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‘Thank you,’ Fliss smiled, as Elizabeth poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and handed it to her. ‘This is exactly what I need.’

‘Come on, I’ll head up with you, help you get settled in,’ Sally smiled, and they set off through the grand old house.

‘So who else is coming for Christmas?’ Fliss asked, as they passed Lord Oliver’s study on their way to the sweeping staircase. She tried to sound casual, but her heart was racing.

‘Tara and Kit should be here later today. I’m not sure when, exactly. Kit had a last-minute call to the studio for a voiceover on his latest project, so they’re heading off whenever he gets finished with that. And between you and me, Tara’s been screwing up right, left and centre these past few days, so I hope she won’t be leaving London until everything’s resolved.’

‘Ah!’ Fliss winced. Kit was now a celebrated actor but Tara hadn’t enjoyed the same success as her husband. To keep her occupied, Sally had kindly employed her as an ad hoc consultant for Elevation, Sally’s events planning business. Though from what Sally had implied, Tara was more trouble than she was worth. Fliss got the impression that if she wasn’t family, Sally would have fired her in a heartbeat.

‘And Harry and Katie are coming up tomorrow morning – the gang will all be back together,’ Sally beamed.

Katie was the final member of their friendship foursome. Originally a friend of Fliss’s from university, the girls had all shared a house in London in their early twenties, as they started their careers and fell in and out of love. They had been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, and godparents to one another’s children, but in recent years the demands of work and family meant their get-togethers were rare.

‘God, do you remember when Tara did cartwheels all the way down this hall and smashed that enormous vase?’ Sally laughed. ‘We were terrified that it was some priceless family heirloom, but Elizabeth admitted she’d picked it up at a jumble sale down in the village.’

‘We were terrified,’ Fliss chuckled. ‘And when it was Tara’s sweet sixteenth and you snogged her cousin, Charlie? He was obsessed with you the next day – he kept following you round the house, and you had to hide from him in the stables.’

Sally pulled a face. ‘We see him sometimes at family weddings. He’s married now, but Bill loves to remind him and I’m always mortified.’

They were still giggling as they reached Fliss’s room, where Bill was just heading out.

‘There we go, all of your luggage safely delivered,’ he said, with a salute.

‘Thanks, Bill,’ Fliss smiled.

‘We’ll leave you to it, Fliss,’ Sally said, placing a hand on the small of her husband’s back and steering him along the corridor. ‘Give me a shout if there’s anything you need, and I’ll see you in a couple of hours if not. Let the celebrations begin!’

Fliss stepped into the room, which was reassuringly familiar. Decorated in shades of green, with an impressive four-poster bed, this had always been her room during her stays at the Hall. She longed to sink down onto the old-fashioned floral eiderdown, but knew that if she did she wouldn’t get back up again. Instead, she drew the heavy damask curtains against the darkness outside, turning on the lamp by the bed.

As wonderful as it was to see everyone again, Fliss was grateful to have this time to herself. Coming back to Clarendon Hall had brought up more emotions than she had expected. Ghosts from the past, combined with the jet lag and the stress of the past few days, meant that she suddenly felt bone tired. She would do as Lady Oliver had suggested, run a bath and take a nap, set her phone alarm to ensure she woke up.

The bathroom was across the corridor – there were no en suites in the old house – and Fliss headed over to set the bath running, hearing the ancient pipes cranking into life as billows of steam filled the room, delightfully hot and soothing on a winter’s afternoon. She poured in a few drops of the Floris bath oil Elizabeth always ensured was in the guest bathrooms and soon the air was delicately scented with rose and geranium.

Whilst the tub filled up, Fliss went back to her room to unpack, then hesitated as she reached for her suitcase. It was lying on the bed, already unzipped. Fliss frowned. She didn’t remember opening it, but she must have done it before going into the bathroom. Her mind was so foggy, she couldn’t remember. She clearly needed that nap! Hopefully she would feel fresher afterwards, ready to face anything – even Tara and Kit.

Chapter 5

Kit breathed a sigh of relief as he signalled to come off the main road and swung left down the country lane that led to Clarendon Hall. It was almost dark and the Range Rover headlights picked out the impressive house in the distance, lights ablaze in the windows and festive fairy lights twinkling in the trees.

The journey up from London had been fraught. They had been delayed setting off; Kit had worked in the morning, and had arrived home to find Tara surrounded by half-packed suitcases and unwrapped presents, clearly nowhere near ready to leave. When they finally got on the road, the traffic was building up with everyone fleeing London for the holidays, and a bad accident on the M4 meant long tailbacks as they approached their exit.

They were both trying to stop bickering in front of their son, George, who was fourteen years old and sitting in the back seat. Though he had long since stopped believing in Father Christmas, both Kit and Tara wanted the festive season to be magical for him, and didn’t want his memories marred by his parents arguing. George’s grandparents, Lord and Lady Oliver, adored him, and would thoroughly enjoy spoiling him rotten over the holidays.

Kit glanced in the rearview mirror to see his son staring out of the window. George had inherited Kit’s dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes, along with Tara’s bone structure, and despite the smattering of teenage acne on his chin George was a good-looking boy. Kit loved him deeply and was proud of his son; despite the swirling hormones and the challenges of adolescence, George was growing up to be a polite, considerate, responsible young man.

His upbringing had been completely different to his father’s; Kit had grown up just outside of Manchester, in a loving working-class family where money had been tight. George would likely never have to worry about money in his life, but Kit made sure that he appreciated his good fortune and didn’t take his wealth for granted. He knew it must be hard growing up as part of such a prominent family as the Olivers, but George was coping well with the fact that his parents were famous actors, and that his grandfather’s name was recognised up and down the country. Visits back to Kit’s family also kept him grounded, though these days Tara rarely accompanied them.

Kit hoped that his son wouldn’t follow what seemed to have become the family business, but would instead do what made him happy. The Oliver name could open doors for him in many industries, but Kit’s secret wish was that George would live a quieter life out of the spotlight. Kit, who had spent almost two decades in the public eye, knew through weary experience that fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Still, being the son of two thespians and the grandson of another two, meant that George was occasionally prone to the dramatic, and he had also inherited Tara’s fiery temper.

‘Did you bring the champagne?’ Tara suddenly asked. Her thick ash-blonde hair was cut into a choppy bob, and she wore a long woollen dress with knee-length boots. The bombshell curves of her twenties had become softer and rounder now that she was in her forties, but she took care of herself and was in great shape.

Kit frowned. ‘No, I thought you were getting it.’

‘I specifically asked you last night to pick up some extra bottles today.’

‘Did you? I’ve been at work all morning, I wouldn’t have had a chance. I’d expected that you would get things ready so we could leave as soon as I got back.’

‘Right, so I have to think about everything, and you just swan up and expect it all to be done for you? God, it’s like feminism never happened.’