Original subtitles

♪

Announcer: New BoHo boots by Groovy Shoo.

The coolest kicks in town.

These killer heels are definitely

something to twist and shout about.

BoHo - the only way to Go-Go.

♪

People cannot wait to get their hands on these boots.

- Don't you mean their feet? - Exactly.

You'll be in next weeks edition.

He'll be wrapped around a fish supper come Friday.

- Shh. - "The coolest kicks in town--

made right here in our town."

You can have that one.

And did you say the launch

has been brought forward to Saturday?

- Saturday?. - Saturday?.

Arthur: By popular demand.

Much obliged Mr. Millington.

- Cheerio ladies. - Bye.

Albert: Right, let's get those machines humming

and make some beautiful music together.

I thought we made boots.

With staff numbers already down

we'll never get it finished by Saturday.

Unless you're gonna pay us overtime.

Yeah, we'll have to pull double shifts.

I'm afraid the factory finances are rather tight

at the moment, ladies.

- Meaning? - Albert: Meaning,

I'm very much relying on your goodwill

to get this order out on time.

So you want us to work extra hours for no extra pay?

Albert: Well we don't want to see the factory go under, do we?

- What? - The rather brutal fact

is-- we pull together

or you could all be out of a job.

♪

Have you seen this?

- Boho Boots? - Oh they're to die for.

Not that I can afford them on my wages.

They don't look very comfortable.

They're rather daring.

I had a pair of heels like that once.

Nearly broke my neck running for the bus

after a night at Passion.

It was a nightclub. [ Laughs ]

Anyway, never mind the boots-- I sniff a business opportunity.

D'you reckon we could sell our vino at the launch party?

Mr. Millington's usually in the Spitfire after work--

you could ask him.

- [ Chuckles ] - Mmm.

♪

We should be getting paid for this extra work.

- I'm talking to the union. - You heard Mr. Millington--

if we don't get these boots ready on time

we could be out of a job.

Ah, Ladies, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this.

Oh, Uncle Arthur. I'm Sorry-- Mr. Millington.

The women are grumbling about the additional hours.

Dermot, the thing you have to understand about women

is how much they love to complain.

You just have to know how to handle them.

- Turn on the charm-- - Mr. Millington.

Albert: Ah. The lovely Bernice.

- I was wondering... - Well wonder no more.

I'm sure Dermot will be able to help.

[ Quietly ] Charm, Dermot. If you can muster any.

Pamela: Hello girls.

Bernice: Pam.

We haven't seen you in ages.

Pamela, to what do we owe the pleasure?

Can't a girl pop by to see her favourite uncle?

She can, but I bet she's after something.

You know me so well.

Just give me half an hour,

Pamela, my dear, I've got a couple of things

to get on top of.

We have a big order to finish.

I can see that. Stick the kettle on, then.

I'll wait.

♪

[ Scoffs ]

Interesting.

- Snowball? - Oh just a small one.

We're here on convent business, remember.

I don't understand the fuss.

- They're just boots. - They're BoHo boots.

I thought they were Go-Go boots.

The BoHo boot is the Go-Go boot.

Apparently.

They'd look great on you, Peggy.

Thanks.

So, how's your arty farty stuff going?

I am getting my portfolio together.

Much to Uncle Arthur's disgust.

- "There's no money in art." - No money in footwear, either.

And I've got calluses on calluses

from these sewing machines.

Dermot: Moan, moan, moan.

You don't hear the men complaining

about the extra work.

They're just glad of the extra cash.

- Shh. - Extra cash?

Oi, Derek.

Ere, are you getting paid overtime?

You and your big mouth. You're a liability.

- Arthur. - Oh, hello, Hector.

Now, you promised me some end-of-line sandals

for my theatricals.

I'm doing one of the Greeks.

- What's this? - Hector: Vera.

Do you fancy a bit of Lysistrata?

"No poet's wiser than Euripides--

as he says, no beast exists so shameless as womankind."

Bravo.

[ Applause ]

Are you having a drink, Daisy?

No, no, I'm here to clean.

I'm moonlighting. Shh.

I would have thought spirits were more your line.

- Holy Spirits? - [ Laughs ] Good one.

Yeah. Bring a bottle to the factory, tomorrow,

and we'll talk.

♪

You're early.

Have you got a second second job?

- Needs must. - Bernice: Well, needs shouldn't.

Wait till I tell you what I've found out...

Chop chop Mrs. Mop.

I need you on those machines when the clock strikes eight.

Knock knock. Boss in? I've brought him a snifter.

He's in his office but he doesn't like

- to be disturbed before nine. - Ah well, I've gotta be

in the chapel in half an hour.

Dermot: Erm, no, no.

Never too early for a vin...

Oh...

♪

[ Camera shutter clicks ]

♪

Lacerations and swelling suggest a blow to the head

Perhaps it was a robbery gone wrong?

The money's still in the petty cash tin

but perhaps Mr. Millington disturbed a burglar.

Or the burglar disturbed him.

Looks like he slept here last night.

♪

Blood on the corner.

From the position of the body,

I'd say that he hit his head as he fell.

So, an accident?

No, I don't think so.

Best open a window. Bitter almonds.

Cyanide?

♪

There's a coffee pot here and a half-drunk cup.

Oh yes, splendid. I'll take them for testing.

♪

Somebody's been moulting.

♪

And this hair doesn't appear to be Arthur's.

Sister, time of death?

Well, no rigor mortis.

The body's still warm.

Can't have been more than a couple of hours ago.

Sister Reg said there were some workers here when she arrived.

- They're out there. - This is horrible.

We have to open as normal. The launch is on Saturday.

Not being funny, Dermot, but you could look

a little bit more grief-stricken.

Pamela: I feel sick.

Did any of you see or speak to Mr. Millington this morning?

He was in his office all night working on the launch.

Nobody goes in there on pain of death.

- Or sacking. - We wouldn't dare.

♪

Hello, who's left their greasy mark here?

♪

And there's another one here, look.

What is it?

♪

Financial records.

Sister, someone's been lighting a fire in here recently.

In the heat of summer, well, albeit, British summer.

♪

Oh yes.

Someone's been burning paper.

But why?

I salvaged as many fragments as I could.

Why the hair lacquer?

Perhaps the fragments have a hot date.

[ Chuckles ]

I need to stabilise their structural integrity

before I can examine them.

I'm running tests on the greasy smudges as well.

Felix: Okay, what about the cyanide?

Oh, most peculiar--

Sample from the coffee cup and pot.

When I add a mixture of iron sulphate,

caustic soda and distilled water...

Sam: This is usually the point you say, "Bingo."

If any cyanide were present the liquid would turn bright blue.

So, it wasn't cyanide that killed him?

But that smell of bitter almonds was unmistakeable.

And cyanide acts quickly.

He must have ingested it this morning.

But there isn't any sign that he ate or drank anything else.

And here's another interesting thing--

the hairs that I found on the floor aren't human.

♪

It's uni-seriated.

The shaft looks like a tiny ladder.

- Animal hair. - Cat? Dog?

No, the texture would be smooth if it were dog.

Spiculated-- spiky, if it were a cat.

This is coarse, probably horse hair.

Uncle Arthur turned the stables into a garage years ago.

No pets at all?

Dermot and I weren't allowed so much as a goldfish growing up.

We were more than enough to look after, apparently.

You were raised by your uncle?

Our parents were on a ship sunk by a U-boat.

Uncle Arthur inherited us.

♪

Boniface: These bristles are horsehair.

Ah.

Felix: So when were you in Arthur's office?

I thought no one entered on pain of death?

Oh, well...

♪

Look.

The BoHo boot design?

I barged in on Uncle Arthur,

yesterday afternoon, to have a go at him...

♪

You stole my designs.

♪

Arthur: [ Sighs ]

You should be flattered I thought them good enough.

I'm not flattered. I'm furious.

Look, don't kick up a fuss about your precious doodle

and I'll pay for that fancy art school

you're always banging on about-- how's that?

We made a deal.

Still, he took your designs without asking.

That must have made you angry.

Are you alright? You looked very flushed.

My uncle has just died.

♪

I wouldn't kill someone over a stolen "doodle."

Besides, you said he died at the factory this morning.

I was at home until Dermot rang with the news.

Ask the housekeeper.

[ Laughs ]

No, no, the boot launch is full steam ahead.

No, No, no, no. The police are looking into it.

They've got a nun on the case.

Yeah, Miss Marple in a wimple.

Solving crime through the power of prayer.

[ Laughs ]

No, I know. No, no.

Alright, well I'll see you on Saturday, alright.

- [ Clears throat ] - Excuse me, Dermot...

It's Mr. Millington to you, now.

Mr. Millington.

I know you must be upset about your uncle...

I'll be more upset if those boots don't get finished.

About that.

The men at the warehouse

were promised overtime pay.

Yes.

Well, those lads work hard.

You can't begrudge them?

The women work hard.

What, sewing?.

Look, just finish those boots or I'll end your employment.

I'm in charge, now, love.

♪

We'll see about that.

The smudge on the file is some sort of emollient.

My first thought was hand cream--

possibly face cream. But, um--

when I Iron Chloride.

The emollient contains lactic acid.

To remove dry skin. It's most likely a foot cream.

For bunions.

♪

Bunions and calluses...

[ Indistinct chatter ]

Dermot needs us as much as we need our jobs.

I need every penny I can get.

Erm, why-- why aren't you lot working?

You lied to us.

This place isn't going under-- it's booming.

You just didn't want to pay us any extra.

Oh, the men are getting overtime though.

And they already get twice what we do.

Of course the men get paid more. They're the breadwinners.

Most of you lot are just here for some pocket money

and a chance to get out of the vacuuming.

Alright ladies.

Let's see how he manages to organise a boot launch

without any boots.

- What? - Bernice: You heard.

- I'm calling a strike. - All: Yeah!

Bernice: Someone get Norman at The Bugle.

I really can't afford...

Dermot: Time of the month is it, girls?

Look, just get back to work before I sack the lot of you.

- Bernice: Daisy? - I can't.

Bernice, can we have a word please?

♪

So it's foot cream but you use it on your hands.

So?

It's good for calluses.

Well you left traces of it when

you went through the accounts.

Alright.

I came back here last night to take a sneak peek at the books.

♪

Mr. Millington said the factory was going bust

but not according to the accounts.

He was raking it in.

Albert: A blinking liability.

Dermot: Well, if you told me what was going on.

So Perhaps you thought a change of management was in order.

Maybe you thought his nephew would be a better boss?

Dermot? He's worse than his uncle.

He's obnoxious and incompetent.

Couldn't run an egg and spoon race.

Look, if you're looking for someone with a motive--

look at him.

Because he called his nephew a liability?

Last night, Mr. Millington was shouting about

how he would never leave his beloved factory to Dermot.

Not even if he was the last man in Great Slaughter.

♪

I'm the closest thing he had to a son.

So you stand to inherit everything?

Yes, as Uncle Arthur's right-hand man.

Felix: Unless your uncle didn't think you were capable.

You know, perhaps he was going to change his will

and leave everything to Pamela?

He wouldn't leave his precious factory to a girl.

Look I hope-- I hope you're not accusing me of murder?

My uncle was very good friends with your boss.

We're not accusing you of anything-- yet.

But don't go anywhere.

Of course I'm not going to go anywhere, am I.

I've got this blasted boot launch to sort.

And Bernice has got all my machinists out on strike.

- Bernice: What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

- What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

It was you, wasn't it?

Telling tales to the police.

And you were here snooping around last night.

So?

Is that when you poisoned my uncle?

Me? I'm not the one inheriting his factory.

Consider yourself fired.

You can't sack me, I'm on strike!

- What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- Bernice: When do we want it? - All: Now!

Norman: Can I get a quote for the paper?

What do you think your uncle would say about all this?

His uncle would never have allowed it to happen.

Oh, Chief Constable, thank goodness.

Bernice McDowell is who you're after.

Well, I'm not here in official business.

I'm here because Arthur was a--

well he was a very good friend of mine

and I've brought Vera along to try and talk some sense

into this lot.

Woman to woman, as it were.

- Mrs. Clam? - Brilliant.

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

- Bernice: What do we want? - All: Fair pay!

I worked in this factory during the first war.

Making boots for soldiers.

No ho-ho boots in those days.

Not with a war on.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady.

Taking advantage of this gentleman's grief.

Bernice: Grief?

The only thing he's mourning is his profit margins.

Some of these women are struggling...

Struggle?

You wouldn't know the meaning of the word.

Getting through two wars, that was a struggle.

You tell her, Vera.

We were prepared to make a sacrifice

for the greater good in those days.

Ten hours a day I worked in that factory.

And proved you were every bit as good as the men.

- Exactly. - You're my hero.

Oh. Am I?

But you were earning a fraction

of what the men in the factory were getting,

for doing the exact same job.

I, well--

I hadn't-- was I?

And we've barely seen a pay-rise since.

Unlike the men.

♪

Why should the women earn less?

Because, they're women.

It's only a bit of sewing.

[ Scoffs ] A bit of...

Show them your hands.

Red raw from machine work.

Oh, I remember those calluses like they were yesterday.

Calluses? The men were on the front line risking their lives.

♪

Dottie lost her mother to a stray bomb.

I know women who crawled out from under rubble to get to work

so that you could have boots to march in.

♪

- What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- Mrs. Clam: When do we want it? - Now!

- What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

They're refusing to work until Mr. Millington negotiates.

- How exciting. - Good for them.

Yeah, although not so good for us.

If that launch doesn't go ahead that's twelve cases of wine

we're lumbered with.

Boniface: Sisterhood solidarity.

We could organise food and collections in the morning.

Maybe I could arrange a sing song

on the picket line-- raise everyone's spirits.

A rousing chorus of Kumbaya, perhaps.

♪

- Women: What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- Women: When do we want it? - All: Now!

- What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

- Women: What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- Women: When do we want it? - All: Now!

The three of you don't even work here.

I'm only going in to clean.

[ Crowd booing ]

You're still breaking the picket line.

I'm sorry. I need the money.

Right, if I-- if I could get everyone's attention.

[ Crowd booing ]

I am prepared to make you an offer.

If you will agree to stop all of this nonsense,

get back to work,

then I will generously make sure

that every woman

gets a free pair of BoHo Go-Go boots.

[ Crowd booing ]

You can shove your BoHo boots up your--

♪

Morning.

Is it morning? Oh, goodness.

Twas the lark not the nightingale, after all.

♪

Romeo and Juliet.

Well, Mrs. Clam woke up at the crack of dawn

to get to the picket line.

Yeah, we had to make breakfast on our own.

Sam: Turns out Felix is a whizz with a poached egg.

The secret is a little dash of vinegar.

Whereas I have finally stabilised the fragments

of paper that we found in Arthur's fireplace.

I need a little longer to examine them

under the microscope.

In the meantime, something curious...

There are no fingerprints on this at all.

None? Not even Arthur Millington's?

Boniface: None. Suggesting it was wiped clean, deliberately.

Which seems a little like overkill,

if you'll pardon my vernacular--

since whoever opened the tin was wearing gloves.

How do you know that?

Well, because they caught their glove in the hinge.

♪

And left a piece behind.

- That looks like... - Rubber.

Yes.

So, who at the factory has rubber gloves?

- I'm not a thief. - But you were caught with

your hand in the till-- or tin, rather.

Boniface: There.

The missing piece of your glove that we found

in the petty cash tin.

Look, we know that no money was taken out of there.

Did Arthur catch you in the act?

My husband left me.

Just over a month ago.

I found out he hadn't been paying the rent or the bills.

He'd been taking my wages too,

and spending them on God knows what.

Sorry Sister.

Then the night before last,

the landlord come banging on the door

threatening eviction...

So, you thought you'd help yourself to petty cash?

Mr. Millington is usually in his office when I get here.

I was getting stuff out the cleaning cupboard by his office

when I saw him pop out to use the lavatory.

I knew he kept the petty cash tin in his office...

And then I thought...

I should have gloves on.

♪

What the hell do you think you're doing?

It was a moment of madness.

He said he was going to speak to me at the end of the day.

Were you afraid he was going to go to the police?

I-- I don't know. I was more worried he'd sack me.

But if you killed him then no one would know

that you'd been sacked.

I didn't kill him.

I've got three kids to look after.

I'm not going to abandon them like their dad did.

That's why I can't go on strike.

How would I feed 'em?

Now all my friends hate me.

If they're your friends, I suspect they'll understand.

- Mrs. Clam: What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- When do we want it? - All: Now!

- Mrs. Clam: What do we want? - All: Fairer pay!

- Mrs. Clam: When do we want it? - All: Now.

So we still don't know how, when or where Arthur was poisoned.

Felix: What's going on?

[ Engine hums ]

What have you done, now?

I've borrowed some machinists from Jenford's.

Had to pay a chunk for the privilege.

You see. Nobody's irreplaceable.

You could have used that money

to pay your own workers the overtime.

You're as bad as Uncle Arthur.

Pam.

Here's a headline for you--

"Emotional Women Throw Toys Out of Pram."

- I'll use that. - Emotional?

Not you, Peggy.

I'm sure your emotions are well under control.

Excuse me.

Ladies who just got off the bus.

We are on strike

because Groovy Shoo

do not pay a fair wage to women.

Ladies.

We are worth as much as the men.

We're worth more than most.

Mrs. Clam: We deserve to be taken seriously.

We deserve to be paid what we're worth.

Silly old bat.

What did you call me?

Mr. Millington looks like he's about to face the firing squad.

Please! Please have mercy.

I'll give you anything you want.

Ready.

Aim.

Fire!

♪

Oh dear.

You don't-- you don't even work here.

I stand in solidarity.

And I call on all women to stand in solidarity.

In a general women's strike.

A what?

Mrs. Clam: I hereby call on every woman in

Great Slaughter to down tools.

Let's see how emotional the men get

when nobody cooks their tea,

washes their clothes, looks after the children.

Let's see how well Great Slaughter

functions without women.

You can use that one, Norm.

Lowsley: Oh, come off it, Vera.

And, I looked up that play you've chosen for G-SADS.

Lysistrata.

Absolute filth.

Felix: Gracious.

What's the play about?

It's about a group of women who go on a strike to stop a war.

- It's a comedy. - Sounds like a tragedy to me.

♪ We shall not, we shall not be moved ♪

All: ♪ We shall not, we shall not be moved ♪

♪ We shall not, we shall not be moved ♪

♪

Oh. Great Slaughter's at a standstill.

All the women are striking.

Yeah, everywhere you go-- just confused-looking men.

We were worried that you two might join the protest.

I thought about it.

- Why? - WPCs get paid less than PCs.

Yeah, but that's because you're on a different pay scale.

Exactly, which isn't equality.

Sister Boniface has found something.

I've managed to piece together parts of the document.

Used a lightbox to take away some of the charring.

It appears to be a scientific study on Acetonitrile.

- In particular, its toxicity. - Toxicity?

It can be used to assist in the manufacture of...

♪

Well, come along.

♪

Aha.

What is it, Sister?

Our murder weapon. Acetonitrile.

They must use it to help make the boots.

Well, they shouldn't. Plays havoc with your breathing.

It was in the papers.

- Peggy... - On it.

- Come on, Norm. - Norman: Where are we going?

The Bugle.

So, this is what poisoned Mr. Millington?

- I thought it was cyanide? - Oh, but it is.

And this is the clever part.

If you ingest acetonitrile, then your body converts it

into cyanide, so in effect...

You poison yourself.

Boniface: But the chemical process

can take about eight hours

so Arthur may have

swallowed the acetonitrile the night before

but only been poisoned by cyanide

early the next morning.

Well, we know where he was

the night before he died...

♪

- The door's locked. - Tom: Lala sa riken.

Well, if that just doesn't put the tin hat on everything.

Ass a hemady scrump. [ Chuckles ]

No, thank you, Tom.

Though I'm sure it's delicious.

Sam: What's going on?

- Tom and Lowsley: Pub's shut. - One moment please.

Because the blasted landlady's on strike.

And I've had to cancel my rehearsal of Lysistrata.

Isn't that the play where the women go on strike?

Yes, thank you, Felix, I do see the irony.

Scrumpy der scrumpy?

Ass himin fell.

You're right.

Don't blame me, blame the bloomin' women.

Look, tell you what, first round's on me.

All: Pub's shut!

Not for us.

♪

Boniface: There.

Splash marks.

And a ring, where the varnish has corroded.

Whoever poisoned Arthur's drink had shaky hands.

They didn't get it quite all in the glass.

What was Arthur drinking that night?

Brandy. Hang on.

Well, brandy would have masked the smell of ether

from the acetonitrile.

Okay, so the place was full that night.

Anyone could have had access to Arthur's drink.

- We may have found something. - Sam: What have you got?

"Local Girl Dies of Asthma Attack."

Boniface: Any mention of the girl's name?

It hadn't been released when they went to press.

But, we found an obituary

in the following week's paper...

Cora Ashfield.

Working at the factory, she's connected to all our suspects.

This doesn't exactly narrow it down.

♪

Bingo.

All: ♪ Give me fire in my heart, keep me striking ♪

♪ Keep me striking ♪

All: ♪ Give me fire in my heart I pray ♪

♪ I pray ♪

All: ♪ Give me fire in my heart, keep me striking ♪

♪ Keep me striking ♪

All: ♪ Keep striking till we get more pay ♪

[ Cheering ]

Ere, get that down you.

Castel de Grand Saint Vincent.

- Puts hairs on your chest. - Thank you, sister.

We'll see you and your kiddies right?

Who needs a husband when you've got friends, eh?

Thank you.

Men-- more trouble than they're worth.

Miss Millington?

♪

What do you want with Pam?

Because if you want her you're gonna have to come through us.

It's alright Bernie.

Shall we talk inside?

♪

You still don't think I killed my own uncle

over a silly boot design?

No, of course not.

Your motive went much deeper than a motif.

Dermot: What's going on? Pam wouldn't hurt a fly.

Felix: You should come with us Mr. Millington.

No, I'm not leaving my sister.

Cora Ashfield.

She died of an asthma attack.

But you knew there was more to it.

Acetonitrile.

You confronted your uncle

with scientific proof of its toxicity.

Yes, but he wouldn't listen.

I'll pay for that fancy art school

you're always banging on about, how's that?

Oh, that's not even what I came to talk about.

There's an ingredient you use in the factory--

it's lethal.

Cora Ashfield shouldn't have died.

- This factory killed her. - Don't be dramatic.

She died of an asthma attack.

What's that?

A study into the toxicity of acetonitrile.

Cora always felt dreadful after a shift here,

and she was working closely with it.

Well, if you have a weak chest

perhaps don't take a job working with solvents.

♪

Did you already know about this?

Nobody forced her to work here.

Pamela, you're a clever girl.

You know which side your bread is buttered.

You do want to go to art school, don't you?

But that doesn't mean I killed him.

- Over some girl she hardly knew? - Hardly knew?

Look at the necklace Cora's wearing.

It's the same engraved motif

that's on the Groovy Shoo BoHo boots.

- Your design. - Boniface: A design that

you didn't think anyone else had seen.

A design that you created specially for Cora.

- She was your friend. - She was more than that.

I loved her.

Sam: And you blamed your uncle for her death.

He put profit before people.

So you killed him with the same toxin that killed Cora.

You can't prove that.

Whoever slipped the poison into Arthur's drink

spilt some of it on the table.

And on their own hands.

Even if they washed them straight away

they would have given themselves very mild

cyanide poisoning.

Which is why you felt sick the morning of your uncle's death.

And why you looked flushed when we visited you at the Mill.

If you show me your hands now,

I suspect there'll be a nasty rash on them.

♪

Sam: How did you poison his drink without him seeing?

I put the acetonitrile in a miniature brandy bottle.

♪

[ Scoffs ]

Cheers, Pamela.

Offered him a free top up.

I knew he wouldn't say no.

Anything to save a few bob.

That's all that mattered to him, money, over everything.

I'd shown him proof that acetonitrile was dangerous.

That it had killed Cora.

I thought even he'd be horrified.

But all he was interested in was covering up.

Protecting the business.

♪

Cora died and he wasn't even sorry.

And now...

I'm not sorry either.

♪

Norman, write about the acetonitrile,

about Cora, please?

- But the launch... - Dermot.

Let something good come out of this.

Good?

Pamela: You can change things now,

make the factory safe.

I wouldn't know where to begin.

I can help.

Dermot: You?

I know I'm not your biggest fan Mr. Millington,

but surely we can look after the workers

and both get what we want?

Please, Dermot.

Be your own man, not Uncle Arthur's.

I'm willing to negotiate if you are?

I suppose we can talk.

♪

You can relax now, Mr. Millington.

One of the catwalk models is stuck on a train.

- I don't suppose you... - No chance.

I make 'em, I don't model 'em.

But don't worry, I will find you a willing volunteer.

♪

Those two seem to be getting along better.

He's paying us the overtime.

And he's agreed to discuss a small pay rise.

- How are you, Daisy? - Much better, thank you.

It's like Bernice says - who needs a man

when you've got good friends?

♪

Erm - I've been wanting to apologise.

I don't think I fully appreciated

the efforts women such as you put in during the war.

Or since.

You never did compliment me

on that crumble I made in March.

March?

I-- I apologise.

I also have to tell you that I have decided

not to go ahead with my production of Lysistrata.

I'm sure there are, well, less salacious texts we could choose.

- There certainly are. - Ah, good.

[ Chuckles ]

So-- [ Clears throat ] where is Peggy?

Ah.

Right, now your esteemed colleagues here

have been talking to me, WPC Button.

About how much they value you.

So, the station would like to offer you a gesture

of appreciation for your service.

[ Gasps ]

Thank you so much.

[ Applause ]

♪

Mr. Millington.

I think we've found your replacement model.

What?

♪

Announcer: New BoHo boots by Groovy Shoo.

The coolest kicks in town.

These killer heels are definitely something

to twist and shout about.

BoHo-- the only way to Go-Go.

[ Applause ]

Sensational.

♪