Fleming (2014): Season 1, Episode 1 - Episode #1.1 - full transcript

You bastard!

You nearly gave
me a heart attack.

What if you'd missed?

Who says I didn't?

Murdering your wife
on your honeymoon.

I doubt even you could
talk your way out of that.

I don't know.

How much longer?

I know what you're doing.

Can't bear
the thought of being married,

so you're taking it out
on that poor, bloody machine.



Charming.

This Bond fellow,

I don't like him one bit.

He's a sadistic brute.

I thought that was your type.

So, what's the verdict?

Pornographic, pure and simple.

I'm glad you like it.

I thought of
dedicating it to you.

You couldn't
possibly be serious.

Come on,
it's not bloody literature.

It's a pot boiler.
Just words, nothing more.

Make believe.

Really?



Is that why he has
your golf handicap
and taste in vodka?

He's not me.

You as you would like to be.

Your fantasy.

Is that who he is?

Not exactly.

Not in the way
you're thinking.

So who is he?

Come on!

Come on, Ian, for God's sake.

Go on.

Ian!

You silly bugger.
You could have been killed.

You know me, one foot in the
cradle, the other hurtling
towards the grave.

Oh, is that another
of your pick-up lines?

Needs a little work.

Besides,
you can't do splits forever.

Really? Why not?

Look about you.

Things are changing.

We can't take him seriously,
surely.

For God's sake,
Ian, this isn't a game.

You'd know all
about it, of course.

Don't be so childish.

- Mr. Fleming?
- Yes.

- The one who wrote this?
- "Brazilian Adventure".

That's him.

- Would you mind?
- Of course.

To Muriel.

I've read all your books.
"Travels in Tartary",
the one about China.

Do you really
have such adventures?

Just back from Manchuria.

We're having a little party in
our cabin later,
if you'd care to join...

He's married to a film star.

I'm not.

Oh!

Terribly sorry.

Don't mention it.

I do hope to see
you both again.

- Just back from Manchuria?
- Well, it's true.

Thank you.

Hello?

Hello, Mr. Fleming,
it's Janet from the office.

I'm glad you called, actually.
I've got a terrible...

...terrible migraine.

Yeah, I'm just going over
some figures actually at home.

Ouch! Will you stop it?

I thought I should remind you,
in case you were
otherwise engaged.

You have a lunch appointment
with a client.

Oh, really? Which one?

You only have the one.

Oh, I see, yes, that one.
Okay.

Will you tell
him I'm on my way?
Thank you.

Goodbye.

You are going to get me fired.

Ow!

Ow!

You said you would wake me.

I'm late.

I got to be at
the Embassy Club for one o'clock

Work, work, work.

Is it all you
ever think about?

Viscount Alford.

Mmm.

Good to see you.

I wish I could say the same.

So, how is my account?

- Good, good.

Truth is, I'm really on to
something, but I can't say
too much about it.

Top secret.

What I can say is
Bulgarian silver.

We're both men of the world,
Fleming.

I remember Val once told me,

"John,
what's most important in life
is family, above all else."

Now, I don't
pretend you think of me
as a father figure.

Nevertheless,
I flatter myself that,
since Val's passing,

I've been there
with your mother.

Fleming,
are you even listening to me?

Fleming!

Are you even listening
to what I'm saying?

Yes, avidly.

I will not stand by,

while you fritter away
my family's fortune.

Come on,
why don't we sleep on it,
see how we feel...

No. Sorry,
Fleming, my mind's made up.

You might want to consider
if this is really
the career for you.

Since, in my estimation,
you're quite easily the worst
stock broker in London.

Good day.

Excuse me.

Whose account is this on? His?

- Yes, sir.
- Jolly good.

# I'll be glad
when you're dead,
you rascal, you

# You rascal, you

# I'll be glad when you dead,
you rascal, you

# You rascal, you

# When you're dead and gone
then you'll leave my man alone

# I'll be glad
when you're dead,
you rascal, you

# You rascal, you

# You've done had
my man long enough,
you rascal, you #

Martini.

Three measures of Gordon's,
one vodka, half a Kina Lillet,

shaken not stirred,
served in a champagne goblet.

Perfect.

Oh, look.

Hello, darling.
What are you doing
in this hell hole?

Have you two met?

In a manner. Not formally.

This is Ann.
Lady O'Neill to her friends.

Meet the most
handsome man in London,
Mr. Ian Fleming.

Fleming? Peter's brother?

Do you write too?

I collect.

What exactly?

Things that take my fancy.

Expensive hobby.

You'd be surprised.

Some things are much cheaper
than they look.

Isn't that right, Lil?

Ann collects too,
only with her
it's not books, it's people.

I get
the impression Mr Fleming
thinks he's collectable.

Are you?

I'll let you be the judge.

I shall think of you
as
a little-known first edition.

Somewhat bumped
and more than a little foxed.

Never mind her.
Better luck
next time, darling.

# You rascal, you #

Are you all right?

Not especially.

Had a bad day.

Well, actually, a bad year.

In fact, the whole decade
has been a bloody disaster.

- Well, that's a shame.
- But I live in hope.

Especially when I
see a pretty face.

Well, go on, cheer me up.

Haven't we met?

We have now.

Muriel. My friends call me Mu.

Muriel?
I don't like that one bit.

Mu's even worse.

I shall call you Honey Top.

Kitzbuhel, on the train.

- Yes, you're Ian.
- Yes.

The lesser Fleming.

Mmm.

I'm awfully hungry all of a
sudden. Why don't you
come back to my flat?

I'll cook us something to eat.
I'm a terribly good cook.

- Are you?
- Yes.

Hello. Who's this oaf?
Is he with you?

My brother.

Oh, pleasure.

- Stay away from Mu,
understand?

Next time,
I'll horse whip you.

Ian!

Are you hurt?

What a stupid bloody question.
What does it look like?

Perfect end to
a perfect bloody day.

Oh, I'm so ashamed.

He's such a horrible thug.

Sometimes I can't believe
we're actually related.

Oh, I give up.

I do hope you're
not in too much pain.

I'm sure I'll survive.

Perhaps you can help me
take my mind off things.

Perhaps I can.

- I'm coming.

No, no, no. I don't want that.

Nonsense, of course he does.
It's an Augustus John.

What happened to your eye?

Could you come back
in an hour or so?

-It's not
especially convenient.

I'm your mother,
it's always convenient.

Well, perhaps we
should come back later.

I think Ian's been celebrating
something or other, as usual.

Oh, I see you bought some new
etchings for your collection.
God!

It's a first edition.

Glad to see my money is being
so well spent.

Now, sit down and listen.

Can I get you something?
A gin?

I said, sit down.

Come on, Ian.
Let's all just have a chat.

Well, come on then.

Let's have it.
Who wants to start?
My darling brother?

Lancy Hugh Smith called me
yesterday.

He wants to know why his firm
should continue to employ you.

You have been a great
disappointment to me.

You came into life with
the best advantages and
prodigious opportunities.

Which you have wantonly
squandered, unlike your...

Dear brother Peter,

who remains a credit to his
late father's memory.
Shall I go on?

I've heard it
a thousand bloody times.

We've all heard it
a thousand times.

The point this time is to
bloody sit down and listen.

Oh, fuck off.
Stop telling me what to do.

I'm fed up with this
sanctimonious nonsense from
saint bloody Peter.

I disappoint you, do I? Good.

I disappoint myself.

Well,
feeling sorry for yourself
won't help.

If only you'd
really known your father.

Oh, God.
Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy.

I am not my father.

I'm not my brother,
nor do I have any
intention of being.

So, as of today,
I officially give up trying.

So, what exactly are you?

Fucked if I know.

Perhaps this is
the time to find out.

There's a war coming.

Oh, we all know
who the hero will be.

Is she polishing
your medals already?

Don't be so childish.
We're trying to help.

Who knows,
could be the making of you.

Hello.

- This is, um...
- Muriel Wright.

Friends call me Mu.

I've heard so much about you,
Mrs. Fleming.

So nice to meet you.

If you want me
to join the army,
you seem to be forgetting

I've been thrown
out once already.

You resigned.

- For God's sake.
- You made me.

Do I have to remind you
why? You had gonorrhoea.

I suppose that was
her fault as well.

You seem to be
making my point for me.

There must be
something you can do.

It's not like you
don't have skills, talents.

You certainly have
an extraordinary imagination.

Yes, well, next time the war
office wants a fantasist,
first class,

please do let me know.

I'm their man!

Well, that went well.

I think your mother loved me.

Hmm.

Looks like you're getting
a kick out of those.

I'll show you some more,
if you behave yourself.

Will you?

I'm a collector.

Taxi.

Thank God his father
never had to
see him like this.

I shall have to have a word
with you-know-who.

Who?

Oh, you know. Winston.

Hello?

Hello?

Yes, speaking.

Yes, when shall we meet?

Thursday.

Yes, thank you. Cheerio.

- Do you mind?
- What was all that about?

None of your business.

Something important actually.

- Work?
- No.

Another woman?

I said something important.

I believe you have
something for me.

How do I know I can trust you?

You don't.

But here we are.

Heil Hitler.

There must be some mistake.
My name is Ian Fleming.

My brother is Peter Fleming,
the author.

My father was Conservative MP
for Henley, for God's sake.

Have a seat, Mr. Fleming.

We know a lot
about you, Mr. Fleming.

A very great deal.

You smoke custom-made
Morland's Cigarettes

blended from three
Turkish tobaccos, correct?

We also know you spend
far more than you earn.

You were expelled from Eton,
had to resign
from Sandhurst...

Fascinating.

What is the point?

We also know you
speak fluent German

and made repeated trips
to both Germany and Austria.

We know you interviewed
Goebbels in June, 1933.

For Reuters.

It was my job.

Was?

I thought you knew everything.

I quit.

They offered me Shanghai.

The wage was an insult,
barely enough to
cover my opium.

Anything else?

We also know you
flat at 22 Ebury Street
belonged to Sir Oswald Mosley,

and was used for meetings
by the British
Union of Fascists.

They debated "the
Jewish question".

Earlier today you visited
a known Nazi sympathiser

from whom you
bought a first edition
of Hitler's Mein Kampf.

You think I'm a Nazi.

Are you?

I collect first editions.

He gave it to you
for a knock-down
price. Why would he do that,

unless you were
a Nazi fellow traveller?

Because I told him
rather an elaborate lie.

Indeed.

That it was to replace a copy
which your client,

a Nazi-sympathising member
of the Cabinet,
had given to the King.

It was a load of
bloody nonsense.

Look, I'm not a Nazi,
so what exactly are
you accusing me of?

My name is
Admiral John Godfrey,
Director of Naval Intelligence.

Your name came down to us
from Winston Churchill.

Your fluent German, your
travels, all this cloak
and dagger stuff,

it shows imagination.

A healthy
disregard for authority.

Frankly, you remind me of me.

I think you have potential.

Cheer up, Mr Fleming,
I'm not accusing
you of anything.

I'm about to offer you a job.

Lunch?

So do you think
you might be interested?

You want me to be a spy?

Not exactly.

My assistant.

More an admin
role than anything,
but you get a uniform.

I see.

I'm sorry to be blunt,

but a Naval salary?

All that saluting.
It's not my thing.

-Thank you, but no thanks.
-Please sit down.

Mr. Fleming,
we're on the brink of war.

And Naval Intelligence
is stuck in the Dark Ages.

Unless we take
radical measures,

the Swastika will be flying
over Downing
Street next Christmas.

I want someone from
outside the system.

Someone with
the guts to play dirty.

And I think you
need someone like me.

Now, do we have a deal?

Report for duty
in a week Monday.

And, in the meantime,
I suggest you bone up as
much as you can.

- Esmond.
- John, how are you?

Hello.

You know Rosaline,
don't you? She's...

- Hello.
- Hello.

You turn up everywhere.

Like a bad penny.

Esmond says you're a bad boy.

A black sheep.

Well, that depends

on how much you
trust your sources.

Esmond's very well informed.

He was wrong about Hitler.

His newspaper was
flirting heavily
with the little chap.

Does he know
there's a war coming?

Esmond says
there will be no war.

I'm sure Esmond would rather
your husband
remain at the front.

Wouldn't he?

Do not presume to
judge us, Mr. Fleming.

I would do anything to have
my husband home
and out of danger.

The truth is we
could all be killed
at any moment.

- A bomb could just...
- Not if you take precautions.

I moved in here.

The best bomb
shelter in London.

And the worst sole meuniere.

You'll have to pay a visit.

Excuse me.

NEVILLE CHAMBERLAIN ON RADIO:
This morning,

the British
Ambassador in Berlin

handed the German Government
a final note,

stating that, unless
we heard from
them by 11 o'clock

that they were
prepared at once

to withdraw their
troops from Poland,

a state of war
would exist between us.

I have to tell you now

that no such undertaking
has been received

and that, consequently,
this country is at
war with Germany.

Now, may God bless you all,

and may He defend the right,

for it is evil things
that we shall be
fighting against,

brute force, bad faith,

injustice,
oppression, and persecution,

and against them I am certain

that the right will prevail.

WOMAN 1: Hello, Room 39.

WOMAN 2:
Yes, sir.
Can I ask who is calling?

WOMAN 3:
Have you cross checked it
with the original?

WOMAN 4:
No, I think I'll do that.

Excuse me, is there...

No. Not now.

You must be Fleming.

Second Officer Monday.

- What a pleasure.
- I'm Admiral
Godfrey's secretary.

Yes, yes.

So, what has the old boy
told you about us?

Not much.

- I've done some reading.
- Excellent.

Signal codes?

No.

Buchan, Kipling.

Hmm, I suppose that's a joke.

Shame, I was hoping
you'd last longer
than the others.

And already we're
off on the wrong foot.

We need information.

Signals,
reports, charts, maps.

If the Nazis
develop the torpedo,
we need details.

But, firstly, we need order.

Our left hand doesn't know
what our right hand's doing.

Not to worry,
I'm good with my hands.

Another joke.

This isn't going well,
in case you're wondering.

Signals are in this tray here.

Charts are on
that table over here.

And here we have
aerial photography.

Counter-intelligence,
I'll let you deal
with personally.

Is that clear?

Very.

A ladies' man.

Oughtn't you be
addressing the troops?

My name is
Commander Ian Fleming.

My name is
Commander Ian Fleming!

Excellent.

Now that I've
got your attention,
let's sort this mess out.

My name is
Commander Ian Fleming.

From now on,
everything for the Admiral
goes through me.

Well, hello,
I didn't
recognise you in uniform.

I imagine you've been trying
to forget me after
the other morning.

Actually I was
hoping I'd bump into you.

Were you?

Fancy a nightcap?

Well, what do you think?

Don't know.
I can't work him out.

He's a puzzle.

He may turn out
to be a bloody disaster.

I suppose if he can keep
his hands to himself.

How fast does this thing go?

You asked for it.

Is it always like this?

Like what?

This.

Now that you've had your fun,

I might as well not exist.

Of course you exist.

We just made love in a manner
wholly
inconceivable without you.

That is not what I mean.

I'm falling in love with you
and I bloody
well wish I wasn't.

I suppose you
want me to buy you
flowers and chocolates

and whisper sweet nothings.

I'd like to be more than a toy
you occasionally use for sex.

- But you're so good at it.
- I'm serious.

Come on now.

I should go

before you bloody
well break my heart.

- He said not to disturb him.
- He'll want to hear this.

We've just
had some great news.

For God's sake, Fleming,
don't you ever knock?

We captured two Nazi officers.

U-boat Commanders.
This one, Klaus Von Ostheim,

I bloody well know him.

Naval attache in Vienna.

Couldn't take his drink,
poor chap.

Threw up all
over Maud Ponsonby.

Leave interrogation to SIS,
it's not your job.

- With respect...
- Just drop it!

What else has come in?

This is my own file.

Fifty one ideas
to fool the Nazis.

- Give me one.
- Well, I thought
we could set a trap.

Send a dead body to
get washed ashore.

A complete fake identity
packed full of all
sorts of information.

A sort of double
bluff on the Germans.

Well, you'll like this one.

You know the Frisian Islands?

Deserted, wonderful views
of the shipping routes.

Well, I thought I
and a radio operator could...

Wait. You?

Yes, and a radio operator
could get dropped off,

dig ourselves a hole,

and observe U-boat movements
by periscope.

What are you going to eat
in this hole of yours?

Oysters?

It might've been the oysters
that set him off.

Shame.

Some of those
ideas had potential.

He's bloody well wrong,
you know.

Those chaps would
know everything.

They're high-ranking Nazi
officers, U-boat Commanders,
for God's sake.

It's just a question
of getting them talking.

The old boy said to drop it.

You're not going to, are you?

They're probably in a prison
of war camp somewhere.

I doubt those brutes in the
SIS have got their
hands on them yet.

Then I have a plan.

Oh, Muriel,
I know, I know, I know.

Mu, I was a beast.

That's why I want
to make it up to you.

I don't think you can,
I'm fed up with you.

- How about lunch, hmm?
- Well...

One o'clock?

- Maybe.
- Good.

Where are those bloody passes?

Gentlemen, we really must
get you some new clothes.

Stop it.

Is this your
idea of an apology?

Think of England.
To my noble brother officers.

Chin, chin.

Get that down the hatch,
old boy.
That's it.

Not so noble now,
I'm just another
prisoner of war.

Mind you, if you hadn't
managed to avoid those mines
we left down the Skagerrak,

well, we wouldn't
be sitting here now.

Thank God you're alive.

Oh, I see.

Afternoon, gentlemen.

Care to join us?

You disobeyed an order.

You explicitly went
against my instruction!

Whose side are you on,
you imbecile?

Or don't you even care?

I thought a spot of lunch
and a few bottles of Riesling

might draw the Germans out.

"Draw them out?"

I'll tell you who it drew out,
half of Scotland Yard.

Special Branch thought a ring
of Nazi spies were
in the Grill Room.

War is not some entertainment
laid on for your amusement.

I've had the Second Sea Lord
on the phone for an hour,

demanding your dismissal.
I have half a mind
to give it to him.

There's something
you're not telling me,
what is it?

They did let something slip.

What?

Those mines in the Skagerrak,
they were never
going to hit them.

They knew all about them.

They'd found the plans,
plans from one of
our field offices.

How the hell did they do that?

What exactly
are our procedures
for evacuating a field office?

- We don't have any.
- Christ.

You'd better draw some up.

I take it that means
the lunch was on expenses.

Nazi secrets don't come cheap.

You've got a bloody nerve.

I happen to know
they pinched you
before you paid the bill.

Good work, Fleming.

But try this again,
I'll have your
guts for a necktie.

Is that understood, Fleming?

Yes.

"Yes, sir."

My father once said there are
only two people you
should call "sir",

God and the King.

Personally, I have
some doubts about the King.

Get out of my sight.

Well, it won't be boring.

- What won't?
- Life,

- with you around.
- Not if I can help it.

How are you fixed
for dinner tonight?

Best behaviour tonight,
Monday,
all right?

No dancing on tables.

Really?

You might get away with
that sort of thing
at the Admiralty.

This is
a classier establishment
altogether.

Evening.

What exactly
is this concoction?

Never you mind.

Come on, drink up
before we both die of old age.

Fleming,
that is so strong.

Nothing you
can't handle, Monday.

Are you trying
to get me drunk?

Would I?

This is so nice. I can't think
of the last time
I was taken out.

Are you all right, sir?

Yes.

I'm just going
to powder my nose.
Excuse me.

Would you excuse
me for a moment?

Excuse me.

Ladies and gentlemen, please
make your way
calmly to the cellars.

My apologies
for the disturbance.

No need for alarm.

Please follow the usual drill.

What are you doing?

Are you mad?

You followed me.

That's the game, isn't it?

For you,

maybe.

Esmond's waiting.

Can't you hear the sirens?
We should go.

False alarm.

Bloody fool.

That's not how
we play this game.

Tell me you don't want me.

Tell me,

you don't want me.

It's okay, it's all right.

Ann.

- Ann!
-Esmond.

Esmond.

- Ann!
- Esmond, are you all right?

- Thank God.
- I thought I'd lost you.

Monday.

Monday!

Oh, Fleming, God.

Oh, Christ.

- I'll get help.
- Fleming, it's too late.

It's too late.

It's finally starting, Monday.

I could do with a drink.

I know a dive open till 4:00.

How about it?

- If their fleet
falls to the Nazis...
- We lose the war.

The British will destroy
the entire French fleet

rather than hand it
over to the Nazis.

- Do you have
the authority to negotiate?
- Of course.

Would it matter if
I really loved him?

The trick is to
never let it show.

Just a little shaken.

- These aren't soldiers.
These are spies.
- Bloody good idea.

- "Miss Rights" are two
a penny.

- It's "Miss Wrong"
I'm looking for.

- Mu?
- Ian.

I'm back.

Timing by Sergie Mercury, 2017.