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There was a knock on the drawing-room door and Sally came in, smiling broadly, the epitome of professionalism despite the chaos in the rest of the house. She was accompanied by a woman a few years younger than Fliss, who was wearing a smart black dress and a boxy jacket. She had long, dark hair and was smiling broadly.

‘Good to meet you, Christina.’ Fliss nodded, going to shake the woman’s hand.

‘You too,’ Christina replied sincerely, in a gentle Scottish accent. ‘You were one of my broadcasting inspirations. One of the reasons I wanted to go into journalism.’

‘That’s so kind of you to say,’ Fliss replied, thinking that this was a very good start and Kit had chosen well.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Sally said, heading out of the room, and giving Fliss a hasty thumbs up when Christina wasn’t looking.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Fliss asked, pointing to the trolley which Sally had discreetly left. ‘Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?’

‘Water will be fine, thank you,’ Christina replied, as she put down her bag and began pulling out items: two phones, a notepad and pen. She looked around, taking in the soaring ceilings, the antique furniture and the gilt-framed oil paintings, and Fliss understood how she was feeling. Such a grand house couldn’t fail to be intimidating – Fliss had felt that same sense of awe the very first time she had arrived at Clarendon Hall and it had never quite left her.

‘Thank you for coming all this way, and on such short notice.’

‘Well, thank you for agreeing to do the interview. I must say, I’m very curious to hear what you have to say. We have a photographer coming too, but he’s running a little late. We can start the interview and take some photographs afterwards.’

‘Right.’ Fliss nodded, as she poured them both a glass of water. Once again, she reminded herself that over the course of her career she had given hundreds of interviews, taken part in endless photo shoots. So why did this one feel as though she was fighting for her life?

‘Remember, Fliss, this is your opportunity to put across your side of the story,’ said Christina, as she set up one of her phones to start recording. Fliss did the same with her own phone – it was imperative that she had a record of the interview too.

‘So, let’s get started,’ Christina said, wasting no time. ‘There are rumours circulating that photos exist of you, in your twenties, taking cocaine in a nightclub. Are the rumours true?’

Fliss took a deep breath and launched into the answer she had been mentally rehearsing all day. She explained how she had made a foolish decision in a moment of weakness and now regretted it. She told Christina how she had been under a great deal of stress at the time – her father was dying, her relationship was breaking up, and her career future was uncertain.

Fliss made it clear that she took full responsibility for her actions, but that it was something that had taken place over twenty years ago, and wasn’t relevant to the person she was today. She was taking time away from her presenting role on Friday Night with Fliss, and asked for privacy to deal with the consequences.

Christina was sympathetic, understanding, yet professional, probing Fliss to get the full story, and not giving her an easy ride. Fliss understood; in her shoes, she would have done the same.

‘I also wanted to ask you about the photos that emerged of you with Kit Forrest,’ Christina pushed, as they were reaching the end of the interview.

‘These have been completely blown out of proportion,’ Fliss said, her heart hammering as she tried to stay calm. ‘I’ve known Kit for more than twenty years, and I’ve known the whole Oliver family since my school days and I’m so lucky that they have always been extremely generous towards me, including inviting me to spend Christmas with them. Anything else is just salacious rumours, invented for clicks and engagement,’ Fliss finished, trying to sound thoroughly dismissive of the whole story.

Christina was nodding along, as she checked her second phone. ‘Thanks so much, Fliss. That’s great stuff. Mick, our photographer, is just arriving now, so shall we get set up for some shots?’

As Fliss waved goodbye to Christina and Mick and walked back into the house, the first person she saw was Kit. Her heart leapt, emotions swirling through her that she tried to suppress. It wasn’t helped by the fact that he looked so handsome, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her, his dark hair stubbornly falling across his forehead.

‘How did it go?’ he asked, with genuine concern.

‘Well, I hope. Christina couldn’t have been more professional. I’m glad you talked me into it. Now it’s in the lap of the gods.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said easily. ‘Like I said, I’m on your side.’

‘Thanks, Kit.’ It would have been instinctive to embrace him, but she didn’t know where they stood, not daring to hug him in case it was misinterpreted by anyone who might see them. Instead, they remained standing in the entrance hall, oblivious to the contractors rushing back and forth around them, the chemistry between them palpable.

‘Fliss, I’ve been thinking—’ Kit began, but was interrupted as George appeared at his elbow. ‘Hello, George, what are you up to? I’ve barely seen you all morning.’

Fliss smiled as she looked at George, tall and lanky, straddling the line between child and adult. There was so much of Kit in him. She couldn’t be the source of any pain for this boy, couldn’t be the reason his parents split up.

George acknowledged her with a brief nod, but his expression was serious as he turned to his father. ‘Dad, there’s something wrong with one of the horses. I was in the stables,’ Kit said, his cheeks flushing. ‘With Beatrice. She wanted to see the horses. But one of them is breathing kind of weird. It looks kind of old and not well.’

Kit and Fliss exchanged glances. Then, without a word, they all headed out of the Hall.

Chapter 34

Fliss and Kit followed George across the grounds towards the stables in the distance.

‘He’s lying down and his breathing’s weird,’ George told them worriedly. ‘Huffing and blowing out of his nose.’