Eggy stood poised and Sally waited for the call to start the lines, but all they could hear was the roar of the engine.

‘And cut!’

The First Assistant waded out to the boat.

‘Did you not hear us call “Action”?’

‘No!’ shouted Sally and Eggy in unison.

‘All I can hear is the motor,’ Sally explained.

‘Me too,’ said Eggy.

‘Mr Markham, maybe you could turn slightly towards me now and on Action I will give you a visual,’ shouted the First. ‘Watch for my signal.’

He made his way back to the beach.

‘Miss Doyle, you will know when to drive away because Mr Markham will be climbing on to the seat behind you.’

‘Sound?’

‘Speed.’

‘Camera?’

‘Running.’

Eggy turned to look out for the signal.

‘Scene 198. Take three.’

‘And . . . action.’ The First’s hand slashed downwards.

Eggy waded into the waves, shouting, ‘Don’t go without me, old girl!’ then clambered over the orange rubber side of the boat, and took his position behind Sally.

‘Hold tight!’ she cried. Part of the script. ‘Next stop Bank of England!’

Sally pushed the throttle and the boat took off into the bay.

‘I’m so sorry, Sally. You cannot imagine . . .’ Eggy shouted into her ear but the wind swallowed most of his words.

‘Not now, Eggy.’ Sally would have loved nothing more than to punch his lights out. But not while the cameras were turning.

As the little RIB smashed into an oncoming wave, it jolted and then crashed down into the trough behind.

‘Jesus!’ Eggy cried as he slid off the seat, then rapidly clambered back up. ‘Bloody hell! This is more than I was expecting.’

Sally gritted her teeth. ‘I did say “Hold tight.”’

Eggy flung his arms around Sally’s waist. Sally still had her prop handbag dangling from one arm. As they shot out into the deeper bay, it started really annoying her, blowing all over the place, thumping against the control console, slamming into her chest.

‘Take my bag, Eggy!’

‘What?’

‘TAKE MY HANDBAG! HANDBAG!’

‘Righto, Lady Bracknell.’ Eggy held on with one hand and slid the bag from Sally’s arm with the other. ‘It’s vibrating!’

‘Jesus!’ Sally knew what this would be. She turned back towards the shore. She hoped they were far enough out now. ‘It’s my phone. It’ll be Marina Martel. Answer it.’

‘WHAT?’

‘My phone. ANSWER IT.’

Eggy opened the bag and put the phone to his ear.

‘What? Who? Right. Hello. Well, we’re . . . Yes, I’ll tell her.’ He slipped the phone back into the bag.

‘Well?’

‘It was your friend Theresa. Her granddaughter and the boy Neil have taken his father’s boat out on their own from Bellevue Marina and are lost at sea. How do you track it?’

‘What?’

‘As Theresa hung up she said something very odd: “The Bitch Got The House”.’