We head straight outside and I was right in guessing this is going to be like no party I’ve been to before. The whole garden is lit by candles – there must be thousands; they’re dotted along the paths, they twinkle in glass lanterns in the trees, they stretch out endlessly into the night and the picture that they make takes my breath away. As I pass one of the trees I realize that there are small mirrors hanging there, reflecting even more dancing flames back towards one another, multiplying the candles by infinity. It’s a magic trick that casts a spell over everyone who sees it, and each new arrival gasps in delight as they step into this wonderland.

Nestled within this constellation are easels holding paintings, and plinths supporting graceful sculptures. The candles stretch down the avenues, luring visitors further into the garden where more treasures are offered up on display. There’s a buzz in the air as people cluster around the works, their voices loud, animated, their movements sharp, as they sketch shapes in the air or talk about form or colour. They use words like cobalt, malachite and azurite: words that have a little bit of magic clinging to them; words that feel completely at home here.

The long table that we usually gather around is piled high with offerings from Rosa, and I pluck a green olive, fat as butter, from a dish, enjoying the salt taste of it on my tongue. I see the others – Hero dressed in shell-pink, her heart-shaped face glowing with pleasure at the scene, and with her are Klaus and Ben. Klaus’s dark hair is slicked back and he wears a sharp, light-grey suit. His dapper look is completed by a jaunty red bow tie.

Ben, on the other hand, has already discarded his suit jacket. He is wearing slightly crumpled cream trousers and a matching waistcoat over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and open at the neck. My eyes catch on that spot at the base of his throat for a second, and I feel a flare of heat in my belly. His golden hair is rumpled, and there is a hint of stubble on his face.

“Bea!” Hero exclaims. “You look so … different!” She stares. “Beautiful.”

“Oh, don’t.” Ursula rolls her eyes. “You’ll make her blush again and her face will clash with her lipstick.”

Klaus comes forward and bows elaborately over my hand, pressing a fleeting kiss to the inside of my wrist and looking at me with such naked admiration that it makes me squirm.

“Your cousin is right, Bea,” he says softly. “You are so striking tonight that you leave all the other women in the shade.”

Ursula snorts. “Not all the other women, thank you.” She juts out one hip, her hand resting on the curve of her waist, candlelight flickering over the gold dress.