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‘You look incredible, Elizabeth.’

‘Now, now, I’m at least one hundred years old – but you seem younger than ever! I always pinch myself whenever I see you on the box. Oh, we’re all so proud of you, Fliss,’ she said admiringly, taking hold of Fliss’s hands and standing back to look at her. ‘Doesn’t Fliss look divine?’ Elizabeth continued, turning to the other woman there who Fliss remembered well and was delighted to see once again.

‘She always does,’ said Mrs Matthews fondly, rushing across to greet Fliss. Mary Matthews was a few years younger than Elizabeth Oliver, shorter and rounder, and her dyed brown hair was styled in a no-nonsense pixie cut. ‘Heavens, you look so sophisticated. I always think of you as that shy teenager who first came here all those years ago.’

‘That was a very long time ago,’ Fliss laughed as she reached out to hug her. ‘Do you know, I’ve travelled all over the world, and I’ve never tasted a lemon drizzle cake as good as yours,’ she said, and Mrs Matthews went pink with pleasure.

‘Well, aren’t you lucky that I baked one this very afternoon?’

‘Oh, I was hoping that my nose didn’t deceive me,’ Fliss chuckled. ‘And how’s Mr Matthews?’

‘The same as ever,’ Mrs Matthews replied, pretending to look exasperated but Fliss could tell it was just for show. The Matthews had been with the Olivers for most of their working lives, with Frank Matthews taking care of handyman stuff and a bit of driving whilst his wife was responsible for the housekeeping. ‘He’s out in the gardens right now, but you’ll see him later. He’ll be thrilled.’

Arriving at Clarendon Hall really did feel like a homecoming. Fliss had known these people for so long that they were like a second family to her, enveloping her in warmth and understanding like a comforting blanket. As a hormonal teenager, reeling from the death of her mother, Fliss had loved sneaking down to chat with the maternal Mrs Matthews, and the housekeeper would always listen to her stories over a piece of cake and a cup of tea which never failed to make her feel better. Fliss was suddenly filled with regret that she had left it so long to return.

‘Where’s Lord O?’ Fliss asked, turning to Elizabeth. ‘I’m longing to see him again.’

Fliss watched as Elizabeth’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. ‘Everything all right?’ Fliss asked gently. The Neville Oliver she remembered was a colossus, bestriding life like a benevolent god; it was strange to think of him as the old man he must be now.

Elizabeth paused for a moment, turning to Mrs Matthews instead. ‘We’ll have dinner at eight o’clock, but if you could serve something light with drinks? I’m sure Fliss will be hungry after her flight,’ she smiled.

‘I’m fine for now, thank you,’ Fliss replied. ‘But I can’t wait for dinner later, your cooking is legendary!’ she said, smiling at Mrs Matthews, who almost preened at the praise, before following Lady Oliver out of the kitchen.

When they were safely out of earshot, Elizabeth continued, ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just that darling Neville isn’t quite as sprightly as he once was. Oh, he’s in denial of course, but age catches up with us all, and I have to remind him to take it easy. I sent him upstairs with The Times crossword about an hour ago, and when I looked in on him he’d fallen asleep.’

‘I’m sure he deserves to take it easy these days,’ Fliss said cautiously, her blue eyes filled with concern. She was extremely fond of Lord Oliver. He had been very good to her over the years, always taking an interest in her and her work, and she had a huge soft spot for him. He and Elizabeth had even attended her wedding to Brandon in New York, though Kit and Tara couldn’t make it, for which she was secretly relieved.

‘He’ll be fine – he’s got his Harley Street doctor on speed dial! But we’re keeping an eye on him. Now, I want to hear all about you and New York life. Thank goodness you’re bringing some Stateside glamour to our country yokel existence.’

‘Your life is hardly yokel!’ Fliss laughed, as Elizabeth led her into the main drawing room. It was beautiful, with its high ceiling and comfortable sofas, the long casement windows looking out onto the parkland beyond. ‘And thank you so much for having me for Christmas. I hope I’m not imposing.’

‘Of course not,’ Elizabeth insisted, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. ‘You’re always welcome here. You’re like family.’ Elizabeth looked up as she heard the sound of Sally’s voice in the corridor outside.

‘Look, Bill,’ Sally smiled, as she and her husband walked into the room. ‘Fliss is here!’

Fliss stepped back from Lady Oliver’s embrace to see Bill, the Olivers’ son and Sally’s husband. Fliss had never been as close to Bill as she had to the rest of the gang. It partly stemmed from their early rivalry – they had both worked in television after leaving university, but their careers had since gone in very different directions. Bill had moved between companies, working his way up to senior management, whilst Fliss had gone to the US and become a household name in front of the camera.

Fliss felt sure Sally would have been discreet about Fliss’s reasons for wanting to escape to England for Christmas, but would she have told her husband Bill the details of what had happened?

‘Fliss! How’s life in US TV?’ he asked, in a voice that Fliss thought was too loud and smile that was too big. US TV was filled with phoneys and she could spot one a mile off.

‘Oh, you know … it’s somewhere between The Morning Show and The Office,’ she laughed. ‘How about you? Still schmoozing TV’s finest from your office at the Dog and Duck?’

‘It’s all Shoreditch brunches now, darling, but I don’t suppose you’d know that out in the sticks of Manhattan.’

‘Touché, Bill! Give me a hug.’

‘Fliss, darling, how I’ve missed our sparring matches,’ Bill said as he gave her a short hug and a peck on the cheek.

‘Bill’s never up early enough for brunch,’ Sally teased, though Bill frowned at her. ‘Be a darling and go and fetch Fliss’s bags for her, will you?’ Sally asked him. ‘They’re still in the hall. She’ll be in the green bedroom.’

Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m just staff now, am I?’ he bristled, but went off to do what his wife had instructed.

Fliss and Sally exchanged a knowing look. ‘Still the same old Bill,’ Fliss said.

‘Some things never change!’ Sally rolled her eyes.

‘Fliss, you must be exhausted, darling,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Let me get you a glass of wine and then you can head off to your room. Take a nice hot bath and perhaps have a nap – whatever you need. Supper will be at eight.’