to be cheerful. I can’t quite explain why they believed this but they did. Personally, if I’d had a day like that I’d get into bed with everyone who felt like it and sob and sob and sob until I couldn’t sob any more. And I’d probably be allowed too as well, because things have changed and people don’t really believe in not showing how they feel any more. Isn’t it interesting, though? What would you do? Don’t answer that now – we’re in the middle of the story.

You don’t need me to tell you that neither Cyril nor Norman slept a wink that night. Norman had a torch under the covers and checked his watch every half-hour. He wanted to get up at 2 a.m. but Cyril persuaded him, in a hissed undertone, that that would make it far more likely they’d be discovered and the plan would fail before it had even started. Finally, they rose at 4 a.m., when it was still dark, crept out with their clothes and got dressed, shiveringly, in the kitchen. Norman wrote a little note to Megsie, instructing her what to say to Mrs Green if the necessity arose, and went and hid it in the egg basket, knowing she would find it when she got up to fetch the eggs. When he came back from the barn, there was a sliver of light on the edge of the hill, and the boys found that after all their waiting they had to hurry. They reached the duck pond and found a wonderful sight.

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It was Nanny McPhee in a pair of goggles and leather gauntlets sitting astride the best vehicle they had ever seen – a khaki army-issue motorcycle complete with sidecar! It knocked the Rolls-Royce into a cocked hat! They just managed to stop themselves from whooping before Nanny McPhee kitted them out with capes and goggles of their own and hurried them into the sidecar. In great spirits and full of hope, they were off before the sun had even hit the side of the hill. No one noticed Mr Edelweiss following at a discreet distance.

Back in the farmhouse, everyone was still sound asleep. They had slept so badly it was likely that Norman and Cyril’s absence would not be noticed for some time.

Meanwhile, Phil, who had also not slept, was up and about. He was getting himself ready to go and get Isabel to sign the contract. He knew that she would, now that Rory was dead. He also knew that it wasn’t a very nice thing to do at such a time, but that if he didn’t he too would be dead. He looked at his watch. It really was too early to knock on the door. Isabel would be so furious she might just refuse to sign it at all. And then – well, he shuddered to think about what might happen to him. He decided to bite his nails for a while until it was time.

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The Diary 22

Very overcast today. My eyes are still sore and itchy and I am in a very bad mood. Have managed not to bite anyone’s head off so far, but woe betide anyone who bounces up cheerily and says anything like ‘How’s it going?’.

Muddled and tired, but as Arthur, the boom operator with screwdriver scar, said to me only the other day, ‘We do a knackering job, Em – what do you expect?’ Thank God he didn’t follow it up with ‘And you’re not as young as you were.’ At any rate, he’s quite right and one should expect to be tired, for heaven’s sake. A large number of people have also had allergic reactions to the barley, so all in all, as well as being one of the most beautiful things in the world, it has caused a lot of bother.

Maggie Smith has come up with a wonderful line – trying to get Mr Spolding to come to after he’s fainted, she’s standing over him shrieking, ‘Wake up, Algernon, wake up, I don’t want you to miss it going off!’

And, we have just shot one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen: Maggie in the wind machine. When the huge wind comes to reap the barley, everyone is blown about like anything and it was Maggie’s turn and she just walked into it and everything came off her head almost immediately, including parts of her wig, and, as she said afterwards, not an insignificant portion of her brain.