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Kit quietly explained to Tara what had happened. Fliss watched them, remembering her theory that Tara might be the one behind the photographs. She wondered whether Kit had said anything to her.

‘Neville! Oh, it’s so good to see you. You’re looking on top form,’ Sally exclaimed, as she came down the front steps with Bill, heading over to her father-in-law to kiss him on the cheek.

‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss,’ he said grumpily, though it was clear he was enjoying the attention.

‘How are you feeling, Dad?’ Bill asked, as Neville gave him a sidelong glance.

‘Fit as a flea. You’re not getting rid of me quite yet.’

‘Now, are you absolutely sure you want the ball to go ahead?’ Sally interrupted, cutting through any tension between father and son. ‘It’s not too late to cancel.’

Fliss looked around at the lorries parked along the driveway, at the workers dashing in and out of the house with boxes and crates, at the cherry picker in front of one of the oak trees, holding up two men who were stringing fairy lights along the branches.

‘Cancel?’ Lord Oliver blustered, with all the energy he could muster. ‘Over my dead body. And I mean that quite literally! The only thing that could stop this ball going ahead is if I do pop my clogs – which I have no intention of doing. Tomorrow, we throw open the gates of Clarendon Hall to welcome our guests. Let’s make this the best one yet.’

Sally burst into spontaneous applause at his words, whilst Elizabeth joined in with a rousing, ‘Hear, hear!’

Lord and Lady Oliver made their way slowly into the house, along with Tara, Kit and Sally. Fliss was about to follow, but felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Bill.

‘Best wait a moment, Fliss,’ he said, a cold smile on his face. ‘This is a time for family only. And however hard you try and push yourself into our lives, that’s something you’ll never be.’

Fliss was utterly shocked, wondering what the hell that was all about. She watched the Oliver family reunited as they went through the grand front door, closing ranks once more, whilst she remained alone on the stone steps like an outsider.

Chapter 35

Clarendon Hall looked spectacular. A fleet of taxis carried guests up the long driveway that was lit on either side with festive lanterns, the thick white pillar candles with flickering flames making for a stunning entrance. The ancient oak trees were festooned with fairy lights, their soft white glow illuminating the darkness, and every window of the magnificent old house was ablaze, warm and welcoming and cosy, a perfect antidote to the bleak midwinter.

The great and the good from the worlds of politics, journalism, acting and entertainment alighted from the cars and streamed up the worn stone steps through the grand arched doorway, exclaiming in delight at the towering Christmas tree and the stunning decorations, laughing as they found themselves beneath a large spray of mistletoe.

Once inside, guests were greeted by uniformed waiters holding silver trays bearing flute glasses of champagne. Partygoers were warmed by the roaring fire as they shed their thick winter coats, the men in black tie, the women displaying a rainbow-coloured array of ballgowns, adorned by jewels as large as quail eggs, diamonds blinking in the twinkling lights, designer heels dancing over the checkerboard floor.

Upstairs, in their bedroom, Sally and Bill were still getting ready. Sally had been organising downstairs until the last possible minute, wanting to ensure everything was perfect before the arrival of the first guests. Bill, however, had been distracted by the news story that was showing on his laptop. Fliss’s picture was plastered on the screen, looking radiant, below the headline: Courtney Comes Out Fighting.

‘How does she always come out smelling of roses?’ Bill ranted, as he fastened his dress shirt and took a slug of brandy from the glass on the dresser.

‘What on earth are you talking about, darling?’ Sally wondered, looking at him in concern. Her husband was almost permanently apoplectic these days, and his drinking was worse than ever. She had rarely seen him without a glass in his hand over Christmas, with the first glass getting earlier and earlier each day – well before the sun was over the yardarm. He wasn’t even bothering to try and hide it anymore.

‘Fliss,’ Bill said angrily, jerking his glass in the direction of the laptop, where Fliss’s face was smiling out, the photo shoot capturing her fine features in luminous detail.

Sally frowned as she put on her earrings. ‘I still don’t understand what you mean.’

‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’ Bill shot back. ‘In your eyes, Fliss can do no wrong.’

‘But what has she done wrong? And why is it bothering you so much?’

‘She’s like bloody Teflon. Any hint of a scandal slides straight off.’

Sally looked at him for a long moment. ‘You sound almost disappointed.’ Bill laughed hollowly, as Sally began brushing her hair. ‘Look,’ she began carefully, ‘if I did something wrong by inviting Fliss here for Christmas, then I’m sorry. I thought it would be lovely for us all to catch up.’ For once, Sally wasn’t sure how to put her thoughts into words. There had been a strange undercurrent all Christmas, with unexpected tensions permeating the air. It seemed that Fliss’s arrival had opened up old wounds that Sally had been unaware of.

‘Well, maybe you should have thought a bit harder,’ Bill retorted, his eyes glittering dangerously.

Suddenly fury rose up within Sally. She was tired of tiptoeing around her husband’s mood swings, always trying to be so considerate of his feelings when he clearly didn’t give a damn about hers.

‘All I ever do is think about you and your bloody family!’ she burst out. ‘When was the last time you stopped to consider me? My feelings? Have you even realised that I’m organising this whole damn ball for your parents? It’s been incredibly stressful and time-consuming, and not once have you even asked me if I’m OK! Not once have you said, “Do you need any help? How’s it all going?” And heaven forbid you should tell me I’m doing a good job! No, Bill, it’s your world, and the rest of us just bloody live in it!’

It felt good to finally get it off her chest, after all these years. Everyone had always told her how difficult Bill was, and she had always defended him, but now she was sick of it. His good side was rarely in evidence these days, his true colours shining through.

‘And you know what?’ she went on. ‘At least Fliss listens to me. At least we can sit down and have a bloody conversation and she asks me how I am.’