All language subtitles for Bookish - 01x06 - Such Devoted Sisters - Part 2

- Here's to Joe Stalin's next stroke.
- Tinkerty-tonk.

Who was he?

Victor Orr, met him before an air raid.
41.

It is true. I switched the glasses.
He drank the poison meant for one of us.

Nafije and Ruhije.

We'd be ever so grateful

if you'd just keep an eye on them.

This was the third attempt
on our life since we left New York.

The first thing you must do
is arrest that cocktail waiter

and you must bring in
any others on the staff.

- You have a reservation?
- Uh, no. My wife does.

Your wife.

Time for a little chat.

What does Jack know?

My wife and I have an arrangement
and that I knew his late father.

Nothing more.

And should we trust you?

Well, I suppose you'll find out.

When the next assassin comes.

A FEW MINUTES EARLIER

- Hello again.
- Hello.

Fizz.
For them I presume.

- Who is it?
- It's me.

Champagne.

- Did you order something?
- No.

Ruhije...

We did not order champagne.

Ruhija...

I was shot.

Ruhija, I'm hit.

Eadie.

There's another one, a man.
They want to kill us.

One more step and I'll...

Well, let's all calm down, should we?

Sync and corrections: minouhse
www.addic7ed.com

Bloody hell, that hurts.

- You okay?
- You shut up.

You bloody bloody cop-out, you lunatic.

I thought you had the gun.

It was a champagne bottle.

Oh, God.

- Am I gonna die?
- It's just a graze.

Luckily for you, Your Royal Highness.

This is a very,
very regrettable incident, Miss...

Eadie Rattle.

Miss Eadie, we live under
the constant threat of assassination.

The black mantle of death
hovers over us like the London fog.

Sometimes we make mistakes out of fear.

- You must forgive us.
- Oh, you shouldn't forgive them.

- You should press charges.
- Don't tell me what to do, okay?

I've had enough of it.
I've simply had enough of it.

- We understand, dear.
- Do you?

Because I've just ended a shift
that started with a pass

- and ended with me getting fired.
- Fired?

You haven't handed my cards, haven't I?

What?
Why? What for?

Because someone sabotaged the boilers,

tipped linseed oil into them.

Yeah, but why would they think
that that's you?

Because I have a motive.

Mr. Klein gave me a mouthful
for standing up to that bastard.

And now I've been shot, really shot.

- What's that?
- Morphine Tartrate.

I'm not going to have you jabbing me
like a bloody pincushion.

- It will ease your pain.
- I'll live.

And if you do think that I'm just
going to hop on the night bus

and say, oh, it must be beastly
that your country hates your guts

and you're forced
to slum it out here in the Walsingham.

Well think again, ladies.

No wonder you're so nervous
around the working classes.

You damn well ought to be.

I'll have that morphine now.

Sorry, dear Rattle.
What do you suggest?

- I'll stay here tonight in the royal suite.
- There are only two beds.

Then I'll have the biggest.
And I'll have breakfast in it.

I think that's a very modest demand,
considering the bullets in the wall.

I know the importance of the rules
of hospitality in your country.

- I've been reading up on them.
- That's right, Mr. Book.

At home, we are obliged to take in
those who need shelter.

During the war, many British officers
were parachuted into our territory.

None were betrayed.

I'll sleep on the sofa.

Right.

Now, which one of you
is lending me your toothbrush?

I'll get someone to come
and have a look at this.

It's good to see you, Jack.

We lost him.

We never really knew him.

Of course, it was impossible
to predict how he'd react,

- but I was hoping for...
- Sympathy.

Understanding.

That's just the way it is with some people.

They get down on a thing when they
don't know nothing about it.

- Huckleberry Finn?
- Top marks.

You can sleep on the left.

I like that, Eadie.
She's sharp.

- Sharp as her nibs.
- The princess.

Busy day tomorrow.

Bliss has arrested Guzili.

It's a mistake.

So I suspect I'll spend the morning
showing him why.

- Clever clogs.
- If the shoe fits.

Oh, it's the Dinaric Alps, by the way.

It's the Dinaric Alps, my love.

- Not the Carpathians.
- As I said.

Clever clogs.

Book.

Finish with that mag, Sergeant?

Bagged and labelled, sir.
We'll return it in due course.

Take a seat.

Are you gonna charge me?

Oh, there's plenty of time for that.

I've said it all already.
It's in my statement.

Oh, just one thing before we start.

Uh, Mr. Book here will be joining us.

He's a specialist.

Mr. Guzili, it's very important that you
use this interview to tell us the truth.

Because if you don't, I can't be held
accountable for the consequences.

We know about your affair
with Eadie Rattle.

She's given us a statement.

And in doing so,
has given us a possible motive.

A reason for you to kill Captain Orr.

Because he made a pass at Eadie.

It must happen like three times a day.

What business are you in exactly?

The antiquarian book business.

I've read the Kanun of Scutari, have you?

- I know it.
- Live by it?

It's very important in my village.

Let's start then.

If I said we were going to give you
the third degree, what would you expect?

A kicking out by the bins?

- Snake in the grass.
- What did you say?

Forget the third degree,
snake in the grass.

Come on, I'm waiting.

- Vodka.
- At last.

Creme de Menthe, lime juice, lemonade.

- Where's my ice?
- It went in first.

Are you shaking this drink?

Come on, come on, Mr. Guzili.

This is the Walsingham.
Are you shaking this drink?

I'm stirring it.
I'm stirring it.

- Attaboy.
- Attaboy. I know that.

French vermouth.
Dry gin.

Grenadine. Four dashes.
Shaken.

And what would you put in a Pansy?

- Anisette?
- No, no, no, Mr. Guzili.

Look, I'm still on probation.
I'm not an expert.

I'd say you're not,
but nor are you a murderer.

Well, what makes you say that?

Because he left a dirty great fingerprint

on the upper part of one of those glasses.

And a good cocktail waiter,

as well as knowing how to mix
a third degree,

always handles a rock glass
lower down.

You made the drink for the captain, which is
when you left your fingerprint on his glass.

But the drink was not deadly.

I'm sorry if this sounds insulting,
Mr. Guzili,

but you have yet to acquire
the skill to poison anyone

in a crowded bar in plain sight.

Particularly with just a few seconds
between the inciting incident and the crime.

But I'm sure you'll get there.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say
you were already a model employee.

You're going to write me a reference now,
are you?

Why not?

How long have the princesses
been in the hotel?

Four days.

And you'd already noticed
they always reject the first drink.

So you made it out of tap water.

Yes.

Some employers would promote

a member of staff
so concerned about wastage.

Well, Mr. Guzili,

seems like you can go
and collect your things.

Our friend here is checking out,
Sergeant Morris.

Very good, sir.

Well, now what?

Anyone could have got that
hydrochloric acid into the drink.

And Guzili was too clumsy to have done it.

As I discovered late last night,

the Kanun of Scutari has very strict rules
about hospitality.

It's taboo to harm anyone
you consider your guest.

Captain Orr was Guzili's guest, strictly
speaking, and the Kanun is very strict.

Did it tell you anything else useful?

Oh, yes.

Insult my wife in front of the headman
of the village and you owe me a sheep.

If my wife insults you, I owe you five.

Well, I find it's usually best
if people are just nice to each other.

- You were not in the army, were you?
- You know where I was.

Well, no matter.
Straighten your spine, perhaps?

Eh, at the palace a line of soldiers would
salute us just on our way to breakfast.

Oh, lucky you.

How the mighty have fallen.

And back then we weren't always
looking over our shoulders.

We were at home with our own people.

You, boy.
You must fetch the inspector.

- Why? What's happened?
- Another threatening letter.

- They got you.
- No. No.

Well, you've done all right.

They ordered in. No less than I deserve.

Sure enough.

Balkan mix, apparently.

Nice.

See those little gold rings
at the end there?

I'm a Capstan man myself.

Weren't you supposed
to bring me for that, Bavril?

Well, I thought you had
everything you needed here.

It's a bit rich from my blood.

So where was Miss Eadie Rattle
when the murder took place?

Uh, having a Woodbine outside,
according to her statement.

Having already administered the poison?

Meant for the princesses.

According to my intelligence sources,
she's a fully paid up party member.

- Communist.
- Red as Lenin's combinations.

What?
So she might have wanted them dead?

On behalf
of the new ruling class of Scutari.

Then there's the other sister, of course.

Other sister?

Oh, yes.
There are three of them, Inspector.

Three sisters.

The kingdom divided.

Exiled monarchs, I wonder.

Anyway, Princess Senije
went over to the other side.

So it could be her striking
the blow for the work.

It's by assassinating her siblings.

This is where we should be looking.

In my opinion, sir.

Oh, yes.

Like the ladies, didn't he, Captain Orr?

That's not how I would have put it.

Still...

At least we have his home number now.

Eh?
No.

Yes, this must be his wife, Sylvia.

- What do you know?
- She's the only one without a star rating.

Yeah, well, there's
another familiar name in there, too.

- Oh.
- As you say, sir.

And Barberini, 2nd of May 1940.
That's got race course.

Four stars, passionate Italian.

So it's crossed out.
It's still legible.

- What do you mean?
- Obvious, isn't it?

Captain Orr didn't just like the ladies.
You know, he was a bit...

queer.

What?
You mean?

He travelled, as it were,
on the 38 bus and the 43.

He met that Italian barman
at the races and had relations.

It's all there in black and white.

Met at the races, eh?

Ascot race course.
There is entry after entry.

- What motive?
- Blackmail, obviously.

Captain Orr threatened to expose Barberini.

Captain Orr's a married man.
It's all a bit...

It's all a bit farfetched.

You never know with married men, sir.

What's your great theory, then?

That will be telling, Sergeant.

But speaking of Mrs Orr, I do think

someone should talk to her soon.
I'll ask Trottie, if I may.

Wives always know.

Whatever husbands think.

Message from that lad, Jack, sir.

Princesses are requesting another audience.

- A Winston Churchill mask.
- No.

An Ora flying helmet.

A piccalilly jar filled entirely
with toenail clippings.

Yeah. It's not for the faint of heart,
the life of a chambermaid.

But my dad ran a pub in Bala, so...

I've seen it all.

And what about the murder?

I know. I was outside, you see.

You can't pin Victor Orr on me.

I wasn't trying to. Honest.

Pity I wasn't there, though.

I would have liked to see that one go down.

As you were saying,

you got out of the clink,

and then you went to work in a bookshop.

- Yeah.
- For Mr Book.

Yeah.

And now you're working
for the Scutari royal family.

Not for much longer, I don't reckon.

I ain't much cop as a bodyguard.

Got anything by Marx?

- Hey?
- In your bookshop.

Das Kapital.

Volume four.

Now you're talking.

So why'd you leave?

I just don't think
they're my sort of people.

No?
Takes all sorts, you know.

As I say.

The things I've seen in the Walsingham.

Maybe it's time you expanded
your horizons a bit, sunshine.

Let me know if you fancy that
Bovril sometime, yeah?

So-called princesses,

my gorge rises as I see you
in the newspaper.

Your decadent bones draped
in Madame Debavier,

which will soon drip
with your filthy blood.

Yes, I can see
why you might feel discomforted.

So, what will you do about it?

- My dear lady, why...
- You will address me by my proper title.

Do forgive the inspector,
your royal highness.

The policeman is often a blunt tool
rather than a diplomat.

- Perhaps I might...
- As I have said,

this is the latest of many.

Dripping with venom.

Our enemy's, their legion.

Can they not let us rest?

Is it not enough that we are forced
to drag our weary bones

around the world like phantoms?

You speak of the Kanun, of hospitality.

But what are we to make of yours?

What welcome do we receive
in your famous London?

Wretched food, wretched cold,
a bodyguard who fails to guard.

And now, this.

I'll do what I can,
given my limited resources.

Yes, of course, and we're terribly sorry.

Well, if that's the best you can do.

Oh, Miss Rattle.

Yes, Mr. Kind.

I heard about the unfortunate incident.

That's one way of describing it.

I'm okay, but

I think I might indulge myself
a bit more in the

cream of society.

As I've been fired, I can use
the hotel as a guest instead.

- Meaning?
- Their Royal Highnesses.

I'm to put everything in their account.

- Well, don't spend too much.
- What?

- Nothing. Um, Miss Rattle.
- Yes?

Would you kindly come
and see me after you've

- indulged yourself?
- Okay, Mr. Kind.

Eadie.
Can we talk?

I do want to apologize
for the quality of the service today.

The heating is off, the menu is cold.

I'm deeply sorry.

Ismael, none of that is your fault.

Yeah, I'm afraid it is.

It was caused by the three
bottles of linseed oil that

I stole from your cupboard.

But linseed oil is for polishing.

I use it for my newel posts and my dados.

Yes, I know.

But I poured it into the generator.

I didn't poison Victor or Eadie,

but I did poison the hotel.

I was so angry.

With myself, with that man.

With this place.
So I just thought...

I'd kill it.

I'm deeply sorry.

I shall confess everything to Mr. Kind,
and you will not lose your job, Eadie.

You.

Me.

This isn't easy for me,
as I'm sure you can imagine.

Of course.

You've just lost your husband.

That boat sailed a long time ago,
Mrs. Book.

And you're not the first
of Victor's conquests to telephone.

If it makes it any easier, he didn't.

Did what?

Conquer.

I used to come here all the time, you know.

To watch him.
With the latest model.

Madam?

You've read it.

To see oneself here assessed like...
livestock.

You think he got what he deserved?

Well, not quite, but...

What a pig he was.

Do you know, I'd think better of him
if it was a real diary.

Something with a bit of proper,
adulterous passion.

Don't worry, my dear,
I don't really blame you.

I mean, Victor had charm
to spare in his day.

And I grew used to his adventures.

Numb to them.

So used to them, it became a sort of hobby.

That sounds strange?

My marriage grew cold.

Well, my life grew cold.

I don't really think I've felt anything

since Dunkirk.

So I'd come here.

Where there was light and laughter.

Usually.

Did you not worry that he, uh,
might see you?

Victor hadn't noticed me in years.

There was no reason
to think he'd start now.

Is that how you were able to...?

What?

The poison.

I mean, you were there.
You-you handed me that cloth.

It would have been easy for you
to administer it.

I didn't kill my husband, Mrs. Book.

I pitied Victor.
Didn't despise him.

Then who did?

How was this war?

He did his service in Cairo.
And a stint in the Balkans.

The Balkans?

And before that, he was here.

- The home front.
- Whereabouts?

Ascot.

Ah, it is you.
Would it be...?

What does that say?

Death to parasites.

Thank you for coming.

Everything's off.

Kippers, kidneys, kedgeree.

And the radiators.
They're definitely off.

There's a selection of cold meat.

Splendid.
Well, two of those then please, waiter.

Do make sure they're properly cold.

- I have abhor inconsistency.
- Sir?

The service, it is appalling.

Well, call me Marie Antoinette, but
I was expecting the lavatories to flush.

Still, the heating did come on
for half an hour. That was nice.

- You said it was urgent, Mr. Book.
- In a way, yes.

- Are you any closer?
- Closer?

- To finding out who tried to murder us?
- No one tried to murder you.

But the letters. The threads.

You sent those.

What?
You're mad.

- How dare you?
- Do sit down, princess.

- The very idea that I...
- I said sit down.

I may be more of a diplomat
than the inspector.

There's only so much of this
exhausting auteur I can stand.

When did you start?
Sending the letters.

Not right away, I imagine.

For a while it was real.

When we fled our country,
there were eyes everywhere.

We feared to eat or drink.

We lived day by day,

shoved into stinking cellars.

The holds of filthy ships.

But the threat was real, Mr. Book.

In New York, we feted.

They love royalty there,
as you know, precisely.

Because they have none of their own.

We were invited to all the right parties.
Met all the right people.

But there is nothing more tragic
than exile, Mr. Book.

And nothing more pathetic.

After a time, the invitations dried up.

The parade moved on.

And I realized that we had gone
from being in danger

to something far, far worse.

We had become irrelevant.

What did the newly risen Scutari
have to fear from us?

Why would they send assassins halfway
across the globe to make away with us?

Why would anyone bother?

But there is glamour in death.

In danger.

And so I began to write all those letters.

Both to us and to the authorities

of whichever poor nation
we were imposing ourselves upon.

I pay a woman here a modest fee
to skulk around the hotel,

dropping them off now and then.

Some suspected your other sister
might be behind those.

She is dead, Mr. Book.

I saw her shot in the face.

The communists never really trusted her.

And I will not lose another sister.

- But then there was an actual poisoning.
- I didn't know what to think.

The figure swapped the glasses
as always and then...

That man, that captain
lying dead at our feet.

My mind, it raced.

Had it all become real?

But what else could I do
but continue as planned?

It was very well done.

Thank you.

And last though, the impression of your
sister's pen nibs is very distinctive.

Indeed?

Music nib.

Narrow down strokes, broad cross strokes
for writing musical notation.

And she's composing those rather sad
and lovely little tunes of hers.

And the references to your wardrobe too,

rather specific for a
desperate communist assassin.

I couldn't help myself.

So,
does this mean then that...

Captain Orr was the intended victim.

So, I have to ask Mr. Book,
in the spirit of your British stories...

Who done it?

Well, that is the question, dear lady.

I'm not normally a fan
of this sort of thing.

Redolent of the kind of thriller
one finds in W.H. Smith.

However, sometimes it really is best
to gather everyone together.

Unity of place and all that.

So,
on the night of the murder,

Mr. Guzili here set up
a first round of two drinks.

Yes.

Which is rejected by the princesses
and goes down the sink.

Now we come to the brouhaha.

And a new character enters our drama.

Captain Victor Orr.
Kindly represented here by Mr. Kind.

In you come, Miss Rattle.
Tell us what happened next.

Well, there's Captain Watsit
soaked in Tattinger.

And he's telling me
he has some extra duties for me.

Which seem to involve me going to his room
and leaving with some money.

So, I decline, of course.

And I'm looking over at Ismael.

I'm looking at him because, well,
I think he might help me out.

- Do the decent.
- And he doesn't.

What happens next, Eadie?

Well, I'm thinking,
is the captain going to hit me?

So, I tell him where to get off.

And then he says something.

I don't know, some threat or other.
I wasn't listening.

And that's when Jack here
came to my rescue.

- And then I went outside for a smoke.
- Thank you, Miss Rattle.

So, Mr. Guzili then sets up
two more glasses for a new round.

Four Walsingham Sours.

In total.

Three good ones and one, as we shall see,
about to have an extra ingredient.

But when precisely did one of these drinks
get a dash of hydrochloric acid?

Princess Nefije,

you tell us that you switched two
of these glasses around. Which two?

Like this, Mr. Book.

One of ours. For one of theirs.

Very good.
But you're not drinking yet, are you?

Because you want to see
someone else drink first.

Which is only prudent, only sensible
when there are so many assassins about.

So, you have to wait a little while longer

until the distraction is over.

And this is the Russian roulette
moment now, is it?

This was not a casual murder.

It was very carefully thought through.

Now, we know the poison
was not in Mr. Guzili's shaker.

We know that Princess Nefije
deserves no reproaches.

All your Royal Highness did
was switch one perfectly safe

and effective Walsingham Sour for another.

In fact, I would suggest
that none of these drinks

would have produced anything worse
than a hangover.

Until the incident were the coins.

That was the moment of opportunity
for someone here

to poison one of these cocktails.

The one that he was clearly about
to pick up.

Yes, there was no mistake.
Captain Orr had to die.

Why though?

Do you remember the Arundora star?

Not our finest hour, I fear.

She was torpedoed by the Jerry.

Ar the start of the war.

July 2nd, 1940.

There was a set to on board, wasn't there?
A lot of internees being sent to Australia.

- Canada.
- Canada.

Fighting amongst themselves.

Well, that's what it said
in the Daily Express.

In Parliament too, Mr. Book.
Doesn't mean it's true.

Indeed.

And...

Amongst the passengers...

Your sister, Maria.

Barberini, M.

12th January, 1940.

Ascot Racecourse.

16th of January.

Ascot Racecourse.
Nineteen...

So it was her
Captain Orr met at the races.

- Well, there was no racing during the war.
- Quite.

Of course, Ascot's where they put
the Regulation 18B lot, wasn't it?

English Nazis.
German anti-Nazis.

Ice cream men.
Spaghetti house vendors.

Waiters
who'd once said something

vaguely complimentary
about the cut of Il Duce's jib.

- All put under barbed wire.
- In a internment camp.

What was the case
against the Barberinis, though?

My parents were born in Italy.

So someone here claimed
I was a fascist.

Marched me out during service.
Sent up north.

Nobody protested.

Particularly the man
who ran the bar here in the Blitz.

And your sister?

In 1938, my father said,

why not spend the summer
with your Italian aunt?

Go to beach with them.
To the Campo Solare.

Build fires.
Get some fresh air.

They give you a nice little uniform.

Like the girl guides, but...

Mussolini's girl guides.

So she brought the uniform home
as a souvenir.

It was enough for the men from 18B.

There it was in a wardrobe, so...

Off she went to Ascot.

She was interned because of the uniform.

People do take them terribly seriously.

Well, it worked for Victor.

When he was in his sailor suit,
people did what he said.

I mean, it was charm, as well as rank.

Rank. Charm.

That's how he got Maria's name
on the list for Canada.

Perhaps it should be generous.

Imagine he was getting her out of the camp
to a new life away from the war.

No.

He just wanted the troublesome lover
out of the way before his wife found her.

And that ship was a death trap.

I dream about that.

Those people pushing at the barricades.

The great wooden exits
wrapped in barbed wire.

And then the sea coming in
and drowning them both.

Both.

Maria and the baby.

His baby.

I knew his name, that was all.
But I couldn't find him.

Mess of the war.
Turned everything upside down.

No one was in a great hurry to help out
an insignificant WAP waiter.

Turned out I'd been serving him
Walsingham Sours for months.

Victor Orr, my old friend.

I can't leave you alone for five minutes,
can I?

The bloody girl can't take a joke.

Let's have a couple of those.
What do you call them?

Walsingham Sours.
With the two ladies.

For their royal highnesses, you mean?

These are on me, ladies.

The man who took away my precious Maria.

My beloved sister.

So I did what had to be done.

I prepared ice.

Special ice.

No.
Oh, dear.

So embarrassing.
I do apologize.

Not at all.

Look after the pennies.

- And the pounds will look after themselves.
- What?

It was her birthday, you see.

Maria's birthday.
Would have been.

It seemed, uh...

- It seemed fitting.
- Yes.

Yes, it must have done.

And I took the precaution
of keeping some of the poisoned ice.

Tinkety-tonk.

- Wait.
- No.

Just ordinary ice, alas.

I'm afraid I swapped it.

I'm so very, very sorry
about your sister, Signor Barberini.

But murder is murder.

Marco Barberini.
I'm arresting you on a charge of murder.

You do not have to say anything but,
anything you do say

may be taken down and used
against you in a court of law.

Do you have anything to say?

Oh, by the way, Mr. Kind.

The linseed oil in the generators.

That was me too.

Sorry.

Mr. Kind.

- You wanted a word?
- Ah, yes. Miss Rattle.

I was thinking about your position here.

Now I know that you were not responsible
for the incident with the generators.

Yes.

Well, your dismissal was
unnecessarily expeditious.

- Yes.
- Yes.

And I wanted to say I would very much like
to offer that position back to you.

Well.
I accept.

Well, that's all very satisfactory.

- There's a ledger here, isn't there?
- A ledger?

One with all the comings and goings
of the staff.

Might I see my entry?

It's over there.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

There I am.

Edith Rattle.
Reason for leaving, sabotage.

Well, let us strike that from the record.

Thank you, Mr. Kind.

Now, Mr. Kind.

I resign.

- You resign?
- Yes, I resign.

Would you mind
putting that in there for me?

You can't resign.

I believe I just did.

Up the workers.

Up the workers.

All this is quite correct.

Two more, please.

For those people.

Missing the war, are you?

I don't know what the etiquette is.

Oh, I think that's the royal summons.

Your Highness.

For you, Mr. Book.

- For the book.
- Oh, thank you.

What's that for?

A hundred guineas.

No, I mean, what's it for?

Oh, our copy of the Kanun of Scutari.

- In our trade, it pays to specialize.
- It'll bounce.

Well, if it doesn't, I shall give it
to the Arandora Star Memorial Fund.

Please enjoy. Thank you.

What should we drink to?

To us.

To the Barberinis?

Yes.

- To Marco and Maria and...
- All the Barberinis.

The lost and the defeated.

All the Barberinis.

Those who bear the name,
and those who do not.

And let there be no more drownings.

He got me the job.

Mr. Book.

He arranged for you to take me on.

The princesses were looking
for a bodyguard.

Gabriel asked if I could help.

So you see, he was looking out for you,

despite your falling out.

You know him well.

We go a long way back.

Looking out for me...

or manipulating me.

- Why would you think of it like that?
- He sought me out.

Found me when I come out of prison.

Set me up.

Nice job. Nice home.

- Yes?
- Why?

You'd have to ask him that.

I ain’t a monster.

Mr. Kind, I'm grateful.
Of course I am.

It's just...

it's a lot, you know?

They're set up.

The way they are, Mr. and Mrs. Book.
The way he is.

It's hard for me to just...
accept it.

- You have a moral objection?
- Me?

What right do I have to moralize?

I think you've answered
your own question.

Book is kind.

I mean, I know.
I'm kind.

Edmund Kind.

But I once knew a girl called Joy,
and she was anything but.

There's no sinister motive, Jack.

They want to help.

Why don't you let them?

With you in just one moment.

Hello again.

Oh, Mrs. Goodwin.

- Jean.
- Jean.

After more of the same?
The Pimpernel?

I'm not really sure.

I think I fancy something a little
different.

- My husband not with you?
- No.

- The golf course?
- No.

The Garrick?

The divorce courts.

That play you gave me.

A Doll's House.
Most illuminating.

Like you suggested,

- it rather made me think.
- Yes, I thought it might do.

Made me realize how narrow
my horizons had become. Or other...

how narrow
Gerald had made my horizons.

Love doesn't always last forever alas.

Never loved him.

Awful man.

But that's all in the past now.

Or in the hands of my solicitor anyway.

So,
what can I do for you then, Jean?

What have you got on travel?

- Travel?
- Lots of it.

Heaps of it.
Exotic travel.

I think it's time
I saw a bit of the world.

I've got just the thing.

With you in just one moment, sir.

Thanks.

I'll let you run on it.

Without tea I am merely...

Unreconstituted dust.

It's hard to let go of the past, Mr. Book,

when you have
so many questions about it.

Such as?

If it wasn't for you and Trottie,
I'd be...

Well...

I'd be sleeping on the Embankment.

But now I have a position.

If it's still available.

The royal highnesses have let you go.

- I'll quit.
- Good for you.

Yes, the job's still yours.

So...

I've got a position.

A cosy little room...

above a bookshop on Archangel Lane.

I'm thinking...

Why me?

Your father gave me this.

The last time I saw him.

1935.

The last time?

He died.

Soon after.

I couldn't face looking at this book.

Not for years.

And then the war came
and I was busy.

Rather busy.

It was only a few months ago
that I picked it up again.

Dared to pick it up.

And I found there was a little more to it
than I thought.

What do you mean?

Oh, somewhere meek, unconscious dove.

That sitteth ranging golden hair

and glad to find thyself so fair.

Poor child...

that waitest for thy love.

He's trying to tell me, you see.

About you.

About the son I never knew he had.

Must have been taken
around when you were conceived.

Felix.

Felix?

I never had his name.

Just that...

Just that one picture.

Your father was a German.

German?

Prussian.

In point of fact.

And what was he to you, Mr. Book?

What was Felix to me?

He was everything, Jack.

He was what the war took away.

He was the whole damn world.

How did he die?

I don't know.

Shall we find out?

Sync and corrections: minouhse
www.addic7ed.com