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‘Ah …’ Fliss trailed off.

‘Exactly,’ Nicole replied with feeling, and the two women burst into laughter. ‘What are your Christmas plans?’

‘I’ll be Upstate with Jeff and Henry,’ Fliss said. Since her divorce from her husband, Brandon, two years ago, the holidays had taken on a different shape and she was lucky she had such good friends. Jeff was an old production colleague who had become much more than that over the years. Now retired, he and his husband Henry lived in the beauty of Saratoga Springs. It was a welcome relief from the crazy world of TV, and she treasured their friendship.

She briefly thought of the invitation to Clarendon Hall that was sitting on the breakfast counter in her apartment.

‘Bliss!’ Nicole said. ‘Can I come too?’

‘Let’s go!’ Fliss laughed. ‘Seriously, you should try and join us for a quick drink tonight,’ she winked, ‘we’ll have White Christmas Mojitos!’

‘Happy holidays! I can manage at least three of those. Thanks so much, Fliss. It’s been awesome working with you, as always, you deserve a great Christmas.’

As they hugged, Fliss noticed Kyle, one of the runners, hovering beside them. He was a sweet guy, hard-working and eager to learn. Fliss always gave her time to the junior staff; it brought back memories of when she was starting off in her career, trying to get her big break.

‘Ms Courtney?’

‘Fliss, please,’ she smiled.

Kyle cleared his throat nervously. ‘Mr Weiss would like to speak to you when you’re free. In his office.’

‘Sure,’ Fliss smiled graciously. ‘Give me two minutes.’

Eugene Weiss was the head of NYBS, the network that produced Friday Night with Fliss. He probably wanted to congratulate her on another incredible season, Fliss thought happily, as she crossed the studio and took the elevator up two floors, navigating the maze of corridors that threaded through the NYBS offices. Someone had hung brightly coloured paper chains along the walls and miniature cardboard trees stood on the banks of desks, adding a little festive cheer to the usually staid office.

Right now it was mostly dark, only the narrow strip lights illuminating the rooms as the computers hummed softly to themselves. The desks were unoccupied; everyone had either left for the day or was down on the studio floor, preparing for the end-of-season party that would take place shortly.

The network offices took up the three top floors of 1 Rockefeller Plaza, part of the famous Rockefeller Center complex. Fliss could still remember the very first day she had started work there, the thrill of crossing the Plaza, being part of the New York hustle. The excitement of being in the city, of working in broadcasting for a major network, had never left her. Despite the turbulence in her personal life, Fliss’s career had never failed her, holding fast in an almost flawless trajectory right to the top. Even when her personal life was falling apart, her work had saved her.

‘Working late tonight, Sandy?’ Fliss smiled, as she saw Eugene’s personal assistant still at her desk outside his office.

‘One more email and then I’m outta here and making merry,’ Sandy confided with a grin. ‘You can go right in, he’s expecting you.’

Eugene Weiss, naturally, occupied a corner office, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, looking out over Midtown – almost the same view as from the Friday Night with Fliss studio two floors below. The sky was black, but the city shone, lit up like a Christmas tree. From here, Fliss could see the iconic buildings of Fifth and Sixth Avenues, the blinking lights of aeroplanes soaring across a velvet sky pinpricked with stars. She knew that down on the street there would be mesmerised tourists and stressed New Yorkers, honking taxis and stores filled with late-night Christmas shoppers. Up here, high above the chaos, all was calm and serene.

‘Hey, Eugene,’ Fliss smiled. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Fliss,’ Eugene replied from behind his desk, his face unsmiling. He was short, he was gruff, with a ring of dark hair around a balding head, and thick-rimmed glasses behind which his astute eyes didn’t miss a trick. His suit was expensive but he still looked like a harassed turf accountant; his tie loosened and his cuffs rolled up to the elbows. ‘Take a seat …’ Then: ‘You and I have known each other a long time,’ Eugene began.

‘Over a decade. What’s with the history lesson?’ Fliss nodded, the slightest misgivings beginning to edge into her mind. Eugene pulled hard at his tie and drew his hand across his worn face.

‘You look like you’re about to have a heart attack,’ she said. ‘Look, what’s going on? You’re more than a colleague. You’re my friend. C’mon, spit it out.’

Eugene sighed, a look of regret flashing across his eyes. ‘This sucks, Fliss, and the whole thing stinks, but just understand that I have no choice here. My hands are tied.’

‘What’s happening?’ Fliss’s heart had begun to race, a heavy feeling growing in her stomach as though she had swallowed a ball of lead.

Eugene’s kidney-shaped desk was neat and tidy, only a large brown envelope lying at an angle in the centre looked out of place. Eugene picked it up, sliding out the contents, a series of photos which he laid out in front of her.

It took a moment for Fliss to realise what they were, and then she gasped, the breath leaving her body as though she had taken a blow to the solar plexus. She almost doubled over in shock, her slender body crumpling. ‘But what … ? H-how did you get these?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Is that you?’

Fliss forced herself to confront what she was seeing. She squinted at the pictures, her mind full of confusion as she stared at the images of her twenty-something-year-old self. Her memories of that fateful night were fuzzy – and she had tried to suppress what little she could remember. She had almost managed to forget. Almost. But she had never imagined that her humiliation had been captured on film, that someone had kept it for two decades and waited until now …

It took Fliss a moment to find the words, her mouth opening and closing uselessly. ‘How did … Where did you get these?’ she whispered. She knew the blood must have drained from her face, her pallor a ghostly white against her red suit.

‘They were sent anonymously to me.’