“Let’s take the backstage area—dressing rooms, fly. I’ll take a look at the light board. If things don’t work back here, it doesn’t matter how good you are out front.”

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Let’s hope so.”

They spent over an hour backstage. Eve climbed stairs, squeezed into storerooms, examined equipment. It was, as she’d hoped, top rate. The Fine Arts Center was a family affair, built in the name of Gabriella’s mother. The Bissets had poured their love for her into making it one of the best theater complexes in the world.

Eve felt the excitement growing. To play here would top anything she or the company had ever done. Already her mind was leaping forward. She would produce four typically American plays for an international audience. The company publicist would have a field day with promotion. Tennessee Williams, Neil Simon, Arthur Miller. She had such a wealth of talent to choose from. And she’d want her own technicians on the lights, on the ropes, on the props.

“I can see the wheels turning,” Gabriella murmured.

“I’ve never been subtle.” Eve walked out, stood stage center and let herself feel.

It was incredible, the sensations, the vibrations that hung in the air of an empty theater. This one had been designed for the actor. She could almost smell the greasepaint and the sweat. The seats rolled forward, slashed through by three wide aisles that were carpeted in royal blue. The houselights were enormous chandeliers and the ceilings were frescoed. Box seats tilted out of the walls on either side and straight back was a balcony. Even from the distance she could see the railings were hand carved and gleaming. More important, every seat in the house would have an unobstructed view of the stage.

“‘Tonight, it ends here, miserably. Whatever we’ve done, whatever we’ve attempted to do, no longer matters. When tomorrow comes, it begins again, and we—we will never have existed.’”

Her voice flowed out, back to the corners, up to the last row of the balcony, then echoed back. Satisfied, Eve smiled.

“Wonderful.” She turned back to Brie. “Whoever your architect was, he deserves a medal.”

“I’ll suggest it to my father. Eve, what was that from? I don’t recognize it.”

“You wouldn’t. Struggling playwright.” She passed it off quickly, not wanting to say the struggling playwright was herself. “Brie, the theater’s wonderful. Another time I’d love to do something on that smaller stage downstairs. Something intimate. But for our purposes, this is perfect.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.” Gabriella’s heels clicked as she crossed the stage to Eve. “Ever since Alex and I kicked the idea around, I’ve been waiting for that. Eve, we’re going to do something important, for your company, for our countries, for the children.”