I’m searching all around for a flash of silver, but without any joy. People are pressing back into the ballroom from outside, and it’s getting pretty chock-full. And now there’s a crush of photographers as some major celeb enters the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ comes the boomy voice again. ‘Please take your seats for tonight’s awards!’

I feel a tap on my shoulder and wheel round sharply, hoping it’s Sage. But it’s Lois.

‘Becky, I was looking for you,’ she says in that soft voice. ‘We were interrupted.’

I can’t reply. I’m staring in shock. She’s holding the Art Deco clutch. How did that happen?

‘Where did you get that?’ I blurt out.

‘It was lying on a table. You know, there was a champagne glass balanced on top of it.’ She smiles in mock reproof. ‘You should take better care of such a lovely thing. I have to go present an award, but I’ll see you later, OK?’ She twinkles at me, then hurries off.

In a slight daze, I return to our table and sink into my seat.

‘What happened?’ demands Suze. ‘You’ve been ages!’

‘It’s OK. Luke’s fine with everything and Lois’s got the clutch.’

‘Nicely done,’ applauds Luke.

‘Thanks.’ I beam at him, finally relaxing. ‘So, what are these awards all about?’ I reach for the programme and flip through it. ‘Best Debut. Suze, you could win that!’

‘They should have Best Background Artist,’ says Suze, looking up from her programme in dissatisfaction. ‘We’re the backbone of the film industry. Why don’t we have our own Oscar? Tarkie!’ she exclaims as he sits down. ‘I want you to sponsor a new awards ceremony. For background actors.’

‘Ahm …’ Tarquin looks wary. ‘Maybe.’

‘The big corporations don’t care about us. But where would they be without the talent and commitment of the background artist?’ Suze sounds like she’s about to organize a rally. ‘Where would their blockbusters be then? We need recognition. We need respect!’

‘And you want to win a prize,’ I put in.

‘It’s not about that,’ she says severely. ‘I’m simply speaking out on behalf of my community.’

‘But you would win a prize.’

‘I might do.’ She preens herself. ‘We could have statues like the Oscars, but silver.’

‘And call them “Suzes”.’

‘Shut up!’ She pokes me. ‘Although, actually … why not?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The deep boomy voice is back, and spotlights start circling the whole room. ‘Welcome to this year’s Actors’ Society Awards. Please welcome your host, Billy Griffiss!’

Applause breaks out as music erupts from the loudspeakers, and Billy Griffiss comes running down a set of lit-up steps, on to the stage. (I’m not exactly sure who he is. Maybe a comedian.) He starts his speech, but I’m only half listening.

‘Sage!’ says Aran, as she approaches the table, all glittery under the circling spotlights. ‘We lost you there. You need a drink, honey?’

‘I’ve been looking for my purse,’ says Sage, looking cross. ‘I just had it. I put it down, and it was gone.’