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‘Neville!’ Fliss cried, as Lord Oliver turned to smile at her. She dashed over to him, delighted to see him, and the two hugged. He felt fragile beneath Fliss’s embrace; she was able to feel his bones through the tweed jacket he was wearing and he seemed to have shrunk – Fliss could now see the wispy grey hairs on the top of his head, and she did her best to hide her shock at the drastic change in his appearance. Lord Oliver was a proud man.

‘Fliss,’ Neville said, clearly overjoyed to see her. ‘It made my week when Elizabeth told me that you were coming. It’s been too long, too long … I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ Fliss told him genuinely, though she was surprised by the effusive welcome. Perhaps getting older had made him more sentimental.

‘Right, shall we all head through?’ Elizabeth suggested.

‘Walk with me, Fliss,’ Neville said, in his distinctive, theatrical tones. He took her arm, leaning on her for support. ‘Don’t get old, darling. It’s a bloody nightmare.’

‘Nonsense, you’re still in your prime,’ Fliss assured him.

The others went on ahead, chatting and laughing, drinks in hand. Fliss’s eyes followed Kit along the wood-panelled corridor, unable to stop herself watching the confident way he moved, taking in his broad shoulders and strong body, the way his dark curls crept over the collar of his sweater.

Lord Oliver walked slowly, though Fliss suspected he was deliberately hanging back. ‘I meant what I said, Fliss. I’m so pleased you’re here.’ His voice was quiet.

‘I’m glad to be here. Clarendon Hall is such a special place. You and Elizabeth have always been so good to me, and I have so many lovely memories of being here.’

‘Do you?’ Lord Oliver was looking at her intently, and Fliss felt that she had said the right thing. ‘I’m glad. I’ve lived here all of my life, and been so happy here. It’s a beautiful house, and it’s wonderful to know that you love it in the same way. How long will you be staying with us?’

‘Until the New Year – unless you want rid of me before then,’ she laughed.

‘Rid of you? Don’t be ridiculous, stay as long as you like. It’s wonderful having you around – you’ve always been such a tonic, so bright and sparky. People naturally warm to you, Fliss. It’s why you’ve done so well in your career.’ Lord Oliver paused outside the dining room, hesitating before they entered. ‘And how is everything going with your career?’ He raised his thick, grey eyebrows, and Fliss wondered how much he knew.

She sighed, knowing that she couldn’t keep her troubles a secret forever. Besides, Lord Oliver had a wealth of experience in the industry, and would be ideal to advise on her current predicament. ‘I’m taking an unexpected … hiatus. I’d really appreciate your advice on something, but tonight isn’t the right time.’

‘No? I understand,’ Neville looked her squarely in the eye. He nodded then took her hands in his gnarled old ones and squeezed reassuringly. ‘A problem shared, and all that. Let’s have a proper chinwag whilst you’re here, just you and I.’

‘I’d like that,’ Fliss said sincerely.

‘Good, then that’s settled. Right, time for supper,’ Neville said brightly, leaning on her once again as they made their way into the dining room.

He might be slowing down physically, Fliss thought, as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but Lord Oliver was still sharp as a tack and didn’t miss a trick.

Chapter 7

Fliss entered the sumptuous dining room where there was yet another enormous Christmas tree scenting the room with pine, and a long wooden table that could seat two dozen guests. It had been decorated for Christmas with a green velvet runner along the centre of the crisp white tablecloth, heaped with festive displays of pinecones and holly branches, and long white candles flickering in their gold holders. The fire was lit and a welcome blaze crackled in the hearth, with beautiful evergreen garlands swagged over the mantelpiece.

‘Do take a seat,’ Elizabeth said, ‘wherever you like.’

Fliss looked around as everyone began to take their places. There was a seat at the far end of the table, quite obviously left for Lord Oliver, and he made his way towards it. The chair to his left was still empty; it was next to Sally, and opposite Kit so Fliss sat there, glancing across at Kit who was sitting beside his wife. He looked at ease in the imposing space, and Fliss knew he must have spent many Christmases here with the Olivers. The candlelight played across his features, creating shadows and highlights and rendering him impossibly handsome. Fliss looked away, aware of an ache deep inside her that she didn’t want to think about.

Mrs Matthews, assisted by her husband, brought out a delicious starter of honey-roasted parsnip soup with freshly baked bread and local salted butter. It smelt delicious, and Fliss realised it was a long time since she had last eaten, tucking in as Mr Matthews filled up their crystal water glasses, serving them their choice of white or red wine.

There was a jolly, festive atmosphere, and Fliss was enjoying being part of this large group that crossed three generations, with its lively conversation and happy banter. She knew them so well that it was like being with extended family, and Fliss was swept up in their chatter and laughter, their gentle teasing – although there were occasional undercurrents of something sharper.

‘Honestly, my agent is useless. She can’t seem to get me seen by any of the big casting directors,’ Tara was complaining, as she took a large swallow of wine.

‘Why don’t you try Kit’s agent?’ Bill suggested. ‘He seems to be doing all right.’

‘Oh, Fiona’s a bloody stuck-up cow,’ Tara snorted. ‘I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of taking my fifteen per cent.’

‘You should do stage work,’ Lord Oliver insisted. ‘It might not be where the money is, but it’s where you’ll build your reputation, and you’re bloody good when you knuckle down. The theatre is an art – being on camera is simply about hitting your mark and not bumping into the furniture.’

‘A tour of the provinces? Bringing culture to the masses in Swindon? No thank you,’ Tara shuddered.

‘There’s nothing like the camaraderie of the cast in live theatre,’ Neville continued, a gleam in his eye as he became animated, waving his glass of red wine. ‘That’s how you learn – by watching the greats. I remember the good old days with Dame Judi and Sir Ian – before they got their titles, of course – at the Old Vic. Such wonderful times. And as you know, that was where I fell in love with your mother. She was the most beautiful Ophelia I had ever seen. Still is.’

‘Nothing like a nostalgic old fool,’ Elizabeth teased, but it was clear that she had enjoyed the compliment.