Dahlia smiled at him, as she signed another autograph for one of the girls dressed in a flattering facsimile of her own appearance. ‘Oh, Johnnie. Don’t be jealous, now. I don’t suppose policemen really get ‘fans’, do they?’

Dahlia Lively in Fame and Misfortune

By Lettice Davenport, 1967

Lunch was being served in the ballroom which, Isobel told them airily as she deposited them at the bottom of the stairs, was through the drawing room. The group dispersed, mostly in the same direction, but Posy held back and watched them go, still wondering if one of them was her blackmailer.

It was the photos that had her on edge. The idea that someone had been watching her when she was at her most vulnerable. Capturing that moment to share with, potentially, the world.

The idea that they could still be watching her, right now, without her knowledge.

It made her blood run cold.

Posy stopped by the reception desk at the front door hoping to see Clementine – and maybe her phone – but there was no sign of either. Instead, she picked up a copy of the map of Aldermere House and Grounds and studied it.

There, at the far edge of the paper, beside the wavy blue lines that seemed to represent a river, and the childishly drawn trees beside it, was a circle marked Folly. So that was where her blackmailer wanted to meet her.

Posy shoved the map in her bag and headed into lunch.

The ballroom was packed. Posy assumed the diners were speakers and guests at the convention, or people who’d bought tickets to eat with them. Marcus didn’t seem shy about selling access to the house, or the stars he’d invited, even if he hadn’t cleared that with them first. Which creeped Posy out a bit, especially after seeing those photos.

In one corner, at a prettily laid circular table, Caro held court with some of the VIP fans from the tour that morning. From the laughter and table banging going on, Posy assumed she was telling more tales of her time as Dahlia Lively.

Rosalind sat at a smaller table, with Isobel and Juliette, who Posy noticed was texting on her phone under the table. She couldn’t see Anton or Kit anywhere, but then she spotted Libby on the far side of the room. The writer was holding a cup of coffee close to her chest as she stood by the large picture window, looking out over the lawns and stalls at the side of Aldermere House. Skipping the queue at the serving stations for now, Posy grabbed a cup of coffee and headed over to join her, mentally rehearsing her questions as she went. She liked Libby, she didn’t want her to be a blackmailer. But if she was, Posy intended to find out.

‘How’s it going?’ Posy asked, leaning against the windowsill beside her.