The first time she saw the city was from the window of the plane as it banked gently to make its final descent. The silhouette of the coastline emerged first, Port Jackson, the world's largest natural harbour. It was bathed in the gentle glow of sunrise, in stark contrast to the vast, unbroken expanse of the Pacific ocean alongside it. In the early morning light, the view was softened, hazy, as if the city itself was sleeping languorously, waiting to be woken.
She pressed her forehead up against the plexiglass, breath steaming the window as she tried to catch a glimpse of the features that made Sydney recognisable across the globe.
She spotted the Harbour Bridge first, a graceful arc of steel and metal spanning across the entire stretch of water. The white streaks from the ferries and boats cut across the waves as they began their morning journeys, connecting one side of the city to the other.
When she saw the Sydney Opera House, she gasped. Dominating Bennelong Point, its white sails glinted as the sun hit them, almost other-worldly. The building's bold curves symbolised ingenuity, perfectly marrying the city's creative spirit with its maritime heritage. Even from thousands of feet above, she could sense the cultural significance that made it world-renowned.
Just beyond it, the skyline of the Central Business District, a mix of modern glass towers and older sandstone buildings. As the plane circled closer, she could see the suburbs starting to unfurl in neat grids, pockets of green parks and clusters of jacaranda trees, although it was the wrong season for them to be wearing their purple crowns.
It was so different to London. Brighter… more vibrant. She immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
She'd sold her car and put her flat on the market a few weeks earlier at the beginning of March. She had agonised over whether she should keep it or not, to retain somewhere to stay when she returned to London, but the uncertain nature of how long she would be in Australia had made the decision for her. She'd have more than enough time to find somewhere when she went back, and besides, the production were putting her up in amazing accommodation, a harbour-side apartment in the suburb of Darling Point, where her balcony opened straight out onto a view of the water and the city. Some of her possessions had been sent ahead, where they would hopefully be waiting for her, but had surprisingly little trouble in culling the rest. It was like being able to decide which version of herself she wanted to be on a whim.
Once the visa had been approved, there hadn't been much time for goodbyes. Her management people had informed her that it had been approved, and her flight had been booked for two days later. The production was waiting for her, and they couldn't wait any longer than they already had. It was an honour that they had waited at all. Lucy had wanted to throw her a goodbye party but instead had had to settle for accompanying Aurelia to the airport, along with Elowyn.
"Promise me you'll call as often as you can?" She'd said tearfully, once they'd broken apart from their hug.
"I promise," Aurelia had tried, and failed to sound cheerful, "Every week."
"And when something exciting happens?"
"And when something exciting happens," She confirmed.
"Will you be warm enough?" Elowyn had been more practical.
"Mum. I'm going to Australia."
"Yes, but its Winter there."
"Early Autumn, and currently twenty five degrees." She'd squeezed Elowyn's arm gently, "There's a jacket in my suitcase."
They said nothing, and then held each other tightly,
"Don't look back," Elowyn instructed her firmly, "Don't spend a single second worrying about anything here. You move forward, and focus on what's ahead, okay?"
"Okay," She murmured into her mother's shoulder,
"And remember, you don't owe anybody anything out there."
She recognised Rueben Campbell, her studio-assigned personal assistant as soon as she stepped into the arrivals, suitcase trailing behind her. His shirt was the crispest, whitest shirt she had ever seen, tailored to absolute perfection and rolled up to his elbows, the rainbow braces standing out starkly, dripping with confidence. A deep, burgundy-patterned cravat sat perfectly at his throat, knotted in a way that could only be described as an art form. Everything about him screamed that he made fashion trends, not followed them.
"Aurelia Hart," Arms thrown wide, effervescent with charm, he kissed her on both cheeks and then whisked the suitcase deftly out of her fingers, "Welcome to paradise!"
She blinked, slightly overwhelmed, but found herself smiling immediately, grateful for the familiarity so far from home,
"If you're going to be my personal assistant, I need to seriously up my wardrobe game."
He lowered his sunglasses and eyed her up and down,
"Yes," He said, "You look like shit, babe, but we can work on that." He strode off, pulling the case like it was nothing, people scattering out of his way like he was on a catwalk, leaving her to scurry after him.
"I have rules," He called over his shoulder, "Number one; you treat me like a human being. Talk to me like a piece of shit and its goodbye Reuben, okay?" He carried on before she could agree, "Number two; I'll be your absolute top bitch, but you have to work with me. I'm elite, not telepathic, you need to tell me what you need."
"I-"
"Number three-" He was pulling open the door to a sleek, black car, and gesturing for her to get inside, "Flat white or long black? I will vomit if you say instant."
He sat in the front with the driver, a steady stream of words flowing from him in the way those who were astoundingly competent at what they did.
"You're going to have to get used to jetlag because you're due up at NovaX for a readthrough first thing on Monday. I'll make sure the car gets to you on time. If you need anything in Sydney, just ask, I can sort it out for you." He looked at her over his glasses again, "First things first, vitamin D and caffeine. Dr Sydney has plenty of both." From out of nowhere, he produced the coffee she'd chosen earlier. She hadn't seen him order it, or how it had come to be in the car, but she took it, sipping gratefully.
"Tomorrow, call me when you wake, and I'll give you a proper tour. If you're going to be here for a while, its best to know the main places. Don't get me wrong, this is the best city in the world, but there are some bloody cheeky fuckers and tourist traps lurking about. I'll show you the genuine places, and some of the tourist ones, since its your first time." He sat back in his seat for half a second, before snapping round again, "I draw the line at Bondi though. We aren't doing Bondi."
"Is everyone in Sydney like you?" She asked, when he dropped her off outside her apartment. He gave her a winning smile,
"Not everyone, but I run on pure hospitality and gay agenda. You're in the best hands, babe." He thrust a folder at her, a shiny new phone, "This is all the stuff you'll need to know about the first couple of days. Don't lose that phone either, its got numbers for the studio, me, all the work side of things, but leave your personal stuff off it. It's easier that way. Tata for now." He turned back to the car so fast it almost gave her whiplash to keep up with him
"I look forward to working with you!" She called towards his retreating back.
"Everyone does!"
The first thing that surprised her about Sydney was the rain. It wasn't that she'd never seen a bit of rain before- she was from the United Kingdom for goodness sake- it was just that she hadn't expected to see it in Australia, the second driest continent on the planet. Standing by the window, which took up an entire wall of the apartment, squinting into the early-morning greyness, she watched as the rain pelted down across the harbour, enjoying the sound the drops made as they plinked onto the terrazzo tiles on her balcony.
It was only 06:20, but she was up and dressed already, a small rucksack packed and ready to go by the door. It contained the script for episode one of Dreamtime Protocol, not just her sides, which she would use during the actual filming, but the whole thing. A relentless mix of jetlag and nerves had kept her tossing in her still-unfamiliar bed for most of the night before, until eventually she'd given up on sleep entirely and come out of her bedroom to find chocolate. She'd sat on the wide, low couch, learning lines and working her way through an alarming amount of Cadbury Dairy Milk, until the downpour had drawn her attention.
As soon as the soft notification sounded on her watch, signifying 07:00, a black car pulled up to the front of the apartment complex, and a moment later, the concierge telephoned up to her that her car had arrived. She slipped on her shoes and did a quick scan of her home for the next year before she left. The flat was mostly inside boxes shipped over from London; with a few choice pieces of furniture she'd allowed herself to purchase dotted about here and there, but it still felt good, somehow.
Downstairs, the driver nodded politely at her and took her name without much ceremony. He was the same one who'd picked her up from the airport with Reuben when she'd first arrived, and it was good to see a familiar face. When she slid into the backseat, he reached around, presenting her wordlessly with a tea, which she accepted gratefully,
"Oh perfect, thank you!"
As they pulled away, the Harbour came back into view almost immediately, wide and pale as the Spring-no- Autumn (she had to get used to the seasons swapping over) sunrise gently started to filter through the rain. Since her arrival, she'd come to the understanding that the beauty of it was objective, but not in a way that demanded constant attention. It was part of Sydney's beating heart, whether you looked at it or not, and she liked that.
The studios were in Moore Park, only a short distance away, but the rush hour traffic dragged the drive out to around half an hour. Some things were the same no matter what part of the world you were in.
NovaX Studios occupied a wide, low stretch of Moore Park, its buildings set back from the road behind stands of eucalyptus and carefully landscaped gardens. From a distance, the complex looked more like a modern research campus than a traditional film studio: clean concrete, glass façades softened by timber slats and matte-black soundstage doors punctuating the pale architecture at regular intervals. Up close, the scale of it became apparent. Multiple soundstages branched out from a central production hub, each one enormous and meticulously soundproofed, capable of holding anything from intimate interior sets to full-scale sci‑fi constructions. The stages were named rather than numbered - a small affectation that spoke to NovaX's brand.
Reuben was waiting for her outside Waratah Stage, and ushered her inside, handing her a key card and a small plastic wallet containing her sides for the read-through.
"First day of the rest of your life!" He announced, leading her towards the room where she would meet the rest of the cast, "Feeling nervous? Do you even get nervous, Miss-A-List?"
"Every single time," She admitted, toying with the strap on her bag, "Anything I need to be aware of before I go in there?"
"Don't fuck with Priya."