Bookish (2025) s01e04 Episode Script

1
You mean everything to me.
What the hell was that?
Lovelorn in London.
Scene 28, take three.
I hope we did the right thing
letting those people into the lane.
Film struck girl. Inspector dead.
I've shut down filming for the time being.
- What do we know about this film?
- Stewart Howard. He and Sandra have bound
their careers together,
the nation's sweethearts.
Then there's the Honourable
Jesse Mckendrick.
You're the director and the writer.
What about Billy?
Someone is trying to kill me.
Strychnine. 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.
It's Narina Bean.
- You still rolling, Sandra?
- Yeah.
And action.
Oh no. God, I'm so sorry, Jesse.
Um, can I beg 10 minutes?
The sigy will sort me out.
Cut there.
Scene 49.
Take nine.
Action.
It was then I knew we had fallen in love.
Kill the sound, please.
Can we stop the film
and take a proper look?
No, we burn in the projector.
I think the difference is pretty obvious.
You'll see in just a moment.
Here comes the post.
Oh gosh, I see what you mean.
He's lost 6 inches.
Just while Sandra D went off for a gasper.
So between takes eight and nine
Norena 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've seen him in the yard just now.
Would you be so kind?
Yep.
Gosh, she hit that step
with tremendous force.
Too hard for an accident, you think?
Did she fall
or was she pushed?
I think John Mills has lovely hair
and his nails always looks so neat.
Riveting stuff this, Mrs. B.
Well, Book thinks 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.
Oh Romance of the pictures
is really getting to, isn't it?
It's not that.
Beyond a door, behind that set,
there's a flight of stairs
when I think Norena Bean is already dead.
Do you think this is linked
to the poison girl?
Special delivery.
Your postman.
Bert Masterson.
Kurt Masterson.
Normally I I do landlords
I 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 inquiries?
- With the fiddly bits.
Now Kurt Masterson not your real name.
How did you know?
You 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. Narina Bean.
I read a 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.
Love Lorne.
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 sell a lot of stories to the press,
do you, Mr. Masterson?
About actors here?
No.
Well nothing nasty
just whether they like mink
or feathers or where they drink.
Or how much.
Alright, thank you.
We'll come and get a statement from you.
- That's it?
- That's it.
I was a red herring before, once.
Arthur Wantner tapped his pipe
and looked obedient at me.
But I'd never done it. I was just
in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Alright, thank you.
Why was she here though Norena?
Why got her to the trouble of bribing him
and putting on his costume?
The extra security.
She can just hang around
in a lane, could she?
So I suppose she needed a disguise.
Title of that article though, eh?
Maybe she was on to the poisoner?
So she had to go.
What's that?
It was something I noticed.
Backwards impression
on Norena Bean's hand in ink.
It was something she was holding.
Evidently, she was sweating.
The weather from the exertion of going up
the stairs or the heavy costume
and reversed it reads
Ty Wyns Ty
Ty Wyns Ty Ty Wyns to 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?
Me.
She's dead.
You saw her.
She was at the bottom of the stairs.
- Like a broken doll.
- Oh God, how awful.
I mean she was awful but still
how awful.
If it was murder
there'd be a lot of suspense.
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 to bed early,
did some film star duties.
Yes, you know.
Signing photos,
answering questions from fans.
What's your ideal night out,
What'd you like for breakfast.
- You were just shooting here?
- Yeah, yes.
Due take off to take.
Simple stuff really.
How many stars have sat here like me
watching the creases grow?
The hair thin, 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 they're just echoes.
Ghosts,
just a memory of what was once there.
Christ darling.
But some of those stars don't go quietly.
Or no, towards the end
later in life, shall we say,
they get bigger, bigger stew.
They give out more more light and heat
till 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.
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, that's just the thing, 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 fixed 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 right old man.
Mustn't speak ill of the dead.
- She have anything on you?
- Like what?
You can account for your movements
last night, can't you?
- Shot right through.
- What? No coffee breaks?
Yes, of course coffee breaks.
So theoretically, you could have
pushed Noreen 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, I'm terrible at the pictures, me.
You know, I
I always know it, done it, straight off.
Here it takes the marrow out of Mrs. Bliss.
But as I always say to her,
the why is the thing.
So why not take her to a Western?
Watch all those cowboys getting shot
in the chest and falling forwards.
Don't think so.
You ever 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 testy.
For insulin.
For Strychnine.
Basilisk.
Eh?
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 Picture Goer a lot.
This one is from two years ago.
For looks, talent
and sheer screen charisma,
no one can compete
with the divine Miss Dare.
There's loads like that.
In our 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 Dare
and 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,
is Stuart Howard.
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 chocolates?
I don't know.
Is it too much of a stretch to go
from disliking a film star
to sending them Strychnine?
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 when I first met Barbara.
And you've never come across this Basilisk?
Well, how would I know?
If they never used their real name?
Anything?
Mr. Howard's room's as bare
as George Zocco's pate.
What about Miss Dez?
Same.
Probably.
Who's next?
- Sound-proofed?
- Naturally.
Now, we know your movements
last night, Mr. McKendrick.
I should think so. The 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, yes.
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 us best, us.
The treasures are pretty similar.
- Not really.
- No? What then?
Well, our film opens in Leicester Square.
Then it goes out across the country.
Then to the second-run houses in the flea pits.
And when it's so scratched that every scene
looks like it's happening in Antarctica,
it comes here.
Back home.
It's taken to the tank.
The tank?
What happens there?
It's put 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.
What an odd little cottage industry.
It's valuable. More valuable than
what's on the films themselves.
- That seems a lot of effort to go to.
- No, it's a simple process.
A chemical solution does the work.
No, I mean, making a motion picture.
You know, the stars and the lights.
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.
Howard?
- Bye, darling.
- Bye.
Mr. Howard.
- Mr. Book.
- A moment?
Of course.
- A 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 off. 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.
TTFM.
All right, 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 in mind the beautiful people.
They are beautiful.
Well, what else are they?
Come on, Sergeant.
Let's go.
Clippings.
- We found your trail, Book.
- Oh, excellent work.
Mrs. Book.
Didn't expect to see you here.
Mr. Howard said we should visit,
and I've bought something for my husband.
- Lunch?
- Clues.
- Eh?
- 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.
Could kill you just by looking at you.
Rather 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, er,
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 us that.
Wallpaper is about covering things up.
I thought cakes.
Cakes are the opposite of books, really.
I must have missed that bit in Freud.
Ah. Yes.
Break. Please.
Skirts gathered ready
for the pursuit of art?
Er, yes.
I suppose so.
Well, before you rush off,
perhaps I could 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 Narina Bean amongst
the background artists.
Narina?
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 poison chocolates.
So how would you think?
It's a working hypothesis.
Wait a minute. Um
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.
- Very much.
- Yes.
Oh, Billy darling, you wouldn't get me
a coffee, would you please?
- Of course, Miss Dare.
- A dash of milk.
- Me too, Billy. Good 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 Krota quickie days,
there was one picture shooting here
during the day and one at night.
When that door opened
with a 10 o'clock turnaround?
Oh, no idea.
Stale beer, orange peel, gas.
Thank you, darling.
Oh, the 1930s.
Those were the days.
Sugar, sir.
- What?
- Tastes horrible, so bitter.
Would you like some milk, sir?
No.
Billy, get me some water.
Oh, my lord.
Jessie?
Same symptoms.
Oh, my lord.
Help me.
Eden.
Swallow 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's up, Mr. McKendrick?
- Stay with us.
Oh, no. Look at me.
Look at me.
We didn't even get to the top of the hill.
- Is he hurt?
- It's largely cosmetic.
Well, some of that stuff around his mouth.
- It's largely cosmetic.
- Mascara.
Oh, charcoal.
I believe that's what mascara is.
Oh, and petroleum jelly.
Bit of a risk, though, Mrs. Book.
Charcoal's good for Strychnine.
But I'm still waiting for the report on
what was in Barbara Malcolm's chocolate.
- Could've been anything.
- Mr. McKendrick twitched, though.
- Strychnine gives you the twitches.
- That's right.
Great presence of mind is my wife.
All my thoughts, dear Jesse.
Oh, wait.
My bag.
- I need my things.
- Oh, allow me.
Silly me.
Thank you, Mr. Book.
Oh, it's in the coffee.
Everyone else has drunk it.
They seem to be fine.
Not entirely awful.
Oh, it's in the cup.
Added afterwards.
You'd think so, wouldn't you?
It's so indiscriminate.
I just heard.
Jessie?
- Poisoned.
- Oh, God.
- What? Is it meant for me?
- I don't know.
The new schedule.
Mr. Howard.
Mrs. N.
You can go, Jack.
That'll be the end of shooting for the day.
Okay.
Quite.
Let's call it a day.
Shall we, Trotty?
What's the matter with him?
I don't know.
He's been rather off with me all day.
Laura, are we diversifying?
Just catching up on my reading.
He is mud in your eye.
- Boy.
- You're still a child.
Your uncle had my guts for garters.
- I'm going to bed.
- Are you all right?
Long day.
What's wrong with your usual diet
of blood and guts?
Got a bit bald.
They're starving a woman to death in Penge.
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 Friesgreen
and How Green Was My Valley.
Right.
There she is.
Christiana Edmunds.
And Astra.
Asper.
What?
Oh, it's all right.
These people never go upstairs.
- Sounds like home.
- No ceiling, though.
The rooms in films never have ceilings.
Why is that, eh?
It stopped the light getting in.
Continuity.
Mr. Book.
Oh.
Sorry.
How is the life of a stand-in?
- Static.
- Jack, a word in your shell-like.
Jack.
Jack.
Back into the light.
Please.
Mr. McKendrick.
Glad to see you looking hale and hearty.
- Fully recovered, I hope.
- Yes.
Thanks to 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, er
story so far, Mr. Howard?
We've been having a passionate affair
of the intellect, Madeline and I.
But then this telegram comes.
A telegram of doom.
And what do you know?
A husband's been found
in a Japanese POW camp.
Oh, bad luck.
Yes, and he's on his way back to Blighty
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 flies,
I 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, today?
What did you do today?
Goodmorning.
What did you do today, today?
What did you do today?
Scene 34, take one.
And.
Action.
Now the telegram is here.
The 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 of us hiding together
- She said Stuart.
- You said Stuart.
- What?
- You said Stuart.
- Cut. Let's go again.
- First positions, please.
- First positions.
- Billy.
- Yes, Mr. McKendree.
- Run this one.
- Would you? Call of nature.
Got it.
Quiet, please.
Don't say that word.
Tell me you know that it hurts me.
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 life.
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
agonizing yards of the race.
Rather reckless, really.
- Father wasn't very pleased, was he?
- No.
So I got into trouble.
So what?
And then there's Christiana Edmonds.
The heroine of your new film script.
Household name, once.
Fell in love with a doctor.
And believed that he was in love with her.
A pure fantasy.
And she thought she could help him
escape from his wife
by bringing her a box
of 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.
It's time for that dream to end.
You, you must stay here with your folks.
And I
I must go back to my husband.
And
I simply lost.
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 with bloody pain?
Oh, well.
Too late now.
You all right, Stu?
I was on the cash register. It went
right into me when I
I pressed the button.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
You. I have a name, Mr. Howard.
This is what happened to that girl.
No.
Barbara Markham swallowed Strychnine.
This time the poison was on a pin
in the cash register,
so it would go straight
into the bloodstream.
If Jack and Billy
hadn't followed my instructions perfectly
and swapped it with a 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 or 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 you 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, Trotty?
Yes, spasms.
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 spasms 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, Jessie?
Or to 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.
And what better publicity?
A tragic widow overcoming her grief.
Tackling the part of a lifetime
alongside the brilliant young writer.
Writer-director.
Writer-director.
Who consoled her.
It's a scene.
Deranged.
Oh, you poor fool.
It would be a whole new Sandra Dare,
my darling.
Playing your own age.
No makeup.
A true character
part to show your real range.
No makeup.
Are you mad?
- I'm Sandra Dare.
- So it 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.
Jessie has a cast-iron alibi.
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 in 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 Bow Street.
- Get Bliss here.
- Yes, Mr. Book.
You never loved her, Stuart.
Not like I did.
It's a long time
since I've done this for real.
Sandra, it's all over.
Why don't you come out and explain?
I wasn't Sandra Dare back then.
I was
Deirdre Pittock.
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 an extra.
And then I recognized her.
And I saw what she had in her sweaty hands.
I had never been so angry,
not in all my life.
- No.
- You give it.
No.
- No.
- Damn it.
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 master print.
This business
will forgive you a lot of things,
but 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. Book?
I'm a veteran of the silver screen.
That's why they keep it
in an asbestos bolt.
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.
But
She 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, explode.
Sandra, 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 say?
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.
If all this business
made you what you've become.
Oh, no, Mr. Book.
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?
Not bad.
That's long enough.
Keep the bloody door in.
- It's a tragedy, really.
- Wil they
Will they hang?
Jesse McKendrick.
Undoubtedly.
But I'm sure the jury
will be kind to Miss 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-fiancé.
Broken-hearted leading man.
Suddenly single.
What is it?
It was an accident, wasn't it?
Nerina 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.
I think I guessed it.
Isn't it that obvious?
Well, it wasn't at first, but
Yeah.
I found a photograph.
A 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, I
Eric Percival Banks, your first husband
Is this him?
Troy?
Are you my mother?
No, my dear.
Not at all.
I'm so sorry.
Then what's all this about?
Jack.
We have rather a lot to tell you.