By contrast, the so-called "Millionaire Suite" is in the Empire style, and
comprises two bedrooms, a bath, WC, wardrobe room, and a large sitting
room. In addition there is a private 50 foot promenade deck outside.
A room service waiter pours champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and hands the Bucks Fizz to Hermione. She is looking through her new paintings. There is a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few abstract works. They are all unknown paintings... lost works.
Draco is out on the covered deck, which has potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Hermione in the sitting room.
"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money." Draco sneers.
Hermione looks at a cubist portrait "You're wrong. They're fascinating. Like in a dream... there's truth without logic. What's his name again... ?" She reads off the canvas, "Picasso."
Draco comes into the sitting room, "He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."
A porter wheels Cal's private safe into the room on a handtruck.
"Put that in the wardrobe." Draco says immediately.
In the bedroom Hermione enters with the large Degas of the dancers. She sets it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy is already in there, hanging up some of Hermione's clothes.
"It smells so brand new. Like they built it all just for us. I mean... just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first-" Trudy whispers.
Cal appears in the doorway of the bedroom. Looking at Rose Draco sneers, "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."
Trudy blushes at the innuendo "S'cuse me, Miss." She edges around Cal and makes a quick exit. Cal comes up behind Rose and puts his hands on her shoulders. An act of possession, not intimacy. "The first and only. Forever."
Rose's expression shows how bleak a prospect this is for her, now.
Titanic stands silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. She is lit up like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflect in the calm harbor waters. The 150 foot tender Nomadic lies-to alongside, looking like a rowboat. The lights of a Cherbourg harbor complete the postcard image.
Entering the first class reception room from the tender are a number of prominent passengers. A BROAD-SHOULDERED WOMAN in an enormous feathered hat comes up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter running to catch up with her to take the bags.
"Well, I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny. Take 'em the rest of the way if you think you can manage." The lady says.
A room service waiter pours champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and hands the Bucks Fizz to Hermione. She is looking through her new paintings. There is a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few abstract works. They are all unknown paintings... lost works.
Draco is out on the covered deck, which has potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Hermione in the sitting room.
"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money." Draco sneers.
Hermione looks at a cubist portrait "You're wrong. They're fascinating. Like in a dream... there's truth without logic. What's his name again... ?" She reads off the canvas, "Picasso."
Draco comes into the sitting room, "He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."
A porter wheels Cal's private safe into the room on a handtruck.
"Put that in the wardrobe." Draco says immediately.
In the bedroom Hermione enters with the large Degas of the dancers. She sets it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy is already in there, hanging up some of Hermione's clothes.
"It smells so brand new. Like they built it all just for us. I mean... just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first-" Trudy whispers.
Cal appears in the doorway of the bedroom. Looking at Rose Draco sneers, "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."
Trudy blushes at the innuendo "S'cuse me, Miss." She edges around Cal and makes a quick exit. Cal comes up behind Rose and puts his hands on her shoulders. An act of possession, not intimacy. "The first and only. Forever."
Rose's expression shows how bleak a prospect this is for her, now.
Titanic stands silhouetted against a purple post-sunset sky. She is lit up like a floating palace, and her thousand portholes reflect in the calm harbor waters. The 150 foot tender Nomadic lies-to alongside, looking like a rowboat. The lights of a Cherbourg harbor complete the postcard image.
Entering the first class reception room from the tender are a number of prominent passengers. A BROAD-SHOULDERED WOMAN in an enormous feathered hat comes up the gangway, carrying a suitcase in each hand, a spindly porter running to catch up with her to take the bags.
"Well, I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny. Take 'em the rest of the way if you think you can manage." The lady says.