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‘Just meeting some friends from work,’ Fliss had replied with a bright smile. ‘We’re going to the Christmas market on the South Bank.’

She felt awful lying to Tara, but had been too nervous to tell her the truth. She knew Tara well enough to suspect she would throw a tantrum, even though there was nothing between Fliss and Kit. Yet.

Besides, Fliss told herself, she and Kit might have a terrible date with zero chemistry and never want to see each other again, so there was no point antagonising Tara for no reason.

Deep down, though, Fliss knew this could be serious.

Her pulse began to gallop like a racehorse as she approached the clock and saw Kit standing beneath it, sparks fizzing through her body. He looked utterly gorgeous and he broke into a wide grin as he looked at her, which made Fliss’s heart pound uncontrollably.

He was holding two takeaway cups and held one out to her. ‘Hot chocolate,’ he smiled. ‘I hope you like it.’

Fliss’s heart melted at the sweet gesture. ‘I love it. I hope it’s got cream and marshmallows,’ she added cheekily.

‘Naturally,’ Kit replied, his eyes twinkling.

Fliss took it from him and their hands brushed. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop smiling, but then Fliss was distracted as a young woman, a similar age to them, approached.

Fliss noticed her marching towards them determinedly, her eyes shining. She was dressed casually, loaded up with shopping bags, and she walked straight up to Kit, ignoring Fliss. Fliss’s first thought that perhaps the woman was a friend – or an ex-girlfriend – of Kit’s, but as she reached them, she said excitedly, ‘Excuse me, are you Kit Forrest?’

Kit glanced briefly at Fliss, and it was obvious from his expression that he didn’t know the woman. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘I knew it!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘I saw you in that play. And I read a profile about you, in the Evening Standard magazine. You looked hot in the picture,’ she added, with a cheeky grin.

Kit laughed, glancing across at Fliss once again. She couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed or secretly enjoying the attention.

‘Is this your girlfriend?’ the young woman asked, finally acknowledging Fliss. ‘You’re so lucky – he’s gorgeous! Can I get a photo?’ she asked, pulling her phone out of her bag and handing it to Fliss.

‘Sure,’ Kit said easily, as the woman wrapped her arm around his waist, beaming as Fliss played photographer.

‘Thanks so much,’ the woman said. ‘Oops, I need to get a wiggle on or I’m going to miss my train!’

She ran off and Fliss and Kit giggled, looking bemused. ‘Does that happen a lot?’ Fliss teased.

‘Oh, of course. Women are always throwing themselves at me,’ Kit deadpanned, then burst out laughing. ‘First time, I swear.’

‘Looks like you’d better get used to it,’ Fliss said, not sure how she felt about that. Obviously Kit was attractive, and that encounter only confirmed it, but Fliss felt an unexpected sense of possessiveness as they set off out of the station. It was a glorious winter’s day, cold and crisp, the bare branches of the city trees stark against a dazzling blue sky. Kit pulled down his sunglasses against the bright sunshine, and Fliss did the same.

‘So, where are we going?’ Fliss asked.

‘You’ll see,’ Kit replied, as they crossed the road and climbed a flight of stone steps, heading towards the river. ‘We need to cross the bridge first.’

The view from Waterloo Bridge was spectacular, looking west towards the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament, east to St Paul’s Cathedral flanked by a handful of newly built towers. The Thames sparkled in the sunlight, as boats chugged slowly along the water, ferrying tourists and locals to their destination. There was always something special about crossing the river in London, Fliss thought. The whole of the city seemed to be spread out around them, the view of the historic buildings surrounded by glass-and-steel skyscrapers both timeless and ever-changing. It gave Fliss a sense of being part of something larger, something that would still be there long after she was gone.

‘I hear the show’s been going well. Tara said—’ Fliss broke off, feeling awkward mentioning Tara. Then she realised it looked really odd to stop, and continued, ‘Tara said the reviews have been incredible.’

‘Yes, the critics have been very kind to us. But it’s a great play. The writing’s incredible, and Sam, the playwright, is unbelievably talented.’

‘Did you always want to be an actor?’ Fliss asked, as she took a sip of her hot chocolate. It was delicious, rich and creamy.

‘No, not always. I was quite a shy kid, so my mum signed me up for an acting class at the local community centre, hoping it might help with my confidence. For the first six weeks I just sat at the back of the hall, refusing to join in. Mum threatened to pull me out – said she wasn’t going to waste her money if I wasn’t going to take part – but I begged her not to. There was something about it that fascinated me, and I really wanted to stay.

‘In the next class, I forced myself to get up and join in. We were only little – I was probably about six or seven, and we were doing lots of silly games, pretending we were animals and trees – but I was hooked. I loved the freedom that came with being on stage, with pretending to be someone else.’

Fliss gazed up at him, her eyes shining. She loved hearing about him, and the stories he had to tell. ‘Where did you grow up?’

‘Just outside Manchester. So a very different upbringing from Tara,’ he grinned. ‘And from you, I guess. You’re friends from school, right?’

‘Yeah, but my background’s nothing like hers. I always felt a little out of place at Cranham. You had girls there whose parents were captains of industry, or sitting peers in the House of Lords – some of them were even running countries – whilst my dad could barely afford the uniform each year.’