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‘I’ll try. But Fliss, there’s something else.’

Fliss laughed hollowly, afraid that if she didn’t laugh she might cry. ‘What now?’

‘You’re staying in the Cotswolds, right? Some pap has got photos of you in the little village there.’

Fliss sighed. ‘Well, I kind of expected that I wouldn’t stay incognito for long.’ Vaguely, she wondered how the press had found her, whether someone in the village had seen an opportunity to make a quick buck and sold her out.

‘Sure, but that’s not the main problem. You’re not alone in the pictures. It looks like you’re with the actor, Kit Forrest. You two look very cosy. I didn’t know you knew him.’

‘He’s … an old friend,’ Fliss said, her voice thick with anxiety. Everything around her seemed to warp and bend as she tried to put the pieces together in her mind but they wouldn’t fit. She stared up at the grand old house, the lights shimmering and blurring as though she was looking through a lens that was out of focus. It felt as if everything was spinning out of control when she had tried so hard to contain it.

She heard Martha inhale sharply, and Fliss knew that her no-bull, New York style meant she wouldn’t beat around the bush. She braced herself for what would come next.

‘I hate to say it, Fliss, but in these photos you look like a lot more than old friends. I mean a lot … He’s married, right?’

‘Yes, to my old schoolfriend.’ Fliss winced as she thought of her last exchange with Tara. ‘What are you saying, Martha? What’s in the pictures?’

‘Hang on. I’ll send them to you now.’

Fliss’s heart was thumping as she put her agent on speaker and took the phone away from her ear, checking her messages. She could already imagine what they would look like, but right now she was in denial for a few blissful moments. Then the pictures came through and confirmed her worst fears: her and Kit outside the Hare and Hounds in Chipping Moreton. There was a smattering of snow on the ground, the honey-coloured village in the background lit by streetlamps and looking impossibly picturesque. Fliss remembered that she had slipped in her low-heeled boots, but the photos didn’t show that. Instead, they showed Kit with his arm around her waist, Fliss placing a hand on his chest, the two of them laughing as they gazed at one another, the lovestruck expression on both of their faces unmistakeable …

Fliss realised she was holding her breath. She tried to exhale, but there was a buzzing noise in her ears, and she felt as though she might faint. ‘I’ll call you back,’ she said, and hung up.

Fliss sank down onto her haunches, staring up at the large, yellow moon that was just visible through the thick covering of snow clouds. The flakes were falling fast, soaking through the thin fabric of her dress; it clung wetly to her body but she barely noticed, the silver necklace plastered against the bare skin at her throat.

How had all of this blown up so quickly? Pictures were about to break that made it look as though she and Kit were having an affair – and after this morning, Fliss had no idea what was going on between them. And the photos from her past that had returned to haunt her? It was as if this was being planned deliberately.

Someone wanted to hurt her. To destroy her. And now Lord Oliver was seriously ill, on his way to hospital, fighting for his life …

Fliss took a deep breath, trying to think logically. Who had been there on the night the photographs were taken? It was the same group that were in the house right now. It could have been any of them. Names swirled in her head, mixed up with memories of that night … Sally, Katie, Tara, Bill, Harry, Kit … It had to be one of them, Fliss realised.

She remembered the way Tara had spoken to her today, the ice in her eyes as she declared, I’ll always win. And I will do whatever I have to do to make sure of that … Someone in that house right now was prepared to stop at nothing until Fliss was ruined.

Their names pounded in her head like a relentless drumbeat: Sally, Katie, Tara, Bill, Harry, Kit …

One of them had betrayed her. But who?

Part Four

Chapter 24

London

November, 2006

‘Ten seconds until we’re live … And five, four …’

The final three seconds were counted down silently, and then Fliss smiled at the camera. She felt the familiar swoop in her stomach with the adrenaline of broadcasting live to the nation, but she had been doing this for almost a year now and it was becoming as familiar as breathing.

‘I’m here with our next guest, Alex Kennedy, who, at just twenty-one, is the youngest chef ever to be awarded a Michelin star,’ she said, turning to the man beside her, as she launched into the interview.

After covering for Daisy Redman in the London Lunch rehearsal, her producer, Jo, had been keen to set up a screen test and the past year had been a whirlwind for Fliss, as Jo had introduced her to a talent agent she knew, Alice Steed, and Fliss had signed a twelve-month contract for a guest-presenting slot on London Lunch.

‘And tell us about your signature dishes. I’ve heard the Cornish crab is incredible,’ she continued, smiling as Alex began rhapsodising about his nine-course tasting menu.

Fliss had been an instant hit; her manner was warm and open and she genuinely listened and responded to what the guest was saying, rather than rattling through a list of pre-prepared questions. But it wasn’t all serious – Fliss was fun and light-hearted and, most importantly for some of the viewers, she was gorgeous. The perfect mix of girl-next-door relatable, but sexy at the same time.

Fliss was having the time of her life. She felt that she had found her niche, her talent, and as unexpected as it had been, she was serious about this career and wanted to see how far it could take her. She and Alice, her agent, had enjoyed some strategic lunches and in-depth phone calls, planning for her future and laying out what the next steps looked like.