I should have suspected something of the kind. It was only a couple of months since we had received a visitation from a pair of young men in scarves and flannels who had spent two days photographing Buckshaw from every conceivable angle, inside and out. Neville and Charlie, they were called, and Father had been exceedingly vague about their intentions. Supposing it to be just another photo visit from Country Life, I had put it out of my mind.

Now Father had been drawn again to the window, where he stood gazing out upon his troubled estate.

Feely got to her feet and strolled casually to the looking glass. She leaned in, peering closely at her own reflection.

I knew already what was on her mind.

“Any idea what it’s about?” she asked in a voice that wasn’t quite her own. “The film, I mean.”

“Another one of those blasted country house things, I believe,” Father replied, without turning round. “I didn’t bother to ask.”

“Any big names?”

“None that I recognize,” Father said. “The agent rattled on and on about someone named Wyvern, but it meant nothing to me.”

“Phyllis Wyvern?” Daffy was all agog. “Not Phyllis Wyvern?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Father said, brightening, but only a little. “Phyllis. The name rang a bell. Same name as the chairwoman of the Hampshire Philatelic Society.

“Except that her name is Phyllis Bramble,” he added, “not Wyvern.”

“But Phyllis Wyvern is the biggest film star in the world,” Feely said, openmouthed. “In the galaxy!”

“In the universe,” Daffy added solemnly. “The Crossing Keeper’s Daughter—she played Minah Kilgore, remember? Anna of the Steppes … Love and Blood … Dressed for Dying … The Secret Summer. She was supposed to have played Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind, but she choked on a peach pit the night before her screen test and couldn’t speak a word.”