‘Ah, our illustrious director,’ she said to Anton. ‘You know, three Dahlias in one film would really be something. Just a thought.’

Posy hid an annoyed grimace. Of course she’d want in on this too. With both Rosalind and Caro in the movie, it was possible that nobody would notice Posy was the star at all.

Caro flashed Anton a cheeky smile and moved on, as Marcus introduced Kit as ‘the new Johnnie’. Posy had seen enough of the old TV shows on rainy Sunday afternoons to know that Johnnie – Detective Inspector John Swain – was Dahlia’s on-again, off-again lover in the stories.

Caro patted Kit’s cheek and said, ‘A good, strong jaw – that’s excellent. Johnnie needs to be the sort that you can rely on, in and out of the bedroom, don’t you think, Rosalind?’ Lowering her voice to a stage whisper, she added, ‘And she should know. She married hers!’

‘You weren’t tempted by yours, Ms Hooper?’ Kit teased.

Caro’s eyes widened, horrified. ‘Oh, please, call me Caro. Ms Hooper sounds like my mother. And my Johnnie was already married, so no dice there. But his wife was divine.’

How old was Caro, Posy wondered? She’d played Dahlia for over a decade, but she still looked to be no more than about forty. Which meant she could have been younger than Posy when she got the part – and now it was all she was ever known for.

Well, not quite all. Off screen, Caro was notorious for one of the messiest divorces in British TV history. Posy had still been living in the US, dealing with the consequences of her fall from grace, so she’d missed most of it, but she did remember reading something about Caro setting fire to her ex-husband’s tie. While he was still wearing it.

She’d gone on to marry a woman, Posy remembered vaguely, although she didn’t talk about it much. There’d been one article she’d read, where Caro had told the interviewer ‘I don’t know about you, kiddo, but I fall in love with the person, not the parts.’

Caro had a smile and a handshake for Libby, telling her she couldn’t wait to see what she did with the script. And then she turned to Posy.

‘And you must be the latest Dahlia.’ Her scrutiny wasn’t quite as obviously scathing as Rosalind’s, but Posy was left with a general sense of disapproval. ‘Well, times change, I suppose. But you’re joining an illustrious tradition here, you realise.’ She didn’t add, ‘You’d better live up to it,’ but Posy could see the words hanging in the air like bunting.

‘Now, where can I park Susie?’ Caro patted the motorcycle at her side like it was a pet.