Was it just the crassness of talking money at the dining table that offended him? Posy knew that the British upper classes could be funny about that – at least, that’s what all the period dramas said. Or was Aldermere in financial trouble again? Relying on the latest reboot of the Dahlia Lively mysteries to save them? The threadbare table linens, and the draught through the rattling windowpane, suggested they might be.

Before Felicity could ask any more questions, the waiters cleared the plates and it was time to change seats. For the second course, Posy was shifted to the other end of the table, between Heather in what seemed to be a tartan evening gown and Ashok.

‘Of course, in the book, the food is far more extravagant than this!’ Heather reached for a second bread roll from the basket in the centre of the table. ‘Her first book was published in 1929, so I suppose it was that between the wars luxury, before the rationing came in. It was all very free and easy then, wasn’t it? And I’m not just talking about the food.’ She nudged Posy in the ribs, and Posy forced a smile.

Was that what people wanted from Dahlia Lively and her mysteries? The freedom to let go of the real world and overindulge – food, sex, drugs, money. To let all morals fall away.

Posy had lived that life in LA, once her teen star career was over, and all she had left was her notoriety. It always sounded good on paper – the freedom to do anything without consequence. But Posy knew how it ended.

By the time they’d finished the eighth course, it seemed that Juliette had reached her limit.

‘Where are you going, Juliette?’ Isobel called, from the far end of the table, as Juliette stood and headed for the door. ‘There’s another three courses to go. And you don’t want to miss pudding.’

‘Grandma, I’ve already eaten enough food for a week,’ Juliette said. ‘And I promised Oliver I’d call him tonight before bed, and it’s already nearly eleven.’

Isobel’s face soured, a little, behind her smile. Hugh, sitting a couple of seats away from her, laughed. ‘Let her go, Isobel. She’s put up with us boring old folks a lot longer than most girls her age would.’

‘I suppose so.’ Isobel made an indulgent shooing motion with her hand, as if Juliette were still five, not nineteen. Juliette departed before her grandmother changed her mind.

For the ninth course, Posy found herself between Kit and Harry.

‘A rose between two thorns!’ Harry announced, plucking one of the yellow roses from the table centrepiece to present to her. Posy had no idea what she was supposed to do with that, so she smiled, and placed it beside her plate.