Deb had forgotten to bring in cake for Alison's leaving drinks, so lunchtime had involved a trip to M&S. Clambering into Lizzy's ancient Fiat, that smelled vaguely of sick masked by Yankee Candle air fresheners, Deb grimaced as she strapped herself in.

"Do you not earn enough money to buy a new car?" She joked, but with a semi-serious tone. She had googled how much Lizzy earned and she knew full well that she could afford something not as grim as this twenty-odd year-old Fiat Punto.

Lizzy rolled her eyes as they pulled out of the car parking space that had her name on, "I like this car."

The journey was short, and they decamped to the store quickly, avoiding a quick shower of unseasonal rain for which neither of them was suitably dressed.

"So, you must tell me what he's like," Deb said, whizzing paper bags full of granola squares and choc chip shortbread into the basket. "Is he like he is in 'Still into You'?"

"The one where he played the narcissistic sociopath? Yeah, he's exactly like that," she snorted.

Deb threw her friend a well-timed side eye, "well, all I'm saying is that since you went out for tea with him a week ago, he has been at your flat every night and you have barely said two words about him. Obviously, I'm curious, you know full well that I'm a nosey bitch!"

"I know," Lizzy apologised. "He's… well… he's a normal bloke and we watch telly and talk."

It was true, he had been in the flat three out of the last four nights, which was completely surreal, especially when Wuthering Heights had been on TV last night and he had provided a real-life commentary as they sat on the couch and ate a bowl of crushed biscuit and mascarpone that should have been a cheesecake. She had taken the time to school him on the finer points of Heathcliff, things she felt he had missed from his interpretation, and he had decried her reviews by stating that all women loved Heathcliff because of his brooding sexuality and the fact that he was a grade-A arse, which was what all women wanted really if they thought about it. She smeared mascarpone on his face as revenge and he chased her around the couch as if to prove his suitability for the role. Harriet, who had been making garlic bread in the kitchen for her and Summer, rolled her eyes before retreating upstairs.

"You watch telly? Christ alive, Lizzy, if I had Benn Williams on my couch I wouldn't be watching telly."

"Yes," Lizzy chastised, before taking out a large lemon drizzle cake out of the basket. "Even if I fancied him, which I don't – I mean, he's handsome and funny, but he's coming out of a long relationship and I wouldn't want to be the bounce of his rebound."

"I would be the bounce of his rebound!"

"You are terrible!" She hit her friend with a small packet of biscuits, before throwing them into the basket too. "I'm… well…it's nice to have a friend, who gets stuff."

"Are you saying I'm not a friend, Lady Muck," Deb teased.

Lizzy laughed softly and shook her head, "he just understands the whole public eye thing – especially now my sister –

"-Imogen?"

"-Yes! You see how many times she is in the paper…and remember those awful pictures that they took of us when we had the goldfish bowl!"

Deb laughed remembering the less than flattering picture of them both at Bella Italia on a works do that had run on what must have been a very quiet news day the Daily Mail. They had pinned it up on the noticeboard in their office and it was a continual source of both merriment and annoyance at the hideous angle and Harris's nasty habit of buying the newspaper in question.

"He just understands that in a way that most people don't," she grabbed her cashcard and paid for the basket that was filled with an assortment of cakes and pastries. The rest of their lunchbreak with a conversation about Debs' new boyfriend, Pete, who was blessed with both a large member and a voracious appetite. It was a match made in heaven, Lizzy thought, as she rammed a cupcake into her mouth on the drive back to the office.

It was GCSE results morning and, quite rightly, the whole of the Pemberley staff were excited on Harriet's behalf. She wasn't the only one sixteen year-old receiving results that day - there were a few girls from the café, including Summer, and a lad who was on an apprenticeship who worked down at the stables and really needed to pass his maths this time – but Harriet was their own, most of the long-term staff knowing her since she was in the womb and watching her grow over the past sixteen years. The production team were also excited for her too, and she had received a massive bunch of flowers that morning from her dad, but obviously ordered by his long-suffering assistant, Linda, who had red hair and work-related anxiety. Harriet wasn't too phased by getting her results today – as long as she got into college she would be quite happy, and she would be even happier if her parents kept the information to themselves and took her to Frankie and Benny's for overpriced cheesecake and a mocktail like normal bloody parents.

Lizzy was on tenterhooks all morning as she waited for the text message. She was sure that Harriet had done fine, but she still had that nervous expectant knot in her stomach that reminded her of waiting for her own A-level results and whether she would get the results she needed to Manchester. She got the two A's and a B that she needed and that afternoon when she returned home, there was a bright yellow Fiat Punto waiting for her on the drive complete with a red bow wrapped around it. Waving at her from his study window was Winston, wearing a purple bowtie and his smartest suit, he came striding out and she ran to the courtyard to meet him, where she wrapped her arms around him and gave him the biggest hug.

"Grandad," she said. "You've bought me a car?"

He patted her gently on the head, "of course I bloody well have, I can't keep driving that blasted Jaguar down to the village every time you want a bloody lift. Do you have any idea how much petrol costs nowadays? And Staughton's eyes are all wobbly now he's old…"

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a set of keys, complete with a Darcy keyring from the gift shop and handed them to her.

"Now, come on old girl, lets christen this bloody thing with a quick whizz down the drive. I might even take you out for dinner if you're good."

They had set off down the drive, drove through Lambton and then ventured out to the Alveston Arms, where Winston ordered them both big steaks and pieces of black forest gateau - which had always been the traditional Darcy celebration meal since her dad had got a place at Cambridge in the seventies, even when Uncle Jeremy had gained his silks and become a QC, they had ordered the same meal at the devastatingly posh restaurant near his chambers and only gotten away with it because Winston had flashed his peerage.

As they drove home, down the mile-long driveway, Winston took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "I'm so bloody proud of you," he smiled. "You're a damn fine Darcy, probably the best of us all."

"I love you, Grandad," she whispered. It wasn't something any of them said very often, Darcys were very often restricted by their stiff upper lips.

"Love you too, Lizard," he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and they walked under the arch, up the stone steps and into the saloon for coffee and biscuits on the balcony.

Lizzy walked up to the Lantern, usually it was only opened on Bank Holiday weekends, the structure itself being Elizabethan and listed, but she had surreptitiously kept a key years ago, never handing it over to the Historic House Society. They had their own, obviously, but this meant she could go inside when she really needed and not simply when the timetable allowed. In the distance she could hear the faint echo of announcements and the signals that they had started rolling. This was the last day of filming, they were only getting the final shots of the carriages and the entrance in, then they were off to Shepperton now before returning to the house in October.

She was glad that they were going – it had caused so much disruption, and the arguments she had with Matthew about the horse chestnut tree had given her migraine. It wasn't just a conker tree, it was the tree that Darcy had planted in memory of his lost sons knowing that it would a fitting memorial to their playful nature and provide entertainment for their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Great-great-great-great-great grandchildren in her case, as she had fond memories of running up there in autumn to get the best ones, Matthew had run with her and she was so annoyed by his arrogant forgetfulness that had wanted to punch him hard. She had made them pay for an expensive tree surgeon to try and reduce the damage, much to the annoyance of the unit production manager, who huffed and puffed as she made the call.

She continued the upwards trudge towards George Darcy's folly. It felt that every time she walked up the east approach, the hill got a little steeper, the walk a little bit harder, but it was probably that she was just getting older. She was nearing forty; now there was nothing wrong with being nearly forty, she thought. Helen Mirren was seventy now and still fucking amazing, but to be nearly forty and still living in your childhood home, in what was technically a flat above the shop – despite it being a really very nice shop – felt somehow tragic. Even Maggie was moving on; Austenation had made her a very nice job offer and she had accepted, giving Joyce four weeks notice. By the time September was here, Maggie would be living in Hertfordshire and commuting into London every morning, Harriet would be hopefully be starting college and then it would be two years before she would move on and move out.

The phone flashed:

HARRIET: Don't worry, I'm in! Three A*s, Two A's, Five B's and a C. Just scraped maths, praise be to Jesus :) Please let Dad know, his phone is off. See you later, off to Starbucks with Summer and Caitlyn. Love you.

Lizzy sighed with relief, as she looked out from her viewpoint in the Lantern; she was planning on celebrating tonight with Harriet in the Saloon, as was custom. They would wait until everyone had gone home for the night, before sneaking down the grand staircase and into the oak-panelled room, festooned with elaborate and ornate carvings, open the doors that led to the balcony and toast Harriet's future with glasses full of non-alcoholic fizz.