“You haven’t written anything for over three years,” Bill said. “Your future doesn’t lie in that direction, Lizzie. We agreed.”

“No.” Lizzie was astonished to realise that she was so outraged she couldn’t catch her breath. “We didn’t agree. I don’t remember anyone asking me what I thought. You told me that TV and presenting was the way to go and for a while I did agree with you, but now—”

“What?” Bill roared, making them both jump. “Now you’ve fucked it all up through your own stupidity so you’ve decided you’re a singer/songwriter after all? Lizzie, you’ve got a nice enough voice but you were in a second-rate girl band and your songwriting will never amount to much. You’re about as good a pianist as someone down the pub. You had a lucky break, that’s all, because your father had some influence in show business and was able to give you a start. But don’t think you got this far through talent and don’t throw the TV stuff away because you’re pissed off with everyone hating you! Kat’s right—they’ll forget about it soon. You just have to play the game. Hell, the celebrity magazines will all be calling for you and Dudley to get together in a few months, as though none of this had ever happened.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it,” Lizzie said, trying to keep a grip on her temper. Bill always exaggerated when he was angry; she was used to it although it always stung. “I want to write music, Bill. I want to do something different. And,” she added, “I don’t want to get together with Dudley so don’t even think about lining that up as a publicity stunt for the future. It makes me feel sick.”

Bill strode across the room—sending the papers fluttering from his desk with the violence of his passing—and came to stand in front of her, arms crossed, legs braced apart, intimidation in every line of his body.

“You’re such a princess, Lizzie,” he said. “You have no idea how hard I work to line up all this stuff for you and now you’re talking about throwing it all in. And the idea of you going off on your own somewhere to write is insane. You wouldn’t last a moment. You can’t cook. You haven’t driven for years. I don’t know where you’re planning to go but there probably won’t even be a mobile signal. You can’t organise yourself out of a paper bag and you’ll come running back begging for help.”

Lizzie heard Kat give a little gasp. She was shocked too, completely taken aback by Bill’s harshness. He was often irritable and on a short fuse but he had seldom tried to bully her in so transparent a manner and she hadn’t realised that he held her in quite such contempt. There was a very long silence.

“Well,” Lizzie said, meeting his eyes, “thank you for making your opinion so clear, Bill.”

Bill’s gaze fell first. “I apologise if I sounded unsympathetic—”