I just don't think you should start with a flashback.
Why not?
- Well, first of all it's disconcerting. - _
Time moves forward.
From 1944 to 1953. That's what I've written.
Yes, but the bulk of your book takes place in 1953,
and I think that's where your readers will feel most comfortable.
How do you know anything about my readers?
Alan!
I'm the one who sold 200,000 books.
Yes, and I'm the one who's helped you.
All I'm saying is,
we already know that Atticus Pünd
was in a Nazi prison camp in 1944
because you told us so in the first two books.
He understands evil because he experienced it.
Yes, and I completely get that,
but showing him cold and hungry and miserable...
It... It... It doesn't add anything.
And all that horror, it's not why people buy your books.
And why do people buy my books, Susan?
Because they want to know who did it!
Well, yes, that's exactly my point.
Seven months of my time, 90,000 words,
just to find out it was the butler?
Alan, there's nothing shameful about it.
Your books are brilliant entertainment.
And anything serious, anything meaningful,
anything that actually relates to the human condition,
all that is irrelevant?
Your book is about a waitress who gets murdered
after receiving a bunch of roses.
I don't see how a chapter in Auschwitz helps!
Well, then maybe you shouldn't be editing it!
CREDITS
He was our most successful writer by a mile.
But he was the only one I didn't get on with.
We are of course devastated by his death.
But you have his new book.
Yes. We're working on it now.
Well, as long as we have the book and the backlist,
there's no issue as far as our deal is concerned.
What's more pressing for us
is that we're yet to have a decision from you, Susan.
- I understand. - I'm not sure you do.
The press are already circling.
It's important we make a confident statement
with no suggestion of internal conflict.
There is no conflict.
What if I don't want to be CEO?
We'd be disappointed.
But I could stay on in my role as senior editor.
We'd have to recruit a Chief Executive from outside.
I'd imagine it's something you'd have to discuss with him...
or her.
Right.
We'd like to make an announcement imminently,
and we have every confidence in you, Susan.
But we do need to have a decision from you soon.
Mm. Sure, sure.
"As long as we have the book and the backlist."
Yes... I heard.
So, did you find anything in Suffolk?
No, I told you. It had all been taken.
Notebooks, early drafts, photocopies... the lot.
Taken by...
Well, I presume whoever killed him.
What?
They killed him to steal his novel?
I know. It doesn't make much sense.
That house of his, Abbey Grange, when was the last time you saw it?
Oh, I haven't been in Suffolk for five or six months.
He changed the name, did you know that?
It used to be called, uh... Ridgeway Hall when he bought it.
The Adventure of the Abbey Grange.
A Sherlock Holmes story.
Sir Eustace Brackenhall killed during a burglary.
Except... it was a fake burglary.
It's funny, really.
Alan was never much of a Conan Doyle fan.
- He preferred Agatha Christie. - He stole from her.
He borrowed.
Yeah, like Robin Hood "borrowed" from the rich.
I'm gonna find that missing chapter, you know.
I'm gonna work out who killed him.
Are you really sure he was killed, Susan?
After all, you must admit it does seem a tad unlikely.
A murder writer... murdered.
Tell me about the dinner you had with him when he gave you the manuscript.
Mm, Thursday night. You were in Frankfurt.
- Yeah. What happened? - Well, we went to La Maison.
You know, it's that restaurant club where you pay £1,000 membership fee
for the privilege of paying to eat there. It was his choice, not mine.
And he gave you the manuscript in the restaurant?
That's why I paid. It was a celebration.
Or it should have been.
- Down the hatch! - Here's to you.
- Thingy... - Right you are, sir.
Well, you look tremendous if I may say so.
Two glasses of champagne
and then a bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin.
That was my mistake.
He didn't like Gevrey-Chambertin?
Oh, God no, he loved it.
- Two hundred quid a bottle. - Woah, sorry.
So, what was the mistake?
I let him get drunk. You think you had it bad,
but he could be just as nasty with me.
I remember... ah!
We talked about the title of the book.
At that stage it was all I knew.
I have to say, I liked it from the moment we announced it.
"The Magpie Murders". Very strong! You know, I...
I think I can see that on the bestseller list.
"Magpie Murders".
Mm, no, I'm sorry?
Not "The Magpie Murders"! "Magpie Murders".
That's the bloody title!
There's absolutely no need to take umbrage.
There's no 'the'. I know that.
"Magpie Murders" it is.
Well, you know how volatile he could be after a drink or two.
Things could've turned quite nasty,
except that just then something rather strange happened.
It's not something you'd expect to see in a restaurant like that.
It sounded like a bomb had gone off.
Idiot.
Anyway, I managed to change the subject.
And from then on, things went very much OK,
and then Alan went home in a taxi to his London flat.
And the next day, Friday, he wrote you a letter...
Apologising for his behaviour,
and on Saturday he went back on the train to Suffolk.
So as far as Alan was concerned,
he'd given you a complete manuscript.
He certainly didn't say otherwise.
I'm going to have to go back to Suffolk.
Well! Uh, you can come up with me, if you like.
When we go up for the funeral.
Bastard.
Didn't even invite me to that.
Excuse me.
Uh, who's being buried here?
Sir Magnus Pye. Tomorrow, I think.
And, uh, I suppose Mary Blakiston is buried here, too?
That's her over there.
- Did you know her? - Everyone knew her.
And she knew everyone.
A right busybody she was.
Just a body now.
Hmm.
Death, the great leveller. Eh, Pünd?
Yes. That is most certainly true.
He was the lord of the manor, the land owner, the developer.
She was just the housekeeper.
You do have to wonder about the connection between them.
That connection, I think, is straightforward.
It is the connection between their deaths
that is of interest to me.
Ugh! I hate graveyards.
Glad to be getting out of here.
Not everyone has that choice.
- How can I help you? - You are Robert Blakiston?
- Why do you want to know? - My name is Atticus Pünd.
Oh, Pünd? The famous detective?
I thought you said you weren't interested in Saxby-on-Avon.
That was before the murder of Sir Magnus Pye.
I suppose you think I did that, too, ey?
Mr Pünd! What are you doing here?
He's here about the murder of Sir Magnus.
Have you invited him in?
I'm working.
Harry can look after the pumps.
"Come in, Mr Pünd.
"Harry returned to the pumps,
"while Robert led Pünd into the flat he occupied
"above the garage."
Sorry, I didn't hear you come in.
No, don't apologise! You should carry on reading.
Maybe you can tell me who did it.
I guessed the last one.
- "Atticus Pünd Abroad"? - It was the nun.
Yes!
With a candlestick in the cloisters. Huh!
Any thoughts so far?
Well, I'm only on page 50,
but right now I'd say...
Joy Sanderling is my number one suspect.
Oh. Any reason?
She's the least likely.
Isn't that how it always works?
Mm.
I don't see why we should talk to you.
We came to you for help, and you ignored us.
Your anger is quite understandable, Robert.
To be unfairly accused of the death of your own mother
must have been unpleasant for you.
"Unpleasant"? That's one way of describing it.
So why wouldn't you help me?
Because, as I explained,
I did not believe there was anything I could do.
Rumour, village gossip, they are like the tide.
They cannot be turned back.
But now that Sir Magnus has been killed...
Exactly! Exactly! It gives me a reason to be here.
And first, I have some questions for you, Robert.
- Will you answer them? - About Sir Magnus?
About your mother and Sir Magnus
and the relationship between them.
Robert?
I'll tell you anything you want to know.
- I've got nothing to hide. - Thank you.
To begin...
your mother and Sir Magnus were close, hmm?
Oh, they were more than close.
She worshipped him.
The way she saw it, he wasn't just her boss.
He was an aristocrat.
Lord of the manor.
See, we used to live on a farm, but when my dad left,
we moved into the Lodge House at Pye Hall, so...
it was almost like he owned us.
- "We..."? - My mum and me and...
my little brother, Sam.
Oh, yes. There were three of you. Hmm.
Bella.
Here girl.
Last one to the lake is a rotten egg!
Bella, you're too fast. Slow down.
Sam, Sam!
Keep up, Bella!
Sam died.
In an accident.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I prefer not to talk about it, if you don't mind.
It happened when I was a child,
and it's got nothing to do with any of this.
As you wish.
_
Hello?
- 'It's me.' - Oh!
What happened to your key?
- Hands full. - Use your teeth.
Mwah! I hope you haven't eaten.
- A packet of Jaffa cakes. - For tea?
- For lunch. - Irresponsible.
So, how was Suffolk?
Flat.
The landscape?
The experience.
No sign of the missing chapter, everybody hated Alan,
and seeing that house just made me jealous.
Did you see his solicitor?
Yeah. Why do you ask?
I was just thinking that
if you wanted to hide papers,
you might leave them with your solicitor.
Yeah, I had the same thought, but they weren't there.
You still think they were stolen?
Oh, I'm sure they were.
His notebook had gone as well, and his computer was wiped.
Mm. The sauce thickens.
Any suspects?
Oh! They're all suspects.
He divorced his wife, he rowed with the neighbour,
he was about to disinherit his boyfriend,
and then there's his sister, Claire...
Yes?
I wonder if I might have a word.
Did you know that he based a character on you?
No. What character would that be?
- Miss Pye? - Yes?
I wonder if we might have a word.
I could tell that she'd read the manuscript.
She was just lying to me.
Kill her brother and steal the book,
so that it never appears in print?
Seems a bit extreme.
Yeah, I agree.
Oh! This is good.
This is Kotsifali.
From Crete.
So what was Alan like at Woodbridge, when you were both teachers?
I told you.
He wasn't very pleasant, but I hardly knew him.
You went to his wedding.
That's because Melissa invited me, not him.
It's funny to think about you and Alan and Melissa and Katie
all being together way before I came along.
You didn't do too badly out of it.
You got eight bestsellers.
And you!
Sir Magnus was almost like a father to me.
You know, he looked after my schooling,
and he helped me get a job here at the garage.
He got you this flat, too.
It came with the job.
So you were close to Sir Magnus, but not your mother?
Well, she'd never leave me alone.
See, that was the trouble. She was always on at me.
She never seemed to understand that I had a life of my own.
- Why did you threaten her? - I didn't.
- But you argued. - It was nothing.
We were at the pub, and I'd just finished work,
and there she was, going on at me again.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
I'm having a drink, Mum, all right?
Every minute of every bloody day you never leave me alone.
Don't use that language with me!
- Well, I'm not a child anymore. - No?
I'll tell you what you are.
You're the biggest disappointment of my life.
Well, then get someone else to do it! All right?
If you can't find anyone,
then just drop dead and give me a bit of peace!
Mary Blakiston was a horrible woman.
There! I've said it.
I'm sorry, Robert, but it's true.
She was horrible to you?
Yes.
When you came to my office in London,
you told me that she'd been opposed
to your marriage to her son, but you would not tell me why.
It's very personal, Mr Pünd.
Nothing's more personal than murder, Miss Sanderling.
Well, it was the obvious reason.
The colour of my skin.
Ugh!
- I'm sorry. - Don't be.
Living in a place like Saxby-on-Avon,
people have different attitudes.
You get used to it.
Yeah, why should you have to get used to it?
I mean why do people have to be so bloody stupid?
If it will not offend you, Miss Sanderling,
please tell me in what way did it manifest itself, this prejudice?
Was she always hostile to you?
No! Not at all.
She'd always been quite kind to me,
but that changed the moment we told her we were engaged.
We're getting married up at the church in July.
No.
I'm sorry?
- You're not gonna marry my son. - Mum!
I'm thinking about future generations.
They can't be tainted.
I won't have it.
You're not being serious.
- You can't think that. - I won't even discuss it.
I'm warning you, Robert.
This marriage will not go ahead.
It shocked me the way she came out with it.
But I'll tell you something, Mr Pünd.
I know that Robert did not kill his mother.
I was will him all morning the day she died.
But if he turned round now and told me that he'd did it,
that he pushed her down those stairs,
I wouldn't blame him.
I'd forgive him.
Because I know how he felt.
- What a simply dreadful woman. - Who? Mary Blakiston?
She'd be lucky to have a daughter-in-law like Joy Sanderling.
Oh, God.
- I say. Are you all right? - Oh, no, it's nothing.
It's just... a headache. Huh.
The pub's open. Maybe we should get you a glass of water.
No. Fully recovered.
Thank you.
- You should've told him. - What?
You know what.
About Sam.
- The lake. - Why?
It's got nothing to do with it.
Three deaths at Pye Hall.
Three deaths twelve years apart.
You still should've told him.
You know what this place is like.
He'll find out anyway.
So, tell me about this hotel.
Have you bought it?
My cousin Yannis has, yes.
I thought he was completely broke.
He borrowed the money.
Where did he find someone mad enough to lend it?
That's not fair.
Sorry.
So, does it have a name?
It's called Polydorus.
Polydorus was the King of Thebes.
The son of Cadmus.
Hmm. Nice.
A ten-minute walk from Agios Nikolaos.
It has seven rooms, a terrace restaurant and a bar.
- It's profitable. - So, why are they selling?
The owner is ninety-two.
I've told the school I'll be leaving at the end of term.
You've already decided.
I told you in the car, Susan.
N-no... no.
You told me you were thinking about it.
Yeah, well, I thought. And I decided.
And you want me to come with you.
Yes.
I don't think I can do that.
It's just not my world, Andreas.
I... I don't know anything about hotels...
beds, sheets, guests... nor do you.
- We'll learn. - We'll go broke.
We won't know until we try.
God, you're really serious about this, aren't you?
Susan, we've been seeing each other, how long is it now, six years?
I love you.
And I think you love me.
But we need to change.
I have a job I don't like.
You have a job that consumes you and makes you angry.
I love my job!
Well, maybe that's our problem.
Whoa.
Didn't know we had a problem.
The timing's perfect.
Charles is leaving. The buy-out. You don't want to be CEO.
- I don't know what I want. - Yeah. Well, I do.
I want to be with you, but properly.
I want to spend my life with you, Susan.
But in Crete?
I'm going home.
With or without me. Is that what you're saying?
Why does life have to be so bloody difficult?
Never makes any sense.
You know, that's why I like books so much.
In books, the characters do it all for you,
and it all manages to work itself out in the right way.
Elizabeth and Darcy.
Jane and Mr Rochester. Oh...
Even whodunits!
I mean, especially whodunits.
The final reveal.
Everything wrapped up.
Something so reassuring about that.
Unless, of course, you are missing the last chapter.
Yes, that does put a slight dent in it.
I don't suppose you can tell me...
I've read it three times.
Start to not-quite-the-finish, and it's hopeless.
It might help, perhaps,
to take events in the order in which they occurred.
Yes?
The death of Mary Blakiston, her funeral,
and then the burglary.
Ah, yes!
I had an idea about the burglary, actually.
Oh, yes?
Well, it wasn't actually a real burglary at all, was it?
You said as much yourself when you found the silver.
That is true.
How did you know it would be there?
I didn't.
But even when a crime appears to be unfathomable,
one should try not to overlook the obvious.
Can I help you?
Mr Whiteley?
How do you know my name?
- The name on the shop. - Oh, yes! That's me.
- Uh, are you looking for something? - Oh, I was just passing.
I noticed the silver brooch in the window.
Yes, nice piece. Quite old.
- Roman, I think. - Ah, medieval, I'd say.
Oh, may I see it?
I'm afraid you're too late.
We sold it this morning.
A customer had seen it and telephoned in.
Ah.
Shouldn't you have taken it out of the window, then?
Slipped my mind.
I wonder if you could tell me, uh... how you acquired it?
I'm sorry. I'm afraid that's confidential.
Most of my customers demand a certain discretion, you know?
Selling the family silver.
Even so, a man has been murdered.
Actually, it came from a market.
Oh, uh, I'm sorry?
This is my wife, Gemma.
A flea market in Campsey Ashe.
Here today, gone tomorrow.
We've no idea who the seller was.
I'm sorry. I'm afraid we can't help you.
No matter. Thank you.
- Who was that? - Who'd you think it was?
- Only Atticus bloody Pünd. - Here?
They said there was a detective in the village.
I didn't know it was him.
I told you it was too soon to put it in the window!
- What are we gonna do? - I don't know.
I didn't believe a word they said.
It's a shame the wife arrived when she did.
- They knew it was stolen. - Yeah.
Stupid of them to put it on display.
I will tell you this, James...
never underestimate the stupidity of criminals.
I've devoted a whole chapter to it in my book.
- Mm. "Criminal Stupidity". - Exactly.
Do you think the burglary had something to do with the death of Sir Magnus?
The question I would ask is,
was it actually a burglary at all?
Why are you so interested in Brent? He's only the gardener.
He was here at the time of the burglary and at both deaths.
Always it is Brent.
First Mary Blakiston,
then the burglary...
then Sir Magnus.
Oh, I tell you,
it's not good for my blood pressure working here.
Let us take them in that order, Mr Brent.
You were here the day Mary Blakiston died.
Yes.
I knew something was wrong
when the phone kept ringing and nobody answered it.
In the end, I looked in through the window,
and there she was, lying on the floor.
I called a doctor, but I could tell she was dead.
There was blood everywhere.
- Did the two of you get on? - Not really.
She never talked to me. She thought herself above me,
her and Sir Magnus being all lovey-dovey.
Are you suggesting they were romantically involved?
Not her.
She was an old battle-axe.
He wouldn't have had any interest in her.
But he did have the roving eye, and there were plenty of others.
Maids, one of the cooks...
And then Miss Darnley.
She left here with a little Pye in the oven.
- Who was Miss Darnley? - The governess.
Looked after Frederick.
And you could say Sir Magnus looked after her.
Were you here the night of the burglary?
No.
I live in the village.
I usually leave about eight,
and I didn't know anything about it
till Sir Magnus got back from his holiday.
He was the one who found out,
and he certainly let me know.
What do you mean by that?
He blamed me. That's what I mean.
Even though it was nothing to do with me.
You're meant to look after the place when I'm away.
I can't be here all the time.
It looks like they came in through the back.
There's a broken window.
Didn't you see anything?
No.
You're worse than useless, Brent.
I've had enough of you.
I want you out of here.
He gave you notice?
I don't know. He often talked like that. I don't know what he meant.
And of course you aren't able to find out
because that very night Sir Magnus himself was killed.
What are you suggesting?
That I did it?
That I didn't want to be fired, so I cut his head off?
But you were not here the night of his death.
I told you. I left at eight o'clock.
And Sir Magnus was killed at nine.
Yes.
What a shame, isn't it?
If I'd hung around another hour,
I might've been able to help you.
But I didn't see anything.
So I can't.
Miss Darnley.
Now... here's an interesting question.
She's the governess who was made pregnant by Sir Magnus Pye.
She never actually appears in the book,
so why does Alan Conway even bother to give her a name?
Perhaps she appears in the last chapter.
Why can't you just tell me?
Excuse me?
Who did it! You're in the story, you must know!
It's not the death of Sir Magnus Pye that interests you,
it's the death of Alan Conway.
Aren't they related?
Let me give you some advice, Miss Ryeland.
Uh, yes, all right, but can you please stop calling me "Miss Ryeland".
It's so bloody fifties.
It's not what Mr Conway wrote that matters.
You need to understand why he wrote it.
How do I do that?
At the moment that he delivered the manuscript,
which may or may not have been complete,
what was his state of mind?
I don't know.
He was at a restaurant with Charles. He was drunk.
Then that is where you should begin.
Thank you.
Oh!
Hi. Hello.
Um, I wondered if you could help me.
My name is Susan Ryeland,
and I'm a friend of someone who used to be a member here.
Yes?
Well, actually, um,
I'd like to talk to one of the waiters
who was working here last Thursday.
Um...
He dropped some plates.
Yeah, that was me.
They were short-staffed, so I was called in the last minute.
That's why I was late.
I came in from the kitchen. I saw him straight away.
Alan Conway... bastard.
I didn't realise he was a member.
I just stood there.
I was holding some plates,
didn't realise how hot they were till they burned through.
Idiot.
Why didn't you like him?
- You say you're his editor. - That's right.
- Clover Books. - Yes.
Well, then you're part of it.
I'm sorry? Part of what?
I think you know.
I honestly haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.
"Magpie Murders".
Yes, that's his new book.
Oh, I know. I read about it when it was announced.
That was my title. I gave him the idea.
So, how well did you know Alan Conway?
I met him once.
I'm a writer. I've written four novels.
Whodunits, a bit like his.
The only difference is, I haven't made millions.
I haven't been published.
It's not easy.
It's not easy when someone steals your ideas.
Where did you meet him?
I did a course, a place in Wiltshire.
Cost me two hundred quid.
I thought it would be worth it.
It was the worst money I ever spent.
Alan Conway was the guest tutor.
"The very countryside ravaged by a locust cloud
"of modern politics and ancient hatreds.
"And so the poor dog has none, he murmurs,
"unaware that the dog is, in fact...
"himself."
I'm not sure I get it. What's it about?
It's about empire.
About the aristocracy.
About the collapse of civility.
To be honest, I didn't have a clue what he was on about.
But, anyway, I approached him during a coffee break.
- And you told him your idea. - Got it in one.
He seemed friendly enough. We got chatting.
I told him my title, "Magpie Murders".
It was going to be based on the old nursery rhyme.
You know, "One for sorrow, two for joy," and so on.
Set in a village where the local squire gets killed.
- How? - His head's chopped off.
Ah.
What did I see when it was announced?
The ninth instalment of the Atticus Pünd Adventures.
Same title. Same plot. Same everything.
How much did Alan read?
Only the first chapter, but I told him all of it.
So, what did you do when you saw the announcement?
What could I do?
Drive up to Suffolk and have it out with him? Nah.
He was a big-shot writer.
I was nobody.
Who would've believed me?
I wrote to someone at Clover Books,
sent them some chapters.
They didn't even reply.
You're an editor.
Would you look at it? I could email it to you.
Uh, yeah. Yes, of course. Um...
I'll give you my email address.
Um, can you just tell me one thing, if you don't mind?
In your version of the book,
who did the murder?
Won't it spoil it for you if I tell you?
Well, I always work backwards.
That way I can just focus on the style, so...
All right, then. It was the wife.
- Lady Frances. - Uh, Lady Penelope.
Yeah. She'd been having an affair with her tennis coach.
He found out about it. He was going to throw her out.
And you told Alan that?
I told him everything. He took loads of notes.
I thought he was interested cos he wanted to help, the bastard!
Thank you, Lee.
I will read your book, but I can't make any promises.
- Just read it. - Yeah.
Um, one last thing.
Do you remember who you wrote to at Clover Books?
Of course I remember, although I never heard back from her.
Her name was Jemima.
We're here!
Oh! Thanks!
- Hey, Susan. - Hi, Alice.
Ragnar Jonasson rang you three times.
He wants to talk to you about the notes you sent him.
Your sister Katie rang twice, wants you to call her back,
and Steven can't make the Waterstones launch.
Where's Jemima?
Well, haven't you heard? She's gone.
What do you mean, "gone"?
Well, she's handed in her notice. She's left.
- Do you know why? - Not really.
No, she didn't much like it here.
It was the money. I know she was looking around.
Do you have a number for her?
Is this about the missing chapter?
Well, partly, yeah.
I think Charles has it. I know he's been trying to reach her, too.
Right.
You never saw a submission
from a man called Lee Jaffrey, did you?
Mm, name doesn't ring a bell.
Well, the title might.
- "Magpie Murders"? - Mm.
- That's a bit of a coincidence. - Well...
If you believe in coincidence.
Huh! Oh.
- Oh. It's your sister again. - Let it go to voicemail.
'Hi, you've reached Susan Ryeland.
'Please leave me a message.'
Excuse me.
I'm looking for Max Ryeland. He's my father.
- Is he... - He's resting now.
But he's still very ill.
- Can I see him? - Yes, of course.
Is he in there?
Dad.
How are you feeling?
Susan?
No, Daddy. Susan's not here.
It's Katie.
I want to see Susan.
Charles, uh...
I need to talk to you.
Did you know that Alan plagiarised "Magpie Murders"
- from another writer? - What?
Well, he wasn't exactly a writer.
He stole the idea from a waiter
who worked at that restaurant where you took him for dinner.
How do you know?
Well, I've seen him. I've spoken to him.
Oh! Oh, my God. You're not going to let this go, are you?
Charles, this is serious.
- They met on a writer's course. - What's his name?
- Lee Jaffrey. - Is his book any good?
Well, I've read the first couple of pages...
Oh, and the ending,
which is completely muddled and doesn't help at all,
and no, in answer to your question. It's awful.
But the plot does have a lot of similarities.
He knew where Alan lived!
How do you know that?
Because he told me!
What could I do?
Drive up to Suffolk and have it out with him? Nah.
- He was a big-shot writer. - Idiot.
I was nobody. Who would've believed me?
He knew Alan lived in Suffolk,
and it's a members' club, so they must've had his address.
Well, you don't think that he went...
Have you spoken to Jemima?
Ah, no. Um...
I left a message on her voicemail,
and I got an email from her this morning.
Oh, um...
"I don't know how many pages there were,
"but I'm sure I didn't miss any.
"I always checked the page count "against the dial on the machine..."
It wouldn't have been like her to make a mistake.
She was always very reliable.
Why did she leave?
She got another job.
- What, and you just let her go? - I couldn't really stop her.
Do you believe her about the pages?
I think we have to.
- Yeah. - Tomorrow? 9am?
Alan's funeral.
I thought we were driving up together.
- Yeah. See you then. - All right.
'This is Andreas. I'm not here at the moment.
'Please leave a message after the beep. Thank you.'
Hello. It's me. Um...
I'm here on my own, and...
feeling a bit miserable.
I wish we could've talked a bit more... constructively.
Look, please don't...
Don't make any decisions about Crete.
I mean, don't...
Don't get on a plane.
I just need a bit more time
to get my head round it, and then...
You know, maybe, I... I don't know, maybe...
we could make it work.
Anyway, I'm... I'm in tonight, so...
why don't you come over?
Oh!
Hi. Hi.
- Katie, I'm sorry... - 'Dad's had a stroke.'
Uh, ah... right.
- Um... - 'He's in Ipswich Hospital.
'I've spoken to the doctors. He's very weak.
'They think if he has another one, then he...
'he might not make it.'
Well...
I'm really sorry. Um...
'He wants to see you.'
Why?
'Why do you think?'
No, no... No, I'm sorry, Katie.
I've already told you I don't want to see him.
'Yeah, but I think you should.'
Katie! He walked out on us. You, me, and Mum.
We were children. I haven't seen him for thirty years.
Why would I want to see him now?
'For closure.'
- I don't think I owe him that! - 'Not for him, for you!'
Oh, you think I need it, do you?
No, I'm... I'm sorry, Katie. I...
I don't want to see him.
- I won't! - 'Ugh.'
Sorry, sorry, sorry!
- Infidelity... - Oh!
It's often struck me that in a murder investigation,
it's remarkable how often infidelity has a part to play.
There are in reality very few reasons
why one person will set out to kill another,
but the sense of betrayal,
the destruction of good faith,
mm, that can be deadly.
I'm not interested in the murder investigation right now.
You wish to know who killed Sir Magnus Pye.
Well, you're not gonna tell me, so I'm gonna go to bed!
I would advise you to be careful, Miss Ryeland.
Betrayal hurts.
I've had enough! I'll tell you I've had enough!
Get a grip on yourself, woman.
- Never! - Oh, for God's sake!
How could you?
- You disgust me! - I did nothing.
You've made a laughing stock out of me.
Everyone knows about you and your filthy affairs.
You're like a rutting goat.
I wish I'd never married you!
That's not what you said when you saw the house,
the land, the title.
Oh, no! Lady Pye.
You couldn't get enough of it.
One day you'll go too far, Magnus.
One day, I swear to God, I'll put a knife in you,
and I won't care if I hang for it!
CREDITS