Bookish

You mean everything to me. What the hell was that?

Love Lord in London. Scene 28, take three.

I hope we did the right thing letting those people into the lane.

Film struck girl. Inspector dead. I've shut down filming for the time being.

What do we know about this film? Stuart Howard. He and Sandra have bound

their careers together, the nation's sweethearts. Then there's the Honorable

Jesse Mckendendrick. You're the director

and the writer. What about Billy? Someone is trying to

kill me.

Strictly. Drop it. It's poison.

Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?

Take your ready pick. When are we going to tell him?

Not yet.

It's one of the extras.

It's Narina Bean.

You still rolling, Sandra? Yeah.

And action.

Oh no. God, I'm so sorry, Jesse. Um, can I beg 10 minutes? The sigy will sort me

out. Cut there.

Scene 49. Take nine.

Action. It was then I knew we had fallen in love.

Kill the sound, please. Can we stop the film and take a proper

look? No, we burn in the projector. I think

the difference is pretty obvious. You'll see in just a moment.

Here comes the post.

Oh gosh, I see what you mean. He's lost 6 in just while Sandra D went off for a

gas per. So between takes 8 and 9, Nina Bean gets

her screen break. An hour later, is that right?

Well, certainly no more than two. She's on the cutting room floor. Well,

the bottom of the basement steps. I know who he is, the postman.

You do? He was down the line yesterday.

I see him in the yard just now. Would you be so kind?

Yep.

Gosh, she hit that step with tremendous force.

Too hard for an accident, do you think? Did she fall

or was she pushed?

Heat. Heat.

Heat. Heat.

I think John Mills has lovely hair and his nails always looks so neat.

Riveting stuff this, Mrs. B. Well, Book thinks there's something here.

A clue. We like those. Many names coming up a lot. Regular

correspondents. Name and address supplied is a very

reliable contributor.

I try to give myself a mole like Margaret Lockwood. And now mom says I

look like a tart.

Hang on. I've seen a letter from this one before.

Signed Basilisk.

If only we could step through the screen.

Romance of the pictures is really getting to, isn't it?

It's not that. Beyond a door, behind that set, there's a flight of stairs

where I think Narina Bean is already dead.

Do you think this is linked to the poison girl?

Special delivery. Your postman Bart Masterson.

Kurt Masterson. Normally I I do landlords.

I seen a glass pushed in a bloke's face and I've laughed. See?

Very good. Robert Newton should watch his back. But you're not auditioning

now, Mr. Masterson. We're investigating the unfortunate death that took place

here last night. The second one in this production, in fact, after Miss Barbara.

Markham and two looks like carelessness. Who's though? Are you the police?

Inspector Bliss is the police. Hello.

I'm just helping them with their inquiries. With the fiddly bits. Now,

Kurt Masterson, not your real name. How did you know?

You went home early last night, Mr. Masterson. Why?

Well, I was made an offer I couldn't refuse, wasn't I? I knew the lady,

Narina Bean. I read a column. I always do. She gave me a fiverr just to borrow

the uniform. Mine said she would go on for me and no one would clock it.

Now, why would she want to pose as you? She said she was writing a story.

The poisonous secret at the heart of Loveless in London.

Love Lawn. Something like that. She wasn't

specific, but she said she needed one last bit of proof. I didn't think

nothing of it. I was barely in the shot. You sell a lot of stories to the press,

do you, Mr. Masterson, about actors here?

No. Well, nothing nasty. Just whether they

like mink or or feathers or where they drink

or how much. All right. Thank you. We'll come and get

a statement from you. That's it. That's it.

I was a red herring before. Once Arthur wantner tapped his pipe and looked all

obedient at me, but I never done it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong

time. Right. Thank you.

Why was she here though, Narina? Why go to the trouble of bribing him and

putting on his costume? The extra security. She can just hang

around in a lane, could she? So, I suppose she needed a disguise.

Title of that article. Maybe she was on to the poisoner,

so she had to go. What's that?

Something I noticed. Backwards impression on Narina Bean's hand in ink

was something she was holding. Evidently, she was sweating, whether

from the exertion of going up the stairs or the heavy costume.

And reversed it reads.

Taiwins. Taiwin.

Taiwins. Two twins. Hardly. More likely the fragment of two

words, wouldn't you say? I uh better get back to work. Work.

I'm standing in for Stuart. It's not a profit trade, you know.

Yeah. Like being a part-time detective.

What's up with him?

H me.

She's dead. You saw her? She was at the bottom of the stairs like

a broken doll. Oh god, how awful. I mean, she was

awful, but still. How awful.

If it was murder, there'll be a lot of suspects.

Half the British film business. All of it.

It's true. Everybody hated her. You hated her.

What did you do last night? Had a drink with that boy. Nice kid. Went to bed

early. Did some film star duties. No.

Yes. You know, signing photos, answering questions from fans. What's your ideal

night out? What you like for breakfast? You were just shooting here.

Yes. Dude, take off to take simple stuff, really.

How many stars have sat here like me watching the creases grow? The hair

thin, the flesh droop, the chins.

I met a man once. He was an astronomer. Now, he knew about the stars, the real

ones. I mean, did you know that the stars that we see in the sky aren't

really there? Most of them anyway. It takes so long for the light to reach us

that they're just echoes, ghosts,

just a memory of what was once there. Christ, darling. But some of those stars

don't go quietly or know towards the end or later in life shall we say they get

bigger bigger stew. They give out more and more light and heat till nothing can

eclipse them. Nothing. I don't want to go quietly. I want to

burn light up the town like I used to explode.

Boom.

The chocolates were injected in one of these. So why have you got one?

Well, it's hardly a secret, is it? Diabetic, aren't I? Everyone knows that.

Interesting. So, anyone could have gained access to this, for instance.

Well, you might have done it yourself. Why the hell would I have wanted to

poison M? Well, that's just the thing, Sunny Jim.

M wasn't the target. Then who was

her fianceé? Yes. Puts a rather different complexion

on things, doesn't it? Mr. Howard fired you, didn't he?

Yeah. Yeah, but not till after the chocolate.

Yeah, but he treated you badly. You were his whipping boy.

You need to develop a fixed skin in this business. Inspector, I've dealt with

bigger egos than Stuart Howard. Believe me, if I'd wanted to get my own back,

I'd have pissed in his tea, not poisonous chocolates.

And then there's the late Miss Narina Bean.

Yeah, well, she was a right old man. Mustn't speak ill of the dead.

She have anything on you? Like what?

You can account for your movements last night, can you?

Shot right through. Right.

No coffee breaks. Yes, of course. Coffee breaks.

So, theoretically, you could have pushed Narina Bean down the stairwell, couldn't

you? Yeah. Well, theoretically, I could have

won the pools and rung up Veronica Lake for a date, but I didn't.

What's this? Tomorrow's pink page. Rewrite. Mr. The Mckendendrick's rewrite

of scene 34. Just a little one, but in this business, the details matter,

inspector. You don't want actors bumping into the furniture.

I'm a details man myself.

Yeah, I'm terrible at the pictures, isn't me? Yeah. I I I always know who

done it straight off. Every takes the marrow out of Mrs. Bliss, but as I

always say to her, the why is the thing. So why not take her to a western?

Watch all those cowboys getting shot in the chest and falling forwards.

Don't think so. You ever get home, Billy? If I try hard,

Mr. Book, I can remember the daylight. Can I go now? Well, we'll need to get

this tested for incident for strict mean

basilisk. Hey, ring any bells.

Baselisk. Norah and I have spent most of the

morning dredging through your back issues.

My head swimming and we'd finally found what we were

looking for. A Sandra Dare fan who wrote to picture goer a lot. This one is from

2 years ago. For looks, talent, and sheer screen charisma, no one can

compete with the divine Miss Dare. There's loads like that. In her latest

picture, the 43-year-old star elevates the art of acting to great heights. But

why she's wasting her time sharing the screen with Stuart Howard, I will never

know. A mumbling, sloppy eyed fop. Oh, and here's another. A year later, the

public's infatuation with Darren Howard is beyond me. Miss Dare should be

striking out alone, not saddling herself with this talent less whippers snapper.

Of course, there is always difficulty when one reaches for the stars, but the

difficulty as I see it is Stuart Howard, and there's a lot more like that in the

same vein. An all signed basilisk. I see.

Well, they obviously didn't like Stew. You think they might be the one who sent

the chocolates? I don't know. Is it too much of a

stretch to go from disliking a film star to sending them strictly?

Sometimes the discussions can get very heated at the meetups.

Meetups? Oh yeah. We meet up and have chats and that. Sometimes the studio

will send a star down to open a fate or something. That's how I first met

Barbara. And you've never come across this basilisk?

Now, how would I know if they never used

their real name?

Anything? Mr. Howard's room's as bare as George Zucko's paint.

Oh, what about mist? Same

probably.

Who's next?

Soundproofed naturally. Now, we know your movements last night,

Mr. McKenzie. I should think so. Director never has a

moment to themselves. In the tea break, I went to my office. Just a minor change

for tomorrow. A pink page. Yes,

you can check with my secretary. These stairs, where do they lead? Uh,

prop store, offices. It's a warrant in this place. Film vault down there. Nice

place. If you like asbestos, the treasures of British cinema.

Not really. No. What then?

Well, a film opens in Leicester Square, then it goes out across the country,

then to the second runous in the flea pits, and when it's so scratched that

every scene looks like it's happening in Antarctica, it comes here.

Back home. It's taken to the tank. The tank? What happens there?

It's put out of its misery. It's dissolved in sodium hypocchlorite. Why

back here are the fumes, Mr. Book? The fumes.

In goes some old tat starring a terrible provincial comic. And out comes

something useful. Waterproof paint and silver halite. What an odd little

cottage industry. It's valuable. More valuable than what's

on the films themselves. Seems a lot of effort to go to.

No, it's a simple process. The chemical solution does the work.

No, I mean making a motion picture, you know, stars and the lights, you know,

and shooting all those scenes and then just to melt it all down for scrap.