All language subtitles for Bookish s01e04 Deadly Nitrate 2

You mean everything to me.

What the hell was that?

Love, Lord in London, scene 28, take 3.

I hope we did the right thing, letting
those people into the lane.

Filmstruck girl, Inspector.

Dead. I've shut down filming for the
time being.

What do we know about this film?

Stuart Howard.

He and Sandra have bound their careers
together.

The nation's sweetheart.

Then there's the Honourable Jesse
McKendrick. You're the director?

And the writer. What about Billy?

Someone is trying to kill me. Who?

Drink me.

Drop it. It's poison.

Can you think of anyone who might want
to kill you?

Take your ruddy pick.

When are we going to tell him?

Not yet.

It's one of the extras.

Marina Bean.

Rolling, Sandra.

And action.

Oh, no, God, I'm so sorry, Jesse.

Can I beg ten minutes?

Ziggy will sort me out.

Cut that.

Scene 49, take nine.

Kill the sound, please.

Can we stop the film and take a proper
look?

No, it would burn in the projector.

I think the difference is pretty
obvious. You'll see in just a moment.

Here comes the post.

Oh, I see what you mean. You've lost six
inches.

Just when I found it there, I went off
for a gasp.

So... Between takes eight and nine,
Marina Bean gets her screen break.

An hour later, is that right? Well,
certainly no more than two.

She's on the cutting room floor.

Well, the bottom of the basement steps.

I know who he is.

The postman.

You do?

He was down the line yesterday.

I see him in the yard just now.

Would you be so kind?

Yep. Good. He hit that step with
tremendous force.

Too hard for an accident.

Did she fall?

No. Or was she pushed?

I think John Mills has lovely hair.

And his nails always look so neat.

Riveting stuff, this, Mrs B.

Well, we'll think there's something
here.

A clue.

We like those.

Many names coming up a lot. Regular
correspondence.

Name and address supplied is a very
reliable contributor.

I try to give myself a mole like
Margaret Lockwood.

And now Mum says I look like a tart.

Hang on.

I've seen a letter from this one before.

Signed, Basilisk.

If only we could step through the
screen.

Romance for the pictures is really
getting to, isn't it? It's not that.

Beyond the door, behind that set,
there's a flight of stairs where I think

Noreena Bean is already dead.

Do you think this is linked to the
poison girl?

Special delivery.

Your postman.

Bart Masterson.

Kurt Masterson.

Normally, I do landlords.

I've seen a glass pushed in a bloke's
face, and I've laughed. See?

Very good.

Robert Newton should watch his back.

But you're not auditioning now, Mr
Masterson. We're investigating the

unfortunate death that took place here
last night. Second one on this

production, in fact, after Miss Barbara
Markham. And two looks like

carelessness.

Whose, though?

Are you the police?

Inspector Bliss is the police.

Hello. I'm just helping them. With their
inquiry?

The fiddly bits.

Now, Kurt Masterson, not your real name.

How did you know?

Went home early last night, Mr
Masterson. Why?

Well, I was made an offer I couldn't
refuse, wasn't I?

I knew the lady, Noreena Bean. I read
her column. I always do.

She gave me a fiver, just to borrow the
uniform, mine. Said she would go on for

me and no -one would clock it. Now, why
would she want to pose as you?

She said she was writing a story.

The poisonous secret at the heart of
Loveless in London.

Lovelorn.

Something like that. She wasn't
specific.

But she said she needed one last bit of
proof.

I didn't think nothing of it. I was
barely in the shot.

You tell a lot of stories to the press,
do you, Mr Masterson, about actors here?

No. Well, nothing nasty, just whether
they like mink or feathered or where

drink. Or how much.

All right, thank you. We'll come and get
a statement from you.

That's it? That's it.

I was a red herring before.

One, half a one, that tapped his pipe
and looked all beady at me. But I'd

done it. I was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time. All right, thank you.

Why was she here, though, Noreena?

Why did you have trouble bribing him and
putting on his costume?

The extra security.

She couldn't just hang around in the
lane, could she? I suppose she needed a

disguise.

The title of that article, though, eh?

Maybe she was onto the Poisoner.

So she had to go.

What's that?

Something I noticed.

Backwards impression on Norena Bean's
hand in ink. It was something she was

holding.

Evidently she was sweating, whether from
the exertion of going up the stairs or

the heavy costume.

And reversed, it reads... Tywin.

Tywin.

Tywin. Twins.

Hardly. More likely the fragment of two
words, wouldn't you say?

I, uh, better get back to work.

Work?

I'm standing in for Stuart.

It's not a profit trade, you know.

Yeah.

Like being a part -time detective.

What's up with it?

Hmm? Me.

She's dead.

You saw her.

She was at the bottom of the stairs.

Like a broken doll.

I mean, she was awful, but still, how
awful.

If it was murder, there'd be a lot of
suspects.

Half the British film business.

All of it. It's true.

Everybody hated her.

You hated her.

What did you do last night?

Had a drink with that boy.

Nice kid.

Went a bit early.

Did some film star duties.

No.

Yes, you know.

Signing photos, answering questions from
fans.

What's your ideal night out? What do you
like for breakfast?

You were just shooting here?

Yes. Dude, take after take.

Simple stuff, really.

How many stars have sat here like me?

Watching the creases grow.

The hair spin.

The flesh droop. The chins.

I met a man once. He was an astronomer.
Now he

knew about the stars.

The real ones, I mean.

Did you know that the stars that we see
in the sky aren't really there?

Most of them, anyway.

It takes so long for the light to reach
us that there's just echoes,

ghosts, just a memory of what was once
there.

Christ, darling.

And some of those stars don't go
quietly.

Well, now, towards the end, later in
life, shall we say, they get bigger,

bigger, too.

They give out more and more light and
heat, so nothing can eclipse them.

Nothing.

I don't want to go quietly.

I want to burn, light up the town like I
used to explode.

Boom!

The chocolates were injected with one of
these, so why have you got one?

Well, it's hardly a secret, is it?

Diabetic, aren't I? Everyone knows that.

Interesting.

So anyone could have gained access to
this, for instance.

Well, you might have done it yourself.

Why the hell would I have wanted to
poison Miss Dare? Well, it's just the

Sonny Jim. Miss Dare wasn't the target.

Then who was?

Her fiancé.

Yes, puts a rather different complexion
on things, doesn't it? Mr Howard fired

you, didn't he? Yeah, yeah, but not till
after the chocolate. Yeah, but he

treated you badly.

You were his whipping boy. You need to
develop a thick skin in this business,

Inspector. I've dealt with bigger egos
than Stuart Howard, believe me. If I'd

wanted to get my own back, I'd have
pissed in his tea, not poisoned his

chocolates.

And then there's the late Miss Noreen
Bean. Yeah, well, she was a rioter.

Mustn't speak ill of the dead.

Does she have anything on you?

Like what?

You're going to count your movements
last night, can you? Shot right through.

What? No coffee breaks?

Yes, of course coffee breaks.

So theoretically, you could have pushed
Norena Bean down the stairwell, couldn't

you? Yeah, well, theoretically, I could
have won the pools and rung up Veronica

Lake for a date.

But I didn't.

What's this?

Tomorrow's pink page.

Rewrite?

Mr. McKendrick's rewrite of scene 34.

Just a little one, but in this business,
the details matter, Inspector.

You don't want actors bumping into the
furniture.

I'm a details man myself.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, I'm terrible at the pictures, me.
I always know we've done it straight

off.

You always take Samara out of Mrs.
Bliss, but I always say to her, the why

the thing.

So why not take her to a western?

Not until those cowboys get shot in the
chest and falling forwards.

Don't think so.

You never get home, Billy.

If I try hard, Mr. Book, I can remember
the daylight.

Can I go now? Well, we'll need to get
this tested.

For insulin.

For strychnine.

Basilisk.

Ring any bells?

Basilisk. Nora and I have spent most of
the morning dredging through your back

issues. My head's swimming.

And we finally found what we were
looking for.

A Sandra Dare fan who wrote to
Picturegoer a lot.

This one is from two years ago.

For looks, talent, and sheer screen
charisma, no one can compete with the

Miss Dare.

There's loads like that.

In her latest picture, the 43 -year -old
star elevates the art of acting to...

great heights.

But why she's wasting her time sharing
the screen with Stuart Howard, I will

never know. A mumbling, soppy -eyed fop.
Oh, and here's another a year

later. The public's infatuation with
Darren Howard is beyond me.

Miss Dare should be striking out alone,
not saddling herself with this

talentless whippersnapper. Of course,
there is always difficulty when one

reaches for the stars, but the
difficulty as I see it... It's Stuart

And there's a lot more like that in the
same vein.

An all -signed basilisk.

I see.

Well, they obviously didn't like Stu.

You think they might be the one who sent
the chocolate?

I don't know. Is it too much of a
stretch to go from disliking a film star

sending them strictly?

Sometimes the discussions can get very
heated at the meet -ups.

Meet -ups?

Oh, yeah.

We meet up and have chats and that.

Sometimes the studio will send a star
down to open a fate or something.

That's how I first met Barbara.

And you've never come across this
Babelisk?

Well, how would I know?

They never used their real name.

Anything? Mr. Howard's room's as bare as
George's or Coe's pate.

What about Mr. Ed?

Same.

Probably.

Who's next?

Soundproofed? Naturally.

Now, we know your movements last night,
Mr. McKinley. I should think so.

A director never has a moment to
themselves.

In the tea break, I went to my office.
Just a minor change for tomorrow.

A pink page. You can check with my
secretary.

These stairs, where do they lead?

Prop store, offices.

It's a warren, this place.

Film vault, down there. Nice place, if
you like asbestos.

The treasures of British cinema.

Not really.

Oh? What then?

Well... Our film opens in Leicester
Square, then it goes out across the

then to the second -run houses in the
flea pits, and when it's so scratched

everything looks like it's happening in
Antarctica, it comes here.

Back home.

It's taken to the tank.

The tank?

What happened there?

It's gone out of its misery.

It's dissolved in sodium hypochlorite.

Why back here?

The fumes, Mr. Book. The fumes.

In goes some old tat starring a terrible
provincial comic, and out comes

something useful.

Waterproof paint.

And silver halide.

Wasn't our little cottage industry.

It's valuable.

More valuable than what's on the films
themselves.

Seems a lot of effort to go through.

No, it's a simple process.

The chemical solution does the work.

No, I mean, make an emotional picture.
You know, stars and the light.

You know, shooting all those scenes.

And then just to melt it all down for
scrap.

British cinema is mainly stupid,
Inspector.

It's never been about anything.

That needs to change.

When it does, I'll make movies that
won't end up here.

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Mr Howard.

Mr Book. A moment?

Of course.

The hoary old query.

Who is?

What were you doing last night?

Well, after drinks with your Jack, I
went to bed early. But I couldn't get

I spent a lot of time staring at the
ceiling.

Contemplating mortality, as you can
imagine.

Any witnesses?

Sorry to sound so official.

Of course not.

Sandra and I are engaged, don't you
know?

I had heard something of the kind.

And Lorena Bean?

Was she blackmailing you?

About prison?

I've been very careful.

Incredibly, I don't think she ever got a
sniff of it.

Mustache. TTFN.

There's been a smash and grab in Crystal
Palace.

A tray of missing wedding rings and a
cracked skull.

Very much a B -movie crime.

Why don't you stick around here?

Keep an eye on the beautiful people.

They are beautiful.

What else are they?

Come on, Sergeant. Let's go.

Here you go.

Clippings.

We found your trail book. Oh, excellent
work.

This is the book.

Didn't expect to see you here.

Mr. Howard said we should visit, and
I've brought something for my husband.

Lunch. Please.

A very interesting trail here.

And I thought I saw something earlier,
too, in the note.

A repeated phrase.

And these are all signed... Basilisk.

What? It's a mythological creature. It
could kill you just by looking at you,

rather than the way Miss Dare is looking
at me now.

Would you excuse me? Well done, darling.

Would you like a little look around,
Mrs. Book? Oh, I'd be delighted.

So, uh, wallpaper didn't suit your
story, then? Well, no.

Because the hero, Tony, he desires
pleasure, but he's afraid of it. He's

repressed. That's Freud, you know.

Oh, so I understand.

Wallpaper simply doesn't give it that.
Wallpaper is about covering things up.

I thought cakes.

Cakes. On the opposite of books, really.

I must have missed that bit in Freud.

Yes, very good.

Please.

Skirts gathered ready for the pursuit of
art?

Yes, I suppose so. Well, before you rush
off, perhaps I can check some details.

How do you help the police exactly, Mr.
Book?

I check details.

You must be relieved to know the
chocolates weren't intended for you.

Naturally, but also terribly worried for
Stu.

Of course.

Now, I know where you were last night,
Miss Dare, because I've seen the rushes.

You were doing that scene where you look
through the window and think about the

resilience of your love.

Yes.

With Lorena Bean amongst the background
artists.

Lorena? Was she on the set?

In the shot?

Yes.

Moments later, she was on the stairs.

Yes, yes.

And then at the bottom of the stairs.

Yes, well, I know about that.

Perhaps she was killed because she knew
who'd sent the poisoned chocolates.

So how would you think?

It's a working hypothesis.

Wait a minute.

You don't think that I... No, I love
Stuart.

We're everything to each other.

Everything to the box office, at any
rate.

Oh, and someone's been telling tales.

Well, if that were the case, I'd have
even less motive for killing Stuart,

wouldn't I?

We're joined at the hip.

When you finished filming, you went back
to your dressing room, I imagine?

Yeah.

Oh, Billy, darling, you wouldn't get me
a coffee, would you, please? Of course,

mister. A glass of milk? Me too, Billy.

It's a strong one.

Sure thing, sir.

You all work such long hours.

We like to turn the sign at 5 .30.

Oh, my dear, well, in the quota -quickie
days, there was one picture shooting

here during the day and one at night.

When that door opened with a ten o
'clock turnaround, oh, no idea.

It's still beer, orange peel, gas.

Thank you, darling.

Oh, the 1930s. Those were the days.

Sugar, sir?

What?

They're horrible. They're bitter.

Would you like some milk, sir?

No.

Billy, get me some water.

Oh, my Lord.

Tessie, you're in sentence.

Eat it.

Swallow it. Swallow it again.

What are you doing, Tim? Trying to save
his life, I think. But perhaps someone

should call an ambulance in case I've
got it wrong.

Ambulance, quickly.

What? Wait, what the?

Oh, no.

Look at me.

Look at me.

We didn't even get to the top of the
hill.

Yeah. It's largely cosmetic.

There's so much stuff around his mouth.

It's largely cosmetic.

Mascara.

Oh, charcoal.

I believe that's what mascara is. Oh,
and petroleum jelly.

A bit of a risk there, Mrs. Book.

Charcoal's good for strychnine.

But I'm still waiting for the report on
what was in Barbara Malcolm's chocolate.

It could have been anything.

Mr. McKendrick twitched, though.
Strychnine gives you the twitches.

right. Great presence of mind is my
wife.

My thoughts, dear Jesse.

Oh, wait. My bag. I need my things. Oh,
allow me.

Oh.

Silly me.

Thank you, Miss.

It's in the coffee.

Everyone else has drunk it. They seem to
be fine.

Not entirely awful.

Oh, so... It's in the cup.

Added afterwards.

You'd think so, wouldn't you?

So indiscriminate.

I defer.

Jessie? Oh, God!

Is it meant for me?

I don't know.

The new schedule, Mr. Howard?

Mr. Howard?

You can go, Jack.

That'll be the end of shooting for the
day.

Quiet.

It's a cold day.

What's the matter with him?

Hello. You're rather off with me all
day.

Laura, are we divertifying?

Just catching up on my reading.

He is mud in your eye.

Boy. You're still a child.

Your uncle had my guts regarded.

Go to bed.

Are you all right?

Long day.

What's wrong with your usual diet of
blood and guts?

Got a bit bored.

No starving a woman to death impinge.

Nora, a favour.

Where are those film almanacs?

You mean the magazines that girl bought?

No, no, we have a stack of almanacs.
Early films, from when they still called

them flickers. If memory serves, between
William Freeze Green and How Green Was

My Valley.

Right, I...

There

she is.

Christiana Edmonds.

What? Thanks.

That case

doesn't go anywhere.

Oh, it's alright.

These people never go upstairs.

Sounds like home.

No seating, though.

The wrestling films never have ceilings.
Why this bad day?

It stopped the light getting in.

Continuity. Missed the book.

Oh.

Sorry.

How's the life of a stand -in?

Static. Jack, a word in your phone.

Jack. Jack.

Back into your light. Yes.

Ah.

Mr. McKendrick. Glad to see you looking
hale and hearty.

Fully recovered, I hope? Yes.

Thank you, Mrs. Book.

When I went into the picture business, I
never thought it would be so bad for my

nerves. It's exhausting.

More exhausting than running?

So much more. Near the end, though, now,
aren't we?

Yes. I'm so sorry, Mr. Book. Would you
excuse me? I'm rather busy.

Of course.

Oh, what is the story so far, Mr.
Howard?

We've been having a passionate affair of
the intellect, Madeline and I. But then

this telegram comes.

Telegram of doom.

And what do you know?

Her husband's been found in a Japanese
POW camp.

Oh, bad luck.

Yes, and he's on his way back to Blythe
with his ribs sticking out, but still

very much a going concern, love -wise,
and so she tells me she has to leave me.

What do you say?

Nothing, of course.

Writers never want to write those bits.

They're like a nice, clean reaction
shot.

Something's swelling in the soundtrack.

Positions, please.

But, credit due, Jesse listened. So
instead of standing there catching

gird my loins and go stoically back to
work.

Like Uncle Vanya.

I'm sure that's what Jesse had in mind.

Ask him.

I might have that.

What did you do today?

What did you do? Call it, Billy. What
did you do today?

What did you do today?

Scene 34, take one.

Action.

Now the telegram is here, one I think we
knew would always come.

Is this the end of the affair?

Oh, don't say that word, Stuart. You
know that it hurts me.

I shall think about... You said Stuart.
You said Stuart. What?

You said Stuart.

Cut. Let's do it again. First positions,
please.

First positions.

Billy. Yes, Mr McKedrick?

Run this one, would you?

Call of nature.

There's still time, you know.

Time for what?

To do the right thing. Stop the filming.

I've been aware for a while about a
certain secret relationship in your

We are not... She isn't... Not with
Sandra.

With Strychnine.

I've read those grave little paragraphs
in the Farsity Sporting Review.

How you took it as a stimulant to get
you through those last agonising yards

the race.

Rather reckless, really.

Her father wasn't very pleased, was he?
No.

So I got into trouble. So what?

And then there's Christiane Edmonds, the
heroine of your new film scripts.

Household name, once.

Fell in love with a doctor and believed
that he was in love with her. Pure

fantasy.

And she thought she could help him
escape from his wife by bringing her a

poisoned chocolate creams, which the
wife spat out just in time.

And her poison of choice?

Strychnine, of course.

Bit of a leitmotif, isn't it?

I've had a lot of time to think. Too
much, I dare say.

And I think we've been living in a kind
of a dream.

But there's time for that dream to end.

You, you must stay here with your folks.

Die.

I must go back to my husband.

You didn't mean to kill poor Barbara
Markham.

And that might save you from the
gallows.

But you couldn't make the same argument
about what's happening here, could you?

This is your very last chance, Jesse.

Oh, damn, damn, damn you, book.

Ow! How was that? Well,

well.

Too late now.

You all right, Stu?

I was on the cash register. It went
right into me when I... when I pressed

button.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

You. I have a name, Mr. Howard.

This is what happened to that girl.

No. Barbara Markham. What a dick name.

This time the poison was on a pin in the
cash register.

So we'll go straight into the
bloodstream.

If Jack and Billy hadn't followed my
instructions perfectly and swapped it

the clean one.

The pink page told me where to look, but
it was Billy who found it.

You should be grateful he's so diligent,
Mr Howard, considering how bloody rude

you are to him.

You should thank him too, Jesse.

One less name on the chance sheet next
to little Barbara Markham.

It was for you, my love.

All for you.

What? So we could be together.

And I could make you a bigger star than
ever.

Not in cheap trash like this, but in a
real film. A masterpiece.

What the hell are you talking about?

He's been obsessed with you for years,
Miss Dare.

Used to write letters to picture -goer.

Under a pseudonym, of course.

Basilisk. His family crest.

And all those books he read in the shop
last year.

That's how he came up with his magnum
opus.

Unfortunately, he left a little trace
behind.

He saw that we were getting a little too
close to the truth, and that's why he

suddenly tasted something strange in his
coffee.

Faked the poisoning.

He could have said, bitter almonds, like
people do in the films.

But he chose to twitch.

Because you knew that Barbara Markham
had been killed by strychnine.

You were familiar with the effects.
They're pretty ugly, aren't they,

Yes, but a sort of breathless agitation.
I'll never forget it.

You put in a good performance, Jessie.

But let me give you a note, Mr.
Director.

It takes a few minutes for the spasm to
start.

Your timing was out.

Ad Astra Per Aspera.

Through hardship to the stars, your
family motto.

You got to the stars, didn't you, Jesse?

What's the only star that mattered to
you?

Sandra Dare. My family has money.

So much money. That's how I bought my
way into this filthy industry.

I could have financed a picture, Sandra.

But he was spoiling it.

Him.

What better publicity?

A tragic widow overcoming her grief.

Tackling the part of a lifetime
alongside the brilliant young writer.

director. Writer, director.

Who consoled her.

It's a scene.

Deranged. Oh, you poor fool.

It would be a whole new Sondra Dare, my
darling.

Playing your own age. No make -up, a
true character part to show your real

range. No make -up.

Are you mad?

I'm Sondra Dare.

So was him.

He killed that poor girl?

Yes. And Noreena Bean?

No, not Noreena Bean.

What?

Not Noreena Bean, the girl with the
poison pen. Jesse had a cast -iron

He was in his office, his secretary by
his side, passing him the carbon paper,

typing out a way to murder you, Mr.
Howard.

Then who did do it?

Where did we find her?

Bottom of the stairs.

Which lead where?

Prop store.

Offices. The Vault.

The Vault, yes.

Wherein lie some of the forgotten
remnants of British cinema, and one film

particular. I found the reference in an
old movie almanac back in Archangel

Lane. What film?

Kitty Wins the Calcutta Sweep.

The hell is that?

It's the film I found in your room,

Sandra.

Billy, call Boatswain.

Get Bliss here.

Yes, Mr. Boatswain.

You never

loved her, Stuart.

Not like I did.

It's a long time since I've done this
for real.

Sandra? Sandra, it's all over.

Why don't you come out and explain?

I wasn't Sandra Dare back then.

I was... Deirdre.

It was so long ago.

The film was lost and then Norena
discovered

it.

And then I discovered her.

It was pure chance.

I was going back to my dressing room and
I saw this person in extra.

And then I recognised her.

And I saw what she had in her sweaty
hands.

I had never...

She hit that step like a fairground
coconut.

She died instantly.

But it was an accident.

I swear.

It was an accident.

But there it was.

The monster.

This business will forgive you a lot of
things, but... I'm not getting old.

Are you smoking, Sandra?

When nitrate film burns, Sandra, it
makes its own oxygen.

You think I don't know that, Mr. Brooks?

I'm a veteran of the silver screen.

That's why they keep it in an asbestos
vault.

If you drop that cigarette, Sandra,
you'll go up like a torch.

And Trotty and I won't escape unscathed.

And neither will Stuart.

Stuart.

Darling, it doesn't have to be like
this.

He would have told them all my secret.

That I was making films when Lennon was
in office.

They would have made me box office
poison.

And I've told you.

I want to go on and on and light up the
town.

Chandra, that script that Jesse wrote, I
read it.

It's about a woman who makes a terrible
moral mistake.

But she faces her fate with dignity.

Inspector Bliss will be here soon.

And you'll be under arrest.

But before he arrives, I could save you
a little bit of humiliation.

What do you think?

Let's go out to the tank.

Bring that film.

The one with you as a 17 -year -old with
your whole life ahead of you.

Before this business made you what
you've become.

Oh, no, Mr. Book.

Ah.

I've always had it in me.

I've always been a star.

I think that's what the camera saw.

And why they've always loved me.

Just give me a moment, will you?

Keep the bloody door in.

Exactly.

Hello.

Tragedy, really. Will they... Will they
hang?

Jesse McKendrick, undoubtedly.

But I'm sure the jury will be kind to me
if they dare.

It was an accident, after all.

Now you're a free man, Mr. Howard.

Just what I wanted.

What a cost.

Mind you, tragic ex -fiancée.

Broken -hearted leading man, suddenly
single?

What is it?

It was an accident, wasn't it?

Marina Bean's death?

Well, you shall never know, Inspector.

After all, Sandra Dare is a terribly
good actress.

Hello, Jack.

What's up?

Jack, we need to tell you something.

I'm sorry we didn't say it before, but I
wanted to let you settle in, and it's a

delicate matter.

It's about our relationship.

Oh.

I think I guessed it.

Is it that obvious?

Well, it wasn't at first, but... Yeah.

I found the photograph.

Photograph?

My dad.

You have a photo of my dad.

It's just like the one that I have.

And this.

I know I shouldn't have taken it. I'm
sorry, but with the picture... Eric

Percival Banks, your first husband.

Is this him?

Try.

Are you my mother?

No, my dear.

Not at all.

I'm so sorry.

What's all this about?

Jack, we have rather a lot to tell you.