- Eric. - (Eric) I've changed me mind.
Come on, Eric, you look fine. We'll be late.
No! It's a free country. A bloke can change his mind, can't he?
- It's not Russia, is it? - Russia's a free country. Just come on out.
- Nobody'll laugh, will they, Tink? - No.
No. Don't laugh.
(Both laugh)
- (Laughter) - Oh, my God!
Well, just remember it's for charity, Eric.
But it's not us who needs the charity, is it, Lovejoy? You fell out with Lady Jane.
(Sighs)
(♪ Loud guitar rock)
(Applause)
- (Sighs) - Friends, Janey?
(Sighs)
What do you think of our budding Nigel Kennedy, then?
- Gifted. - Mm.
Probably very pretentious.
Oh, actually, he's very sweet and extremely modest.
Well, gifted I can take, but gifted and modest, that's just pushy in my book.
You know what you are, don't you?
What?
Excuse me. Can I have your autograph, please?
Lindsey Parry-Davies, meet a rather green Lovejoy,
viridian at the moment, fast approaching bright pea.
- (Both chuckle) - Lovejoy.
Awesome.
Now, do I, er... bow in the presence of such talent, or is it all right to remain vertical?
Oh, I don't know, Mozart wrote his first opera while still in his nappies
so I'm dragging my heels a bit, I'm afraid, if it makes you feel any better.
At least Nigel Kennedy had the grace to have zits.
Excuse me. (Clears throat)
- Oh, Eric. Peckish? - (Chuckles)
One hundred and eighty.
(Whispers) Lovely.
Eric, you could give a genuine antique dealer
the professional standing of an estate agent.
Huh! Well, you should know.
I do, and when I see mail-order horse brasses soaking in vinegar
and circa-1990 Woolworth screws sitting in salt,
call me impetuous, but I tend to jump to certain conclusions.
I just haven't figured out who you're scamming.
Well, as it happens, I am distressing a few items, but in a purely professional capacity!
(Hammering)
- (Hammering) - (Car door shuts)
Hm. Hello, Lindsey! How's it going? Janey's not here at the moment.
Well, actually, it's you I'm looking for.
Really?
Look, Lady Jane tells me you're in the antique business.
What, are you buying or selling?
Private, Eric.
Well, I don't really know how to put this,
but I got the impression from Jane that you... know people.
- Or used to. - Still do.
I just don't know what you, er... you mean by "know", if you know what I mean.
- It's the real thing. - The real thing.
What do you want me to do - sell it, swap it?
I mean, fiddles aren't my forte.
God, this is difficult.
I wanted to know if...
if there was anyone you knew who could sort of...
cobble it, fake it.
Make it look like a forgery.
You... you want me to get someone
to make a genuine Stradivarius only look like a genuine Stradivarius, hm?
Why?
Why, Lindsey? Why would you want to replace the irreplaceable?
I wouldn't want to.
It's just...
Look.
If money's the problem...
we don't have a problem.
There's always a good reason.
But why?
Why, why, why?
Well, that bundle of readies he pressed into your hot, sweaty palm
might have been influential.
Look, he's not asking me to turn water into wine, is he? No, quite the reverse.
It may be criminal but it's not a crime.
So why?
- What's his game? - Insurance.
- Hm? - It's an insurance scam.
- How? - Well, I don't know. You're the brain.
Oh, thank you, Tink. Janey?
- Hm? - Janey, tell us about Lindsey Parry-Davies.
(Sighs) Oh, he's famous. He lives up the road. That's about it.
That's it? Could you, er... dig a little, see what comes up with the shovel?
- I could try. - Thank you.
Tink, find out all you can about Stradivari, and, Eric...
I'm sorry. No can do.
Some of us have an honest crust to earn.
Why, hm?
- Cheers. - (Music playing)
A whole half. Wow.
All right. There's plenty more where that came from.
- That's what I'm afraid of. - Look, it's a temporary liquidity problem.
All my investment capital's tied up in this deal.
Anyway, you haven't divied up the info yet.
Yeah, well, I'm not so sure that I should.
Muriel, what's the point of working for the Tourist Information Board
if it isn't to give out information, huh?
Now, are you gonna tell me when they're arriving or not?
Not.
You're up to something, aren't you?
Hello, Maud. I need some stamps.
Thirty, please, first class.
Not another of your little soirees. You've only just done the last bash.
Afraid so. Huh! Tea binge.
It's a good cause. Ladies only. You know the form.
Look, you couldn't do me a favor, could you?
You know Lindsey Parry-Davies the violinist?
- What a sweetheart. - Yes. Thank you.
Well, it's a bit embarrassing really.
But, er... it's his wife. Her name's gone completely.
I thought you might know.
(Clock ticking)
- Hey, Lovejoy. - What?
- D'you know why violins are called fiddles? - I give up.
Nineteenth-century German manufacturer called Fidel. Banged them out in thousands.
Became a name for violins like Hoovers are for vacuum cleaners.
Oh, not many people know that!! Or want to, come to think of it.
What did you find out about Strads?
Antonio Stradivari.
1644 to 1737. Associated throughout his life with the ancient city of Cremona.
- Tink, come on. - I thought you wanted background.
No, I wanted the SP on what makes a Strad a Strad, or in this case what doesn't.
Oh, well, that's a bit tricky.
They're all manufactured individually. No two are the same.
It would take an expert to tell 'em from the Cremona product of the same period.
(Whispers) So who do we know?
That bloke from Ealing had credits for Christie's and Sotherby's.
Oh, too kosher, Tink. Mr Parry-Davies wants this on the hush-hush.
Who do we know, hm?
Tommy Norris.
- Who? - The father of the fiddle fakers.
Especially Strads.
Especially if the price is right.
- We'll see him on Saturday. - Why Saturday?
♪ Here we go, here we go, here we go!
♪ Here we go, here we go!
♪ Here we go, here we go, here we go!
♪ Liverpool!
♪ Liverpool! ♪
Too easy to meet him in his workshop, I suppose.
He'd never tell anybody where it is.
Or his phone number or where he lives.
He's like you, Lovejoy. If you want to find Tommy Norris, you'll find him here.
- Behind the goal, home or away. - (Whistle)
- Tommy Norris. - Ref!
You prat!
This had better be life-or-death country, Tinker.
It's more important than that, Tommy.
- (Crowd cheers) - Oh!
Anyway, what makes a bloke want to turn an original into a fake?
- That's a good question. - Sacrilege, I call it.
The kid sounded as if he needed help.
Oh, he needs help all right.
Right, let's have it, then. The violin.
What, you don't think I'd bring it here, do you?
Oh!
Perhaps you could bring it here, then.
Say 12 o'clock tomorrow?
(Lovejoy) 35. 37.
39.
(Sounds horn)
Manage to bring it with you this time, did you?
(Sniffs) Hm.
Hm.
How much are we paying him?
Definitely the golden period.
Stradivari made all his first-division violins between 1700 and 1720.
I'd say this was about 1718.
His Montefiore, perhaps.
Just look at that purfling.
(Sniffs and sighs)
Not Antonio's finest work, of course,
like his 1716 Messiah,
or his Alard.
Now, there's a banjo for you.
Still, I mean...
if it was a Liverpool team, it wouldn't be the double-winning side of '86.
Not the best, like.
More your European Cup-winning side of '77.
Keegan and co.
Or Shankly's boys from the mid-'60s.
Crunch, Hunt, St. John.
Charlton, Law, Best.
If you want the best, try Old Trafford.
I blame the parents.
Exactly how much is it worth?
Half a million.
Decent pools win, certainly.
Do you really want me to do this?
But why?
We think it might be an insurance scam to keep the premiums down.
Turn the '77 European Cup-winning side into a Coventry City?
Scandalous, I call it.
If Lindsey really is trying to con the insurance company into lower premiums,
I mean, what if he loses it?
The thing would be so undervalued, it would be pointless. Wouldn't it?
Hm?
Wouldn't it, Sir Matt?
- (Shop bell) - (Hinge squeaks)
(Clears throat) Muriel.
- For you. - Eric.
Now will you tell me when they're arriving?
Huh?
(Phone beeping)
(Ringing)
Come on in.
Oh, Eric, if Mr. Wedgwood had intended us to drink like pigs,
he would have given us troughs.
Precisely, Eric. A little decorum wouldn't come amiss on this auspicious occasion.
What auspicious occasion?
The why, Tinker has cracked the why of the violin scam
and is about to enlighten us lesser mortals, isn't that right, Tink?
Well, it's quite obvious when you come to think about it.
Lindsey Parry-Davies has a bona fide Stradivarius that he wishes to rubbish.
There can only be one possible reason for that.
Which you are about to share with us.
He wants a lower valuation.
Oh.
Why didn't I think of that?
We know that. The question is why.
The divorce proceedings.
Mrs. Parry-Davies gets half the property.
Mr. Parry-Davies prefers that she should get half of a bundle of firewood
than half of an extremely expensive Stradivarius.
- Ha-ha! Simplissimus maximus. - It's brilliant.
- Pity. - I'm sorry?
Tell him, Janey.
Lindsey isn't married. Never has been.
- Oh. - (Guffaws)
Don't look at me like that, Bill.
(Pianoforte plays)
(Bronx accent) Moonlight and love songs, never out of date.
Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate.
♪ Woman needs man, man must have his maid
♪ That no one can deny...
Please, Lovejoy.
Sorry, James.
Well, listen, if this Strad really is from the golden period, right,
it shouldn't be too tricky to trace.
They practically have their own birth certificates.
If you mean their individual provenance, yes. It would certainly have a Hill certificate.
W.E. Hill & Sons.
They're the sort of Somerset House of the Stradivarian world.
They were. They're gone now, more's the pity.
Still, no one in their right mind would pay the going rate without a Hill's.
And you obviously haven't got one or you wouldn't be asking.
What's it all about, Lovejoy?
(Shop bell)
Ah, Muriel. Ha-ha.
No.
The thing is, Bill,
I need a bit of advice vis-a-vis the vexed question of subs.
I mean, you're three-nil up
and you've got a Kevin Keegan that isn't even blowin' hard after 80 minutes.
Now...
do you take him off and deny the Kop ten more minutes of magic, eh,
or...
do you save him for another game?
Particularly...
when you've got a bit of a David Fairclough super-sub sitting on the bench, like?
- There you go, sir. - Thank you.
(Chortles)
- Is anything the matter, sir? - (Laughing)
Mm.
(Both laughing)
(Owl hoots)
- You're mad. You know that, don't you, Eric? - (Phone rings)
- Yeah. - (Ringing stops)
- (Woman) Hello, Tourist Board? - The 28th.
They're arriving on the 28th.
Yeah, all right, then.
I'll hold you to that, Eric.
All right, see you. Bye.
Lindsey, I'm getting Wimbledon neck.
I mean the point is nothing was taken.
The point is they tried.
Oh, yeah.
Whoever they might be.
I don't suppose you'd like to shed any more light on that one, would you?
No. Didn't think you would.
Eric, why don't you fetch out that bottle of the decent stuff
and we'll have a little drink before Tommy comes.
What bottle of the decent stuff?
That vieux Calvados I liberated from the Felsham cellar.
It's in the cupboard over the sink.
Ils sont très chic, les Françaises.
They mature it for 40 years in a barrel and serve it up in an old vinegar bottle.
(Vehicle approaches)
(Clattering)
Aye aye, you're, er... whatshisface, aren't you?
(Chuckles) In person. Er... shall we?
- All right, Tink? - Come and have a little drink in a minute.
Something special.
I hope you know what you're playin' at.
(Clock chimes)
Top banana, me.
Hang on, though. I mean, it's not supposed to be that good, is it?
Who's gonna spot the difference? Which is the whole idea.
Varnish. One of the boss's little recipes.
A serious butcher's of the varnish on that lot,
and any expert worth his stripes will tell you it's never been near Cremona.
Brutal.
Born and brewed that last week.
- Right. - Right.
Right, I'll be motorin', pressin' third-round tie.
Colchester.
I wouldn't bother, only one of the boys might dislocate his jaw yawnin' or something.
- Brought me boots just in case. - (Chuckles)
- Nice doing business with you, Tommy. - Ah, my pleasure.
(Violin plays)
(Playing stops)
(Playing resumes)
(Sighs)
(Engine starts)
Oi! Out.
I couldn't do it, right?
Your man only made a hundred or so that good in his lifetime.
I wasn't trying to steal it,
just save it from a gang of philistines.
And anyway, how would you know?
I played it.
(Clears throat) Lindsey.
I suggest you slip off home.
Leave this with me.
I'm running out of time, Lovejoy.
- Follow him, Eric. - Hang about.
I don't work for you any more, Lovejoy,
and I've got a serious backlog on my work situation,
since the effect of Calvados on horse brass is an unknown quantity.
- Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. - No, sorry, Lovejoy.
Just a moment, Eric. Er... Tink?
- Photo? - What?
Oh.
(Laughter)
You should see the blow-up we've had made for that tourist guide you're lusting after.
- What's her name, Tink? - Muriel.
- (Brummie accent) Muriel. - You bast...
- Ah-ah-ah! - (Door slams)
Morning.
Morning, Janey. Come here.
Da, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, da-da-da-la!
- Almost famous. - Well, hardly.
One miserable mention. You'd think after all I'd done...
Quiet modesty counts for much when they're dishing out the damehoods.
You heard any more about wonder boy?
Not a lot. Moved here when he was eight. Went to the local school.
The rest, as they say, is headlines.
Probably named a bike shed after him.
- Who? - The local school.
Yes.
- Yes, they probably did. - Hm?
In your own time, Tommy.
I've hit a slight snag, Lovejoy.
Don't want to hear about snags, Thomas, only solutions.
That's the snag.
I think I've found a solution.
(Dog barking)
So you... you're going to swap labels, hm?
I thought of that. It means bugger all, actually.
Some German marketing man printed millions of them in the 1800s.
Bunged them on fakes.
The real McCoy, or Tommy Norris special?
It's the real McCoy.
Tommy Norris special.
I could always give it a bit of a paint job, I suppose.
A touch of raw sienna here, a sprig of burnt umber there.
Two hours at Regulo 9.
Retouch the worn bits.
Give it a bit of a facelift.
Disguise its real age. That's nice.
Retouched...
or unretouched?
(Clears throat)
- It's unretouched. - Sure?
Hold it up to the light.
It's unretouched.
Retouched.
Doddle, you are.
Are you gonna go for the facelift, then?
Then I thought to myself, "Get a grip, Norris, you can give them better than that."
So we're not going for the facelift?
"I know," I thought, "a strip job.
"Scrape off the original varnish,
"lob on a dollop of Tommy porridge, as with the other violin,
"and, if he's worth his stripes, a proper expert'll spot it."
Sacrilege, mind.
God knows what it'll do to its tonal qualities.
Original...
or Tommy Norris spesh?
Tommy Norris spesh.
Which one?
Both of them.
Given his ability to make a good fiddle and mine to work one,
we could make a fortune.
You see the sound holes?
See how the one on the right is just that little bit higher than the one on the left.
Should be symmetrical.
Touch and feel, see.
And sod the rulebook.
That's how you can tell Strads from other violins.
They're sloppier.
How does this help us?
So what I was thinking, like,
what if I dismantle a thing and put it back together again
only neatly?
You see, we don't have to prove it's not a genuine Strad.
Just plant enough doubt to drive them crackers.
Clever.
If it wasn't for that slight snag I was telling you about.
I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.
It means taking the thing to bits.
So?
I still can't bring myself to do it.
(Owl hoots)
Shame on you, Eric.
No, I'm just making sure, that's all.
- It's not that I don't trust you and Tink. - Give it back, Eric.
No, I've got some interesting information to report. Really interesting, actually.
- When I tell you, you'll give me the photo... - (Footsteps)
Give me a lend of your radio. Might catch the second half.
- So what is it, Eric? - You know the fella I was following?
There was a fella following the fella that I was supposed to be following.
Somebody was following the fella you were following?
- That's right. - I don't follow.
- So who was it? - How should I know? I wasn't following him.
You didn't find out who the fellow was that was following your fellow?
- I don't follow. - I'd like to follow this match, if I find it.
Eric, if he's there tomorrow, follow him.
No, I've kept my side of the bargain. I've got me own stuff to do now.
And you haven't got anything on me, either. Ha-ha-ha!
- There's nothing in here. - (Radio tuning)
Follow that.
Doesn't this thing do Radio Merseyside?
Hello.
Eric?
Right.
Now, what's he up to?
Brasses.
Mugs.
The Bull.
Every five years.
The cheeky little sod.
See?
See what I mean?
What?
The grain. The grain of the wood.
What does it remind you of?
Fairies live on top of them.
- Christmas tree. - Flaming, we call it.
You see how the branches change shape slightly as I pass it through the light, hm?
That's the curl, the curl of the wood.
No chance of this becoming relevant, I suppose, is there, Tommy?
I'm getting there, if you'll let me.
It's like those badges you used to get on lucky bags when you were a kid.
You know, Mickey Mouse.
Turn Mickey's face one way and he smiles.
Turn him the other way and he gets a gob on. Look, smile, gob on.
Smile, gob on.
And the smoother the curl, the better the quality the violin.
And a genuine Stradivarius has the smoothest.
- Indubitably. - Mm.
Now, if I can disrupt the curl and make it jerky,
it might just be enough to get the alarm bells ringing.
- Can you do it? - (Sniffs) You know me.
- Give it a go. - Do it.
(Rings)
(Dog barks)
It's just as well that I checked, dear boy.
Your Parry-Davies lad doesn't own the item at all.
No, the, er... bona title holder
is a Duncan Strong.
- Do you know him? - Know him?
I could practically quote you his Gold Card number, old son.
Big, big collector.
Yes, he lives up your way.
Um... want his address?
Yeah, go ahead, James, yeah.
Hill House...
- (Vehicle outside) ...Lavenham...
Suffolk. Yeah, thank you, James.
(Sighs)
- You miserable git. - Hello, Eric.
You blackmail me into hound-dogging some nefarious character around Suffolk
- and all the time you've already got it. - What?
The address where the bloke I was following ended up.
Oh, well done, Eric.
So we now know that Duncan Strong owns the Strad.
He's also the one that had Lindsey followed. So that's two connections.
- (Door shuts) - (Jane) There's a third, actually.
- Hiya, Janey. - (Sighs)
- Taking up residence, are we? - Hm?
I've just been to his school. It's all there.
I said it's all there.
- Hm. - You've had an idea, haven't you?
He's had an idea.
(Dog barks)
Mr. Strong, I'm Lovejoy, a friend of James Barnham-Smythe.
I've, er... got a little Cremonese item here I'd like you to look at.
A Stradivarius.
Oh, I'm sorry about the mess. It's my own stupid fault really.
I will insist on candles.
It makes them feel more comfortable, the instruments.
They were born in a candlelit era
and they don't respond at all well to modern lighting.
Too harsh.
Do you know Lindsey Parry-Davies?
So you're off to see Tommy
- and I've a bone to pick with this virtuoso. - Right.
- Good, you're all here. - Goodbye, Janey.
You'll never guess what he's found out.
Lindsey and Strong are related.
I could have told you that yesterday.
I don't know why...
(Lindsey) All right, all right. But also all wrong, as it happens.
(Lovejoy) That really makes me feel better.
Just listen a second, will you?
Now, you're nearly right about the insurance thing.
Totally wrong about my stepfather.
He doesn't even know I've got the Strad.
Let me show you something.
He used to be pretty good himself once.
Made it all the way to first violin with the Hallé.
Then...
he met my mother.
And me.
Why are people so in awe of...
...gifted...
I mean...
there's nothing clever about it, it... it is what it says,
a... a gift.
You don't earn it.
You just inherit it,
like a... like a title or a million pounds.
The only people who should respect gifts are the people who receive them.
Duncan never saw it like that.
He'd worked for what he'd got.
Then I come along.
Eight years old, and I could fiddle him into a corner.
(Sighs) He heard me a couple of times
and, well...
(Sniffs)... felt mediocre, I guess.
Never played again.
Just started collecting all these beautiful old instruments.
(Sighs) Just to look at.
Be near.
He wouldn't let anyone so much as touch them.
Not even his stepson?
It was all such a waste.
I mean, they're supposed to be played.
That's the... that's the difference.
That's the magic.
So you swapped it.
(Motor running)
They're away to Arsenal!
He never played it.
He'd have never have noticed if it hadn't been for the fire.
He loved those instruments so much
he wouldn't have electric light anywhere near them.
You swapped it.
I bought a replica.
Oh, good God, Lovejoy.
How long would it have taken some insurance investigator to find out the truth?
Duncan would have been in... in prison on a half-a-million-pound fraud charge.
I couldn't let that happen.
Something else you couldn't let happen.
Sooner or later those smart insurance people would have put two and two together.
Stepson, famous violinist. Sussed out that you'd made the switch.
Couldn't let that happen, could we, eh?
Local megastar in Strad fiddle?
Wouldn't look too good on your publicity handout, would it, eh?
No, do you know what this is all about? It's about you not being found out.
Look, I feel bad enough about the whole thing without you banging on.
Especially when you're right.
Look, just give me the Strad back,
and I... I'll take it from there.
I... I'll talk to him.
Tell him that...
At least I'll try.
- Very good of you. Just one problem. - What?
Tommy's got the Strad and he's about to rape it.
(Cheering and chanting)
Is this the away supporters' end?
Can I have two, please?
- Nice try. On your bike. - It's important!
Course it's important. That's why it's all-ticket, isn't it?
Oh, damn!
What are we gonna do now?
(Cheering and chanting)
Bingo.
(Crowd drowns out speech)
Anyway, see you, lad.
What are you lot doin' here?
You saved me a journey, actually. I was on my way to see you.
You... you haven't finished the violin?
As a matter of fact, I have.
Now, I know you'll probably murder me,
but, er...
I couldn't do it in the end.
Not to the '77 European Cup-winning side.
(Chuckles)
It's the stupidity of it all that gets to me.
Well, er... put it this way, Mr. Strong.
If Lindsey hadn't swapped the Strad,
you wouldn't have a Strad.
A little irony in the fire there, hm?
Stupidity, vanity and sanity.
(Snorts)
God, I nearly went through the whole gamut, then, didn't I?
Er... can we just clear up the small matter of the insurance claim?
Hm?
Why you didn't file one.
I nearly did.
What stopped you?
A concert.
I heard.
Oh, I can't play any more but...
I can still hear,
and I just knew.
Here.
Take it.
Play it.
Thanks.
Thanks, Dad.
Everybody, off, please. If you could make your way to the pub on the left-hand side.
OK, right.
Great.
(Cheering)
(Cheering and applause)
- (Sighs) - What are you doing here?
Just making the world a safer place for gullible American tourists, Eric.
Muriel.
Ignore him.
(Sighs)
Lovejoy.
Ah, come on, you remember.
Ed Stern, the last reunion, five years back.
Listen, I want to tell you, they look terrific.
- What? - The horse brasses.
I got 'em all tacked up on that old beam.
The one that you got when they were doing the renovations.
Ed. What can I... what can I get you? Hm?
Well, there's one thing I've always coveted.
The old sign, The Bull, you know, that used to hang out there back in the old days.
I've got an empty space in my den just screaming out to be filled.
Ed, you won't believe this but I can locate that very item.
- Sit down, Ed. - (Clears throat)
Oh, Eric, this is Ed.
- Hello, Eric. - Hello, Ed.