‘Always the favourite part of one of these events, isn’t it, Caro?’ Marcus said. ‘Everyone loves the chance to pretend they really are part of Dahlia’s world.’

‘Have you done many of these conventions together, then?’

‘Oh dozens, haven’t we, Caro?’ Marcus nudged Caro familiarly, and her smile slipped for a second.

‘Not quite that many, I don’t think. But yes, I’ve appeared at a few of them that Marcus has arranged.’ The fake fur stole around her shoulders – too hot for a summer night, but perfect for the dress she wore it with – slipped slightly, and Caro adjusted it to sit right. ‘It’s always a nice opportunity to meet the fans.’

‘And slip back into the role of Dahlia again, right?’ His elbow pressed against her arm again, and this time, Posy was sure she saw Caro flinch. ‘Sometimes, I swear I don’t know where Caro Hooper ends and Dahlia Lively begins!’

It was an observation Posy had made herself, but even she could see that Caro didn’t appreciate it being made aloud.

‘Were we not supposed to have gone through to dinner by now?’ Posy asked.

Marcus rolled his eyes. ‘Isobel is still fussing with the damn seating plans. Wouldn’t let me help.’ He checked his watch. ‘It is getting on, though. I’d better go chivvy her along.’

‘I need to talk to you,’ Posy murmured as he walked away. ‘And to Rosalind, too.’

Caro raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you now? What about, exactly?’

‘Dahlia business.’

Caro’s eyebrows went from curious to a full, surprised arch, and she slipped a hand through Posy’s crooked arm. ‘Oh, well, in that case …’

They skirted the edge of the room to where Rosalind was in conversation with Anton, and looked meaningfully at her until she excused herself. ‘What do you two want?’

Posy checked around them. Still too many people. ‘I need to talk to you both. In private.’

Rosalind glanced at Caro. ‘Come on, then. We’ll go through to the Snug. That’s where Hugh keeps the best drinks, anyway.’

The Snug was at the front of the house, looking out over the driveway.

‘Have you been here often before?’ Posy asked, as Rosalind set about fixing them cocktails from the drinks cabinet shaped like a globe that sat beside a trio of seating – two leather wing chairs and a chaise longue. ‘Ah, not for me, thank you. I don’t drink, actually.’

‘A mocktail, then.’ Rosalind reached for another bottle from the lowest shelf, and started mixing something else. She handed the resulting bright pink concoction to Posy, who frowned at the colour and sipped it cautiously.

‘I’m an old friend of the family,’ Rosalind said, answering Posy’s question as she tipped the gin bottle a little more sharply into her own glass. ‘I’ve stayed here often.’