Why Didn't They Ask Evans? (TV Mini Series)
Episode #1.2 (2022)
Lucy Boynton: Frankie Derwent
Photos
Quotes
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Ticket Collector : It's a first class ticket, madam. First class is that way.
Frankie Derwent : Well, I know that, but we've come to fetch a friend.
Ticket Collector : Does he have a first class ticket?
Frankie Derwent : I doubt it. Or why would he be in a third class compartment?
Ticket Collector : Why would you?
Frankie Derwent : Worthy adversary. Tell you what, I'll buy him a first class ticket.
Bobby Jones : You'll do nothing of the sort.
Frankie Derwent : Ah, apparently I'll do nothing of the sort. But we can sit here, can't we?
Ticket Collector : Well, you could, if there were seats.
Frankie Derwent : Ah, right, yes. What if we swap these with these lovely people
Dr. George Arbuthnot : Er, hold on.
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Frankie Derwent : Gentlemen, you are in the presence of a Mata Hari.
Dr. George Arbuthnot : I don't think you mean that.
Frankie Derwent : Don't I? Oh. You said Bassington-ffrench said he was looking for a house. There are precisely two house agents in Marchbolt, one of whom, David something or other, is now madly in love with me. We're looking at a June wedding. You're both invited. "Why, Frankie, you're a marvel." No, really, it was nothing. "No, really, genius doesn't cover it." Well, one does try. "Also, you look deadly in that hat." Thank you. Do you like it? It's French.
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Frankie Derwent : George, darling, be a double darling and go fetch our luggage.
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Frankie Derwent : I beg your bleeding pardon.
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Frankie Derwent : How long would it take you to grow a moustache?
Bobby Jones : I don't know. Haven't tried. Couple of weeks, probably.
Frankie Derwent : Oh, for God's sake, I could do it quicker than that.
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Dr. George Arbuthnot : Wait a minute. We never said anything about blood.
Frankie Derwent : We have to have blood. Blood is of the essence.
Dr. George Arbuthnot : Whose blood?
Frankie Derwent : I don't know, you're the doctor.
Dr. George Arbuthnot : Yes, I am, and yet, oddly, I appear to have travelled to London without any blood in a bottle.
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Dr. George Arbuthnot : Good breakfast, was it?
Frankie Derwent : Oh, shut up.
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Dr. George Arbuthnot : I've told them you're a Christian Scientist.
Frankie Derwent : What? Why? I don't know anything about Christian Scientists.
Dr. George Arbuthnot : Hopefully, neither do they.
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Sylvia Bassington-ffrench : But you're a Christian Scientist.
Frankie Derwent : Was it the shoes?
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Frankie Derwent : Chauffeurs don't ring the bell, by the way.
Bobby Jones : What do they do?
Frankie Derwent : I don't know, just appear.
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Frankie Derwent : See, does this really look like the room of a killer?
Bobby Jones : How would I know?
Frankie Derwent : Oh, God. Mustard-yellow waistcoat. Now anything's possible.
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Roger Bassington-ffrench : Good Lord, where did he come from?
Frankie Derwent : You know chauffeurs, they just appear.
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Frankie Derwent : How do you do? I've heard lots about you.
Dr. James Nicholson : And I, you.
Frankie Derwent : Really? I doubt that.
Dr. James Nicholson : You'd be surprised. Your accident caused quite a stir in the village.
Frankie Derwent : Well, you know, that's how I like my villages.
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Roger Bassington-ffrench : Personally, I think he's a quack, pompous one at that, but I don't suppose he could do much harm.
Frankie Derwent : Really? I think he could do rather a lot.
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Frankie Derwent : First, you have to tell me something.
Roger Bassington-ffrench : I don't, actually, but go on.
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Roger Bassington-ffrench : How are you, Sylv? Bearing up?
Sylvia Bassington-ffrench : I was saying to Frankie I couldn't have dealt with this on my own.
Frankie Derwent : And I was saying she absolutely could.
Roger Bassington-ffrench : Well, I'd like to think of myself as indispensable always, but, uh, Frankie's right... some of the time.
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Roger Bassington-ffrench : Well, put yourself in my shoes. A man's lying dead on a beach, a photograph of a woman I know and happen to rather like, is in his pocket. Why knows why? It's nobody's business but his and hers. But, by God, the newspapers would have made it everybody's business. Moira would have been publicly shames, kicked out of that nut farm up the road. Not a bad thing, in my view, but a bad way of doing it. Moira ought to be able to leave as she pleases, not as the fucking Daily Mail pleases! Excuse my language.
Frankie Derwent : It's alright. I've heard the words Daily Mail before.