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“My gran loved the theatre,” Lucie said, changing direction, much to Frances’s relief. “That’s what pushed me into performance arts.”

“Mum wanted me to be an actress too. She hoped I could have the freedoms she didn’t have, but acting wasn't for me. I couldn’t get past the idea of pretending to be someone else.”

“That's the fun in it!” Lucie laughed. “You get to escape, to be anyone.”

“That was never an option for me.” She hesitated, then added more quietly, “I knew I would have to run all this one day. It was just a matter of accepting it. So I followed my dad’s advice and went into finance. You know” — she let out a small huff of amusement — “my grandparents frowned upon my parents’ relationship. Mum wasn’t the right stock to be marrying into the family, but my dad was the second son, so they eventually allowed it. My uncle was always expected to take over, but shortly after my parents’ marriage, he left abruptly for Canada... with a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. It came as a bit of a shock to the family. When my grandfather died, my uncle became the Marquess of Brackley and left my parents to deal with the demands of an ancestral seat they legally didn’t own. In the end...” She gave a faint, humourless laugh. “Mum gave everything up for this place, when those who were born to it wanted nothing to do with it.”

“Wow,” Lucie said. “I assume the hall wasn’t open to the public back then?”

“No, that was something my parents did, much to my grandmother’s disapproval. The hall was in a terrible state by then, so Mum pushed hard to open it to fund the repairs.”

“She’s quite something.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Frances replied, the edges of her tone sharp but measured.

“Why not?”

“She wasn’t the most attentive mum.”

Lucie’s gaping mouth suggested Frances owed her an explanation.

“I was raised by a nanny,” she said, sipping her tea before setting it back down. “My parents were party people. They would spend weeks away in their London house, where there was always some event over the weekends. When they were hosting here, I was expected to disappear. My dad was always busy with some aspect of the estate, usually farming, and my mum was always giving tours. It’s a big house when you’re a small child, and all alone. When I was eleven, I went to boarding school. Then university. From there, I went straight into The City.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Duty. I had a love-hate relationship with this place. It felt like a prison for years. I needed to escape, but it was still my home. If anything, it was my parents, or at least their lifestyle, that I was running from more than the place itself. By the time I came back...” She gave a small shrug. “My dad was gone, and my mum was alone.”

“Did you ever tell them how you felt?”

Frances shook her head. “It was in the past, so I left it there. Anyway, how do you complain about a life like that? Having every need met except the emotional ones? Most of my friends at school had the same upbringing: raised by other people, then sent away. We saw our parents once or twice a year, if that. We found solace in each other instead. I’ve lost touch with most of them now. A few live in London, but I’ve barely seen them since I moved back here.” She looked down at her hands. “I left behind the only real family I really had.”

“Golly, Frances. I never thought I’d feel sorry for you living this life.”

Why did people always assume privilege meant happiness? It so rarely did. Her uncle hadn’t been able to get away fast enough.

“And now I have to put everything aside and care for her,” Frances added with a sigh.

“I didn’t see it as a duty,” Lucie said. “More a kindness. Caring for Gran was more about my own sense of self and my own values.”

“I’ll never get the chance to tell her how I feel now anyway, and every day I play the dutiful daughter.” Frances shrugged. “Maybe I would make a good actress after all.”

Lucie’s hand returned to her arm, warm and welcome. She wanted to cover it with her own, to acknowledge the comfort it offered, but she held herself still. It was only sympathy, she told herself. Nothing more.

“I don’t think you are acting,” Lucie said. “It might not feel natural yet, but you are finding your role as a carer.”

Frances drew in a slow, silent breath, trying to ease the tightness in her stomach and the burning in her eyes. Was she finding her way... or slowly drowning?

“Are you embarrassed by her?” Lucie asked.

“I’m embarrassed for her,” Frances said, her voice catching.

“That’s natural, but it’s not a reason to hide it,” Lucie said, removing her hand again. “She’s the victim of a horrible disease; it’s not something anyone can control.”

“I know, and it terrifies me!” The words came out more sharply than she intended. “I feel stuck, not able to do anything about it. I’m scared, Lucie, and I don't know what to do.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’ve never done this before, and I’m terrified it will happen to me. I’m forty-seven. I shouldn't be choosing between finishing a report and stopping my mum wandering off or setting fire to the place.”