01x09 - Assassins

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Lord Porchester?

This way, madam.

At the end of the bar.

- Hello. - Hello, Porchey!

- You found the place all right? - The taxi driver did, yes.

Of course. Wonderful.

Lord Porchester.

Ladies.

Is it just me, or is this place faintly ridiculous?

Two of my great hates in life, fine dining and central London.

I just thought it's the kind of special occasion place one came

if one had a special question to ask.

At this moment I wish I were a poet, not a horse-breeder.

Will you marry me?

Oh, Porchey.

- That sounds like a "no." - No, it's not a "no".

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no.

- That's... 12 no's. - I would love to.

On one condition.

That you don't still hold a torch for her.

Who?

Oh. Her.

I know how close you were, and how close your families still are.

It's true. She and I, we are close.

I was close to her father. I am close to her sister.

Our families are close.

In many ways, and I speak as a breeder myself, it would have been a good match.

- Perfect match. - I won't deny it.

Except for the fact it was never on the cards.

For her, there was only ever Philip.

And for you?

There's only you.

Lilibet?

Right you are, Jock. Yes, I'll let him know. Thank you.

I'm sure he'll be delighted. Bye.

Are you winning?

No. There was one, brief, tantalizing moment

when I thought I had it. I moved in for the k*ll.

But then one wrong brushstroke and it got away once again.

I've just been talking to Jock about your 80th birthday.

No, don't mention it.

Because it happens on the same day as the opening of Parliament,

they've decided to combine events

and hold a reception in your honor at the Great Hall.

Oh, that's very nice.

Oh, and it's going to be Graham Sutherland.

- Who? - The painter.

- To paint your portrait. - What portrait?

It's the official portrait commissioned by both Houses. It's your present.

Sutherland? Never heard of him.

He's got quite the reputation. He's a modernist.

Oh. Not sure I can trust a modernist with an English name.

Give me a German modernist. Or an Italian.

They're the ones who have to start all over again.

Whatever would an Englishman want to change?

It's grand to be home again after so long an absence.

The surgeon who operated on me told me yesterday that all was well.

I'll need to have a further period of convalescence, put on some weight,

but there is nothing else to worry about.

As I said, it's grand to be home again.

I look forward to being back at work just as soon as possible.

Thank you!

Thank you!

- Hello? - Porchey? I hope I'm not disturbing.

- Goodness. - Am I disturbing?

- No. - Good.

It's Aureole. I think we're making a mistake.

- I think we should lead from the start. - And I think you're wrong.

But we both know he doesn't hold up naturally.

We tried holding him up against Darius before. And Darius won.

That was the Guineas, which is a mile.

This is the King George. A mile and a half.

What will we do if he plays up before the race?

He always plays up. That's who he is.

You don't seem the slightest bit worried.

Anything else?

Well, can I just say one more time, for the record...

I think we should start fast, and run at a good clip.

- Noted. - I am right sometimes, you know.

Even you said yourself that I have good instincts.

You do. And I might well live to regret it.

- That, and a good many other things. - Oh, dear. Such as?

Good night.

Mr. Sutherland, Prime Minister.

- Good morning. - How do you do?

- Good morning, hello. How do you do? - Good morning.

- How do you do, sir? It's an honor. - No, no. The honor is mine.

So, where do you want me?

So, will we be engaged in flattery or reality?

Are you going to paint me as a cherub or a bulldog?

I imagine there are a great number of Mr. Churchills.

Yes, indeed there are.

Well, as you search for him,

perhaps I can implore you not to feel the need to be too accurate.

- Why? Accuracy is truth. - No. For accuracy, we have the camera.

Painting is the higher art. I paint a bit myself, you know.

Yes, sir, I know.

And I never let accuracy get in the way of truth if I don't want it to.

If I see some landscape I like,

and I wish there wasn't a factory in the background,

I leave the factory out.

So, Mr. Sutherland, tell me, I'm fascinated. What is your process?

First, I shall take some photographs,

they'll be useful as reference when I get back to the studio.

Then I shall do some charcoal sketches, studies of the head, the hands

and then I'll work those sketches up.

The actual painting up will be done in my studio at home.

- Is this... Do you mind? - Perfectly all right. Carry on.

Well, what pose are you thinking of?

Seated.

I could try standing? It might be more commanding. Dynamic.

It might make me look younger.

I thought the painting was supposed to celebrate reaching a certain age?

Four score years, Winston.

- I think seated is more senatorial. - Oh, senatorial.

What nonsense.

Yes, I agree.

Cigar or no cigar?

No cigar.

- Garter robes or no garter robes? - No finery.

No grandiosity.

Dressed merely as a parliamentarian.

How prosaic.

- I liked him. - Yes, I could tell.

You were smitten, blushing like a little girl.

- Well, he is rather a wow. - A "wow"?

Tall and handsome, saturnine. A bit of a Heathcliff.

He wants total control.

Well, any artist worth anything would insist on that.

- You don't really want a flatterer. - Yes, I do.

No, you don't.

Besides, it's manifestly clear he's a fan.

Oh, no, don't be silly. You can smell the socialism on him.

Even the socialists acknowledge you saved the country.

Through gritted teeth.

I have the protective instincts of a loving wife

and I can tell you this one is not an assassin.

Oh, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa. Look. Look at this.

It's Aureole, the Queen's Aureole, the Queen's horse, followed by...

Isn't he marvelous?

Isn't he clever?

You were absolutely... No.

No, he won.

You were absolutely right.

- He's so clever! - I know. I know.

- What a champion. - What a champion.

- Good boy. - Hello.

I remember getting the phone call from your father.

When he was born. By Hyperion and out of Angelola.

Yes, we gave him his first milk. Do you remember?

Watching him grow up, everyone thought his elder brother would be the star.

Your clever Papa always had an instinct for this one.

- He's the underdog. - And he backed him.

- And an underdog became a star. - Yes, and his favorite horse.

So, what's next for our champion?

Well, we have received an invitation to the Laurel International.

- America? - Yes, next month.

He's what, four? Already at the older end of the spectrum.

- If you were asking my opinion... - That is why I asked you here today.

My honest advice, I'd consider retiring him now.

At the top of his game.

The best middle distance horse in Europe, with a sky-high market value.

Let him earn you some proper money as a stud.

I'm surprised to hear you turning down the opportunity of going to America.

Why?

Well, that's where your girlfriend's from,

isn't it?

- Fiancé. - Fiancé? Goodness.

Who is she? Money, I hope. So you can keep up the stables.

- Actually, she's a Portsmouth. - Oh, dear. So no money.

Some money. But horse mad. Well, she'd have to be.

You'd approve, I think.

- Well, can I meet her? - If you promise you won't scare her.

- Why would I scare her? - You're the Queen!

- Only some of the time. - All the time.

And that makes you terrifying. And she's heard a lot about you.

- From whom? - From me. Some of it nice, too.

Oh, the one you let get away.

- What? - He's always carried a torch for you.

Porchey? Utter nonsense.

He told me himself. One night while in his cups.

That doesn't count.

When a man's had a drink, that's when the truth comes out.

No. That's when the nonsense comes out. Besides, we have interests in common.

Horses aren't an interest to you. They're a passion.

- A passion your husband doesn't share. - He has other passions.

So I hear.

- Sir. - Good morning.

The Foreign Secretary is here, sir. Shall I show him in?

No.

Not here.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

As apposite as ever.

I didn't mean it like that.

- There's ugliness in the air, Anthony. - I have nothing of beauty to say.

Then say what you must, deposit your ugliness and go.

I have more important things to do.

Very well.

At some point,

every leader must ask himself whether by staying in office,

he is giving to the country,

or taking from it. Helping or harming.

And I would suggest that for some time now,

you have been taking and harming.

And therefore I come to you, in the name of the party and of the country,

for the very last time, Winston,

- to bid you to stand down. - I will in good time. The right time.

The right time was nine years ago when you lost us the election.

And I have since avenged that defeat by winning us the last election.

I won us that, Winston! I won that!

People voted Conservative in the clear expectation

- that you would give way to me. - That is such rubbish!

They voted Conservative because they couldn't stomach socialism!

Inflation is out of control.

And with every misjudgment, with every miscalculation,

with every utterance you make,

that appetite to return to the left is growing!

Be careful, Anthony,

too much excitement is not good for one so soon after an operation.

Spoken by a man who only two months ago was effectively dead.

- Which makes two of us. - I have recovered.

That's not what I hear. I hear you are a shadow of your former self.

That when you walk, the pills rattle around inside of you!

I have something that you will never see again.

- A clean bill of health. - Stalin said the same.

He d*ed groveling on the floor!

Mr. Sutherland is here.

- Hello, Anthony. - Anthony was just leaving.

Hello, Clemmie.

Yes, I was... just leaving.

Here we are.

Morning.

- Morning. - Sir, this is my wife, Kathleen.

She assists me sometimes. I hope you don't mind.

Over here.

- What's that you're using? - Pencil.

Yeah. But which kind?

4B or 6B, not sure.

It's a 6B.

- And on what paper? - Drawing paper.

I favor heavy-weight cotton, cold pressed, deckle edged.

Sized with gelatin.

How many paintings does your husband complete in a year, Mrs. Sutherland?

Three or four.

Would you care to guess how many I average?

- Ten? 15? - 60!

Of course, I'm just a hobbyist, an enthusiast.

Not a major artist like your husband.

Taking his time.

Over here.

I did a little reading about you, Mr. Sutherland, after our last session.

- Did you? - Yeah. Quite interesting.

From what I read, this is all very new to you, this portraiture.

I don't think anyone starts out wanting to be a portraitist.

Yeah. But in your search for your métier, you've tried a bit of everything.

That's true. I came to painting quite late.

And now that you've found it, you'll never leave it, yes?

Yeah. I quite understand.

How is it, Mrs. Sutherland?

It has truth.

- Am I to be allowed a peek? - No.

Well, why not? I could give you advice.

After all, I know this face better than you do.

If you've made the neck too thick or the arms too long, I can tell you.

I find in general people

have very little understanding of who they are.

One has to turn a blind eye to so much of oneself in order to get through life.

And you see it as your responsibility to bring all that out into the open?

Certainly. The good as well as the bad.

Just concentrate on the good, and all will be well.

You're not just painting me, you know.

You're painting the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain

and Northern Ireland, and everything that great office represents.

Democracy. Freedom.

The highest ideals of government and leadership. Just remember that.

- Yes? - Lord Porchester, Your Majesty.

- Thank you. - Plug in.

- Porchey? - What a palaver.

- What is? - Getting through to you.

I picked up the phone to you just after nine this morning. It's now gone midday.

Oh, don't exaggerate. But, yes, I know, it is infuriating.

Fire away.

You asked me to come up with some figures for you with regard to Aureole.

Although I'm numerically dyslexic, runs in the family I'm afraid,

like the high forehead.

I have done the sums, see if this helps you with your decision.

In the course of his lifetime as a racehorse,

Aureole has made you just over 40,000 pounds.

Goodness.

But if you were to put him out to stud, he could make you far more.

He's a recognized champion, with a top-notch pedigree.

You could stand him at Wolferton Stud for top dollar.

Well, that's a decision then.

Good.

And in the meantime, I'll ask if I can get you a direct line.

- To you? - Yes, to me. Why?

Was there anyone else you wanted to speak to here?

- No. - Good.

What is it, "top dollar?" I need numbers.

- 400. - A pop? A sh*t?

Sorry, I'm trying to find a less onomatopoeic expression for...

- I know what it is. - A shag.

A cover.

- A cover? - Yes, that's the correct term for...

- A horse hump? - Yes.

So, what might you earn then over the course of the year?

Well, in one year alone, Aureole might cover 40 mares.

- Making about 16,000 pounds. - Good for him.

In the course of his lifetime at the stud, he might sire

500, 600 foals,

making me over 200,000 pounds.

Creating an entire generation of offspring.

- Yes. - Father to all the foals in our stables.

And any other stable that could afford him.

Yes.

Oh, I see, so in time, every horse out there

could somehow be related to Aureole.

- Yes, I suppose so. - Like old man Carnarvon.

Who?

Your friend Porchey's father.

- Porchey? - No, like I said, his father.

- Yes, they're both called Porchey. - Wasn't that the rumor?

- What rumor? - Well, that he'd had so many affairs,

an entire generation of British aristocrats was related to him.

An illegitimate "Porchey" in every great house in the land.

High foreheads everywhere.

- And numerical dyslexia. - What?

- Nothing. - What?

Nothing!

Michael!

Dear boy!

- Good night. - Good night.

Let me have a look at you.

- Marvelous. - Shall we?

Come on. You look beautiful.

- How is he? - Not too bad, sir. This way.

- Morning. - Morning.

- No wife this time? - No.

I asked her not to come.

Since this is to be our final session, I wanted us to be all alone.

- In silence preferably. - Yes. Yes. I'll be a good boy.

I quite understand the need for concentration.

Painting a picture is like fighting a battle. A bloody battle.

In the gladiatorial fight to the death, the artist either wins or loses.

- Are you winning? - I hope so.

Do you think I'll like it?

I think that's possibly too much to ask for.

But I do take comfort from the fact

that your own work is so honest and revealing.

Oh, thank you for the compliment.

Well, are there any works that you're referring to in particular?

I was thinking especially of the Goldfish pond here at Chartwell.

The pond? Why the pond? It's just a pond.

It's very much more than that.

As borne out by the fact that you've returned to it again and again.

More than 20 times.

Well, yes, because it's such a technical challenge.

- It eludes me. - Well, perhaps you elude yourself, sir.

That's why it's more revealing than a self-portrait.

Oh, that's nonsense.

It's the water, the play of light.

The trickery. The fish, down below.

I think all our work is unintentionally revealing

and I find it especially so with your pond.

Beneath the tranquility and the elegance and the light playing on the surface,

I saw honesty and pain, terrible pain.

The framing itself, indicated to me that you wanted us

to see something

beneath all the muted colors, deep down in the water.

Terrible despair.

Hiding like a Leviathan. Like a sea monster.

- You saw all that? - Yes, I did.

Perhaps that says more about you than me?

Mm-hmm.

Perhaps.

May I ask you a question, Mr. Sutherland?

Hmm.

It's about one of your paintings. The one you call "Pastoral."

With all that gnarled and twisted wood.

Those great ugly dabs of black.

I found something malevolent in it.

Where did that come from?

Well, that's very perceptive. That was a very dark time. My...

My son, John, passed away, aged two months.

Oh, my. I am sorry.

Yes. Thank you.

- You have five, yes? - Four.

Marigold was the fifth.

She left us at age

two years, nine months. Septicemia.

I'm so sorry. I had no idea.

We settled on the name Marigold,

on account of her wonderful golden curls.

The most extraordinary color.

Regretfully, but though perhaps mercifully,

I was not present when she d*ed.

When I came home, Clemmie...

roared like a wounded animal.

We bought Chartwell a year after Marigold d*ed.

That was when I put in the...

the pond.

Here.

Thank you.

Well, thank you.

It was a pleasure.

I look forward to seeing it.

- Hello. - Hello.

- Shall we? - Yes.

Given this is Aureole's debut, and we want to leave nothing to chance,

I've called up three different mares.

Very rarely does a forced tryst make a fruitful tryst.

If one wants the perfect foal,

one needs to be prepared to wait for the perfect pairing.

Shall we?

- Meet Neocracy. - Oh, the Aga Khan's horse.

- Indeed. - Yes.

Recently retired with a good record as a winner.

Lovely temperament, too.

My only concern would be,

- is she perhaps a little too... - Bashful?

I'm worried that if we left these two to it, nothing would ever happen.

Which is why I've also called up Turkish Blood.

- An altogether different proposition. - Indeed.

Strong, willful, with a terrific track record herself.

It really would be breeding the best with the best.

I'm sensing a "but".

From memory, your Aureole is something of a sensitive soul.

I'd hate him to be intimidated or come unstuck

when faced with a fiery warrior like this.

Very considerate of you, Porchey.

Which is why I have a good feeling about our third candidate.

Feast your eyes on Temple Bar.

A hot thoroughbred with a winning streak herself.

She's a little on the young side, perhaps.

Just three.

We don't mind that, do we?

- Immediate engagement. - Yes. I must say, I do like this one.

It would appear the feeling is mutual.

You're lovely.

Telegrams have been pouring into Downing Street today

to wish Sir Winston Churchill, a happy 80th birthday

on this the 30th of November.

They come from all...

Happy birthday, my darling old pug.

- Oh, is it time? - It is, Ma'am.

Right.

- Do sit down, Michael. - Thank you, Ma'am.

Westminster Hall, silent witness of nearly a thousand years of history,

was the scene of the birthday presentations to Sir Winston.

I am deeply honored to be here today.

No politician

has ever received such an honor before.

And I am deeply grateful.

I am aware, however,

that after having served my country,

for 54 of my 80 years...

"resignation"...

Is a word that hangs in the air.

And indeed, it is the perfect occasion for it,

and the stage is set and the audience is assembled,

all ready for a grand valediction.

There's only one problem, the lead actor has forgotten his lines.

And instead of standing down, he is taking an encore.

Oh, dear, he's playing with them all.

When your political colleagues are kind enough

to present you with a portrait by an ambitious modernist...

one has to ask oneself,

"Is it a gift, or is it a curse?"

Mr. Sutherland, the artist, and I

spoke a great deal during my sittings.

I reminded him of the stakes involved.

That his portrait was not just of me,

but of the office I represent.

Indeed, of our entire system of government.

So, at long last,

I look forward to unveiling this painting.

A fine, patriotic piece of modern art.

Why are you here?

I understand you've rejected the painting.

- I have. - On what grounds?

That is not a painting. It's a humiliation!

"How shall I paint him today?"

"Ah! Sitting on a chair, producing a stool."

"A broken, sagging, pitiful creature, squeezing and squeezing!"

- That's not how it's being seen. - That is how it is.

- And I will not accept it. - I don't think it's wise to reject it.

It was commissioned by the members of the joint Houses of Parliament

as a sign of respect.

Well, then they should have commissioned an artist who is respectful,

instead of a Judas wielding his murderous brush.

Look at it! It is a betrayal of friendship.

And an unpatriotic, treacherous,

cowardly as*ault by the individualistic left.

- As regards the friendship... - Clearly there is none.

I accepted this commission because I admired you

and I came through the experience admiring you even more.

You make monsters of everyone you admire?

It's not vindictive. It's art. It's not personal.

Well, you are a lost soul.

A narcissist without direction or certainty.

Please, sir. Don't overreact. Give it time.

I showed those sketches to your wife throughout.

- She remarked on how accurate they were. - That is the whole point.

It is not a reasonably truthful image of me!

- It is, sir. - It is not! It is cruel!

Age is cruel!

If you see decay, it's because there's decay.

If you see frailty, it's because there's frailty.

I can't be blamed for what is.

And I refuse to hide and disguise what I see.

If you're engaged in a fight with something, then it's not with me.

It's with your own blindness.

I think you should go.

He's right.

- What? - I am that man in the painting.

Wretched and decaying.

- I cannot go on. - You've said that before.

This time I mean it. I'm tired.

You've had enough?

I have, my love.

This time I really have.

Good.

Of course, I knew it was coming.

And if I'm being frank, there were one or two moments

when I might have even hoped for it, too.

Prayed, no doubt.

You really have been the most remarkable servant to your country.

- Thank you, Ma'am. - No, Winston, on behalf of us all...

thank you.

- And you wish for Mr. Eden to take over? - I do.

Well, that will make him happy.

For a day or two, he might even stop cursing me.

Then he will be overwhelmed by a job in which no man can ever succeed,

and curse me again for leaving it to him.

It might be an idea not to tell him that before he starts.

No, Ma'am.

So...

This is our last audience?

Yes.

However will I cope without you?

You will be fine, Ma'am.

I have nothing more to teach you. Which is why it's time for me to leave.

Your Majesty.

Stop.

Renaming London Airport?

I want something more personal for Winston.

What about dinner?

- Here? Or Buckingham Palace? - No, there.

- Downing Street? - Yes.

It would be quite the compliment. You and Philip go there for dinner.

I'll ask Philip.

- No, you'll tell Philip. - Mummy.

Dinner? Downing Street? Oh, God! Why not?

Is she a looker, do you think?

I mean, if I were a stallion, would I fancy her?

Attraction isn't so much about looks as smell.

- Oh, I see. Well, does she smell good? - Well, we'll see, won't we?

Come on. Come on.

Rather like us, darling, when we were courting.

- Gently, gently, come on. - Shh. Will you please be quiet?

- Yeah, look. There we go! - All right.

All right.

- Hold her steady. - Steady.

Oi, oi. I'll say.

Back off.

- Yes, there we go. - Good girl.

Good boy.

Is that it?

2,000 guineas for that?

As long as he's done what he needs to do, and it bears fruit, I don't mind.

Well done, Porchey!

Yes, indeed. Well done, Porchey.

I hear he's been given a direct line.

- Who? - Porchey.

So he can call straight in.

I know only because I tried to get one for Mike and was refused.

Yes.

On account of him not being a family member.

- Porchey is like family. - Is he?

Yes. Part of the furniture.

Well, as long as you don't sit on him anytime soon.

- Well, that all seemed to go well. - Yes, it did, didn't it?

Are you all right?

Mm.

- Can you leave us now, please? - Yes, Ma'am.

I have nothing to hide from you. Nothing.

Porchey is a friend.

And yes, there are those who would have preferred me to marry him.

Indeed, marriage with him might have been easier.

Might have even worked better than ours.

But to everyone's regret and frustration...

the only person I have ever loved is you.

And can you honestly look me in the eye and say the same?

Can you?

Pray silence for Her Majesty, the Queen.

My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Dear Winston and Lady Churchill.

My confidence in Sir Anthony is complete.

And I know he will lead the country on to great achievements,

but it would be useless to pretend that either he or any of those successors

who may one day follow him in office,

will ever, for me,

be able to hold the place of my first Prime Minister,

to whom my husband and I owe so much.

And for whose wise guidance, during the early years of my reign,

I shall always be so profoundly grateful.

Hear, hear!

I will remember you always for your magnanimity,

your courage at all times.

And for your unfailing humor.

Founded in your unrivalled mastery of the English language.

I take comfort from the fact, that in losing my constitutional adviser...

I gain a wise counsellor...

to whom I shall look for help and support...

in the days which lie ahead.

- May there be many of them. - Hear, hear.