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Chapter 19

‘I want all of it,’ Fliss laughed, as she browsed in the mullioned window of a silversmith’s shop in the little village of Chipping Moreton. The deep bay window displayed rings and necklaces set out on navy velvet cushions, racks of bracelets nestled against one another, and the whole layout was interspersed with Christmas baubles and fairy lights. It looked so cosy and traditional, and Fliss couldn’t help but think how inviting it looked compared with the big, flashy, impersonal displays of the brand-name shops on Fifth Avenue.

‘Oh, look, isn’t the horse jewellery the cutest?’ she sighed. There was a whole section of equine-themed pieces, from galloping horse pendants on chunky silver chains to charm bracelets with dangling horseshoes and stirrups. One necklace in particular had caught Fliss’s eye, a fine silver chain with links made to look like a horse’s snaffle. It was unusual, but the delicacy of the silverwork meant that it wasn’t overpowering.

‘Didn’t you say that you needed to buy presents?’ Kit asked, as Fliss nodded.

‘I came over in such a rush that I didn’t have a chance to get anything for anyone, bar a few bottles of booze at the airport.’

‘I’m sure everyone will understand. No one will mind.’

‘And I absolutely must get something for Neville and Elizabeth – they’ve been so kind, agreeing to host me. And I’d love to get something super for Sally as she’s been so supportive. Maybe I should buy something for the kids, too … What would you recommend?’

‘You really don’t need to, but if it would make you feel better there’s an incredible farm shop further along, which is foodie heaven. They do the best organic chocolate, and I know Elizabeth has a weak spot for their salted truffles.’

‘Who doesn’t have a weak spot for salted truffles? Let’s go,’ Fliss agreed, with one last, lingering look at the necklace before they set off along the picturesque street.

It was late afternoon and the sky was growing darker, a thin sheen of frost making the pavements glisten, and they were bundled up beneath cosy layers, wearing hats and scarves that covered much of their faces and kept them incognito. Passers-by, busy with their last-minute Christmas shopping, paid them little attention. Even if they had been recognised, the Cotswolds residents were so used to seeing celebrities that Kit had assured her no one would bat an eyelid.

They strolled together along the picture-perfect street, past the centuries-old honey-coloured limestone buildings with grey slate roofs, ivy running riot over the front of the shops. There were charming, independent shops selling everything from outdoor wear – mackintoshes and rubber boots – to books, antiques, handmade furniture, toys and gifts. There was even an old-fashioned fishmonger, its wares on display out the front, just along from a butcher and a bakery, all of which had queues outside their doors as everyone stocked up for Christmas. Shoppers had bulging bags and gift-wrapped boxes, and the atmosphere was joyful and festive.

They called into a leathergoods shop, where Fliss found a gorgeous handbag for Sally and some trinkets for Katie’s girls. Elsewhere she bought tabletop foosball and novelty socks for the teenage boy, along with the softest cashmere scarf for Lord Oliver. Her years of Black Fridays in New York had left her well primed for motivated shopping and she managed to pick up elevated stocking fillers for everyone. Nothing extravagant, but all carefully thought through. An embroidery kit for Lady Oliver, Penhaligon’s soap for Katie and a gardener’s hand care kit for the Matthews. Remembering how Kit had loved a good cognac and how rarely they could afford such a treat when they were together, she managed to buy a bottle of the one that had been his favourite then, revelling in the simple joy of shopping in an English village. She was starting to feel deliciously Christmassy.

Kit was quite content to accompany her and carry the shopping bags, the two of them chatting and laughing as though no time had elapsed in the past two decades. On the village green, in front of the war memorial, the Salvation Army choir were singing, strains of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ drifting on the winter air. It was a stirring sight, seeing the twenty-strong group in their navy-blue uniforms, accompanied by the sound of a lone trumpet, whilst the conductor at the front led with his baton. Kit stepped forwards to put a generous donation in the collection box, and the two of them stayed to watch, neither of them in any rush.

They were standing beneath a traditional Victorian streetlamp, which looked as if it belonged in Narnia, its light bathing them in a warm amber glow. As Fliss looked up she realised it had started to snow.

‘Look,’ she murmured breathlessly to Kit. They were both mesmerised as they stared up at the softly falling flakes, which landed on their upturned faces, tiny ice crystals gathering on their eyelashes, their lips, the tips of their noses. The flurries gathered speed and the snow began to settle. Fliss reached out and brushed Kit’s shoulders, his thick woollen coat already damp with melted flakes.

‘Come on,’ Kit said. ‘It’s almost a snowstorm!’

They had parked the car at the other end of the village, and it was uphill on the way back. It hadn’t seemed far when they were strolling and stopping in the shops, but Fliss realised now that it was a fair distance away. The main street was still filled with shoppers, some laughing and shrieking as the snow came down heavier, people dashing from one store to another to escape the thick flurries.

Kit placed a hand on Fliss’s arm, steering her gently. The weather had really turned, and it was slippery underfoot now, snow blizzarding into Fliss’s face, making it hard to see. It felt like being trapped inside a snow globe that someone had just shaken, the flakes tumbling down relentlessly.

‘Quick!’ Kit said. ‘In here.’

Fliss had no time to argue as he guided her inside the Hare and Hounds pub. The warmth hit her as soon as she stepped in, the smell of good food and beer and smoke from the fire, the noise and chatter from the other patrons. The two of them stood for a moment, shaking off the snow and luxuriating in the heat. The pub was busy, with almost all the tables occupied and a crowd around the bar. Others had clearly had the same idea, to take shelter from the snow that continued to hurl itself against the thick windowpanes.

‘Try and find a table,’ Kit suggested. ‘I’ll get the drinks.’

No one paid any attention to Fliss as she squeezed her way across the room, winding past people and tables. Everything was familiar yet different, and she couldn’t help but remember how she and Tara used to try and sneak in here when they were underage, Ray the landlord fobbing them off with glasses of lemonade and a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

Fliss smiled at the memory as she ducked beneath a low archway hung with vintage horse brasses that led into another room at the back of the pub. It was slightly quieter in here, and she spotted a corner table that was unoccupied, stepping over an enormous Irish wolfhound that lay stretched out in front of a second fireplace. She squeezed the shopping bags under the table then shrugged off her coat, leaving her woolly hat on despite the warmth from the fire.

Moments later Kit appeared carrying a pint of real ale and a glass of red wine. He’d been able to blend in with the rest of the pub-goers, his woolly hat and geeky glasses giving him an anonymity that seemed effortless.

‘Perfect,’ Fliss smiled, as he squeezed in beside her. ‘Just what I wanted.’

‘You always did love a good Cab Sav,’ Kit grinned, taking off his own coat and lying it on the low wooden ledge behind them. There wasn’t much room, and the two of them were pushed close together, Kit’s legs pressed alongside hers beneath the small circular table. Fliss could feel the heat from his body, could smell the scent of his skin each time she inhaled. It was disconcerting to have him so close, her mind trying to override her body’s instincts.

Kit raised his pint. ‘To being caught in snowstorms,’ he said, as Fliss smiled, clinking her glass against his before taking a sip. The wine was good, rich and full-bodied. She glanced nervously around the pub, gratified to see that no one seemed to be paying attention to them. ‘Everything OK?’ Kit asked, watching her carefully, and she knew she could never hide her feelings from him.

‘I’m hoping we don’t get recognised,’ she admitted.

Kit nodded, then took a gulp of his pint. ‘I wouldn’t worry. No one pays much attention. They’re not interested in “celebrities” round here,’ he said, making ironic air quotes around the word.

‘I know, but I’m supposed to be taking a break from everything and it would be good to stay under the radar.’