Original subtitles

So, this is war in the 20th century.

Mechanised terror. Faceless killing machines.

The infernal nightmare that is the Spanish Civil War.

Or should that be the mind-bending tedium, the crushing boredom, the terminal fatigue.

I should be writing another novel.

Will I find my inspiration here, in Barcelona? I doubt it.

All I think about is Freya, Freya, Freya.

- Logan? - Hemingway!

- What are you doing here? - Trying to get to the Aragon front.

- It's taking forever. - Oh, right.

Well, leave it to me. But don't tell these guys.

Come on, you have to know the right people in this war, Logan.

You are friend for Señor Hemingway.

Yes. Yes, we're old friends.

Both novelists. Met in Paris.

You're working for an American news agency.

Yes. I only file for American newspapers. Only American.

Ah, yes. They pay well, no?

They do, actually.

- I can go to the front now? - Of course.

But only with your liaison officer. Me.

I am Faustino. Look forward to working with you, Señor Logan.

Me, too.

I give you this.

I don't want it.

Is essential. In Spain everyone has a gun.

So you are an Anarchist, not a Communist.

I suppose. Communists are better for governing. More practical.

We, Anarchists, we believe in simple things.

- Two loves, two hatreds. - And what are they?

Love of life. Love of humanity. Hatred of injustice. Hatred of privilege.

What about you, Logan?

At the moment, I think I only believe in love.

In fact, I believe in the love of one particular woman.

You are right. Love of a woman is essential.

You see, we are two romantics, Logan, deep down.

And what's your name?

Terence. Lieutenant James Terence.

So, where are you from in England?

Rotherhithe. Ever been there? It's in London.

We've got quite a few English lads. Even a couple of posh blokes, like you.

Trouble is, we're POUM here. Trotskyites.

Now, two miles down the line there you've got fucking Communists.

Same army, different army.

I don't understand.

This is Spain. How long you been out here?

Look, the Russians won't supply us. They only supply Communists.

Trotsky bad man, eh?

And because we're anti-Stalin, we don't get no new guns.

I'm sure General Franco is very grateful!

Here, put that in your fucking newspaper.

Shit! Get out of here! Go, move out!

Into the bunker, now! Into the bunker!

Get out of there! Into the fucking bunker! Go!

Oh, shit! That was close.

- How long will you be in Madrid? - I don't know. I don't know.

I've just got to go there and file a couple of reports, then I must go home.

- My girlfriend's pregnant. - Incoming!

If, when you are in Madrid, you could visit this person.

He has something for me. If you could collect it for me, Logan.

- What is it? - I used to be art teacher before this.

It's some property of mine, and I need someone I can trust.

Well, I'll do my best. I'll do my best. What then?

Call me at the ministry. I'll find a way to come to you.

It can seem a little surreal.

Wait till tomorrow. We'll catch a bus and go to the Madrid front line.

It's in the university quarter.

The Republicans are in the buildings and the Fascists are dug in, in the park.

Martha will take you. I'm shooting this film with Ivens all day.

Do you know Ivens? Joris Ivens?

No. What is it, a documentary?

Excuse me. My next article just walked in.

Nobody knows about Martha, Logan. Got it?

Especially not Mrs Hemingway.

Martha's a great girl,

but it's not easy on the home front, know what I mean?

I do know what you mean, actually. I'm in a similar situation myself.

Heart has its reasons, huh?

Tell me about it.

Let's have another drink first. Por favor?

Wow. This is a fucking mess. This your first child?

No.

God, I've gotta tell my wife and boy.

Now, that is a can of worms. See, I have three kids.

But if Martha was pregnant...

Drink up. We need fuel.

How does it happen, Hem?

It's called "life", I believe.

You got to go your own way, Logan.

It's like me. You choose to live the life, you take the consequences.

We all know that.

We'll fucking miss you. I thought we could have some fun here.

I'm just not functioning. I can only think of Freya, and the baby.

I need to catch a plane out of here. Tomorrow. Tonight.

- Dusenberry Press is gonna pay for this lot. - No!

Yes.

Oh, there is one thing.

This... Where is this?

Habla inglés?

Eres Logan Mountstuart?

Quién es?

Yo soy amigo, comprende?

Es mi amigo. Amigo.

Faustino...

Better be a magic carpet.

Hola? Puedo hablar a Faustino Angel? Por favor.

Faustino Angel, por favor.

- What? - Angel is executed.

Three days ago. He spy for Fascists. He's dead.

Faustino is dead?

Jesus.

This war is as close to death as I have ever come in my life

and it terrifies me. What are you doing here, Logan?

I'm back.

Do you mean it?

I've never been so sure of anything in my life.

Joan Miró. Catalan painter. Surrealist.

Mmm. Miró. Yes, I knew that immediately.

Liar!

Question is, what're we going to do with them?

Hang on, we're missing it.

...that I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility

and to discharge my duties as king

as I would wish to do

without the help and support...

- Shall we go to the pub? - ...of the woman I love.

It's time. No going back. Lottie is an essentially sweet, kind person.

We can be civilised about this. Grown up.

You filthy, stinking bastard!

Furthermore, Mr Mountstuart, it is my official duty to inform you

that you shall receive no income at all from the estate.

But what about Lionel?

The Earl will pay for Lionel's education and upbringing.

Consequently, you will be allowed to see Lionel once a month at a neutral venue.

No. Out of the question.

We're more than happy to argue the matter in court.

I was wondering about my things.

I've thrown everything out. Your books are in the stable block.

Bastard!

You may remove your possessions from the stable block

at a time of Lady Laeticia's choosing.

- Remember, I want the evidence. - What evidence?

- I refuse to... - There is no alternative, Mr Mountstuart.

So, it's to be public humiliation.

Their pound of flesh.

How long do you think we've got?

Don't know. Should be soon.

Do you think we've got time for a five-minute quickie?

That's the best idea I've heard all day.

- What about a two-minute quickie? - Mmm.

Damn.

Come in.

Good afternoon.

- Can you identify these people, miss? - Yes.

- They registered this afternoon at 1:38 p.m. - Hello! Yoo-hoo!

They registered under the names of Mr and Mrs John Smith.

- Very original, don't you think, darling? - I could tell you were a novelist.

Please, try not to move.

Oh, hold on a sec.

Melville Road.

The mature parkland at the rear extends a full 35 feet.

From the attic bedrooms, there is an exceptional panorama

of Battersea Power Station.

Perfection.

- It's not what you're used to. - But it's what I long for.

There's no grouse shooting.

I have nothing against grouse.

Hello, suburbia.

It's shepherd's pie for supper. Food of the gods.

Tomorrow, I must paint the nursery.

Michelangelo attacks the Sistine Chapel. Absurd, head-reeling sensations of bliss.

Intoxicating, chest-filling emotion that must be pure happiness.

Thank God Freya's still working. My novel's going nowhere.

How're you feeling, Mrs Mountstuart?

Pregnant.

Fat.

And happy.

Can you lend me a pound for tomorrow?

I can manage 10 bob, but you'll have to pay me back.

We never stay the same person. We change as we grow old.

The things that happen to us make us different people.

It's part of the story of our life.

Come on, silly. She won't bite.

I didn't know it was possible I could feel this happy.

Mountstuart residence.

Tess!

I know he's had other women, almost from the start.

Tess, the thing you've got to remember about Peter

is that he is just the most appalling flirt.

And prostitutes. And that actress he went with for a while.

Tess.

I don't care.

I didn't care.

But now he's got this woman in a house in Clapham.

They go out together,

to parties in London.

- Do you know her? - No. No, I don't. Honest.

He's going to leave me, I know it.

Talk to Peter, Logan. Tell him I forgive him everything.

Tell him I want him back, for the children's sake.

- Look, I'm not sure whether I'm the right... - He respects you.

I think he kind of idolises you.

Peter? No.

No, I think you're reading that wrongly.

Do what you can.

- Thank you. - She's pretty desperate, Peter.

Why you, of all people?

Because... Well, who knows?

Anyway, there it is. She wants you back, at any cost.

She's well provided for. So are the children.

I want you to meet Arabella, fabulous woman.

Wonderful.

- What's this, your second? - My third, actually.

Going very well. Proverbial hot cakes.

- You should write a teccie, Logan. - Yes, I should.

Why don't you call it Four Days in Marrakesh? Maybe A Month in Marrakesh.

That would have to be a long one, though.

Ha-ha. Always most amusing. Look, I'm laughing.

Sorry.

What should I tell Tess?

It's very simple. Tell her it's over.

- Thank you. - Thank you.

It's coming, Logan.

Impossible.

No.

There will be war with Germany. It is inevitable.

So you say. But what does it have to do with me?

A lot of people, influential people,

were very impressed with your Spanish Civil War pieces.

- So you want me to write journalism? - No.

I want you to hold yourself in readiness. We have a post for you in Naval Intelligence.

You know, Ian, I don't really think I'm cut out for that kind of work.

Beg pardon, Mr Fleming. Telegram for you, sir.

I can't do it, Logan. I can't.

Can't you at least do this for her?

This is Tess Scabius.

- Could a bomb kill a tiger, Daddy? - Yes.

- Could a bomb kill an elephant? - Yes.

Could a bomb kill a whale?

What can I do about Lionel? I hardly know him.

Yet he's my son. Therefore, I must love him.

What's the biggest bomb you've ever seen, Daddy?

But be honest, Logan, is flesh and blood enough?

Will he always be a stranger to me?

The distribution of gas masks began tonight in all areas.

The Home Office, in announcing this, urge everyone to take great care of the masks,

as their efficiency depends on the condition in which they are kept.

When not in use, they should be carried in boxes,

and care should be taken not to crumple the eyepieces.

There is a further warning against allowing children to play with the masks,

as damaged masks become leaky and therefore dangerous.

The Home Office adds that the gas masks will be distributed by local authorities.

The world is at war. Nothing has happened. Nothing bad, anyway.

I have a secure nine-to-five job for the first time in my life.

As he promised, Fleming got me a job in Naval Intelligence, writing propaganda.

I go to work on the tube. I have an office, a secretary, a decent salary.

Though it seems very strange to be wearing a uniform.

I'm meant to be writing a novel.

"Lieutenant Mountstuart" sounds all wrong, somehow.

I feel I'm betraying my vocation as a writer.

Sir?

A-ha. Muy bien. Excelente.

- Shall I file it, sir? - Yes.

They picked up on it quickly. Very gratifying when it works so well.

Don't forget the 11:30 meeting, sir.

He's always happier when lunch is on the horizon.

Oh, God, yes. Quite right.

The Duke of Windsor is in Portugal.

Near Lisbon.

Fled his house in the South of France when the Italians invaded.

Nearly got him.

Thank God the silly arse didn't stay in Spain for any length of time.

Trouble is, he won't come home.

He's refusing to budge.

Can't Winston persuade him?

I'm afraid relations between the Prime Minister and the Duke are,

let's say, frosty, since the abdication.

Actually, let's say bloody freezing cold.

I met the Duke once when he was Prince of Wales. Seemed charming.

I told you Logan was our man.

"Our man"?

For what?

We're incredibly busy.

The Duke is a very difficult man.

Why?

Well, he's a royal, so he's spoilt by nature.

He used to be the King of England and now he's living in a rented villa in Estoril.

The longer he stays there, the more attention he attracts.

And, well, we're beginning to worry that the Germans may try and kidnap him.

- He would be quite a catch. - That's where you come in, Logan.

These are astonishing.

Do you know how rare it is to have five?

Five paintings by Joan Miró from the 1920s.

Incredible!

You got nothing out of Paris?

No, just me and Sandrine.

When our synagogue had swastikas painted on it,

- we felt we didn't want to hang around. - Of course.

Well, I'd love you to sell them. If you want to.

Logan, these paintings, they're...

They're going to put me in a position

I never thought I'd reach in my wildest dreams.

Then I couldn't be happier.

And I'll be in your debt for the rest of my life.

Even better.

But I'll take my time.

Yes. I'll go to America with them.

Whatever you think. I have no idea. I don't...

Steady on.

Have you gone and robbed a bank?

No. I sold the paintings to Ben. It's in case anything happens to me.

Oh, hang on. You're going off on a flying boat to Portugal

to see the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, for heaven's sake.

It's hardly the front line!

I know, I know. Well, it is a mission, of sorts.

Dark and dirty work but somebody has got to do it.

Give me that.

I do. I do remember you.

Mr Mountstuart. Of course.

Biarritz, you let David play through.

Come along.

David.

It's, um...

- David. - Hello.

- Who's this? - Mr Mountstuart.

We met him in Biarritz, at the golf course. Remember?

- Are you a golfer? - Yes, I am, actually.

Thank God. At last. A golfer.

Well, we must play a round.

- Well, I'd love to... - Tomorrow.

Have you met Ricardo's cousin?

No.

Damned humidity.

- Have you a cigarette, Mountstuart? - Yes, of course.

Get back! Stay there!

Always stand too bloody close.

Yes, it is very humid, isn't it, sir?

Well, I'll have to get used to it.

I don't follow.

They've offered me a new job, for the duration.

I'm to be Governor of the Bahamas.

Well, it's certainly very tropical.

And one of our smallest colonies, Mountstuart.

The King and his interfering wife want me completely out of the way.

My brother is an affable fool, but his wife's a nasty schemer.

She can't stand Wallis.

Very jealous.

What they don't realise is, I'm not moving one bloody inch

until I get what I want.

I'll let you have that, sir.

I'm not moving unless I have my valet, Piper Fletcher.

Churchill says he's a serving soldier, can't be released for this kind of duty.

Fucking nonsense.

Bad luck, Mountstuart. That's, uh, six pounds you owe me.

- Do you have a valet, Mountstuart? - No. No, I don't.

You should get one. People don't understand...

Someone in my position simply cannot function without a valet.

So if you have Fletcher, sir, that would change the situation?

When a man has a valet, Mountstuart, everything is suddenly possible.

I telegraphed London, said it was very simple,

the Duke had to have his valet. Problem over.

Everything in the garden rosy again, he has to get what he wants,

it's that easy. That's the key.

Basically, all one has to say to him is "Yes".

Any variation of "Yes" is all that's required. You can chat away for hours.

London got the message, and the Duke got his valet.

Mission accomplished.

These tables are amazing, you know. High explosive has absolutely no effect.

- These tables will win us the war. - What about the shelter?

I prefer to be under a table.

If a bomb's gonna drop on you, a bomb's gonna drop on you.

A bit of oak or a bit of corrugated iron won't make much difference.

Yes...

It's all luck, isn't it, in the end?

At least we're all here.

Where are the sandwiches?

Oh! Oh, no!

Oh, Daddy!

Daddy, they're squashed!

The war, the war, the war...

I'm elated by Pearl Harbor. Exhilarated.

The Americans are coming and now we'll win.

I haven't written a word of my novel for two years.

Favourite place, Melville Road, Battersea.

Vice, procrastination.

Faith, love for Freya and Stella, and Lionel, of course.

New Year's resolution,

to come through this war and write something of value.

I must.

Another teccie?

No. It's all about Tess. About our life.

And her death and my responsibility, my betrayal.

Oh, please tell me you're joking.

It couldn't be further from a joke. It's part of my penance.

- The penance I owe to Tess. - Penance?

- Guilt. Anyone would think... - I'm converting.

- I'm becoming a Roman Catholic. - Oh, no.

- Like Graham Greene and Evelyn Waugh. - No, like Peter Scabius.

Why is it that all English writers are converting to bloody Catholicism?

Why not be a very devout Anglican?

Because I need a savage, unforgiving, brutal God.

Since Tess's death... Don't you see,

I don't want some bourgeois, Anglican God I can have a nice cup of tea with.

I want to be frightened of my deity. In awe.

You do know it's all complete mumbo jumbo, don't you?

Life's about luck. Good luck and bad luck.

The good luck you have and the bad luck you have. That's all.

What utter nonsense. You can't live with a philosophy like that.

- Forget it. - Anyway, I want you to read it,

tell me what you think of it. Honestly. I've not spared myself.

Currency speculation is high treason. No doubt at all.

Really?

Well, it is when you're the ex-King of England and your country's been at war for four years.

We have reason to believe the Duke has borrowed two million dollars

from some plutocrat and is speculating

on the currency markets through a bank in Mexico.

- Why would he do it? - He keeps moaning about how poor he is.

Among his other plethora of endless moans.

But what's this got to do with my division? I'm Spain and Portugal.

You're a serving officer, Logan, like me.

We have no choice once we've been given an order.

This is highly secret, okay? Not a word.

Right, I understand.

How do you do this trick, Logan? You're only nine years old.

The reds represent a decade, more kind for the old chap.

I've got a birthday present for you, Logan.

- I sold the last Miró. - Really, that's wonderful.

A museum in Boston bought it. Could have sold a dozen more.

- I'll bring the money over, discreetly. - Discreetly?

- Ship ahoy! Splice the mainbrace! - A-ha!

The Lord High Admiral Mountstuart is about to take to the ocean wave.

- Really? - Mmm. Mustn't breathe a word.

But they're going to give me command of a ship.

A ship?

We should be in sight of the Bahamas in an hour, sir.

We're making for Nassau.

Yes, that's correct. It's good. Good.

And from there we'll be hunting enemy submarines.

Yes, in theory.

I'm not stupid, sir. I did notice the golf clubs.

I'll be staying in a hotel room. You'll have your cabin back.

No doubt you'll be able to spot the Nazi submarines from the lounge bar.

Who is the most important Englishman on this side of the Atlantic, McStay?

- Ah... The Duke of Windsor? - That's it.

- And he is... - The Governor of the Bahamas.

Let's just say I'm here to keep an eye on him.

I'll let you know when we sight Nassau harbour, sir.

Thank you.

You're new.

A new face, thank God! I'm Harry Oakes.

Lieutenant Logan Mountstuart.

Of course! You're the intrepid sub hunter.

Good luck to you, son.

He believes in plain speaking. That's my father-in-law.

He likes to call a spade a bloody spade.

- Alfred de Marigny. - Logan Mountstuart.

Nassau is not a bad place to spend a war. There is some fun to be had.

- Do you know anyone here? - No, not a soul.

Mr Logan Mountstuart, as I live and breathe.

They said there was a Navy ship being stationed here.

Amazing you should be its captain...

Extraordinary coincidence, ma'am.

We have to tell David now. He'll be thrilled, thrilled...

I can't tell you how pleased I am.

My happiest moment since they stuck us in this ghastly moron paradise.

Ah, my favourite people, morons.

Spoilt for choice here.

Lovely to see you. How are you?

Queen of the morons.

Why am I so glad to see you, Mr Mountstuart?

What can it mean?

Well, I'm not really sure.

David, look who it is!

It's Mr Mountstuart, darling.

He managed to get you Piper Fletcher.

Ah, yes... Lot of damn fuss about nothing.

- You're the golfing chappie, aren't you? - That's me, sir.

You're tense.

Do you feel tense?

- No, I feel all right, sir. I think it's just... - Just relax.

Don't look up. Yep, um, no, it's not... Yeah, it's interesting...

Funny to think I used to enjoy golf.

I'm beginning to see it as a torment from Dante's Inferno.

When I'm not stuck in my stifling room writing coded nonsense for the NID,

I am condemned to spend an afternoon hitting a small, white ball with a wooden stick

with a vain little man who cheats and never says thank you.

And all I can do is smile...

And smile...

And smile.

Freya, Freya, are you still there?

Have you heard the news recently?

Yes, what news?

We've beaten the Germans at El Alamein.

We're advancing against the Japs in Burma.

- Yes. Your point is? - There's a war on, sir.

And you play golf with the Duke of Windsor three times a week.

The Duke, between ourselves, is a bit of a CAUC.

- A what? - "Complete And Utter Cunt."

- Don't snatch at it. - No. Ah.

Bad luck, Mountstuart.

Hello? Hello, darling? This line's appalling...

What am I doing here?

I feel as if I'm a character in a chapter of Alice in Wonderland.

I've fallen down a rabbit hole,

and I live in the curious, unreal world of the Duke and the Duchess.

No, no. I have no news. I just wanted to hear your voice.

And you're inclined to look up, which you shouldn't do.

But here I am, trapped.

But I can find nothing against the Duke, no currency fraud, no evidence at all.

I cabled NID, "Get me out of here! I'll do anything!"

"Continue with mission".

Give my love to... Hello, hello...

December 31st, 1942.

Mood, low. Libido, non-existent.

Work, nil. Ambition, to get out of this place.

I miss Freya and Stella so much, it is like a pain in the gut.

Freya... Freya... When will I see Freya again?

Freya...

This for all square, yes?

That's right, sir.

You've had a lot of bad luck on this round.

Even if want to go to Miami I have to ask permission.

"Please, Mr Churchill, may I see my dentist?"

- It's humiliating. - That damn woman,

whispering in Churchill's ear, day and night.

Yes, you said she was very petty and vindictive.

They can't stand me, but I don't care.

They want to keep David as far away as possible from Bertie.

I'm not sure that's true.

They can't have you in England.

The King would be seen for the simple fool that he is.

And as for that horrible, dumpy, Scottish woman...

If you were there, David, all eyes would be on you.

Isn't that so, Logan?

Well, as you always say,

when a minor, provincial aristocrat suddenly finds she's Queen of England...

Exactly.

Some people have greatness thrust upon them and simply can't handle it.

At least we still have friends, powerful friends.

We know who we can call on in an emergency.

We are not without influence.

We can still get what we want, even if it takes a little longer these days.

Your short-putting game is deplorable, Logan.

You've got to keep your head absolutely still, like this.

You keep looking up. Looking around. Smiling.

Bop! In she goes. See? Easy.

Logan...

We want you to think of yourself as an ami de la maison.

Thank you, ma'am. Thank you. I'm very honoured.

Who the hell is that now?

Yep?

What is it, darling?

Harry Oakes, my God! He's been murdered.

Logan, I might need your help here. Where, where is he?

Well, if the Duke says

you must be given unimpeded access, I can hardly deny you, can I?

I think he just wants someone familiar to get him the facts.

- Know anything of Sir Harry? - Nothing much. Just the usual gossip.

I shook his hand once. The richest millionaire in the Bahamas.

Owns dozens of gold mines in Canada. Great benefactor...

And a singularly unpleasant man.

Lucky you came now, we were just about to remove the body.

They tried to set the bed on fire.

I suppose the house was meant to burn down. Cover everything up.

Anybody else in the house? Servants?

Just one house guest.

A Mr Harold Christie. A business partner of Oakes. He was sleeping next door.

- Sleeping? You're joking? - Slept through the whole thing, apparently.

They're interviewing, de Marigny, the son-in-law.

Him. Yes, of course. Loathsome gigolo, lounge lizard.

He would have done it for the money. For Oakes's will.

Yes, him. Must be him.

Well, there's this other man, Christie, who was in the house at the same time.

He slept through it all, he says. The whole thing stinks.

- Just my filthy luck! - I don't follow, sir.

If they hadn't bungled the job, there wouldn't be a murder inquiry. Typical.

Looks very, very bad, Logan.

That this should happen on my watch. Rotten, filthy, bad luck.

I can't be associated with this sort of ghastly thing.

We've got to sort this out fast. We need real professionals.

Now, I am going to call a couple of detectives I know in Miami, real experts.

They'll wrap this thing up in a day or so. I'd like you to meet them.

Whatever I can do to help, sir.

I'm Alfred de Marigny.

Nassau is not a bad place to spend a war. There is some fun to be had.

Know anything of Sir Harry?

He would have done it for the money.

A singularly unpleasant man.

Yes, him. Must be him.

Mountstuart? I'm Barker, this is Melchen.

The Duke said you were coming. The de Marigny guy, you know him?

Yes, I've met him once before. Briefly.

So you could offer him a cigarette, glass of water, he wouldn't be suspicious?

No, I don't think so.

Good. I want you give de Marigny these cigarettes.

And make sure you hold them like that. Let him open the pack.

Then we'll come along and leave the rest to us.

Why?

We need to get de Marigny's prints.

The cellophane on a pack of smokes does a great job.

- We'll be right behind you. - No. Forget it.

- No, forget it. I'm going. - Hey. Hey, buddy.

- The Duke... - Do your own dirty work.

I'll talk to the Duke.

I simply don't believe it! It's outrageous!

You did nothing? Not a thing? You didn't help them?

It's already all over the American newspapers.

What do you think the gutter press in England will make of it?

- It's a disaster. - Sir, they're completely corrupt.

I don't know whether you've heard, de Marigny's been charged.

Amazingly, a fingerprint was found on the Chinese screen in the murder room.

One perfect print from de Marigny's thumb. It's a sham.

Well, the man did it. The murder is solved. The guilty man is in jail.

- It's perfect! - Sir, it's a total frame-up.

They are framing de Marigny for Sir Harry Oakes' murder.

- We can't stand by and... - How dare you suggest

I would call in corrupt detectives? How dare you? Get out of here!

- Sir, I wasn't suggesting... - Oh, yes, you are!

Your implication is clear.

We have solved this horrible, horrible murder

in under 48 hours and I will not have some junior officer like you stand in my way.

Get out! Get out of here, now!

Ma'am, thank God you're here.

You have to tell the Duke these detectives are corrupt.

- He's being betrayed by them. - Judas! You're the betrayer.

- After everything we've done for you! - Please, ma'am. I beg you.

I'm only thinking of the Duke's good name,

- his reputation... - Judas.

Don't worry, we'll get you, Judas.

Well, hello, sailor.

Hello.

Stella! There's a nice man at the door.

Daddy! Daddy!

Hello.

- Don't cry, silly Daddy. Guess what? - What?

- We've got a dog. - A dog?

- Here's to Guilt. - To Guilt. How many copies now?

100,000. Hence the champers.

Well, I'm insanely jealous. Haven't written a word all war.

My God. It says here, "Peter Scabius is a towering genius".

I know.

But I think Tess would be pleased, don't you?

I think she'd be happy for me.

I have an image of her, smiling at me, saying, "Well done, Peter."

Back in a second.

I'm beginning to worry that Peter is turning into a CAUC.

I know exactly what you mean.

Thanks.

Well, I'm very impressed, Logan. Bang in the middle.

- It's quite terrifying, actually. - Nonsense.

Well, three more jumps to go. The question is, Ian.

- Mmm-hmm. - Why am I learning to parachute?

Well, we want you to jump out of a plane, of course.

Tomorrow...

What're you going to do in Switzerland?

They're losing the war, darling. So the Nazis are running, looking for somewhere to hide.

I'm going to set a trap for them.

I'm supposed to pose as a Uruguayan ship broker

and offer them safe passage to Uruguay.

I shouldn't even be telling you. It's a deadly secret. I could be sent to prison.

I'd rather you were rotting in prison than beguiling Nazis in Switzerland.

It's a neutral country. I'll be perfectly safe. It's perfectly safe.

What if you meet this beautiful, cuckoo-clock manufacturing,

buxom, Swiss milkmaid?

- You'll never come back. - Try and stop me.

She'll make you live in a chalet in the mountains

- and make you chocolate every day. - Ah, but I don't like chocolate.

Nice night for it, sir.

Can you take your position?

This is my last flight. I'm on leave tomorrow.

Lucky you.

Can I ask you, sir? Brighton or Margate?

- Sorry? - Going for a week's holiday.

I'm taking the wife. Which one would you choose?

Guess we'll never know, will we, sir? Happy landings!

Remember this, son. It's just luck in the end.

That's all life is.

I'd like to see the British Consul, please.

Why the British Consul?

You are a citizen of Uruguay. A ship broker from Montevideo.

But there is no Uruguayan Consulate here in Geneva.

I'm not Gonzago Peredes. I work for British Intelligence!

Day 47, I'm almost certainly sure.

We must be sometime in the middle of 1944 by now.

I ask to see the British Consul three times a week.

Nothing. Silence.

I eat two reasonable meals a day. I can empty my chamber pot in the evening.

I have a shower once a week. I have no watch.

Day 73, the guards still only speak to me in Spanish.

I think of Freya every day, every hour, every minute.

Fleming must have told her I've been captured. He must have.

She has to know that I'm alive. She must know.

Day 106. All I think about is Freya,

Freya and Stella, Stella and Freya.

I don't think I'm alone in this place because I hear doors slam

and other voices.

Get out!

But who betrayed me?

- You, Judas! - Who?

Those police came straight for me. No hesitation.

Bonjour.

Yeah. Good day to you, too.

Good day to you, too!

Come on, Albert, say hello to Albertine. Don't be shy, Albertine.

He's a very, very handsome woodlouse.

We are not without influence.

We can still get what we want.

I demand to see the governor! I have my rights!

I am not Gonzago Peredes. I am Logan Mountstuart. I am an English spy.

I demand to see the British Consul.

You don't need to speak Spanish to me.

I am explaining to you, I am Señor Fernández from the Spanish Consulate in Lausanne.

We are responsible for Uruguayan affairs here in Switzerland.

But I am not Uruguayan. My name is Logan Mountstuart. I am British.

I'm very sorry. There is some mistake.

I am not responsible. You must see British Consulate.

- What is the date? - October 22, 1944.

- And what is this place? - Prison for the Swiss Intelligence Agency.

I need to get a message to someone in London. Can you do this for me?

I can try.

I beg you, from the depths of my soul. Get this to London and to that person.

Please, it's all I ask.

I will do my best, Señor Peredes.

So you're not Gonzago Peredes?

My name is Logan Mountstuart.

I am a British agent working for the Naval Intelligence Division.

I was arrested by the Swiss near Geneva in April, 1944.

I've been in prison for over a year.

Please contact London. Look, they will verify everything. Everything.

What's happening with the war?

The war is over. Germany surrendered a month ago.

Oh!

Well, that's good. That's very good.

Hello, dear. Can I help?

Is that the postman, love?

Uh, I am terribly sorry, I'm looking for Mrs Freya Mountstuart and her daughter.

Oh, yes, they used to live here.

Do you know where they live now? I'm Logan Mountstuart.

Her husband. I was a prisoner in the war.

Did no one tell you? Oh, somebody should've told you, love.

Told me what?

About the rocket. The V-2. At the end of last year.

She'd just went up to the school at the top of the road to pick up the little girl,

and the rocket fell...