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The club was a whirl of lights and music and people, and Fliss closed her eyes, letting it all run through her. She didn’t notice the digital camera discreetly pointed in her direction, the camera that had already snapped a handful of incriminating shots, the photographer smiling, knowing they now had the means to destroy Fliss Courtney’s life any time they chose.
Chapter 30
Fliss was in her dressing room after London Lunch had wrapped for the day, removing the heavy make-up she wore on television. Her mind was racing. It never seemed to slow down these days; even when she managed to fall asleep, her dreams were vivid and offered no respite. She was just about managing to hold it together enough to make it through her live television appearances, but as soon as she stopped focusing on work, the thoughts invaded her brain: her father, Kit, America …
Her phone vibrated on her dressing table and she picked it up to read the text from her father:
Just watched you on LL today. I don’t know how you do it! I’m bursting with pride. All OK here, looking forward to seeing you soon. Dad x
Fliss exhaled slowly, putting her phone in her bag. She had already made up her mind that she was going to tell her agent she would say yes to the US offer, though she hadn’t discussed it with Kit yet. There was just one caveat – she wasn’t prepared to move to Los Angeles until after her father …
Don’t think like that. He might get better.
John had come to terms with it, and she needed to as well. Still, she wanted to be there for him for as long as it took. The doctors said it could be just a matter of weeks …
She had finally had a chance to tell Kit about her father’s illness, and he was devastated on her behalf, knowing how much her mother’s death had affected her. For now, she hadn’t shared the news that John wasn’t her real father. She wasn’t sure why. But she wanted to hold the knowledge in her heart for now, still processing the revelation herself.
There was also a part of her that felt ashamed. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake the thought that her real father hadn’t wanted her. That there was something about her that was inherently unlovable, and if she highlighted that to Kit then he might start to think the same too. She knew it made no logical sense, but she couldn’t help that.
For the thousandth time she turned over the information in her mind, looking for clues. John had said that the legal firm dealing with the financial affairs had been called Knight Miller. Perhaps she could call them and explain who she was? Or perhaps she shouldn’t mention her name at all, pretend to be someone else and see if she could somehow trick them into giving her access to her files. Although, surely, if the documents related to her, she had a right to see them?
Fliss grabbed her coat, ready to leave. She had pinned the brooch her father had given her to her dress, and as her fingers brushed over it, the memory surged back, suddenly crystal clear.
She had been three, perhaps four, years old. Her mother had told her that they were going on an adventure, taking a train into London. Fliss had been excited. She knew how much her mother loved London because she was always talking about it, telling her daughter that it was the best place in the whole world. But Fliss had never been before.
It was a warm summer’s day and her mother had worn her favourite dress from Laura Ashley, a demure, floral number that clung flatteringly to her slim figure. She applied her make-up carefully and sprayed on Trésor, her favourite perfume. She had even dressed Fliss up for the occasion in a new dress, putting a bow in her long, strawberry blonde hair.
‘But don’t tell Daddy,’ her mother had said, putting a finger to her pink, glossy lips. ‘It’s just between us girls.’
Fliss had nodded, thrilled at having a secret shared between her and her mother.
When they arrived at Victoria station, Fliss had held her mother’s hand tightly. The city seemed very big and very crowded, lots of people rushing everywhere and endless escalators. It was noisy and dirty and Fliss wasn’t sure if she liked it very much – there was no sea, like in her hometown. The air smelled different, with no seagulls wheeling and crying overhead, no salty tang carried on the breeze – just diesel fumes and hot tarmac that made Fliss screw up her nose.
But there was something about central London that felt exciting too. Her mother let her buy a pretty doll from a shop before taking her to see Big Ben and Trafalgar Square. At one point, a man came up to them. He was much older than her mother, but he seemed to know her well.
They all went for a walk, before sitting down on a bench in what her mother told her was St James’s Park, near the Queen’s palace. Jacqui said the man was a friend and he smiled at her – he looked very smart and was wearing a navy-coloured suit. His hair was golden and he had bright blue eyes, the same colour as Fliss’s own. If she had known such a big word at that young age, she would have said he looked distinguished.
The grown-ups talked, and Fliss remembered snippets of the conversation.
‘… I’m sorry, Jacqui, but you know I couldn’t …’
‘… How’s your daughter? She must be about the same age. I saw her birth announcement in the newspaper …’
‘… Your husband must be a very good man …’
‘… She has your eyes, don’t you think …?’
After a while, Fliss had grown bored and wriggled off her mother’s lap, playing on the grass nearby, practising cartwheels and finding insects in the grass. Her mother probably thought she couldn’t hear them but sentences drifted over to her.
‘… I’ll always provide for her, I promise. You don’t ever have to worry about that.’
‘… I want her to have opportunities … the same as your children …’
‘This is for you. It’s a winter rose.’ He gave her mother a small jewellery box and she opened it; inside was a brooch shaped like a rose. ‘But I can’t see you again …’
After what seemed like forever, her mother and the man embraced, then Fliss was called over to say goodbye.
The man looked at her for a long time, until she began to feel uncomfortable, and then he turned and walked away. Fliss stared after him, but the sun was in her eyes, and she couldn’t see him properly. Her mother got a tissue from her pocket to wipe her eyes and Fliss wondered if she was crying – or perhaps the sun was in her eyes too?
