His meaning was clear. Grace was used to it. People always assumed that Hartsford Hall and its estate belonged to Charles, that she had merely married well. In fact, it was entirely the other way round. Still, there was no point setting this bumbling bank manager straight. He was probably muddled about this house too. Why would Charles have a house in Whitley Bay that she knew nothing about? It made no sense.

‘I’ll ask him to ring,’ she said. ‘Does he have your number?’

Grace brought the subject up over dinner that night. Hector was bathed and in bed and Clio was at least quiet and with Mrs Finn. Even though the house had three dining rooms of various capacities, when there were just the two of them Grace preferred to eat at the little table in the corner of the kitchen where Mrs Finn generally fed Hector during the day. It had thrown their cook when Grace had first suggested the idea. No member of the family had ever elected to eat in the kitchen before. There had been some serious chuntering about inappropriate breaking with protocol, but once it was clear that Grace was just looking to make life less formal, a compromise had been reached.

Now the two of them sat opposite each other at the scrubbed pine table with only a small lamp lit, which cast shadows over the walls of the kitchen and made the space feel intimate and cosy. Supper was a simple pasta dish with a green salad and some freshly baked bread. Grace served them both, then handed a plate to Charles who took it gratefully.

‘I’m ready for this,’ he said, tearing off a hunk of bread with his hands and ignoring the bread knife that lay on the board. ‘Busy day today. We had Sharonov in for the first time. He’s conducting down in London before he comes back to work with us, but he wanted to get a feel for things first. Worked us bloody hard, I can tell you.’

Charles reached for the bottle of Merlot that sat between them and started to pour himself a generous glass. Grace stuck to water. Even though she was no longer feeding Clio herself, she needed to keep a clear head to cope with the children.

‘The bank rang today,’ said Grace lightly. ‘Well, not our bank. A bank. A Mr Honeyborne. Wanted to know what you propose to do with the deeds to the house in Whitley Bay.’