‘Never mind,’ says Suze quickly. ‘I don’t think it went with your dress, actually.’

‘And now, to present our first award, may I introduce a young lady who has done more for the share price of Kleenex than any other actor. We’ve seen her on the scaffold, we’ve seen her marooned in space, and now we’re going to see her right here. The queen of the weepie … Miss Lois Kellerton!’

The theme tune to Tess blasts through the loudspeakers, and Lois appears at the top of the lit-up steps. She looks slim and ethereal and beautiful … and she’s holding the Art Deco bag.

Shit.

OK. Think. Quickly. The important thing is that Sage doesn’t look at the stage and see the clutch.

‘Sage!’ I say wildly. ‘I need to speak to you. Now.’

I can see Suze clocking the silver bag in Lois’s hand, and her eyes widen in comprehension.

‘Ow!’ She rubs at her chest vigorously. ‘I don’t feel great. Sage, have I got a rash? Could you look at my skin?’

Puzzled, Sage peers at Suze’s chest.

‘You’re good,’ she says, and turns back to the stage.

‘Sage!’ I hurry over to her chair and kneel down, forcing her to look away from the stage. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea for a dress! With a fishtail and a kind of … bodice …’

‘Sounds great.’ Sage turns away. ‘We’ll talk about it later. I want to watch Lois mess this up.’

‘And the nominations are …’ Lois is saying. She’s standing at the lectern by now, and the clutch is resting on top of it in plain view.

‘She’s so skinny,’ Sage is saying pityingly, plumping up her own cleavage. ‘She has such a sad little body. She’s—’ Her eyes suddenly narrow. ‘Wait. Is that my purse?’ She gasps so loudly, heads turn at the next table. ‘Is that my purse? Did that witch steal my purse?’

‘No!’ I say hastily. ‘It was just a mix-up, I’m sure …’

‘Mix-up? She stole it!’ To my horror, Sage leaps to her feet. ‘Give me back my purse, Lois!’ she yells.

‘Oh Jesus,’ says Aran, and meets Luke’s eyes.

‘What is she doing?’ Luke looks absolutely appalled.

Lois pauses in the reading, and peers uncertainly out into the audience. Sage is striding to the stage, her eyes flashing. To my disbelief she mounts the podium, her dress sparkling under the spotlights.

‘That’s my purse,’ she says, grabbing it off the lectern. ‘You’re a thief, Lois. A common little thief.’

‘No.’ Aran bangs his head down on the table, as all the photographers rush forward and start snapping.

‘I didn’t steal anything.’ Lois looks flabbergasted. ‘This was given to me by my stylist, Rebecca.’

‘She gave it to me,’ Sage retorts, opening it up. ‘Oh, look. My phone. My lipstick. My lucky charm. Now are you going to tell me this is your purse?’

Lois stares in bewilderment at Sage’s stuff. Then she glances up, her eyes huge and anxious.