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‘Oh, come on, I don’t have to spell it out. He’s an oik. Probably from a slum in Oldham or something.’

‘He’s going to be huge, you’d better get used to seeing him,’ Fliss said, to wind Bill up. It hadn’t always been that way – when they were kids, all hanging out together in the holidays, he’d been Tara’s annoying older brother but they had all had a lot of fun together. Now something seemed to have changed, but Fliss couldn’t put her finger on what.

‘Him?’ Bill scoffed. ‘Now you’re in cloud cuckoo land. Or maybe you’ve taken a fancy to him yourself – you probably have a lot in common,’ he sneered.

‘Well, we can’t all be talentless, spoiled brats, relying on daddy to open doors for us,’ Fliss retorted, unable to help herself.

Bill was silent for a moment, sizing this comment up. ‘No, I suppose we can’t. Although some other equally talentless hangers-on have to leech onto other, better families to get on in life, don’t they?’ he said, with a cold look. Fliss was so infuriated by the jab that she didn’t have time to respond before Bill continued, ‘Well, I’ll let you get back to the world of trash TV. I’ve got some important meetings this afternoon, so I must get on. I’m planning to commission some intellectually stimulating programmes, not that brain rot you seem to be so fond of. Have a great day.’

As Bill stood up and walked off, leaving Fliss simmering at the encounter, Joanna came back over. ‘Sorry about that, I really needed to catch up with Roger about the scheduling. All sorted now. So how do you know Bill Oliver?’ she asked curiously.

Fliss exhaled slowly, determined not to let Bill rile her. She didn’t know what Sally saw in him – the guy was a prize arsehole. ‘I live with his sister,’ she explained to Jo. ‘We were at school together.’

Jo raised an eyebrow. ‘Friends in high places. No need to ask how he got his job.’

‘No, and he thinks he did it all by himself,’ Fliss fumed, before catching herself. She didn’t want to look bitter in front of Joanna. ‘I suppose you can’t blame him for taking advantage of his connections. And in fairness, Lord Oliver has always been very helpful and encouraging with me. Suggesting people I can contact, or listening to my ideas and offering advice.’

‘Having a daddy who can open doors is one thing, but TV is cutthroat. He needs to back his step up the ladder with talent. You can be found out quite easily in this business, and there’s always someone ready to stab you in the back.’ Jo began digging into the remains of her lasagne, ‘So, why don’t you tell me all about your ambitions, and I’ll see how I can help you?’

Chapter 12

In the darkness of the theatre the silence was so complete that you could hear a pin drop. The audience was on the edge of their seats, riveted by the action happening on stage, and Tara relished it.

This Is Us was being performed at the Young Vic theatre near Waterloo, and was a piece of new writing by an up-and-coming playwright. It followed the relationship of a couple at two different stages in their lives – older and recently retired, played by two esteemed actors with national treasure status, interspersed with flashbacks to their younger selves, optimistic and passionate, played by Tara and Kit.

The reviews had been outstanding, with the Evening Standard calling it, ‘hopeful, insightful and compelling’. Kit had been singled out for praise by a number of publications, with the Daily Mail calling him ‘the hottest young actor on the London theatre scene’, whilst another noted, ‘The chemistry between newcomers Kit Forrest and Tara Oliver is electric.’

Tara had been overjoyed when she had read that; it was true, the connection between them when performing was so strong it was almost visible, but offstage Kit had so far proved elusive to her charms. Tara, however, was not a woman to give in easily, and felt confident that it was only a matter of time before Kit acknowledged the spark. She was young, she was gorgeous, and the two of them spent every evening playing passionate lovers – surely it was inevitable that life would imitate art? Her daydreams were already filled with visions of them as the new Burton and Taylor, or even the next Brangelina.

The play reached its climax, with all four actors on stage, Tara and Kit pleading with the older versions of their characters not to give up on their relationship, to remember the love they had once shared and keep the spark alive. Tara watched Kit as he moved, his body muscular and powerful as he commanded the space. She went across to him, stroking his hair as she spoke her lines, looking into his eyes with intensity, willing him to feel the emotions beyond the confines of the play …

And then it was over. The theatre was plunged into darkness for a few moments and then the house lights came up, the actors blinking in the brightness. Tara reached for Kit’s hand and they stepped forward to take their bows to the sound of cheering and applause. She scanned the audience, knowing that tonight her family and friends were out there; she had asked them not to come to the opening night, being uncharacteristically nervous, but once the reviews were in and overwhelmingly positive Tara had invited her parents, her brother, and the girls to watch a performance. There had been a smattering of celebrities in the audience too; they had been told backstage that Liv Tyler would be attending tonight, and Tara had spotted Ralph Fiennes in the front row, which she had excitedly revealed to Kit when they broke for the interval.

As the audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation, Tara turned to look at Kit, a beaming smile on her face, both of them overwhelmed by the strength of the public’s reaction. They had created this, a moment that only the two of them had experienced, forging a link between them that couldn’t be untied. Tara took one final bow and squeezed Kit’s hand before the two of them walked offstage together into the wings, both swept along on a tide of acclaim and celebrity.

‘Congratulations, darling, you were incredible,’ Lady Oliver said, as she swept Tara into a fragrant hug.

‘Yes, well done, you were superb,’ Lord Oliver echoed, putting his arm around his daughter and pulling her to him, planting an extravagant kiss on top of her head.

The others – Bill, Fliss, Sally and Katie – joined in with similar sentiments, and Tara couldn’t keep the smile off her face. They were all crammed into her dressing room, which was filled with cards from well-wishers and bouquets of flowers from opening night, copies of the five-star reviews torn out of the newspapers and stuck around the mirror.

‘Thank you so much for coming, everyone,’ Tara said giddily, as she began wiping off her heavy stage make-up. ‘I’m so happy it went well. We heard a rumour that Olivia Hardy was in tonight and we all know she’s one of the biggest casting directors in the business.’

‘Wow, I’m sure she’ll snap you up for something,’ Fliss smiled.

‘What about you, Daddy?’ Tara turned to her father. ‘Do you think I might be able to make a career out of this after all?’

Neville smiled indulgently. ‘I have to say, I’m very impressed, darling. Perhaps I underestimated you. I can see that you have the Oliver family talent, but you need to make sure you back it up with determination and drive, and a positive work ethic. The name will only get you so far. Anyway, now’s not the time for a lecture … tonight I’m only singing your praises, darling.’

‘Thanks, Daddy,’ Tara said, thrilled by her father’s slightly qualified endorsement. Lord Oliver had baldly expressed his reservations about her following him into the family business on more than one occasion – he knew how tough it was, and that for every door opened to her because she was Neville Oliver’s daughter, others would judge her all the more harshly for it. In a frank conversation, he had told her that she lacked the discipline and the stamina to become a successful actress, but Tara was adamant that she would prove him wrong and show that she could make it all the way to the top.

‘In fact, I think I should take you and your friends out to celebrate,’ Neville continued. ‘How about that?’

Tara squealed with excitement. ‘Yes! Let’s go to Joe Allen? Please, Daddy?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Neville nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Tara was about to reply, but stopped when there was a knock on her dressing-room door. ‘Come in,’ she called.