‘Well, you’re not supposed to be you this weekend, Posy. That’s what acting is all about.’ Anton took his seat, placing the dress on her lap, along with a pair of vintage-style shoes in her size to match. ‘This weekend you’re Dahlia Lively, the Lady Detective.’

She looked at the dress again. It didn’t look particularly Dahlia-like either, in Posy’s opinion. But then, what did she know? She’d picked up the first book in the series to read but she still hadn’t had the chance to start it. All she had to go on was re-runs of the old TV series with Caro Hooper, that she used to watch at her gran’s on a Sunday afternoon.

That Dahlia had been all men’s clothes, cigarette holders and sass. Not floral tea dresses.

‘Posy … listen.’ Anton leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice soft so they all had to lean in to listen. Kit drew his attention from the window, and even Libby looked up from her phone. ‘I know you’re new to the project, that you haven’t had a lot of time to sit with the role yet. But if there’s one thing I want you to know before we go into this weekend, it’s this. This film is going to be seminal. Important.’

Up close, Posy could see the crow’s feet forming around his eyes on his tanned face, and the lines that started by his nose and disappeared into the dark thatch of his beard. She mentally revised her estimate of his age up by a few years. Early forties, she decided, for sure. The media always described Anton Martinez as a young and up-and-coming director, but she supposed he’d been up-and-coming for a while now. Shouldn’t he have, well, up-and-come already?

Posy twisted the fabric of the tea dress between her fingers, and stayed silent.

‘We’re doing something new with the Lettice Davenport novels,’ Anton went on. ‘We’re bringing them into the twenty-first century! It’s not just the non-traditional casting, or the filming techniques – or even Libby’s new script. It’s the feel of the whole thing. And the fans won’t get that until they can see the finished product.’

‘Which they won’t have done this weekend.’ Kit folded his arms behind his head and sat back, one ankle resting on his knee. ‘So I guess we’ll have to rely on natural charm and wit. Good job you brought me along.’

Anton rolled his eyes. ‘What you need to do, all of you, is stop worrying about the script, or talk about curses, or what other people think, and trust the process.’

Kit’s mouth curved into a wry half-smile. ‘Ah, but that’s the actor’s bane, isn’t it? We’re only ever worth what other people think of us.’