All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek Season 02 Episode 03 - The Scented Room 720p WEB-DL HEVC x265 BONE

Morning, Benjamin.

How are you today?

Okay. My name is Martha Parrish,
personal secretary to Lady Teresa

Cutler. And on her behalf, may I welcome
you all today to Sakata Park.

The house is over 400 years old.

and is still the principal residence of
Lady Teresa and her family.

Her husband, Sylvester Lafley, you may
know, of course, as the famous theatre

critic and cultural affairs columnist on
the Sunday Telegraph.

Friday the 10th, Arts Desk, FAO, Derek
Chinnery.

Edgar Brint's latest effort at the
Cottesloe upload-download was billed

as a hilarious new...

comedy.

Of these four words, only the first is
accurate. While neither hilarious, new,

or comic, it is most certainly an
indefinite article.

The fact that it drew maniacal laughter
from the brainless hyenas around me

merely confirms my long-held belief that
quality theatre is too precious to be

wasted on audiences.

Of course, sweetheart.

Not just this second, though.

No more for me, darling.

I thought you might be home.

You read my mind.

The doors in this part of the house are
of particular interest.

They're of hand-curved Spanish Moorish
design dating back to the 1900s.

when the 15th Marquess had them
specially imported from his villa in

Aragon. You demented harpy!

What, I can't even have a simple massage
now?

Simple massage?

When she had her arm up, you saw. You
are insane.

I can't just tie my shoelace now. It's
an act of infidelity.

What have you done to my tongue?

I can't speak.

So go suck a dockley.

the Flemish Gallery, housing works by
several well-known Dutch genre painters.

Everything in this room has been in the
house at least 100 years, apart from

Eric, of course, who's been here 150.

So we come to the jewel of Cicada Park,
El Greco's Kiss of Judas, which we keep

in a room on its own, where, as you'll
see, the temperature, humidity, and

light levels are carefully maintained to
prevent... discoloration, or cracking.

Because of this, and for reasons of
space, we can allow only eight people

inside at a time.

So, who's going to be my first group?

This?

Okay.

As I say, the ambient light is
controlled by the special tinting in the

glass above you.

And if I could ask you just to close the
door while we're in here, please.

See, that's my rule.

They're all laid down by the insurance.

Because the picture that you see before
you is conservatively valued at one and

a half million pounds.

Okay, when the rest of you are ready.

Who's this?

Ah, yes, that guy I came to call
outside.

He was a pupil of Brown's house.

Right, let's have the next group,
please.

Okay. As I was saying to your friends,
the reason we have to be extra careful

is... What?

This can't be happening.

Eric?

Oh. Oh, Eric said... The El Greco.
Someone's just... I don't know. Perhaps

we're all dreaming or... It was there.
Thirty seconds before.

And then it wasn't. And the room was
empty, I swear.

Call the police.

Hello?

Yes, this is Martha Parrish ringing from
Cicada Park. Are you

all right?

Something heavy.

I think I heard someone running off.

Darling. Teresa.

If anything like this, when we get to
Hyde Park, we're going to have a lot of

fun and games.

Never mind crowd attendance.

We're going to need a team of
synchronized swimmers. Will you shut up

and keep the knots dry? I'm attempting a
state of osteomuscular recontraction.

Enough of you.

Help! The lady's over here.

You people wait in that corner.

Are you all set in there?

And we start the clock.

Wrap your optic nerve around those two,
Jonathan.

Give me a waterbed and three snorkels, I
could be in paradise.

Oh, how absolutely, immensely
satisfying.

You see this?

Our all-time favourite reviewer,
Sylvester Leflay.

Remember? With Adam Klaus performing
miracles Jesus has nothing to worry

about.

Him and his knobby wife just had a
priceless painting nicked.

Yesterday lunchtime, broad daylight.

Well, ha, ha, ha. Suck on that, you
smarmy bastard.

Where are you going?

Well, they're nervous, Jonathan.

They need someone to hold their hand.

They're nervous because you're inside
the coffin, remember?

I knew it was too easy.

So, I don't know.

Everything's such a mess with me at the
moment. I don't know where to start.

Have you had any more erotic dreams?

About? You know who?

Last night, actually.

We were making love together like, I
don't know, Olympic gymnasts.

I think I got down to a size ten at one
point. It was incredible.

Except for some reason we were on stage
at the Royal Opera House, Comet Garden,

and the audience were all booing and
shouting, bring back the juggler.

Which I remember put aside gladly
because... All right, I think that'll

do, won't it? If you'd like to come with
me, please.

I beg your pardon? Detective Inspector
Roy Gregson. I'm afraid, as of now, this

consultation's over.

For what reason? For the reason, Miss
Wolferton, that you're no more a

psychoanalyst than I am.

You are? I'm sorry about this.

It's a condition called obsessive
delusion.

The sufferer basically acts out a
fantasy role to satisfy some unfulfilled

desire in their life.

In this case, listening to people's
intimate sexual neuroses.

But I'm afraid the party's over now,
isn't it, young lady?

All right, Mr Gregson.

Leave her be, please.

Mr Gregson.

I'm sorry about this. It's a psychotic
condition in which he believes himself

to be a police inspector.

Whereas you actually work for the North
Thames Gas Board, Mr Gregson.

Remember? Do forgive the intrusion.

I'll try and keep my door locked in
future.

unsettling when that happens, isn't it?

Now, you were talking about some general
sense of confusion in your

personal life.

Sorry?

Yes, well, there's this ongoing business
with Jonathan, obviously, but

the other day something else cropped up
as well, which...

You know that thing?

Where a ghost from your past suddenly
comes back to haunt you?

Listen, Jonathan, great to put a faith
to the name at last.

I'm sorry, due to a cock-up in the
diary, I seem to have two lunches today,

and I'm already late for both of them.

Oh, incidentally, Mad, did you hear any
more about, you know, that other?

Yeah, he rang me again last night,
actually.

And? Yes, Thursday morning.

I'm going to see it through, Barry. I,
um...

I talked it over with my therapist and
she reckons it'll be good for me, so...

OK, shall we went?

Well, I suppose I'd better get back
to... Oh, come on.

Would you say I take you somewhere
really smart for lunch?

Not that it's OTT or anything.

Just stick with me on this one.

Miss McGowan.

Mr Creek.

How do you do? Martha Parrish. You like
to follow me, please?

It's not much further. It's just through
here.

I didn't want anything fussy. Just a
cheese omelette. Oh, are you okay?

Jonathan, unfortunately, is borderline
asthmatic.

You couldn't give it a second?

Oh, yes, of course.

I'll just go see if I can find Mr
LaFleur for you.

Mr La... All right, there's the mirror.

Just want to remind myself what a
gullible prat looks like. Right.

All right.

I'll level with you. They don't do
omelettes.

Oh, come on, it's one hell of a puzzle,
this. You've read the reports.

A painting that's there one minute and
gone the next.

I'll take you somewhere smart for lunch.
Will I never learn?

Jonathan! Just because this bloke's
given your show a few iffy reviews...

Death notices. ...is no reason to pass
up a challenge.

But I hear what you're saying.

It is clearly so impossible.

Why even try?

One of those weird mysteries that'll
just never be explained.

the room down there.

The window's made of some kind of
reinforced special glass.

It was never designed to be open.

Except, where else could they have got
in?

Are you two married?

What ever gave you that idea?

I saw you arguing.

That's right.

But in our case, we're just arguing in
sin.

Always shouting at each other. Sometimes
they shout at me and I don't even...

What have you been told about talking to
strange men and women?

It's another habit we've picked up from
Melissa, isn't it?

His last name, I'm afraid, was a
terribly bad influence. We can't tell

him after two months abroad and find him
fraternising with a car mechanic.

I mean, the consequences are
unthinkable.

Never trust a man with actual grease on
his fingers.

Well, exactly.

As for this horror, the police are up a
gumtree.

So as far as I'm concerned, the 50,000
is there for the taking to anyone who

can come up with a positive lead.

Oh, yeah.

That was the other thing.

They are offering a small reward for the
painting's return, which can't be bad.

I don't see it.

This is where I'm sitting, here.

Not over there, not over there, but
here, where I've got a direct line

through that door, eating my lunch,
which on Friday comprised a bottle of

Lucozade and a Spam sandwich.

When Mrs. Parrish came out with those
girls, it was there, on the wall, in its

frame. Half a minute later, when they
opened the door, gone.

And if you're thinking that someone else
might have stepped in or out in between

time without my noticing, well, when
that painting was stolen, there was no

one inside that room.

So, you've come out of the Flemish
gallery and you're standing, what,

looking that way out of the window when
someone attacked you from behind with a

sharp instrument?

As I seem to have told everyone a
hundred times.

And then I fell to the ground.

Where?

Pardon me?

You couldn't show us.

On the floor, where you fell?

Exactly.

And that's when you heard whoever it was
running away?

presumably into the library, because
that's where they found a set of

footprints in the dust, which do not
correspond to any shoes worn by members

of this household.

Not worth a shifty.

Interesting. Two riddles in one.

How's that?

Setting aside the problem of how our
invisible thief managed to get past

everyone in that gallery with the
painting,

it's a safe bet to be in a hurry to get
out of the house.

So this just doesn't tally for a second,
does it?

What do you mean?

Oh, come on.

A child of five could work it out.

I can work it out.

Why didn't he go across the carpet?

Exactly. He's heading for the window.

So why does he go round the outside of
the room?

Riddle number one.

Riddle number two.

Why was he walking?

These aren't the footprints of a running
man, Mr Laflay.

Whoever was in this room, it wasn't the
person who attacked you in the hall.

Who did you say these people were? I
seem to have lost track.

Miss McGowan is. Have I got this right?

An investigative crime writer.

And Mr. Creek is... Creative consultant
Adam Clance.

You came to see one of our shows on
this, I'm sure you remember.

It was a ragbag of charmless chicanery
ill-conceived by witness tricksters who

seemed to confuse mystery with misery.

Turned a phrase he's got, hasn't he?

So, anyway... I make no secret of my
aversion to your particular art form,

Mr. Creek.

However, I can see its relevance to the
problems in hand.

If you have any insights to offer, we
should be pleased to hear them.

A little stumper.

No question.

I'm afraid I can't help.

So this has all been a complete waste of
our time. It's defeated everyone else.

Lord knows why we expected these two to
fare any better.

Oh, I didn't think that defeated me.

I know exactly how your painting
disappeared, Mr. Laflay.

I'm just not going to tell you.

Time you're moving.

50,000 green ones, Jonathan.

So, you've clocked it all, basically.

Worked out how the whole thing was done,
but you just want to make him suffer.

Correct.

Don't you think that's being amazingly
petty?

Still, I suppose no-one can blame you.

The man's a grade-A tossbag, I can't
deny.

Yes.

Why don't we make him stew?

Why should we let him know what we know?

What, um...

Do we know exactly?

Obviously you can tell me.

Dream on.

Witless trickster.

Not far off the mark for you, really, is
it?

Now, sweetheart, no-one's denying your
invaluable contribution to the show or

the unique place you occupy in my
affections.

I just have to be careful when it comes
to meeting...

Her Majesty, about who I bring along.

Oh, which I don't want you to take as
any kind of slight, because I know she

would absolutely adore you.

Lovely.

It's been a big help. Thanks a lot.

You're very welcome.

Look, it's nice work, you know.

I'll work it out myself.

I've seen everything you've seen.

I'm not a complete nutter moron.

Yeah?

I ain't never said anything.

Look, just give me a leg up to get me
started.

Please.

One tiny clue.

Look to Eric Spann's sandwich.

It contains the key to the whole affair.

Sorry about the time.

Guess where I've just come from.

Mr Poison Pen, Sylvester Laflay's.

Which is one of the weirdest set-ups
I've ever come across.

Yes, yes, you can tell me all about that
later. Now, did you talk to Larry about

more play on the dolls in the coffin?

He's going to see what he can do. We
can't make him too loose or we'll blow

it for the audience, Inspector.

Just enough so I don't break my spine
getting out. Box office is through the

roof, by the way, both performances.

Biggest open-air magic show in this
country for 70 years.

Now, Thursday week, Buckingham Palace.

Have you come up with anything?

What's to come up with?

You're being presented to the Queen,
Adam.

You just shake a hand, cop your MBE, and
then off. No, no, no, no. It needs a

little something to leaven it.

I was toying with a billiard ball from
the ear or an egg from the mouth.

Or, what about this?

A stamp on her tongue.

A stamp on her tongue? Are you insane?

Oh, come on, it's perfect.

I get her to stick it out.

What's this, Your Majesty?

I know this face. Maybe you could sign
this for me.

Big laugh.

Come on, what do you think?

How could we do that?

Are you winning?

Oh, right.

I've got to gloat now, I suppose, on my
ineptitude.

Oh, come on.

You were the one who duped me into going
round there in the first place.

Because you knew there was no way on
earth I'd agree to help Sylvester

Leflay, reward or no reward.

So what are you doing back here today?

Figured just to load me lunch.

Go on, then.

We'll give that Italian round the corner
a try.

Just, um, give me a minute.

Make a couple of calls, put Faith on.

I'll be with you.

Well, there is another school of thought
that you know jack shit about any of it.

This is all an elaborate bluff to make
me feel like a total dust, while you get

to act all smug and superior, which,
according to my analyst, is the further

evidence of your latent insecurity
complex.

My insecurity complex?

You want me to tell you how the crime
was committed?

Yes. How someone managed to magically
make that painting disappear from that

room? Yes. So you can go and tell him
and collect the reward?

Yes. No.

All right, then, yes.

Oh, Jonathan, can't we just forget this
stupid vendetta and pocket the dosh?

We've got a chance to make some serious
money here.

The pair of them are desperate.

I know for a fact the insurance company
are being sticky about the claim.

I'll bet if I picked up that phone now,
I could get him to double that reward.

Easily.

£100,000, Jonathan.

You reckon?

I'm sure of it.

So instead of saying, stuff your 50
grand, I could say, stuff your 100

grand.

Even more satisfying.

I surrender.

All right.

As that was a particularly fine linguine
you just bought me, let's have a quick

canter through it.

The first load of schoolgirls come out
with his secretary.

The painting's there in full view of
everyone present.

In the space of 30-odd seconds, it's
been cut out of its frame and removed

from the room. There's no conceivable
place it could have been hidden.

All this by a thief who somehow managed
to spirit himself through the gallery

without being seen by anyone and knock
our beloved Mr Play to the floor

outside.

The overhead window doesn't open.

Police said there was no sign it had
been tampered with.

I don't know.

I've been working on every conceivable
possibility.

Did it ever occur to you that someone
could have cut it without actually being

in the room, using a high-powered laser
through the glass in the ceiling?

You are kidding me.

Of course I am.

The idea's ridiculous.

In fact, the way this trip was worked is
so sublimely simple, when I tell you,

you'll wonder why you didn't get it in
five seconds flat.

For goodness sake, put me out of my
misery.

What was the significance of a sodding
spam sandwich?

Ah, absolutely.

And, for that matter, what's the
significance of the scented room?

Which puts another spin on it
altogether.

The scented room?

You clocked it the same as I did. The
second we stepped through that door, a

heavy fragrance of something sweet and
floral in that drawing room.

That's right.

That was coming from the bowl of
potpourri on the table.

What, you mean potpourri?

One of the biggest cons of the 20th
century.

People pick it up in a shop. What's the
first thing they always do?

Mmm, smell this one. That's sensational.

Oh, I'll have some of that.

Of course it is if you shove your face
in it. Put some in a bowl in the middle

of the room, you can't smell a bloody
thing.

Should be a label on the packet. Only
effective when inserted up nostril.

Is there a point to this?

The... Point is that the smell in that
room wasn't coming from the potpourri.

I'm not with you.

What are you saying?

That it was someone's perfume?

Who was involved in the robbery?

Perfumes don't hang around like that for
two whole days.

Well... What, then?

All right.

Mr Creek, is it Detective Inspector Roy
Gregson? I'm afraid you've got one or

two serious questions to answer.

Yes, actually, Inspector, it may be that
your services aren't required after all.

As it turns out... Just let me handle
this, please.

Are you aware it's an offence to
withhold important information about a

crime? You can either save yourself a
lot of grief by telling me here and now

everything you know about the theft of
Lady Teresa Cutler's painting, or we can

play hardball.

Why has your ID got North Thames Gas
Board on it?

Now, don't get clever with me, laddie,
or you'll regret it.

Failure to disclose evidence is a
serious matter.

Close in person, lady, please, officer.

I'll try.

But I have to be going. I'll see you in
court.

Oh, Jonathan!

I had to have a contingency plan. You
can't blame me for that.

OK, now you can open them.

What do you think?

You did say you wanted a treehouse.

What's that on the floor?

A lift.

So you don't get all scratched and tear
your clothes climbing up branches.

Come on. As if we haven't got enough
problems at the moment.

Sylvester Leflay.

Hmm?

What?

They are joking, surely to God.

Will you get him back on the phone and
tell everyone not to speak to him now?

Your blasted insurance company out
buying the disappearance of the

painting. They say there still isn't
enough evidence. A crime was committed.

If that Creek character does know
something about this, he is bloody well

going to tell us.

It's going to be this time. A row of
flags coming out the Duke of Edinburgh's

flies. Jonathan Creek!

Jonathan, I have a query for you.

To speed things along, we'll make it a
multiple-choice question.

If you could choose the manner of your
own death, would it be A, peacefully in

your sleep, B, breathlessly with Nicole
Kidman, or C, being dismembered by a

homophobic illusion?

If it's C, simply hang up now.

If not, I want you to get your backside
dine at the Carter Park tomorrow and

explain to Sylvester and Tweety Pie
exactly what happened to their cherished

El Greco.

I'm sorry, I'm not with any of this.

Then let me keep it simple for you.

Lady Theresa Cutler is chairperson of
the local conservative association.

Lady Theresa Cutler wields immense
influence upon Westminster Council.

Westminster Council have the power of
life or death over our concert in the

park on Saturday.

Our concert?

has been refused a permit on
discretionary grounds that purport to

concern public safety, but in reality
concern a member of my staff who naively

thinks he cannot be bought with money.

Wrong, Jonathan.

Money can buy anything and anyone.

This is a battle we cannot win.

So here's what you do.

Surrender your pride and save the show.

By tomorrow lunchtime, Jonathan, I
expect to hear good news.

Okey-dokey, my sweet.

Email? What's that?

I can barely remember my postcode.

Will do, then. Sure.

Cheerio. Bye.

Jonathan! To what do we owe?

You're looking lost.

This stolen painting.

Something's come up. I've got to move on
it.

Of course, I can't track her nibs down
this morning for love nor money.

I didn't expect to. I know it's today
he's coming down this golden hill.

I just thought if you had maybe a
contact number, if she can put her love

life on hold for 24 hours.

How much has she told you about all
this?

About what?

You've known Madeline how long?

A matter of months?

You'll not have scratched her surface
yet, so to speak.

You do.

you will find a lot of protective
layers.

Like, she makes it look very easy, but
it hasn't been.

You never knew her father.

Neither did she.

Her mother was a wreck who lived on her
nerves.

One day, she was stopped in a store,
accused of stealing a packet of bacon.

She said it was all a mistake.
Supermarket took her to court.

Next day...

She pulled the wire from an electric
iron and put it in her mouth.

Maddie came home from work.

She was 17.

Ran away after that to try and put the
pain behind her, except it never goes.

It just sits there, waiting for the day
when you'll come back and confront

it.

For Maddie, today is that day.

So, who's Gordon Hill?

Lunch break. We've timed it well.

It shouldn't take too long. Just one
last piece of the jigsaw and we're all

set.

I was told to expect you.

You have some news for us, I believe.

Benjamin, you all right?

Don't you want to learn another trick?

So, on a scale of one to ten, Mr.
Laflaye, just how baffling exactly would

you say this robbery was?

If this is another feeble attempt to
antagonize me... Ten, twenty, a hundred.

Haven't we all driven ourselves utterly
demented trying to figure it out?

All right.

Just so we're clear, no one here is in
any doubt the painting did actually

vanish from this room.

I think that's the one factor in this
whole blasted business we can be certain

of. Why?

Because it's going to make what happens
next totally impossible.

If everyone could just leave now, except
for Benjamin.

Benjamin? What?

Indulge him. He usually pays off.

About 30 seconds, I think he said.

Doors closed?

Yeah. You want to put your watch on, eh?

Okay.

Now, remember, Ben, first law of magic,
never tell them how it was done.

The, um, sordid matter of the reward,
Lady Teresa.

What?

Oh, yes, I've heard. It's obviously
something you'll have to take up with

your son.

I don't know.

Perhaps he can use it to buy him
something he really needs, like a life.

I don't know.

All that stuff about it could be really
cathartic.

It's absolutely bollocks in the end.

The only way I could ever get through
all the horror in life is to try and

forget about it.

I think I might just have slept in front
of that digger.

If he hadn't showed up at that point.

To put the seal on that business of the
stolen picture.

Do you remember me telling you about...
Talk about the last person I'd have ever

suspected.

How did you find out?

Through a boring process of watertight
logic.

The same logic that told me how you did
it.

There couldn't be any question it was
one of you.

What we're still a bit hazy on is why.

You'll have to speak to Melissa, my
sister.

She'll be round at Jeff's.

So suddenly I'm thinking, Melissa,
Melissa.

That was the name that cropped up
earlier.

But it took me a minute to remember
where.

That's another habit we've picked up
from Melissa, isn't it?

It's last nanny, I'm afraid. It's a
terribly bad influence.

Well, was that a tale and a half when it
actually came out in the wash?

For God's sake, Judith, what have you
said to them?

Do you want to get us put away?

No-one's going to rat on you, Melissa.
That's not the object of the exercise.

You know you didn't exactly hit it off
with your former employers, and that's

why you set all this up, to get your own
back.

For which I'm sure Jonathan would love
to give you a big wet kiss.

I've got no problem with giving
Sylvester the flay a hard time.

I'm just curious which of his many
charming qualities drove you to it.

I had no idea about that child.

No idea why they didn't care.

They were too into themselves and their
ritzy lifestyle gadding round the globe.

Aspen one day, Samaritz the next.

They'd never given Benji any time, any
quality time. It was like anything he

wanted he could have.

Except the one thing he really needed, a
mother and a father who were prepared to

make the effort.

And when they were around, she'd often
be on this knife edge, giving her

husband hell over absolutely nothing.

Sometimes she'd get quite violent.

Talk about volatile.

Of course, my approach didn't find
favour at all.

I indulged him.

Of course I did, I worshipped him.

When they gave me a fortnight's notice,
well, there weren't enough tears to cry.

I just thought, if there was any way I
could put them through it, deprive them

of something they really loved.

Something like a million-pound painting.

To take it away from them without
actually stealing it.

I can't say it was a nice one.

Everyone could see it had vanished, but
where to?

Floor and walls didn't offer any clue.

It had to be the window and the ceiling.
But how the hell did you get up there?

And how do you open a window that
doesn't open?

Answer, you didn't.

The window had nothing to do with it.

And once you cross that one off, you're
down to only one possibility, which is

so gloriously unlikely.

It never occurred to anyone.

The contrasting grain on each side told
the whole story.

The way the original Spanish builders
had secured the hand-carved panels to

the frame, it ended up with a door that
was technically hollow.

It was Jeff who first saw the
possibility.

One day when he was over there helping
me clear out my stuff.

Blip that.

Finding an hour when Eric and Martha
were out of the way was easier than

you'd think.

Then it was just a question of opening a
slit at the bottom.

A couple of nails that could be
swivelled across.

We rehung it.

Everything was safe.

And Judith thought of the idea of the
school outing.

It wouldn't be hard to engineer, and
who's going to suspect a bunch of 12

-year-old girls?

So what happened?

Six of you went in, but only five came
out.

Who's counting schoolgirls?

Half a minute's just about enough. Your
pals are outside keeping Martha busy

with a few questions.

So when the next group goes in, and
everyone's glued to the empty frame, you

merge in with them.

For my money, a world-class trick.

With a delicious irony that all the time
he's freaking out, it's just sitting

there, a few yards away between two
panels of wood.

Like a slice of spam in a sandwich.

The rest of it we have to guess.

But I don't suppose it's wide of the
mark to imagine that Teresa's outside

during all of this, getting ballistic
with her husband.

He dashes inside.

Major panic.

Not only is one of their most valuable
art treasures gone, there's not a shred

of evidence that anyone was in there.

That's not going to look good when he
makes his insurance claim. The loss

adjuster will need more evidence than
that.

So what does he come up with?

An imaginary whack from behind by the
unseen intruder.

he got the head wound courtesy of his
wife it's a gift

just to round it out they come up with
another idea before

the police arrive a set of footprints in
the dust on the floor to show where the

thief had left the building slight
drawback there wasn't any dust in the

floor it had just been cleaned that's
not a problem they just create their own

Hence the overpowering smell of freezers
or whatever it was that hit us inside

the room.

But you see what I'm saying?

It'd be a brilliant read.

There was only way I could actually use
it.

But that's going to drop the ex-nanny
and her sister in it.

And we did give our word to keep shtum.

Well, you've got to, haven't you?

Respect a confidence like that. So,
sorry.

Where was I?

You will stop me if I start rambling.

You can't believe, really, a couple like
that would ever stay together,

considering there's actually no
communication between them of any kind.

What I can't understand is his complete
lack of any embarrassment about it.

To turn up at Buckingham Palace with a
dozen cage birds concealed about your

person has got to be a major error,
wouldn't you say?

Because that's the death of any
relationship, don't you reckon, when

people stop listening to each other?

I mean, since when has the royal family
been noted for its puckish sense of

humour? Especially when there's a child
involved, there's no excuse.

You just know one of them's going to
escape and you know exactly where it's

going to go.

That's why if we ever had a son, I know
it'd work out. We'd make sure it did.

And now it's going to be the first time
in living memory the Queen's presented

an MBE with a live canary up her skirt.

Somehow, I don't think it'll be topping
the bill at the Royal Command this year.

Never thought about that, Jonathan.
Paul?

Sorry? Having a family.

Settling down and all that.

Right.

Very probably.

What can I smell in here?

It's a talcum powder.