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‘What are you saying? You don’t trust me?’

‘Of course I do, but … ’

‘You think I don’t feel the same way? Every day you’re meeting new people on the show, then every night you’re going to parties and clubs … The whole time I was in Sicily, all I could think about was you back home, going out every night without me. Out of sight, out of mind …’

‘I’m not interested in anyone else,’ Fliss protested. ‘I want you, Kit.’

‘I want you too. I know there are going to be times when it’s hard – and the jobs that we do make it ten times harder – but we have to be committed.’

‘I am. Nothing is more important to me than you.’

‘What we’ve got is good, OK? Better than good. It’s incredible. I want the whole works with you, Fliss – marriage, babies, growing old together. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

And after that the film was forgotten, playing to itself in the corner. She tried to ignore the dissenting voice at the back of her mind which told her happiness like this couldn’t last, that something bad was going to happen. She pushed it away, losing herself in Kit as their bodies melted together until she was unable to think of anything but the pure pleasure pulsing through her.

Chapter 25

‘And cut …’ called Roland Quinn, director of Six Queens, as he glanced down at his annotated script. ‘Let’s take a break and reset.’

Tara breathed a sigh of relief and hurried off set. The tightly laced corset was digging into her ribs, and she longed to have it loosened; it was making her feel light-headed. An assistant dashed over, but before she had time to undo the strings, Roland called Tara’s name. He was a tall, slender man with an earnest manner and a permanent frown who looked as though he belonged behind the desk in a library.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked, frowning even harder than usual.

‘Yes. Why?’ Tara replied, trying not to sound defensive.

‘You seemed rather … unfocused in that last scene. The lines weren’t quite right, and with a period drama you need to be accurate. Something felt a little … off.’

Tara fumed inwardly. Who the hell did this guy think he was, telling her how to do her job? She might have a few issues in her personal life right now, but she still turned up to work – albeit a couple of hours late. She could have called in sick – Lord knows she felt sick as a dog right now – but instead she had dragged herself into the waiting car and was on set saying the lines. What more did he want?

‘I’m fine,’ she said tightly. ‘This corset’s killing me, that’s all.’

‘Occupational hazard,’ Roland replied, equally tightly.

Tara had been cast as Jane Seymour in Six Queens, a period drama about Henry VIII, and her agent had lobbied hard for her to get this role. It was a prestigious, high-profile BBC series, with an incredible cast and crew, including Joseph Fiennes as the infamous monarch, and Kate Beckinsale as Anne Boleyn.

Whilst Tara had been riding high after her success in This Is Us, she had spent much of the last year enjoying her first brush with fame, partying hard and discovering that money, gorgeous looks, and a sprinkling of success was a pretty irresistible combination. There had been that fling with the indie rock star, then a series of dates with Orlando Bloom that had made the gossip pages of the tabloids, and a veritable queue of gorgeous guys at her beck and call.

Tara was still smarting from the Kit and Fliss bombshell, had been stunned when they moved in together, but told herself it would only be temporary. And then she would be right there waiting when Fliss’s dull charms finally wore off and Kit realised that Tara was the one for him. In the meantime, Tara certainly wasn’t pining for Kit. She had even continued to see Harry on and off – he was always good for an ego boost when she was feeling down, and he never turned down a late-night booty call.

Although Tara didn’t want to admit it, all the fun and partying had started to affect her professional reputation. Whilst her agent had been fielding offers left, right and centre after the success of This Is Us, and Tara had been offered some incredible opportunities, the acting world was a small place and vile whispers had started about her poor timekeeping and diva demands. Tara told herself that it was a lot of rubbish, driven by jealousy and spite. Then the original actress in the Jane Seymour role had had to drop out at the last minute due to a personal matter and when Tara heard this, she lobbied her father to have a quiet word with the producer who was an old family friend. It was a dream role, with sumptuous costumes, lavish sets, an incredible script, and a vast budget. Not to mention that Tara looked incredible in the Tudor gowns, with her waist pulled in and her already generous breasts lifted to the point of overflowing.

But today she was distracted.

‘I’ll grab a coffee and double-check the script. Thanks for the feedback,’ Tara said flippantly, not caring if her director thought she sounded sarcastic. Her father was one of the most celebrated Shakespearean actors of his day, Dame Judi Dench was her godmother, and this guy was trying to teach her about period dramas, for God’s sake? Tara wanted to tell him where he could stick his advice, but she bit her tongue and stalked off set, stopping briefly to let the assistant loosen her corset, then went to her motorhome and locked the door.

They were filming at Hampton Court Palace, with huge trucks and caravans for the lead actors taking over the parkland behind the beautiful Tudor building but Tara’s trailer was small and untidy, with make-up strewn across the surfaces, and clothes left lying around haphazardly. Today, she didn’t notice the mess. She made a beeline for her designer handbag, pulling out the package she had bought at the chemist’s when she had asked her driver to stop that morning. Her heart was hammering. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this and she knew the drill, but this time was different. She could feel it.

Her period was three weeks late. She had only loosely kept track of her cycle, and once she realised she was late she made all kinds of excuses – she had been so busy, the stress of the new job, barely eating to fit into the tiny costume vacated by the previous actress. But her already ample chest was swollen, and she was bursting out of the corset dress. Her stomach was bloated, and she felt nauseous almost constantly, the symptoms ebbing and flowing in their severity.

Tara took a long drink of water, then opened the box and pulled out the pregnancy test. The en suite toilet was small, and not made for the enormous Tudor costume, but Tara pulled up the layers of fabric and squatted in an undignified manner, doing what needed to be done.

As she laid the test on the side of the sink and washed her hands, heart thumping as she counted down the seconds, she cursed herself for her stupidity. Yes, she was on the pill, but no, she didn’t always remember to take it, and sometimes, in the heat of the moment, she was lax about using protection.

Tara dried her hands and her stomach jolted as she noticed blue lines appearing on the test. For a moment she couldn’t think straight. Two blue lines. Did that mean it was positive or negative, she couldn’t remember? Tara snatched up the leaflet, heart hammering, the words swimming in front of her eyes.

The picture was undeniable. Even in her frantic state, the drawing was impossible to misunderstand. Two blue lines. Pregnant.