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Chapter One

‘It’s hard to believe it isn’t real sometimes, isn’t it?’ Dahlia said, as they both got to their feet to applaud the actors, bowing on stage. ‘For the length of a play, we’re so taken in that everything seems as if it must be true – Romeo and Juliet must be in love, Mercutio must be dead – but then at the end the actors revert to their true selves and just go on about their lives.’ She shook her head. ‘Such duplicity, really. I’d hate it anywhere but at the theatre.’

Dahlia Lively in All The World’s a Stage

By Lettice Davenport, 1938

 Rosalind

Rosalind King sprang to her feet with the rest of the audience of London’s Arcadia Theatre as the final curtain fell and the cast of Lights Out took their bows. There, right in the centre, beaming into the stage lights, stood the star of the show, Posy Starling – and Rosalind couldn’t be more proud.

Posy was the youngest of ‘the three Dahlias’, the name the three actresses who had played Dahlia Lively on screen over the past forty-plus years had given themselves. The fictional lady detective had been created by author Lettice Davenport back in the 1930s, but her appeal had proved to be timeless.

Rosalind, of course, had been the first to play her, back in the early 1980s, followed by Caro Hooper, who’d starred in the long-running TV adaptation of Dahlia’s adventures twenty-odd years later, until it was cancelled. Now, Posy had taken over the mantle for the new film reboot – and used it to refresh her flagging career as she turned thirty, after flaming out in her late teens after years as a child star.

Posy’s role in Lights Outs was a complete departure from playing Dahlia, and stage acting a mostly new endeavour for her, but she had absolutely smashed it. The production was a revival of a popular 1980s play set in New York during the blackout of 1977, and Posy’s role as a smart-talking, angry young New Yorker had showcased a whole different side of her talents from the elegant – if also smart-talking – amateur sleuth. She’d held the audience in the palm of her hand from start to finish, and she’d done it with charm and pathos. This play was going to be a huge success, Rosalind could tell.

Above them, crystal chandeliers sparkled in the rising lights, and the red velvet of the drapes and the seats couldn’t dull the roar of the applause. She turned to her companions, both also standing to applaud beside her in their prime seats at the front of the dress circle. ‘Wasn’t she amazing?’

Caro nodded sharply, just once. ‘It’s a good play. I’m sure it will do well for her.’

Not exactly the ringing endorsement Rosalind had been hoping for.

She looked further along the row to Annie, Caro’s wife, who gave her a pointed, I told you so, look, before saying, ‘I thought Posy was brilliant. And so were the rest of the cast! Are we going to wait for her at the stage door with flowers like adoring fans?’

Did people still do that? They had, back in the day, when Rosalind was starting out in the theatre. Well, maybe the tradition needed reviving. ‘Yes, definitely. Then I think there’s an afterparty at a cocktail bar nearby.’

It was the official press night for Lights Out, although there had been preview performances for most of the last week, fine-tuning the play until it was as close to perfect as it could be, before they invited the great, the good, and the reviewers in for tonight’s performance. Now, most people would join the party to continue talking about how great the show was, before the press reviews started to pour in overnight. She knew the producers and PR people for the show would be anxiously checking their phones at the bar, waiting for the first of them to drop. The better the buzz at the party, the more positive the reviews, in Rosalind’s experience.

They made their way out of the theatre, and onto the London street outside. The stage door wasn’t far from their exit, so Rosalind turned towards it, but Annie spotted a flower cart across the street and dashed over to it between the traffic.

‘Are you and Annie going to join me at the afterparty?’ Rosalind asked Caro. From what Annie had said when she called she half expected her to say no.

But Caro surprised her. ‘Yes, I imagine so. There’s actually a few of the Finding Freddie company planning on attending – they were in the audience tonight, too.’ Finding Freddie was Caro’s new play, opening at the Prince Regent Theatre around the corner for previews the following night. It seemed the stage was the place to be that summer. It made Rosalind nostalgic for her days treading the boards. But she’d had other priorities this year.

Caro looked over Rosalind’s shoulder and smiled. ‘In fact, here they are now.’

Rosalind turned to see a handsome man in his thirties and a younger woman with black hair cut above her shoulders approaching. She wore a golden dress that showcased a slim and lithe body, and had her hand tucked through the crook of the man’s arm. Behind them followed another woman, probably closer to the man’s age – this one in black jeans and a black satin shirt, with wild, red curls around her head.

‘Caro!’ The man broke away to hug her like he hadn’t seen her in days – which, since Rosalind knew the cast of Finding Freddie had been rehearsing at the theatre earlier that day, seemed a little excessive. The younger woman air kissed Caro’s cheeks, while the older one merely smiled and nodded.

Caro turned to introduce her. ‘Everyone, this is my dear friend—’

‘Rosalind King!’ The man looked scandalised to think Caro wouldn’t know they’d all recognise her on sight. The perils of being a National Treasure, she supposed. He stretched out a hand and Rosalind took it, only for him to lean in and kiss her on both cheeks. ‘It is an absolute honour to meet you, Rosalind. I’m Luke Burrows, and I’m lucky enough to be playing opposite Caro in our little play this season.’ He stepped back, still smiling, to present the others. ‘This is Darcy, another of our merry band.’ The young woman in the gold dress stepped forward to perform the obligatory air kiss, her lips not getting anywhere close enough to Rosalind’s cheeks to mar her lipstick. ‘And Amber, our stage manager.’ Amber just waved. Rosalind liked her immediately.

‘It’s lovely to meet you all. I’ve heard a lot about you from Caro,’ Rosalind said.

It wasn’t a lie; Caro had been enthusiastic about the company their producer and director had put together for Finding Freddie. The play was a new one, transferring to the West End from somewhere up in Yorkshire after rave reviews and success there. Most of the cast had travelled down with it, although Caro and Luke had been brought in for the main roles – a not unusual tactic in Rosalind’s experience, as a star name would always draw a bigger audience.

Caro’s star had risen considerably over the past few years, since they began solving murders as the three Dahlias and she started chronicling their adventures in her bestselling books. And Luke Burrows . . . well, he was one of those actors who’d apparently been around forever in insignificant roles in major shows or better roles in movies that no one saw, but had finally found his place over the last few years in a popular TV show in the States.

Rosalind hadn’t heard of him before he was cast opposite Caro in Finding Freddie. But since then she’d already heard more about him than she wanted to – and suspected she was going to hear an awful lot more before very long.

‘I found dahlias!’ Annie returned with three, long stemmed dahlia flowers wrapped in brown paper in her hands. ‘I thought they’d be perfect.’

‘They are,’ Rosalind assured her, as they waited for the stage door to open and Posy and her fellow cast mates to emerge.

While there were a few other theatregoers still out on the street, most of tonight’s invited audience had already made their way over to the cocktail bar, presumably because they knew that they could meet the cast just as easily there, and they could get a drink while they were waiting. Rosalind was glad of it; tonight was Posy’s night, and she didn’t want her and Caro’s presence to take away from that. Usually, if any two of them were together, there’d be someone around snapping a photo.

Which had already proved a problem recently. Rosalind thought of the newspaper article Jack had shown her back in Wales – a photo of Caro and Posy together in a cafe, Caro standing with her hands on her hips while Posy looked mulishly up at her, with the headline is the bloom off the dahlias?

As soon as they got to that damn cocktail bar, she was going to collar Annie and get the whole story behind that photo.

Finally, the stage door opened, and Posy appeared, her face scrubbed clean of stage make-up, replaced with a minimal look instead, and her costume changed for a short, black silk dress that made her legs look endless. Her blonde hair was caught up in a high ponytail, her cheeks pink and eyes bright with the success of the night.

‘Darling, you were wonderful,’ Rosalind told her, embracing her warmly. ‘This show is a sure-fire hit.’

‘That’s the hope!’ Posy pulled away and Annie darted in to give her the dahlias and a kiss on the cheek.

‘Posy, it was brilliant. Best thing I’ve seen on the stage this year.’ Annie lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘And I can say that because Caro’s play hasn’t opened yet.’

Everyone laughed at that. Everyone except Caro and Posy.

Amber stepped forward, breaking the awkward moment. ‘It really was great, Posy. Sorry, you probably don’t remember me – I’m Amber.’

‘Pollie’s friend, right? We met at that party?’ Posy said. Clearly they’d been introduced at some point; theatre circles in London were notoriously incestuous, and Posy had been here working for a couple of months already. ‘You’re stage manager for Finding Freddie? I’m looking forward to seeing it when it opens, if I can find a day I’m not performing.’

Then Luke moved towards them – despite, Rosalind noticed, Darcy clinging onto his arm until the last moment. ‘Posy. It’s good to see you again. You were incredible up there tonight.’

Posy stared at him for a moment, glanced at the silent Caro, then turned on her heel back to Rosalind and Annie. ‘We’d better get to the party before they send someone to look for us.’ She linked her arm with Rosalind’s. ‘Come on.’

Rosalind shared a meaningful look with Annie as they walked.

This was worse than she’d thought.

~~~

The cocktail bar that had been booked out for the party was, apparently, styled in the industrial-chic trend, with metal pipes, bare bulbs and a grim, grey sort of aesthetic. Behind the glossy black bar, cocktail waiters were serving up classic seventies cocktails like Blue Hawaiis, Tequila Sunrises and even a Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, if Rosalind overheard the order right.

Caro snagged them a high table by the window, and Rosalind perched as delicately as she could on a backless stool, and let Caro go to the bar for drinks.

Posy managed to wait a full five seconds before asking, ‘So . . . did you really like it?’

‘I loved it, darling,’ Rosalind said, easily. ‘Reminded me of my teenage years, apart from anything else. But no, it was smart and funny and biting when it needed to be. And you were fabulous. Jack will be so cross he missed it.’ Damn it. She hadn’t meant to mention Jack – or draw attention to the fact that he hadn’t joined her on this jaunt to the city.

Posy beamed. ‘Well, you’ll just have to bring him down to London and see it again!’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Rosalind replied, noncommittally.

She waited until Posy was pulled away by someone else wanting to congratulate her, then shifted her stool closer to Annie, glad that Caro was already occupied with her other friends.

‘Right. What the blazes has been going on here?’

The three Dahlias might not have got on perfectly to start – fine, they’d all thought the absolute worst of each other when they’d met at a Dahlia Lively fan convention nearly three years ago – but tackling their first murder together had brought them together. And regardless of their different generations, pasts and circumstances . . . they’d stayed together. Solving several more cases since had made them first friends, then family.

Until now. Something had come between Posy and Caro while Rosalind had been away in Wales with Jack for the past few months. And Rosalind needed to know exactly what it was so she could fix it.

Annie sighed, and reached for her wine glass. ‘I don’t know everything – at least, I’m assuming I don’t. I’ve mostly heard Caro’s side of things. And a flaming row at our house over Sunday dinner about a month ago, where I just took a bottle of wine and hid in the lounge until I heard the door slam, and when I came out, Posy had gone.’

Well. That didn’t sound particularly auspicious. The Dahlias had disagreed before, even argued. But for Caro and Posy to still be at odds with each other a whole month later? That was unprecedented.

‘You said on the phone it had to do with Luke Burrows?’ She glanced over at where the actor was laughing at something Caro had said.

‘Yes.’ Annie gulped down some wine. ‘He and Caro were the two new members of the cast when they started rehearsing, and I think they bonded quickly over that. She said he mentioned that he’d worked with Posy in the past, but more than ten years ago, I think, and it didn’t sound like they were still in touch. Posy barely acknowledged the name when Caro mentioned him at Libby’s wedding. She definitely didn’t say she had a problem with him or anything.’

‘But she does.’ It wasn’t a question; Rosalind could tell that from just thirty seconds in the same place as the pair of them. Luke, however, hadn’t seemed to have a problem with her.

Annie sighed. ‘Apparently so. Caro and Luke got more and more friendly, hanging out together when they weren’t rehearsing and such. I’ve been away such a lot helping my mum since she had that fall, and some weeks it’s just easier to stay up in Suffolk than travel to and fro every few days, especially when Caro working so much and . . . I guess she enjoyed his company.’

‘And Posy’s been busy too,’ Rosalind guessed. ‘With the play, of course, and I imagine quite a lot of publicity commitments.’

‘Kit was home for a while last month as well,’ Annie added. Posy’s film-star boyfriend was away on location currently. ‘So, with one thing and another I suppose they hadn’t seen each other for a while. And then Caro invited Posy to some event or another – a charity gala, I think – and Luke was there too and, well, I guess it took Posy by surprise.’

‘That he was there or how close he and Caro had become?’ Rosalind asked.

‘Both, I imagine.’ Annie eyed Rosalind carefully. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m blaming you for this, because I’m really not. But you not being here . . . I think they’ve forgotten how to be the Dahlias without you.’

Rosalind looked away. Nearly six months she’d been hidden away in Wales with Jack, now. The first one or two had been spent watching him anxiously, panicking at every cough or ache, after his brush with death over Christmas. She’d finally relaxed and accepted that he wasn’t going to drop dead on her around Easter.

But while she’d been focusing on her relationship, she’d let Caro and Posy’s friendship fall apart. They were the three Dahlias, not two. And while they’d never lived in each other’s pockets, apparently this time she’d just been gone too long.

She straightened her spine. ‘Well, I’m here now. So, what happened at the gala? Or after it?’

‘Remember I’ve only got Caro’s side of this,’ Annie warned. ‘You’ll have to get Posy’s. But according to Caro, Luke tried to speak with Posy – perfectly politely, in a “good to see you” way – and she cut him off and walked away.’

‘Like she did tonight,’ Rosalind murmured. Posy’s behaviour outside the stage door did add a certain credence to Caro’s version of events.

‘Anyway, when Caro called her out on it later, Posy said she couldn’t understand how Caro could be friends with such a horrible person,’ Annie continued. ‘I think Caro was quite taken aback, because she said that Luke had always been lovely to her. Posy just stared at her for a moment, and then left.’

Rosalind tapped a nail against the side of her glass, thinking. There was obviously something in Posy’s history with Luke that she hadn’t shared before making her act this way. Posy wasn’t rude by nature. In fact, she tended to go out of her way to be nice to people, probably – Rosalind believed – because she started every interaction from the assumption that people would have heard the worst about the person she’d been in the past, and she wanted to prove them wrong.

Posy’s wild-child past was history, but it was one that would always hang over her. Rosalind had already seen a couple of articles about Lights Out which, while generally positive, couldn’t resist mentioning the partying and drugs that had led to Posy’s child-star downfall.

‘Okay. Fast forward to Sunday dinner. I assume that was the next time they were together?’

Annie nodded. ‘And that’s when it all came out. From what I could overhear, the crux of it was that the Luke Posy knew in the past was a liar, cheater and all-round bad egg. Caro asked exactly what he’d done to make her say that, but all Posy would say was that they’d dated and it ended badly. And that she’d expected that Caro would be able to see through his charm and smiles.’

‘But she didn’t.’

‘But she didn’t.’ Annie grimaced. ‘In fact, she and Luke had become friends and he’d already told her about his bad-boy past and how hard he’d worked to change over the last five years . . . to become a better man.’

‘Oh God, Caro thinks he’s another Posy,’ Rosalind realised.

‘Exactly,’ Annie said. ‘I knew you’d get it. Anyway, Caro is adamant that Luke has changed – and I have to say, I haven’t heard of any problems on their show, and if anyone would know it would be the people working closest with him, wouldn’t it?’

‘It would.’ Rosalind had appeared in enough plays to know that, when you were working so closely with people, day in and day out over an entire run, it became much harder to hide any less desirable tendencies.

‘But Posy was adamant that she knew him best, and furious that Caro wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t believe her – even when Caro pointed out that Posy hadn’t told her any of this before she got to know Luke for herself. She asked Posy for details, to tell her what Luke had done but, beyond establishing that Luke had never physically hurt her, she wouldn’t say any more. Just that he was a bad person.’ Annie gave a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think either of them are being entirely rational about this. I know Caro’s been under a lot of pressure lately – not just with the play, but with edits on the next book, and her work with Ashok, and me being away . . . you know what she’s like when she’s doing too much. She loses the ability to empathise with anyone.’

‘Except Luke.’ Whatever Posy’s past with Luke – and the fact that she called him a cheater and a liar told her a lot – it had happened a long time ago. Back when Posy was another person too. So Rosalind had to allow that Posy wasn’t the best-qualified person to say who Luke was now.

But Caro knew now that her new friend had hurt Posy, who was family. And she hadn’t stepped away from him or acknowledged that as far as Rosalind could tell from Annie’s account.

No wonder they were both so mad at each other.

‘Will you stay here a while and fix it?’ Annie asked. ‘I’ve got to go back to Suffolk tomorrow but I’ll be back again on Thursday evening to watch Caro’s play – she doesn’t want me there for the first preview tomorrow, says too many things are likely to go wrong, so we compromised on the second preview. She’s got tickets for both of us, I think.’

‘I’ll be there,’ Rosalind promised, and tried to pretend that she wasn’t secretly glad for a reason to stay away from Wales just a little bit longer.

Chapter Two

Posy Starling fills the stage with an energy and brightness not seen for too long at the Arcadia, which has suffered a run of less-than-stellar productions in recent years. Ably supported by relative unknown Taran Brady, Lights Out lights up the West End with all the 1970s New York disco vibes you could hope for – but also provides a deeper dive into the chaos of the frenetic, fraught, scary and sweaty moment in time that was the New York Blackout of 1977.

Review of Lights Out on Behind the Curtain blog

Posy

Posy loved the Arcadia Theatre.

She might not have done much theatre work in the past, but she couldn’t imagine a theatre with more glamour, more style, more . . . presence, in the whole of London. From the chandeliers hanging in the lounge bar, to the recently replaced ruby-red carpet that swept up the cantilever staircase from the columns at the lobby entrance to the doors that let the audience into the stalls, it screamed luxury. All that marble and gold, shining and perfect, welcoming the audience to a night out they’d never forget.

Entering through the stage door, however, was an entirely different experience.

The discreet door on the side of the building, away from the posters and the glamour of the main entrance, had only a small sign over it to let guests know it was an entrance at all, rather than an emergency fire exit or something. Posy had seen the Prince Regent Theatre stage door, which Caro and her cast would be using daily, with its Art Deco glass panels and pretty blue-green paint. But the Arcadia just had a nondescript, solid burgundy door that sometimes had a note reading ‘back in five minutes’ pinned to it when Mal, the stage-door keeper who was in charge of checking people in and out, had to dash off and do something else.

Today, the twenty-something Mal was ensconced in his usual position behind the counter at the stage door, ignoring something flashing away on his computer screen while he glared at his phone.

‘Hi, Mal,’ Posy said, as she slipped through the ajar door. Mal never bothered to close it completely at the busy times of day when people would be coming and going, especially when it was as warm outside as it was currently.

‘Hi, Posy.’ He didn’t even look up. Her first day he’d been genuinely starstruck and stumbled through an awkward hello. Now, she was old hat. Posy supposed that was how it went.

With a small wave, she left it to him to register her presence in the theatre in his system, and headed towards her small – but blissfully private – dressing room. She was halfway there when she heard him swear behind her; presumably he’d just spotted whatever had been flashing red on his screen. Hopefully nothing important.

It seemed that she was the first one there today – not an uncommon occurrence. The whole theatre seemed quiet, almost waiting, breath bated, although Posy wasn’t sure what for. Another stellar performance? Maybe even a standing ovation? She was sure that the crew would be in place already, setting up for the night ahead, and Mal was just by the stage door, but still she felt strangely, scarily alone. A light flickered overhead as she made her way towards her dressing room, and then another one, and she swallowed, willing her heart to beat more quietly.

The corridor didn’t echo with her tread on the thin carpet tiles, seeming strangely muffled in its silence, and she ran a hand along the wall as she walked as a sort of reassurance she hadn’t slipped from one world to the other.

Finally, she reached her dressing room, but frowned when she realised the door was ajar, and she could feel a breeze from an open window within, bringing with it the city.

Had someone had been in her dressing room? Who? And why?

What if they were still there?

A shiver danced across her shoulders as she heard a small sound within. Like someone leafing through the pages of a book.

Through the crack of the door she could see the room was in darkness. Because of the room’s position and the high buildings on the other side of the narrow street, it barely got any natural light at this time of day, and blinds blocked most of the light it did get. If anyone from the theatre or the show had been there to see her, they’d have turned a light on while they waited.

She hesitated a moment. She could go back and get Mal, ask him to come in with her, but he shouldn’t leave the stage door unattended. She could seek out one of the crew, or even their company stage manager, Pollie.

Except if the room was empty by the time they got back, she was going to look like a total idiot. And she’d lose any chance of finding out who was in there.

Posy straightened her shoulders, pushed open the door, and reached for the light switch, flipping it quickly.

Nothing happened.

The room stayed dark, and she couldn’t make out any shadows that looked like a person. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe whoever had been there was long gone, and the bulb had merely blown.

She crossed to the dressing table, planning to switch on the lights that surrounded the mirror, but then she heard that same noise again, followed this time by footsteps. There was a flash of something in the mirror and—

Posy acted on instinct, grabbing the book that sat on her dressing table and hurling it in the direction of the footsteps, just as the silhouette of a man, backlit by the brighter lights of the corridor, came into view.

Her aim was good. She could tell by the swearing.

The man clutched his head. ‘Jesus Christ, Posy.’

And somehow, the noise sounded again, although this time he obviously wasn’t making it. And it sounded more like . . . flapping, now.

She fumbled in her bag for her phone and switched on the torch.

Luke Burrows put a hand up to his eyes as she shone it on him. ‘I guess I should have knocked?’

‘I’m . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to apologise. ‘I thought I heard someone in here. An intruder.’

They both stilled as the flapping sounded again. Posy turned her torch towards the noise, and saw a pigeon trapped between the window and the blind. It must have been open enough for it to get in, then dropped mostly closed behind it.

The cleaners. The cleaners must have opened the window, and accidentally left my door ajar.

She hurriedly pushed the window open and set the bird free, before turning back to Luke, who still stood awkwardly in her doorway. Bleeding.

‘You should, uh, sit down.’ She waved a hand towards the small sofa at the side of the room, then reached for the hand towel from beside the sink by the dressing table and tossed it to him. He caught it and pressed it against the side of his temple.

‘What did you throw at me, anyway?’ he asked, as if it were a curiosity rather than assault.

He could press charges, she realised suddenly. Call the police and have her arrested.

The Luke she used to know probably would have done. This one still might – unless he had an ulterior motive for being there in the first place.

She bent down to pick up the book. ‘Um, Lettice Davenport’s autobiography. Signed first edition.’ It had been a gift from Kit, and happened to be not just valuable but also a heavy hardback with wickedly sharp corners, it seemed. ‘I thought you were . . .’ What had she thought? That someone was coming to get her? ‘I was startled. That was all.’

Posy sank down onto the stool by the dressing table, finally switching on the mirror lights, and looked away when Luke shifted the towel from his head and she saw the blood soaking into it.

God, she’d been so on edge the last few weeks. Was it knowing that Luke was in town, or that Caro had decided he was her new best friend? Or was it the stories she kept seeing, online and in the papers, dredging up parts of her life she thought she’d never revisit? She’d been trying not to read them, trying to stay away from the memories.

Of course, the living embodiment of those stories was now bleeding on her sofa, so obviously she hadn’t been very successful.

‘Why are you here, anyway?’ She knew she sounded belligerent, more than she should given that she’d just brained the guy. But really, what possible reason could he have for surprising her in her dressing room?

Luke held out a brown envelope she hadn’t noticed before, and she eyed it with suspicion. ‘What is it?’

‘Just a present.’ He shrugged, then winced as the movement seemed to jostle the towel he was still holding against his head with his other hand. ‘I was going to leave it for you at the stage door, but the guy there – Mal, I think? – he was dealing with some sort of crisis and said that you were here anyway so just to . . . bring it down to you myself.’

That tracked, she supposed. Mal’s screen had been flashing red. But it didn’t explain the most important part. ‘Why are you bringing me a present at all?’

His smile was part sad, part hopeful – and utterly unfamiliar. ‘Call it a peace offering. Caro . . . I know it’s hurting her that you two are on the outs, and I hate that I’m the cause of that. So, I wanted to bring you something to say . . . if you want me to stay out of your way, I will. But please don’t freeze Caro out because of me.’

Posy let his words hang there as she worked through them in her mind. ‘A peace offering.’

The last thing Luke had ever wanted was peace, in her experience. He thrived on chaos. On manipulating situations to his own advantage. He spouted lies and half-truths until she didn’t believe her own memory. Until she didn’t know whether she truly wanted to do something for herself, or because she thought he wanted it. Whether she was really being unreasonable, or unfair, or unfaithful, or if he was twisting her reality to make her believe it.

Not everyone had seen it, though. When they’d met in LA, Luke had seemed to have friends in every corner. He’d prided himself on not just knowing everyone, but also knowing their needs and desires. In some ways, he’d been a fixer first and actor second – more famous for getting anyone anything they wanted or needed, even if they shouldn’t have it in the first place.

Did he really expect her to believe he’d changed so much?

Caro believes it. Maybe she should have told Caro all about her history with Luke the first moment she mentioned his name. But that had been at Libby’s wedding, and she hadn’t wanted to ruin the day with the memories. And after that . . . it was just easier not to think about it.

You mean you were too ashamed to admit to everything that happened in LA.

Fine, yes, there was some of that too. Shame, it turned out, was a powerful motivator. But mostly. . . she’d worked so hard to earn her place in the three Dahlias, to become a woman she was proud to be. She hadn’t wanted Caro and Rosalind to see her differently when faced with the girl she had been, with Luke.

It was stupid. But by the time she’d plucked up the courage to tell them the whole sorry tale, it was too late. Caro was already firmly on Team Luke, and wouldn’t hear a word against him. So what was the point of getting into the gory details?

Especially when Posy wasn’t confident Caro would pick her over Luke anyway.

She’s definitely not going to take my side now I’ve caused him actual bodily harm, is she?

She still hadn’t taken the envelope from Luke, and eventually he placed it beside him on the sofa, then struggled to his feet, keeping the towel in place. It was more red than white, now.

Head wounds bled a lot, didn’t they? It didn’t mean he was dying or anything.

‘Should I call for an ambulance?’ She nodded towards his head. ‘Or find our first-aid person, at least?’

‘Nah.’ He gave her another one of those not-quite-smiles. ‘I need to get back to the theatre. Amber will patch me up well enough to go on stage tonight. I swear she has half a hospital in her stage manager’s kit anyway.’

‘Right. You’ve got . . . previews.’ Their first performance, and Luke was going on with a bleeding head wound. ‘You didn’t lose consciousness at all when I . . . you know. Did you?’

If she’d given Luke a concussion on opening night Caro really wasn’t ever going to speak to her again.

Luke started to shake his head, then winced. It didn’t make her feel any better.

She trailed behind him as he made his way back down to the stage door. With perfectly horrible timing, the rest of the cast were just starting to arrive, and all greeted him first warmly, and then with concern as they spotted the blood-soaked towel.

‘Just a misunderstanding between me and Lettice Davenport, the book,’ he joked. ‘Could have happened to anyone. Mostly I blame the pigeon.’

Mal looked at her with concern from behind the stage-door counter. ‘Are we sure he doesn’t have a concussion? There’s probably an incident form to fill in . . .’

‘You really should go to A & E,’ Posy told Luke. ‘There’s . . . quite a lot of blood.’

‘Nah. Curtain will be going up soon. I’ll be fine.’ He shrugged and smiled at the rest of the crowd like it was nothing, but she knew his game.

Luke was obviously relishing being the martyred hero, with the rest of her cast looking on with admiration for his adherence to the old ‘the show must go on’ maxim. He’d probably burst into a Broadway number on the subject any moment now.

He exchanged goodbyes with the gathered cast – including a complicated handshake with Taran, and a wink for Mal, who’d come out from behind his counter for once. Posy finally exhaled as Luke walked out of the stage door and staggered off in the direction of the Prince Regent Theatre. God, she hoped he was able to make it through tonight’s performance, or Caro was going to murder her.

The rest of the cast started to disperse, with only Taran pausing to give her a half hug from the side and ask in a whisper if she was okay. Of all the cast of Lights Out, Taran was the one she was closest to. They’d bonded over their terrible parents, even if their teenage years had been very different.

Posy nodded, assuring him she was fine, even though she wasn’t.

‘I thought she was involved with Kit Lewis,’ she heard one of the ensemble actresses murmur to another, obviously not realising that Posy could still hear them. ‘Is Luke Burrows an upgrade or a step down?’

Definitely a step down, Posy thought, tuning out the ensuing debate as the two actresses climbed the stairs, in the direction of their shared dressing room.

Back behind his little counter, Mal was looking guilty. Obviously he knew he shouldn’t have let Luke through without checking with her, but she was too exhausted by the events of the evening to berate him for it, and they still had a play to perform.

‘Mal, if Luke Burrows comes here looking for me again, don’t let him in, okay?’ She raised an eyebrow at him, and waited for his nod.

‘Yeah, next time she might do him some real damage,’ Taran joked. He slung an arm around her shoulder, and led her towards their adjoining dressing rooms. ‘Come on, slugger. Curtain up in less than an hour.’

Posy managed to shrug Taran off when she reached her door. She winced at the sight of a small bloodstain on the sofa, but without the overhead lights working she could mostly ignore it. The lamps and the bulbs around her mirror were enough for tonight, anyway. She could deal with everything else tomorrow. Right now, she had to get ready for the show.

Then she spotted the envelope still lying beside the bloodstain. Her present. Right.

Her hands shook, just a little, as she opened the envelope. It made her think of another place and time – Aldermere, three years ago, the China Room, and photos slipping from an envelope not unlike this one. Photos of her – blackmail material.

Was that what Luke thought he had on her? If so, he was very wrong. Her past relationship with Luke might be humiliating, but if it came down to blackmail she’d tell him to publish and be damned.

She wasn’t the sort of woman who could be blackmailed, any more.

But what slid out of the envelope this time wasn’t photographs. It was a script.

The yellowing edges gave away its age, as did the slightly faded print on the cover. The signatures scrawled over the front page told her, even before she focused in on the title, that this wasn’t a new script for her consideration.

This was Luke’s gift.

The Switch Up

And those signatures.

Posy Starling

Luke Burrows

Shannon Sharp

Patrick Dunbar

Maisy Meadows

The list went on. People from another lifetime. Friends she’d almost forgotten over the years.

She knew without reading more than the title that it was the story of two teenaged girls who swapped places for the summer. The only film she and Luke had ever appeared in together. She’d been nineteen at the time.

Why had he given it to her, really? A reminder of the supposed good old days, perhaps?

Then why did it feel like a warning?

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