‘Stables will be best,’ said Marcus. ‘We’ve moved the horses out to display all the other vintage vehicles for the visitors to gawp at, and you know the fans will want to get a look at Susie. Come on, I’ll show you where to put her.’

Clementine took over, ushering the rest of them in the right direction, ready to show them to their rooms, talking the whole time. But Posy wasn’t listening.

Instead, her attention flickered between Caro and Rosalind, each heading in different directions, but both seeming to her further down the path she was already standing on. Both showing her what the future could bring, as a member of the Dahlia Club.

‘Posy?’ Clementine called from the stairs to the front door. The others had disappeared inside.

She shook her head. ‘Coming.’

This wasn’t her future. It was her competition. Here, at Aldermere House, she had to convince the crowds of fans – and Uncle Sol in her head – that she was a more worthy Dahlia than Rosalind King and Caro Hooper, all while they were standing right beside her.

Back straight, Posy hurried towards the door. She was ready for the challenge.

The grand style of the entrance hall of Aldermere House, with its gilt-framed family portraits and red brocade curtains, didn’t lend itself to the efficient-looking reception desk that had been set up inside the doors. It was little more than a folding trestle table, loaded with ticket envelopes, leaflets for the activities planned for the weekend, and a small display of Dahlia Lively books. No sign of a computer, or any other tech beside a vintage-looking radio.

There were plenty of volunteers wearing the official convention waistcoats, though, and as Posy watched, Clementine deftly paired each of the group up with their own volunteer – but not before confiscating their phones.

‘You’ll get them back on Monday,’ she promised.

‘What if there’s some sort of emergency?’ Kit asked, refusing to relinquish his latest model iPhone in a hurry.

Clementine raised an eyebrow. ‘Social media emergency or real-world emergency?’

‘Either.’ Kit’s gaze slid away, and Clementine gave him a knowing smile.

‘In a real-world emergency, you come and find me,’ she said. ‘I’ve still got contact with the outside world if we need it – as has Marcus, and the Davenport family. It’s only the delegates who are paying for the immersive experience of having their tech taken away. And you guys, of course.’

She didn’t answer the question of what would happen in a social media emergency.

As Anton, Libby and Kit were led away by the volunteers to be shown to their bedrooms for the weekend, Posy couldn’t help but question it.

‘I’d have thought the convention would want social media coverage of this event.’

Clementine, leaning over the reception desk as she fiddled with the papers on her clipboard, sighed. ‘The convention, yes. The family, no.’