you know Dickie?

                         MEREDITH
               You were at the Opera? Well, that
               explains - yes I was there. I was there
               with Dickie.

                         MARGE
                   (to Peter)
               I told you! I knew it!

                         MEREDITH
                   (moving over to them)
               Marge, I don't know you, so I have no
               right, but Dickie loves you.  He's - I
               think you'll find he's coming home to
               you.

                         MARGE
                   (proprietorial)
               How would you know that?

                         MEREDITH
               He told me everything. I was supposed to
               meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm
               going to go now, I think. Unless he meant
               us to meet - which would be a little
               cruel, wouldn't it?

                         PETER
               No, we're meeting another friend. Tom
               Ripley.

                         MARGE
               Do you know Tom?

                         MEREDITH
               Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course,
               but no, I didn't meet him.

     The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates
     she's leaving.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               Not for me. No, grazie.

     Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               I hope I didn't complicate matters, but
               nothing, nothing untoward happened,
               nothing to prevent you from welcoming him
               back, from marrying him...Goodbye.
               Goodbye Peter, please don't get up.

     Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of
     the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the
     crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he
     becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's
     apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his
     element, lying and believing in his lie.

                         RIPLEY
               Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers.
               Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp
               when they can make you line up for three.
               Have you been waiting long?

                         PETER
               Not at all. Morning Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Hi.
                   (to Marge)
               Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've
               seen a ghost...

                         MARGE
               Dickie was at the Opera last night.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't
               drag Dickie to -

                         MARGE
               He was there with someone. So I suppose
               she must have dragged him - that's not
               fair.  I'm going back to Mongi. I think
               Dickie's coming home.
                   (to Peter)
               I'm going to go home.

                         RIPLEY
               Really? That's swell. No, I was just -
               you're way ahead of me! Great!

                         PETER
               We think he's had a change of heart.
                   (to Marge)
               So we should be celebrating.

                         MARGE
               I hope so.

                         PETER
                   (to Marge)
               That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith
               said -
                   (to Ripley)
               Meredith's the American girl I saw last
               night, I know her, at the Opera, she's
               been seeing something of Dickie -

                         RIPLEY
               My God.

                         PETER
               But the point is Dickie - well we know
               this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses
               her and apparently he's come to his
               senses...

                         RIPLEY
               It's fantastic.
                   (to Peter)
               I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand
               this, but anytime Dickie does something I
               feel guilty.

     INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY.

     Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo
     Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
     explores, relishing the decor.

                         SIGNORA BUFFI
               Accendo il riscaldamento.
               (I'll turn the heating on.)

                         RIPLEY
                   (mimes playing sax)
               Mi piace suonare.
               (I like to play music.)

                         SIGNORA BUFFI
                   (shrugs)
               Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una
               coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace?
               (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So,
               do you like it?)

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas.
     There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with
     some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's
     a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a
     glass, pours himself a drink.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and
     precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops
     playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello?

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               Who is it?

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               It's Freddie. Let me in.

     RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint.

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Dickie, come on, it's me.

     Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the
     door.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley.

                         FREDDIE
                   (confused, not pleasantly)
               Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at
               dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it?

                         FREDDIE
               I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm.
               If you said he was still at lunch I'd
               believe you. Incredible. The guy has
               disappeared off the face of the earth.

                         RIPLEY
               I guess.

                         FREDDIE
               The landlady - as far as I could tell,
               the landlady said he was here right now.

                         RIPLEY
               He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I
               can't think why you would imagine Dickie
               would hide from you.

                         FREDDIE
               Because he's been hiding from me - what
               happened at Christmas?

                         RIPLEY
               What about Christmas?

                         FREDDIE
               He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't
               get a cable or a call or a note or,
               frankly, a fart.

     Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING
     FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the
     kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               Of course, he's been very involved in his
               music, hasn't he? I think his theory is,
               you know, you have to go into a cocoon
               before you can become a butterfly.

                         FREDDIE
               Which is horseshit.  Have you heard him
               play that thing?
                   (gesturing at the sax on its
                    stand)
               He can't.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
                   (casually)
               How did you find him? It's such an out of
               the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink?

                         FREDDIE
               No thanks.
                   (explaining his detective work)
               Some kid at the American Express Office.
                   (he starts to explore)
               Are you living here?

     Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano.

                         RIPLEY
                   (returning, flinching)
               No. No, I'm staying here for a few days,
               in Rome.  That's a new piano, so you prob -

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Did this place come furnished? It doesn't
               look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so
               bourgeois.

     Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust.

                         RIPLEY
               You should watch that!

                         FREDDIE
               In fact the only thing which looks like
               Dickie is you.

                         RIPLEY
               Hardly.

                         FREDDIE
               Have you done something to your hair?

     Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room.

                         RIPLEY
               Freddie, do you have something to say?

                         FREDDIE
               What? I think I'm saying it. Something's
               going on. He's either converted to
               Christianity - or to something else.

                         RIPLEY
               I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself.
               Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the
               Corso.

                         FREDDIE
               Is it on "delle Croce, just off the
               Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you?
               Last time you didn't know your ass from
               your elbow, now you're giving me
               directions. That's not fair, you probably
               do know your ass from your elbow. I'll
               see you.

     AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner
     on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back
     to the door, opens it and looks over the rail.

     INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY.

     FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
     can't make out the text but there's some discussion about
     Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as
     Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY.

     Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches
     in, he launches into his interrogation.

                         FREDDIE
               Ripley? There's someth -

     - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY
     SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE
     HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE.

     Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then
     to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating
     him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his
     balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before
     slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor.
     THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF.

     EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows
     towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley
     talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He
     pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat.

                         RIPLEY
                   (mimicking Freddie's voice)
               Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her
               husband's saying.

     EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT.

     The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs
     punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car,
     Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body.
     He slows near a clump of trees.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING.

     Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it,
     finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO
     POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand.

                         ROVERINI
               Dickie Greenleaf?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes?

                         ROVERINI
               Inspector Roverini. Can we come in?

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING.

     Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini
     and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently.

                         ROVERINI
               It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did
               Signor Miles leave yesterday?

                         RIPLEY
               I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd
               both taken on far too many drinks - but
               it was dark, it was certainly dark when I
               walked him down to his car.

                         ROVERINI
               So Signor Miles drove away and you did
               what?

                         RIPLEY
               I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but
               I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks.
               I've suffered all day. Who found him?

     Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian.

                         ROVERINI
               Senta.  We have to ask you to stay in
               Rome.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, if it's going to help, certainly.

                         ROVERINI
               So, the Doctor, he has to make the -
                   (looks at Baggio)
               - come se dice?

                         RIPLEY
               Postmortem?

                         ROVERINI
               Yes, exactly, but his first, his first
               conclusion was that Signor Miles was
               killed not later than seven o'clock
               yesterday evening.

                         RIPLEY
               Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he
               drove off in his car.

                         ROVERINI
               No.

     EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING.

     Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his
     scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES
     AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances
     sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images
     and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE
     WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the
     pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along
     the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an
     Italian, runs up concerned.

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY.

     Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the
     street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips
     Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter.
     Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no
     mood for pleasantries.

                         MARGE
               Did he kill Freddie?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, when did you get here?

                         MARGE
               Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie?

                         RIPLEY
               I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't.

                         MARGE
               I tried again, waiting here, watching for
               him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look
               for Dickie I find you.

                   (focusing on Ripley's cuts and
                    bruises)
               What happened to your face?

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie did it.

                         MARGE
                   (suddenly tense)
               Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               My face! There was an argument. I said
               some things I shouldn't have.  About you.
               About the appalling way he's treating
               you, all of us.  And the next thing I
               know he's launched himself at me.
                   (he pulls the scooter off the
                    stand)
               Are you getting on?

                         MARGE
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               Get on. I'll take you to him.

     EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY.

     Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The
     entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars.
     Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley,
     startled, drives straight past the entrance.

     EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY.

     Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different
     piazza full of book stalls.  Marge is confused.

                         MARGE
               Where does Dickie live?

                         RIPLEY
               We passed it a few blocks back, where the
               police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They
               don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not
               going to incriminate Dickie -

                         MARGE
               Perhaps I shouldn't go either.

                         RIPLEY
                   (thinking hard, distracted)
               No, well go if you want to, but don't
               talk to the Police about my face - they
               find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he
               could've hit Freddie.
                   (sincerely)
               Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you
               later.

     And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK
     and roars towards the Palazzo.

     EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley drives towards the entrance.  As Ripley gets off and
     pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS,
     LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm
     around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off
     a photograph.  It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away
     as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside.

     INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS.

     As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting
     more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a
     landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him.

                         RIPLEY
               Can we go up? Do you mind?

                         ROVERINI
               Of course. What happened to your face?

                         RIPLEY
               My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by
               photographers.

     He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
                   (agitated)
               The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm
               feeling hounded - do you think you could
               not give out my address?

                         ROVERINI
               Never. We've had many requests and, of
               course, we say no - even to your fiancÈe.

                         RIPLEY
               I really don't want to see anybody.

                         ROVERINI
               Even your fiancÈe...?

                         RIPLEY
               Even her.

                         ROVERINI
               What about Thomas Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               What about Ripley?

     Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment.
     He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can
     barely wait for Roverini to catch up.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.

     Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him.

                         ROVERINI
               You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo,
               is that right?

     Ripley is appalled. He smiles.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That
               was months ago.

                         ROVERINI
               November, I thought.

                         RIPLEY
               Was it? Did you speak to Tom?

                         ROVERINI
               November 7th is my information.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't remember the exact date.

                         ROVERINI
               And when did you last see Signor Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               A few days ago.

                         ROVERINI
               Does he stay with you here?

                         RIPLEY
               No!

                         ROVERINI
               No.  Here is a pattern. Two days ago
               Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your
               apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a
               little boat is found in San Remo full of
               rocks, and the owner tells the Police it
               was stolen on November 7th. We look at
               hotel records and we see oh! Dickie
               Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then
               our boatman remembers two Americans
               taking a boat.

                         RIPLEY
               It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence.
               There must be fifty hotels in San Remo,
               there must have been a hundred people
               renting a boat on that day.

                         ROVERINI
               31 people.

                         RIPLEY
               31 people.

     Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky.

                         ROVERINI
               That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge
               Sherwood.

                         RIPLEY
                   (appalled, defeated)
               Let her in, what's the difference?  Let
               her in.
                   (Baggio is on his way to the
                    door.)
               No, actually, no, I'd like it very much
               if you would ask her to come back later.

     Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Thank you.

                         ROVERINI
                   (watching him)
               May I ask...why would you speak to your
               friend and not your fiancÈe?

                         RIPLEY
               I think I just said. Ripley was handling
               some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley
               want to marry me.  Nor did he ask me
               every day if I would marry him. And when.

                         ROVERINI
               Do you have a photograph of Signor
               Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm not in the habit of carrying around
               photographs of my male friends.

                         ROVERINI
               Now I think I have upset you. My English
               perhaps is coarse.

                         RIPLEY
               It is a little coarse, yes.

                         ROVERINI
               Sorry.  No-one has seen Signor Ripley
               since San -

                         RIPLEY
               I have!

                         ROVERINI
               You have, yes.

                         RIPLEY
               No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask
               her! and if I could remember which hotel
               he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom
               was staying at the Goldoni.

                         ROVERINI
               Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A
               coincidence.
                   (he gets up to leave)
               I look forward to our next meeting when I
               will be more careful with my English and
               persuade you to play me your saxophone.
               Alto.

                         RIPLEY
               Absolutely.

                         ROVERINI
                   (suddenly turning)
               I have a witness who thinks they saw two
               men getting into Mr Miles' car. She
               wants to identify you in a - confronto -
               line-up.
                   (ominously)
               Tomorrow then?

                         RIPLEY
                   (thrown, scrabbling)
               Tomorrow.

     Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through
     the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the
     stairs.

                         ROVERINI (O/S)
               Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood.  He's in but I
               really don't think he wants to see
               anyone.

     Ripley leans against the door, the noose tightening, then
     suddenly a voice shocks him upright.

                         MARGE
               Dick? Dickie? I know you can hear me.
               What am I doing, chasing you around...?
               I was going to say I would count to three
               and if you didn't open the door, but I
               won't count any more. On you. I won't
               count on you any more. Whatever it is,
               whatever you've done or haven't done,
               you've broken my heart. That's one thing
               I know you're guilty of, and I don't know
               why, I don't know why, I just don't know
               why...

     Ripley listens, there's a silence, then Marge's footsteps as
     they ring out on the stone stairs. The tapping sound resolves
     into the tap-tap of a manual typewriter.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley's at the typewriter, he begins to type.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               My dear Tom, I'm getting out of this.
               Freddie's death, Silvana. I've thought
               about going to the police, but I can't do
               it, I can't face it.  I can't face
               anything anymore...

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     CHAOS.  Ripley is working quickly, selecting clothes,
     dividing them into TWO PILES - one for Dickie's trunk, one
     for his own battered suitcase. He puts the license plates
     from Freddie's car in Dickie's luggage. He has placed one
     shirt on the Ripley pile then checks again, and - on seeing
     Dickie's initials, places it with the bigger pile, then picks
     it up again and holds it briefly against his cheek.

     He takes Dickie's rings, opens up a LITTLE BOX of buttons and
     needles and cufflinks and sadly tosses them in. Dickie's
     leather writing case goes on the big pile, too, as do cuff
     links, ties, the Mont Blanc, Dickie's passport, which he
     opens to scratch at the photograph, obliterating the face.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               ...I wish I could give you the life I
               took for granted. You've always
               understood what's at the heart of me,
               Tom. Marge never could. I suppose that's
               why I'm writing this to you, the brother
               I never had. The only true friend I ever
               had. In all kinds of ways you're much
               more like the son my father always
               wanted. I realise you can change the
               people, change the scenery, but you can't
               change your own rotten self. Now I can't
               think what to do, or where to go. I'm
               haunted by everything I've done, and
               can't undo. I'm sorry, I can't go on.
               I've made a mess of being Dickie
               Greenleaf haven't I?

     He's finished the letter, signs it, puts it in an envelope
     marked Tom Ripley and places the letter on top of the piano
     next to Dickie's passport. His head is reflected in the
     distorting curve of the lid. As he puts on his glasses
     there's a moment when there are two heads slowly separating,
     as Ripley leaves behind his brief life as Dickie Greenleaf.

     INT. BASEMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley carries Dickie's luggage down into THE COMMUNAL
     BASEMENT of the Gioia, a wretched place full of shadows and
     gloom and the overflow from thirty apartments. A red plush
     couch sits on top of a mound of furniture.  He finds some
     dustsheets and shoves the cases under them. Then Dickie's
     saxophone.

     Outside the small window, Ripley sees uniformed feet and the
     revolving blue light of a Police Car. He shrinks back, turns
     off the light and disappears into the dark, illuminated
     fitfully by the strobe of cold blue.

     EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA, ROME. NIGHT.

     Ripley, familiar battered luggage in tow, appears at the
     entrance of the building next to his own, glances at the
     police car parked opposite the big doors, then hurries off
     into the darkness.

     EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley's briefly silhouetted as he scuttles down an alley,
     hurrying towards a gate, and disappears behind it.

     EXT. PIAZZALE ROMA, VENICE. DAWN.

     Ripley sits next to his battered luggage at the prow of a
     MOTOR TAXI as it surges towards Venice at dawn. Peter Smith-
     Kingsley waits on the quay. Ripley waves. Peter waves back.

                         PETER
                   (indicating the taxi stop)
               I'll see you over there!

     EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. EARLY MORNING.

     Ripley and Peter walk through the square, the pigeons
     scattering. Ripley breathes in the atmosphere, the beautiful
     grey.

                         RIPLEY
               Peter, I'm really sorry to put you
               through this. I just couldn't face going
               to the police by myself when my Italian's
               so rotten.

                         PETER
               Don't be daft. It's fine. I'm delighted
               you finally made it to Venice. I'm
               delighted, contrary to rumour, you're
               still in one piece?

                         RIPLEY
               What rumour?

                         PETER
               That Dickie murdered you and is
               travelling under your passport. I know,
               ridiculous.

     INT. POLICE STATION, VENICE. LATE DAY.

     Later.  Ripley sits in the middle of a bustling Police Station,
     where thefts, tourists, thieves and complaints are being
     processed.  The Station is in an old brewery or armory. It's a
     horrible, monochrome, oppressive place. Peter is in
     conversation at a desk, turns and walks over to where Ripley
     waits.

                         PETER
               Welcome to Venice.  This place reeks,
               doesn't it? Can you smell it?  Ugh.
               Sorry. Not the best way to spend your
               first day.

                         RIPLEY
               It's okay.

                         PETER
               Anyway I've got to the bottom of the
               delay. Finally.  We're waiting for
               someone from Rome.

                         RIPLEY
                   (completely thrown)
               What do you mean?  They're sending
               someone from Rome?

                         PETER
               That's good, isn't it?

                         RIPLEY
                   (as if suffocating)
               No, but I thought that didn't happen in
               Italy, that each region was completely
               separate! I was sure that was the -

                         PETER
               You've seen the papers, you know what a
               big deal it's been here. American tourist
               murdered -

                         RIPLEY
               It's ridiculous but now you've mentioned
               the stench I can hardly breathe.

     A door opens. COLONEL VERRECCHIA, fresh from Rome, and a
     sullen wedge of a man, comes in, scowling at the couple.
     Ripley dare not look up in case it's Roverini.  A POLICEMAN
     introduces him.

                         POLICEMAN
               Colonelo Verrecchia della Polizia di
               Roma.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (to Peter, in Italian)
               Qui e Ripley?  Who is Ripley?

                         PETER
                   (in Italian)
               Lui. Him.

     Verrecchia strides past them and into a smaller, interview
     room at the back of the station.  His manner is ominous.

     INT. POLICE STATION, INTERVIEW ROOM, VENICE. LATE DAY.

     This room is not at all friendly. There is evidence of a
     locked area for cells at one wall.  A small, sour window
     gives onto a canal.  The main station is glimpsed through
     some internal windows. Peter and Ripley come through.

     Verrecchia sits down.  Verrecchia talks in staccato Italian,
     during which Peter translates.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Ho assunto io la guida delle indagini in
               seguito alla negativa valutazione delle
               disdicevoli circostanze verificatesi con
               il mio predecessore Roverini che come e
               noto non e riuscito a impedire il
               verificarsi della scomparsa del signor
               Greenleaf, il quale era l'unica persona
               al momento passibile di incriminazione
               del reato di omicidio del signor Miles.

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               He's taken over the case because...
               they're annoyed the previous chap let
               Dickie...disappear when he was the only,
               he was the only suspect in Freddie's
               murder.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Quando e stata l'ultima volta che il
               signor Ripley ha visto il signor
               Greenleaf?
               (When was the last time Ripley saw
               Greenleaf?)

     Ripley forgets he's not supposed to have much Italian and
     answers.

                         RIPLEY
               In Rome, about three weeks ago.
                   (shrugs)
               I knew that one.

                         PETER
                   (giving Ripley a look)
               A Roma, circa tre settimane fa.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Dove e stato il signor Ripley da allora?

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               Where have you been since then?

                         RIPLEY
               I've been backpacking.

                         PETER
               I don't know how to translate that.
                   (he tries)
               E difficile....il signor Ripley
               ....dormiva all'aperto, con un...

                         VERRECCHIA
               All'aperto? Col freddo che ha fatto?

                         PETER
               He thinks it's very cold to be sleeping
               outside.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Il signor Ripley ha sviluppate tendenze
               omosessuali?

                         PETER
               Are you a homosexual?
                   (then as himself)
               Interesting non-sequitur.

                         RIPLEY
               No.

                         PETER
                   (translates for him)
               No.
                   (as Peter, drily)
               By the way, officially there are no
               Italian homosexuals. Makes Leonardo,
               Michelangelo very inconvenient.

                         RIPLEY
               Tell him I have a fiancÈe, Dickie has a
               fiancÈe and Freddie Miles probably had a
               string of them.

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               Il signor Ripley ha una fidanzata, il
               signor Dickie ha una fidanzata e
               probabilmente il signor Freddie Miles ha
               molte fidanzate.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (laughs)
               Mamma mia, quante fidanzate!

     They all laugh.

                         RIPLEY
               What did he say?

                         PETER
               He says so many fiancÈes.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (suddenly very tough)
               Lei ha ucciso prima Freddie Miles e dopo
               Dickie Greenleaf! Vero?

     As Peter translates Verrecchia watches intently.

                         PETER
               He wants to know if you killed Freddie
               Miles and then killed Dickie Greenleaf?

                         RIPLEY
                   (outraged)
               No I did not. I did not kill Freddie
               Miles and then kill Dickie Greenleaf.  Is
               he accusing me?
                   (Peter clearly doesn't ask)
               Ask him if he's accusing me!

                         PETER
               He's already angry, I don't think -

                         RIPLEY
                   (interrupting, heated)
               Just because he doesn't like Americans!

                         VERRECCHIA
               Non e questo il luogo per le vostre
               conversazioni private!  (This is not the
               place for your private conversations)

                         PETER
                   (appeasing him)
               A ragione.  A ragione.  (You're right.
               You're right.)

                         VERRECCHIA
               Hmm. C'e questa...  (There's this...)

     Verrecchia hands over a letter. It's opened. Ripley's name on
     the outside. Ripley stares at it.

                         VERRECCHIA
                         (cont'd)
               Questa lettera e stata trovata
               nell'abitazione del signor Richard
               Greenleaf a Roma.

                         PETER
               They found this in Dickie's place in
               Rome.

                         RIPLEY
               You opened this?

                         VERRECCHIA
               Of course!

     He stands and takes the letter out.  Begins to read. He has
     the look of a man whose privacy has been violated.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Peter)
               It's a suicide note.
                   (to Verrecchia)
               You ask me all these questions and you've
               already read this suicide note?

     INT. PETER SMITH-KINGSLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     There's music everywhere - and stands - and posters of
     performances and PHOTOGRAPHS OF PETER CONDUCTING. Peter is an
     opera repetiteur. Ripley is sitting at Peter's piano, playing
     from the score of Vivaldi's Stabat Mater. Peter's made supper.
     He's setting the table.

                         PETER
               Can you imagine, if Dickie did kill
               Freddie, what must that be like? To wake
               up every morning, how can you? Just wake
               up and be a person, drink a coffee...?

                         RIPLEY
               Whatever you do, however terrible,
               however hurtful - it all makes sense,
               doesn't it? inside your head. You never
               meet anybody who thinks they're a bad
               person or that they're cruel.

                         PETER
               But you're still tormented, you must be,
               you've killed somebody...

                         RIPLEY
               Don't you put the past in a room, in the
               cellar, and lock the door and just never
               go in there? Because that's what I do.

                         PETER
               Probably. In my case it's probably a
               whole building.

                         RIPLEY
               Then you meet someone special and all you
               want to do is toss them the key, say open
               up, step inside, but you can't because
               it's dark and there are demons and if
               anybody saw how ugly it was...

     Peter's come over, stands behind him over the piano.

                         PETER
               That's the music talking. Harder to be
               bleak if you're playing Knees up Mother
               Brown.

     He vamps this vaudeville song over Ripley's shoulder.

                         RIPLEY
               I keep wanting to do that - fling open
               the door - let the light in, clean
               everything out. If I could get a huge
               eraser and rub everything out...starting
               with myself...the thing is, Peter, if...

                         PETER
                   (as Ripley falls silent)
               No key, huh?

     INT. SANTA MARIA DELLA PIETA, BRIDGE OF SIGHS. DAY.

     A YOUNG BOY SINGS the soprano part of Vivaldi's STABAT MATER.
     A piercingly pure sound in Vivaldi's own church.  The
     orchestra - rehearsing - is conducted by Peter from the
     organ.

     Ripley slips in at the back of the church. He stands and
     listens. Peter sees him, smiles.  Ripley smiles back.

     EXT. VENICE, S.LUCIA RAILWAY STATION. DAY.

     MARGE appears on the steps, carrying an overnight bag. Ripley
     and Peter have come to meet her.

                         MARGE
                   (kissing him warmly)
               Hello Peter, so good to see you.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Marge!

                         MARGE
                   (coolly)
               Tom.

     They walk towards the Vaporetto.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               So you found Peter...

                         PETER
               I think we sort of found each other.

     Marge smiles enigmatically. Ripley registers.

                         PETER (cont'd)
               Where's Dickie's father?

                         MARGE
               He's not coming till the morning.
               Evidently his stomach - I don't think the
               food here is agreeing with him.

                         RIPLEY
               I was looking forward to seeing him.

                         MARGE
               Dickie hasn't killed himself. I'm sure of
               that. There's a private detective on the
               case now - a Mr MacCarron - Dickie's
               father's employing him.

                         RIPLEY
               That's a terrific idea.

                         MARGE
               He's American. He's already discovered
               Dickie cashed checks for $1000 the day
               before he disappeared.

     They step onto the Vaporetto.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               Is that what you do before you jump in
               the Tiber?  I don't think so.

     EXT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.

     The boat arrives at the entrance to the house. Peter opens
     the door as Ripley collects Marge's bags.

                         MARGE
                   (to Peter)
               Is this you?

                         PETER
               No, it's Tom's. Splendid, eh?

                         MARGE
               Golly. Who's paying for this?

                         RIPLEY
               Peter found it for me. I can afford it
               because it's damp and, and falling down.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.

     Marge, entering the living room, is astonished at its
     grandeur. She walks around as Ripley heads for the bar.

                         MARGE
               This is spectacular.

                         PETER
               That's why Tom wanted you to stay.  It's
               better than squeezing into my room, and I
               know how you hate hotels.

                         MARGE
               A hotel would've been fine.
                   (to Ripley)
               We'll have to tell Mr Greenleaf how far
               his dollar has stretched.

     Ripley is shaking a martini. Marge laughs, helpless, somehow
     raging. Peter turns

                         PETER
               What's funny?

                         MARGE
               No, nothing. I'm just thinking about when
               Tom arrived in Mongi.
                   (to Ripley)
               And now look at you.

                         RIPLEY
               Look at me what?

                         MARGE
               To the manner born.

     EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. DAY.

     St Mark's Square is buzzing with life - tourists, balloon
     sellers - a man playing saxophone. HERBERT GREENLEAF sits out
     in the colonade on one of the many tables at Florian's Cafe,
     cradling a glass of hot water. He gets up as Marge and Ripley
     arrive.

                         RIPLEY
               Mr Greenleaf.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Tom. How are you?  You look well.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm well, thank you.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Far cry from New York.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes it is.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Marge, good morning.  Unusual weather.

                         MARGE
               Very.

                         RIPLEY
               And you, sir?  Any better?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Pretty good.  Sticking with hot water.

                         MARGE
               Where's Mr MacCarron?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               San Remo. The police are amateurs. Well,
               my boy, it's come to a pretty pass,
               hasn't it?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes.  What's the detective hoping to
               find in San Remo?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               He's being thorough, that's all. I'm
               learning about my son, Tom, now he's
               missing. I'm learning a great deal about
               him. I hope you can fill in some more
               blanks for me. Marge has been good enough
               to do that, about Mongibello.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll try my best, sir. Obviously I'll do
               anything to help Dickie.

     Marge looks at him in contempt.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               This theory, the letter he left for you,
               the Police think that's a clear
               indication he was planning on doing
               something...to himself.

                         MARGE
               I just don't believe that!

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               You don't want to, dear. I'd like to talk
               to Tom alone - perhaps this afternoon?
               Would you mind? Marge, what a man may say
               to his sweetheart and what he'll admit to
               another fellow -

                         MARGE
               Such as?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               What a waste of lives and opportunities
               and -

     A saxophonist is blaring away in the piazza. Greenleaf
     suddenly explodes.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (cont'd)
               - I'd pay that fellow a hundred dollars
               right now to shut up!

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.

     Herbert Greenleaf sits on a chair, Ripley pours him some tea.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (reading, plunging into gloom)
               No, Marge doesn't know the half of it.

                         RIPLEY
               I think it might hurt her to know.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               And his passport photo? Did you hear? To
               scratch out your own face like that - can
               you imagine - the frame of mind you'd
               have to be in?
                   (reading)
               I've thought about going to the police
               but I can't face it. I can't face
               anything anymore.

                         RIPLEY
               I feel guilty. I feel like I pushed him
               away. I spoke and he heard you.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (such a disappointed father)
               Well, if we all pushed him away what
               about him pushing us away? You've been a
               great friend to my son. Everything is
               someone else's fault. We all want to sow
               wild oars. Somebody's got to - what's the
               word?
                   (Ripley shakes his head)
               The moment someone confronts him he
               lashes out.  He lashes out. You know,
               people always say you can't choose your
               parents, but you can't choose your
               children.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DUSK.

     Ripley wakes up from an awful, chilling nightmare, his head
     full of ghosts. He's cramped up in an armchair, his arms in
     sine foetal protection. HIS DOOR KNOCKER IS BEING REPEATEDLY
     SHAKEN. He surfaces thickly, stumbles to the door. It's Peter
     and Marge.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm sorry. I was asleep. I must have
               fallen asleep.

                         PETER
               You look ghastly, Tom. Are you okay?

                         MARGE
               Did Dickie's Dad go?

                         RIPLEY
               He's having an early night.

                         MARGE
               Poor man.
                   (she heads to her room)
               We were knocking on that door for ever.
                   (she fiddles inside the sleeve
                    of her dress)
               I think I've broken my strap.

                         PETER
               Not guilty.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll fix some drinks.

                         MARGE
               You walk in Venice!

     She takes off her shoe, examining her feet for wear and tear,
     then disappears into the bedroom. Peter walks over to Ripley,
     a little concerned.

                         PETER
               Are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm fine.

                         PETER
                   (a hand on his shoulder)
               Do you want me to stick around?

                         RIPLEY
               It's okay.

                         PETER
               Or I could come back.

     Ripley looks at him. That's never happened. He digs in his
     pocket, finds his key, gives it to Peter. Peter smiles.

                         PETER (cont'd)
               Your key.

     INT. RIPLEY'S BATHROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.

     Ripley's in the bath. Marge knocks on his door.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               Tom?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, I'm in the bath. Won't be long.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               Tom, I need to talk to you. It's urgent.

     Ripley, irritated, opens the door, his towel wrapped around
     his waist. Marge is white. She's wearing a robe. She's
     slightly breathless.

                         MARGE
               I found Dickie's rings.

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MARGE
               You've got Dickie's rings.

                         RIPLEY
               I can explain.

     He can't. His eyes dart. Marge holds up the evidence.

                         MARGE
               Dickie promised me he would never take
               off this ring.

                         RIPLEY
               Let me put on some clothes and then we
               can talk about this.

                         MARGE
               I have to tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to
               tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to tell Mr
               Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, calm down, you're being
               hysterical.

                         MARGE
               He promised me. I swear I'll never take
               off this ring until the day -

                         RIPLEY
               Shut up! Shut up!

     His towel slips off from his waist.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               I'm wet, Marge, I've lost my towel, I'd
               really like to put my clothes on. So go
               and pour us both a drink, will you?

     She goes off obediently, a zombie. He shuts the door.
     Immediately he starts looking for something, anything, to
     kill Marge with. He's got a shoe but it feels too light. He
     opens cabinets, drawers - nail scissors, nothing - then
     picks up his straight razor and considers it in the mirror.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SITTING ROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.

     Marge is leaving, coat on, as Ripley comes out of the
     bathroom.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge?  Where are you going?

                         MARGE
                   (like a creature caught in
                    headlights)
               I was looking for a needle and thread. I
               wasn't snooping. I was looking for a
               needle and thread to mend my bra.

                         RIPLEY
               The scent you're wearing. I bought it for
               you, not Dickie. The thing about Dickie.
               So many things. The day he was late back
               from Rome - I tried to tell you this - he
               was with another girl. I'm not talking
               about Meredith, another girl we met in a
               bar. He couldn't be faithful for five
               minutes. So when he makes a promise it
               doesn't mean what it means when you make
               a promise. Or I do. He has so many
               realities, Dickie, and he believes them
               all. He lies. He lies, that's his... half
               the time he doesn't even realize.

     A SMALL RED STAIN is appearing on the pocket of his robe. As
     he speaks the stain spreads. He looks at it absently.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Today, for the first time, I've even
               wondered whether he might have killed
               Freddie. He would get so crazy if anybody
               contradicted him - well, you know that.
               Marge. I loved you - you might as well
               know - I loved you, and because he knew I
               loved you, he let you think I loved him.
               Didn't you see, couldn't you see? I don't
               know, maybe it's grotesque to say this
               now, so just write it on a piece of paper
               or something, and keep it in your purse
               for a rainy day. Tom loves me.

                         MARGE
                   (as if she'd heard nothing)
               Why do you have Dickie's rings?

     His hand goes to his pocket. HE'S GOING TO HAVE TO DO IT.

                         RIPLEY
               I told you. He gave them to me.

                         MARGE
               Why? When?

                         RIPLEY
               I feel as if you haven't heard anything
               I've been saying to you.

                         MARGE
               I don't believe you.

                         RIPLEY
               It's all true.

                         MARGE
               I don't believe a single word you've
               said.

     Marge is shivering. Ripley, ominous, advances, she retreats.

                         RIPLEY
               You're shivering, Marge. Can I hold you?
               Would you let me hold you?

     Marge panics, backed up against the door. She screams and
     turns straight into the arms of a startled PETER who's come
     back to visit Ripley, and is unlocking the door.

                         MARGE
                   (sobbing uncontrollably)
               Oh Peter! Get me out of here.

     Ripley storms off. His hand comes out of his pocket COVERED
     IN BLOOD from the razor. Peter notices, appalled.

                         PETER
               Tom, are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               You try. You try talking to her.

                         PETER
                   (calls after him)
               Tom. Tom! Tell me, what's going on?

                         RIPLEY
                   (not turning around)
               I give up.

     INT. RIPLEY HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.

     Peter has just put a band-aid over Ripley's cut hand.

                         PETER
               You can't be angry with her.  She's upset
               and needs someone to blame. So she blames
               you.  I'll go home and talk to her.  As
               for you - either get a safety razor or
               grow a beard.

     INT. LOBBY, EUROPA REGINA HOTEL, VENICE. MORNING.

     Ripley hurries through the gleaming marble entrance.

     INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S SUITE, EUROPA REGINA. DAY.

     Ripley knocks on the door. It's opened by a face he doesn't
     recognize. A middle-aged heavy set man. It's MacCARRON, the
     private investigator.

                         RIPLEY
               Is Mr Greenleaf here?

                         MACCARRON
               Mr Ripley? I'm Alvin MacCarron.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               I don't know, I don't know, I just know
               it.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (O/S)
               Marge, there's female intuition, and
               then there are facts -

     Greenleaf sits with a scrubbed Marge, her hair pulled back,
     as if newly-widowed. THE RINGS SIT GLINTING ON THE COFFEE
     TABLE.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello, sir.
                   (smiles thinly at Marge)
               Marge, you should have waited, didn't
               Peter tell you I'd come by and pick you
               up?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Marge has been telling us about the
               rings.

                         RIPLEY
               You know I feel ridiculous I didn't
               mention them yesterday - I clean forgot -
               ridiculous.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Perhaps you didn't mention them because
               there's only one conclusion to be drawn.

     Ripley worries about what that conclusion is as Mr Greenleaf
     heads into his bedroom.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (cont'd)
               I'm going to take Marge for a little
               walk, Tom.  Mr MacCarron wants to talk
               with you.

                         RIPLEY
                   (feeling caged in)
               We could go down to the bar - no need for
               you to -

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               No, he should talk to you alone.

     He helps Marge to her feet and leads her out. RIPLEY IS
     PARALYSED. He waits for the door to shut. Aimlessly he walks
     out onto the terrace, with its staggering, beautiful and
     indifferent view.

     EXT. EUROPA REGINA, THE GREENLEAF TERRACE. DAY.

     Ripley stands, steels himself for MacCarron's charges.

                         RIPLEY
               I could probably see my bedroom from
               here. I can see my house. When you see
               where you live from a distance it's like
               a dream, isn't it?

                         MACCARRON
                   (coming out)
               I don't care for B.S. I don't care to
               hear it. I don't care to speak it.

                         RIPLEY
               Okay.

                         MACCARRON
               Why do you think Dickie's father sent him
               to Europe in the first place? Did you
               know at Princeton Dickie Greenleaf half-
               killed a boy?

     Ripley turns, shocked.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               At a party. Over some girl. He kicked the
               kid several times in the head. Put him in
               the hospital. The boy had a wire fixed in
               his jaw. The Rome Police didn't think to
               ask Mr Greenleaf.

     MacCarron gets up.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Nor did they think to check whether a
               Thomas Ripley had ever been a student at
               Princeton University. I turned up a Tom
               Ripley who'd been a piano tuner in the
               music department.

     Ripley's head drops.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               See - in America we're taught to check a
               fact before it becomes a fact. We're
               taught to nose around when a girl drowns
               herself, find out if that girl was
               pregnant, find out if Dickie had an
               embarrassment there.

     Ripley doesn't know where this barrage is going.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Mr Greenleaf appreciates your loyalty.
               He really does. Marge, she's got a
               hundred theories, but there are a few
               things she doesn't know. We hope she
               never knows.

                         RIPLEY
               I hope she never knows.

                         MACCARRON
               Three different people saw Dickie get
               into Freddie Miles' car. A man who won't
               identify himself because he was jumping
               someone else's wife at the time saw
               Dickie removing license plates from a red
               sports car. The Police know about this
               man because he happens to be a Policeman.

     He walks out of the room, returns carrying THE LICENSE PLATES
     from Freddie's car.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               I found these in the basement of Dickie's
               apartment. They belonged to Freddie's
               car. Mr Greenleaf has asked me to lose
               them in the canal this evening.

     Ripley can't believe what he's hearing. It's like a dream.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Mr Greenleaf also feels there was a
               silent promise in Dickie's letter to you
               which he intends to honor. He intends to
               transfer a good part of Dickie's income
               from his trust into your name. He doesn't
               intend to give the Italian police any
               information about Dickie's past. He's
               rather hoping you'll feel the same.

     There is a silence in which this strange compact is agreed.

     EXT. EUROPA REGINA MOORING. DAY.

     Ripley stands with Marge, Mr Greenleaf and MacCarron at the
     water's edge - MOTOR LAUNCH growling. They shake hands, and
     then MacCarron and Mr Greenleaf get into the launch. Herbert
     Greenleaf carries the saxophone case.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Marge)
               I feel I never should have said those
               things to you the other evening. I was
               pretty flustered, the rings and - and you
               looked so, I don't know.

     Marge shakes her head to silence him.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               But I hope that note goes to New York in
               your purse, for a rainy day.

                         MARGE
               What are you going to do now, Tom?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. Peter has a concert in
               Athens next month - and he's asked if I
               want to go along, help out. He says
               goodbye by the way - he's in rehearsal,
               otherwise -

                         MARGE
               Why do I think there's never been a
               Ripley rainy day?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MARGE
                   (lunging at him)
               I know it was you - I know it was you,
               Tom. I know it was you. I know you killed
               Dickie. I know it was you.

                         RIPLEY
               Oh Marge.

     He puts his hand out to control her. She pushes it away.
     STARTS TO LASH OUT AT HIM, the frustration too much, so that
     Ripley has to cover his face. MacCarron comes off the boat to
     restrain her.  Ripley looks at him as if to say: what can you
     do, she's hysterical. MacCarron nods, pulls her on to the
     boat. Greenleaf catches Ripley's eye, guiltily. Turns away.
     They stand silhouetted as the launch revs up and surges off
     towards open waters, passing the little fleets of gondolas.

     EXT. FERRY FOR ATHENS, NAPLES. DAY.

     A week later and Peter and Ripley are on the deck of the
     ferry, the HELLENES, as it sails towards Greece.  They're
     laughing.

                         RIPLEY
               Ask me what I want to change about this
               moment.

                         PETER
               What do you want to change about this
               moment?

                         RIPLEY
               Nothing.

     INT. PETER'S CABIN. DUSK.

     Peter's in a bathrobe organising his currency, his
     traveller's cheques. Ripley knocks on the door, comes in.

                         PETER
               Hello.  What are you up to?

                         RIPLEY
               All kinds of things. Making plans.

                         PETER
               Plans - good, plans for tonight or plans
               for the future?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. Both. My plan right now is
               to go up on deck, look at the sunset.
               Come with me.

                         PETER
               You go. I don't want to get dressed yet.
               Come back though.  Come back.
                   (smiles at him)
               You know, you look so relaxed, like a
               completely different person.

                         RIPLEY
               Well, that's entirely your fault.  And,
               if I fall overboard, that'll be your
               fault too.

     EXT. DECK OF THE HELLENES. SUNSET.

     Ripley stands on deck, staring at the magnificent sunset.
     Then a voice shakes him from his reverie.

                         MEREDITH
               Dickie?  Dickie?

     He turns. He's caught. Suddenly he's Dickie.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               Dickie, my God!

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Meredith.

                         MEREDITH
               I was looking at you, your clothes, I
               wouldn't have known you...

                         RIPLEY
               Well, you've spotted me and so you get
               the reward.

                         MEREDITH
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               Just kidding. Are you alone?

                         MEREDITH
               Hardly. I couldn't be less alone.

     Meredith points to the UPPER DECK BALCONY where TWO OLDER
     COUPLES are walking around the deck.

                         RIPLEY
               Of course.  Aunt Joan.

                         MEREDITH
               And co. A lot of co. Oh, God, I've
               thought about you so much.

                         RIPLEY
               I've thought about you.

     And now he's thinking I can't kill them all...

                         MEREDITH
               When I thought about you I was mostly
               hating you. Where've you been hiding?

                         RIPLEY
               I haven't been hiding. I've been in
               Police custody. They've been trying to
               flush out Freddie's killer.

                         MEREDITH
               You're kidding.

                         RIPLEY
               They're letting me have this vacation.
               Which is why the get-up. Which is why you
               haven't heard from me.

                         MEREDITH
               You know, the whole world thinks you
               killed Freddie? It's terrible.

                         RIPLEY
               I know. Look, I can't talk now. Later.
               Later?

     He kisses her.  Full of future.

                         MEREDITH
               So - are you travelling under R?

                         RIPLEY
               You know what - I am.

                         MEREDITH
               Dickie, are you with Peter Smith-
               Kingsley?  I bet you are. My aunt thought
               she saw him.

                         RIPLEY
                   (horrified)
               Peter Smith-Kingsley? I haven't seen him
               in months.  No, I'm alone.
                   (and he understands this is not
                    any kind of lie)

     INT. PETER'S CABIN. NIGHT.

     Peter's working on his score, lying on his front, apparently
     engrossed. Ripley knocks and enters. Looks long at Peter.

                         PETER
               How was it?

                         RIPLEY
               Good. But I think we should stay in here
               for the rest of the trip.

                         PETER
               Was that Meredith?

                         RIPLEY
                   (sighs)
               Was who Meredith?

                         PETER
               Meredith Logue. You were kissing
               somebody. Looked like Meredith.

                         RIPLEY
               Hardly kissing. Kissing off.

                         PETER
               Didn't look that way - you know - from a
               distance.

                         RIPLEY
               I lied. To her. She thought she'd seen
               you.

                         PETER
               Why lie?

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie and Peter, that's just too good
               gossip, isn't it?

                         PETER
               Or Tom and Peter even.

                         RIPLEY
               Well that would be even better gossip.

                         PETER
               Really, why?
                   (completely lost)
               Sorry, I'm completely lost.

                         RIPLEY
               I know. I'm lost, too. I'm going to be
               stuck in the basement, aren't I, that's
               my, that's my - terrible and alone and
               dark - and I've lied about who I am, and
               where I am, and so nobody can ever find
               me.

                         PETER
               What do you mean lied about who you are?

                         RIPLEY
               I suppose I always thought - better to be
               a fake somebody than a real nobody.

                         PETER
               What are you talking about - you're not a
               nobody! That's the last thing you are.

                         RIPLEY
               Peter, I... I...

                         PETER
                   (conciliatory)
               And don't forget. I have the key.

                         RIPLEY
               You have the key. Tell me some good
               things about Tom Ripley. Don't get up.
               Just tell me some nice things.

     He sits on the bed, leans against Peter. His eyes are
     brimming with tears.  He takes the cord from Peter's robe and
     begins twisting it in his hands.

                         PETER
               Good things about Tom Ripley?  Could take
               some time!... Tom is talented. Tom is
               tender... Tom is beautiful...

                         RIPLEY
                   (during this, and tender)
               You're such a liar...

                         PETER
               ...Tom is a mystery...

     Ripley is pressing against him, moving up his body, kisses
     his shoulder, the cord wrapped tight in his hands...

     INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. NIGHT.

     Ripley returns to his cabin. Sits on the bed, desolate.

                         PETER (O/S)
                   (cont'd)
               ...Tom is not a nobody. Tom has secrets
               he doesn't want to tell me, and I wish he
               would. Tom has nightmares. That's not a
               good thing. Tom has someone to love him.
               That is a good thing!
                   (feeling Ripley's weight on
                    him)
               Tom is crushing me. Tom is crushing me.
                   (suddenly alarmed)
               Tom, you're crushing me!

     The door of his closet flips open with the swell and he
     catches his reflection. It swings shut. Open then shut.
     Through the porthole the weather's changing as the light
     dies. There's a swell as the horizon rises and falls in the
     round glass. Ripley, alone, in a nightmare of his own making.

     THE END.






     Lullaby for Cain

     From the silence
     from the night
     comes a distant lullabye

     Cry, remembering that first cry
     Your brother standing by
     and loved
     both loved
     beloved sons of mine
     sing a lullabye
     mother is close by
     innocent eyes
     such innocent eyes

     Envy stole your brother's life
     came home murdered peace of mind
     left you nightmares on the pillow
     sleep now

     Soul, surrendering your soul
     the heart of you not whole
     for love
     but love
     what toll

     Cast into the dark
     branded with the mark
     of shame
     of Cain

     From the garden of God's light
     to a wilderness of light
     sleep now

     sleep now.THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY


                         Screenplay By
                       ANTHONY MINGHELLA

                     Based On The Novel By
                      PATRICIA  HIGHSMITH




                                                 1st November 1999







     NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
     AND SOME "SCENE OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR
     THIS SOFT COPY.




     1958

     PROLOGUE:  INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. EVENING.

     Fade up on Ripley, as in the final scene of the film,
     sitting, desolate in a ship's cabin. The camera rotates
     around his face, which begins in light and ends in darkness.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               If I could just go back.  If I could rub
               everything out.  Starting with myself.
               Starting with borrowing a jacket.

     EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST TERRACE. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley is at the piano, accompanying FRAN, a young soprano.
     CREDITS begin.

                         FRAN (SINGS)
               Ah, such fleeting paradise
               such innocent delight
               to love,
               be loved,
               a lullabye,
               then silence.

     The song finishes.  Applause.  They're the entertainment at a
     cocktail party to celebrate a silver wedding anniversary.
     Some partygoers congratulate Fran on her performance. A
     distinguished looking man, pushing his wife in a wheelchair,
     approaches Ripley, offers his hand.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Most enjoyable. Herbert Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
               Tom Ripley. Thank you, sir.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (pointing at Ripley's borrowed
                    jacket)
               I see you were at Princeton.
               Then you'll most likely know our son,
               Dick. Dickie Greenleaf...

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               We couldn't help noticing your jacket.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Yes.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Class of '56?

                         RIPLEY
                   (hesitating)
               How is Dickie?

     INT. ELEVATOR OPENING OUT INTO LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.

     Fran, Ripley, Mr and Mrs Greenleaf and others emerge from an
     elevator. Emily talks to Fran, Herbert to Ripley.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
                   (to Fran)
               I hope you'll come and see us...

                         FRAN
               That's very kind.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Both of you...

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Of course, Dickie's idea of music is
               Jazz. He has a saxophone.  To my ear Jazz
               is just noise, just an insolent noise.

     EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley shakes hands with Herbert Greenleaf as he gets into
     his Rolls Royce. They are making an appointment. Ripley
     crosses the street to Fran, pecks her cheek. She hands him
     his share of their fee.

                         RIPLEY
               Gotta run. I'm so late.
                   (he hands Fran's boyfriend the
                    jacket he's been wearing)
               Thanks for the jacket.

                         BOYFRIEND
               Sure.  Thanks for filling in for me.

     From Greenleaf's point of view he sees a couple embracing.

                         EMILY GREENLEAF
               Darling couple, aren't they?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Yes.  An exceptional young man.

     From another vantage point Ripley hurries on as Fran gets
     into her boyfriend's car. A piano quartet starts up.

     EXT. THEATER. EVENING.

     Ripley runs past the droves of arriving concert-goers and
     heads for the theater. Music continues.

     INT. MEN'S ROOM, THEATER. NIGHT.

     The interval: A thick mass of men in tuxedoes grooming
     themselves at the basins. Ripley turns on faucets, offers
     towels, brushes off dandruff. Men talk over, round, and
     through him.  Put coins in a bowl.

     INT. A BOX AT THE THEATER. NIGHT

     The concert continues. Ripley peers through the curtain at
     the performances.  A haughty woman in the box turns round and
     he closes the curtain.

     INT. BACKSTAGE. 1:30 A.M.

     An empty auditorium. Ripley plays Bach in the blue
     ghostlight.  A caretaker emerges from his rounds, flips on
     the house lights.  Ripley jerks up from his playing, waves
     apologetically.

                         RIPLEY
               Sorry, sorry.  I know.  Sorry.

     EXT. GREENLEAF SHIPYARDS, BROOKLYN. DAY.

     Greenleaf and Ripley walk through one of the drydocks.  A
     huge void in the shape of a boat, swarming with workers
     preparing the shell of a new liner.  If Central Park is where
     the money is spent, this is clearly where it's made.  And a
     lot of it. Workers nod deferentially to the man with his name
     over the buildings behind them.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Mongibello. Tiny place. South of Naples.
               Marge, his uh, the young lade is
               supposedly writing some kind of book. God
               knows what he does. By all accounts they
               spend the whole time on the beach. Or his
               sailboat. That's my son's talent,
               spending his allowance.

     Ripley, in his green corduroy jacket the very model of a
     sober young man, listens attentively.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF (cont'd)
               Could you ever conceive of going to
               Italy, Tom, persuade my son to come home?
                   (Ripley looks doubtful)
               I'd pay you.  I'd pay you 1000 dollars.

                         RIPLEY
               I've always wanted to go to Europe, sir,
               but...

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Good. Now you can go for a reason.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, NEW YORK. DAY.

     A vinyl RECORD revolves in close up.  An exuberant and
     mysterious VOICE is scat singing. Wild. Then the sound slides
     into a raucous big band jazz number:  Dizzy Gillespie's The
     Champ. A HAND ejects the record. When the camera finds the
     man's face it is BLINDFOLDED. He's hot. He's wearing an
     undershirt. He's trying to identify the recording.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               I don't know. Count Basie?  Duke
               Ellington. I don't know. Count Basie.

     The man pulls of the blindfold, examines the record cover of
     the disc he's been trying to learn, needs to put on glasses
     to do so, is irritated by his mistake. He ejects the record.

     A pile of other jazz records are strewn across a cluttered
     table which includes classical sheet music and a paper
     keyboard. One hand idly mimes at the keys.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Another song for Ripley to identify is on the gramophone.
     Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine.  Signs everywhere of
     packing. A suitcase. Books about Italy.  Ripley paces in this
     BASEMENT room, which is bathroom, kitchen, living room and
     bedroom all in one.  Tiny, tidy, squalid and sad. The windows
     give onto bars and a wall.

                         RIPLEY
               Don't even know if this is a man or a
               woman.

     There's a violent row going on in the room above his head. He
     flinches.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley, shining his shoes, packing almost done, is testing
     himself on another piece of music. Free jazz saxophone:
     Charlie Parker's Koko.  He listens hard, recognizes the
     track.

                         RIPLEY
               That's Charlie Parker. Bird.

     He skips over to the gramophone, checks the record. He's
     right, he smiles.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley studies an old photograph of Dickie Greenleaf in a
     Princeton Yearbook. He shoves the book in a bag, picks up
     his suitcase and takes a last look around the dingy apartment
     before closing the door behind him.

     EXT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     Ripley hauls his luggage up the stairs and into the sunlight.
     He is met at the top of the stairs by Mr Greenleaf's
     chauffeur.

                         CHAUFFEUR
               Here.  I'll take that.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

                         CARETAKER
                   (nodding towards the apartment)
               That thousand bucks should come in handy.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, sir.

                         CHAUFFEUR
                   (interupts Ripley, who is
                    about to open the car door)
               I'll get that.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

                         CHAUFFEUR
                   (as he holds open the door for
                    Ripley)
               Sir.
                   (Ripley laughs excitedly)
               You're gonna have a great trip.  Mr
               Greenleaf is personal friends with the
               Cunard people.

     INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S CAR. DAY.

     Ripley luxuriates in the back of the Greenleaf limousine. He
     opens up an envelope he's carrying with Greenleaf stationery.
     Inside a First Class Cunard Ticket, some traveler's checks
     and dollars.

                         CHAUFFEUR
               I can tell you.  The Greenleaf name opens
               a lot of doors.

     EXT. QUEEN MARY, MANHATTAN SKYLINE. DAY.

     The liner leaves New York en route to Italy.  END CREDITS.

     INT. NAPLES HARBOR, CUSTOMS & IMMIGRATION HALL. DAY.

     ITALY. Brilliant sunshine. The Queen Mary has just docked.
     Passengers can be seen disembarking through the huge windows.
     Coming from the First Class gangways they are greeted,
     escorted, fussed over into the hall.  Their bags have been
     unloaded ahead of them, and are now being sorted in the hall
     under the initials of their owners.  STANDS WITH THE LETTERS
     OF THE ALPHABET CHALKED ON THEM are dotted about, and trunks
     and suitcases of all shapes and sizes form small hills around
     them. Ripley enters and an Italian Porter approaches, wants
     his name.  Ripley. Ripley. Ripley! he repeats in the hubbub
     and joins the crowd around the letter R.  A striking young
     woman (MEREDITH) is nearby. She notices him.

     Ripley proceeds to the Customs area, where he's held in a
     line as a large suitcase is opened and searched. Meredith
     catches up with him. Her luggage a mountain next to his.

                         MEREDITH
               What's your secret?

                         RIPLEY
               Excuse me?

                         MEREDITH
               No, it's just - you are American, aren't
               you? - no, I just, I have so much
               luggage, and you're so, uh, streamlined.
               It's humiliating.

     Ripley shrugs.  Now they're opening a second case of the
     passenger ahead.  Hard not to converse.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               I'm Meredith, by the way. Meredith
               Randall.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie, Dickie Greenleaf. Hello.

                         MEREDITH
               Hello.

     They are passed through immigration, head down the long
     stairs towards the street.  Meredith catches up with Ripley.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               You're not the Shipping Greenleaf's?

                         RIPLEY
                   (thinking quickly)
               Trying not to be. Trying to jump ship.

                         MEREDITH
               So now, did they put your suitcase in the
               wrong pile? It's just - upstairs -
               weren't you under the R stand? I thought
               I saw you there.

                         RIPLEY
               My father wants me in New York. He builds
               boats. I'd rather sail them.  I travel
               under my mother's name.

                         MEREDITH
               Which is?

                         RIPLEY
               Emily.
                   (Meredith's bewildered)
               Just kidding.

                         MEREDITH
               The funny thing is, I'm not Randall
               either. I'm Logue.

                         RIPLEY
                   (nods, recognizing the name)
               As in the...?

                         MEREDITH
               As in the Textile Logues. Trying to shrug
               off the dress. I travel under my mother's
               name, too.

                         RIPLEY
               Randall.

                         MEREDITH
               Right.

     They've arrived at a crossroads on the stairs - graphic signs
     explain the choices: one way for Buses, Taxis and exits - the
     other for Trains: ROMA, VENEZIA, MILANO.  They're going in
     different directions.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
                   (offering her hand)
               So - partners in disguise.
                   (looks at the signs)
               Bye.

     EXT. COASTAL ROAD FROM NAPLES. LATE AFTERNOON.

     A BUS rolls around a coastal road cut into the side of a
     cliff, mountain above, blue sea below.

     INT. BUS. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley sits surrounded by teeming life. The bus slows at a
     new town. People get off.

     INT/EXTERIOR. BUS ARRIVES MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.

     Later, the day ending. Ripley looks out as they continue on
     their journey. Arriving at a small fishing port they wind
     down through a square, passing the local church.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. LATE DAY.

     And then the bus is in the heart of a wharf. On one side
     there's evidence of the fisherman's life, nets, old men
     working. Opposite there's a tiny cafe spilling out onto the
     street, young guys hang out, play table football, lounge on
     their Vespas. The Driver chants -

                         DRIVER
               MONGIBELLO!

     Ripley gets out, lugging his cases, as the bus continues on
     its way. He looks around him. He feels completely foreign.

     EXT. MIRAMARE HOTEL/BOAT AT SEA. MORNING.

     A SAILBOAT has slid into his view, now drops anchor, drops
     the sail.  A couple dive off and swim towards shore.

     ALL OF THIS IS FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF RIPLEY, who's
     watching the events through binoculars from his tiny balcony
     in the Miramare Hotel. An Italian Vocabulary Book is perched
     on his knees and, during this, he continues his study,
     mouthing the Italian words.

                         RIPLEY
                   (looking at a long, lean girl
                    about to dive)
               La fidanzata a una faccia.  The fiancÈe
               has a face.  La fidanzata e Marge.

     Her partner, DICKIE GREENLEAF, dives too. They're brown,
     beautiful, perfect. Ripley notices the name of the boat:
     "BIRD".

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Questo e la mia faccia.....

     The golden couple emerge from the sea. Dickie shakes off the
     water, grins.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               This is my face.

     He double-checks himself with the vocabulary book.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Questa...e la mia faccia. Questa e la
               faccia di Dickie.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley emerges from one of the beach cabins, and stands on
     the edge of the sand on a wooden walkway. He's wearing A TINY
     LIME-GREEN BATHING SUIT. He loathes beaches. A couple of boys
     turn laconically and watch him.

     Ripley puts on his shoes and scurries to the sea. He feels
     ridiculous, his skin alabaster against the brown bodies.
     Finally, the shame is too great and he pulls off his shoes
     and dashes to the water, where he luxuriates in the coolness
     of it before wading out of the sea, and walking straight up
     to Dickie.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie Greenleaf?

     Dickie squints at Ripley, who holds his shoes, lamely.

                         DICKIE
               Who's this?

                         RIPLEY
               It's Tom. Tom Ripley. We were at
               Princeton together.

                         DICKIE
               Okay.
                   (he sits up)
               And did we know each other?

                         RIPLEY
               Well, I knew you, so I suppose you must
               have known me.

                         DICKIE
                   (to Marge)
               Princeton is like a fog, America's like a
               fog.
                   (to Ripley)
               This is Marge Sherwood. Tom - sorry, what
               was it?

                         RIPLEY
               Ripley. Hullo. How do you do.

                         MARGE
               How do you do.

                         DICKIE
               What are you doing in Mongi?

                         RIPLEY
               Nothing. Nothing much. Passing through.

                         DICKIE
                   (finds this idea absurd)
               Passing through! You're so white. Did you
               ever see a guy so white, Marge?  Gray,
               actually.

                         RIPLEY
               It's just an undercoat.
                   (Marge laughs)

                         DICKIE
               Say again?

                         RIPLEY
               You know, a primer.

                         DICKIE
               That's funny.

     He shares some intimacy with Marge, makes her laugh.  Ripley
     stands as they wrestle around him. Marge looks up.

                         MARGE
               You should come and have lunch with us,
               before you go - Dickie?

                         DICKIE
               Sure.  Any time.

                         MARGE
               And be careful in the sun. Your gray's in
               danger of turning a little pink.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks. Well, a coincidence.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. EARLY MORNING.

     ANOTHER DAY.  Church Bells ringing. Dickie, dressed in
     shorts, comes bumping up the cobbled path towards the square
     on his MOTORSCOOTER. He stops by a steep flight of steps.
     RIPLEY, a book in hand, unseen, walking up a hill, catches
     all this and, intrigued, watches as a young Italian beauty,
     SILVANA, has a spikey, flirtatious exchange with Dickie, then
     climbs on the scooter, behind him.

                         DICKIE
               I've been looking for you everywhere.

                         SILVANA
               Ah, today you're looking for me.  And
               where have you been the rest of the week?
               Pig.  With your American girl?  I hate
               you, you know?

                         DICKIE
               What?

                         SILVANA
               I hate you.

     And RIPLEY watches them as they rattle down the hill towards
     the sea.

     EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.

     Dickie appears in Marge's garden, the sea behind his head.
     Marge is sitting at her outside table surrounded by some of
     the remnants of lunch.  Dickie's sheepish, showered, late.

                         DICKIE
               Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know, I'm late,
               I'm a swine.

                         MARGE
               Did you forget where I live? It's four
               o'clock.

                         DICKIE
               I just woke up.  I'm sorry.

                         MARGE
               You just woke up!

                         DICKIE
               Fausto and I - we took the boat out, we
               were fishing, and then it was dawn and
               we'd caught absolutely nothing.

                         MARGE
               Well, we ate everything without you.

                         DICKIE
               We?

                         MARGE
               Yes, Tom Ripley's here.

     As Ripley appears with the tray to collect more dishes.

                         DICKIE
               Who? Oh, Tom, hello, how are you? We
               thought you'd disappeared. We were going
               to send out a search party.

                         RIPLEY
               No, still here.

                         MARGE
               Tom was telling me about his trip over.
               Made me laugh so much I got a nosebleed.

                         DICKIE
               Is that good?

                         MARGE
               Shut up!

     Marge flicks him with a napkin. They start to wrestle,
     excluding Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm intruding.

                         DICKIE
               Can you mix a martini?

                         RIPLEY
                   (hesitant)
               Sure.

                         MARGE
                   (going inside)
               I'll do it. I make a fabulous martini.

                         DICKIE
               Everybody should have one talent.
                   (to Ripley)
               What's yours?

                         RIPLEY
                   (without a beat)
               Forging signatures. Telling lies.
               Impersonating practically anybody.

                         DICKIE
                   (enjoying this banter)
               That's three. Nobody should have more
               than one talent. Okay, do an impression.

                         RIPLEY
               Now?  Okay.  Wait a minute.  Talent -
                   (his voice ages, his face
                    changes)
               The only talent my son has is for cashing
               his allowance.

                         DICKIE
                   (absolutely thrown)
               What? What's this?

                         RIPLEY
               I like to sail, believe me, I love to
               sail! Instead I make boats and other
               people sail them.

                         DICKIE
                   (incredibly impressed)
               Stop! It's too much!  You're making all
               the hairs on my neck stand up!

                         RIPLEY
                   (relishing it)
               Jazz, let's face it, it's just an
               insolent noise.

                         DICKIE
               I feel like he's here. Horrible. Like the
               old bastard is here right now!  That's
               brilliant!  How do you know him?

                         RIPLEY
               I met him in New York.

                         DICKIE
               Marge! You've got to hear this!

                         MARGE
                   (returning with the drinks)
               What?  What?

                         DICKIE
               Meet my father, Herbert Richard Greenleaf
               1st.

                         RIPLEY
               Pleasure to meet you, Dickie's made a
               fine catch. I know Emily thinks so.

                         MARGE
               What's going on?

                         DICKIE
               Uncanny!

                         MARGE
               I don't get it.

                         RIPLEY
               Could you ever conceive of going there,
               Tom, and bringing him back?

                         DICKIE
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               I'd pay you. If you would go to Italy and
               persuade my son to come home. I'd pay you
               $1000.

     INT/EXT. MONGIBELLO CHURCH AND SQUARE. DUSK.

     A christening is over and now the whole village is pouring
     out of Church for the Passeggiata in Sunday best. Girls arm
     in arm parade. Boys arm in arm evaluate. New babies are
     compared and fussed over. Old people smoke, talk, shrug.
     Dickie is walking with Ripley, seething about his father's
     scheming.

                         DICKIE
               I'm never going back. To actually hire
               somebody to come all the way here to drag
               me back home - got to be insane, hasn't
               he?

     SILVANA comes out of church arm in arm with a man, her
     fiancee, as part of a foursome which includes Dickie's pal
     FAUSTO. Silvana's eyes flick towards Dickie, otherwise
     there's no acknowledgement as they all greet each other.
     Dickie introduces Tom, then they move on.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               I'm never going back!

                         RIPLEY
               No, I think your mother, her illness -

                         DICKIE
               It's got nothing to do with my mother!
               She's had leukemia for - ! This is what
               makes me boil about him! HE wants me
               back! - it's got nothing to do with my
               mother.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know, Dickie, I'm just telling
               you what I -

                         DICKIE
                   (interrupting)
               Go back!  Go back to New York or call him
               if you can find a telephone that works,
               and tell him wild horses wouldn't drag me
               back to him or his shipyard.

     EXT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, MONGIBELLO. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley appears, with his meagre luggage at Dickie's front
     door. He's carrying his tote bag under his arm, the bottom of
     which seems to be unstitched and held together only by his
     fingers. Marge is on the terrace, she looks down to see Tom
     talking with Dickie.

                         MARGE
               Hi Tom.

                         DICKIE
                   (looks up)
               Marge, Ripley's saying goodbye.

                         MARGE
               I'll come down.

                         DICKIE
                   (to Ripley)
               Did you speak to my father?

                         RIPLEY
               You were right about the telephones.
               There are no lines, there's some problem.

                         MARGE
                   (coming out of the front door)
               Hello Tom. You're off? What are your
               plans?

                         RIPLEY
               Back, I suppose, slowly as I can.

     He goes to shake her hand and as he releases the tote bag the
     seam splits and records spill to the ground, scattering. He
     bends down, starts gathering them up. Marge helps.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Oh, damn, sorry, this bag's -

     Dickie's delighted when he sees the Jazz titles.

                         DICKIE
               You like jazz!

                         RIPLEY
                   (gathering up the records)
               I love jazz.

                         DICKIE
                   (holding up a Chet Baker)
               This is the best. Marge says she likes
               jazz, but she things Glenn Miller is
               jazz.

                         MARGE
               I never said that!

                         RIPLEY
               Bird. That's jazz.

                         DICKIE
               Bird! Ask me the name of my sailboat -

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. What's the name of your
               sailboat?

                         DICKIE
               Bird!

                         MARGE
               Which is ridiculous. Boats are female,
               everyone knows you can't call a boat
               after a man.

                         RIPLEY
               He's not a man, he's a god.

                         DICKIE
                   (excited)
               Okay, we're going to Naples. There's a
               club, it's not a club, it's a cellar.

                         MARGE
               It's vile.

                         DICKIE
               Yes, it's vile. Don't worry, you don't
               have to come.
                   (to Ripley)
               It's great.  You're going to love it.

     INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.

     A cavern blue with smoke. A surprisingly good QUINTET blast
     out their version of MOANIN'. Dickie and Ripley arrive and
     make their way to a table where Fausto is sitting with
     friends. It's too noisy for conversation, but Dickie shouts
     introductions and they shake Ripley's hand.  Dickie is
     instantly absorbed in the music, Ripley absorbed in Dickie.
     An attractive Italian Girl, DAHLIA, comes over, kisses
     Dickie, pulls off his hat, puts it on, there's no room for
     her to sit, so she sits on Dickie's lap, smoking his
     cigarette.  Dickie raises his eyebrow at Tom, but it's
     clearly no hardship. Then the band strikes up the intro to Tu
     vuo' fa' L'Americano - a hit which reflects the current craze
     for all things American - and Fausto pulls a protesting Dickie
     up onto the stage.

                         FAUSTO
                   (improvising in Italian)
               Ladies and Gentlemen. Dickie Greenleaf,
               all the way from America... etc.

     Fausto starts to sing. Dickie joins in the chorus. Everybody
     claps. Dickie talks off-mic to Fausto.

                         FAUSTO (cont'd)
               And a big round of applause for a new
               friend from New York - Tom Ripley!

     Ripley's mortified, but Dickie jumps off the stage and pulls
     him up.  The song continues and now, at the chorus, it's
     Dickie and Ripley who have to sing. Ripley, of course, can
     sing well, if not confident in this arena. Soon the audience
     is clapping, standing on tables, dancing, Dahlia prominent.

                         DICKIE (O/S)
                   (reading)
               I have bumped into an old friend from
               Princeton - a fellow named Tom Ripley.
               He says he's going to haunt me until I
               agree to come back to New York with
               him...

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NOON.

     Dickie, in his new dressing gown, is sitting at the table,
     typing. Ripley's head emerges from behind the couch on which
     he has been enjoying a blissful sleep.

                         DICKIE
                   (grins)
               Good afternoon!

                         RIPLEY
               What time is it?
                   (puts on his glasses and checks
                    his watch)
               Oh God!  Do you always type your letters?
                   (points at the letter)
               That should be two Ts.

                         DICKIE
               I can't write and I can't spell.  That's
               the privilege of a first-class education.
               You're upstairs at the back. I think
               Ermelinda made the bed up.

                         RIPLEY
               This is so good of you.

                         DICKIE
               Don't say it again. Now you're a Double
               Agent and we're going to string my Dad
               alone, I was thinking we might buy a
               little car with the expense money he's
               sending you. What do you think, Marge...a
               little Cinquecento with my Dad's money?

     Marge has appeared, carrying Camparis.

                         MARGE
               Dickie, you can't even drive a car!  No,
               what we need urgently is an icebox. What
               do you think, Tom? Agree with me and I'll
               be your friend for life.

                         RIPLEY
               I absolutely agree with Marge.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE, UPSTAIRS. DAY.

     Ripley locates his room, puts down his luggage in what is a
     comfortable and simple room, then heads back downstairs only
     to be tempted by the open door of Dickie's bedroom.

     INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. DAY.

     Ripley explores the casual elegance of Dickie's bedroom - the
     Louis Vuitton chest, the closet's open door spilling out
     shirts, ties. On the dressing table there are toiletries,
     cufflinks scattered, a silk tie.  Ripley picks up the tie and
     walks towards the open window below which is a terrace where
     lunch is being laid. Marge and Dickie are chatting. Shreds of
     conversation float up to Ripley.

                         DICKIE
               It'll just be for a little while.  He can
               be... he makes me laugh.

                         MARGE
               Okay, darling.

                         DICKIE
               You'd say if you mind?

                         MARGE
               No, I like him.

                         DICKIE
               Marge, you like everybody.

                         MARGE
               I don't like you.

                         DICKIE
               Then I'll go to your place and you can
               move in with Tom.

     Above them, Ripley repeats these phrases, carefully, testing
     the cadences, No, I like him. Marge, you like everybody,
     until he's as accurate as a taperecorder.

     EXT. TERRACE OF DICKIE'S HOUSE. DAY.

     Ermelinda is clearing away lunch. Ripley is changed and
     sitting at the table with Marge while Dickie works on the
     coffee. Ripley watches him, studying everything: the way he
     uses the expresso machine, the way he wears no socks, his
     pants, his rings.

                         DICKIE
               Now you know why Miss Sherwood always
               shows up for breakfast.  It's not love
               it's the coffee machine.

                         MARGE
               It's the one task Dickie can do on his
               own - make coffee.

                         DICKIE
               Shut up.

                         MARGE
               Oh darling - is that for me?

                         DICKIE
               No it's for Tom as he didn't complain.

                         RIPLEY
                   (as Dickie hands him his cup)
               That ring's so great. The green one.

                         MARGE
                   (delighted)
               Tom, I love you!
                   (to Dickie)
               See!
                   (to Ripley)
               I bought it for him, for his birthday.

                         RIPLEY
               It's superb.

                         DICKIE
               I had to promise, capital P, never to
               take it off - otherwise I'd give it to
               you.

                         MARGE
                   (flicking a crumb at him)
               Bastard!
                   (to Ripley)
               Isn't it great, Tom? I found it in
               Naples.  I bargained for about two weeks.

                         DICKIE
               I hope it wasn't cheap.

                         MARGE
               Oh, it was.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Marge)
               I have to find a birthday present for
               Frances. Perhaps you can help me?

                         MARGE
               Frances?

                         RIPLEY
               My fiancÈe.

                         DICKIE
               You're a dark horse, Ripley. Engaged?

                         RIPLEY
               Your parents met her.

                         DICKIE
               Oh God - I can just imagine - if only
               Dickie would settle down... doesn't every
               parent deserve a grandchild?  Never! I
               swear on your ring, Marge.  I am never
               going back.

     EXT. BIRD SAILBOAT. DAY.

     The Bird is sailing off the coast of Mongibello. There's a
     manoeuvre going on with the sail.  Captain Dickie supervises
     his crew of Marge and a painfully awkward anxious-to-please
     Ripley.  Dickie goes over to help him.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?

                         DICKIE
               You're doing great. We'll make a sailor
               of you yet. You're doing really well.

                         MARGE
               Dubious but special honor, Tom - crewing
               Dickie's boat.  Alright, bar's open.

                         DICKIE
               Yes please!

     She heads for the cabin. Dickie settles down beside Ripley.

                         RIPLEY
               Could we sail to Venice?

                         DICKIE
               Sure.  I love Venice.

                         RIPLEY
               I have to go to Venice.

                         DICKIE
               See Venice and die, isn't that right? Or
               is it Rome? You do something and die,
               don't you?  Okay, Venice is on the list.

                         RIPLEY
               And Rome.

                         DICKIE
               Do you ski?
                   (Ripley frowns)
               Don't tell me - you're a lost cause!
               That's the next thing to deal with. We're
               planning to go to Cortina at Christmas.
               Excellent skiing. Excellent.
                   (as Marge reappears)
               Marge - Ripley can't ski.  We'll have to
               teach him that, too. Have you ever known
               such low class?

                         MARGE
               Poor Tom. Good thing we're not getting
               married. We might have to invite him on
               our honeymoon.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO. LATE DAY.

     Marge and Ripley are on a shopping expedition. They walk down
     the hill towards the grocery shop, next to the bar in the
     little square. Ripley has asked Marge how she and Dickie met.

                         MARGE
               Oh I hated New York - that Park Avenue
               crowd - so I fled to Paris to work on my
               book, and I was always going to this cafe
               with Jean-Jacques, and Dickie used to
               play his saxophone outside and I would
               see him and he would see me, and he would
               play My Funny Valentine. It was only
               later that I realised he only knows about
               six songs.

     They've arrived at the Grocery Store. Alessandra, the woman
     who owns the store greets them.  Silvana, who's her daughter,
     is also there, and less comfortable. She waits for Marge's
     order.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
                   (to Silvana, in Italian)
               Buono Sera, Silvana. Por favore: arance e
               pane, e del prosciutto.

                         SILVANA
               E fichi?  Come sempre?

                         MARGE
               Si.  Come sempre.  Grazie.

     Silvana goes inside for the meat and bread. Marge frowns.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
                   (back to Ripley)
               Anyway, then one day, we go in, I see
               Dickie, he starts playing My Funny
               Valentine, and then all of a sudden he
               just walks into the cafe, right in front
               of Jean-Jacques, and grabs me! Now I had
               never spoken to him in my life - he said
               I'm going to Italy, tomorrow, and I want
               you to come with me. So I did.

     At the edge of the square there's A BOCCE AREA, where men
     throw metal balls along a track, aiming to get closest to a
     small cue. Dickie is there, playing intensely with Fausto and
     two other guys, one of whom we've seen before with Silvana.
     Ripley and Marge loop back towards home, taking in the Bocce
     en route. Dickie waves. They wave back. Marge calls to him.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               If you're not at my place by 7.00, Tom
               and I are running off together.

                         DICKIE
               Okay.

     EXT. MARGE'S HOUSE. EARLY EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley are leaving.  They're fooling around.
     Dickie jumps on Ripley's shoulders. Marge watches from the
     top of the garden.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO SQUARE. EARLY EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley, still horsing about, pass Silvana's
     grocery store.  Dickie dismounts, goes over to Silvana, who's
     tense, a little troubled. They huddle, Ripley isolated.

                         SILVANA
               Did you get my message?  I want to talk
               to you.

                         DICKIE
               I want to talk to you too...Smile for me.

     And Dickie's already gone, back to Ripley feinting to box him
     then dancing, satyr-like, down the hill.

     EXT. COASTAL ROAD TO NAPLES. EVENING.

     Dickie and Ripley on the Vespa. There's a steep incline where
     the road winds down towards Naples and, as the Vespa gains
     speed, Ripley is happy to cling to Dickie.

                         DICKIE
               You're breaking my ribs!

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               You're breaking my ribs!

     INT. JAZZ CLUB, NAPLES. NIGHT.

     Ripley's really singing, carrying the burden of My Funny
     Valentine in a flawless imitation of Chet Baker. Dickie is
     playing some sax. After a verse, there's spontaneous
     applause. Dickie, impressed beams at Ripley.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. NIGHT.

     A NEW ICEBOX, incongruous in pride of place in the living
     room, casts its glow on a delighted Dickie as he pulls out a
     couple of beers, handing one to Ripley who is paging through
     his copy of the Collected Works of Shakespeare.

                         DICKIE
               I could fuck this icebox I love it so
               much.
                   (considering Ripley)
               What were you actually doing in New York?

                         RIPLEY
               I played piano in a few places.

                         DICKIE
               That's one job, you told me a lot of
               jobs.

                         RIPLEY
               A few places - that's a few jobs. Anyway,
               I don't want to think about New York.

                         DICKIE
               The mysterious Mr Ripley. Marge and I
               spend hours speculating.
                   (drinking)
               Cold beer. Thank you Dad.

                         RIPLEY
               Copy out from here...

     He hands the book to Dickie, pointing out the lines.

                         DICKIE
                   (staring to write on the back
                    of a postcard)
               I love the fact you brought Shakespeare
               with you and no clothes.  Ermelinda says
               you wash the same shirt out every night.
               Is that true?

                         RIPLEY
               No! I've got more than one shirt!

                         DICKIE
               She can do that stuff for you. Anyway,
               just wear some of my things, wear
               anything you want, most of it's ancient.
                   (he's finished writing)

                         RIPLEY
               Now your signature.
                   (watching him write)
               Not "Dickie". Your signature.

     Dickie writes his signature at the bottom of the postcard.
     Ripley studies the writing, takes off his glasses to clean
     them. Dickie looks at him.

                         DICKIE
               Without the glasses you're not even ugly.
                   (takes them, tries them on)
               I don't need them because I never read.
               How do I look.

                         RIPLEY
               Like Clark Kent.
                   (takes them back, puts them on
                    beaming at Dickie)
               Now Superman.

     Dickie cuffs him.  Ripley looks down at the postcard.

                         DICKIE
               I know. I write like a child.

                         RIPLEY
               Pretty vile. See this: The S and the T,
               do you see? - fine, vulnerable - that's
               pain, that's secret pain.

                         DICKIE
               It must be a deep secret, cause I don't
               know about it.

                         RIPLEY
               Your handwriting - nothing more naked.
               See - nothing's quite touching the line -
               that's vanity.

                         DICKIE
                   (flattered)
               Well we certainly know that's true.

     INT. DICKIE'S BATHROOM. NIGHT.

     Dickie's in the bath. Ripley, dressed, sits on the stool next
     to the bath. They're in the middle of playing chess, the
     board propped on the bath tray. Ripley puts his hand in the
     water, checking the temperature. He turns on the faucet for a
     burst of hot. Ripley is absurdly happy. He pours some wine.

                         DICKIE
               Do you have any brothers?

                         RIPLEY
               No, no brothers, no sisters.

                         DICKIE
               me neither. Nor does Marge. All only
               children - what does that mean?

     He looks at Ripley who looks at him, a little too long.

                         RIPLEY
               Means we never shared a bath.
               I'm cold. Can I get in?

                         DICKIE
               No!

                         RIPLEY
               I didn't mean with you in it.

                         DICKIE
                   (standing)
               Okay, you get in. I'm like a prune
               anyway.

     He gets out, walks past Ripley, who doesn't turn around. But
     Dickie's reflected in the mirror. Ripley looks, then Dickie
     turns, holds his look momentarily before flicking him with
     his towel.

     INT/EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, NAPLES. DAY.

     An OFFICIAL is studying Dickie's passport photograph. It's
     not a recent picture. The official looks suspicious. Dickie
     is used to it.

                         DICKIE
               It is me. It's an old picture.
                   (sighs at Ripley)
               Every time - 'is it you?  Doesn't look
               like you'.

     He's signing for his allowance. He has a smart document case
     with his initials prominently embossed.  Ripley watches him
     sign and collect a large wad of notes.

                         CLERK
               Letters - Greenleaf, and for Ripley.

     Ripley collects and studies his mail. As they walk outside he
     holds up one letter to Dickie.

                         RIPLEY
               Fran.
                   (anticipating her letter)
               I miss you, where are you coming home?
               Stop telling me what a great time you're
               having, how you love Dickie... and Marge
               and...
                   (the next letter)
               And this one, I think, is your dad...

     INT. TRAIN TO ROME. DAY.

     Ripley sits reading the LETTER from Herbert Greenleaf.  He
     frowns, stops reading, looks out of the window.

                         DICKIE
               What does he say?

                         RIPLEY
               He's getting impatient. He wants me to
               reassure him you'll be home by
               Thanksgiving.

                         DICKIE
               You've got to get a new jacket. Really.
               You must be sick of the same clothes. I'm
               sick of seeing you in them.

                         RIPLEY
               I can't. I can't keep spending your
               father's money.

                         DICKIE
               I love how responsible you are. My Dad
               should make you Chief Accountant or
               something.  Let me buy you a jacket.
               There's a great place when we get to
               Rome, Batistoni.

     Ripley loves this idea and mouths the word, "Batistoni".

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Andiamo a Roma.  We're taking Tom to
               Roma!

     EXT. ARCARI'S CAFE, PIAZZA NAVONA, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley and Dickie sit outside at a Cafe in the Piazza Navona.
     Very smart, very sophisticated, very young crowd.  There are
     already several empty coffee cups and a half empty bottle of
     Frascati.  Ripley has his guide book out and is incredibly
     impatient. Dickie, meanwhile, has stretched out for the
     duration.

                         RIPLEY
               Where do we find a carozza for the Forum,
               or can we hire any of them - ?

                         DICKIE
               Relax.

                         RIPLEY
               It's just there's so much to do in a
               single day.

                         DICKIE
               Relax. The most important question is
               where to eat. I hope Freddie made a
               reservation.

                         RIPLEY
               Freddie?

                         DICKIE
               Freddie Miles.  You know - he's
               organizing the Cortina skiing trip.

     Ripley hates the idea of having this special day invaded. A
     horn makes him look up as FREDDIE MILES illegally parks his
     open top sports car opposite the cafe, sees Dickie and
     bustles over.  He's a heavy-set American with a reddish
     crewcut. Ripley finds him disgusting to look at. Dickie is
     delighted.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Frederico!

                         FREDDIE
               Ciao bello.
                   (noticing a beautiful woman in
                    an open-topped car)
               Don't you want to fuck every woman you
               see.  Just once.

     They kiss cheeks, continental-style.

                         DICKIE
               This is Tom Ripley. Freddie Miles.

                         FREDDIE
                   (mugging)
               Hey, if I'm late, think what her
               husband's saying!

     He fills Dickie's glass with wine and drinks it standing up.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               So let's go. I got us a table outside at
               Fabrizio's.

     And Dickie's up, leaving Ripley to pick up all the tiny
     checks to work out the bill and pay it.

                         DICKIE
               I'll tell you - I am so cabin-crazy with
               Mongi.

     Freddie and Dickie link arms Italian-style and cross the
     street to Freddie's car.

                         FREDDIE
               I know.  I was there.
                   (looks back to see Ripley
                    struggling to settle the
                    check)
               Tommy!  It's S.R.O.  Two seater.
               Standing Room Only.  Chop, chop, Tommy!

     Ripley, abandoned, goes over. There's no room in the car. He
     has to crouch in the rear.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               You're going to have to sit between us.
               But don't put your shoes on the seat,
               know what I mean, put them one on top of
               the other.  Okay?

     INT. A JAZZ RECORD STORE. LATE AFTERNOON.

     This record store is hidden away down a cobbled alley, and
     stuffed with the trendiest Romans, all of whom rifle the
     stacks under a fog of cigarette smoke.  There are two
     LISTENING BOOTHS, one of which has Freddie and Dickie crammed
     into it, sharing a set of headphones.  Ripley stands outside
     the booth, holding both of their jackets like a manservant,
     while inside and behind the glass doors they chat animatedly.
     He looks longingly at the street, where the light is fading.
     Dickie catches his hangdog expression and pushes open the
     accordion doors.

                         DICKIE
               Look, Tom, we've got to go to a club and
               meet some friends of Freddie's. The best
               thing is - if you want to be a tourist -
               grab a cab and we can meet up at the
               railway station.

                         RIPLEY
                   (absolutely crestfallen)
               What club?

                         DICKIE
               Freddie's arranged it with some of the
               skiing crowd. Come if you want but I
               thought you wanted to see the Forum...?

                         RIPLEY
               I did. And then maybe get the jacket and
               what have you...

                         FREDDIE
                   (from inside the booth)
               Dick - you've got to hear this!

                         DICKIE
                   (oblivious to Ripley's pain)
               Listen, just take one of mine when we get
               back. Don't worry about it.  I did the
               Forum with Marge and, frankly, once is
               enough in anyone's life.

     Ripley hands him the coats, turns away.

                         DICKIE
               Ciao.  Have fun.

     Ripley heads for the door, then comes back, raps on the
     booth.  Dickie pushes it open.

                         RIPLEY
               You said to make sure you didn't miss the
               train. It leaves at eight.

     EXT. THE CAPITOL. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley hikes up Michelangelo's Arcoeli Steps. Then he's
     looking down from the Campodoglio at the Forum below. Then
     he's walking by the oversized fragments of the Colossus. This
     is the real Ripley, the lover of beauty, inspired by art, by
     antiquity. He's awed. He's cold. He so much wishes he weren't
     alone.

     INT. ROME RAILWAY STATION. NIGHT.

     It's past eight, Ripley stands, one foot on the guard step of
     the Naples train, waiting forlornly for Dickie, then giving
     up as the train pulls away. He pulls the door to his
     compartment closed, and sits inside the train alone.

     INT. DICKIE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

     There's music playing, Bing Crosby's "May I". Very loud.
     Ripley dances to the mirror, SPECTACLES ABANDONED and DRESSED
     AS DICKIE IN HIS TUXEDO, MINUS TROUSERS. He adjusts his hair,
     catches one of Dickie's expressions.  There are clothes
     abandoned everywhere.  He's been having a big dressing-up
     session. He sings along with Bing.

                         DICKIE (O/S)
               What are you doing?

     Ripley turns, horrified, to see Dickie standing in the
     doorway.  The music thumps away.

                         RIPLEY
               Oh - just amusing myself.  Sorry, Dickie.
                   (pause)
               I didn't think you were coming back.

     Dickie turns off the record player.

                         DICKIE
               I wish you'd get out of my clothes.

     Ripley starts undressing, his fingers clumsy with
     mortification and shock.  Dickie looks at his feet, shakes
     his head.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               Shoes too?

                         RIPLEY
                   (lame, ashamed)
               You said I could pick out a jacket and I
               just... Sorry.

                         DICKIE
               Get undressed in your own room, would
               you?

                         RIPLEY
               I thought you'd missed the train.

                         DICKIE
               Freddie drove me back in his car.

                         RIPLEY
                   (horrified)
               Is Freddie here?

                         DICKIE
               He's downstairs.

                         RIPLEY
               I was just fooling around. Don't say
               anything. Sorry.

     Dickie lets him leave and then sits amongst the debris of the
     dressing-up session, not amused.

     EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. DAY.

     Ripley comes down, apprehensive, to find Marge and Dickie and
     Freddie having a jolly breakfast on the terrace. Dickie looks
     perfectly happy.

                         MARGE
               Hi, Tom.  Come join us.

                         FREDDIE
               I want this job of yours, Tommy. I was
               just saying - You live in Italy, sleep in
               Dickie's house, eat Dickie's food, wear
               his clothes, and his father picks up the
               tab. If you get bored, let me know, I'll
               do it!

     EXT. THE OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DAY.

     The boat is drifting.  Freddie and Dickie and Marge are
     swimming, then Marge climbs back onto the boat, where Ripley
     is sitting alone, reading.

                         MARGE
               You really should go in, it's marvellous.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm fine.

     She approaches him, conscious of his isolation. She's in a
     red bikini, and she towels herself dry as they speak.

                         MARGE
               Are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               Sure.

     They watch Dickie and Freddie fooling around in the water.

                         MARGE
               The thing with Dickie - it's like the sun
               shines on you and it's glorious, then he
               forgets you and it's very very cold.

                         RIPLEY
               So I'm learning.

                         MARGE
               He's not even aware of it. When you've
               got his attention you feel like you're
               the only person in the world. That's why
               everybody loves him. Other times...

     There's a yell from Dickie as Freddie wrestles with him.

                         DICKIE
                   (laughing and choking)
               He's drowning me!

                         MARGE
               It's always the same whenever someone new
               comes into his life - Freddie, Fausto,
               Peter Smith-Kingsley - he's wonderful -
               did you meet him, he's a musician? -
               ... and especially you, of course... and
               that's only the boys.

     They watch as Freddie pushes Dickie under the surface.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               Tell me, why is it when men play they
               always play at killing each other...?
               I'm sorry about Cortina by the way.

                         RIPLEY
               What about Cortina?

                         MARGE
               Didn't Dick say? - he talked to
               Freddie... apparently it's not going to
               work out -
                   (Ripley's devastated, Marge
                    notices, can't look at him)
               Freddie says there aren't enough rooms.

     EXT. OCEAN, ABOARD THE BIRD. DUSK.

     LATER and now the boat is sailing again. Ripley is sitting in
     his spot. Dickie and Freddie are at the tiller.

                         DICKIE
               Come on, Frederico, do you really have
               to go back?  At least stick around for
               the Festival of the Madonna.

                         FREDDIE
               I don't think so. Come back with me to
               Rome. There's this great new club.  Have
               some drinks, lotta ladies...

     Marge, still in her bikini, disappears into the cabin. Dickie
     makes a face at Freddie.

                         DICKIE
               Do you think you can steer this thing?

                         FREDDIE
               Sure.

                         DICKIE
               Just point her at Capri and avoid the
               rocks.

                         FREDDIE
               What are you doing?

                         DICKIE
               Marge-maintenance.

                         FREDDIE
               Aye, aye.

     Dickie heads towards the cabin. Freddie takes over the
     tiller. There's a breeze and the sailboat cuts through the
     water.

     From where Ripley sits he can see Capri in the distance, but
     he can also look down into the cabin, its porthole offering
     him a restricted view.  He looks down and there's a flash of
     flesh, then nothing.  Then as the boat swings with the waves,
     he glimpses the bikini top flung over a chair, and then
     Marge's bare foot kicking out rhythmically, the red-painted
     toes straining.  Ripley's mesmerized, aroused, and absolutely
     betrayed.

                         FREDDIE (cont'd)
               Tommy - How's the peeping? Come on Tommy,
               you were looking.  Tommy Tommy Tommy.

     Shamed, Ripley looks away. He stares at the water, parting
     before the boat, its turmoil reflecting his.

     EXT. DICKIE'S MOORING. DAY.

     The Bird returns to the mooring by Dickie's House.  Dickie as
     ever Captain of the Ship, clambering around, shouting
     instructions, with Ripley, Marge and Freddie as crew.  Ripley
     looks back at shore. Silvana stands watching, staring.
     Dickie notices her too.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO SLIPWAY. LATE DAY.

     A WOMAN'S HEAD suddenly breaks the surface of the water.

     It's a statue of the Virgin Mary, life size, adorned with
     flowers and a lace veil.  As she is revealed, wooden,
     staring, four men emerge, lifting the statue on a palette,
     wading towards the shore, the Madonna aloft on their
     shoulders.

     The whole town of Mongibello is in attendance for this Annual
     Festival of the Madonna del Mare, either standing in their
     fishing boats, or on shore and flanking the Parish Priest and
     altar boys and incense. RIPLEY, DICKIE and MARGE watch from
     Dickie's terrace. There are hymns and, as the statue is
     carried to the shore, the men's heads barely above the waves,
     the congregation applauds at the illusion that the Madonna is
     walking on water.

     Suddenly ANOTHER HEAD appears on the surface of the water,
     about fifty yards from the statue. There's a scream from
     among the crowd as someone notices the body. It's SILVANA.
     One of the MEN carrying the statue turns first towards the
     direction of the scream and then towards the floating corpse.
     It's Silvana's fiancee, and in a second he has let go of the
     palette, CAUSING IT TO TOPPLE, and - in absolute grief -
     wades, swims, splashes towards the body.

     PANDEMONIUM in the crowd, which breaks up, with other people
     splashing, fully clothed, into the water. From the terrace,
     Ripley turns and looks at Dickie, catching his eye.

     EXT. DICKIE'S TERRACE. LATE DAY.

     Marge and Ripley and Dickie watch from the terrace as below
     them an AMBULANCE takes away the body. It seems as if the
     whole town looks on - fiancee, parents, brothers, sisters,
     police, priest, etc. As the corpse is loaded into the vehicle
     A BRIEF SCUFFLE occurs between Silvana's fiancee and her
     brother. They are pulled apart. Then the ambulance pulls
     away.

                         RIPLEY
               What's the fight about? That's her
               fiancÈ, isn't it?  Are they blaming him?

                         DICKIE
                   (sharp)
               I don't know! Why are you asking me?
                   (agitated)
               How can it take an hour to find an
               ambulance?

                         MARGE
                   (conciliatory)
               Well, she was already dead, darling,
               wasn't she, so I suppose -

                         DICKIE
               I don't know why people say this
               country's civilised. It isn't. It's
               fucking primitive.

     And with that HE KICKS OUT VIOLENTLY AT A CHAIR SUPPORTING
     THE RECORDPLAYER. Records, machine, chair go flying across
     the terrace. Dickie storms inside.

                         MARGE
               Dickie!

                         RIPLEY
               I'll go and see what's the matter.

                         MARGE
               I'll go.

     INT. DICKIE'S HOUSE. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Later, Dickie is slumped in an armchair at the open window
     overlooking the slipway. He's playing sax. A forlorn, keening
     phrase from YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT LOVE IS. Ripley appears,
     begins tidying the mess in the living room.  He picks up
     empty bottles, an abandoned bikini top.

                         RIPLEY
               I know why you're upset.
                   (Dickie continues playing)
               I know about Silvana, Dickie. About you
               and Silvana.

     Dickie stops playing.

                         DICKIE
               What about us?

     He now has an armful of dishes and glasses and bottles.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
                   (losing his temper)
               You don't have to clean up! Really!

     Ripley disappears into the kitchen.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
                   (as Ripley returns)
               She was pregnant. Did you know that? Do
               you know what that means in a place like
               this?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm prepared to take the blame.

                         DICKIE
               What are you talking about?

                         RIPLEY
               You've been so good to me. You're the
               brother I never had. I'm the brother you
               never had.

                         DICKIE
               She came to me for help, she needed
               money, and I didn't help her. I didn't
               help her. Now she's dead and it's my
               fault.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm not going to say anything - to Marge,
               or anybody, the police - It's a secret
               between us and I'll keep it.

     And he disappears again, leaving Dickie to resume the sax,
     somehow in thrall to Ripley.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               Dear Tom, I think the time has come to
               discontinue your expense checks...

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, NAPLES. DAY.

     Ripley and Dickie are walking out of the American Express
     Office, Dickie pushing the rest of his money into his case,
     Ripley - despondent - reading aloud extracts from a letter
     from Herbert Greenleaf -

                         RIPLEY
               ...The thousand dollars, of course, was
               only due in the event that you succeeded
               in bringing Dickie home. Naturally, I
               hope the trip has afforded you some
               pleasure despite the failure of its main
               objective you need no longer consider
               yourself obligated to us in any way...

                         DICKIE
               You can't blame him.  You could hardly
               expect this to go on forever.

                         RIPLEY
               I thought you might write again. Now that
               we're brothers...

                         DICKIE
               I can't, how can I, in all decency? We've
               had a good run, haven't we?

                         RIPLEY
                   (increasingly miserable)
               What about Venice? Can we stick to that
               plan at least?

                         DICKIE
               I don't think so, Tom. You can't stay on
               here without money.  It's time we all
               moved on.  Besides I'm sick of Mongi.
               Especially now with everything - I really
               want to move to the North. I need to
               check out San Remo next week, find
               somewhere new to keep the boat.
               But it would be great, though, if you
               came with me.  Our last trip before you
               leave. There's a jazz festival - we could
               say goodbye in style.  What do you think?
               A last trip?

     INT. TRAIN TO SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.

     Dickie and Ripley travel up to San Remo. They sit next to
     each other. Dickie's asleep. Ripley lays his head on Dickie's
     shoulder, but as he does that, the ticket inspector announces
     the San Remo stop, taps on the window and Dickie stirs. Then
     Ripley plays his familiar game of studying his face in the
     reflection of the train window, so that he can move his head
     and see his reflection, then back and see Dickie's.  Dickie
     suddenly catches him staring. Ripley looks away.

                         DICKIE
                   (terse)
               Why do you do that thing - with your
               neck? On trains you always do that thing,
               it's so spooky.

     EXT. HOTEL TERRACE RESTAURANT, SAN REMO. NIGHT.

     Dickie and Ripley walk through the terrace of an hotel which
     lips out towards the sea. There's a restaurant and palms and
     a JAZZ QUINTET playing, American. Very cool. They pass the
     band. Dickie's captivated as they head for their table. They
     pass some girls at a table. Dickie smiles greedily.

                         DICKIE
               This is more like it. Didn't I tell you
               San Remo was crazy!

     They're shown to a good table. Dickie watches the band while
     their glasses are filled with champagne. Ripley looks happy.
     He's got Dickie all to himself.

                         RIPLEY
               To Mongibello and the happiest days of my
               life.

                         DICKIE
               To Mongi.  You're cheerful tonight.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm suddenly quite happy to be going
               back.

                         DICKIE
               That's good.

                         RIPLEY
               I've got plans!

                         DICKIE
               Ripley's plans.

                         RIPLEY
               Esatto. I'm always planning.

                         DICKIE
               Did I know you at Princeton, Tom? I
               didn't, did I?

                         RIPLEY
               Why are you asking all of a sudden?

                         DICKIE
               No reason. Because you're leaving, I
               guess. I don't think you were there, were
               you?

                         RIPLEY
               Why?

                         DICKIE
               I mean it as a compliment. You've got
               such great taste, I don't know. Most of
               the thugs at Princeton had tasted
               everything and had no taste. Used to say,
               the cream of America: rich and thick.
               Freddie's the perfect example.

                         RIPLEY
               Then I'll take it as a compliment.

                         DICKIE
               I knew it! I had a bet with Marge!

                         RIPLEY
                   (a beat)
               Ha.

                         DICKIE
               Do you even like jazz - or was that
               something for my benefit?

                         RIPLEY
                   (conceding, without guile)
               I've gotten to like it. I've gotten to
               like everything about the way you live.
               It's one big love affair. If you knew my
               life back home in New York...

     Dickie's distracted by the drummer who's playing an extrovert
     solo, doesn't hear the confession of love.

                         DICKIE
               I'm thinking of giving up the sax, what
               do you think about drums?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               So cool.

     He mimes a high-hat and snare. Ripley can't quite credit this
     - it's superficiality.

     EXT. MID OCEAN. DAY.

     The bay of San Remo. DICKIE and RIPLEY have hired a motor 
     boat.

                         DICKIE
               That's how I found my place in Mongi.
               Took a boat out round the bay.  The first
               place I liked, I got it.

     The motor boat is ploughing the waves. Dickie exhilarated by
     the speed.

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie, slow down, come on!

     Ripley grips the oar, his knuckles white. Dickie cuts the
     motor, and the boat slows to a crawl, miles from the shore.

                         DICKIE
                   (ecstatic)
               I love it here! Gonna live here!

     Dickie takes off his jacket, then drums against the edge of
     the boat, developing a rhythm with his lighter and fingers,
     already on the way to becoming Buddy Rich.

                         RIPLEY
               I wanted to tell you my plan.

                         DICKIE
               So tell me.

                         RIPLEY
               I thought I might come back. In the New
               Year. Under my own steam.

                         DICKIE
                   (suddenly tight)
               Really?  To Italy?

                         RIPLEY
               Of course. Let's say, for argument's
               sake, you were here - perhaps we could
               split the rent on a house - I'll get a
               job - or, better still, I could get a
               place in Rome and when we're there we
               could be there and if we're here we could
               be here -

                         DICKIE
               Oh God, I don't think so.

                         RIPLEY
               - you see, particularly with the Marge
               problem, you can just blame me.

                         DICKIE
               Marge and I are getting married.

                         RIPLEY
                   (appalled)
               How?

                         DICKIE
               How?

                         RIPLEY
               Yesterday you're ogling girls on the
               terrace, today you're getting married.
               It's absurd.

                         DICKIE
               I love Marge.

                         RIPLEY
               You love me and you're not marrying me.

                         DICKIE
                   (cold)
               Tom, I don't love you.

                         RIPLEY
               No, no, it's not a threat, I've explained
               all of that.

                         DICKIE
               I'm actually a little relieved you're
               going, to be honest. I think we've seen
               enough of each other for a while.

     Ripley stares at him, his eyes suddenly reptilian.

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         DICKIE
               You can be a leech - you know this - and
               it's boring. You can be quite boring.

                         RIPLEY
                   (volcanic)
               The funny thing - I'm not pretending to
               be somebody else and you are. I'm
               absolutely honest with you. I've told you
               my feelings. But you, first of all I know
               there's something - that evening when we
               played chess, for instance, it was
               obvious -

                         DICKIE
                   (incredulous)
               What evening?

                         RIPLEY
               Sure - I know, that's too dangerous for
               you, fair enough, hey! we're brothers,
               fine, then you do this sordid thing with
               Marge, fucking her on the boat while we
               all have to listen, which was
               excruciating, frankly, plus you follow
               your cock around like a - and now you're
               getting married! I'm bewildered, forgive
               me...you're lying to Marge then getting
               married to her, you're knocking up
               Silvana, you've got to play sax, you've
               got to play drums, which is it, Dickie,
               what do you really play?

     Dickie, furious, gets up, and lurches towards Ripley.

                         DICKIE
                   (attacking him, administering
                    tiny slaps as punctuation to
                    his tirade)
               Who are you - some imposter, some third
               class mooch - who are you to tell me
               anything? Actually, I really really
               really don't want to be on this boat with
               you, I can't move without you moving,
               which is exactly how it feels and it
               gives me the creeps.
                   (he goes to rev up the engine)
               I can't move without - "Dickie, Dickie,
               Dickie" - like a little girl.  You give
               me the -

     RIPLEY SMASHES HIM ACROSS THE HEAD WITH THE OAR. DICKIE SLIPS
     OFF THE WOODEN SEAT, HIS EYES ROLLING IN GROGGY SURPRISE.

                         RIPLEY
               Shut up! Just shut up! Just shut up!

     The boat slows as Dickie releases the tiller.  Dickie looks
     up at Ripley wearily and slides onto his back.

                         DICKIE
               For God's sake.

     Ripley, shocked at himself, goes to Dickie, rocking the boat,
     catches him up, then is horrified to see Dickie's face,
     apparently unmarked, SUDDENLY SPLIT OPEN, a line of blood and
     then a peeling like a fruit bursting. Ripley's appalled.  A
     terrible roar issues from Dickie as he launches himself at
     Ripley.

                         DICKIE (cont'd)
               I'll kill you!

     Ripley finds himself pushing him away, picking up the oar,
     kicking off Dickie's hand around his ankle. The boat is
     rocking and swerving crazily as Dickie falls against the
     tiller. Ripley almost loses his balance. His glasses come
     off. They struggle, locked together in a life or death
     wrestle to get control of the oar. Dickie's blinded by his
     own blood, loses his grip.

     Ripley, terrified, hits Dickie again and again, the oar like
     a carpet-beater banging down flat, blood on the blade, blood
     on Ripley, until he's on his knees, heaving for breath,
     letting his arm drop, then realizing, disgusted, that he's
     let it rest in a pool of blood. He starts to sob, sprawls
     there, sobbing, next to Dickie, horrified by what he's done.

     Nobody's in sight.  The boat rocks, gently, the sun sparkling
     indifferently on the waves.  Ripley lies by Dickie in the
     bottom of the boat, in the embrace he's always wanted.

     The pretty blue-and-white boat rocks peacefully.  The sea
     calms.

     EXT. A COVE NEAR SAN REMO. AFTERNOON.

     A deserted cove, several miles along the coast. Ripley
     clambers onto a rock over the shore.  He's watching the boat
     slowly sinking. Shuddering from the exertion, the cold, he
     finds Dickie's jacket, puts it on and watches as the boat
     disappears under the surface.

     EXT. SAN REMO. DUSK.

     Ripley walks back towards the hotel, still wearing Dickie's
     jacket, cold and wet, his bag over his shoulder.

     INT. HOTEL LOBBY. EARLY EVENING.

     Ripley approaches the front desk.  He's shivering.  He's not
     wearing his glasses.

                         RIPLEY
               Can I have my key, please?

                         RECEPTIONIST
                   (at the key rack)
               Of course - But you must be very cold?
               Signor Greenleaf?  Yes? -

                         RIPLEY
                   (mind racing)
               No, it's - I'm...

     EXT. ROAD BETWEEN NAPLES AND MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley sits on the bus as it rumbles towards Mongi.  He
     stares out of the window, full of what he's done. No idea
     what to do.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, FISHERMAN'S WHARF. DAY.

     The BUS comes into town. Ripley gets out, looks calm, very
     together.

     INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM, MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley walks into the living room, slowly approaches
     Dickie's saxophone which is on its stand on the table.  He
     can't get close to it, it evokes Dickie too much.

     INT. DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. DAY.

     Ripley has Dickie's Hermes Baby typewriter on the desk and is
     busy writing letters. He has finished a letter to the
     Greenleafs, now he's at the end of one to Marge. We can read
     part of it - C/O American Express, Rome 9 November 1958. Dear
     Marge, this is a difficult letter for me to write... Ripley
     produces the Shakespeare and Signature page and COPIES
     DICKIE'S SIGNATURE at the end of the letter.

     EXT. MARGE'S GARDEN, MONGIBELLO. DAY.

     Ripley stands at the entrance to Marge's garden where she is
     working at her book on the outside table, surrounded by
     references and notes, held down by bricks. He looks at her
     until she looks at him. She's startled, gasps.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Marge.

                         MARGE
               Tom, you startled me!  You're back.

                         RIPLEY
               How are you? Sorry. Is your book going
               well?

                         MARGE
               Yes - I'm on a good streak, thanks.

                         RIPLEY
               I was just looking at you -
                   (looking at her tenderly)
               - so quiet.

                         MARGE
               Where's Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               I think he's planning on staying in Rome
               for a few days.

                         MARGE
                   (looks at him)
               Ha. Did he say why?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. I don't understand Dickie,
               Marge, so your guess is as good as mine.

                         MARGE
               What does that mean?

                         RIPLEY
               Well, one day I'm invited skiing, the
               next day I'm not, one day we're all one
               family, the next day he wants to be
               alone. You tell me.

                         MARGE
               Is that what he said - he wanted to be
               alone?

                         RIPLEY
               He was thinking of you, Marge - he asked
               me to deliver this.

     He hands her a package. She pulls at it, it's perfume.

                         MARGE
               Thanks. he knows I love this, although
               why it couldn't have waited...

                         RIPLEY
               Errand number one - deliver Marge's
               perfume. Errand number two, pack some
               clothes and his precious saxophone.

                         MARGE
                   (alarmed)
               How long's he staying for?

                         RIPLEY
               Search me. I guess we're abandoned.

     EXT. MONGIBELLO, BEACH. EARLY MORNING.

     Marge is walking along the beach and out onto the jetty,
     forlorn, a bleached figure on this winter morning.

     INT. OFF FROM DICKIE'S LIVING ROOM. MORNING.

     As Ripley walks down the stairs, Marge is at the icebox in
     the living room. She's fixing herself a drink, has the icebox
     open for ice. She's ashen, and might have been weeping, walks
     back into the kitchen area.

                         MARGE
               There was a letter from Dickie in with my
               perfume. You realize it's more than a few
               days? He's thinking of moving to Rome.

     She bangs out the ice onto the counter, cubes falling
     everywhere. Ripley drops to the floor and starts to clear
     them up.  She's got the letter, shows it to Ripley. He puts
     fresh ice into her glass.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               The thing is, the night before he left,
               we talked about moving, together, going
               North - and I suppose I put some pressure
               on him, about getting married, I just
               might have scared him off. There's a side
               to him, when our heads are on the pillow,
               I know no-one else sees it, which is
               really tender.
                   (unravelling)
               I think I should come with you to Rome
               and just confront him.

     Ripley lights a cigarette.  Marge loses confidence.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               He hates being confronted.

                         RIPLEY
               I think you're right.

     INT. ALBERGO GOLDONI, ROME. DAY.

     RIPLEY'S BATTERED CASES are carried into the tiny lobby of
     this small hotel. He exchanges his passport at the desk for
     his room key, then makes his way, carrying his own luggage to
     the metal cage elevator. THIS SCENE INTERCUTS WITH:

     INT. HOTEL GRAND. DAY.

     DICKIE'S ARRAY OF LEATHER LUGGAGE is pulled along on a 
     baggage trolley by a liveried PORTER.

     Dickie's passport slides across the marble desk. A key comes
     back, collected by a hand sporting Dickie's two distinctive
     rings.  As ALDO, the Front Desk Manager, inspects the
     passport, he looks at the owner.  Ripley wears a terrific
     suit, his hair parted in the Greenleaf style, no glasses. His
     voice, when he speaks, has the same, lazy, confident drawl.

                         ALDO
               Welcome back, Signor Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
                   (walking away)
               Thank you.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. DAY.

     The PORTER takes the cases and opens them as Ripley walks
     around the suite. It's large and splendid. Ripley breathes in
     its opulence.  He immediately picks up the telephone.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, I'd like you to telephone the Hotel
               Goldoni. Yes. I want to speak to Signor
               Thomas Ripley - No Ripley, R, yes.
               Grazie.

     He produces Dickie's pen and signs the blotter quickly - H R
     Greenleaf.  Then he pulls out a postcard from the writing
     case to reveal Dickie's Stars, hide your fires handwriting
     specimen. He compares the two signatures, is pleased.

     The telephone rings.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Pronto? Signor Ripley is not there? I'd
               like to leave a message. Yes. Please call
               Dickie - Dickie Greenleaf - at the Grand.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOTEL ROOM, GOLDONI. DAY.

     A tiny, cell of a room, single bed. Ripley on the phone.

                         RIPLEY
               He's not there?  Very well. I'll leave a
               message - Got your call. Dinner tonight
               sounds fine. Ripley.
                   (listens as it's read back)
               Dinner tonight, yes, is okay. Yes, thank
               you.

     INT. GUCCI STORE, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley has bought some more LEATHER GOODS - a briefcase and
     overnight bag. He is at the counter, signing checks.

                         RIPLEY
               I'd like these to have my initials -
               embossed, I don't know the word in
               Italian ...embossed?

                         GUCCI ASSISTANT
               Embossed, of course, Signor Greenleaf.

     There's an excited rap on the window and a shout of DICKIE!
     Shocked, Ripley looks over to find MEREDITH LOGUE outside,
     alone and delighted to see him.  He grins and mouths hello.

                         MEREDITH
                   (entering the shop)
               Dickie! Oh my God!  Ciao.

     EXT. ACROSS PIAZZA NAVONA TO ARCARI'S CAFE. DAY.

     Ripley and Meredith walk across the Piazza towards the cafe.

                         MEREDITH
               But you're going skiing with us Yankees,
               aren't you?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MEREDITH
               At Christmas. To Cortina with Freddie
               Miles and -

                         RIPLEY
                   (interrupting, astonished)
               How did you know that?

                         MEREDITH
               Everybody knows Freddie Miles.

                         RIPLEY
                   (unsettled)
               Is Freddie in Rome?

                         MEREDITH
               Now? I don't think so. But I've met him,
               of course, and we've chatted and I know
               about you and Marge and Mongi and what an
               unreliable rat you are. Freddie said you
               were a rat and I thought to myself now I
               know why he travels under R.

                         RIPLEY
               I've left Marge, Meredith. And Mongi. So
               the rat's here now, in Rome.

                         MEREDITH
               Sorry, I wouldn't have made a joke if -

                         RIPLEY
               Don't be sorry. I've never been happier.
               I feel like I've been handed a new life.

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.

     Meredith and Ripley walk down the Spanish Steps and head
     inside the office.

                         MEREDITH
               The truth is if you've had money your
               entire life, even if you despise it,
               which we do - agreed? - you're only truly
               comfortable around other people who have
               it and despise it.

                         RIPLEY
               I know.

                         MEREDITH
               I've never admitted that to anyone.

     INT. AMERICAN EXPRESS OFFICE, ROME. DAY.

     Ripley's signing Dickie's allowance receipt. Meredith is with
     him, signing her own counterfoil. He is, of course, endorsed
     by her presence.  She goes to the window ahead of him.

     She takes her money, turns to him.

     He hands over his documents. The Clerk compares Ripley's
     signature with the one on the passport and then looks up at
     him. Ripley is cool as a cucumber.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't want too many large bills. Nobody
               will change them.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SUITE, GRAND. ANOTHER DAY.

     Where A TAILOR is finishing the fitting of a cashmere jacket
     for Ripley. Bolts of cloth everywhere as Meredith adjudicates
     the possible materials, which the tailor holds up against
     Ripley.

                         MEREDITH
               Show me the other one again.
                   (the Tailor obliges)
               I like them both.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll take them both.

     Ripley goes inside the bedroom to change. While he's inside,
     Meredith shows the Tailor out.  As she returns she notices
     the open sax case, peers inside.

                         MEREDITH (O/S)
               I know you're a jazz fiend but do you
               absolutely hate the Opera?  I've been
               trying to give my tickets away, it's
               tomorrow, but if you were prepared to be
               dragged...

     She looks up to catch him bare-chested. She's intoxicated by
     him, the romance she feels to be in the air.

                         RIPLEY
                   (emerging)
               You could drag me.

     INT. THE OPERA HOUSE, ROME.

     On stage is Act Two of Eugene Onegin.  Lensky sings his aria
     before the duel with Onegin.

     Ripley's in a tuxedo, in a box which includes a glamorous
     Meredith and her AUNT AND UNCLE.  He knows what comes next.
     Lensky is shot by Onegin. Blood pours from his neck into the
     snow.  Onegin, horrified at the death of his friend, goes
     over, wraps Lensky in his cloak, the silk lining flashing,
     kneels holding him... Ripley can barely hide his emotion...
     Meredith watches her sensitive friend, entranced.

     INT. OUTSIDE THE BOXES, OPERA HOUSE, ROME.

     The Interval.  Ripley and Meredith exit their box with
     Meredith's Aunt and Uncle (who heads for the interval
     drinks).

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks so much for inviting me tonight.

                         JOAN
               Can you bear it?  We hear you're a friend
               of Freddie's - he has I hate Opera
               tattooed on his chest.

                         RIPLEY
               There's room for a whole libretto on
               Freddie's chest.

                         JOAN
                   (laughs)
               I'm sure we've met.

     They reach the console where Uncle Ted has their drinks.

                         JOAN (cont'd)
               I was sure we'd met, weren't you, Ted?
               This is Herbert Greenleaf's boy.

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks, yes, I think we did.

                         JOAN
               One minute you people are children and
               the next you're getting tattooed.

     INT. OPERA HOUSE, FOYER. NIGHT.

     Ripley heads past the Beautiful People on his hunt for the
     Men's Room, and walks straight into a young and cultured
     Englishman.  They greet each other and suddenly MARGE is
     beside them.

                         MARGE
                   (as if she's seen a ghost)
               Oh my God. Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, how are you? What are you doing in
               Rome?

                         MARGE
               Is he here? Are you with Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               No.
                   (to Smith-Kingsley)
               Hello, I'm Tom Ripley.

                         PETER
               Peter Smith-Kingsley. I've heard about
               you, of course - from Marge, and Dickie.

                         MARGE
                   (works out what's strange)
               No glasses.

     He fishes out the glasses.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Peter)
               Ditto.

                         PETER
               Where are you hiding him? He's
               impossible, isn't he?

                         MARGE
               Is he really not here?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, you know Dickie has I hate Opera
               tattooed on his chest.

                         MARGE
               You were going to Venice.

                         PETER
               Yes, what happened? I heard you were
               desperate to come. I was looking forward
               to rowing you around.

                         RIPLEY
               I am.  I really am. And I've been
               travelling. I just can't seem to get that
               far north.

                         PETER
               Well hurry, before we sink.
                   (reaches into his jacket)
               Should I give you my telephone number in
               Venice?

                         RIPLEY
               Thanks.

     The INTERVAL BELL'S ringing. Peter hands over his card to
     Ripley, sees Meredith.

                         PETER
               Look there's Meredith thingy - who's
               that, Marge? - they're in textiles...
               Meredith -
                   (embarrassed at not
                    remembering)
               God, how awful, I've spent Christmas in
               her house...!

                         MARGE
               I don't know her.
                   (to Ripley)
               He hasn't called, he's hardly written,
               just these cryptic notes. You don't just
               dump people.

     The last INTERVAL BELL. There's a mini-stampede to return.

                         PETER
               Will we see you later?

                         RIPLEY
               I can't later.

                         PETER
               And tomorrow?

                         RIPLEY
               Tomorrow's possible. Do you know
               Dinelli's? Piazza di Spagna?

                         PETER
               I know the Piazza di Spagna. What time?

                         RIPLEY
               Ten thirty?

                         PETER
               We'll be there.

                         RIPLEY
               Okay. Marge, see you tomorrow.
                   (to Peter)
               It's really good to meet you.

     INT. BOX, OPERA HOUSE. NIGHT.

     Ripley goes straight to Meredith and grabs her.

                         RIPLEY
               Let's go.

                         MEREDITH
               I thought you were enjoying yourself?

                         RIPLEY
               Let's take a Carozza and look at the
               moon.

                         MEREDITH
               You're crazy! It's freezing out there.

     He's looking past her, where a mirror reflects Marge wading
     through the audience, Peter's elegant head getting
     dangerously near as they approach their seats.

                         RIPLEY
               C'mon, I need to talk to you. Just the
               two of us.

                         MEREDITH
                   (quite taken)
               Okay then, you're crazy.

     EXT. CAROZZA, ROME. NIGHT.

     Meredith shivers in the raw night as they cross the Tiber.
     Ripley as Dickie is confessing his heart belongs to Marge.

                         MEREDITH
               Don't worry. Really. Don't worry.

                         RIPLEY
               You're such a pal to understand. It's as
               if Marge is here now - I look at you and
               I see her face - and I can't, whatever
               I'm feeling towards you - I just can't...

                         MEREDITH
               No, I absolutely understand. Of course.

                         RIPLEY
               Otherwise you'd be fighting me off.

                         MEREDITH
               Beating you away.

     EXT. MEREDITH'S APARTMENT, ROME.

     They arrive at the courtyard outside Meredith's Apartment
     Building. Ripley jumps down, collects her. She makes to go
     inside, then looks at him.

                         MEREDITH
               Will you meet me tomorrow?  Just to say
               goodbye in the daylight, properly? So
               it's not just this, it's too...you should
               always save pain for daylight...

                         RIPLEY
               Oh Meredith, I'm sorry. Of course I'll
               meet you. Let's have coffee in the
               morning at Dinelli's.

                         MEREDITH
                   (fluttering)
               I don't - is that by the Spanish Steps?

                         RIPLEY
               Exactly. 10.30 -
                   (instantly correcting himself)
               10.15.

     He gets back into the carozza. It moves off.

     EXT. DINELLI'S CAFE, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. MORNING.

     Meredith sits waiting in a cafe at the bottom of the Spanish
     Steps. Ripley, dressed as Ripley, is at the top of the steps,
     among early tourists, watching as she drinks her coffee at an
     outside table. Then Marge and Peter appear walking up the Via
     Condotti, head for another table, don't see Meredith.  She
     acknowledges Peter who hasn't noticed her.

                         MEREDITH
               Peter? Hello, it's Meredith Logue.

                         PETER
               Of course it is, Meredith, hello, I'm
               sorry, half-asleep, how are you? This is
               Marge Sherwood. Meredith Logue.

                         MARGE
               Hello.

     Hearing Marge's name Meredith reacts, freezes.

                         PETER
               Join us, won't you? We're just waiting
               for a friend. Do you know, I wonder did
               we see you at the Opera last night?

                         MEREDITH
               I won't actually, although I think this
               might - are you waiting for Dickie?

                         PETER
               Well no, as it happens, although...

                         MARGE
                   (stunned at the mention of his
                    name)
               Dickie? Do you know Dickie?

                         MEREDITH
               You were at the Opera? Well, that
               explains - yes I was there. I was there
               with Dickie.

                         MARGE
                   (to Peter)
               I told you! I knew it!

                         MEREDITH
                   (moving over to them)
               Marge, I don't know you, so I have no
               right, but Dickie loves you.  He's - I
               think you'll find he's coming home to
               you.

                         MARGE
                   (proprietorial)
               How would you know that?

                         MEREDITH
               He told me everything. I was supposed to
               meet him fifteen minutes ago, so I...I'm
               going to go now, I think. Unless he meant
               us to meet - which would be a little
               cruel, wouldn't it?

                         PETER
               No, we're meeting another friend. Tom
               Ripley.

                         MARGE
               Do you know Tom?

                         MEREDITH
               Ripley? No. I heard about him, of course,
               but no, I didn't meet him.

     The WAITER has arrived to take orders. Meredith indicates
     she's leaving.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               Not for me. No, grazie.

     Marge is on the edge. Peter lays a hand to comfort her.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               I hope I didn't complicate matters, but
               nothing, nothing untoward happened,
               nothing to prevent you from welcoming him
               back, from marrying him...Goodbye.
               Goodbye Peter, please don't get up.

     Peter gets up. Ripley, from his vantage point at the top of
     the steps, watches Meredith leave and walk off into the
     crowd. He begins the slow walk down towards the square. As he
     becomes visible to the cafe, he starts to hurry. He's
     apologising to Marge and Peter as they see him, in his
     element, lying and believing in his lie.

                         RIPLEY
               Sorry, sorry. Had to renew my papers.
               Italian bureaucracy - never one stamp
               when they can make you line up for three.
               Have you been waiting long?

                         PETER
               Not at all. Morning Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Hi.
                   (to Marge)
               Sorry. You okay? You look as if you've
               seen a ghost...

                         MARGE
               Dickie was at the Opera last night.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't believe it. Wild horses wouldn't
               drag Dickie to -

                         MARGE
               He was there with someone. So I suppose
               she must have dragged him - that's not
               fair.  I'm going back to Mongi. I think
               Dickie's coming home.
                   (to Peter)
               I'm going to go home.

                         RIPLEY
               Really? That's swell. No, I was just -
               you're way ahead of me! Great!

                         PETER
               We think he's had a change of heart.
                   (to Marge)
               So we should be celebrating.

                         MARGE
               I hope so.

                         PETER
                   (to Marge)
               That was moving, wasn't it? When Meredith
               said -
                   (to Ripley)
               Meredith's the American girl I saw last
               night, I know her, at the Opera, she's
               been seeing something of Dickie -

                         RIPLEY
               My God.

                         PETER
               But the point is Dickie - well we know
               this - Dickie loves Marge and he misses
               her and apparently he's come to his
               senses...

                         RIPLEY
               It's fantastic.
                   (to Peter)
               I feel guilty. Marge doesn't understand
               this, but anytime Dickie does something I
               feel guilty.

     INT. APARTMENT, PALAZZA GIOIA. DAY.

     Ripley is being shown an APARTMENT FOR RENT in the Palazzo
     Gioia by a dry-witted older woman, SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
     explores, relishing the decor.

                         SIGNORA BUFFI
               Accendo il riscaldamento.
               (I'll turn the heating on.)

                         RIPLEY
                   (mimes playing sax)
               Mi piace suonare.
               (I like to play music.)

                         SIGNORA BUFFI
                   (shrugs)
               Io sono sorda. Quelli di sotto, una
               coppia, sono sordi. Allora, ti piace?
               (I'm deaf. The couple below are deaf. So,
               do you like it?)

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley is in the apartment, fire burning, wearing pyjamas.
     There's a small Christmas tree. He kneels on the floor with
     some festive, gift-wrapped packages. He opens a package. It's
     a marble head of Hadrian. A gasp from Ripley. He picks up a
     glass, pours himself a drink.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON.

     Ripley plunges into Bach's Italian Concerto on his new and
     precious toy, a STEINWAY GRAND. His doorbell rings. He stops
     playing. He doesn't get visitors. He rises, a little nervous.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello?

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               Who is it?

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               It's Freddie. Let me in.

     RIPLEY ALMOST COLLAPSES. He's faint.

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Dickie, come on, it's me.

     Ripley can't think what to hide, where to hide. He opens the
     door.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello, Freddie, it's Tom, Tom Ripley.

                         FREDDIE
                   (confused, not pleasantly)
               Oh hello, where's Dickie? How are you?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, I'm good, thank you. Dickies at
               dinner. He's at Otello's. Do you know it?

                         FREDDIE
               I don't think he's at dinner at 6.30pm.
               If you said he was still at lunch I'd
               believe you. Incredible. The guy has
               disappeared off the face of the earth.

                         RIPLEY
               I guess.

                         FREDDIE
               The landlady - as far as I could tell,
               the landlady said he was here right now.

                         RIPLEY
               He's gone to dinner! Search the place. I
               can't think why you would imagine Dickie
               would hide from you.

                         FREDDIE
               Because he's been hiding from me - what
               happened at Christmas?

                         RIPLEY
               What about Christmas?

                         FREDDIE
               He was supposed to come skiing. I didn't
               get a cable or a call or a note or,
               frankly, a fart.

     Ripley has his hands behind his back. HE'S TUGGING
     FRANTICALLY AT DICKIE'S RINGS. Ripley wanders into the
     kitchen, turns on the tap to sluice his fingers.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               Of course, he's been very involved in his
               music, hasn't he? I think his theory is,
               you know, you have to go into a cocoon
               before you can become a butterfly.

                         FREDDIE
               Which is horseshit.  Have you heard him
               play that thing?
                   (gesturing at the sax on its
                    stand)
               He can't.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
                   (casually)
               How did you find him? It's such an out of
               the way apartment. Can I fix you a drink?

                         FREDDIE
               No thanks.
                   (explaining his detective work)
               Some kid at the American Express Office.
                   (he starts to explore)
               Are you living here?

     Now he starts to hammer a nasty boogie-woogie on the piano.

                         RIPLEY
                   (returning, flinching)
               No. No, I'm staying here for a few days,
               in Rome.  That's a new piano, so you prob -

                         FREDDIE (O/S)
               Did this place come furnished? It doesn't
               look like Dickie. Horrible isn't it? - so
               bourgeois.

     Now he's poking at the Hadrian bust.

                         RIPLEY
               You should watch that!

                         FREDDIE
               In fact the only thing which looks like
               Dickie is you.

                         RIPLEY
               Hardly.

                         FREDDIE
               Have you done something to your hair?

     Ripley starts to smile, his eyes darting around the room.

                         RIPLEY
               Freddie, do you have something to say?

                         FREDDIE
               What? I think I'm saying it. Something's
               going on. He's either converted to
               Christianity - or to something else.

                         RIPLEY
               I suggest you ask Dickie that yourself.
               Otello's is on delle Croce, just off the
               Corso.

                         FREDDIE
               Is it on "delle Croce, just off the
               Corso"? You're a quick study, aren't you?
               Last time you didn't know your ass from
               your elbow, now you're giving me
               directions. That's not fair, you probably
               do know your ass from your elbow. I'll
               see you.

     AND HE'S GONE. Ripley shuts the door, smooths the silk runner
     on the table where Freddie's hand had rucked it. He goes back
     to the door, opens it and looks over the rail.

     INT. LANDING AND STAIRS, RIPLEY'S BUILDING. LATE DAY.

     FREDDIE IS BACK IN CONVERSATION WITH SIGNORA BUFFI. Ripley
     can't make out the text but there's some discussion about
     Signor Greenleaf and Signor Ripley. Ripley hurries inside as
     Freddie's heavy shoes start to clump up the stairs again.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. LATE DAY.

     Freddie knocks on the door which pushes open. As he marches
     in, he launches into his interrogation.

                         FREDDIE
               Ripley? There's someth -

     - AND WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE HEAD OF HADRIAN WHICH RIPLEY
     SWINGS AT HIM, HOLDING ON AWKWARDLY WITH BOTH HANDS TO THE
     HEAVY MARBLE SCULPTURE.

     Freddie falls like an ox, first to his knees, groaning, then
     to the floor as Ripley brings the head down again, beating
     him downwards. As Freddie slumps away, Ripley loses his
     balance and the head sends Freddie a glancing blow before
     slipping from Ripley's grasp and smashing on to the floor.
     THE NOSE IS CHIPPED OFF.

     EXT. PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     It's deserted. Ripley hauls Freddie out of the shadows
     towards the car. A couple walk across the square. Ripley
     talks to Freddie, berating him for his drunken stupor. He
     pushes him over the door and into the passenger seat.

                         RIPLEY
                   (mimicking Freddie's voice)
               Hey, if I'm drunk, think what her
               husband's saying.

     EXT. VIA APPIA ANTICA. NIGHT.

     The Fiat noses along THE APPIAN WAY. Black fragments of tombs
     punctuate either side of the poorly lit road. Inside the car,
     Ripley looks to left and right for a place to dump the body.
     He slows near a clump of trees.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, ROME. EVENING.

     Someone is KNOCKING urgently at the door. Ripley opens it,
     finds himself face to face with Signora Buffi and TWO
     POLICEMEN. One of them offers his hand.

                         ROVERINI
               Dickie Greenleaf?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes?

                         ROVERINI
               Inspector Roverini. Can we come in?

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. EVENING.

     Ripley sits with his head in his hands at the table. Roverini
     and his sergeant, BAGGIO, watch patiently.

                         ROVERINI
               It's a terrible shock, eh? What time did
               Signor Miles leave yesterday?

                         RIPLEY
               I can't be absolutely sure - 8? 9? We'd
               both taken on far too many drinks - but
               it was dark, it was certainly dark when I
               walked him down to his car.

                         ROVERINI
               So Signor Miles drove away and you did
               what?

                         RIPLEY
               I went to bed. Freddie's a big man, but
               I'm in trouble after a couple of drinks.
               I've suffered all day. Who found him?

     Roverini has walked over to the bust of Hadrian.

                         ROVERINI
               Senta.  We have to ask you to stay in
               Rome.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, if it's going to help, certainly.

                         ROVERINI
               So, the Doctor, he has to make the -
                   (looks at Baggio)
               - come se dice?

                         RIPLEY
               Postmortem?

                         ROVERINI
               Yes, exactly, but his first, his first
               conclusion was that Signor Miles was
               killed not later than seven o'clock
               yesterday evening.

                         RIPLEY
               Well, he certainly wasn't dead when he
               drove off in his car.

                         ROVERINI
               No.

     EXT. NARROW STREET, THE GHETTO, ROME. MORNING.

     Ripley comes through a dark tunnel in the Ghetto on his
     scooter. He drives past a furniture store, DRESSING TABLES
     AND MIRRORS spilling out onto the street. He glances
     sideways, sees his reflection fractured into several images
     and, for an instant, it seems AS IF DICKIE'S THERE
     WATCHING HIM. Ripley screams and swerves, crashing into the
     pavement, the scooter falling onto him and pulling him along
     the cobbled passage. The man he thought to be Dickie, an
     Italian, runs up concerned.

     EXT. AMERICAN EXPRESS, PIAZZA DI SPAGNA. DAY.

     Ripley emerges from the American Express Office. Across the
     street at the cafe, as once before, sits Marge. Ripley slips
     Dickie's bag into his knapsack as he approaches his scooter.
     Marge spots him and strides across the piazza. She is in no
     mood for pleasantries.

                         MARGE
               Did he kill Freddie?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, when did you get here?

                         MARGE
               Tell me the truth. Did he kill Freddie?

                         RIPLEY
               I'd swear he didn't. Of course he didn't.

                         MARGE
               I tried again, waiting here, watching for
               him. Instead it's you. Whenever I look
               for Dickie I find you.

                   (focusing on Ripley's cuts and
                    bruises)
               What happened to your face?

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie did it.

                         MARGE
                   (suddenly tense)
               Dickie?

                         RIPLEY
               My face! There was an argument. I said
               some things I shouldn't have.  About you.
               About the appalling way he's treating
               you, all of us.  And the next thing I
               know he's launched himself at me.
                   (he pulls the scooter off the
                    stand)
               Are you getting on?

                         MARGE
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               Get on. I'll take you to him.

     EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. DAY.

     Ripley and Marge come round the corner on the scooter. The
     entrance to the Palazzo is blocked by a couple of police cars.
     Inspector Roverini emerges from one of them. Ripley,
     startled, drives straight past the entrance.

     EXT. ROME STREET, BY THE RIVER. DAY.

     Ripley pulls up several hundred yards later, in a different
     piazza full of book stalls.  Marge is confused.

                         MARGE
               Where does Dickie live?

                         RIPLEY
               We passed it a few blocks back, where the
               police were. The Palazzo Gioia. They
               don't even know I'm in Rome and I'm not
               going to incriminate Dickie -

                         MARGE
               Perhaps I shouldn't go either.

                         RIPLEY
                   (thinking hard, distracted)
               No, well go if you want to, but don't
               talk to the Police about my face - they
               find out he hit me - he's got a temper - he
               could've hit Freddie.
                   (sincerely)
               Good luck, Marge. I'll catch up with you
               later.

     And he drives off. At the first opportunity HE DOUBLES BACK
     and roars towards the Palazzo.

     EXT. SQUARE OF THE PALAZZO GIOIA. AFTERNOON.

     Ripley drives towards the entrance.  As Ripley gets off and
     pushes his scooter through the doorway SOME JOURNALISTS,
     LOITERING INSIDE A BARBER'S SHOP come running out and swarm
     around him with questions about Freddie. One of them gets off
     a photograph.  It's chaos, a Police Officer shouts him away
     as Ripley puts up a protective hand and runs inside.

     INT. ENTRANCE AND STAIRS, PALAZZO GIOIA. CONTINUOUS.

     As Ripley hurries inside he encounters officers conducting
     more thorough forensic investigations in the stairwell. On a
     landing is Roverini. Ripley hurries towards him.

                         RIPLEY
               Can we go up? Do you mind?

                         ROVERINI
               Of course. What happened to your face?

                         RIPLEY
               My scooter. I fell off. Getting chased by
               photographers.

     He hurries up the stairs, Roverini in tow.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
                   (agitated)
               The telephone, the press, I've been, I'm
               feeling hounded - do you think you could
               not give out my address?

                         ROVERINI
               Never. We've had many requests and, of
               course, we say no - even to your fiancÈe.

                         RIPLEY
               I really don't want to see anybody.

                         ROVERINI
               Even your fiancÈe...?

                         RIPLEY
               Even her.

                         ROVERINI
               What about Thomas Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               What about Ripley?

     Ripley's way ahead and has reached the door of his apartment.
     He waits nervously for Roverini. He unlocks the door and can
     barely wait for Roverini to catch up.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT. AFTERNOON.

     Roverini follows Ripley inside, Baggio hurries in behind him.

                         ROVERINI
               You and Signor Ripley went to San Remo,
               is that right?

     Ripley is appalled. He smiles.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes, sure, we did go to San Remo. That
               was months ago.

                         ROVERINI
               November, I thought.

                         RIPLEY
               Was it? Did you speak to Tom?

                         ROVERINI
               November 7th is my information.

                         RIPLEY
               I don't remember the exact date.

                         ROVERINI
               And when did you last see Signor Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               A few days ago.

                         ROVERINI
               Does he stay with you here?

                         RIPLEY
               No!

                         ROVERINI
               No.  Here is a pattern. Two days ago
               Freddie Miles is dead - he leaves your
               apartment and is murdered. Yesterday a
               little boat is found in San Remo full of
               rocks, and the owner tells the Police it
               was stolen on November 7th. We look at
               hotel records and we see oh! Dickie
               Greenleaf is staying in San Remo and then
               our boatman remembers two Americans
               taking a boat.

                         RIPLEY
               It's not a pattern, it's a coincidence.
               There must be fifty hotels in San Remo,
               there must have been a hundred people
               renting a boat on that day.

                         ROVERINI
               31 people.

                         RIPLEY
               31 people.

     Baggio appears. Speaks to Roverini. Ripley is getting cranky.

                         ROVERINI
               That is Miss Sherwood now. Marge
               Sherwood.

                         RIPLEY
                   (appalled, defeated)
               Let her in, what's the difference?  Let
               her in.
                   (Baggio is on his way to the
                    door.)
               No, actually, no, I'd like it very much
               if you would ask her to come back later.

     Roverini nods, mutters to Baggio, who heads out.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Thank you.

                         ROVERINI
                   (watching him)
               May I ask...why would you speak to your
               friend and not your fiancÈe?

                         RIPLEY
               I think I just said. Ripley was handling
               some business for me, nor does Mr Ripley
               want to marry me.  Nor did he ask me
               every day if I would marry him. And when.

                         ROVERINI
               Do you have a photograph of Signor
               Ripley?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm not in the habit of carrying around
               photographs of my male friends.

                         ROVERINI
               Now I think I have upset you. My English
               perhaps is coarse.

                         RIPLEY
               It is a little coarse, yes.

                         ROVERINI
               Sorry.  No-one has seen Signor Ripley
               since San -

                         RIPLEY
               I have!

                         ROVERINI
               You have, yes.

                         RIPLEY
               No, I have and so has Miss Sherwood, ask
               her! and if I could remember which hotel
               he was staying at - the Goldoni! - Tom
               was staying at the Goldoni.

                         ROVERINI
               Good. The Goldoni. Yes - you're right. A
               coincidence.
                   (he gets up to leave)
               I look forward to our next meeting when I
               will be more careful with my English and
               persuade you to play me your saxophone.
               Alto.

                         RIPLEY
               Absolutely.

                         ROVERINI
                   (suddenly turning)
               I have a witness who thinks they saw two
               men getting into Mr Miles' car. She
               wants to identify you in a - confronto -
               line-up.
                   (ominously)
               Tomorrow then?

                         RIPLEY
                   (thrown, scrabbling)
               Tomorrow.

     Ripley lets them out, heaves a heavy sigh, then peeps through
     the door, looks down to see Roverini speaking to Marge on the
     stairs.

                         ROVERINI (O/S)
               Buongiorno, Miss Sherwood.  He's in but I
               really don't think he wants to see
               anyone.

     Ripley leans against the door, the noose tightening, then
     suddenly a voice shocks him upright.

                         MARGE
               Dick? Dickie? I know you can hear me.
               What am I doing, chasing you around...?
               I was going to say I would count to three
               and if you didn't open the door, but I
               won't count any more. On you. I won't
               count on you any more. Whatever it is,
               whatever you've done or haven't done,
               you've broken my heart. That's one thing
               I know you're guilty of, and I don't know
               why, I don't know why, I just don't know
               why...

     Ripley listens, there's a silence, then Marge's footsteps as
     they ring out on the stone stairs. The tapping sound resolves
     into the tap-tap of a manual typewriter.

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley's at the typewriter, he begins to type.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               My dear Tom, I'm getting out of this.
               Freddie's death, Silvana. I've thought
               about going to the police, but I can't do
               it, I can't face it.  I can't face
               anything anymore...

     INT. RIPLEY'S APARTMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     CHAOS.  Ripley is working quickly, selecting clothes,
     dividing them into TWO PILES - one for Dickie's trunk, one
     for his own battered suitcase. He puts the license plates
     from Freddie's car in Dickie's luggage. He has placed one
     shirt on the Ripley pile then checks again, and - on seeing
     Dickie's initials, places it with the bigger pile, then picks
     it up again and holds it briefly against his cheek.

     He takes Dickie's rings, opens up a LITTLE BOX of buttons and
     needles and cufflinks and sadly tosses them in. Dickie's
     leather writing case goes on the big pile, too, as do cuff
     links, ties, the Mont Blanc, Dickie's passport, which he
     opens to scratch at the photograph, obliterating the face.

                         RIPLEY (O/S)
               ...I wish I could give you the life I
               took for granted. You've always
               understood what's at the heart of me,
               Tom. Marge never could. I suppose that's
               why I'm writing this to you, the brother
               I never had. The only true friend I ever
               had. In all kinds of ways you're much
               more like the son my father always
               wanted. I realise you can change the
               people, change the scenery, but you can't
               change your own rotten self. Now I can't
               think what to do, or where to go. I'm
               haunted by everything I've done, and
               can't undo. I'm sorry, I can't go on.
               I've made a mess of being Dickie
               Greenleaf haven't I?

     He's finished the letter, signs it, puts it in an envelope
     marked Tom Ripley and places the letter on top of the piano
     next to Dickie's passport. His head is reflected in the
     distorting curve of the lid. As he puts on his glasses
     there's a moment when there are two heads slowly separating,
     as Ripley leaves behind his brief life as Dickie Greenleaf.

     INT. BASEMENT, PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley carries Dickie's luggage down into THE COMMUNAL
     BASEMENT of the Gioia, a wretched place full of shadows and
     gloom and the overflow from thirty apartments. A red plush
     couch sits on top of a mound of furniture.  He finds some
     dustsheets and shoves the cases under them. Then Dickie's
     saxophone.

     Outside the small window, Ripley sees uniformed feet and the
     revolving blue light of a Police Car. He shrinks back, turns
     off the light and disappears into the dark, illuminated
     fitfully by the strobe of cold blue.

     EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA, ROME. NIGHT.

     Ripley, familiar battered luggage in tow, appears at the
     entrance of the building next to his own, glances at the
     police car parked opposite the big doors, then hurries off
     into the darkness.

     EXT. BY THE PALAZZO GIOIA. NIGHT.

     Ripley's briefly silhouetted as he scuttles down an alley,
     hurrying towards a gate, and disappears behind it.

     EXT. PIAZZALE ROMA, VENICE. DAWN.

     Ripley sits next to his battered luggage at the prow of a
     MOTOR TAXI as it surges towards Venice at dawn. Peter Smith-
     Kingsley waits on the quay. Ripley waves. Peter waves back.

                         PETER
                   (indicating the taxi stop)
               I'll see you over there!

     EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. EARLY MORNING.

     Ripley and Peter walk through the square, the pigeons
     scattering. Ripley breathes in the atmosphere, the beautiful
     grey.

                         RIPLEY
               Peter, I'm really sorry to put you
               through this. I just couldn't face going
               to the police by myself when my Italian's
               so rotten.

                         PETER
               Don't be daft. It's fine. I'm delighted
               you finally made it to Venice. I'm
               delighted, contrary to rumour, you're
               still in one piece?

                         RIPLEY
               What rumour?

                         PETER
               That Dickie murdered you and is
               travelling under your passport. I know,
               ridiculous.

     INT. POLICE STATION, VENICE. LATE DAY.

     Later.  Ripley sits in the middle of a bustling Police Station,
     where thefts, tourists, thieves and complaints are being
     processed.  The Station is in an old brewery or armory. It's a
     horrible, monochrome, oppressive place. Peter is in
     conversation at a desk, turns and walks over to where Ripley
     waits.

                         PETER
               Welcome to Venice.  This place reeks,
               doesn't it? Can you smell it?  Ugh.
               Sorry. Not the best way to spend your
               first day.

                         RIPLEY
               It's okay.

                         PETER
               Anyway I've got to the bottom of the
               delay. Finally.  We're waiting for
               someone from Rome.

                         RIPLEY
                   (completely thrown)
               What do you mean?  They're sending
               someone from Rome?

                         PETER
               That's good, isn't it?

                         RIPLEY
                   (as if suffocating)
               No, but I thought that didn't happen in
               Italy, that each region was completely
               separate! I was sure that was the -

                         PETER
               You've seen the papers, you know what a
               big deal it's been here. American tourist
               murdered -

                         RIPLEY
               It's ridiculous but now you've mentioned
               the stench I can hardly breathe.

     A door opens. COLONEL VERRECCHIA, fresh from Rome, and a
     sullen wedge of a man, comes in, scowling at the couple.
     Ripley dare not look up in case it's Roverini.  A POLICEMAN
     introduces him.

                         POLICEMAN
               Colonelo Verrecchia della Polizia di
               Roma.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (to Peter, in Italian)
               Qui e Ripley?  Who is Ripley?

                         PETER
                   (in Italian)
               Lui. Him.

     Verrecchia strides past them and into a smaller, interview
     room at the back of the station.  His manner is ominous.

     INT. POLICE STATION, INTERVIEW ROOM, VENICE. LATE DAY.

     This room is not at all friendly. There is evidence of a
     locked area for cells at one wall.  A small, sour window
     gives onto a canal.  The main station is glimpsed through
     some internal windows. Peter and Ripley come through.

     Verrecchia sits down.  Verrecchia talks in staccato Italian,
     during which Peter translates.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Ho assunto io la guida delle indagini in
               seguito alla negativa valutazione delle
               disdicevoli circostanze verificatesi con
               il mio predecessore Roverini che come e
               noto non e riuscito a impedire il
               verificarsi della scomparsa del signor
               Greenleaf, il quale era l'unica persona
               al momento passibile di incriminazione
               del reato di omicidio del signor Miles.

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               He's taken over the case because...
               they're annoyed the previous chap let
               Dickie...disappear when he was the only,
               he was the only suspect in Freddie's
               murder.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Quando e stata l'ultima volta che il
               signor Ripley ha visto il signor
               Greenleaf?
               (When was the last time Ripley saw
               Greenleaf?)

     Ripley forgets he's not supposed to have much Italian and
     answers.

                         RIPLEY
               In Rome, about three weeks ago.
                   (shrugs)
               I knew that one.

                         PETER
                   (giving Ripley a look)
               A Roma, circa tre settimane fa.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Dove e stato il signor Ripley da allora?

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               Where have you been since then?

                         RIPLEY
               I've been backpacking.

                         PETER
               I don't know how to translate that.
                   (he tries)
               E difficile....il signor Ripley
               ....dormiva all'aperto, con un...

                         VERRECCHIA
               All'aperto? Col freddo che ha fatto?

                         PETER
               He thinks it's very cold to be sleeping
               outside.

                         VERRECCHIA
               Il signor Ripley ha sviluppate tendenze
               omosessuali?

                         PETER
               Are you a homosexual?
                   (then as himself)
               Interesting non-sequitur.

                         RIPLEY
               No.

                         PETER
                   (translates for him)
               No.
                   (as Peter, drily)
               By the way, officially there are no
               Italian homosexuals. Makes Leonardo,
               Michelangelo very inconvenient.

                         RIPLEY
               Tell him I have a fiancÈe, Dickie has a
               fiancÈe and Freddie Miles probably had a
               string of them.

                         PETER
                   (translating)
               Il signor Ripley ha una fidanzata, il
               signor Dickie ha una fidanzata e
               probabilmente il signor Freddie Miles ha
               molte fidanzate.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (laughs)
               Mamma mia, quante fidanzate!

     They all laugh.

                         RIPLEY
               What did he say?

                         PETER
               He says so many fiancÈes.

                         VERRECCHIA
                   (suddenly very tough)
               Lei ha ucciso prima Freddie Miles e dopo
               Dickie Greenleaf! Vero?

     As Peter translates Verrecchia watches intently.

                         PETER
               He wants to know if you killed Freddie
               Miles and then killed Dickie Greenleaf?

                         RIPLEY
                   (outraged)
               No I did not. I did not kill Freddie
               Miles and then kill Dickie Greenleaf.  Is
               he accusing me?
                   (Peter clearly doesn't ask)
               Ask him if he's accusing me!

                         PETER
               He's already angry, I don't think -

                         RIPLEY
                   (interrupting, heated)
               Just because he doesn't like Americans!

                         VERRECCHIA
               Non e questo il luogo per le vostre
               conversazioni private!  (This is not the
               place for your private conversations)

                         PETER
                   (appeasing him)
               A ragione.  A ragione.  (You're right.
               You're right.)

                         VERRECCHIA
               Hmm. C'e questa...  (There's this...)

     Verrecchia hands over a letter. It's opened. Ripley's name on
     the outside. Ripley stares at it.

                         VERRECCHIA
                         (cont'd)
               Questa lettera e stata trovata
               nell'abitazione del signor Richard
               Greenleaf a Roma.

                         PETER
               They found this in Dickie's place in
               Rome.

                         RIPLEY
               You opened this?

                         VERRECCHIA
               Of course!

     He stands and takes the letter out.  Begins to read. He has
     the look of a man whose privacy has been violated.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Peter)
               It's a suicide note.
                   (to Verrecchia)
               You ask me all these questions and you've
               already read this suicide note?

     INT. PETER SMITH-KINGSLEY'S APARTMENT. DAY.

     There's music everywhere - and stands - and posters of
     performances and PHOTOGRAPHS OF PETER CONDUCTING. Peter is an
     opera repetiteur. Ripley is sitting at Peter's piano, playing
     from the score of Vivaldi's Stabat Mater. Peter's made supper.
     He's setting the table.

                         PETER
               Can you imagine, if Dickie did kill
               Freddie, what must that be like? To wake
               up every morning, how can you? Just wake
               up and be a person, drink a coffee...?

                         RIPLEY
               Whatever you do, however terrible,
               however hurtful - it all makes sense,
               doesn't it? inside your head. You never
               meet anybody who thinks they're a bad
               person or that they're cruel.

                         PETER
               But you're still tormented, you must be,
               you've killed somebody...

                         RIPLEY
               Don't you put the past in a room, in the
               cellar, and lock the door and just never
               go in there? Because that's what I do.

                         PETER
               Probably. In my case it's probably a
               whole building.

                         RIPLEY
               Then you meet someone special and all you
               want to do is toss them the key, say open
               up, step inside, but you can't because
               it's dark and there are demons and if
               anybody saw how ugly it was...

     Peter's come over, stands behind him over the piano.

                         PETER
               That's the music talking. Harder to be
               bleak if you're playing Knees up Mother
               Brown.

     He vamps this vaudeville song over Ripley's shoulder.

                         RIPLEY
               I keep wanting to do that - fling open
               the door - let the light in, clean
               everything out. If I could get a huge
               eraser and rub everything out...starting
               with myself...the thing is, Peter, if...

                         PETER
                   (as Ripley falls silent)
               No key, huh?

     INT. SANTA MARIA DELLA PIETA, BRIDGE OF SIGHS. DAY.

     A YOUNG BOY SINGS the soprano part of Vivaldi's STABAT MATER.
     A piercingly pure sound in Vivaldi's own church.  The
     orchestra - rehearsing - is conducted by Peter from the
     organ.

     Ripley slips in at the back of the church. He stands and
     listens. Peter sees him, smiles.  Ripley smiles back.

     EXT. VENICE, S.LUCIA RAILWAY STATION. DAY.

     MARGE appears on the steps, carrying an overnight bag. Ripley
     and Peter have come to meet her.

                         MARGE
                   (kissing him warmly)
               Hello Peter, so good to see you.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Marge!

                         MARGE
                   (coolly)
               Tom.

     They walk towards the Vaporetto.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               So you found Peter...

                         PETER
               I think we sort of found each other.

     Marge smiles enigmatically. Ripley registers.

                         PETER (cont'd)
               Where's Dickie's father?

                         MARGE
               He's not coming till the morning.
               Evidently his stomach - I don't think the
               food here is agreeing with him.

                         RIPLEY
               I was looking forward to seeing him.

                         MARGE
               Dickie hasn't killed himself. I'm sure of
               that. There's a private detective on the
               case now - a Mr MacCarron - Dickie's
               father's employing him.

                         RIPLEY
               That's a terrific idea.

                         MARGE
               He's American. He's already discovered
               Dickie cashed checks for $1000 the day
               before he disappeared.

     They step onto the Vaporetto.

                         MARGE (cont'd)
               Is that what you do before you jump in
               the Tiber?  I don't think so.

     EXT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.

     The boat arrives at the entrance to the house. Peter opens
     the door as Ripley collects Marge's bags.

                         MARGE
                   (to Peter)
               Is this you?

                         PETER
               No, it's Tom's. Splendid, eh?

                         MARGE
               Golly. Who's paying for this?

                         RIPLEY
               Peter found it for me. I can afford it
               because it's damp and, and falling down.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DAY.

     Marge, entering the living room, is astonished at its
     grandeur. She walks around as Ripley heads for the bar.

                         MARGE
               This is spectacular.

                         PETER
               That's why Tom wanted you to stay.  It's
               better than squeezing into my room, and I
               know how you hate hotels.

                         MARGE
               A hotel would've been fine.
                   (to Ripley)
               We'll have to tell Mr Greenleaf how far
               his dollar has stretched.

     Ripley is shaking a martini. Marge laughs, helpless, somehow
     raging. Peter turns

                         PETER
               What's funny?

                         MARGE
               No, nothing. I'm just thinking about when
               Tom arrived in Mongi.
                   (to Ripley)
               And now look at you.

                         RIPLEY
               Look at me what?

                         MARGE
               To the manner born.

     EXT. PIAZZA SAN MARCO, VENICE. DAY.

     St Mark's Square is buzzing with life - tourists, balloon
     sellers - a man playing saxophone. HERBERT GREENLEAF sits out
     in the colonade on one of the many tables at Florian's Cafe,
     cradling a glass of hot water. He gets up as Marge and Ripley
     arrive.

                         RIPLEY
               Mr Greenleaf.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Tom. How are you?  You look well.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm well, thank you.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Far cry from New York.

                         RIPLEY
               Yes it is.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Marge, good morning.  Unusual weather.

                         MARGE
               Very.

                         RIPLEY
               And you, sir?  Any better?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Pretty good.  Sticking with hot water.

                         MARGE
               Where's Mr MacCarron?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               San Remo. The police are amateurs. Well,
               my boy, it's come to a pretty pass,
               hasn't it?

                         RIPLEY
               Yes.  What's the detective hoping to
               find in San Remo?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               He's being thorough, that's all. I'm
               learning about my son, Tom, now he's
               missing. I'm learning a great deal about
               him. I hope you can fill in some more
               blanks for me. Marge has been good enough
               to do that, about Mongibello.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll try my best, sir. Obviously I'll do
               anything to help Dickie.

     Marge looks at him in contempt.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               This theory, the letter he left for you,
               the Police think that's a clear
               indication he was planning on doing
               something...to himself.

                         MARGE
               I just don't believe that!

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               You don't want to, dear. I'd like to talk
               to Tom alone - perhaps this afternoon?
               Would you mind? Marge, what a man may say
               to his sweetheart and what he'll admit to
               another fellow -

                         MARGE
               Such as?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               What a waste of lives and opportunities
               and -

     A saxophonist is blaring away in the piazza. Greenleaf
     suddenly explodes.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (cont'd)
               - I'd pay that fellow a hundred dollars
               right now to shut up!

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE. AFTERNOON.

     Herbert Greenleaf sits on a chair, Ripley pours him some tea.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (reading, plunging into gloom)
               No, Marge doesn't know the half of it.

                         RIPLEY
               I think it might hurt her to know.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               And his passport photo? Did you hear? To
               scratch out your own face like that - can
               you imagine - the frame of mind you'd
               have to be in?
                   (reading)
               I've thought about going to the police
               but I can't face it. I can't face
               anything anymore.

                         RIPLEY
               I feel guilty. I feel like I pushed him
               away. I spoke and he heard you.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                   (such a disappointed father)
               Well, if we all pushed him away what
               about him pushing us away? You've been a
               great friend to my son. Everything is
               someone else's fault. We all want to sow
               wild oars. Somebody's got to - what's the
               word?
                   (Ripley shakes his head)
               The moment someone confronts him he
               lashes out.  He lashes out. You know,
               people always say you can't choose your
               parents, but you can't choose your
               children.

     INT. RIPLEY'S HOUSE, VENICE. DUSK.

     Ripley wakes up from an awful, chilling nightmare, his head
     full of ghosts. He's cramped up in an armchair, his arms in
     sine foetal protection. HIS DOOR KNOCKER IS BEING REPEATEDLY
     SHAKEN. He surfaces thickly, stumbles to the door. It's Peter
     and Marge.

                         RIPLEY
               I'm sorry. I was asleep. I must have
               fallen asleep.

                         PETER
               You look ghastly, Tom. Are you okay?

                         MARGE
               Did Dickie's Dad go?

                         RIPLEY
               He's having an early night.

                         MARGE
               Poor man.
                   (she heads to her room)
               We were knocking on that door for ever.
                   (she fiddles inside the sleeve
                    of her dress)
               I think I've broken my strap.

                         PETER
               Not guilty.

                         RIPLEY
               I'll fix some drinks.

                         MARGE
               You walk in Venice!

     She takes off her shoe, examining her feet for wear and tear,
     then disappears into the bedroom. Peter walks over to Ripley,
     a little concerned.

                         PETER
               Are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               I'm fine.

                         PETER
                   (a hand on his shoulder)
               Do you want me to stick around?

                         RIPLEY
               It's okay.

                         PETER
               Or I could come back.

     Ripley looks at him. That's never happened. He digs in his
     pocket, finds his key, gives it to Peter. Peter smiles.

                         PETER (cont'd)
               Your key.

     INT. RIPLEY'S BATHROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.

     Ripley's in the bath. Marge knocks on his door.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               Tom?

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, I'm in the bath. Won't be long.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               Tom, I need to talk to you. It's urgent.

     Ripley, irritated, opens the door, his towel wrapped around
     his waist. Marge is white. She's wearing a robe. She's
     slightly breathless.

                         MARGE
               I found Dickie's rings.

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MARGE
               You've got Dickie's rings.

                         RIPLEY
               I can explain.

     He can't. His eyes dart. Marge holds up the evidence.

                         MARGE
               Dickie promised me he would never take
               off this ring.

                         RIPLEY
               Let me put on some clothes and then we
               can talk about this.

                         MARGE
               I have to tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to
               tell Mr Greenleaf. I have to tell Mr
               Greenleaf.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge, calm down, you're being
               hysterical.

                         MARGE
               He promised me. I swear I'll never take
               off this ring until the day -

                         RIPLEY
               Shut up! Shut up!

     His towel slips off from his waist.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               I'm wet, Marge, I've lost my towel, I'd
               really like to put my clothes on. So go
               and pour us both a drink, will you?

     She goes off obediently, a zombie. He shuts the door.
     Immediately he starts looking for something, anything, to
     kill Marge with. He's got a shoe but it feels too light. He
     opens cabinets, drawers - nail scissors, nothing - then
     picks up his straight razor and considers it in the mirror.

     INT. RIPLEY'S SITTING ROOM, VENICE. NIGHT.

     Marge is leaving, coat on, as Ripley comes out of the
     bathroom.

                         RIPLEY
               Marge?  Where are you going?

                         MARGE
                   (like a creature caught in
                    headlights)
               I was looking for a needle and thread. I
               wasn't snooping. I was looking for a
               needle and thread to mend my bra.

                         RIPLEY
               The scent you're wearing. I bought it for
               you, not Dickie. The thing about Dickie.
               So many things. The day he was late back
               from Rome - I tried to tell you this - he
               was with another girl. I'm not talking
               about Meredith, another girl we met in a
               bar. He couldn't be faithful for five
               minutes. So when he makes a promise it
               doesn't mean what it means when you make
               a promise. Or I do. He has so many
               realities, Dickie, and he believes them
               all. He lies. He lies, that's his... half
               the time he doesn't even realize.

     A SMALL RED STAIN is appearing on the pocket of his robe. As
     he speaks the stain spreads. He looks at it absently.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               Today, for the first time, I've even
               wondered whether he might have killed
               Freddie. He would get so crazy if anybody
               contradicted him - well, you know that.
               Marge. I loved you - you might as well
               know - I loved you, and because he knew I
               loved you, he let you think I loved him.
               Didn't you see, couldn't you see? I don't
               know, maybe it's grotesque to say this
               now, so just write it on a piece of paper
               or something, and keep it in your purse
               for a rainy day. Tom loves me.

                         MARGE
                   (as if she'd heard nothing)
               Why do you have Dickie's rings?

     His hand goes to his pocket. HE'S GOING TO HAVE TO DO IT.

                         RIPLEY
               I told you. He gave them to me.

                         MARGE
               Why? When?

                         RIPLEY
               I feel as if you haven't heard anything
               I've been saying to you.

                         MARGE
               I don't believe you.

                         RIPLEY
               It's all true.

                         MARGE
               I don't believe a single word you've
               said.

     Marge is shivering. Ripley, ominous, advances, she retreats.

                         RIPLEY
               You're shivering, Marge. Can I hold you?
               Would you let me hold you?

     Marge panics, backed up against the door. She screams and
     turns straight into the arms of a startled PETER who's come
     back to visit Ripley, and is unlocking the door.

                         MARGE
                   (sobbing uncontrollably)
               Oh Peter! Get me out of here.

     Ripley storms off. His hand comes out of his pocket COVERED
     IN BLOOD from the razor. Peter notices, appalled.

                         PETER
               Tom, are you okay?

                         RIPLEY
               You try. You try talking to her.

                         PETER
                   (calls after him)
               Tom. Tom! Tell me, what's going on?

                         RIPLEY
                   (not turning around)
               I give up.

     INT. RIPLEY HOUSE, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.

     Peter has just put a band-aid over Ripley's cut hand.

                         PETER
               You can't be angry with her.  She's upset
               and needs someone to blame. So she blames
               you.  I'll go home and talk to her.  As
               for you - either get a safety razor or
               grow a beard.

     INT. LOBBY, EUROPA REGINA HOTEL, VENICE. MORNING.

     Ripley hurries through the gleaming marble entrance.

     INT. HERBERT GREENLEAF'S SUITE, EUROPA REGINA. DAY.

     Ripley knocks on the door. It's opened by a face he doesn't
     recognize. A middle-aged heavy set man. It's MacCARRON, the
     private investigator.

                         RIPLEY
               Is Mr Greenleaf here?

                         MACCARRON
               Mr Ripley? I'm Alvin MacCarron.

                         MARGE (O/S)
               I don't know, I don't know, I just know
               it.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (O/S)
               Marge, there's female intuition, and
               then there are facts -

     Greenleaf sits with a scrubbed Marge, her hair pulled back,
     as if newly-widowed. THE RINGS SIT GLINTING ON THE COFFEE
     TABLE.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Tom.

                         RIPLEY
               Hello, sir.
                   (smiles thinly at Marge)
               Marge, you should have waited, didn't
               Peter tell you I'd come by and pick you
               up?

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Marge has been telling us about the
               rings.

                         RIPLEY
               You know I feel ridiculous I didn't
               mention them yesterday - I clean forgot -
               ridiculous.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               Perhaps you didn't mention them because
               there's only one conclusion to be drawn.

     Ripley worries about what that conclusion is as Mr Greenleaf
     heads into his bedroom.

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
                         (cont'd)
               I'm going to take Marge for a little
               walk, Tom.  Mr MacCarron wants to talk
               with you.

                         RIPLEY
                   (feeling caged in)
               We could go down to the bar - no need for
               you to -

                         HERBERT GREENLEAF
               No, he should talk to you alone.

     He helps Marge to her feet and leads her out. RIPLEY IS
     PARALYSED. He waits for the door to shut. Aimlessly he walks
     out onto the terrace, with its staggering, beautiful and
     indifferent view.

     EXT. EUROPA REGINA, THE GREENLEAF TERRACE. DAY.

     Ripley stands, steels himself for MacCarron's charges.

                         RIPLEY
               I could probably see my bedroom from
               here. I can see my house. When you see
               where you live from a distance it's like
               a dream, isn't it?

                         MACCARRON
                   (coming out)
               I don't care for B.S. I don't care to
               hear it. I don't care to speak it.

                         RIPLEY
               Okay.

                         MACCARRON
               Why do you think Dickie's father sent him
               to Europe in the first place? Did you
               know at Princeton Dickie Greenleaf half-
               killed a boy?

     Ripley turns, shocked.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               At a party. Over some girl. He kicked the
               kid several times in the head. Put him in
               the hospital. The boy had a wire fixed in
               his jaw. The Rome Police didn't think to
               ask Mr Greenleaf.

     MacCarron gets up.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Nor did they think to check whether a
               Thomas Ripley had ever been a student at
               Princeton University. I turned up a Tom
               Ripley who'd been a piano tuner in the
               music department.

     Ripley's head drops.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               See - in America we're taught to check a
               fact before it becomes a fact. We're
               taught to nose around when a girl drowns
               herself, find out if that girl was
               pregnant, find out if Dickie had an
               embarrassment there.

     Ripley doesn't know where this barrage is going.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Mr Greenleaf appreciates your loyalty.
               He really does. Marge, she's got a
               hundred theories, but there are a few
               things she doesn't know. We hope she
               never knows.

                         RIPLEY
               I hope she never knows.

                         MACCARRON
               Three different people saw Dickie get
               into Freddie Miles' car. A man who won't
               identify himself because he was jumping
               someone else's wife at the time saw
               Dickie removing license plates from a red
               sports car. The Police know about this
               man because he happens to be a Policeman.

     He walks out of the room, returns carrying THE LICENSE PLATES
     from Freddie's car.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               I found these in the basement of Dickie's
               apartment. They belonged to Freddie's
               car. Mr Greenleaf has asked me to lose
               them in the canal this evening.

     Ripley can't believe what he's hearing. It's like a dream.

                         MACCARRON
                         (cont'd)
               Mr Greenleaf also feels there was a
               silent promise in Dickie's letter to you
               which he intends to honor. He intends to
               transfer a good part of Dickie's income
               from his trust into your name. He doesn't
               intend to give the Italian police any
               information about Dickie's past. He's
               rather hoping you'll feel the same.

     There is a silence in which this strange compact is agreed.

     EXT. EUROPA REGINA MOORING. DAY.

     Ripley stands with Marge, Mr Greenleaf and MacCarron at the
     water's edge - MOTOR LAUNCH growling. They shake hands, and
     then MacCarron and Mr Greenleaf get into the launch. Herbert
     Greenleaf carries the saxophone case.

                         RIPLEY
                   (to Marge)
               I feel I never should have said those
               things to you the other evening. I was
               pretty flustered, the rings and - and you
               looked so, I don't know.

     Marge shakes her head to silence him.

                         RIPLEY (cont'd)
               But I hope that note goes to New York in
               your purse, for a rainy day.

                         MARGE
               What are you going to do now, Tom?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. Peter has a concert in
               Athens next month - and he's asked if I
               want to go along, help out. He says
               goodbye by the way - he's in rehearsal,
               otherwise -

                         MARGE
               Why do I think there's never been a
               Ripley rainy day?

                         RIPLEY
               What?

                         MARGE
                   (lunging at him)
               I know it was you - I know it was you,
               Tom. I know it was you. I know you killed
               Dickie. I know it was you.

                         RIPLEY
               Oh Marge.

     He puts his hand out to control her. She pushes it away.
     STARTS TO LASH OUT AT HIM, the frustration too much, so that
     Ripley has to cover his face. MacCarron comes off the boat to
     restrain her.  Ripley looks at him as if to say: what can you
     do, she's hysterical. MacCarron nods, pulls her on to the
     boat. Greenleaf catches Ripley's eye, guiltily. Turns away.
     They stand silhouetted as the launch revs up and surges off
     towards open waters, passing the little fleets of gondolas.

     EXT. FERRY FOR ATHENS, NAPLES. DAY.

     A week later and Peter and Ripley are on the deck of the
     ferry, the HELLENES, as it sails towards Greece.  They're
     laughing.

                         RIPLEY
               Ask me what I want to change about this
               moment.

                         PETER
               What do you want to change about this
               moment?

                         RIPLEY
               Nothing.

     INT. PETER'S CABIN. DUSK.

     Peter's in a bathrobe organising his currency, his
     traveller's cheques. Ripley knocks on the door, comes in.

                         PETER
               Hello.  What are you up to?

                         RIPLEY
               All kinds of things. Making plans.

                         PETER
               Plans - good, plans for tonight or plans
               for the future?

                         RIPLEY
               I don't know. Both. My plan right now is
               to go up on deck, look at the sunset.
               Come with me.

                         PETER
               You go. I don't want to get dressed yet.
               Come back though.  Come back.
                   (smiles at him)
               You know, you look so relaxed, like a
               completely different person.

                         RIPLEY
               Well, that's entirely your fault.  And,
               if I fall overboard, that'll be your
               fault too.

     EXT. DECK OF THE HELLENES. SUNSET.

     Ripley stands on deck, staring at the magnificent sunset.
     Then a voice shakes him from his reverie.

                         MEREDITH
               Dickie?  Dickie?

     He turns. He's caught. Suddenly he's Dickie.

                         MEREDITH (cont'd)
               Dickie, my God!

                         RIPLEY
               Hello Meredith.

                         MEREDITH
               I was looking at you, your clothes, I
               wouldn't have known you...

                         RIPLEY
               Well, you've spotted me and so you get
               the reward.

                         MEREDITH
               What?

                         RIPLEY
               Just kidding. Are you alone?

                         MEREDITH
               Hardly. I couldn't be less alone.

     Meredith points to the UPPER DECK BALCONY where TWO OLDER
     COUPLES are walking around the deck.

                         RIPLEY
               Of course.  Aunt Joan.

                         MEREDITH
               And co. A lot of co. Oh, God, I've
               thought about you so much.

                         RIPLEY
               I've thought about you.

     And now he's thinking I can't kill them all...

                         MEREDITH
               When I thought about you I was mostly
               hating you. Where've you been hiding?

                         RIPLEY
               I haven't been hiding. I've been in
               Police custody. They've been trying to
               flush out Freddie's killer.

                         MEREDITH
               You're kidding.

                         RIPLEY
               They're letting me have this vacation.
               Which is why the get-up. Which is why you
               haven't heard from me.

                         MEREDITH
               You know, the whole world thinks you
               killed Freddie? It's terrible.

                         RIPLEY
               I know. Look, I can't talk now. Later.
               Later?

     He kisses her.  Full of future.

                         MEREDITH
               So - are you travelling under R?

                         RIPLEY
               You know what - I am.

                         MEREDITH
               Dickie, are you with Peter Smith-
               Kingsley?  I bet you are. My aunt thought
               she saw him.

                         RIPLEY
                   (horrified)
               Peter Smith-Kingsley? I haven't seen him
               in months.  No, I'm alone.
                   (and he understands this is not
                    any kind of lie)

     INT. PETER'S CABIN. NIGHT.

     Peter's working on his score, lying on his front, apparently
     engrossed. Ripley knocks and enters. Looks long at Peter.

                         PETER
               How was it?

                         RIPLEY
               Good. But I think we should stay in here
               for the rest of the trip.

                         PETER
               Was that Meredith?

                         RIPLEY
                   (sighs)
               Was who Meredith?

                         PETER
               Meredith Logue. You were kissing
               somebody. Looked like Meredith.

                         RIPLEY
               Hardly kissing. Kissing off.

                         PETER
               Didn't look that way - you know - from a
               distance.

                         RIPLEY
               I lied. To her. She thought she'd seen
               you.

                         PETER
               Why lie?

                         RIPLEY
               Dickie and Peter, that's just too good
               gossip, isn't it?

                         PETER
               Or Tom and Peter even.

                         RIPLEY
               Well that would be even better gossip.

                         PETER
               Really, why?
                   (completely lost)
               Sorry, I'm completely lost.

                         RIPLEY
               I know. I'm lost, too. I'm going to be
               stuck in the basement, aren't I, that's
               my, that's my - terrible and alone and
               dark - and I've lied about who I am, and
               where I am, and so nobody can ever find
               me.

                         PETER
               What do you mean lied about who you are?

                         RIPLEY
               I suppose I always thought - better to be
               a fake somebody than a real nobody.

                         PETER
               What are you talking about - you're not a
               nobody! That's the last thing you are.

                         RIPLEY
               Peter, I... I...

                         PETER
                   (conciliatory)
               And don't forget. I have the key.

                         RIPLEY
               You have the key. Tell me some good
               things about Tom Ripley. Don't get up.
               Just tell me some nice things.

     He sits on the bed, leans against Peter. His eyes are
     brimming with tears.  He takes the cord from Peter's robe and
     begins twisting it in his hands.

                         PETER
               Good things about Tom Ripley?  Could take
               some time!... Tom is talented. Tom is
               tender... Tom is beautiful...

                         RIPLEY
                   (during this, and tender)
               You're such a liar...

                         PETER
               ...Tom is a mystery...

     Ripley is pressing against him, moving up his body, kisses
     his shoulder, the cord wrapped tight in his hands...

     INT. RIPLEY'S CABIN. NIGHT.

     Ripley returns to his cabin. Sits on the bed, desolate.

                         PETER (O/S)
                   (cont'd)
               ...Tom is not a nobody. Tom has secrets
               he doesn't want to tell me, and I wish he
               would. Tom has nightmares. That's not a
               good thing. Tom has someone to love him.
               That is a good thing!
                   (feeling Ripley's weight on
                    him)
               Tom is crushing me. Tom is crushing me.
                   (suddenly alarmed)
               Tom, you're crushing me!

     The door of his closet flips open with the swell and he
     catches his reflection. It swings shut. Open then shut.
     Through the porthole the weather's changing as the light
     dies. There's a swell as the horizon rises and falls in the
     round glass. Ripley, alone, in a nightmare of his own making.

     THE END.






     Lullaby for Cain

     From the silence
     from the night
     comes a distant lullabye

     Cry, remembering that first cry
     Your brother standing by
     and loved
     both loved
     beloved sons of mine
     sing a lullabye
     mother is close by
     innocent eyes
     such innocent eyes

     Envy stole your brother's life
     came home murdered peace of mind
     left you nightmares on the pillow
     sleep now

     Soul, surrendering your soul
     the heart of you not whole
     for love
     but love
     what toll

     Cast into the dark
     branded with the mark
     of shame
     of Cain

     From the garden of God's light
     to a wilderness of light
     sleep now

     sleep now.