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‘It’s not always what it looks like,’ Fliss told him. He was looking at her intently, and she willed him to understand how she was feeling. To realise that all the hard work and the wealth felt hollow sometimes without anyone to share it with, and that deep inside she still felt like the confused teenager who had lost her mother and was trying to figure out her place in the world. ‘Anyway, you’re not doing so badly yourself,’ she continued, lightening the mood. ‘Congratulations on your Golden Globe nomination.’

‘We’ve come a long way.’ Kit smiled, but his tone was more reflective than triumphant. ‘And now you’re back. Don’t they say home is where the heart is? You always—’

His words were cut off as Lord Oliver tapped his glass with a fork and everyone turned to him, the babble of conversation dying down. Kit raised an eyebrow at Fliss, as if to say I told you so.

‘I would like to say a few words,’ he began, his voice sounding less fulsome than Fliss remembered. ‘I’m so grateful to have you all here tonight. It’s wonderful to be surrounded by cherished friends and family, all joining us for the festive season. And I’m especially pleased that Fliss could be here. Such an unexpected pleasure. It’s a long time since we’ve all been gathered here. So please, eat, drink and be merry.’

‘Eat, drink and be merry,’ everyone chorused.

Lord Oliver leaned across to Fliss and said warmly, ‘I really am so pleased that you’re able to join us.’

‘I’m glad to be here,’ Fliss replied, and in that moment, with the warmth of the fire, the mouthwatering food and delicious wine, she meant it. New York and her problems felt a long way away.

Fliss felt someone’s eyes on her and looked up to see Bill watching her from further along the table where he was seated beside his sister.

‘Yes, how come you were able to find the time this year, Fliss? You’re usually so busy with work.’

Fliss faltered momentarily. Of course, she had expected to be asked that question, but she was surprised that Bill was the one raising it. She wondered how much his wife had told him, and glanced across to Sally, unsure how to answer.

‘Oh Bill, darling, now’s not that time for that. Fliss has only just arrived, let her catch her breath,’ his mother said.

‘Of course. My apologies. I’m sure you’re keen to fill us all in,’ Bill smiled. ‘I want to hear all the latest developments in broadcasting on the other side of the pond.’

‘Speaking of catching up,’ Fliss changed the subject. ‘When did you say Katie and Harry are arriving?’

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Tara interjected. ‘Just before lunch.’

‘Oh, I thought they’d be here a little earlier,’ Sally replied.

‘No, Harry has a last-minute meeting first thing, then they’ll set off afterwards,’ Tara said.

‘You seem to know a lot about their schedule,’ Kit commented.

Tara shrugged. ‘Harry texted me. He wanted to know the name of the heliskiing company we used in Courchevel. He’s going with a group of the guys.’

‘Right,’ said Kit. He looked as though he was about to say something more, but Mr and Mrs Matthews arrived to clear the plates, bringing in a beautiful looking dessert of Bûche de Noël.

As Fliss sat back in her chair, sipping her glass of Sauternes, her eyes found Kit once again, scrutinising his face. She knew it so well from television screens and magazine articles, but in the flesh she kept finding new details, noticing how he had changed over the years, the soft candlelight playing over his features.

She wondered about his relationship with Tara, and whether they were happy. She hadn’t seen anything to suggest otherwise, but nor did they seem desperately close. Fliss wondered whether her jet-lagged state was making her imagine it, but there were all kinds of tense vibes around the table. There seemed to be an unexpected strain between Sally and Bill too, and Fliss resolved to ask her about it later.

Lady Oliver seemed much the same, her usual elegant manner making everyone feel at ease, but Lord Oliver wasn’t his usual commanding self. She noticed that he had barely eaten anything and was now pushing away his pudding which he had hardly touched. Was it his age finally catching up with him, or was it something else?

It was a long time since Fliss had seen everyone, and she realised now how out of the loop she had been on the other side of the Atlantic. Clearly, things had been happening that no one had told her about. She had the distinct feeling that everyone – including her – was keeping secrets.

Chapter 8

The grounds around Clarendon Hall were wreathed in a low mist, frost coating the leaves like icing on a Christmas cake. Ice-crystalled spider webs clung to the bushes in an intricate lace pattern, and there was a muffled thickness to the air. The sun was low in the opaque sky, the faintest glow of orange light cutting through the chilly morning.

Fliss crunched her way along the gravel path as she made her way through the kitchen garden at the rear of the Hall, passing its uniform blocks of herbs and vegetable plants, still pungent despite the season. She had packed in a hurry and hadn’t been able to fit very much in her single suitcase, but Lady Oliver had lent her a pair of wellington boots and a Barbour jacket to keep out the cold, for which she was very grateful.

The rest of the group were slightly ahead, all tramping through the garden on a morning walk, their breath spooling into the air like clouds. The dogs ran around them excitedly, letting out the occasional bark of joy as they raced along. Even the teenage boys had been persuaded – with gentle cajoling and thinly veiled threats – to leave their beds and come for some restorative exercise.

At the end of the formal gardens, the view opened up as the land fell away into the distance, gently undulating fields divided by hedgerows and stone walls as far as the eye could see. To the west was a patch of woodland, the bare trees stark against the milky sky, whilst, to the west, a river meandered through the valley, sparkling in the occasional ray of sunlight that filtered through the mist.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Fliss murmured under her breath. The contrast with the concrete jungle that was New York, with its built-up skyscrapers and traffic-choked streets, was startling. There was an undeniable nostalgia in revisiting a place which had been such an integral part of her youth, remembering the person she had been thirty years earlier, before the fame and the glamour and the endless list of achievements. For the first time in a long time, Fliss felt as though she could breathe again.

‘Isn’t it?’ Sally beamed, falling into step beside her, twigs crunching beneath her feet, which were clad in mud-splattered Hunter boots. ‘I’m sure Bill takes it for granted, having grown up here.’