Page 31

‘You’re not secretly titled aristocracy, then?’ Kit joked.

‘No! In fact, the only reason I went to private school was because …’ Fliss took a deep breath. ‘Well, my mum died, just after I started high school. She left some money and was determined I should have a better education than she did, so had instructed that it was to be spent on my education.’

‘Oh, Fliss, I’m so sorry about your mum, that must have been tough.’

She smiled sadly. ‘You get used to it after a while – but people never know what to say to me when they find out.’ She looked up at him, her blue eyes luminous. She hated having to tell people – they always looked at her with pity, or dried up in panic.

‘Do you want to talk about her? Your mum?’ Kit asked. His expression was so open and earnest, that Fliss’s heart did another little flip. So often when she told people about her mother, they wanted to rush the conversation on and change the subject. She loved talking about her memories of her mum, but she rarely got the chance.

‘Her name was Jacqueline, but everyone called her Jacqui. She’d wanted to be an actress,’ Fliss said, seeing Kit’s look of surprise. ‘She had me when she was in her early twenties, and she had to put her ambition on hold when I was born. But it sounds as though, in her youth, she was pretty wild – running around London, trying to make a go of it. She had a few small parts – walk-on roles in TV shows and movies.’

‘That’s amazing. Do you have any tapes of her?’

‘I do, actually,’ Fliss nodded. She remembered, after her mum had first died, when the wounds were fresh, she had watched the video recordings over and over until the tape became so thin it had almost worn out. She had desperately wanted to bring her mother back and this was her only way to keep her alive, to remember completely the way she looked, the way she moved, the way she smiled …

They talked about Jacqui for a while, Fliss sharing more memories of her mother, telling Kit about her kindness, her vivacity; about a trip up to London where they fed the birds in Trafalgar Square and listened to the chimes of Big Ben.

Telling that story set off a memory in her mind, of meeting a man with her mother. She didn’t remember much about him, just a few snatches of the encounter, of the words: I can’t see you again, Jacqui.

‘Thank you,’ Fliss said, pressing the fuzzy recollection away.

‘What for?’ Kit frowned.

‘For listening. For letting me talk about her.’

Kit said nothing, simply reaching across and wrapping his arm around Fliss, pulling her closer. The physical contact almost took her breath away, but it felt good, she realised. It felt right. She snuggled against him, inhaling the musky scent of his skin, feeling safe and protected.

They walked like that the rest of the way across the bridge, Kit’s arm around her as they threw their empty hot chocolate cups into a bin and chatted about anything that came into their heads. Fliss told Kit about her work at LBTV, confiding that after she had stood in for Daisy Redman she had been invited to screen-test for a presenting role.

‘Perhaps you’re more like your mum than you realised,’ Kit smiled, and Fliss realised he was right.

‘I never thought about that. I applied for all kinds of jobs, but maybe Mum was looking out for me and guided me.’

‘Fate,’ Kit nodded. ‘It sounds like you have her talent in front of the camera.’

‘What about you?’ Fliss asked. ‘If you could play any role, what would it be?’

‘Bond. James Bond,’ Kit said instantly, and Fliss burst out laughing.

‘You obviously haven’t thought about that at all,’ she teased as he grinned.

‘I mean, it’s a dream role, isn’t it? I’d love to be in films – every actor wants to win an Oscar, though you’re supposed to pretend that you don’t. I wouldn’t mind winning one day – but I’d want to combine film with theatre too. That’s the ultimate goal – to do the big blockbuster movies, then do some little arthouse theatre somewhere that lets you stretch yourself as an actor and gives you credibility. I want to be good. And I’m prepared to work for it.’

It was clear that they were both ambitious, both eager to make their mark in their chosen professions. Hearing Kit talk with such passion about the work that he loved made him even more attractive in Fliss’s eyes. She could really fall hard for this guy.

Who are you kidding? You’ve fallen for him already!

‘Do I get to find out where we’re going yet?’ she asked, as they reached the end of the bridge and crossed the road, heading towards Somerset House.

Kit turned to her with a grin that made her stomach flip. ‘Can you ice skate?’

Fliss gasped, then started laughing. ‘I haven’t been for years. Not since I was a kid. Can you?’

‘Not since I was a kid,’ he echoed. ‘I thought it would be fun. Thought you might be up for the challenge,’ he said with a grin, correctly anticipating that she wouldn’t back down.

They walked into the courtyard of the magnificent building, its stunning neoclassical façade the perfect background for the crowds of festive skaters. Fliss and Kit hired their skates and sat down to put them on. It was so busy that they had to squeeze together on the bench, and Fliss couldn’t help but be aware how strong and muscular his thighs looked, her body pressed close beside his. She felt almost giddy.

‘What is it they say in the theatre?’ she said, getting unsteadily to her feet. ‘Break a leg!’