Isobel gave her a fond smile. ‘They are, I’m sure. But to so many fans you – and Caro Hooper, and whoever this new girl is, too – you’re Dahlia Lively, brought to life. Of course they want to see you. And all three of you together? That’s a real coup for Marcus.’

‘I suppose.’ Rosalind didn’t much like the reminder that she wasn’t the only Dahlia, to be frank. For so long, she’d been the only one to grace the screen and give those perfectly crafted putdowns, to raise that solitary eyebrow at a murderer and have them crumble into a confession.

She always tried to be honest with herself, though, even when others weren’t. She knew she was the old guard, now. There were newer, younger actresses ready to take her place.

But they’d never take her crown. She would forever be the first Dahlia Lively on the silver screen, and that counted for something. The only actress Lettice Davenport had lived to see play her greatest creation. And Letty had loved her in the role.

‘Now, what next?’ Isobel placed her hands on her still slender hips and surveyed the room, one low-heeled shoe tapping against the wooden floor where the worn rug didn’t cover it. The frown line between her perfectly arched eyebrows deepened. ‘This weekend has to go perfectly.’

Her tone gave Rosalind pause. She seemed … stressed. She’d never seen Isobel stressed before. Even as a single mother in the early eighties she’d been an oasis of calm.

‘Isobel?’ she said, softly. ‘Is everything okay? I mean, is it just the convention tomorrow that has you … a little worked up?’ She couldn’t ask about money outright, of course. Isobel would be horrified at the implication and clam up completely. Still, if she needed to talk …

Isobel’s shoulders stiffened even more.

‘It’s nothing. Well, not nothing. But nothing we need to talk about.’ Her words were clipped, almost as if she were talking to a stranger, rather than her oldest friend.

‘Are you sure?’ Rosalind stepped closer, awkwardly placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. They weren’t the touchy-feely types, never had been. But she’d never seen Isobel like this, either. Not when she found out she was pregnant, not when Serena’s father ran off at the news. Not even when Hugh broke his engagement to Rosalind to marry Isobel instead. Never. ‘You know you can talk to me about anything.’ That was the advantage of a long history together. Context and understanding.

Isobel hiccupped a laugh that was almost a sob. ‘You’ll say I deserve it.’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Rosalind admitted to herself that there was a chance she might think it, under the right circumstances. But she wouldn’t say it. Their friendship had only survived as long as it had by both of them not saying the things they were thinking, when it mattered.