They all think a lot of you, you know.
You must look after yourself.
I've got a do coming up.
Don't suppose it would be up your street?
You're young, you're smart.
Break the habit before it breaks you.
I don't need help!
I can't use you in this shape!
It's Sam. Absent without leave.
A fella from his unit,
a sniper at a checkpoint.
Maybe that knocked him.
I will take those four weeks.
As long as you need.
The sun always comes up.
Just gotta hold on for it a bit longer...
sometimes.
Oxford Royalty Theatre, please. Certainly, guv.
INAUDIBLE
'Good evening and welcome.
'It is a beautiful summer's evening here in Oxford,
'as you join us in this wonderful setting
'for the first in a series of homecoming concerts
'by the internationally celebrated Oxford Concert Orchestra.
'The OCO has performed at iconic venues the world over,
'but they return tonight
'to perform for the first time in their home city in over a year.
'The orchestra will perform
'under the baton of Sir Alexander Lermontov,
'and featuring the gifted soloist Christina Poole...'
PHONE RINGS
'who has joined the OCO for the 1972 season.
'Very much Sir Alexander's protege,
'Miss Poole is the latest in a long line of consummate musicians
'to truly flourish under his careful guidance. He's been
'a great coach and champion of her talents.
'He first encountered her...' Ready?
'..as a teenager at the Balasco Academy.
'Ah, and here comes Christina Poole now,
'looking utterly beguiling in one of the beautiful strapless gowns
'which have become so much her signature.
'And just a few steps behind her, the unmistakable form
'of Sir Alexander Lermontov.
'As he takes the podium, a hush falls over the auditorium.'
ORCHESTRA PLAYS CLASSICAL MUSIC
PHONE RINGS
Oxford, 2-8-3-1. Hello?
Hello? Is anyone there?
Is it Sam?
MAN SHOUTS
MAN GROANS
PUNCHING AND GROANING
APPLAUSE
A triumph, Chrissie! Sensational!
Yes. Madame will be so proud!
Thank you! Thank you so much!
SHE SIGHS
98 pink elephants,
99 nine pink elephants.
Oh, you have been in Lyme Regis, I perceive.
Do we know who he is?
No wallet or identification.
And no-one matching his description
reported missing overnight, so...
I'll take one of those, then, please, if you can spare.
Of course. Thank you.
Morse.
Sir.
Aye-aye, matey! Back in the land of the living, then?
Well, seemingly not. Who found him?
Staff clearing up this morning after last night's do.
The master doesn't recognise him.
Undergrad from another college, then?
What was the occasion?
Reception for the Oxford Concert Orchestra.
Invitation only. How many in attendance?
About 100, according to the master.
Mainly dons and their guests. Maybe ten to 15 members of the orchestra.
I've put in for a full list
from the office. Any idea as to cause, Doctor?
No sign of violence or injury.
Can you put a time to it?
Between nine and three this morning, approximately.
The bash wound up around midnight, one o'clock, according to staff.
We can probably assume he wasn't lying dead
in the middle of a drinks reception, Sergeant. People tend
to notice that sort of thing. Just the one shoe?
I've got uniform having a poke about the bushes for the other.
Well, gentlemen, the postmortem might give us something more,
but I've done all I can here for now,
so unless you've any objection,
shall we say two o'clock? Doctor.
So, how was the West, then, matey? All pasties and scrumpy?
I was mostly following in Hardy's footsteps.
Were you? "There's another fine mess", eh?
I'll, er, chase up about that guest list.
If you want to track down the orchestra members and have a word,
it's probably more up your street than Jim's or mine.
Most likely just putting a name to him. Be all right with that?
I should think I'll manage.
Oh, thanks for the postcard. Oh.
Expect you were glad of a bit of sea air after, er...
The cure?
Your extended leave of absence.
How is the...?
I'm cured all right. Hand steady, eye clear.
The only pink elephants I'll be encountering are
those enumerated by Dr DeBryn.
Well, that's a weight, I'm sure.
Anyway, I'll see you back at the nick.
What ho, Mrs T!
Water ain't 'ot yet!
"Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low,
"an excellent thing in woman."
I say, Mrs Treadle, whither the orange cremes?
I took them out. Miss Quincannon likes the goldy foil ones.
I like the goldy foil ones.
You're not orchestra leader. Speak of the devil!
Well, if you're here, Jack, hell must be empty.
Morning, gang. Morning.
Mabs. What's this?
No orange cremes for the rank and file.
They're the special reserve of La Reine Margeaux, apparently.
Render unto Caesar, duckie.
The urn's not hot yet, Margeaux, so I'm afraid
you'll have to wait your turn with the rest of us.
I'll just bring you one across when it's ready, Margs.
It's all right. I'll loiter here with the hoi polloi.
So, how did it go last night at the soiree?
Wouldn't know, old cock. Not my cup of Lapsang.
You mean, you weren't invited? I went to the pub.
We were at the White Horse. I didn't see you.
Ah, I tonked on down to the Turf.
Margeaux and Mabs was there, though, weren't you?
With that ghastly old witch.
Madame Belasco is not a ghastly old witch, Jack.
Ooh, stand by your bunks!
Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant.
We've a vacancy on the Gardener's Tips page
if your fingers have taken a turn towards the chartreuse.
I've not seen you about.
Well, I've not been about.
It's been months! I thought maybe you'd moved on,
but I didn't think you'd go without saying goodbye.
Your colleagues have been singularly unforthcoming.
Something hush-hush?
All right, keep your secrets.
So, what's the story here?
I'm not sure there is one yet.
And do you have a name for him?
First order of business.
Well, if you fancy a stiffener before the PM, my round, I think.
Ah, but thanks. Another time.
Passing up the offer of a drink?
Are you sure you're quite well?
Never better. Oh.
Morse? Well, we didn't have time
for much of a talk, sir, but, er, he said he was right, so...
Good. Let's hope he's put all his troubles behind him, hm?
There's a musical connection to this body found at the college,
which should play to his strengths, I'd have thought.
Well, sir, unless there's anything else...
As a matter of fact, there, is, er...
one thing.
I understand there's a detective superintendency...
..coming up in the next couple of months at Carshall New Town.
I have it on good authority
it would be looked on favourably were you to express an interest.
Carshall, sir?
If I've been off my game at all... Good heavens, no, no!
If I might put my cards on the table...
After some thought,
I've decided the time is due, perhaps long overdue...
..for me to retire.
If possible, I'd like to see my men into safe harbour -
you, Strange, young Morse...
..else I fear I should feel I'd left a job only half done.
Well, I don't know what to say, sir. Er...
I'd always thought - well, hoped - that after the last few years,
we'd see our service out together. I'm sorry to let you down.
Never, sir, not for a minute.
Obviously, Carshall would probably mean a move.
That's something you'd need to discuss with Mrs Thursday.
But a superintendency would be the crowning achievement
of an exemplary career.
And Morse, sir?
I'm sure you'd like to take him with you,
but the appropriate rank
for a superintendent's ADC is inspector or above.
Nobody could have done more for him.
They all fledge in the end, Thursday.
Hard as it is, one has to let them go.
Sooner or later...
..they have to fly alone.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS CLASSICAL MUSIC
No, no, no, no!
Come on! Always the bloody wardrobes! You!
Yes, you, bass.
You're always late.
Can't you count, hm?
They're called triplets. Tri-puh-let! Tri-puh-let!
Who the hell are you?!
Whoever you are, get out! We're rehearsing.
Donald, what do I pay you for?
Bar 20.
I'm sorry, if it's an interview you're after,
I'm afraid... Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Mr...?
Fischer. Erm, Donald Fischer. Orchestra manager.
I understand a number of your principals from the orchestra
attended a party at Beaumont College, last night.
No-one broke anything, did they?
Morning, Donald. What sort of mood is he in?
Oh.
Ooh! Oh!
All right? I'm sorry.
Thank you. My apologies.
That was desperately clumsy of me. Not at all.
Again! And...
I'm sorry.
You were saying?
We didn't see him, did we, Mabs?
No. No.
And it was quite dark.
Not dark enough that, if we'd seen him,
we wouldn't remember him. You are?
Margeaux Quincannon, orchestra leader. My colleague, Mabs Portman.
It would appear none of us saw anyone like that, officer.
I know I didn't. So, can we get back to the rehearsal?
You're sure?
Absolutely, sure. I never forget a face.
In fact...
you look familiar.
Have we met?
Well, we've not been formally introduced,
but, er, well, I sing with the Oxford Scholars' Choral Association.
We were part of Faure's Requiem in '69.
Were you?
Not our finest hour, as I recall.
What was it Shaw said? "Hell is full of musical amateurs."
Again, please!
Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
HE LAUGHS
All done?
Yes, thank you, Mr...?
John Graham-Scott.
"Jack." Viola.
Oh, God, here he comes!
Anal Fischer. The only man in Oxford
with a flat up Alex Lermontov's arse.
If you're ready, gentlemen.
I'm sorry, Donald. Won't be two ticks.
Excuse me! Yes?
I just wanted to say
thank you for earlier. Oh, not at all.
I wondered if I could...
if you'd like to attend the concert this evening.
It's the premiere of a new concerto Alex has written... for me.
As my guest, of course.
Erm... Or I've a prize-giving
at the Belasco this afternoon, if you're free.
Look, I feel stupid to even mention it,
but I should value the advice of a professional,
someone familiar with such things.
What things, Miss Poole?
Barring a superficial scratch to the neck,
there is no obvious sign of injury, I'm afraid.
Blood analysis might give us something, possibly.
It's unusual in one so young,
but it could just be natural causes.
His heart, perhaps.
Oh, stomach contents.
A last supper of alphabet spaghetti...
if you want me to spell it out.
Ingested within an hour of decease.
Unlikely he ate at college, then.
What do you make to this?
Doubtless this will come as a great surprise,
but I'm perhaps not as au fait
with the vagaries of fashion
as my position as an eminent Home Office pathologist
might have led you to believe. My point is,
that it looks rather new. Little wear to the sole.
Then he clearly wasn't in our business.
Now, might a pair of heels deserve a glass?
Oh, no, not for me, thanks.
Late for Lent? New leaf?
Something like that.
Looked well, I thought. Morse.
Yeah.
I was thinking of asking him.
For, er... Oh, well, no better man.
What you got today, then?
Ah, Morse!
Yes, you're back with us as of this morning, of course.
Yes, sir. Splendid.
Your tour of the West Country proved restorative, I hope.
Yes, sir. Thank you.
Yes, well, I'm sure most of us could benefit
from a little time away from the usual once in a while.
Well, carry on.
Come in. Ah, how did you make out with the orchestra?
Well, nobody claims
to know him or have seen him at the college last night.
Well, busy, maybe. I suppose
if he wasn't one of their crowd... Mm.
I did find an identity bracelet in the soil by the body.
"AL". Alan or Albert, perhaps.
Or Alec, if it is his.
The one shoe he did have on was from Burridges.
Possibly bought fairly recently, judging by the lack of wear.
I thought I'd pop in. But we could get a late lunch, if you fancy.
I just got back from the pub with Jim.
I wasn't sure how long you'd be
or whether it was still something you...
I suppose we got into the habit, with you been away.
No, no, no, it's...
Oh, actually, there was one more curiosity.
Erm, Christina Poole, the guest soloist.
After the concert last night, she found someone had scrawled
the word "bitch" on her dressing room mirror.
Connected, do you think?
I can't see how it can be, but I did say I'd look into it for her.
She's got some prize-giving over at the Belasco Academy.
It's a music school for gifted children.
I thought I'd go there,
then go to Burridges. KNOCK ON DOOR
Word through from uniform of a body been found. Sounds like foul play.
Doctor.
You're keeping me busy, Chief Inspector.
One more corpse and I shall be able to claim a set of tumblers.
Jesus!
Yes, Sergeant, I rather think that was
the general idea.
Only this man's tongue has been torn out
and was nailed to the floor. That what did for him?
Shot twice.
Once through the heart, once through the head.
Be able to give you calibre after the postmortem,
but he'd taken a savage beating
shortly before his decease. How long?
12 hours, give or take.
Any identification on him?
No. I've put his wallet there.
But if I'm not much mistaken,
he appears to have the telephone number for Castle Gate
written on his left cuff.
That's Mickey Flood. You know him?
Knew him, back in the Smoke,
my Cable Street days.
Mickey Flood.
Full-time thief, part-time informant.
What's he doing in Oxford?
There's a train ticket in his wallet. Yesterday's date.
So, how do you know him?
My early days on the beat before the war.
We were of an age, more or less.
He was in my brother Charlie's year.
Always a wrong 'un.
Whole family were thieves.
Their old man, and his old man before him.
Only Mickey's problem was, he was never much good at it.
If it was raining luck, Mickey Flood couldn't get wet to save his life.
Next of kin?
His wife's gone, Lil.
Daughter would be about Joan's age now, I suppose.
Patty, was it?
You'd better push on to your prize-giving.
Me and Jim can finish up here and take the PM.
I'll see you back at the nick.
A former pupil here at the Belasco,
I am delighted to call upon Christina Poole
to present the Bedlow Prize,
which she herself won a mere seven years ago.
Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen.
Do you get back much? Only when I'm asked.
But former pupils who'd done well used to come back and talk to us
when I was here, you see, and so, one feels one really ought.
Ah. I owe the place everything.
That sounds like something you feel you should say,
rather than something you actually believe.
Gosh, you really are a detective, aren't you?
People always imagine
coming somewhere like this must be endless fun.
There are a lot of tears after dark,
a lot of unhappiness.
One does feel, at times,
rather like some sort of freak,
a performing animal. Mm.
I think children are probably best left to be children.
If you're ready, we ought to be heading back.
One minute. Of course.
So, this message on your mirror. Is that the first you've received?
After a concert, yes.
But I've had one or two pushed under my door.
I'm staying at the Ragdale Hotel.
Also written in lipstick? No.
Could it be a jealous girlfriend, perhaps?
Jealous? Of whom?
I'm altogether rather single.
You get letters, of course,
from lonely men. HORN TOOTS
Anything too awful I pass on to Donald Fischer.
I'd better not keep Alex waiting, erm,
but thank you for coming and for taking me seriously.
VIOLIN PLAYS
May I help you, sir?
Yes, I'd like to ask you about these.
Oh, yes, sir, the "Sir John".
I'm not sure we have them in your size.
In fact, I think that might be our last pair.
They're not for me. I'm Detective Sergeant Morse,
Thames Valley. Have you sold any lately in a size 8?
I'd need to check with the stock department.
They came in as part of last year's spring collection.
Right. You don't remember selling any yourself?
In the last month, say,
to this man?
Oh, God. I don't remember him.
But I usually do a half day Wednesdays,
so my colleague might have served him.
She's at tea.
I'll call if we find anything.
Anything further on Mickey Flood?
There's a warrant out on him, back in London.
Some kind of protection racket.
That was never Mickey's caper.
He couldn't knock the skin off a rice pudding.
He was a thief, first and last.
How did you make out at the school?
It's hard to see how these messages can relate
to this young man at the college.
It's probably just some bad blood within the orchestra.
She's a guest soloist, an outsider.
Perhaps somebody just isn't happy that she's there.
What about Burridges? Apparently a saleswoman remembered
and said that she had a customer return a pair recently for exchange.
She can't be 100%, but she thinks it could be the same young man.
She's put a request out to the accounts department. It's possible
they have his address on file.
Well, if you've got this concert to go to,
I'll see you in the morning.
Leave Mickey Flood's things on my desk, would you?
ORCHESTRA TUNE INSTRUMENTS
'Of course, as anyone familiar
'with the world of classical music will know,
'there's a great deal of superstition
'about the ninth symphony of any composer.
'Now, with that in mind, might one ask
'if you are yet thinking about tempting fate with a tenth?
'By which, I assume you're referring
'to the "curse of the ninth", so called,
'which says that composers must die
'before they complete their tenth Symphony.
'As with most things, it was Beethoven who started the legend.
'He died after writing his ninth.
'As did Bruckner, Dvorak...'
KNOCK ON DOOR Five minutes, sir.
'Your great friend Vaughan Williams, of course...'
Sir, five minutes. Yes! Yes, I heard.
'It's debatable. If I remember, it was Schoenberg who said,
'"It seems the ninth is a limit.
'"He who wants to go beyond it must pass away.
'"It seems as if something might be imparted to us in the tenth
'"which we ought not yet to know, for which we are not ready.
'"Those who have written a ninth stood too close
'"to the hereafter."'
Margeaux! What the hell are you doing? You should be on stage.
Don't bloody tell ME!
Tell principal second violin!
Lindsay forgot her peg dope. I've got some spare in my case.
An informant, you say?
Presumably that's what the tongue business is about.
When did you see him last?
Must be the best part of 25 years since.
Why come all this way?
What couldn't he tell you over the phone from London?
Maybe he wanted to arrange a face-to-face.
Why not just come straight to the station?
Far enough off his home ground for him not to be recognised.
Villains like Mickey would sooner be caught dead
than set foot inside a nick. Well, he's dead all right.
I don't like it, Thursday.
Gang business, London business, here in Oxford?
Never ends well.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS CLASSICAL MUSIC
MARGEAUX GASPS
Margs! Margeaux!
Is she ok? Margeaux!
Margs! Margs! Donald!
What's wrong with her?
What...?
Ladies and gentlemen, is there a doctor in the house?
Here! Up here!
Yes, please. Soon as you can.
Oh, my God! I don't think she's breathing.
Donald, do something! Shall we get her off the stage?
Don't move her, don't move her!
Do something. It's all right.
Make some space. It's all right.
Morse.
Any idea what happened to her?
Too early to say.
According to her colleagues - at least those I spoke to -
she was in otherwise good health.
Some kind of fit or stroke, perhaps,
or a heart attack.
Anything back yet from the blood you sent for analysis
for the young man found down at Beaumont College?
Give the lab a chance.
I only sent them off this afternoon.
Since then, I've rather had my hands full with this crucifixion.
But I did stress it was a matter of some urgency.
Shall we say nine o'clock?
I think we'll all mourn Margeaux
in our own way.
But it will take some time
to come to terms with the scale of our loss.
We've each of us lost a friend,
and the orchestra has lost
a fine leader. MUTTERS: Bloody hypocrite.
In light of this tragedy,
I've instructed Donald that we'll begin rehearsals
an hour later than scheduled tomorrow.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to the rest of the orchestra.
We'll need a next of kin, Mr Fischer.
Of course. She's, erm...
Parents in Cumbria, I believe, are quite elderly.
She was unmarried, then?
Er, no, she wasn't married.
No boyfriend or...?
Er, as far as I know. She lived alone.
How long had she been with the orchestra?
Ten years? Was she well liked?
Well liked? Well liked?
What kind of a question is that?
SOBS: She just died in front of all of us!
Margeaux was lovely. She was just lovely.
Yes, of course, she was, Mabs.
They were at the Belasco together. My condolences.
Come on, Mabs. Let's go get you a drink.
Would these be hers?
Er, yes, I believe so.
You're taking her things?
Well, there's been a sudden, unexplained death, Mr Fischer.
There are certain procedures that we have to follow.
Carshall?
Well, it'd mean a bit more to the pension.
It's not as if that wouldn't be welcome
when I do turn in my tin star.
We're here, though.
We've made a home.
You have, you mean. Home is wherever you are.
Oh! You won't get round me with soft soap.
I'm not trying to get round you.
I can't think of all this right now,
not when everything's in the air with Sam.
Let's get this week out of the way.
And we've Joan to think of.
Joanie'll be all right. You sound like
you've already made up your mind. No!
You'd have to be all right with it. I wouldn't do anything
without your say-so. And what about Morse?
You've always had a lot of time for him.
What'll happen to him if you go?
There's nothing more I can teach him.
All right, is he, after his trouble?
Yeah.
Well...
I think so. He seems to be.
Hm.
KNOCK ON DOOR
It's too awful. I've just been sitting here.
I can't believe she's gone. She's been so lovely.
You've had a visitor.
Oh.
Yes, that. It was here when I got back after...
Seems very trivial against what's happened.
Were you close, you and Miss Quincannon?
I don't know about close.
As a guest soloist, you're always living in someone else's house,
but she'd been very welcoming.
I've got a table booked at the Tratt.
I'm not sure I'm terribly hungry. You have to eat.
Doesn't she? She has to eat.
You'll call me through
with a telephone and address for Miss Quincannon's parents?
Of course, first thing.
Thank you. Not at all.
SHE GASPS
I told the maid I'd mislaid my key.
I looked for you...
..after the performance, such as it was.
Donald took me to a late supper.
Donald!
Must I remind you, the lives of such as we are defined by sacrifice?
What does that mean?
Are you really going to squander
your time and talent on some foolish infatuation?
It's not like that. After all the work,
all I've poured in to creating a great artist.
What about what I've poured in,
from a child?
Other girls had friends, parties, fun.
I had a rehearsal room. You were special.
I didn't ask to be!
I didn't ask to be.
What is it you want, Al?
I want things to be the way they were.
You listened to me once.
We can put things back together, just like new.
We'll go to the villa at Mongi
for the summer.
There's so much more I have to teach you, Chrissy...
..to give you.
I know,
and I am grateful.
But I'm also desperately tired.
It's a terrible thing, about Margeaux.
Of course, my dear, of course.
Well...
Good night.
Look, two or three years
at Carshall to see us into my pension,
then we can go where you like, can't we?
Either where Joanie is by then,
or we've always talked about the coast. Selsey Bill...
DOORBELL RINGS ..Bracklesham Bay,
Isle of Wight, even, Shanklin.
We had a lovely time at the Wavecrest that week.
Morse!
Well, you do look a sight for sore eyes
and make no mistake! Much in?
We've a postmortem with Dr DeBryn.
Well, I don't want to hear about innards
before eight o'clock, I'm sure. I'll fetch your sandwiches.
The principal violinist at the Oxford Concert Orchestra died
during last night's performance.
I know it's not suspicious at first hand,
but I thought, given that death at Beaumont after their reception...
Here you are. Come home safe.
Morse. Mrs Thursday.
ORCHESTRA PLAYS CLASSICAL MUSIC
Right. Miss Quincannon.
Essentially, Miss Quincannon died of cardiovascular collapse
brought on by respiratory arrest.
Natural causes, then?
After a fashion.
There were signs of pulmonary oedema
which, by itself, might suggest heart disease.
But there was also laryngeal oedema,
which, since there's no laryngeal injury,
brings anaphylaxis into play.
A severe allergic reaction.
To what? Something she ate?
Possibly. I've sent her stomach contents off for analysis
and have put a call in to her GP,
but sometimes, just coming into contact with the allergen
can be enough to trigger a fatal response.
Those prone to that kind of thing usually carry
some sort of antihistamine, don't they?
Oh, yes.
In extreme cases, if people are particularly susceptible,
they're liable to carry adrenaline. Hm.
Anything like that in her handbag? No.
Would Miss Quincannon have understood
what was happening to her?
If she'd had a severe reaction before, I'd imagine so, yes.
Then why didn't she do something about it?
Well, perhaps she wanted to complete the performance
and just misjudged the severity of the attack until it was too late.
Found these in the bathroom cabinet.
Syringe and what looks to be adrenaline,
presumably in case she has an attack.
Anything? Oh, a few school pictures,
certificates, diplomas, and the like.
Is there much money in it?
Orchestra leader's the highest paid member,
but she was never gonna die rich.
I imagine she did a bit of teaching.
What's this?
Oh, rosin. String players use it.
This might be something.
She was writing a letter, or at least drafting one.
"If you think you're going to put me aside,
"you've got another think coming.
"I won't go quietly.
"I'll make such a scene you won't be able to show your face again."
Everyone I spoke to in the orchestra said that she was single.
Maybe they don't know anything about her private life.
It's interesting. The shade of lipstick that Miss Quincannon wore
is a very close match to that left on Christina Poole's mirror.
That might explain the letter.
If she thought she'd been supplanted
in someone's affections by Miss Poole...
Hell hath no fury.
Poor Margeaux had a seizure, didn't she?
It was natural causes. That's what we're here to establish,
Mr Fischer.
You got on well,
with Miss Quincannon, would you say? For my part.
Margeaux had her ways.
She could be a bit grim
if she didn't take to you,
but I'm just rank and file,
and far too young to have ever been a threat to her.
What kind of a threat, Miss Trench? To her position.
It was something she guarded very jealously.
And quite right, too.
There was a lot of resentment in the boys' club.
And who'll take her place now?
Well, ordinarily, one might expect the co-leader to step in,
but... Mabs can't face it.
She's ruled herself out.
They were close, I understand. Two peas in a pod.
What about Miss Quincannon's private life?
Can you help us with anything in that regard?
I don't know if there's anything in it,
but there's always been talk
that she and Alex had some sort of...
Well, I don't know.
Something.
But it wasn't something we discussed.
If anyone knows the ins and outs, it's Mabs.
Here. Thank you.
I just cannot believe that she's gone.
We've shared a desk for as long as I can remember.
Sergeant Morse tells me
that you and Miss Quincannon studied music together
when you were young.
At the Belasco, yes.
Can you recall any serious allergic reaction she had to anything then?
Erm, well, there were some things that Margeaux didn't eat,
but I always just put that
down to her being faddy. Such as?
In the summer, she avoided strawberries.
Was there anyone she was involved with that you know of?
No. Not recently, at least.
There was the odd chap here and there.
When you're constantly travelling the world,
it asks a lot of people to make something last.
It's been suggested that perhaps she and Sir Alexander were involved.
Alex was very good to Margeaux when she was younger.
He... He took her under his wing.
But the idea that there was ever anything seriously between them?
No, she would've said.
Let's just say, she relished her position as orchestra leader
a little too much for my taste.
We enjoyed a...
healthy mutual dislike.
I'm sure I wasn't alone in that.
If there's something you're trying to say...
What's to say?
You've spoken to our young Donald, I see.
Yes.
Well, he wouldn't be the first orchestra manager
to lose his head over a visiting soloist.
Still, as Margeaux proved,
there's always been more than one way to get to Carnegie Hall. Hm?
Was there ever anything between you that went beyond the professional?
What, me and Margeaux?
It's been suggested. By whom?
Margeaux was a promising young violinist.
I did what I could to help her develop her talent.
One can see how a young girl might take all that interest and attention
from a famous and powerful man and mistake it for something else...
if it was mistaken.
Look...
..whatever mad ideas Margeaux entertained, then or now,
there was never anything more between us
than would be right and proper
between mentor and pupil.
What mad ideas are these?
That you and Miss Poole were carrying on?
Oh, God!
Look, Margeaux may have thought it.
But my relationship with Christina
is on an altogether higher plane. Is it?
If it's beyond a policeman to understand, let me put it this way.
As a composer, I view Christina as my instrument,
an extension of my physical and spiritual self.
I express my innermost being
through her playing. Well, I'm sure
knowing that must have been a great comfort to Miss Quincannon.
She was very particular about her biscuits.
I had to pick them out for her.
She wouldn't have anything that was just loose in the box.
Thank you. Do they use this space a lot, the orchestra?
When they're not abroad touring.
Rest of the time, it's all sorts.
We had the Young Generation in last week,
with that Mimi, is it? Oh, yeah.
Oh, and next month we've got him off Jolliphant
coming in for a play at the Empire.
Are they a decent bunch?
These? Mm.
Well, as long as there's hot water for the tea and coffee.
Sorry to interrupt, Mrs T. I just wanted to ask the officer something.
Oh, don't mind me, I'm sure.
Thank you, Mrs Treadle.
I just wondered if there was any news about my well-wisher.
Ah, I'm working on it. But try not to worry.
These things very rarely escalate.
Are you sure there's nobody in the orchestra
that you might have upset?
No-one. At least, not intentionally, I'm sure.
What about Miss Quincannon?
She'd been lovely, so supportive.
You don't think she...?
It's just an avenue of inquiry.
Well, at least we've a pretty decent idea
of who's been leaving those messages for Miss Poole.
If Quincannon thought Lermontov had thrown her over
for his latest protege...
That's if the draft letters were meant for him.
Yeah, but I wouldn't put it past his type
to still have been knocking her off on the QT as and when.
They all seemed to know that she had some kind of allergy,
even if they couldn't agree on what it was.
Odd there was nothing amongst her effects
to counter an attack. Perhaps there was,
and somebody removed it. On the other hand,
we could be chasing our own tails and looking
for something that's not there. What, an accident?
It's possible, isn't it?
She comes into contact with something that sets off an attack
by quite innocent means.
Unless we find a solid motive,
I'd say we're looking at death by misadventure.
At least that's how the coroner will see it.
Let me call you back.
Aye-aye, matey. Burridges have been in touch.
Something to do with shoes, could it be?
Ah, right. Thanks.
And Dr DeBryn called.
Blood results came in on the body of Beaumont.
Heroin and barbiturate.
A "hot shot", he called it. How did he miss that?
No obvious track marks on the arms,
so he'd no reason to believe he was looking at an addict.
Turns out the injection site was between his toes
on the right foot.
Couldn't say whether it was self-administered,
but I shouldn't think it's likely, would you?
Hello, again. I understand you spoke
to one of my colleagues, Detective Sergeant Strange,
about a pair of shoes that were recorded in the exchange book.
Oh, yes, sir. Young Mr Burridge has had the big book set aside for you.
Ah. If you'd like to follow me.
No sign of any drugs paraphernalia,
if this Thompson is our man. It's him, all right.
Alphabet spaghetti. His last meal, according to Dr DeBryn.
This probably answers whether he injected himself or not.
I can't see him going out
wearing only one shoe. Mm.
You ever heard of Ace Private Inquiries, Headington?
Don't ring a bell. Why?
Yeah, come in.
Come on through. I won't be a minute.
TOILET FLUSHES Right. Sorry to have...
Ronnie.
Thought you'd left Oxford.
As you can see.
So, to what do I owe? To whom.
Edward Thompson. A client of yours,
or at least somebody you've interviewed.
Doesn't ring a bell.
He had one of your cards.
Address in Ford Road, Cowley. A boarding house.
You know how the private game works, fellas.
If he was a client, why would I tell you?
Cos he's dead. I can see that.
Somebody gave him a hot shot and dumped
his body in the gardens of Beaumont College.
What did he want?
He, er... He came to me
for help finding a missing person -
his mother, Brenda.
Left home in '62 after a fall-out with her old man.
Came down south. From where?
North-east. What made him think
she'd come here, to Oxford?
Brenda used to send a letter every so often.
Then, the letters stopped.
Who's Eileen Wright?
Friend of the family. Dead now.
The father didn't want Brenda writing home,
so the letters came to Eileen. That was the last.
Get anywhere with it?
Some.
Drink?
I usually nibble a couple around this time in the afternoon.
Yeah, why not? No, not for me, thanks.
Why? What's up? Copped a dose?
She used to do a bit of temping, here and there.
Richardson's in Cowley,
a spell at British Imperial Electric in the offices.
The last I've got for her is in the September of '63.
She's at Landesman Construction.
Built Divisional HQ, didn't they?
Did he or his mother have any connection
to the Oxford Concert Orchestra, do you know?
If they did, it never got mentioned to me.
So... how is it back at the factory?
Old Brighty still in charge?
Yeah, Mr Bright's still there.
They'll carry that one out feet first.
We never much cared for each other, but I, er...
..I'd never have wished what happened on him.
I expect there's a lot of things we wish had gone differently...
..but they went how they went.
Look, I wasn't being cagey earlier.
It's just, when he came to me, the boy didn't call himself...
What was it? Edward Thompson.
No. See, it was Andy, he said his name was.
Andrew. Andrew Thompson?
No, Lewis. Andrew Lewis.
"AL", then.
Same as the identity bracelet you found at Beaumont.
Mm, maybe Box turned up more than he realised.
Stirred up a hornet's nest, you mean?
Someone gets wind the boy's digging through what happened to his mother
and decided to put a stop to it.
Assuming something did happen to her.
What if she just met someone new,
wanted to put her previous life behind her?
Landesman.
Well, everyone's got to work somewhere, I suppose.
She'd temped at British Imperial Electric, too.
Hm, but Landesman Construction was her last known employer
before the postcards stopped.
Hard to see how her disappearance in '63
and the death of her son ties in
with Miss Quincannon. What if it doesn't?
What if we're trying to put together
two things that don't fit?
Might be an idea if we split our labours.
If you push on with Miss Quincannon, I'll try and track down anyone
who worked Landesman's at the same time Brenda Lewis was there.
What about Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back on the reverse trace.
We had a call at home early evening
the night he died, but when I picked up
the receiver, there was no-one there.
Do you think it was him?
He had my number written in a matchbook.
Maybe he thought I could do something for him
about this outstanding warrant.
Why would you?
Unless he had something to trade.
You didn't have to come.
I could've made my own way.
I just wanted to make sure you got back safe.
All right, are you?
Can we stop somewhere?
You can't expect me to see her straight, not right out of there.
You must know some place. A copper, aren't you?
A career in music asks a lot of a young person.
Hours of practice,
dedication.
Not everyone has the temperament.
She was in the same year as Mabs Portman, I believe.
Mabs?
Oh, Mabel. The year above.
Were they close? Not particularly.
12 months at that age can seem like a lifetime.
But later, when Mabel switched from the viola to the violin,
they had a lot more in common.
Was there anybody while she was here that she was friendly with?
I'm trying to find someone I can talk to about her later life.
Margeaux's best friend was Rose Garland.
Enormously gifted.
She would have gone on to great things.
What happened to her?
A swimming accident, here in the lake.
It took a great toll on Margeaux.
Guilt is a terrible thing.
What did she have to feel guilty about?
Being alive.
Take it easy, son. You've got all day.
I wasn't coming home this morning.
Where were you gonna go?
Anywhere. Somewhere away from everything.
Nobody's expecting you to carry on living at home, a grown man.
But you've gotta have somewhere to lay your head,
at least until you get a place of your own.
Your mum's been worried sick.
What she does best. You're everything to her,
to all of us, but especially to your mother.
You could have sent her a line.
To say what?
Sorry that I flunked it...
..that I pissed my pants and ran away, that I'm a coward?
You're not a coward. Don't say that! You weren't any of those things.
You were just...
..not well.
Is that what you told the neighbours?
You weren't yourself. That's what I meant.
A mate killed,
standing right next to you. That would affect anyone.
If it's any consolation, I know what you've been through.
No... you don't.
You don't have the first idea, so stop saying that.
It's not all 'Roll Out The Barrel' and 'Lili Marlene' any more.
I know that. Do you?
The other side, they don't wear a uniform.
It's the bloke stood next to you at the bar...
..the girl you get off with at the dance,
a kid on a street corner.
Do you want that?
Oh, come here. Come here. Hello, Mum.
Oh! Come on, don't fuss.
Don't fuss?!
I've been back and forth to the window
that many times, I must've worn a rut in the carpet.
What kept you?
Traffic bad? No, we went for a drink.
Don't spoil your appetite.
I'm doing a roast later. I've got a nice piece of beef.
I'm not hungry later, though, am I?
Landesman?
The company was sold or went broke, didn't it, after Blenheim Vale?
No-one's seen hide nor hair of Joe Landesman in six years.
I know, sir. The one that got away.
There's talk from Interpol he went abroad. Spain, Portugal.
The company had property there. Holiday hotels, I think.
Surely, you're not suggesting
he's anything to do with this man found dead at Beaumont?
It's just a coincidence his mother happened to work
for Landesman's firm, isn't it?
Blenheim Vale is done with, long since.
VOICE-OVER: We weren't bad lads, not really,
but somehow we all ended up at Blenheim Vale.
Things happened there.
Awful, terrible things.
They wanted a name for whoever burned out Wintergreen's car.
I tried not to...
One weekend, Big Pete went off. He never came back!
You think Peter Williams was buried here?
He's here... somewhere.
I was born a copper...
..and I'll die one, I expect.
GUNSHOT
All went well with your son?
I think so, sir. Yes, thank you.
You must be very glad to have him home.
KNOCK ON DOOR Come in.
Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought you'd want to know.
It's nuts, apparently, she was allergic to.
I just got off the phone with Dr DeBryn about Miss Quincannon.
He spoke to her GP. All right. Carry on, Sergeant.
The death at the concert, sir.
Ah, just so.
Anything further on Mickey Flood?
Division were asking.
It's early days, sir, but I've put out a couple of feelers
with some old colleagues in London.
Well, whatever's behind it, we don't want that kind of business here.
Get to the bottom of it, Thursday, fast,
and stamp it out.
Er, that's the phone box by the railway under the bridge, right?
Well, then, get a forensics team out there and see what's what.
Yeah.
I found these at Margeaux Quincannon's place
amongst her sheet music.
Hotel bills? Meaning?
Meaning, I don't think
the letter we found there yesterday was intended
for Alexander Lermontov.
Give me a minute.
So, what can I do for you?
I wonder if you can tell us why Miss Quincannon had your bill
from the Englischer Hof in her home.
My hotel bill? Mm-hm.
No idea. Really?
Only we spoke to the manager, and he remembers you both
quite clearly, because much like your current billet,
rooms 352 and 354 had a connecting door.
Miss Quincannon insisted upon it, apparently.
All right.
So, we had a scene. So what?
What goes on tour, you know?
I don't see what that has to do with the police.
Miss Quincannon thought your interest had moved on.
She was jealous of the situation.
That would be our interest.
Look, I made it clear to Margeaux at the start
I'm a free agent.
It was just.. No strings?
Did she threaten to make
your relationship more widely known amongst the orchestra?
Yes.
But, so what? It's not like either of us were married.
I can't see that would have gone over well with Lermontov,
if Miss Quincannon had told him
you'd set your sights
on his latest protege. We've just looked
at the register, Mr Brathwaite.
Or perhaps you weren't aware
that that connecting door joins to Miss Poole's room. In fact,
shall we knock, see if she's in? Look, if anyone was wise
to Margeaux's little games, it's Alex Lermontov,
and I told her so. I called her bluff, she didn't like it,
so, instead, she made a big number
about leaving the Oxford Concert Orchestra
for the Munich Symphony.
Was she serious? HE LAUGHS
Of course not! That's just how she was.
Margeaux liked to throw threats about.
I heard her laying the same number on Donald on the night she died.
Donald Fischer, why? How's that?
Just as we were about to go on, I popped a collar stud,
so I had to hurry back to the green room for a replacement.
They didn't see me, but I overheard them.
You're damn right we need to talk!
I could finish you, and don't you forget it.
What did she threaten him with?
I can't be sure,
but when we were together,
she told me she thought he might be running
some sort of... I don't know, some sort of racket.
What kind of racket? Something to do
with when the orchestra was touring.
To be honest, I didn't ask too many questions.
She was always spitting poison about someone or other.
You want the full gen, talk to Mabs.
Miss Portman? Of course.
Margeaux wouldn't belch without Mabs saying, "Pardon."
Margeaux did go backstage, yeah, just as we were about to go on.
Well, why was that? Thank you.
Erm, Lindsay's A-string was playing up
and she didn't have any peg dope,
so Margs went to dig some out of her case.
But whatever Fergus may have heard, I'm sure
it was just a misunderstanding.
Of what, Miss Portman?
Margeaux had this idea
that what the orchestra was really being charged
for travel and accommodation while on tour was less than the amount
that Donald was billing for. And he was pocketing the difference?
Yes, I...
I can't believe he would ever do anything like that.
Donald is a wonderful orchestra manager.
But... well, Margeaux would get these notions.
And once she had an idea, it was hard to shift.
I refute the allegations, entirely.
Well, Mr Fischer, at the risk of sounding like Miss Rice-Davies,
you would say that, wouldn't you? Margeaux never understood
that balancing the books sometimes requires a little creativity.
We prefer the word "fraud".
If I have to rob Peter to pay Paul,
people keep their jobs. Very commendable, I'm sure.
The earners, the foreign tours,
that's what pays us to bring 'L'apres-midi D'un Faune'
to a half-empty theatre on a wet Tuesday night in Nantwich.
And that is important,
cos that one concert might mean everything to someone.
I know it did to me. And if someone
like Margeaux Quincannon stood in the way of that...
Margeaux wasn't a threat to me. I had her number.
Look, the truth of it is, I was just about to give her notice.
For what reason?
I didn't think anything when I saw her coming out.
One can't really have the orchestra leader sending hate mail
to the guest soloist. We had an idea as much.
Did you talk to her about it?
I would have done once I got this week's concerts out of the way,
but as it turned out...
"Coroner Albert Lyons recorded an open verdict
"in the case of Rose Garland, 14,
"who drowned in early summer in a lake
"at the Belasco Academy, situate Banbury.
"Various witnesses gave testimony
"that, despite being a promising student,
"Miss Garland was a highly-strung girl who lived on her nerves.
"Her guardian, Mr Harry Treadle, said his ward, a scholarship girl,
"had never been fully accepted by her peers
"and had been subjected to slights and insults
"which left her feeling demoralised.
"This view of the school was roundly rejected
"by Madame Belasco, Principal of the Academy,
"and the coroner concluded there was insufficient evidence
"to support Mr Treadle's assertion."
GIRLS GIGGLE
INAUDIBLE
"Though no note had been found...
"..the Coroner could not rule out suicide...
"..and was therefore obliged to record an open verdict."
TELEVISION PLAYS
So, you adopted Rose Garland?
Evacuee, she was.
I can still see her standing in the church hall,
luggage label threaded through her buttonhole with her name on.
She was just about as big as the violin case she was holding.
How was it you came to be her guardians?
Her mother and her grandparents both caught it in the Blitz,
and her dad in the Far East. Hm.
She had no other family to speak of, so we took her on.
But you didn't formally adopt her? No.
She called us Ma and Pops,
but she had a right to her own name.
The war had taken everything else she had.
We weren't gonna take that away from her too.
Rose had been close with Margeaux Quincannon
while she was at the Belasco, was that right?
Devoted, they were.
Was why I looked after her when I ran into her again here.
She was one of the nice ones.
We had no idea
Rosie was unhappy.
She never said.
Years after, I found one of the messages
in the pocket of her blazer.
They told her to kill herself.
Too late to matter then.
But Madame must've known.
To turn a blind eye...
You wouldn't happen to have kept that message by any chance?
Oh, yes.
I kept everything, good and bad.
All her certificates.
You don't forget.
Broke Harry's heart.
TYRES SCREECH
HE TOOTS HORN
Hello, Sam!
Morse!
Sorry, I didn't see you. Erm, I'm looking for Joan's.
Has she moved?
Jump in.
Joanie! Sam!
Hm. Come here.
You all right? Hm. Need a pee.
OK, er, down the hall, on the right.
He said he wanted to come round.
I wasn't sure whether to take him to your parents'.
Er... how is he?
Oh, nothing that a good night's sleep won't sort out.
Says he's left the Army. Yeah.
Hm.
And, erm, you're all right, are you?
Oh, yes. You've been away.
Ah, yeah.
But you're back. For now.
Well, I... Oh, erm...
I had some business at Burridges.
I saw that you'd returned some, erm... some bridal gloves.
Have you got a wedding to go to?
Bridesmaid?
Or if you need an escort... Morse...
Oh.
Well, congratulations. Thank you.
But who's the lucky man?
Aye-aye. One in, one out.
Thought you'd knocked off.
I hear congratulations are in order.
You and Miss Thursday.
Oh, yeah. Thanks very much.
Joanie mentioned, did she? Yeah.
Keep it under your hat for the minute, though, eh?
With the old man and everything. Same nick, and all that.
Wouldn't want to leave him open to accusations of anything.
Of course. Heaven forbid!
I'll be needing a best man, though, matey.
Hoping I can rely on you. Me?
Who else?
We've been up against it together more times than I can count -
and come through.
You're the best man any fella could have.
And I know you'd never let me down.
Just get me to the church on time, eh?
What can I get you, sir? Pint of Morrell's, please.
Ooh!
Someone's up and at 'em.
That's all very mafioso, isn't it?
What have you got in there? A tommy gun?
If I'm right, something just as deadly.
I need you to run some tests for me.
Rosin?
Mm-hm. What's rosin when it's at home?
Something to do with musicians,
isn't it? Yes, sir.
It's solidified tree sap, generally from conifers.
String players apply it to their bows.
Why?
So it catches on the strings and makes a sound.
Without it, the instrument wouldn't make any noise at all.
And what's that to do with Miss Quincannon's death?
It's how she was killed, sir.
She was allergic to it, is that what you're saying? Something she used
all the time? No, no. She was allergic
to what somebody's put in it.
I think the killer melted down the top of the stick
sufficiently to then add a top layer of the same,
only this time, containing ground nuts,
then, at some point, substituted the toxic stick
for Miss Quincannon's own.
Miss Quincannon would have applied
the rosin containing microscopic particles of nut
to her bow before the concert that evening.
SHE GASPS
Dr DeBryn has examined the violin
and the stick of rosin that was found
in Miss Quincannon's case. And?
And the dust on the body of the violin has tested positive
for nut particles, but the stick of rosin itself is clear.
So, someone swapped it back?
Mm, presumably in the aftermath.
Everyone overwhelmed with shock and grief,
nobody would notice what would be the action of a moment.
Well, if that's the how,
I'm assuming you've a good idea of the who.
Yes, sir. Erm, I think some people find out far too soon
that life will divide us into winners and everyone else.
For those destined always to walk a pace behind,
to never have their moment in the sun...
APPLAUSE
And no urge stronger than the wish
to be revenged upon the cause of one's suffering.
Madame will be so proud.
Thank you.
Thus, a cruel and spiteful campaign,
which led to tragic consequences a quarter of a century ago...
..was destined to repeat itself in the present.
Quincannon drove the Garland girl to kill herself. I get that.
Mm-hm. But who killed Quincannon?
Well, I think it's one of the uglier aspects of human nature,
but even the least amongst us need someone to look down on.
It's a terrible thing to be disregarded...
..destined to never be more than, at best, rank and file,
to always be second choice...
..second best...
ORCHESTRA PLAYS CLASSICAL MUSIC
..second fiddle.
Build, build.
Excuse me, I'm sorry.
Miss Portman.
I believe you know
why we're here. If you'd like to come with me, please.
What's going on?
You can leave the violin.
Sorry to disturb.
Men say, don't they, about pairs of women
they see out together in a bar or a club or something...
There's "the one," the "golden girl",
with the looks and the personality.
And there's the other one,
the "friend".
I was always the friend,
at least where Margs was concerned.
And I didn't mind that.
The truth is, I thought the world of Margeaux.
A year older than me, she was my heroine.
I would have done anything for her.
And you did.
You helped cover up what she did
that drove Rose Garland to kill herself.
It was you that helped Margeaux convince the coroner
that Rose Garland was unstable.
Why?
So she'd notice me.
I needed someone to notice me...
..so that I knew I existed.
And she did notice me. We... We became inseparable.
And what you covered up bound you to each other for life.
So that, every time she looked at you,
she was reminded of what she'd done, reminded of her guilt and shame.
And as the years went by, it just got worse.
The... the digs, the sly knife.
She couldn't forgive me, but she couldn't let me go.
But she recently put it about
that she'd be leaving the orchestra and maybe going to Munich.
You could finally have stepped out of her shadow.
That was the breaking point for me.
I stood everything else, but that...
Even now, I'm not sure she didn't do the whole thing just to get at me...
..you know, to build up my hopes, only to smash them to pieces.
We couldn't both go on living like that.
I couldn't face another day with her, not like that.
It was her or me.
Except, what you covered up wasn't just Margeaux's culpability
in the death of Rose Garland, but your own.
No, that's Margeaux's handwriting.
Perhaps,
or a decent approximation of it,
with the exception of how the Is are dotted.
But that's the alto clef,
unique to the viola,
your original instrument before swapping to the violin.
So you weren't just a concerned friend
that covered up for Margeaux. You were an active participant.
In fact, you went much further
than her campaign of petty and vindictive name calling.
You told Rose Garland to kill herself.
And she took you at your word.
So, now you've two deaths on your conscience.
One we can charge you with now,
and the other which I'm sure will haunt you for the rest of your days.
I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it, not like that. I...
I was a child.
I was a lonely little girl.
I just wanted a friend.
Presumably, she removed the syringe from Miss Quincannon's handbag.
That'd be my reading of it, sir.
Killed her in front of over 700 witnesses,
sat right next to her the whole time.
And this other business,
the body at Beaumont College.
Andrew Lewis.
Inquiries are ongoing.
Landesman, though?
Blenheim Vale?
I'd hoped we'd seen the last of that.
Bad business, Thursday.
Bad business all round.
Strange said you'd be in here.
They said, er, the odd beer, the odd short does no harm.
Did they? Mm.
Everything in moderation, they said.
Well...
..I'm sure you know best.
You spoke to Miss Poole?
Oh, yes, and Sir Alexander.
I'll type up my notes in the morning.
Anything on Mickey Flood?
I'm waiting to hear back from my old oppo at Cable Street.
Cos I was thinking,
if he did come to Oxford in order to trade you information
in exchange for getting him off this protection racket charge,
then, clearly, whatever he had was big enough to get him killed.
So, why not sell it to some London hat? Why you, I wondered.
Well... I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it...
..one way or another.
Usual?
No, er...
..I won't, if it's all the same.
I'm gonna push off,
get back to Win and Sam,
and Joan's coming round for something to eat.
Is she? Well, that'll be nice.
Congratulations, by the way. Hm?
Not so much losing a Detective Sergeant,
but, er, gaining a son-in-law.
Ah, Jim mentioned, did he? No.
Oh, Joanie, then?
Yeah, I thought it best if it came from them. To be honest,
it had half slipped my mind, with Sam coming home.
I'm sure they'll be very happy.
Let's hope so.
Well, that's what it's all about isn't it? So they tell me.
Tomorrow, then.
Yeah.
Same again.
Yeah.
Mind how you go.
It's good to have you back. I've...
Good to have you back.
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