‘Am I allowed to go through to the ballroom before you shoot?’ Evie asks, suddenly aware that the words feel foreign in her mouth, like she’s trying too hard to act as though she’s on film sets all the time. ‘Or however you say it. Before you start filming,’ she self-corrects.

‘Yes, sure,’ Katerina says. ‘Just through there. It’s stunning. It’s going to look like a scene from Bridgerton when we’re done, I swear.’

‘I was just thinking that!’ Evie exclaims. ‘It does already.’

Evie walks through several doorways with rooms displaying art in ornate gold frames, and then she’s there. It’s magnificent. The floor is a golden beehive formation in shades of golden syrup, dark in the middle and lighter around the edges, over and over again and polished so well it could practically be a mirror. It’s a double-height room, with one set of sweeping windows down one side, and a second level of windows above to let in twice the light. The duck-egg blue panels that make up the walls are slim, and each is set with complex gold carvings, meaning that at first glance she almost thinks one side of the room is windows and the other simply dripping in gold.

As she gets closer, she can see the level of detail everything has. It’s extraordinary. Several crystal chandeliers hang on long glass chains and, as she follows the lines upwards, Evie gasps, actually, truly gasps. The ceiling is painted with a series of elaborate murals in shades of lavender and mauve and lilac, depicting sunset and faith. There are some powder pink chairs with more gold around the edges, and a piano in sublime walnut wood in the corner, where Evie didn’t at first see that a man in full morning suit is sat. He starts to tinkle on the keys, warming up. The sound reverberates around the room theatrically, and tears involuntarily prick at Evie’s eyes. She’s here. She can’t believe she’s here. She wishes she could call her mom. Magda won’t be awake yet, but Evie will have to try her later. Somebody needs to know she’s experienced this. They’re going to have to remind her if ever she forgets.

Although … she’s not mad at Magda, but she is a bit miffed: it’s unlike her not to reply to a text, especially when Evie says she wants to catch up, but the last three messages yesterday went unanswered and it’s made Evie feel a bit needy.

This feeling is evidence of why it’s so horrific to reach out and say you need help, she thinks to herself. If she’d never asked, she’d never have to feel resentful at the radio silence.