‘Of course we are,’ Libby added. ‘The script is done, Kit. It’s with Hugh Davenport right now. That’s why I’m here – to iron out any last issues with the family so we can start filming. Don’t worry so much. I’ve done this before, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Kit looked more reassured by Libby’s words than Anton’s.

At least that cleared up one mystery for Posy. It had been a while since she’d done an event like this, for sure, but even so, she knew they would normally be travelling with a publicist. Given all the negative press swirling around the movie, she’d found it even stranger when she arrived at the station to discover it was just the four of them facing the hordes of rabid fans alone.

She’d tried to ask Anton about it, but he’d shrugged and said that there were only four rooms available at Aldermere House for them, and Libby had wanted to come. And since he wasn’t about to leave his two stars at home, there wasn’t room for a publicist.

It hadn’t rung true, at the time. But if he needed Libby there to get the script approved, well, that made sense. And Anton had told her that the presence of a new Dahlia Lively had been confirmed for the convention weeks before she was actually cast in the role. She hoped nobody would be too disappointed when they found out it was her.

Posy glanced at Libby again. She must be about the same age as Anton, late thirties Posy guessed, and despite her quiet, reserved demeanour, was obviously capable of holding her own in front of directors, actors and Davenport family members alike. Even if she looked like she was heading to a WI afternoon tea in her floral tea dress and cardigan.

Wait.

Dread mounting inside her, Posy looked from Libby, to Kit, to Anton and back again.

Anton’s dark grey trousers and sports jacket could have been him making an effort. Same for Kit’s slightly baggy brown cords and braces. But put together with Libby’s village fete chic? Posy stared at her denim-clad knees, and felt the weight of her pale suede moto jacket on her shoulders as she imagined the write-ups on the fashion blogs.

‘Posy Starling made another sartorial error over the August bank holiday weekend, almost as awful as the dress she wore to the 2014 Oscars ceremony (her movie, you’ll recall, did not win, which was just as well as she’d never have made it up the stairs in those glass shoes. Or possibly it was something else impairing her balance …)’

‘Did I miss a costume memo?’ she asked, bluntly.

Anton gave her a faintly patronising smile. ‘Not at all. But yes, the Aldermere convention will be, well, period themed, so we all dressed accordingly.’