Original subtitles

I've been talking to Sheila Legge's lawyer.

She left £3 million? To who?

Mr. Salvador Dalì.

Does this mean we're all suspects?

Signed by Gala Dalì!

I lied about the death of an innocent child.

I wanted her gold teeth to sell.

Aren't you paid?

There's one missing.

Man Ray is the father of Sheila's son.

A goddamn child with another woman.

- Who are you? - Mrs. Magritte.

E.L.T. I am Magritte's agent.

Your husband wakes up next to a corpse

after spending all night in bed with her.

Would you like da Vinci to be eternal?

Yeah.

Where did you get this picture?

No, no, no. That's not for you.

That is for the snobs who are going to make you

a rich man Friday night.

Brighton 2-9-4-8.

Hello?

Hello?

Hello.

Who is this?

Shit.

Shit.

Georgette? Georgette, come.

Come.

- Georgette, come. - I'm coming.

Come. Come.

Have a look at this brochure.

Tell me which of the paintings you have seen before.

My love?

My love?

How dare you?

- Okay. Is this about Sheila? - Of course it is, René.

- Honestly. - I didn't sleep with her, okay?

Someone drugged me

to make it look like that, but I didn't.

We were just talking. I fell asleep. I don't know how.

She was sad and crying.

She was depressed because she lost a child.

- She needed to talk... - And you volunteered?

What a hero.

Look, I don't know what happened. Okay?

I don't know.

But I won't stop looking until I have all the answers.

And I mean all of them.

Do you think...

Do you think that I'm a murderer?

No.

But a liar or a cheater...

Listen, Georgette.

Two people are dead.

I need you.

I need your help.

Can you look at this brochure

and tell me which paintings you've seen before?

Please?

This one?

I posed for it. Don't you remember?

Who else could have seen this painting?

It's very important.

Something odd happened a few of weeks ago.

I thought he'd left the house,

but he was taking pictures in your atelier.

Who? ELT?

Yes.

Should I have said something?

I'm going to get that bastard.

- Morning. - Morning, Jukes.

♪ In a far out loud cafe ♪

Ahh!

Hello.

I beg your pardon, Mr. Mesens.

Anything I can help you with, sir?

Oh, yes, my friend.

You can get me some quality FaceTime with the boss.

You may find that my boss is rather busy today.

Is that so?

Archibald Jukes, I believe.

It is you, right? Or not?

Who had a show in my friend's art gallery

in Brussels some 10, maybe 15 years ago?

What gallery would that be, sir?

Paul Derrick's Fine Art Gallery in Les Marolles.

Never heard of it. Sorry.

I'm not of your station. I'm only the hired help.

I wouldn't claim to be an artist,

but thank you for thinking so highly of me.

I am the personal assistant of my Lord James,

and proudly so.

A proper job with meaningful duties.

And I've worked here a very long time, sir.

I can hear your last two brain cells crackling, con pas?

Just teasing.

I meet so many people. I must got...

mixed up with someone else.

Yeah.

Now... please, call your boss.

This is the main space here in the house,

something that somebody's working on

but please make sure you make yourselves at home.

Er, sorry to interrupt, dearest guests.

May I introduce you to the new arrivals?

The lady, Georgette Magritte,

and Mr., er...

Good morning.

My name is Édouard Léon Théodore Mesens,

but please just call me E.L.T.

Hello, Edouard.

- Howdy, Georgette. - Oh, hi.

Finally, we get to hang out with a Belgian missus.

George-something, was it?

Georgette, Miss Miller.

Nice to meet you.

Well, I can see why

you've been hiding her.

Yeah.

She's exactly 214 times too good for me.

At least.

Yes.

Finally, a breath of fresh air.

Why are they allowed in when we can't go out?

Would you fancy a drink?

Yes, thank you.

So, why is everybody so down?

Huh, is it because of the dead bodies?

Or is there too much booze and shaking going on?

I'll join you in a jiffy.

In Brussels, we say...

'You get in OK, but you leave KO'.

Jesus Christ.

Hey, I love your egg.

Did I say something wrong?

No.

- Don't overdo it, okay? - How so?

I have enough trouble fitting in as it is.

Penny for your thoughts, Quant.

Why did Sheila Legge leave everything to Dalì

instead of her only relative, Lord James?

Especially if she's been living here

since the death of her child last summer?

It's not like our lordship needs the money.

She's supposed to be one of the richest lords

in the land, right?

But the estate doesn't seem to be well maintained.

Well, hang on a second.

- Jay Poots, remember? - Our butter boy?

- Yeah. - His alibi was solid.

Do you know what it was?

A second job down the local pub.

Do you reckon she's not paying her staff?

Poots said he badly needed money for food.

Do you remember what you first said to me?

On our first case together?

Refresh my memory.

"Love, money or jealousy, Quant?

All crimes lead to at least one."

Not a bad impression.

Erm, but you're right.

And most of the time, it's money.

We'll look into it.

You coming?

Er, no, you go on ahead.

There's something else I want to check first.

What's that?

Logistics.

Hello, operator,

I'd like to place a call to France,

to the Société el Mobile Côte d 'Azur.

Yes, to a Mr. Turgenev.

Number is CAN 5123.

What do you mean, disconnected?

CAN 5123.

Try again.

Are you sure?

Hey, René.

Easy.

The brochure. Is it for tomorrow's exhibition?

- Well-spotted. Nice, isn't it? - Magnificent.

When did you take these pictures?

And what were you doing in my atelier when I wasn't there?

And whose telephone number is this?

Ah, all these questions.

Yes. A lot of questions. And I'd like all the answers.

Listen.

You paint and I sell.

That's our strategy.

I do what suits me when it suits me,

and you stay out of it.

Division of labour according to talent.

I thought you had already sold these paintings to Lord James?

She'll sell them to those high rollers

at tomorrow's exhibition.

The value of your paintings will go through the roof.

Times fifty, at least.

And we take our 25 percent.

Yes, I'm taking care of you, my friend.

We're going to make a fortune.

You can thank me later, okay?

I'm going to join her and make sure no one screws up.

Are we good?

Yes.

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Magritte.

Er, Georgette, please.

Was that you playing the Schubert?

Uh, yes.

Truly beautiful.

Music has that unique power, doesn't it?

I won't lie to you -- it touches me deeper than,

you know, what your husband and his colleagues do.

Surrealism comes from the brain, but music...

comes from the soul.

If René is using his brain,

it's only to protect his heart.

Or is he just a curious sort?

I mean, you may have noticed he sunk his teeth into this case

like a hunting dog into a defenseless pheasant.

Well, he thinks it's his duty to save

every poor soul, I'm afraid.

Where does that come from? Ego?

Well...

When Rene was a child,

his mother jumped into the river.

She killed herself.

Oh, dear.

Mummy!

Pull, pull.

His father was a tormented man.

He didn't know how to deal with his grief, so...

he decided it was Rene's fault.

I asked you one thing!

When he was out playing, sir,

he came back too late that evening

to lock his mother into her bedroom.

She had tried it before, you see.

It's your fault.

And it's haunted him ever since.

That's your mother.

As if a little boy should...

bear such responsibility.

That's wrong.

And that's why you have now a man

that wants to solve the case at all costs.

Because in his mind, it's his fault.

He was supposed to watch over her, you see.

And he didn't.

I appreciate you sharing all this, Georgette.

Well...I know that people need a little bit of help

with the mystery named Marguerite sometimes.

It's not like he's helping us much

with his detecting or his painting.

Well, have a good day, Detective.

And, uh, be careful, please.

I will.

Didn't see you there.

Don't worry, my young lord. I'm also a little distracted.

By everything that's happened?

Yeah. There is that, of course.

And also, life and marriage, you know.

A quarrel with Sal.

You're too polite.

I know rumors spread quickly around here.

I may have heard something.

Is it all resolved?

Salva, he'll come around.

He's just acting very dramatic, even for him.

Why?

I always handled the business side.

He's much too impulsive. But now, poor Sheila had to go

and leave him all her money.

She certainly didn't do anyone any favors with that.

- Right. - Oh. I'm rambling.

Is everything set for tomorrow night?

Yes, all is splendid. Just need to attend to the final details.

Good.

- Magritte. - Sir.

I've been talking with your wife.

Then you're more successful than me.

'Cause I've been trying to talk to her all morning,

- but I seem to have failed. - Listen.

I owe you an apology for last night.

Yes?

I apologize.

And I accept it.

Listen, I get it.

Stir things up, right?

See if I break under pressure?

Maybe. But you didn't.

So well done.

Do you fancy joining me?

For what, sir?

Are you good with heights?

This is my proposal.

Use the present circumstances

to drive the price of the art up even more.

Nothing sells like scandal, let alone murder.

I think you should get the press involved.

Make it all public.

It's not bad, my lord. It's a plan.

In fact, we should thank the murderer.

No?

There is perhaps something

in what you are suggesting, E.L.T.

My lord, I can assure you,

this scandal will multiply the value

of the artwork exponentially.

I get the picture.

Thank you.

Thank you, my lord.

Thank you very much.

I just don't understand

how our killer could have done all this right under our noses.

It's like we're dealing with a ghost.

A bloody invisible one at that.

A strong one, too. A strong, invisible, murderous ghost.

Quite.

I mean, you and Sheila were already half in bed,

and anyone can move a body slightly.

But Nash?

We're looking at someone with real muscle.

Are you sure you don't remember anything?

Being manhandled, picked up,

big hands, a smell, a wheezing breath?

No, no, nothing at all.

The killer could have had help.

It's a possibility.

What does your gut tell you?

That this is such a unique kind of murder

that it has to be a maniac who's working alone.

And it's such a lot of work for one person.

He has to know this estate inside out

and how to get around it without being spotted.

On the other hand,

there are a lot of couples here.

A lot of couples that will lie for each other.

Well, that's what couples do.

But how many couples would kill for each other?

Would you kill for Georgette?

Right.

Yes, but only for her.

Listen... thank you for all your help.

Why don't you go and make it up with your wife now, if you can?

She's a treasure, that one.

I will.

Back to the grindstone.

I understand that you are Director General

of Babington Bank

and that your client has confidentiality,

but with all due respect, this is Scotland Yard

and there's a double-homicide investigation ongoing.

No?

And that's your final answer?

I will let my superior officers know.

Thank you.

Wanker.

- I just don't understand how our killer

could have done all this right under our noses.

- Strong, visible, murderous ghost.

I bet I can beat you up to that tree there.

Who's in?

Oh, you're on, girl.

Go on, George.

I don't want to.

- No shoes. - Okay.

Not you.

- - Don't be so shy. - Stop it.

You'll see.

She runs like a fox.

No, I'm not a fast runner.

She runs like a fox,

but she fucks like a rabbit.

Excuse me?

Just joking.

Come on, girls.

I'm coming.

Ready.

Ready?

Three,

two, one, go!

Come on, George!

Hey!

You are a little foxy.

I bet she does fuck like a rabbit.

Whoo!

Well, it's really lovely.

Time away from it all.

You know, this is the first time I've relaxed

since I drove through those gates a few days ago.

Well, there might be an actual killer

staring at us from the bush right now.

Oh, stop.

Shall we play a game?

Mm. What kind of game?

A sex game, I hope.

I'll jump anything that'll have me at this point.

I'll pass, Gala.

But... I was thinking about a game.

Is your husband a killer?

You're all fun, aren't you?

No, but...seriously?

Mine's a liar, a cheater, a madman,

a small child, and a crybaby.

but not a murderer.

No. Not saying so, too, no.

Mm. Neither is mine.

Be careful, René. With those two...

you're going to lose her.

Ladies amongst each other...

They talk.

Matches?

Why are you even here, Magritte?

All good with you and Renee?

All good.

This idiot cheated on her first chance he got.

No offense.

Well, that's rich, coming from you.

I cheat, yeah, it's true.

But can we call it cheating if Salva is aware of it?

There is no betrayal.

For me, the betrayal isn't the sex, it's the lies.

Yes.

I just don't know what to do.

I could already feel him slipping away from me, so...

I don't know.

Leave him?

What? No.

Make him pay, but keep him.

He loves you, it's clear, and you love him.

But first, fuck anyone you like to get even.

How do you know I haven't already evened to score?

Say again?

No.

Oh, you're one of us now, Georgina.

Welcome to the big girls club.

Don't you want to go for a walk?

Right now?

Yes, only you and me, for a short walk.

Uhm...

Yes? Come, let's go.

Be careful, Georgette.

He might drag you in the woods.

Be carefuls, darlings.

Before you know it, you'll have a surreal baby in your belly.

Some feverish make-up sex, you reckon?

Up against a tree?

Ooh. I would even do it with a tree.

We need a drink?

- We sure do. - Oh, Yes.

Not you.

You want us to trust each other again, don't you?

I do, my love.

You know, it's been...

We've always been together.

Since we were fifteen.

You see, I could never ever lie to you. I could never hurt you.

Oh, whoa, whoa! Oh, la la.

- Are you okay? - Yes.

You want to sit down?

No, I'm okay.

Every time I try to be Mr Romantic,

Mr Clumsy ruins the moment.

You can never ruin anything.

Come.

I love you.

I love you too.

I've always loved you, I always will.

Kiss me?

Yes.

I want you.

What, right here?

- Hm. - Really?

You'll have to catch me first.

Unless you'd rather kiss the lawn?

My love?

George?

My love?

Georgette, where are you?

René!

René?

Georgette? What's wrong?

- What's wrong? - I saw him.

Who did you see?

- He was right there. - Who did you see? Where?

I thought I was going to die, René.

No, no, no.

You won't die. I'm right here.

Okay.

Come, come.

Let's go. Let's get out of here.

So, like a mask,

but made of roses.

Yeah.

About 500 of them.

That's very elaborate.

Did you get a sense of the face?

No. I couldn't really see it.

Like, imagine a sphere but covered with roses.

Like a football but on top of a human body,

if that makes sense.

What is this?

Performance in London by our first victim,

only a few months ago.

The Phantom Lady, she called it.

Can I see it?

Are you saying that you saw the ghost of Sheila Legge?

What time exactly did this take place?

Half an hour ago.

All right.

Sir, it's a morbid prank, surely.

No, I believe that Mrs. Magritte

came face-to-face with our clearly deranged murderer.

I'm glad you lived to tell the tale.

Would you be able to show me the spot

where you saw this odd figure?

- Yes. - Of course.

Yeah, I think it was here.

Okay, I will have the constables conduct a search.

Detective Quant, that won't be necessary.

Sir?

Yes, I mean, it's, er...

Well, it's getting dark now.

There's no use to send the troops in at this hour.

We'll continue this tomorrow morning.

If you say so, sir.

I don't want to keep Mr. Magritte from his work.

And thank you both for your help.

It's so not true, Manny.

Look who's here.

The millionairess.

Go on, hit me. Here, too.

- Stop it now, Sal. - It's okay, Man, it's okay.

Hit me, hard and merciless, like you are.

You've gone completely nuts, finally.

Oh, I'm perfectly sane, woman.

Mm.

When you hit me in the mouth,

just like you did by accepting

Sheila's inheritance behind my back,

signing the bloody will, touching that blood money?

Still then, I'll present my other cheek.

Go on.

Hit me.

- Till it bleeds. - Stop it now.

- No, you stop it! - Oh, you're a child.

You're dead to me, Gala!

Here comes the Spanish drama.

What about you?

What about you?

You promiscuous, racist bourgeois!

Money-minded snake!

You're a money-minded snake!

Any more insults for me?

Yes!

Plenty! I have plenty!

Not worth my breath.

Be gone.

Okay? Be gone.

Stay out of my life.

Stay out of my life!

Right. See you in the room later?

Don't tell anyone.

And if you do, make it a good story.

Mm! There you are.

Whiskey sour for Miss Miller?

Everything A-okay?

Never been better.

And that's the logistics of it.

What do you think?

So, the killer caught Nash in the poppy field...

- Mm-hmm. - ...used the delivery van

and got him all the way on the roof,

via the servant's entrance.

Yes.

And you believe he or she has appeared in the clearing.

How would one get there without being seen?

Good question.

I'm not quite sure about that yet.

But I might have a suspicion.

Still, impressive work, sir.

Thank you, Quant.

What about your money trail?

Almost there. Just have a few more checks to do.

Well, keep it up. Take no prisoners now.

I shall retire to the local hostelry

where I will consume exactly five pints of foaming ale

and think this all through.

We're close, Quant.

Downstairs tomorrow morning for breakfast, 8:30 sharp.

Good night, and thank you.

Thank you, too.

Good night, sir.

Yeah.

It looks wonderful.

Shame there's still one of the murder rooms here.

Brighton-2948.

Isn't it a...

wonderful tribute to my da Vinci?

You know, I'm no, uh, sentimentalist, Magritte, but...

...this melts the ice chip of my heart.

Sal did us right.

Good night, Magritte.

My dear?

- Are you all right? - Of course not.

Max, you are my oldest friend in this nest of vipers.

You've got to help me.

Of course.

I'll do anything for you, you know that.

Tell me, have I fucked up?

Well, I hate to say it, but...yes, you have.

He's my life, Maxi?

I know how close he is to your heart.

You two are not like any ordinary couple.

You're bulletproof.

You and Salva will survive this.

Because you have to.

I wish you were right.

I most certainly am.

- Before you know it. - Mm.

Thank you, Max.

- Max? - Mm-hmm?

Did you notice something strange in him?

My dearest Gala, he's the definition of strange.

I know that. I mean...

What?

Never mind.

- Are you saying that you saw the ghost of Sheila Legge?

- Strong, invisible, murderous ghost.

So you understand, this is crucial.

Nothing else can go wrong.

As you wish, my lord.

Is everything in place for tomorrow?

Shall we go to the guesthouse?

Unh!