The grand entrance to the Crystal Ball was in the lobby of the hotel, but when we stepped into the lift and the doors slid shut, Rachel pressed the button for the basement.

‘I haven’t worked the ball before,’ she explained. ‘But I did do makeup for someone who went to a wedding here. The actual ballroom is one level down, all the guests have to walk down this über dramatic staircase, but if we can find an entrance in the basement, we should be able to sneak you past the security checks.’

‘I was literally just thinking I’d make a good spy,’ I muttered, trying not to sweat on my dress. ‘I was wrong. You’re the junior James Bond here.’

‘Definitely see myself as more of a Killing Eve-type,’ she replied as the lift pinged and the doors opened. ‘Stay back here and don’t make a sound.’

Rachel skulked away with her suitcase, leaving me conspicuously alone. Shockingly enough, it was dark in the basement. The walls had been lined with heavy fabric that deadened the music on the other side and kept everything just this side of pitch black.

‘I hope they let me get changed before they take us to prison,’ I whispered. ‘At least my makeup will look good in the mugshots.’

‘Can I help you?’ An American accent stopped me short and I froze in the dark, wrapping myself up in the black fabric.

‘Yes, hi, I’m looking for someone and I think I got turned around,’ I heard Rachel say. Holding my breath, I leaned as far forward as I dared and peeked around the corner to see her talking to a sturdy-looking man in a black suit and black tie. He held a tiny torch, which he was shining directly in her eyes and, as he pressed his finger against a black earpiece, his jacket rode up to reveal something shiny and gun-shaped strapped to his waist.

Oh good, I thought, realizing the gun-shaped thing was probably a gun. We’re not going to prison, we’re going to die.

‘You can’t be down here, it’s guests and hotel staff only,’ the man said to a still-smiling Rachel. ‘And I don’t think you’re either.’

‘Got me there,’ she laughed, her accent taking on a cut-glass edge. ‘No, I’m a makeup artist, my client is a guest. She’s inside already, but she forgot something and I need to get it to her. Would it be possible for me to slip in for just a moment?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘It would not.’

‘Fine, I absolutely get it.’ Rachel pulled a tampon out of the back pocket of her jeans, holding it out like a baton in a relay race. ‘Do you think you could give it to her?’