Page 68

The title set bells ringing, tugging at a thread, but in the middle of the night, her brain muddled from lack of sleep, Fliss couldn’t focus on it. She shivered as the chill from the old house wrapped itself around her, and carried on downstairs.

Kit couldn’t sleep either. He had tossed and turned and eventually, not wanting to disturb Tara, who had finally fallen asleep beside him, wiped out after the events of the day, he had got up and gone down for a nightcap. Now he was sitting at the kitchen table, the moonlight pouring in through the large windows as he nursed a generous glass of Fliss’s cognac gift. He traced the knots in the wooden table with his thumb and tried to rein in his runaway thoughts.

For some time now Kit had been coming to terms with the realisation that his marriage was on its last legs, that he and Tara were only staying together for George’s sake. He sensed that they were both counting down to when their son would be eighteen and flying the family nest for uni, leaving his parents free to quietly separate and lead their own lives. It was as though Kit had been watching sand slip through a timer and it had almost run out.

Kit had never dared to contemplate leaving Tara before, afraid that he would lose access to his son. The thought of only seeing George 50 per cent of the time – or, worse, being a weekend dad with occasional depressing visits – had always prevented him from initiating a split. He felt sure that Lord Oliver, with his first-rate legal contacts, would fight tooth and nail on behalf of his daughter.

But now things were changing. Whilst Kit had huge respect for Lord Oliver, he realised that the man was no longer the titan he had once been. Kit had always taken care to stay on his powerful father-in-law’s good side, but today had shown him that Neville might no longer be the fierce adversary Kit had imagined him to be.

And Kit was certain that Tara was having another affair. All the signs were there – being secretive with her phone, being in a better mood than usual, taking jabs at Kit. And whilst he suspected their marriage was irrecoverable, he didn’t appreciate playing the part of the cuckold.

Lastly, there was Fliss. She had stormed back into his life like a force of nature, and all the feelings that he had thought were long buried had come surging back. He was like a teenager again – and not necessarily in a good way, filled with the pain of longing and unrequited love. He knew it had been a foolish gesture to buy the necklace for her, but he had wanted to do something … to provoke a reaction, perhaps.

Yesterday morning, on their horse ride, he knew he hadn’t imagined those feelings. The way she looked at him when their eyes met, the way her breath quickened when he drew closer. Kit understood that she was wrestling with herself, not wanting a repeat of the Fliss-Kit-Tara love triangle that had been so destructive twenty years earlier. But the chemistry between them was getting harder to ignore.

And then last night, after Lord Oliver had been taken away in the ambulance and everyone was in shock, Fliss had disappeared. Everyone had gathered in the drawing room to discuss the night’s shocking events – no one had felt like returning to the dining room and finishing the abandoned Christmas dinner – but Fliss hadn’t joined them.

Kit had waited up when everyone else had gone to bed, was still awake when Tara and Bill had returned after midnight. In truth, he had been hoping to see Fliss, but had dutifully gone upstairs with Tara.

As he sat alone in the darkness of the kitchen, lost in his thoughts, something pierced the edge of Kit’s consciousness. Footsteps. He glanced up and caught a fleeting glimpse of Fliss, as though she had come into the room and immediately turned around on realising he was there. Was he seeing things? Had his thoughts been so potent that he had conjured her from the strength of his imagination?

‘Fliss?’ he called out uncertainly, wondering if he was going mad.

There was a long pause, and then she came back into the room. Kit smiled, delighted to see her. She looked beautiful with no make-up, her strawberry blonde hair mussed up from bed, her robe outlining the slim contours of her body. A surge of longing pulsed through him. But his smile faded when he saw the expression on her face.

‘What is it?’ he asked, rising to his feet. ‘Fliss, what’s wrong?’ He could see her struggling to keep her emotions under control, confusion and uncertainty written across her pale face.

She hesitated for a moment, as though deciding whether to confide in him. ‘That – that phone call I took earlier … It was from my agent in the US. The UK tabloids know about the photos of me and they’re threatening to publish. It could ruin me, destroy any chance of me going back to the show.’

‘Christ, Fliss, that’s awful. How did they find out?’ Kit wondered. Fliss shrugged, looking defeated.

‘I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it. But all of you were there that night when the photos were taken. It could have been any one of you.’

Kit was taken aback. ‘What are you saying? You think it was one of us? But it could have been anyone in that nightclub. Surely you don’t think—’

‘I don’t know what to think, Kit,’ Fliss interrupted him. ‘That’s all I’ve been doing for days now, going round in circles, trying to figure out what’s happening. Everyone was there – Sally, Katie, Tara, Bill, Harry … You …’

‘Fliss, I would never—’

‘I know that,’ she said quietly.

‘Please, come and sit down,’ Kit sighed, indicating the chair opposite him. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Just a glass of water,’ she said, eyeing the bottle of brandy on the table. Kit winced inwardly, knowing how it must look. ‘So how come you’re awake and down here at three o’clock in the morning?’ she asked, sitting down as Kit took a bottle of mineral water from the industrial-sized fridge, the bright light illuminating his face in the darkness.

‘Same as you, I guess. Couldn’t sleep. Lots of thoughts going round in my head …’

‘Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but there’s something else I need to tell you.’

Kit’s stomach lurched. He could tell from Fliss’s face that this wasn’t good. ‘What is it?’

‘There was a paparazzo that night we went to the pub. He was waiting outside and got photographs of us together. Looking like …’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Like we’re having an affair. My agent sent them. Again, they want to publish them. But how did they know we were there, Kit?’

Reeling from the information, Kit could only stand there, open-mouthed. Incriminating photos of him and Fliss? This could impact his career, his marriage, his son …

‘Coincidence?’ Kit suggested, though he could hear how lame the words sounded to his own ears. ‘It’s not a secret that Neville and Elizabeth live nearby, that Tara and I would be here for Christmas. Maybe the pap just took a chance …’ He trailed off, seeing Fliss’s disbelieving expression.

‘I think there’s something more sinister at play.’