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All Tara had talked about that summer was her party. She was going to have a Sweet Sixteenth at the Hall, with all of her friends from school, her cousins and the children of her father’s acquaintances. The Olivers had a wide social circle, and over 200 guests would be invited to the celebration. Tara had been planning it for months, and her father had spared no expense, employing a party planner from London who would organise the weekend-long event.

Fliss had been staying with the family for the summer, as she often did in the school holidays. Bill didn’t mind having her around – she was undeniably attractive, although he didn’t like to think about fancying any of his sister’s friends. And he hoped Tara didn’t fancy any of his friends either – that would just be weird.

Bill didn’t know how to take Fliss – she was pretty, intelligent and observant and he got the feeling that she could see through him, which he found unnerving. She was also popular and charming – everything that he wasn’t. Fliss and Tara weren’t natural best friends – he knew Fliss was from some seaside backwater but Tara seemed to be able to boss her around and Fliss never seemed to complain.

Bill had gone to his father’s study while he wasn’t there, hoping to nose around again, looking for spare cash that he could pilfer. He would be in hot water if his mother or father found him, but the pull was irresistible. Glancing round, his heart galloping like a racehorse, he looked at the framed posters from West End plays starring his father, at the awards on the shelves and the stack of scripts piled up on a chair. But today, instead of looking in the drawers, there was something else that caught Bill’s eye: a pile of official-looking papers strewn across his father’s desk, the letterhead reading Knight Miller.

The sash window was open and a warm breeze blew in, scented with lavender from the garden. Bill stood for a moment, listening. When he was certain he couldn’t hear anything, he moved closer to the desk, scanning the papers.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. There was a name: Felicity Courtney. Wait, was that …?

Outside, he heard shouts. When he glanced out of the window he could see his sister and Fliss on horseback, racing across the grounds, calling to one another and laughing.

Bill looked back at the papers, his vision beginning to swim. He couldn’t make sense of it. The papers outlined numbers, figures, money. There was a mention of a trust, and of Cranham, the boarding school that his sister and Fliss attended. Was his father paying Fliss’s school fees? Perhaps it was a charitable gesture as she was poor, but why was Fliss a charity case? Bill wondered if Fliss or Tara knew. How embarrassing. Along with his scorn, Bill also felt a pang of anger towards Fliss, annoyance that his family’s money was being spent on her, when it should all be going towards him and Tara.

Bill was leafing through the pages when he suddenly heard his mother’s voice, almost outside the door. He hadn’t heard her approaching! Her honeyed tones were followed by his father’s booming voice. Dammit! His parents would kill him if they found him in here, There was no time to leave; they would see him if he ran out.

The curtains at the window were thick and heavy, pushed back into deep folds. Bill remembered him and Tara playing hide and seek as children as he darted behind one of them. There were only seconds to rearrange the fabric so that he was covered, his heart thumping so loudly he felt sure it would give him away.

He heard his mother and father walk in, the door slamming shut. Bill swallowed. Now he was trapped.

‘I need you to sign these documents,’ his father was saying.

‘What are they?’

‘For Fliss.’

‘Neville …’

‘Just sign, Elizabeth.’

‘Look, we’ve had this conversation and this isn’t right. I think it was a bad decision to send her to the same school as Tara – although who would have imagined that they would grow so close? If the truth ever comes out, it will destroy both of them.’

‘We’ll just have to make sure that no one ever finds out then, won’t we?’

‘Is that a threat?’ Elizabeth said tightly.

‘Now, now, darling, you know me better than that. Be a good girl and sign …’

‘I’ve known since the summer before I went to university,’ Bill was saying. ‘I overheard Mummy and Daddy talking about it one day. And then it all made sense – how much he doted on you, why he always asked Tara how you were doing. He was so proud when your career took off – he even came to your wedding, for Christ’s sake.’

‘You were jealous,’ Lady Oliver said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘She had everything that was supposed to be mine!’ Bill spat. ‘I was supposed to have the glittering broadcasting career. But instead I got stuck in one dead-end job after another whilst she went on to host one of the biggest talk shows in the world! And it was my inheritance that had funded that.’

‘So you tried to discredit Fliss?’ Kit said slowly, working out what had happened.

‘She was like a cat with nine lives,’ Bill sneered. ‘Bouncing back every time. Untouchable. Until now …’

‘You took the photos that night,’ Fliss realised, everything coming together. It all made sense now.

‘I wanted to get you out of the way,’ he admitted. ‘I planned to send them to your bosses, or sell them to the papers. But then you left for America and I thought you were out of the way for good. I’d forgotten all about the photos until recently – you can imagine my delight when I found them, and sent them to the head of NYBS,’ he gloated.

‘You bastard!’ Kit lunged for him, and Elizabeth cried out. Bill was quick enough to dodge out of the way, but went sprawling onto the floor, the brandy bottle spilling on the rug as he lay there, humiliated.

‘And it was all for nothing,’ Lord Oliver said quietly, as Kit backed off, breathing heavily.

Bill looked up at his father, squinting through blurry eyes. ‘What? What are you talking about?’