Making her way outside, her spirits lifted further as the festival-like atmosphere surrounded her. The tea and cake stalls had mostly given way to mobile bars, now that the evening programme was beginning. People sat on folding chairs clutching wine glasses and watching some sort of scene re-enactment going on in a quadrangle of grass between other food stalls. If she ignored the police officer talking to Isobel on the driveway, presumably about the missing magnifying glass, everything could be perfectly normal.

Posy passed a small queue waiting for a talk on the History of Poison in one of the fringe tents, and made a beeline for the big, white tent in the centre of the South Lawn. Outside stood Kit, hands in the pockets of his trousers, slouched against one of the wrought-iron lamp posts that lined the paths of the formal gardens. His nonchalant stance and teasing smile were drawing plenty of approving glances from the passing visitors.

‘Where have you been hiding out?’ he asked, as she approached. ‘You weren’t mad about the citizen’s arrest thing, were you? I had to fend off another six sets of investigators after you left the Murder Spiral. You deserved to be arrested.’

‘It’s a hard life being a star. And no, I wasn’t mad.’

He pushed away from the lamp post and followed her. ‘So, want to tell me where you ran off to in such a hurry?’

‘I told you. Needed the loo.’

‘And you somehow returned from the opposite direction with Rosalind King and Caro Hooper in tow?’ Kit’s eyebrows arched with disbelief.

‘Don’t you know women always have to go to the bathroom in packs?’ It was a stereotype she usually hated, but it served her purpose now.

Kit didn’t buy it. ‘Fine, you keep your secrets. Just … if it was anything to do with the film, you’d tell me?’

‘Of course.’ It wasn’t really a lie, she justified to herself. The blackmail was personal, not professional.

The fact that the note was written on the script could be a coincidence, right?

A harried convention assistant in a waistcoat appeared in the doorway to the marquee, glancing around, obviously looking for them. Normally, Posy would have expected them to be fetched from the green room, ready for their appearance. But Marcus was so insistent on providing access to the stars of the event, she wasn’t sure there was a green room.

She waved to the assistant, whose face relaxed with relief as Kit and Posy headed over. Almost before she knew it, they were sat on the long table on the stage, with Anton and Libby beside them.