The film maker Yoram Sabo, Andrea his agent/facilitator, and his cameraman, another Yoram, arrived from London about 10.30am. I'd been prowling for an hour and a half, straightening pictures, wiping table, sweeping leaves, not to speak of the spring cleaning Catherine and I inflicted on the whole of downstairs yesterday (about time too; the worst was realising that if I were a proper housewife I'd be doing it every week). I tried very hard to pretend the camera wasn't there and concentrate on the conversation, but in many places self-consciousness won, leaving me as incoherent as I feared I would be. I wasn't prepared for the questions to turn to my book and my relationship with my father, nor to The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross, and I didn't defend him nearly as well or clearly as I might.
But on the Shapira issue, it soon became clear that there is lots I - and JMA - didn't know about the man and his story, whereas Yoram is completely hooked on following up the leads, step by tiny step. Trouble is, they lead to more questions, not answers; eg where is he buried, and why don't we know - are his grandson Francois Perrault Harry, or his daughter Myriam Harry, hiding something?
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