Early on Monday morning, Doré was on the phone. ‘Pat, you won't believe me, but the day I received your letter I found an assignment for you.’ He was right, I didn't believe him, though I showed great interest, of course.

‘How splendid, Mr Schary. What is it?’

‘I want you to come over, meet the producer, and we'll take it from there.’

‘Wonderful. Shall I come right away?’

‘You do that.’

‘Say half an hour, that's about what it takes.’

‘That'll do fine. Till then.’

‘Till then, Mr Schary, and thanks.’ Blimey oh Riley, we were on our way. We'd an assignment at last. Kitty did her chauffeuring act and I was up those steps, bursting through those Billy the Kid saloon doors and into the secretary's ante-room. She was on to the intercom and I was into Mr Schary's Office. He said to her: ‘Tell Mr Sisk to call in right away’. He gestured for me to sit down and with a broad smile—they were all genuinely warm-hearted people—held up my letter and said, ‘We shan't need that any more’ … and tore it up.

‘I'm thrilled, Mr Schary, I really am. Do tell me about it.’

‘I'm going to let you read it cold. Don't want to risk prejudicing you in any way. All I will say is that you'll have two of our finest actors—from your country, too. Edmund Gwenn and Donald Crisp.’

‘Donald Crisp. Played National Velvet's father.’

‘That's right.’

‘And I knew the real one and the real Velvet from Rottingdean. Hilder was his name and he was the local butcher, wonderful old boy, and his daughter was Whin, and she had won a horse in a raffle.’

‘I didn't know that.’

‘God, she was pretty, too, like your Elizabeth. I passed her the other day on my crutches and took a sideways look: just as well I had them. Knock out, isn't she?’ He laughed. We were totally at ease and I liked him enormously. He had heart, there was no doubt, and so had L.B. No doubt. And in came my producer-to-be … a bit like, in manner, the March Hare entering court. Undercurrent of fear was all too clear.