‘What’s the play?’ Duke asks.

‘We’re going to have Daphne and Evie take a walk between takes, so there’s no suggestion of rift there or that they’re fighting over you. Half the internet are shipping you with one, half the internet with the other, but the studio doesn’t want to play into the cliché of great men being a scarce resource – especially since Evie has gone on record to say that will never be the case in her books. Does that make sense? Basically people can ship whoever they want, but we want the narrative to be that no man is so great that he can come between two new friends.’

Duke crumples his brow. ‘Are they two new friends? I don’t think I’ve even really seen them speak.’

Willow shrugs. ‘They are now,’ she trills. As she walks away, Duke asks her, ‘Hey, speaking of which – do you know where Evie is?’

Willow points. ‘Isn’t that her?’

Duke follows her finger with his eyes. Evie is in the middle of a field, her face upturned to the sun, eyes closed, spinning in small circles. Duke smiles. ‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘It is.’

She doesn’t seem to hear him approach. Duke isn’t sure if she’s doing some kind of meditation; she seems to be in a bit of a trance. He mirrors what she’s doing, self-consciously sticking out his arms too, standing beside her and getting a look at the peaceful expression on her face. He gives it a go for himself, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the warm, low winter sun. It’s nice. He takes a breath, inhaling through his nose and then exhaling a big breath through his mouth. When he opens his eyes again she’s staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

‘Just wondered what all the fuss is about,’ he tells her sheepishly.

‘What’s the verdict?’ she retorts, smirking now. He’ll take a smirk over a catatonic glazed-over nothing, though.

‘You’ve defrosted since breakfast,’ Duke says, closing his eyes again and keeping his arms wide to reassume his meditative stance. He hears her move in the snow and, peeking through one eye, sees she’s done the same, and so that’s how they converse, stood like two Angels of the North, side by side, in the middle of a field in Naturschutzgebiet Seeholz.

‘Bad night,’ she says, simply.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Are you hungover?’

She hits him. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I had a panic attack, actually. I mean. I think that’s what it was. A freak-out? Meltdown?’