Reaching over to the stone wall beside her, he casually pushed one of the dark rocks and a door popped open. A secret passage. He was hit with the memory of Claudine calling it juvenile. How he had fought her on it and eventually won, but only when the Lions said their children loved the idea.

“No way!” Zara exclaimed.

“Follow me,” he said. “Every house should have a secret room. A place to hide, to be alone.”

The door opened onto a hall with plush red-velvet walls. Sconces led the short distance to a rather large domed room with no windows. Smooth padded walls, checkered carpeting, and rows of luxury viewing chairs sat before the large screen, protected by heavy black drapes.

“The screening room,” he said, “though it could easily be turned into a recording studio. You could take all the chairs out and this area could be for the musicians, and the projection booth is big enough that you could make that the engineering room. It’s already soundproof.”

“I don’t hate the idea of a secret recording studio,” Zara said. “Then I’d never have to leave.”

She flopped down in one of the front-row seats to test how comfortable it was.

“I could sleep here,” she said, pushing a button on the armrest. It reclined as if it had heard her.

Henry sat down in the seat next to her and told her about the original vision. That he’d been inspired by the old screening rooms from the thirties and forties. In the projectionist’s room they could do both 35-millimeter and digital. He could tell the Lions had had the sound system updated. Which was good, technology being so much better now than when it was built. They talked about movies for a while, her love of a good bio-pic, his penchant for old Westerns.

“My agent wants me to get in the acting game,” she said.

“Is that something you want to do?”

“Maybe. It would have to be a perfect fit. Lady Gaga was incredible. I’m not sure it gets better than what she did in A Star Is Born. Honestly, I’d worry about control. With music, it’s all mine. My ideas, my direction, my handpicked producers. I’m not sure I can trust a form that I don’t execute myself.”

“Understandable. I feel exactly the same about my work. I’m grateful I found my collaborators early. Jack and Bobby are the best in town.”

He was impressed by how articulate she was about her music. Also a bit ashamed that he’d never given her a chance in his mind to be an artist. Assumed there were boardrooms of people writing her songs, styling her, curating every part of her public persona. But no, she was smart. Talented.

“Seems like you know what you want,” he said.