01x06 - Episode 6

Episode transcripts for the TV show "Magpie m*rder". Aired: February 10, 2022 - present.
Follows Editor Susan who is given an unfinished manuscript that changes her life.
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01x06 - Episode 6

Post by bunniefuu »

- Mummy! Mummy!
- Up here.



We can't find Bella!

- Oh, where have you looked?
- We've been everywhere.

We've been in the gardens
and behind the hall.

- We've been to the lake.
- Have you asked Mr Brent?

- He won't help us.
- He doesn't like Bella.

Why don't you try Dingle Dell?
She often goes there.




- Bella!
- Bella!

- Bella!
- Bella!



Here, girl!

Here, girl!

There she is.

Oh, no.

How did you find me,
Mr Pund?

Oh, it was the Reverend Osborne
in Saxby-on-Avon.

- He gave me your address.
- Oh.

You're investigating
Mary's death?

No, Mr Blakiston.

I am investigating the m*rder
of her employer, Sir Magnus Pye.

Well, you're wasting your time.
I can't help you.

I'm not even sure
that I'd want to.

You are no friend
of Sir Magnus?

He took everything
I ever loved.

When he offered Mary
the job at Pye Hall,

he sucked her
into his orbit.

She worshipped him.

He was an aristocrat,
local squire.

She trusted him with everything.

And suddenly there was
no more room for me.

- When did you last see her?
- Ten years ago.

Oh, but still,
you went to her funeral.

Of course I did.
I loved her.

Before the accident,
before Sam died,

we'd been happy together.

She weren't an easy woman,
I'll grant you that,

but when we first got married,
setting up our first home...

oh, those were
wonderful days.

And then you lost your son.

I was away with the RAF
at the time.

Mary blamed me for that.

Maybe she was right.

Although I'm not sure
what I could've done.

Who do you blame?

I suppose I could blame
Sir Magnus.

He was the one who set up
those treasure hunts.

He hid the coin that could have
drawn my boy into the water.

And I suppose that might have
given me a reason to k*ll him,

if that's what you're thinking.

Although you might wonder
why I waited twelve years.

- And what of Brent?
- The groundsman? Huh!

He was close by.
He could've kept an eye out.

He was the one who found Sam.

Although by then,
it was far too late.

I suppose he did what he could.

Robert saw them
just as they was coming out,

and he charged
into the water, too.




I'm not sure
Robert ever recovered

from what he saw that day.

- In what way?
- His relationship with Mary.

Turning his back on me.

You have my sympathies,
Mr Blakiston,

but still, I have to ask,

is that the reason you chose
not to speak to your own son

- at his mother's funeral?
- What good would it have done?

I've been out of his life
for far too long now.

And anyway, the two of us
was never that close.

He was always a very quiet boy.

Kept himself to himself.

To be honest,
I was closer to Sam.

Did the two of them get on?

Well, they fought
like all young boys.

There were jealousies.

But I'd say yes.

And what of Robert
and his mother?

Everything changed
after the accident.

To lose a child
is so terrible.

I suppose she became

with the one that was left.

Suddenly she was all over him.

Never let him out of her sight.

Thank you, Mr Blakiston.

Oh, um, what can you tell me
about Bella?

The dog?

Somebody poisoned her.

It was quite deliberate.
Rat poison.

We always assumed it was Brent.
He hated the dog.

He was always
complaining about it.

Sam was devastated.

Why Sam in particular?

Well, it was his dog.

I bought her for him
for his ninth birthday.

If you ask me, everything
about Pye Hall is cursed.

The dog k*lled.
The little boy drowned.

Mary Blakiston.
Sir Magnus.

If you want the truth,

I don't want to spend
another minute there.

You may have your wish, James.

We need to meet
with Detective Inspector Chubb,

but after that, we will be
returning at once to London.

Don't tell me.

You know who did it!

Matthew Blakiston provided
the last piece of the jigsaw.

Well then, do tell me!
I want to know.

We have a long drive.

"We have a long drive.
I will explain it all."

It's so infuriating
because he never did.

So you're no closer?


I'm sorry, Charles,
it's all gone.

All the notes. Everything.

And Claire Jenkins had a copy,
but she destroyed it.

And that's the closest I got.

Well, full marks for trying.

- Hmm!
- There's, uh...

something I need
to tell you, Susan.

I've approached Peter Kinsale
of Harper Collins

for the position of CEO.


Cityworld couldn't wait
any longer.

They've asked me
to explore the field.

You know how much I want you
to take the job.

I couldn't leave the company
in better hands,

but I can't risk
the investors walking away.

What did Peter say?

He had some interesting ideas.

He suggested Sophie Hannah
be brought in

to finish "Magpie m*rder".

Oh, you told him
about the book.

Oh, I had to. Without "Magpie
m*rder" there's no deal.

Sophie's a good idea.

She did a great job
with "Poirot".

That's what I thought.

Does she know who did it?

She's reading it now.

Ah, so this... sounds like
a done deal.

Nothing's been agreed.
There's still time.

No, uh...

I think you've made
the right decision.

I think we both have.

We have worked together...
how many years?


Too many.

How long will it all take?

We'll need to make
an announcement soon.


She wants to use my title,
by the way.

- I'm sorry?
- Sophie.

She likes
"The Magpie m*rder".

Not "Magpie m*rder".

I suppose we'll never know
why Alan got so upset.

Not "The Magpie m*rder".
"Magpie m*rder".

That's the bloody title.

"Cat up nudist".
One word.

It's an anagram of Atticus Pund.

Alan loved anagrams.


It's an anagram of Ryeland.
It's us!



An anagram.

I'm off, Susan.
Is that OK?

- Yeah.
- I've got my check-up at five.

- Oh, yes. Hope it goes OK.
- Oh, thanks.

Oh, by the way,
Jemima said hello.

Have you seen her?

I bumped into her at the station
a couple of nights ago.

- We're gonna meet next week.
- Ah.

Alice, Alice!

Have you got a number for her?

- Hey, Chris.
- Hey.

- Can you do me a favour?
- Sure. What is it?

My friend was sent an email,

but we don't know
where it came from.


I forwarded it to myself,
but I need to know the source.

Well, that's easy.
Just look at the metadata.

I don't know what that means.

I'll do it.

OK, so that's your original IP.

Put it into MX Toolbox.
Reverse Lookup.

And... there!

It originated from Clover Books.


Nice sh*t.

It's good of you
to come out, Jemima. Thank you.

It's nice to see you, Susan.

You OK?

Yeah. Huh!

I'm starting
at Channel Four. PA.

Oh, that's great.

So, I just wanted
to talk to you

about the manuscript
for "Magpie m*rder".

I know.
Charles already emailed me.

But I promise you,
it wasn't my fault.

Oh, no.
I'm not blaming you.

I photocopied
everything Charles gave me.

I can't remember
how many pages it was now.

- It was over three hundred.
- Yeah.

I did a page count.
I always did.

And you didn't leave it
in the machine room?

No, I gave both copies
to Charles.

You had just left for Frankfurt,
so he said he'd look after it.

- And you didn't read it?
- Only the page numbers.

Oh, no, wait a minute.

You just said that
I'd already left for Frankfurt.

Wednesday morning.

No. No,
that's not possible

because, well, Alan
only gave Charles the manuscript

on Thursday night
when they had dinner.

No, it came in the post
on Wednesday.

I photocopied it straight away,
and Charles had it before lunch.

- Are you sure?
- Yeah.

- "Magpie m*rder"?
- Of course I'm sure.

It was our biggest book.

Charles told me
not to tell anyone.

He wanted to surprise you.

Why did you leave so suddenly?

Cos Charles asked me to.

He told me that you were
the one who wanted to leave.

That's not true.

I told him
I was looking around,

that I really wanted
to work in TV,

but when I came in
on Friday morning,

he just said it would be better
for both of us

if I left at once.

He paid me a month's wages.

That's it.


Yes, yes, yes, yes,
yes, yes!

What are you doing?

I thought everyone had gone.

I left something, so I...


I see you found it.

The missing chapter.

You had it all along.

I can explain
if you'll let me.

I think you should.

Would you like a whisky?

Just a small one.

Very good.

You must understand everything
I've done is for the company.

I had to protect us.


Oh, God.

It's not easy to explain!

Well then,
why don't you let me?

Why don't we start
last Wednesday

when I was in Frankfurt?

That was when the manuscript
actually arrived.

It was sent to you in the post.

You read it before your dinner
with Alan on Thursday night.

That's right.

You sent Jemima away.
You told her to leave

because you didn't want her
to tell me

that you'd already read it.

- She was leaving anyway.
- Well...

The dinner with Alan was...
was horrible.

He was drunk.

Drunk and thr*at.
You have no idea...

I'm fed up with it all!

I'm fed up with Atticus
f*cking Pund.

You don't know how long
I've been waiting to do him in!

Alan, please.

That same evening
he wrote you a letter,

effectively apologising
for his behaviour.

The letter was handwritten.

Yes, it was.

But an apology wasn't enough,
was it?

On Saturday evening,
you drove up to Abbey Grange.


Incidentally, you gave
yourself away about that.

I should have spotted it.

I'm sorry,
what do you mean?

Well, when we drove up for the
funeral, you were very helpful.

Don't worry, Charles.
We will get there.

Find the pages.
Save the company.

Turn right here. You want
to avoid the road works.

You knew
about the road works

well before we got to them.

But a few days earlier,
I'd asked you a question.

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?

Five or six months.

You were doing
everything you could

to distance yourself
from the scene of the crime.

But you were lying

because you knew
about the roadworks.

I should've guessed.

Are you accusing me
of Alan's m*rder?

That's ridiculous.

Nobody needed him alive
more than me.

Apart from anything else,
I needed that last chapter.

Well, we'll get to that
in a minute

if that's all right with you.

So, once you arrived, you...

you parked your car
out of sight.

As it happens, Andreas
had got there ahead of you,

and he was with Alan.

And that was
when you took the photo.

You sent it to me

because you didn't want me
to investigate.

You thought I'd give up

if I believed
Andreas was involved.

We've known each other
for so many years, Charles.

How could you be so cruel?

I was afraid for you, Susan.
I'll admit that.

Going up there,

blundering in with no idea
what was at stake.

OK. Well then, let's...

Let's talk about
the stakes, shall we?

The sale to Cityworld Media.

Your beloved publishing company.

All those shares,

the millions of pounds
you were going to be paid.

And he was going
to destroy it all.


Because he hated
writing m*rder mysteries.

He hated Atticus Pund.

He thought he was
better than that.

Alan Conway wanted to be
Salman Rushdie or Hilary Mantel.

It's extraordinary, really,

because the more successful
he was,

the more miserable
he became.

He was ludicrous.

But then he was diagnosed
with a terminal disease,

and that changed everything.

He didn't need money anymore.

Fame wasn't going to help,
and actually it disgusted him.

But he'd always have this idea
that one day...

he'd destroy Atticus Pund.

Give him his own version
of the Reichenbach Falls,

and one that the literary world
would never forget.

In fact...

it was built into the books.

"Atticus Pund Investigates",

"No Rest for the Wicked",

"Atticus Pund Takes the Case"...

The first letters
spell out...

an anagram.

Of course, it only works

if the last book's called
"Magpie m*rder",

and not "The Magpie m*rder".

Alan did tell me that.

But an anagram of what?

You know, I only worked it out
on the way here.

Go on.

Do I need to?

You already know it.

It's what he told you
when he got drunk over dinner

in that fancy restaurant.

What Alan wanted
was to destroy the books,

to make them valueless,

because that's what
he always thought they were.

And this was his torpedo.

The actual name
of his detective.

- Atticus Pund.
- Mm.

He knew what he was doing
from the very beginning.

Oh, yeah. He'd already jumbled
up the letters

to make "Cat Up Nudist."

But there was a second...

much worse anagram.

- Wasn't there?
- Do tell.

Three words.

The first is "A".

The second is...


And that leaves
a four letter word.

And one of the worst...

one of the most offensive
in the English language.

If people had found out,

if people had realised
that this was "Atticus Pund",

well, it wasn't just
the last book that was at stake,

it was the entire series,

and you could forget about
any deal with Cityworld Media,

and you would have lost

And that, Charles...

is why you had to k*ll him.


You're not going to deny it?

I tried to dissuade him.

We went up to the tower.

You mean, you persuaded him
to take you.

Well, he liked to show off
the view.

But Alan,
for God's sake,

your books have brought pleasure
to millions of people.

- Not to me.
- Oh, God, I...

I can't believe that you've been
planning this all along.

- I mean, it's crazy!
- Actually, it kept me sane.

It reminded me of the rubbish
it actually was.

But you'll destroy my company,
my staff, my other authors.

What makes you think
I give a damn?

Oh, you go to hell, Alan.

Go to hell!



- Do you mind if I have another?
- No. Go ahead.


No, I'm all right.

But k*lling him
wasn't enough, was it?

You needed a cover story.

You'd read the book.

You'd seen something
in the final chapter

that you could use.

But you had to make sure
no one else ever read it.

So, you cleared out
Alan's office,

taking all his notes
and earlier drafts,

but also, the real prize -

a handwritten draft
of the final chapter.

The book finishes
with a su1c1de letter.

Not from Alan Conway.
From Atticus Pund.

That's how the book ends.

He has a degenerative disease,

so he decides
to take his own life.

"By the time you read this,
it will all be finished.

"I have achieved great success

"in a life that has gone on
long enough.

"I have left you some notes
with regard...

"...to my condition
and the decision I have made."

- Does that even sound like him?
- Alan clearly wasn't himself.

I'm an editor, I really should
have trusted my instincts.

"With regard to my condition."

It's a little...



That wasn't Alan's voice.

It was Pund's.

It's Atticus Pund

writing about the fact that
he has very little time left.

He's dying.

And that's what you needed.

I found this.

It's from Alan.

It's his su1c1de note.

The first half of the letter
was the apology,

the second half
was taken from the book.

Together, they told exactly
the story you wanted.

and then resignation.

There's just one small detail
you hoped nobody would notice.

- But you of course did.
- Yes.

The letter was handwritten,

but you had to find
an old envelope.

And the envelope was typed.

Meaning the whole thing
had been faked.



you seem to have put it all
together, Susan,

and I must congratulate you.

But it does beg one question,
doesn't it?

What happens now?

- What do you mean?
- Are you going to turn me in?

No! I don't need
to be involved.

I think it would be
much better all round

if you called
the police yourself.

You realise they'll send me
to prison. I'll get life.

I won't come out.

Yes, Charles, that's what
happens when you commit m*rder.

I thought you might make
some allowances.

As you yourself said,

we've known each other
for a long time.

It seems I didn't know you
at all.

Would you allow me at least

to spend the evening at home
with my family?

Before I make the call?

If you don't call them tomorrow,
then I will.

But yes, you need to explain
everything to Elaine.



Ah, I'm going to miss
all this.

I'm sorry.

Are you? You seem
more self-righteous to me.

You can think what you like.
I'm leaving.

Good night, Susan.



Why did you have to be
so bloody obstinate?

I didn't want you looking
for the missing pages.

I don't care
about the missing book.

Jesus Christ.

All I was doing
was protecting myself,

- and my family and my future.
- Charles!

That's what I'm doing now.
You made me!

Charles, no!


what are you doing?

Please, Charles...

Oh, Charles...

I'm sorry, Susan.
I really am.

Charles. Charles!


I gave you a chance.

You should have taken it!




- Susan!
- Andreas.

It... It was Charles.

It was Charles.

That's all right.
Come on.

You're awake.

Thank God.


Andreas called
and told me what happened.

I came down at once.

Where is Andreas?

He won't be long.

Are you all right, Sue? Do you
want me to call the doctor?


Where's Charles?

He was arrested.

Andreas saw him
coming out of the building.

He k*lled Alan.

It's unbelievable.

- Am I... Oh!
- No, you're all right.

The doctors have looked at you.

You're gonna be fine.

How are you, Katie?

How's Dad?

Let's not talk about that now.

No, no.
I want to know.

Dad's gone.

I didn't want to tell you.

No, it's...
better that you did.


You don't have to say that.

I should never have got involved
in all of this.

You told me not to.


It's the smoke. It...

It's done something to my lungs.

- The doctor said...
- I know. I know. They told me.


- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

Thank you.

Why were you there... Andreas,
at the office?

I was looking for you,
of course. Why else?

I found out that
the photograph you were sent

came from Clover Books,
and I was worried.

What I said to you...

Will you ever forgive me?

I already have.

How could I have
possibly believed

- even for a minute...?
- It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

- It's all behind us now.
- Hmm.

I want to talk about Crete.

I just wish it wasn't Alan's
money in the hotel, but...

I'm not going.

Oh, yes, you are.

And I'm going with you.

- You're not feeling well.
- Ah...

- You're hallucinating.
- I am not.


OK. We'll talk about it
when you're better, hmm?


I was wondering
when you were going to show up.

- How are you feeling?
- Awful.

I mucked everything up.

I accused Andreas,
and I nearly got myself k*lled.

You're being too hard
on yourself.

You solved the crime.

The k*ller
has been apprehended.

I would say you have done
remarkably well.


I'll take that as a compliment,
coming from you.

The missing chapter?


You have read it?

Not yet.

I've read the last pages
with the letter,

but not the solution.

I'm not sure
I'm quite up to it.

"Magpie m*rder".

You solved them?

The detective will always
solve the crime

as sure as day
will follow the night.

In the world in which I exist,
this is an immutable fact.

Ah, yes.

The certainty.

That's why people love you.

You wish to know the answer?

Are you kidding?

That's all I want to know.

Then come with me.


You are too busy?

Where are we going?

To the Queen's Arms
Public House.

And who are we meeting?

It was Joy Sanderling
who first came to me for help,

and it is she who must hear
what I have to say.

My friends are waiting.

Detective Inspector.

Are we ready?

We are indeed.

You asked me to come
to Saxby-on-Avon

on account of one death,
Miss Sanderling.

That was the death
of Mary Blakiston

just one day after her son,

had been overheard
thr*at her.

- I didn't thr*at her.
- Huh.

But that is
how it was construed.

- I never touched her.
- I know that.

I know exactly
how your mother died.

It was an accident.

That's not
what you told me, Pund.

You said Lady Frances
k*lled her.

Oh, she did.


You will recall

that she told us that
she telephoned Mrs Blakiston

on the very day of her death.

It was, I believe, the telephone
call that was responsible,

uh, for she also told us
something else.

This is Atticus Pund.
He's a well-known investigator.

Would you take that, darling?

The telephones
don't work upstairs.

Nothing works in this house.

It's just one thing
after another.

We know that
Mary Blakiston was vacuuming

at the top of the stairs.

Let us imagine
that the telephone rings.

I rang her
the morning she died,

and when she didn't answer,

I thought there must be
something wrong.

She cannot answer it
in the bedroom.

She has to hurry downstairs,

and in her haste, her foot
becomes entangled in the wire.

Ooh! Oh! Oh!

So, Robert had nothing
to do with it.


I knew it.

What about the death
of Sir Magnus?

That is indeed the question.

The answer is that the two
deaths were inextricably linked.

One led directly to the other.

But there is a third death also
that we must consider,

a death that took place
twelve years ago.



That is where this story begins.

A lodge house.
A room with a view.

The collar of a dog
that has been k*lled.

Two brothers.

He was always
a very quiet boy.

Kept himself to himself.

To be honest,
I was closer to Sam.

Did the two of them get on?

Well, they fought
like all young boys.

There were jealousies.

But I'd say yes.

- I spoke to your father.
- When?

This morning.

He gave me an image
of two brothers

who were jealous of one another
and sometimes came to blows.

The young one
was given a dog, Bella.

Here, girl!

Last one to the lake
is a rotten egg.

Keep up, Bella!

A terrible thing
happened to this dog.

She was poisoned,
it seems deliberately.

That was Brent.

Why, then,
did your mother keep the collar

in a drawer in the room in which
she worked all those years?

What was it that she wished
to be reminded of?

I don't understand
why you're asking this.

I'm trying only to understand
the character of your mother,

for there was something else
that was told me by your father.

Everything changed
after the accident.

Suddenly she was all over him.

Never let him out of her sight.

What was it that changed?

Before, it would seem

that your mother
was not close to you, Robert.

But afterwards,
you became almost her prisoner.

- I was!
- Your father assumed

that it was because she was
afraid to lose you.

But could it be...

that she knew
what you had done,

and she was afraid
that you might do it again?

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about the fact
that as a child,

Robert Blakiston was disturbed
to the extent

that he k*lled a dog that
had been given to his brother

and later,
in a fit of jealousy or anger,

he drowned that brother
in the lake at Pye Hall,

an act seen by his mother

from the window in the room
in which she worked,

the one room in the house
that had a view of the water.

That's wrong.

- That's ridiculous.
- You believe so?

Then I will ask you
two questions.

Why was there a need for Robert
to throw himself into the water

when Brent,
carrying his brother,

had almost reached dry land?

I was fourteen years old.

I didn't know what I was doing.

I think you knew exactly
what you were doing.

You were disguising the fact

that you were already
soaking wet.

And my second question.

Why was Mr Blakiston
so opposed to the idea

- of you marrying her son?
- I told you.

You told me,
Miss Sanderling,

what you believed
to be the case,

but perhaps you were mistaken.

- No.
- I'm sorry?

You are not gonna marry
my son.


I'm thinking about
future generations.

Can't be tainted.

I won't have it.

You're not being

- You can't think that.
- I won't even discuss it.

Now, I'm warning you,

This marriage
will not go ahead.

"So future generations
cannot be tainted."

You believed that Mrs Blakiston
was referring to you

in a way that was
truly reprehensible.

But suppose
her words were in fact

addressed to her son,

Suppose that she was afraid

that he might poison you
and your future family

with the same madness that had
led him to k*ll his own brother?

No, this is all just words.

You're just making stuff up!
You can't prove a word of it!

When there is only one
explanation that makes sense,

then that is all the proof
that you require.

- No, I've had enough of this.
- Oh! No, no, you're staying.

- Go on, Mr Pund.
- Yes, go on.

Let us now enter
the mind of Mary Blakiston.

She has a son whom she knows
to be dangerous.

She watches him,
never lets him out of her sight,

but... she also fears
for her own safety.

What will she do
should he ever turn on her?

What can she do
to protect herself?

She writes a letter.

She writes a letter,
explaining how Sam was k*lled.

Also, what happened to Bella.

She reveals that her older son
is dangerously disturbed,

and she gives it
to the one man she trusts,

indeed, whom she reveres.

Sir Magnus Pye.

It is a letter
to be kept secure

only to be opened should
anything untoward happen to her.

She tells her son
what she has done,

and now she has no need
to fear him.

Sir Magnus places it in the
safe, and there it remains...

Until her death.

...until the accident occurs.

Mary Blakiston dies

just one day after her son
has thr*at her.

And it is at her funeral,
Robert realises he's in danger.

You remember, James, what
the reverend Osborne told us.

He said that Robert
became very upset.

No, no, no, no.
It was more than that.

So, although we are here today
to mourn her departure,

we must also remember
what she left behind...

No... No!

"We must also remember
what she left behind."

What she had left behind
was a letter

which identified Robert
as the k*ller of his brother

all those years before.

It would have destroyed
his life in the village.

It would have ended,
Miss Sanderling,

his relationship with you.

- So, he tried to steal it.
- Exactly.

He broke into Pye Hall
the same night

in an attempt
to find the letter

before Sir Magnus returned
from his holiday.

But he couldn't open the safe.

That's why he faked
the burglary!

He stole the silver,
he got rid of it in the lake,

dropping the two pieces
that Brent later found.

Sir Magnus came home.

Robert arranged to meet him,

and we can imagine
what occurred.

But she was wrong, sir.
You've got to believe me.

But you thr*at her.

Half the village heard it.

And the very next day...

That wasn't me!

You wanted her d*ad.
You said so.

And everyone heard you.

I have to say, Robert,
I am sickened.

I think you ought to leave.

I believed in you,
tried to help you.

After that,
there was but one thing to do.

He returned to the study,

the incriminating letter,

at the same time transferring

some of Sir Magnus's blood
onto the page.

But in his haste,
he made an error.

On the desk,
I saw it at once.

A typed letter

in a handwritten envelope.

He b*rned the letter that
his mother had handwritten,

but he also b*rned
the typed envelope

the thr*at letter

that Clarissa Pye
had delivered,

leaving behind the envelope

with the handwriting I later
recognised as Mary Blakiston's.

Does this not tell you
a great deal

about the m*rder of Sir Magnus?

It's not what is written.
It is how it is written.

That is where the solution
can be found.

The same handwriting.

It told me almost everything
I needed to know.

Is this true, Robert?

It is, isn't it?

Oh, my God.

I did it for you.

For us.

What else could I do?
I love you.

I just wanted to be with you.

Better come with me.

I have to say, you were
on top form back there.

Ah, you're too kind.

No. Seriously.

It'll make for a bestseller.
I'm sure of it.

Is that what matters to you?

Not so much anymore.

I'm leaving publishing.

- I'm going to Crete.
- Oh.

I think you'll be happy there.

I hope so.

Do you know what happens to you
at the end of the book?

I knew it from the start.

I'm sorry.

Oh, there's no need to be.
There are eight books.

Nine now.

I'll not be forgotten.
At least for a time.

No, I mean,
I'm sorry because...

Well, I suppose it means
I won't see you again.

We have separate paths
to follow, Miss Ryeland.

I've asked you
not to call me that.

It's been a pleasure.

For me, too.

Goodbye, Atticus.

Goodbye, Susan.
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