All language subtitles for Tales.Of.The.Unexpected.S09E02.The.Colonels.Lady.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-HypStu_track3_[eng]

What's that?

Only some books.

Let me do it, never wear a string.

Thing I learned from my old nanny.

Three things you should always carry in your

pocket she told me.

A penknife, a shilling and a piece of

string.

What for?

Well, emergencies of course.

In Cyprus my sergeant major got his leg

blown off, leading to death.

With my bit of string I put a

tourniquet on him.

My mother said it saved his life.

When pyramids decay, they pretty decayed when I

last saw them.

That was, good lord, thirty years ago.

I was a young subtleton on leave from

Aden.

They're all the same.

What on earth do you want six copies

of the same book for?

When pyramids decay by E.K. Hamilton.

But that's...

Me, yes.

Have you written a book?

You are a dark horse, why didn't you

tell me?

I didn't think you'd be interested.

Why do you use your maiden name?

Oh, the publisher thought Eve Peregrine was a

bit of a mouthful for people when they're

asking for it.

You mean it's for sale?

People are going to buy it?

Just a few, perhaps.

Good lord.

Did you pay to get it published?

They paid me.

I see.

How much?

500 pounds.

Well, it's a bit thin.

Not much work in it, I suppose.

Ah, poetry.

I don't expect you to read it.

Well, not much in my line, poetry.

It doesn't look like poetry.

Not in verse, it's all chopped up.

It doesn't seem to rhyme, either.

Would you like me to read it?

You don't have to.

My dear poetry, something with a good beat

to it, like marching behind a band.

The boy stood on the burning deck whence

all but he had fled, and when the

flames they burnt his feet, he stood upon

his head.

Afternoon, Colonel.

Ah.

It was a good morning's work.

Those bullocks were a good buy.

Hope they do well.

Not going from corn to horn, are you?

My small contribution to the beef mountain.

Well, these subsidies can't last.

They're crazy.

Who are we to complain?

How's your wife?

Oh, not too good at the moment.

Up and down, up and down, but more

down than up just now.

I'm sorry.

Funny thing is, women don't help that.

Indeed they are, sir.

Talking of subsidies, did I tell you what

I'm going to do with my hundred acre

this year?

Oh no, tell me.

You're not going to give up barley.

Sorry to take so long.

I read your book last night.

You don't have to.

Look, I wouldn't have asked, only you offered.

I let you off the hook, George.

Don't bother.

You didn't really read it, did you?

Well, first few pages.

I got a bit wet looking at some

heifers, thought I had a cold coming on.

So I took a couple of aspirin and

a whisky and just dropped off, to be

honest.

I'll take it up to town with me

tomorrow.

Will you be gone long?

Well, three or four days this time.

I've got a meeting of the Landowners Association.

We're kicking up a stink at the ministry

about common market bureaucracy.

Will you be staying at the club?

Yes, unless somebody offers to put me up.

Porter will know where I am.

Porters are gentlemen's establishments and notorious for never

telling ladies where their gentlemen are.

Yours is frightfully well trained.

Anybody bought your book yet?

It's only been in the shops a week.

In the shops?

That's where you buy books.

You mean it might be in the windows?

Oh, I shouldn't think it's that important.

Well, just as well.

The things that you see in windows nowadays.

I'm rather proud of these.

They're a new hybrid.

Very nice.

Smell?

Yes, lovely.

Splendidly old-fashioned.

I should be wearing a transparent negligee, have

champagne in a bucket by the bed.

But we have got to go, my darling,

because I managed to book a couple of

seats for that musical about the French Revolution,

which you'll absolutely hate, so you need to

stoke yourself up on gin first.

There's something for you on the table.

Very nice.

Goes with that barbarian part of you you're

always trying to hide.

A bit more cheery than that Robbie Dull

thing you wear.

But this is the old school tie.

It's an old fogey tie, George.

It's time you were redecorated.

Now, bag, please.

Oh, George, it isn't your wife, is it,

who's written this book that's such a buzz

about?

What do you mean?

The Pyramids Collapse or something.

I went to an audition and three people

were reading it.

I went to my agent's, he was reading

it.

Who was it by?

A woman called Hamilton.

You'd think my agent were making commission the

way he went on about her.

He said her real name was Peregrine.

I said, oh, I know somebody called Peregrine.

He said her husband was a colonel in

the army.

I'd assume you didn't talk about me to

your friends.

Oh, of course I wouldn't.

I said it might be the same one.

Right, ready at last, please.

Gas off.

He said they say this colonel's a regular

old stuffed shirt.

Oh, you know better than that.

And if my wife had written a book,

I'd be the first to know about it,

wouldn't I?

George, nice to see you.

That's not your usual sort of rag.

Country life, Farmers' Weekly, or your life.

Something caught my eye.

Don't be modest, old chap.

You were swatting up on a bit of

culture.

What's it like being the husband of a

celebrity?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Come off it.

Everybody knows E.K. Hamilton's your wife.

It's not often that even I get to

know about a book of poetry.

And there's a photograph offer in the shop

round the corner, looking smashing.

By the way, I'm lunching with Basil Dashwood.

He's not really my sort of person, but

he's helping my son get into publishing.

He'd love to meet you.

Who's Basil Dashwood?

Don't you have a telly in your neck

of the woods?

Dashwood, the critic.

He runs that arts programme.

He wrote a rave review of Evie's book

in one of the Sundays.

Didn't she show it to you?

Basil, this is George Peregrine.

Do you remember last week I told you...

Oh, not...

Her husband.

How are you?

Is she in town by any chance?

I'd very much like to meet her.

My wife doesn't like London.

She prefers the country.

I was simply knocked sideways by her book.

I'd like to have her on my programme.

I don't think so.

You can't go to a movie nowadays without

full frontal nudity.

Open a paper without sexual details that used

to be unmentionable.

Go to a play without streams of four

letter words and hear someone actually daring to

write about love again.

She evades nothing, obscures nothing, and still manages

to make what I can only call, have

to call, magic.

Magic somehow undiminished by the plain earthy facts

of what really goes on between a man

and a woman in bed.

Very good of you to say such nice

things about my wife's little book.

I'm sure she'll be delighted.

But I have a train to catch and

I get a bite of lunch.

Excuse me.

Do you have...

Do you have a copy of The Pyramids

Decay?

When?

Pyramids Decay, sir.

I'm sorry, we've completely sold out.

But I've just seen it in the window.

That's our display copy, sir.

It's reprinting.

We should have a large order in a

couple of weeks.

People are buying it then.

It might be novel the way it's selling.

I thought nobody read poetry nowadays.

Well, actually, it's the storey they like.

It has a storey.

My wife couldn't put it down.

Tragic and very sexy, she said.

Obviously autobiographical.

Is there another bookshop nearby?

I doubt if you'll find a copy in

London, sir.

I really had no idea.

Here we have been nodding at each other

for ages and ages.

I simply didn't know who you were.

I didn't know I was someone different until

last week, but it seems I was.

The penalties of fame.

I picked up the last copy in Harrods

and I have been totally immersed.

I just finished when I was waiting for

Cleo at the Pony Club.

Here you are, darling.

You must ruin your teeth.

Oh dear.

I am sure even the author wouldn't think

it quite required reading at your age.

Here are your dreadful horsey magazines.

A much more suitable, if less, of life.

Did you write this book?

Would you autograph it, please?

What shall I put?

To Cleo, with the author's compliments.

Cleo's with an R.

Yes.

That's the Greek use of poetry in history.

Which do you like best?

Poetry.

I've put with love, too.

My dear, collecting signed first editions already.

She get it from her father.

He collect things.

I collect people.

I was wondering, Mrs. Perrygreen, should I call

you Miss Hamilton?

Oh, I hadn't thought.

I suppose I'd better be missus in the

country and miss in town.

It feels rather disreputable.

No, just Evie will do fine.

Hi, Marina.

Oh, hello.

Have you seen a book I left here

before I went to town?

Sort of porridge coloured cover?

No, sir.

Well, there was more than one copy, six

copies to be precise.

They can't all have vanished.

Perhaps in Mrs. Perrygreen's room, sir.

No, I've looked there.

I've looked everywhere.

What size was the book, sir?

What sort of...

this size?

Mrs. Perrygreen did give me some parcels to

post, sir.

Who were they addressed to?

Just people who come to the house, sir.

Local people?

I think so, sir.

Oh, God.

Anyway, they asked us to dinner next week.

I made an excuse.

Why?

They've never asked us before.

It's the best shooting in the county.

Only people who get it are Greeks and

Arabs.

Oh, well, I didn't think of that.

I thought it would bore you.

Did they ask us or just you?

In point of fact, they didn't ask you.

Well, I call it damn rude of them.

I suppose they thought it wouldn't be your

sort of evening.

Irina likes writers and people like that.

She's invited Basil Dashwood, the critic.

He's some sort of cousin and he wants

to meet me for some reason.

It was nice of you to refuse, Evie.

I don't suppose I'd have much in common

with the sort of people who'd be there.

George, I've got an awful chore to do.

They've sold my book to America.

America?

Well, I suppose they speak the same language.

They've sold it to Holland and Scandinavia, too,

but never mind.

Anyway, the American publisher's coming over next week

and my publisher's giving a party for him.

I'd love you to come.

Moral support.

Well, it sounds a crashing bore, but if

you really want me to, I'll put in

an appearance.

It would be sweet of you.

Black tie, I suppose.

Evie?

Evie?

Do get a move on, I'll do

it.

Why did you hit him?

Never mind.

Bunch of frauds and phonies.

I was enjoying myself.

Stop the car.

I want to get out.

I'm sorry, Evie, I'm going to spend the

night at the club.

I want a taxi.

Whatever's happened?

Have you been mugged?

Oh, not my blood.

I hit somebody.

Why?

Patronising clot.

There's something absolutely foul about my wife.

Oh, how chivalrous.

Do you want to stay the night?

Because I won't be back until the crack

of dawn.

I've got a bit in a commercial.

Night location on Tower Bridge.

Oh, no, no, I was just passing.

Get me a gin, for God's sake, a

large one.

Are you sure?

You sound to me as though you've had

a few already.

Where did you get this?

Oh, that's that book I was telling you

about.

Have you read it?

I couldn't get it anywhere.

It sold out.

I'm not surprised.

It's marvellous.

True and funny and sad.

The beginning, she meets this man.

No, no, I won't spoil it.

You must read it properly.

And not just the sexy parts.

There in the middle, that's the bit everybody

talks about.

I don't like it so much.

It's all breasts and chests and flanks and

thighs and his flat belly, his beautiful legs.

But then, well, he must have died because

the last part's called a requiem and it's

all over.

And she's alone and just remembering.

Made me cry.

Evie.

Evie of all people.

Is that the cop's referred to here?

Yes.

It's always easier when he sits on the

ground.

Evie's looking well.

You hardly need gardeners with all her energy.

Well, I don't see any problems with this.

Good thing to get it all down in

writing.

Diverting these old footpaths can be a problem.

I'll bring it up with the council.

You mustn't let Evie overdo it, you know.

I slipped that disc pushing a barrow.

Have you read her book?

Yes.

Yes, I have.

Fancy Evie breaking out into poetry, eh?

Wonders will never cease.

She's made me look an absolute idiot.

Rubbish, George.

There's no harm in her writing a book.

You ought to be proud of her.

Well, think of the lolly.

You'll have to start thinking of getting her

a Swiss bank account.

It's her own storey.

You know that and so does everyone else.

George, you're getting paranoid.

If she'd written a romantic novel about pirates,

highwaymen, you wouldn't think she'd had an affair

with one.

This is not a romantic novel.

It's words.

Things I never thought that she...

I suppose I'm the only one who doesn't

know who her lover was.

Now, George, you talk to me as an

old friend or as your solicitor.

There's no reason to think the whole thing

wasn't made up.

Pure imagination.

Do you believe that?

Who was the man?

I don't know.

And I wouldn't tell you if I did.

I want you to get a private detective

and find out.

Suppose she did have an affair.

As I read it, the fella's dead.

It was all years ago.

Far too late to get any evidence.

I don't want evidence.

I want the man's name.

Get me a detective, Harry.

I won't.

And if you want to do that, you'd

better consult someone else.

Have you always been faithful to her?

No.

More or less.

After all, we've been married for 24 years.

She's been a damn good wife.

I thought she was fond of me.

She couldn't have written that book unless she

hated me.

I don't think Evie's capable of hatred.

You're not going to pretend that she loves

me?

No.

What does she feel for me, indifference?

It's not uncommon in lasting marriages.

I'm late.

I must know who you are.

Why don't you ask her yourself?

I'm afraid to find out.

Perhaps you have to.

One thing I'll never understand till my dying

day.

What in the name of heaven did that

fellow ever see in her?

Why didn't Harry say goodbye?

I had some cuttings for him.

Evie...

You know what I regret?

When I married you, I should have grubbed

out all those old ramblers and put in

thornless roses.

It rose without a thorn.

Isn't that what Henry VIII called one of

his wives?

Didn't stop him from having her head chopped

off, though.

Can you pass me the rake?

I've read your book now.

Right through?

Yes.

Look, it's all right, old thing.

You don't have to say anything.

I've had about 15 stunning reviews and now

the bad ones are beginning to come in.

I just want to forget it.

Do you think I can?

Someone at that frightful party, she was a

novelist.

She said people read the most extraordinary things

into what you've written.

If you put them in a book, they

never recognise themselves.

And if you put a bit of yourself

in, they think the whole character's based on

you.

I don't think I'm cut out for the

literary life.

Do you know what I was thinking?

Next winter, I'm going to pull out all

those dreary evergreens and plant a border of

white peonies.

What do you think?

Who was it?

Oh, that.

There's no one now.

But there was.

There was.

Was he dead?

For me, yes.

For a long, long time.

What was his name?

You sure you want to know?

Yes.

Even if it hurts?

Yes.

It was you, George.

You as you were.

In the beginning.