Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I’m still waiting for that explanation too. Or maybe you’ll be more inclined to answer the police’s questions when I report it stolen.’

Finally, Isobel’s perfect, smiling composure cracked. ‘We’re married, Hugh. That magnifying glass was as much mine as yours. That’s what marriage means.’

‘And that’s the only reason you married me, isn’t it? For what I could give you. You were a struggling, single mother actress and I saved you.’

‘You saved me?’ Isobel scoffed. ‘Who do you think has been keeping this place running all these years? Stretching those dwindling royalties from your beloved aunt’s books to keep a roof over our heads?’

‘You mean keeping your junkie daughter in rehab,’ Hugh shot back, and Rosalind winced, as she saw Juliette bring her hands to her mouth at his description of her mother. ‘That loupe was my Aunt Letty’s! A prized possession!’

Hugh’s face was bright red, the fury clear. Rosalind had never seen him this way before. With her, he was always sweetness and charm. Isobel seemed unmoved, though, standing her ground opposite him.

Was she used to this? Was this how their marriage had been, behind the scenes? Filled with bitterness, betrayal and anger?

It seemed astonishing that, if it had, she’d never seen it. Perhaps Hugh and Isobel were better at playing the roles they’d signed up for than she’d imagined.

‘Because that’s all you care about! All you’ve ever cared about!’ Isobel spat back at her husband. ‘The legacy of the damn Davenports. You care more about them than your living, breathing family! As if anybody would care who any of you are if it wasn’t for Dahlia Lively!’

There was a moment of silence, as Isobel’s words sank in.

‘And that,’ Caro said, timing it perfectly, ‘is why Clementine and Marcus had to die.’

All eyes were back on her, Rosalind noted with satisfaction. Had any of them noticed that Posy wasn’t there? The youngest Dahlia, in some ways the most famous – or notorious – of them all, hadn’t lived up to her reputation for sowing chaos and disruption. She’d been so meek and mild, Rosalind had wondered if Anton had brought the wrong girl.

But perhaps she’d made the same mistake there. Believing that the way a person presented themselves to the world was who they were inside. The stories of Posy’s wild youth were years old, and people were allowed to change.

She should know that more than anyone. She was changing now. She could feel it inside her.

‘Because what I discovered during my investigations was a secret so explosive it could tear apart the whole Davenport family.’ Hyperbole, perhaps, but Caro seemed comfortable with it, so Rosalind didn’t interrupt. ‘It started with Lettice’s will.’