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Fliss glanced across at Bill, walking with his mother and father. Lord Oliver looked stiff and slow, and Elizabeth kept glancing at him in concern.

‘I can’t believe how much Neville’s changed,’ Fliss said.

Sally pulled a sympathetic face. ‘He does seem to have suddenly aged over the last few months, with a few niggling problems here and there, but I don’t think it’s anything more troubling than a life well lived. The aches and pains have increased, and he’s starting to slow down, to realise he’s not the invincible force he was twenty years ago. But Elizabeth’s wonderful with him. She’s as strong as an ox.’

Fliss nodded thoughtfully, looking over at the trio once again. The thought crossed her mind that one day Bill would inherit all of this, making him and Sally the next Lord and Lady Oliver. Sally would live up to the position admirably, Fliss felt sure, but it was clear that Bill didn’t have the same dignity or gravitas as his father. She was still smarting from the way Bill had taken a few digs at her over dinner last night. The two of them had always enjoyed a good-natured rivalry, but there had been a surprising bitterness to Bill’s comments.

Lagging further behind the group were the two teenagers, George and Jasper. Jasper was on his phone filming George as he goofed around, the two of them laughing at something as they teased one another playfully. The younger generation. It reminded Fliss of how she, Tara, Sally, Katie, Bill and Harry had once been – young and reckless, falling in and out of friendship and love with one another. Some of those relationships had lasted and stood the test of time. Others … hadn’t.

Fliss glanced ahead to where Kit and Tara were walking together, her stomach performing an involuntary flip. Kit hadn’t yet shaved this morning, a smattering of stubble peppering his jawline. He looked healthy and vital, all togged up in outdoor gear as he strode across the fields, the glorious Gloucestershire countryside laid out in front of him. He and Tara were walking beside each other, but there was no physical contact between them, no handholding or affectionate touches. They were barely even speaking, in fact, with Kit’s eyes focused on the view ahead whilst Tara looked down at her phone.

‘Sally!’ Tara called. ‘I’ve had a message from the Ogilvys. They’re not happy with the ice sculpture.’

‘Oh sugar!’ Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Duty calls,’ she said apologetically to Fliss, marching over to Tara.

Fliss left them to it, continuing to stroll. The Cotswolds felt a world away from her old life, allowing her to put everything into perspective. Late last night, just before bed, she had received a message from her agent that the press statement had been released, stating that Fliss was taking time off due to burnout and that there was as yet no scheduled date for a new season of Friday Night with Fliss.

The announcement had obviously come too late for the UK newspapers, so Lord Oliver hadn’t seen it as he read The Times that morning, but it was all over the news sites online. Fliss knew she shouldn’t, but she had idly scrolled through some of the articles and comments, which seemed split between whether she was brave for taking time off and acknowledging mental health problems, or whether she was a ‘snowflake’ who couldn’t handle her privileged position. Some of the trashier sites were speculating that there was something more, implying Fliss had a problem with drink or drugs, one even claiming that she was in a rehab clinic in Arizona, and would spend the holidays there, drying out.

Fliss knew that the press made up stories, and the spread of social media had exacerbated that, with the most scurrilous rumours able to spread like wildfire, despite having no basis in truth. It could be hurtful, or frustrating, but Fliss had learned to ignore it over the years.

She wondered whether anyone at Clarendon Hall was aware of the announcement yet. It had mostly hit the US sites, but there were some smaller articles in the British press, who still considered her one of their own. If anyone had seen it, they hadn’t mentioned it to her, but perhaps they were simply being polite. The damning photographs that were the reason for her stepping back hadn’t made it into the public domain, and for that Fliss was incredibly grateful. She would give Jeff a call soon and see whether his enquiries had led anywhere …

‘That’s a very serious face,’ she heard Kit say, and looked up to see him smiling at her. He had dropped back to walk with her and, despite everything, she was glad. She had always felt able to be herself around him.

Fliss smiled at him. ‘Is that better?’

‘Much,’ Kit laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘So how are you adjusting to life back in Gloucestershire? This must be a much slower pace than you’re used to.’

‘It’s wonderful, actually,’ Fliss said sincerely. ‘Coming here was an unexpected decision, but I think it was exactly what I needed. My life had become so frantic I didn’t realise how much pressure I was under until I got a chance to look at it from the other end of the telescope.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Kit nodded. ‘Clarendon Hall may be … intense, at times, but there’s no better place to escape from the outside world. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.’

He was looking at her intently, and the colour rose in Fliss’s cheeks and she blushed like a schoolgirl. She felt as though the clock had been turned back twenty years, and she was once again a naïve twenty-something, fresh out of university – not a grown woman with a hugely successful career whose face was known around the globe.

‘Turns out I made the papers this morning,’ she said suddenly, overcome by the urge to confide in someone.

Kit looked at her questioningly.

‘The show’s going on hiatus and I’m taking a break for a while. Burnout, they’re calling it.’

‘Fliss, are … are you OK?’

‘It’s been a crazy few years.’ She hedged. ‘It wasn’t my decision, but it’s probably a good thing.’

‘Does that mean you’ll be staying longer?’ Kit asked hopefully, and she laughed. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you smile.’

‘You always could make me laugh,’ Fliss said, the words coming out of her mouth before she had thought about what she was saying. But it was true. She and Kit had had a connection from day one. They had just clicked, and in their early twenties they had been inseparable. But then she had chosen her career over him, moved to the US and the whole of the Atlantic Ocean had lain between them … As painful as it had been, they had both moved on – Fliss with Brandon, Kit with Tara.

Fliss couldn’t deny that she had thought about Kit over the years, wondering what her life might have looked like if she had stayed with him. It seemed unlikely that she would have been so successful – America had been the catalyst for her career. But might she have been happier? Now she was divorced, and she had never had children … A life with Kit could have looked very different.

There were so many unsaid words in the look that passed between them, and Fliss tore her gaze away from his, waves of regret and nostalgia flooding through her. You can’t think like this! she told herself sharply. It wasn’t fair. He had a wife and a son. In all likelihood, he probably viewed Fliss as nothing more than an old friend, just one of the group like Sally or Katie.

‘Things used to be so easy, didn’t they?’ she reflected. ‘But the higher you climb, the harder you fall. The stakes seem so much higher – career, marriage …’

They walked in silence for a few moments, before Kit said, ‘I heard about your divorce. It was in all the papers, of course. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

‘Yeah, not my finest hour. But it was for the best.’