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‘You can’t go back, Fliss, no matter how tempting it seems. Or me. I spent a long time looking back, wondering that if I’d done things differently then maybe you wouldn’t have left. Wondering if there was anything I could have said to make you stay. You were the love of my life, Fliss.’

Fliss’s heart was thumping as she heard him say those words, and it was as though she couldn’t get enough air, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. But she recognised the past tense. Were. Kit had moved on, and with Tara, of all people. Fliss couldn’t blame him for that. Neither of them had any choice but to mend the pieces of their shattered hearts and move forward. ‘Mine too,’ she whispered, a lump in her throat and a tight knot in her stomach.

‘And I want you to know that nothing serious ever happened between Tara and me until you were out of the picture. She kissed me that day and yes, I admit that for a few moments I found myself responding to her. But there was nothing else … Until you moved to America.’

‘I know.’ Fliss nodded. ‘I believe you.’

Kit looked relieved, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and she realised how badly they had both been hurt all those years ago. And now he was married to one of her best friends. But Kit was right – you couldn’t go back. They had missed their chance, and she would spend the rest of her life wondering what could have happened differently.

‘I’ll always be here for you, if you need me,’ Kit insisted. ‘This business with the photos … I can try and help you, Fliss. I have a lot of contacts in the industry. And it has to be someone we knew back then, right?’

‘I guess so.’ Fliss nodded, trying to remember who had been there and what had happened that fateful night. ‘Thank you,’ she added softly. ‘It means so much.’ There was so much more that she wanted to say, but she knew it wouldn’t be fair. Her own marriage had broken down – she didn’t want to be responsible for breaking up another.

The pub was gradually emptying and the chatter had died down to a muted babble. The Irish wolfhound and its owner had left, the pathway to the exit now clear.

‘It looks as though the snow’s stopped,’ Kit said looking at the window. ‘We’d better head back or they’ll be wondering where we are.’

Fliss nodded, finishing her drink and pulling on her coat as Kit picked up the bags.

Outside the snow had settled, coating the pavements and houses, making everything look magical. The streets were almost empty, the trees and lampposts shimmering as though they had been sprinkled with fairy dust, the sky an inky black, a million stars scattered across it.

The frost crunched underfoot and Fliss almost slipped. Kit put out a hand to steady her, his strong arms grasping her around her slender waist. Fliss held onto him to secure her footing, the unexpected contact sending sparks of electricity shooting through her body. She longed for him to pull her closer, to wrap his arms around her. Instead, she righted herself and walked on, the two of them chatting breezily as they made their way back towards the car. The moment for confessions and heart-to-hearts had passed; they needed to change the mood before they returned to Clarendon Hall.

Neither of them noticed the paparazzo hiding in the shadows, snapping photographs of the two of them as they walked, oblivious to the world, engrossed in each other, back through the village.

Chapter 20

The village of Chipping Moreton was almost empty as afternoon slid into evening on Christmas Eve. Most of its inhabitants were gathered in the enormous entryway of Clarendon Hall, listening to a choir of local schoolchildren singing ‘Away in a Manger’ with sweet, tuneless gusto. There was joyful chatter and laughter as the adults drank mulled wine ladled out by Mr Matthews and helped themselves to mince pies made by Mrs Matthews.

It was an annual tradition that every Christmas Eve, after the shops had closed and before Midnight Mass got underway, Clarendon Hall was thrown open to welcome the locals from the village. Lord and Lady Oliver were gracious hosts, mingling with their neighbours. A handful of local bigwigs attended – the vicar and the chair of the parish council – but in contrast to the grand Betwixtmas Ball to be held the following week, which would see celebrities and famous faces travel up from London and beyond, this was a charming, low-key event, in the spirit of giving back to the local community.

Fliss had been somewhat self-conscious at first, unsettled at being in front of such a large crowd for the first time since she had filmed the final episode of Friday Night with Fliss. She was worried that she would be under scrutiny, imagining people pointing and whispering behind their hands. But what Kit had said was true: the locals weren’t interested in her. They were so used to famous faces popping up in the Cotswolds that they barely batted an eyelid.

It was a lovely event, Fliss conceded, with everyone mingling and chattering, the young children dressed up and running round excitedly, the magic of Christmas sparkling in the air. Outside the weather was crisp and cold, with patches of snow from yesterday’s storm not fully melted, and with frost shimmering on the ground it was as though everything had been sprinkled with fairy dust. But inside, with the fires blazing and the candles flickering, it was warm and cosy.

‘Right, everyone, time for the tree-trimming,’ Lady Oliver was saying, a beaming smile on her face as she moved elegantly through the crowds, her long skirt swishing as she walked. ‘Children first. Come and choose your favourite bauble.’

A rush of excited youngsters surged forwards, rummaging through the baskets and boxes that had been laid out and filled with dozens of tree ornaments. There were gasps and exclamations as the little ones tried to decide between glittery silver baubles that caught the light as they spun, jewelled packages that looked like miniature Christmas gifts, hand-knitted snowmen and dozens of other treasures of all shapes and styles. This was a lovely part of the tradition, with the enormous Christmas tree in the great hall left partially undecorated so that everyone could choose a decoration from the Olivers’ vast selection to hang on the tree.

The teenagers – George, Jasper, Beatrice and Florence – seemed to be enjoying themselves, though they were far too cool to join in with the crush of village children who were trimming the tree. Jasper, as ever, was filming the event, and Fliss found herself thinking that perhaps he could edit together a nice Christmas video as a keepsake for them all to remember this holiday. The four of them were now mingling with some of the local teens, though, after the two groups had eyed each other warily for some time, and it made Fliss think of her and Tara at that age, flirting with the local boys in the village. Teenage hormones never changed.

‘I’d better go and help Elizabeth,’ said Sally, who was standing beside Fliss. ‘Before it all gets too chaotic.’ She dashed off, and Fliss was left alone. She looked around the busy hall, seeing Kit and Tara standing together, her arm looped around his waist, playing the dutiful wife. Perhaps it was Fliss’s imagination, but it seemed as though Tara had barely left Kit’s side since Fliss and Kit had returned from the village yesterday evening.

Fliss moved through the crowd, exchanging hellos and chatty conversations with the villagers who greeted her.

‘Lovely to see you again – those chocolates were gorgeous,’ she smiled, as she recognised the young woman who had served her in the organic shop.

‘I hope you’re enjoying someone giving you a drink for a change,’ she grinned, as she chatted with the landlord from the Hare and Hounds, before passing Bill and Harry who were standing together, conspiratorially. Bill was surveying the crowd with distaste. Fliss couldn’t imagine that this was his sort of thing at all, mingling with the hoi polloi. While Lord Oliver had the ability to be gracious and genuinely interested with people from all walks of life and enjoyed talking to everyone, whatever their background, having the ability to make them all feel comfortable, it was a skill that Bill hadn’t inherited; he looked down on the rest of the world and did little to hide it. It was part of the reason he had never been successful in his career – people could sense his snobbery and condescension.

‘Fliss,’ Bill nodded at her, as she passed. ‘Having fun?’

‘Yes, I am. What a lovely evening! It’s so nice to see the house full, and everyone enjoying themselves.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Bill raised his glass, and Fliss carried on, finding Katie, who was delighted to see her, and the two of them instantly fell into conversation.

Bill watched Fliss go, turning to Harry with a sneer. ‘Like Lady Muck, that one. Thinks she owns the place. Did you hear her, talking about the Hall like it’s hers? “It’s so nice to see the house full”,’ he parodied her. ‘She’s so fake. I guess that’s why she’s popular in America.’

‘Come on, Bill, Fliss isn’t so bad,’ Harry said. ‘Katie adores her – so does Sally, come to that.’