Agatha Christie's Poirot

The Heart of Fire.

So it is.

Got a light?

Sure.

Have you seen this?

Corky!

Corks!

Where's Corks?

I thought you wanted me to call him Daddy.

Don't be facetious. Read that.

Some woman who was poor is now rich.

- What of it? - Katherine Grey!

She's my cousin! My first cousin!

Never heard of her.

No. Well, we never had a tremendous amount in common.

Why can't someone die and leave me half a million quid?

I'd spend it properly.

And all the right tradesmen would be rewarded and fulfilled.

And it'd all be lovely.

Darling Mummy.

You're always thinking of other people.

I think I should invite Katherine to come and stay.

Some Riviera sunshine might cheer her up.

If anyone asks me what I get from my mother,

I'll say shamelessness.

Pull your weight, darling, or that really will be all you get.

Good morning, madam. Take your bags?

Thank you, madam.

Is that him?

Oh, my God. That's him.

M. Poirot?

I'm really going to faint.

My daughter, you see, is a tremendous fan of yours.

Merci.

Mr. Poirot, Rufus Van Aldin.

I'm in oil… figuratively speaking.

Monsieur.

And I'm Ruth.

Or the Honorable Mrs. Derek Kettering

if I'm trying to book a table for lunch.

- You know the English. - Madame.

But I sincerely am a great admirer of your achievements.

So, today is my birthday.

Félicitations, madame.

I'm having a party tonight here.

Say you'll come or the evening will be ruined.

I'll kill myself. It'll be your fault.

Alas, madame, tonight I am busy.

Would you deny a girl a favor on her birthday?

Please!

You know it makes sense.

And of course a raging lesbian.

But Americans are famously maladroit

in their choice of wives.

I mean, look at Rufus Van Aldin.

Married some singer,

who promptly drank away her figure

and what little brain she possessed.

She clung on through the birth of the child

this one dancing,

and then bolted home to Buenos Aires.

Never heard of again.

Of course, received wisdom is… Van Aldin had her bumped off.

As I say that, he's looking straight at me.

Mesdames.

Isn't she fabulous?

Oh. M. Van Aldin.

Look at her go.

I see that you adore her.

To the brink of dementia, where she tends to keep me.

And to purchase for her a jewel of such magnificence

as the Heart of Fire.

Sharper than diamond, redder than blood.

I'm impressed. You clearly know your stones.

No. Centuries of passion and duplicity attend this stone.

Betrayal, murder.

Alors, it is a celebrity.

Getting the thing was certainly entertaining.

Drink for you, sir?

Merci.

Yes. Thank you.

There is something about that gentleman that displeases you?

I see no gentleman.

I see Derek goddamn Kettering.

My goddamn gold-digging son-of-a-bitch son-in-law.

You know I'm crazy about you, Ruth.

We're all crazy about you.

Some of us are just crazy.

You're embarrassing me.

You're aristocracy now, darling.

You don't get embarrassed.

You set the tone.

Why do women do it, Poirot?

Leave their damned brains in neutral

when the bad guys start to sweet talk?

Why couldn't she have married

some straight-up-and-down dullard

who'd take care of her, for God's sake?

Like Knighton.

Knighton?

Ah. My secretary, Major Knighton.

This is Poirot.

M. Poirot.

What a pleasure it is to meet you.

And you, Major.

Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.

I called you dull, Knighton. I apologize.

I was just trying to make a point.

Oh, I've been called worse, sir.

Usually by you.

Card.

Card.

Can't you hear me, damn you?

Loud and clear, old boy. I'm just anxious on your behalf.

You do owe me rather a lot of money.

Are you going to furnish me with the required bloody card

or aren't you?

Thank you! Bust! Sod it!

Another hand.

It may be your style

to kick a fellow when he's down, Kettering, but it isn't mine.

I've never heard such bum-faced donkeyness in all my life.

Of course it's your style.

Deal the cards.

You're drunk.

My dear Count,

to sit gazing at you for any length of time,

drunkenness is absolutely mandatory.

Deal the bloody cards.

Merci.

Merci.

Uh, please, do excuse me.

Mademoiselle, may I congratulate you

on a choice most excellent of the Bourgogne.

Whenever dine here, I choose this.

Oh!

Bon.

Merci.

Please do forgive me.

That was presumptuous in the extreme.

Not at all.

It's obvious that I'm grotesquely out of place here.

Au contraire, mademoiselle.

You fit this surrounding but to perfection.

Permit me to introduce myself.

Hercule Poirot.

Katherine Grey.

Mademoiselle.

Mm.

Well, this is nice.

Derek, tomorrow morning,

my daughter's going to file for divorce.

Is Ruth at all aware that this is what she's going to do?

Because I'm not sure she'd be entirely thrilled.

I'll pay you £100,000.

Is that your best offer?

That's my only offer.

Well, old boy…

I'll tell you what.

Why don't you take your loose change

and shove it up your dreary colonial ass?

Well, this has all been frightfully amusing.

But my wife will be wondering where I've got to.

She's off to Nice, did you know?

Might be an idea for me to tag along.

Could, uh, perk up the old nuptials.

If you contest the action, I warn you now,

I can get documentary evidence of infidelity.

Hers, undoubtedly.

Not mine.

I'm afraid the old chap's been hors de combat

ever since I started drinking scotch for breakfast.

And that was a long time ago.

Get the hell out of here!

Willingly.

Oh!

Marvelous party.

One day, there I was in the back of beyond,

looking after a cantankerous rich old lady.

Next day, I'm one myself.

No, no, no, no, no. I dispute "old."

But it is curious, monsieur.

When someone who's never had much money

and never much cared suddenly comes into a lot,

then crowds of relatives one's never been particularly aware of

all start being terrifically hospitable.

No. You do yourself the grave disservice to say such a thing.

I'm serious.

Lady Tamplin, a cousin of mine

I've met once, I think, in my adult life,

has invited me to stay at her house on the Riviera.

Ah.

Hence all this.

I thought I'd better have a day or two in London to mug up,