Page 50

How had it come to this? Fliss wondered, simmering with anger. The look on Tara’s face had almost been one of loathing. Did her old friend really dislike her so much? Fliss would never have come to Clarendon Hall if she had known—

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’

‘No, it was my fault.’

Fliss looked up at the person she had collided with, and found herself staring into Kit’s dark eyes. He had shaved since their morning ride, and looked devilishly handsome in a black tuxedo which emphasised his dark good looks. She remembered when they had first met and he had told her of his dream of playing James Bond; that had never happened, but right now it seemed like Barbara Broccoli had missed an opportunity.

‘Everything OK?’ Kit asked, a slight frown furrowing his forehead. He had always been able to read her so well.

His words from earlier rang in her brain: It was always supposed to be us. Fliss pushed the memory away and nodded. ‘I’m fine. I think your wife needs a hand in the dining room.’

She fled before Kit could reply, racing along the corridor to the kitchen. The sight that greeted her was chaotic, but in the best way: the radio was on, blaring out Christmas songs, the warmth from the oven steaming up the large windows. The mood was completely different to the icy reception Fliss had received in the dining room, as Sally dished up honey-roast parsnips and roast potatoes into serving tureens whilst loudly singing along to ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’.

‘Fliss! Just in time! Take these, would you?’ Elizabeth said, passing her a bottle of wine in each hand. ‘Actually, can you take these as well?’ She gave her two more bottles as Fliss giggled, balancing them precariously. ‘Right, team, let’s go!’

Everyone had been drafted in, and they all made their way in a festive procession along the wood-panelled corridors to the dining room, each carrying a plate of something. They were dressed in their festive finest – the men in tuxedos, the women in an array of sparkles and rich, jewel tones – all chattering and laughing, and for a moment Fliss forgot about the spat with Tara, caught up in a nostalgic feeling of warmth and belonging.

Lord Oliver emerged from his study to join them in the dining room, which looked magical, bathed in candlelight and decorated with swags of holly and ivy. The Christmas tree in the corner was majestic, the white lights twinkling and reflecting off the tasteful decorations, and the whole room smelt of pine and winter spices.

As Fliss looked around, her eyes found Kit’s, and she felt that sharp pang of desire followed by a swift, almost painful, denial. She could see from Kit’s expression that he felt the same, and she quickly looked away. Her gaze fell on Tara beside him, who was staring at her, steely-eyed.

Fortunately, Sally was by her side. ‘You’re sitting here, darling. Next to me,’ she said, steering her to her place and filling her flute with vintage champagne, as Neville raised his glass to her.

‘Merry Christmas, Fliss, darling.’

‘Merry Christmas to you. Thank you so much for having me, for making me feel so welcome.’

‘We wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re practically family,’ Elizabeth beamed.

Bill began to cough, and the moment was broken with a sharp bang as George and Jasper began pulling the crackers and everyone followed suit. Kit insisted on wearing his red paper crown, and everyone laughed, taking turns to read out the silly cracker jokes.

‘Do you want me to carve, Dad?’ Bill asked hopefully, but Neville waved him away.

‘No, thank you. I’m quite capable.’ With effort, Lord Oliver rose to his feet, taking the carving fork and knife, and cutting generous slices of plump, white turkey as the plates were passed along and everyone helped themselves to sprouts with bacon, balls of sage and onion stuffing, and pigs in blankets, all drizzled with generous helpings from the gravy boat.

The meal was delicious, washed down with excellent wine from Lord Oliver’s cellars. Fliss felt carried along by all of the jollity and celebration and Tara’s venom almost vanished to the back of her mind, but she could hardly tear her eyes away from Kit, whose gaze seemed to keep finding hers.

‘Is there any more of that Rothschild claret?’ Neville asked.

‘Not up here,’ Elizabeth replied.

‘I’ll go and get some more,’ Fliss said, rising to her feet. She was keen to take herself away from Kit’s presence so she could think clearly.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You’re a guest, there’s no need.’

‘It’s no trouble – and I’d like a breath of fresh air. It’s very warm in here.’ She caught the look of concern on Kit’s face, aware of his eyes following her as she walked out.

In the hallway it was mercifully cool. Fliss took a moment to gather herself before heading down to the kitchen and finding the bottle Neville wanted. Then she turned and walked back towards the dining room, exhaling slowly. It was too intense, being in the same house as Kit, seeing him across the dinner table and knowing he wasn’t hers. Should she just pack her bags and leave? Fliss wondered, scared of how overwhelming her feelings were becoming.

She heard a noise up ahead and saw Tara emerge from the dining room. Fliss’s stomach twisted with dread, but she tried to keep her face neutral as Tara approached, her tight dress riding up as she walked. Attention seeking as ever, Fliss thought uncharitably, wondering what Kit thought about his wife’s choice of outfit.

As the two women were about to pass each other, Tara reached out and grabbed Fliss by the wrist. Fliss was so shocked that she almost dropped the bottle of wine.

‘I’ll take that,’ Tara said, reaching over to grab it off her.

Fliss frowned. ‘I was just—’

‘Trying to take something else that belongs to me?’