She was supposed to talk to Duke today. It’s late. She’s sure filming will be done, so he’s likely to be in the hotel. She thinks of her character. Go find him, she tells herself. Go be brave.

She dabs on some lip balm and goes to the lobby. There’s a few of the crew in the bar, Katerina included, but she can’t deal with that now. At the front desk, she asks if they can tell her which room Duke is in so she can knock for him. They’ve moved around so many hotels she realises she doesn’t even know which room is his in this one.

‘I’m afraid we can’t give that information out,’ the young man with big brown eyes says to her, and to his credit he does seem sorry. ‘We’ve signed paperwork of the highest order declaring we will not breach any safety standards.’

Evie sighs. ‘I get it,’ she says.

The man smiles sadly. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Although, what I can say is … the more high profile the guest, the higher floor they are probably on.’

Evie smiles. ‘That helps a lot,’ she says, understanding that if Duke is the top talent he must surely be on the top floor. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? The best rooms are always on the top floor.

She takes the elevator up, wondering to herself if this is right, whilst simultaneously telling herself that she is brave, she is beautiful, she is badass. She taps her foot as the elevator goes up, floor one, floor two, floor three … Has time slowed down? She turns and looks at herself in the elevator mirror. Brave. Beautiful. Badass.

A little tinkle of a bell lets her know she’s on the top floor, and she steps out. It’s quiet. There are four rooms up here, all named suites rather than numbered rooms, with sleek gold plates on their heavy oak doors. She looks around. Right. She’s just going to knock, and when he answers she’s going to say … what? I love you? No, that would be insane. She’s going to say: I’m scared but I like you? That’s more her speed. Okay. Brave. Beautiful. Badass. I’m scared but I like you.

She knocks on the first door, and there’s no answer.

She knocks on the second door, and Marnie answers, dressed in a robe, another one of the producers in there with her, also in a robe. It might even be Malcolm. Evie has interrupted something.

‘Oh shoot, sorry,’ she says. ‘I was looking for Duke.’

Marnie doesn’t say anything, just points, her face impassive.

‘Thanks,’ Evie says. ‘Sorry to … intrude.’ She lifts a finger and points between her and her guest, and it’s more indiscreet than interrupting in the first place. Marnie cocks an eyebrow. She still hasn’t spoken.