Bookish

Here's to Jo Stalin's next stroke.

Tinkety-tonk.

[Coughing] [Gasps and shrieks from crowd] Gabriel Book: Who was he?

Trottie Book: Victor.

Orr.

I've met him before.

An air raid, '41.

It is true.

I switched the glasses.

He drank the poison meant for one of us.

'D': 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 lives since we left New York.

Ruhije: The first thing you must do is arrest the cocktail waiter.

And you must bring in any others on the staff.

Do you have a reservation?

Uh, no.

My wife does.

Your wife?

Time for a little chat.

What does Jack know?

That my wife and I have an arrangement.

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.

[Gunshot] [Electricity buzzing] [Electricity buzzing] [Thuds] Hello again.

Hello.

Fizz, for them, I presume.

Nafije: Who is it?

It's me.

Champagne?

[Speaking Albanian] Nafije: We, uh... We did not order champagne.

We... [Ruhije gasps] Oh!

Oh, my face!

Ruhije, I'm hit!

[Gunshot, Eadie screams] Jack: Eadie!

Jack: Eadie, are you okay?

[Nafije crying] [Ruhije speaking Albanian] One more step, and I'll... [Gunshot] [Thud] [Electricity buzzing] [Gasps] [Eadie whimpers] Well, let's all calm down, should we?

Unh!

[Gasping] Oh, ruddy hell, that hurts.

Jack: You okay?

Trottie: You shot her!

You bloody Carpathian lunatic.

I thought she had a gun.

Eadie: It was a champagne bottle!

Oh, God.

[Gasping] Am I gonna die?

Ruhije: 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.

Trottie: 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?

Yeah.

I've been handed my cards, haven't I?

What?

Why?

What for?

Because... someone sabotaged the boilers.

Tipped linseed oil into them.

Why would they think that that's you?

Eadie: Cause I have a motive.

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

And now I've been shot.

They shot... What's that?

Morphine tartrate.

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

It will ease your pain.

I'll live.

And if you two think that I'm just gonna 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.

[Eadie breathing shakily] Eadie: Ow!

Ruhije: So, Eadie Rattle, what do you suggest?

Eadie: I'll stay here tonight, in the Royal Suite.

Ruhije: There are only two beds.

Eadie: 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.

And 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.

[Sighs] I'll sleep on the sofa.

Hmm.

Right.

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

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

It's good to see you, Jack.

[Electricity sputtering] 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.

[Thuds] Book: '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.

[Laughs] I like that Eadie.

She's sharp.

Sharp as Her Nibs.

The Princess?

[Electricity buzzing] Busy day tomorrow?

Bliss has arrested Guzili.

Oh?

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.

Eh?

It's the Dinaric Alps, my love, not the Carpathians.

As I said, clever clogs.

[Chuckles] [Street sounds] Book.

Sergeant Morris: This way, Mr Guzili.

The Inspector's ready to see you now.

[Phones ringing, chatter] [Footsteps] [Typewriter clacking] Finished with that mug, Sergeant?

Bagged and labelled, sir.

We'll return it in due course.

Take a seat.

Are you going to charge me?

Oh, there's plenty of time for that.

Guzili: 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.

Bliss: He's a specialist.

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

A reason for you to kill Captain Orr.

Because he made a pass at Eadie?

[Scoffs] 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?

Guzili: I know it.

Live by it?

It was 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.

[Scoffs] Vodka.

At last.

Crme de menthe, lime juice, uh, 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.

Atta boy.

'Atta boy'.

I know that.

French vermouth, dry gin, grenadine, four dashes.

Shaken.

And what would you put in a pansy?

Pansy, pansy, pansy... um... 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, what... 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 are already a model employee.

[Scoffs] 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, ha, it seems like you can, uh, go and collect your things.

Our friend here is, uh, 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.

Mm.

Did it, 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, you know, sort of nice to each other.

Mm.

[Slurping] [Both slurping] [Cars honking] 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 into breakfast.

Eadie: Oh, look at you.

How the mighty have fallen.

Nafije: 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.

[Nafije sighs] [Speaking Albanian] [Sisters' excited voices] Well, you've done alright.

[Giggles] 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 Bovril?

Well, I thought you had everything you needed here.

[Sighs] It's a bit rich for my blood.

[Jack scoffs] Hmm.

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.

A kingdom divided.

Exiled monarchs.

I wonder.

Anyway, Princess Senije went over to the other side.

So, it could be her striking a blow for the workers by assassinating her siblings.

This is where we should be looking.

Uh, in my opinion, sir.

Oh, yes.

He liked the ladies, didn't he, Captain Orr?

Book: That's not how I would have put it.

Still, at least we have his home number now.

Eh?

No.

Book: Yes, this must be his wife, Sylvia.

Inspector Bliss: How do you know?

She's the only one without a star rating.

Oh.

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

Oh.

As you say, sir.

'Oh'.

Bliss: M. Barberini.

Second of May, 1940, Ascot racecourse, four stars, passionate Italian... Sort of crossed out.

It's still legible.

What's it mean?

Obvious, innit?

Captain Orr didn't just like the ladies.

He was a bit... queer.

Oh.

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 racecourse.

There is entry after entry.

Motive?

Morris: Well, blackmail, obviously.

Captain Orr threatened to expose Barberini.

No, Captain Orr's a married man.

It's all a bit... It's a bit far-fetched.

Morris: You never know with married men, sir.

What's your great theory, then?

That would 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.

Eadie: A Winston Churchill mask.

Jack: No.

Eadie: An RAF flying helmet.

A piccalilli jar filled entirely with toenail clippings.

Jack: Urgh.

Yeah.

It's not for the faint of heart, the life of a chamber maid.

But my dad ran a pub in Bala, so... I've seen it all.

And what about the murder?

Oh, no.

I was outside, you see.

You can't pin Victor Orr on me.

Oh, no, I wasn't trying to, honest.

Pity I wasn't there, though.

I would have liked to see that one go down.

[Scoffs] So, 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?

Eh?

In your bookshop.

'Das Kapital'.

Volume four.

Now you're talking.

Hmm.

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 de Baviere, which will soon drip with your filthy blood.'

Yes, I can see why you might feel discomfited.

[Slam] 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 enemies, they are 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.

[Traffic sounds, chatter] Yes, of course, and we are terribly sorry.

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

[Woman sighs] 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 on their account.

Well, don't spend too much.

W-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.

Ismail, 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 dadoes.

Ismail: Yes, I know.

But I poured it into the generator.

I didn't poison Victor Orr, Eadie, but I did poison the hotel.

I was so angry with myself, with... with that man, with this place.

So, I just thought, 'I'll kill it'.

I'm deeply sorry.

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

[Chatter] Ah.

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.

Didn't what?

Conquer.

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

With the latest model.

Waiter: Madam.

You've read it?

To see oneself here assessed like livestock... You think he got what he deserved?

Well, not quite, but... I mean, what a pig he was.

[Sighs] 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 sound strange?

My marriage grew cold, and 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's 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.

I didn't despise him.

Then who did?

How was his 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... [Nafije gasps] What does that say?

'Death to parasites'.

Thank you for coming.

Everything's off.

Kippers, kidneys, kedgeree, and the radiators.

They're definitely off.

Oh.

There's a selection of cold meat.

Splendid.

Well, two of those, then, please, waiter, and do make sure they're properly cold.

I abhor inconsistency.

Waiter: 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 threats.

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, but 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.

[Sighs] 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 were 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 new regime in 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's 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.

Nafije 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.

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

Oh, indeed?

Music nib.

Narrow downstrokes, broad cross-strokes for writing musical notation.

Ah.

When 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.

Oh.

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.

Hmm.

Waiter: Sir.

[Church bell ringing] I'm not normally a fan of this sort of thing.

Redolent of the kind of a 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 Whatsit, 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 Ismail.

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 gonna 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.

Book: 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 Nafije, 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 Nafije 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 with 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 Arandora Star?

Not our finest hour, I fear.

Trottie: She was torpedoed by the Jerries.

Kind: 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.

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

In parliament too, Mr Book.

Doesn't mean it's true.

Book: Indeed.

And, amongst the passengers... your sister, Maria.

'Barberini, M.

12th January 1940.

Ascot Racecourse.

16th of January, Ascot Racecourse.

Ninth...' 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.

An 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 the 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.

Ah.

So, she brought the uniform home as a souvenir.

Mm.

It was enough for the men from 18B.

There it was in her 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 we 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 Xs 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 wop waiter.

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

Victor Orr, my old friend.

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

Victor: Well, the bloody girl can't take a joke.

Ugh.

Let's have a couple of those.

What do you call them?

Walsingham sours.

For the two ladies.

Uh, 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.

Victor: Oh!

Oh, dear.

Ruhije: So embarrassing.

I do apologise.

Victor: Not at all, not at all.

Look after the pennies, the pounds will look after themselves, what.

[Victor chuckles] [Coughing and choking] [Gasps and cries from crowd] It was her birthday, 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.

Bliss: Wait!

No!

[Trottie gasps] Book: Just ordinary ice, alas.

[Barberini swallows] 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?

Ah, by the way, Mr Kind, the linseed oil in the generators, that was me too.

Sorry.

[Electricity sputtering] [Electricity buzzing] Oh, thank God for that.

Mr Kind, you wanted a word?

Ah, yes, Miss Rattle, I was thinking about your position here.

Well, now I know that you were not responsible for the incident with the generators.

Yes?

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.

Hm, 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.

Oh.

Mm.

Missing the war, are you?

Well ,I don't know what the etiquette is.

[Nafije clears throat] Oh, I think that's the Royal Summons.

Your Royal 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 Kanuna Scutari.

In our trade, it pays to specialise.

It'll bounce.

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

Guzili: Please enjoy.

Book: Thank you.

What shall 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?

Now, 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... I'm grateful.

Of course I am.

It's just... It's a lot, you know?

Their 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.

[Laughs] There's no sinister motive, Jack.

They want to help.

Why don't you let them?

[Door opening, bell jangling] 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... I think I fancy something a little different.

Your husband not with you?

No.

The golf course?

No.

The Garrick?

The divorce courts.

Oh.

'Oh'.

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 have become.

Or rather, how narrow Gerald had made my horizons.

Love doesn't always last forever, alas.

Oh, I never loved him.

Awful man.

[Laughs] 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.

[Snaps] I've got just the thing.

[Door opens, bell jangles] With you in just one moment, sir.

Thanks.

I know you run on it.

Without tea, I am merely... Unreconstituted dust.

Ha.

It's hard to let go of the past, Mr Book, when you have so many questions about it.

Such as?

Well, 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.

Their Royal Highnesses have let you go?

I quit.

Good for you.

Yes, the job's still yours.

So, I've got a position.

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?

[Sighing heavily] 'Oh somewhere, meek, unconscious dove, that sittest 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.

It 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?