The serene blank look and elfin grace were put on hold for her most sustained moment with British Vogue - Tim Walker’s 27-page epic ‘White Nights’, as meticulously planned as Napoleon’s assault on Moscow but with more attention to detail. (Sasha revealed that she has read War and Peace at least twice, which is pre-production enough.) Walker suggested a two-week trip covering thousands of miles. (Red lights flashed and budgetary constraints kicked in at this point.) In the end, in the glowing white light of the midnight sun, on the Russian Island of Eglovo in Lake Onega, Sasha was required, among other novelties, to sport ‘swan’s head’ shoes and balance teacups on her head, as well as a gold plastic bowler hat. In so doing she revealed a playful side, unexpected from the Prada ice-maiden. Also unforseen were the ministrations of the local priest. Glancing at Sasha, who was wearing a pleated lamé jacket in the evening light, he said approvingly: “I am not sure what you are doing but I like it.” However, the light-hearted trip was not without it’s moment of Chekhovian sorrow: two sisters sang old Russian folk songs, narratives telling of the death of traditional rural life. Moved greatly, Sasha wept.