It is twilight and the night is perfectly clear, not a raincloud in sight. The stars are just beginning to show themselves, winking against the bruised blue-black sky and I know that soon there will be thousands of them, scattered as carelessly as glitter across the darkness. I know this because it happens every night, but it still feels like a gift.

The balmy air is still warm against my skin, and the humidity is high. I suppose that going out dressed in a thin bed sheet has its advantages. As we push further into the forest of ilex trees, the carefully executed scene comes dramatically into view.

There’s an abrupt opening in the woods, a glade, I suppose, and it’s exactly the sort of place one might expect to trip over a cast of Roman gods. In the middle of the space is a firepit circled in large white stones and the beginnings of the fire are already kindling there, orange flames licking over the tall pyramid of crackling dry branches, casting the scene with a strange, feverish glow.

Brightly coloured picnic blankets are spread on the ground around the fire, and there are dark stone dishes dotted about, piled high with cold roast chicken, bread, cheese and deep purple grapes. These are interspersed with flat silver platters holding clusters of tall pillar candles. The heat from the fire adds to the other-worldly effect of the scene, and it sends shadows leaping around us as if we find ourselves standing in the middle of a magic lantern.

“Beatrice,” Filomena cries, her voice throaty as she strides towards me. The fire behind her highlights the curves of her silhouette, though I notice that her toga, unlike mine and Hero’s, is blood red and she wears a circle of fat red roses in her hair. “This is for you,” she says, holding a crown of laurel leaves tied with a white ribbon, which she sets gently on my head.

“Um, thank you,” I say, trying to inject my voice with solemnity, and I hear a muffled snort of laughter. I notice Ursula stretched out on one of the blankets like a cat, half in darkness. Only the cigarette in her hand and the familiar flash of scarlet lipstick betray the fact that she isn’t an ancient goddess fallen out of time. I can’t help but observe that the white toga looks far more convincing on her.

“Come and sit with me, Goddess Beatrice,” she murmurs. “You might enjoy the view.”

I move to sit beside her, the heat from the fire flaring across my skin. Then I see what she means. Walking towards us are Ben and Klaus.

Ben gives me a courtly wave and I smile.

“I take it the experiment is progressing well?” Ursula says.

“I think so.”

“Your flirting is already more accomplished.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Careful you don’t have my brother falling all over you as well.”