She ushered them into a dining room in which a long marble table sat by the window. Twenty sets of gilded plates, cutlery and glasses were arranged perfectly along the table, all positioned to overlook the dramatic view of the river below. A handful of guests were already seated, none of whom Evie recognised, apart from Margie Eaton, Hugo’s film agent.

A man with white hair and a thick matching moustache called out to Hugo, who immediately dropped Evie’s hand and walked over to him. Evie stood awkwardly beside the table, watching them hug one another warmly. She wondered if anyone would notice if she returned to the library. She thought of her copy of The Catcher in the Rye waiting for her on her bedside table at home, and wished she’d slipped it into her handbag.

She’d had the book on her ‘to be read’ pile for so long its dust jacket was actually covered in dust, but had started reading it just last week, mostly for the opening it offered to message the increasingly distant Ben. JD Salinger was one of his all-time favourite authors, and he’d been pestering her to read Holden Caufield’s tale for years. In fact, during their first week at film school, Ben had completely hijacked her day, spending an entire afternoon running through Salinger’s 1957 letter listing all the reasons he didn’t want The Catcher in the Rye to ever be made into a play or motion picture—Ben’s favourite argument being: ‘It’s a “novelistic” novel’. Evie smiled at the memory of Ben, perched with his legs crossed in the middle of his bedroom, reading out what he deemed to be the book’s most iconic lines in a thick, exaggerated American accent.

‘Hey baby, come and sit with me,’ called Hugo, interrupting her thoughts. She turned around to discover that the table had since been filled with elegantly dressed people, with only one spot left for her. She pulled out the velvet chair and sat down. Hugo was angled away from her talking to Nancy, who was seated on his left. Evie turned to her right to see the man with the white hair and moustache. He was sipping a glass of red wine, his eyes staring straight ahead.

‘Hey, I’m Evie,’ she said, extending her hand out towards him.

‘Hello,’ he said, taking her outstretched hand but then turning to talk to the woman on the other side.

Evie coughed, glanced around, and then sculled the glass of champagne sitting in front of her. A waiter moved up from behind her and refilled her glass immediately. Dangerous, thought Evie.

Finally emerging from her in-depth conversation with Hugo, Nancy stood up and tapped her fork delicately on her champagne glass. The room hushed as everyone turned their heads to face her.