‘The lives we call tiny can actually be some of the biggest,’ notes Daphne. ‘And also, can I just point out: you were the one to bring Duke up that time.’

Evie sticks out her tongue.

By the next morning the photos of Evie and Daphne’s walk are published – not widely, but they’re up, with several more feminist websites saying exactly what Willow-or-Dream had hoped: that no man is worth coming between two women. A few ‘anonymous sources’ are featured, saying how hilarious the two women find their alleged love triangle portrayed in the media, when behind the scenes the real love affair is between them, as friends. ‘Seriously,’ the source says, ‘outside of filming they’re normally just propping up the bar, drinking cocktails and putting the world to rights.’ The Cut even runs the headline THE ONLY ROMANTIC ROAD COUPLE WE SHIP ARE THE AUTHOR AND THE REAL STAR, and Evie doesn’t even hate the photo they’ve chosen either. She really is laughing hard and free, and it actually does look like Daphne and Evie are BFFs.

She gets sent the link by her agent, who tells her of two more foreign rights offers that have come through for some works in her back catalogue – Poland and Brazil. It’s not huge money, but it all contributes to the growing snowball of buzz around Evie and her work, the mounting total of cash her agent says is coming her way. She breathes deeply. It’s okay for all of this to be happening, she tells herself as she arranges her hair into two French braids that will fit under a hat. Isn’t it? she thinks, when she’s done.

She’s working on the self-worth thing.

‘That’s nice,’ Duke says, nodding at her hairdressing skills at breakfast. ‘You look like you should be called Heidi.’

He’s in his off-duty uniform of skin-hugging T-shirt and low-slung grey joggers. Evie’s eyes flick to the waistband, the easy-going and idle way it sits just on his pubic bone.

‘I wonder what today has got in store,’ he says to her, and she drags her eyes away quickly, ashamed at her mind in the gutter.

‘Hmmm,’ answers Evie in between chews of a pain au raisin. ‘More smouldering glares and meaningful glances for you, and more hanging about watching your smouldering glares and meaningful glances for me, I’d imagine,’ she says. ‘And maybe pasta salad at lunch.’

‘Your imagination is limitless,’ Duke quips back, finding some watermelon and loading up his plate as Evie stands and watches. ‘I can see how you’ve managed to make a career out of storytelling.’

‘Your compliments sound so sincere.’ Evie grins. ‘I can see how you’ve made a career out of acting.’

‘Ouch,’ Duke says, smiling and grabbing his heart like that’s where her sass has landed. ‘You got me.’