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‘Well, he’ll be on location in the south of France with Emily Blunt by then, so perhaps not,’ Tara said bitterly.

‘Tara,’ Kit warned. ‘We talked about this, remember?’

Tara scowled, pouted, then took an angry swig of her drink. An awkward silence fell and Kit took another large swallow of brandy, too, feeling it burn as it slid down his throat. He wondered how much brandy he would need to get him through the next couple of weeks, and hoped Lord Oliver’s cellars had enough.

‘Do all make yourselves at home,’ Lady Olivier was saying. ‘Supper will be served at eight.’

‘Oh goody, I’m starving,’ Tara announced, her recent griping seemingly forgotten as quickly as it had surfaced.

‘Mrs Matthews will bring up some hors d’oeuvres shortly,’ Elizabeth continued.

Kit moved across to Tara. ‘I’ll go and get the bags from the car,’ he said, but Tara didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if she hadn’t heard, or whether she was deliberately ignoring him as she turned to talk to her father, determined as ever to get all of his attention focused on her.

Once again, Kit tried to quell his rising frustration as he strode out of the room, his tread heavy on the vermilion carpet, vowing to get through the next couple of weeks as best he could. He understood now why people always said that Christmas was a time of heightened tension, a pressure cooker environment where everything was one cross word away from exploding. Right now, he would fetch the bags, then try to find somewhere where no one would come looking for him, to enjoy a little peace and quiet.

Outside, a light drizzle had begun and Kit relished the cool, refreshing mist on his face, bringing clarity to his mind. There was something else that was causing dark undercurrents between him and Tara: not for the first time, his wife had turned her attentions to someone else. She thought he didn’t know, but he did, Kit reflected, as he stomped over to the car and unlocked the boot. Tara was definitely having an affair. Kit didn’t know who it was with or whether or not it was serious. But this time he had to decide what he was going to do about it.

Chapter 6

Fliss stretched groggily as she woke from her nap and it took her a moment to realise where she was. Her head felt foggy, but she told herself she had to get up – to give in to the jet lag would be a mistake, and she knew she would sleep right through until the morning.

Fliss drew back the covers and slipped out of bed, feeling the chill that had settled over the old house now that it was evening. She peeped through the curtains; it was completely dark, with not even a pinprick of light as far as the eye could see. She had forgotten that it could be like this in the countryside, the sleepy Cotswolds cloaked in velvety blackness. It was so different to the neon lights and twenty-four-hour-lifestyle of New York and Los Angeles, the two cities where Fliss had made her home over the past two decades, living a privileged, glamorous, bi-coastal life.

Over the past few days Fliss had been gripped by an uncertainty, which stole over her again now, as she wondered what her future would look like. Would the storm blow over, allowing her to walk back into her old life in the States as though she had never left it? Or would she have to reshape herself and find a different way forward?

Fliss let the curtains fall closed and pushed away her anxiety. For the next couple of weeks, she was going to rest and relax. She would enjoy Christmas, save more taxing decisions for the new year.

The official announcement that she was temporarily stepping back from Friday Night with Fliss had yet to be released, but she had heard from her agent that it would be slipped out quietly over the Christmas period. It had been agreed that the press statement would say she was suffering from burnout. Perhaps she was, in a way, Fliss reflected. Already her intense New York life seemed like a distant memory, and being back under the timeworn roof tiles of Clarendon Hall was a welcome tonic.

She was sad not to be spending Christmas with Jeff and Henry, and knew they would be missing her too, but they had been adorable and totally understanding of her situation when she had called them to explain. Jeff had even promised to use his contacts and discreetly dig around, to see if he could find out who had sent the photographs to her bosses at NYBS, for which Fliss was incredibly grateful. Whatever happened in the future she was determined to find out who her enemy was, and be ready for anything else they might fling at her.

Glancing at her phone, she realised there was only half an hour until supper, and she dressed quickly in a long silk skirt and fine rollneck sweater that followed the gentle curves of her figure. Fliss knew that tonight’s meal wouldn’t be a formal occasion, but she still wanted to look good – she wasn’t going to let her standards slip, even in the midst of a personal crisis. She pulled her thick strawberry blonde hair up in an artfully messy bun, leaving a few tendrils hanging down, and added some drop earrings which highlighted the graceful sweep of her neck whenever she moved her head. Then she headed back down the long corridors that held so many memories and made her way down the sweeping staircase. She slowed as she neared the drawing room, hearing a gaggle of voices, sure that she could pick out Tara’s amongst them. Which meant that Kit would be there … Fliss hesitated, realising that she needed a minute before she was ready to face them.

She and Tara had drifted apart over the years, no longer as close as they had been during their youth. It hadn’t helped that Tara had married Fliss’s first love, Kit Forrest. Because he was an established actor, Kit’s and Fliss’s paths crossed from time to time, at awards ceremonies and industry events, so it wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen each other for decades. But after everything that had happened to her over the past few days, Fliss was feeling rather fragile, and Tara was always so confident and gregarious.

A peel of laughter drifted out of the drawing room and Fliss felt a stab of panic, her body urging fight or flight. Instinctively, she moved away from the drawing room and fled down the corridor, slipping inside the library and closing the door. Fliss closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling and then exhaling, the scent of old books and polished wood filling her nostrils. Opening her eyes, she saw that the room was bathed in gloom, only an antique bronze desk lamp spilling muted light in the corner. Even in the darkness, Fliss could see that the beautiful room had barely changed since she had last visited, the shelves crammed with leatherbound first editions that had been in the Oliver family for generations.

There was a sudden noise, a creak of fabric on leather, and Fliss jumped, her head whipping round as she realised someone was sitting in one of the old wingback armchairs, their back to the door. Her heart began to race as she recognised the familiar broad shoulders, the unforgettable dark curls on the man’s head.

He stood up and turned around, and for an instant time seemed to stop for Fliss at least – his presence always dredged up feelings that she had thought were long buried.

‘Fliss,’ Kit exclaimed, as he stood up from the chair. He seemed genuinely surprised to see her, his chocolate brown eyes registering amazement, a slight furrow between his thick, dark eyebrows.

‘I didn’t realise you were in here,’ Fliss blurted out, she felt her cheeks burning.

Once the shock had cleared from Kit’s face, a different expression came over it. His eyes softened, his full lips curving into the winning smile that she had never forgotten.

‘I was just … having a few moments to myself,’ Kit explained. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be here. Have you come for dinner or …?’

‘I’m staying,’ Fliss replied, wondering if he could detect the way her pulse was hammering. ‘For a few days. For Christmas.’ Her mind was racing. Would Kit still have come if he had known she was going to be here? ‘It was something of a last-minute decision.’

The two of them couldn’t stop smiling at one another. It was Kit who moved first, opening his arms, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Fliss to walk into them. For a moment, all she could think about was how good it felt to be held by him – safe and secure, blocking out the world around them. Pressed against Kit’s chest, it was as though she had been transported back two decades as she inhaled the sandalwood and citrus spice of his aftershave and the unexpectedly familiar scent of his skin.

A memory of their lovemaking.

I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.

A tumble of emotions ran through her, her body reacting instinctively to his. She wondered if he could feel the way her heart was racing, a delicious warmth spreading through her. Self-consciously, she pulled away.