Isobel’s wobbly smile was grateful. She moved away to brush a few specks of dust from the nearest bronze bust, and Rosalind knew the discussion was over. Casting around for a new subject, she took in the room anew. She’d spent so many hours in the library and adjoining Sun Room at Aldermere – the favourite place for after-dinner drinks – that her memory filled in her surroundings more than her eyes.

But now she really looked, she could see the changes. The painting by a middling-famous impressionist that Hugh’s father had always been so proud of had been replaced by the local landscape that used to hang in Hugh’s study. The leather wingback chairs looked tired and worn, the rug almost threadbare.

Had Isobel moved the better things to where they couldn’t be damaged by the guests? Except Rosalind was sure that rug was the same one she’d been walking on since her first visit. The chairs, too, were familiar old friends.

Rehab, Rosalind knew from the experiences of friends, wasn’t cheap.

‘Why did Hugh agree to hold this thing here at Aldermere? He normally dismisses all those sorts of events requests from the fans, doesn’t he?’ Rosalind had seen him rip up requests to visit the house at the breakfast table, dropping the shredded paper beside the shredless marmalade. But if they needed the money …

‘Oh, goodness only knows. Marcus was more persuasive than most, I suppose. He’s head of the Lettice Davenport fan club, you know? Of course you do. Anyway, we’ve worked with him on a few bits and pieces before. Nothing like this weekend, though. And then there’s the new film – Hugh is discussing letting them film here, if you can believe it.’ Frowning, Isobel surveyed the room with its priceless heirlooms and well-stocked cocktail cabinet. ‘Maybe we’ll keep everyone except those staying at the house out of here altogether. We can do coffee in the front drawing room. It’s next to the ballroom for lunch, anyway, so that will be easier for everyone. I can lock this room during the day. Yes, that would be better.’

The front drawing room was also furnished with the pieces of Hugh’s family furniture that Isobel had never been entirely complimentary about, if Rosalind remembered correctly.

‘Still, Marcus is thrilled to have all three of you here for this weekend,’ Isobel went on. ‘Three Dahlias at the same convention! Last-minute ticket sales went through the roof when that was announced, I believe.’

‘Heaven knows why,’ Rosalind grumbled, glancing out of the window at the giant marquee, squatting on the South Lawn. ‘I haven’t played Dahlia in thirty-five years, and even the TV series has been off air for the last three or four. The new movie hasn’t even started filming. Besides, you’d think fans would be coming to see the place where Letty wrote her books, not us.’