‘You got lost. It happens,’ he said flatly. ‘No doubt you’ve seen some of the less salubrious corners of the Hall, now: the grand inheritance you’re always so fond of reminding me I’ll come into one day.’
Amy had no idea what to say to this, so she simply nodded. How could she have known there was so much wrong with this place? She had nothing to feel bad about, she told herself: even if Rowton Hallwasa white elephant, Sam’s family was still ridiculously wealthy by any normal standard.
‘Yes is the answer to your question, by the way,’ Sam said as he walked with her down the corridor, then pointed at the bathroom door she’d failed to find by herself.
‘I … I didn’t ask a question,’ she pointed out.
‘I could feel you thinking it,’ Sam sighed. ‘Is much of the house in that sort of mess?Yes. I come from a long line of spenders and hoarders. They’d buy things, collect things, then never throw them away. Over several generations, whole wings of this place have been shut up and forgotten about simply because the prospect of clearing them is prohibitive– too expensive and time-consuming.’
‘Oh,’ was all Amy managed to say.
‘I’ll go back to the drawing room,’ Sam said. ‘Fourth door on your right when you come out. Meet me there and I’ll see you out.’
If Amy had been feeling snippy, she might have asked whether he wanted to escort her off the premises to prevent any further espionage. Instead, she just said, ‘Fine.’
She went from the bathroom back to the drawing room with no detours, either deliberate or accidental. Sam was waiting for her, alone; Simon had obviously given up on hanging back, if he’d ever considered it. Amy breathed a sigh of relief.
Sam walked her back to the grand entrance hall, the quiet between them stretching like a rubber band that threatened to snap.
‘Amy,’ Sam said as she turned to say goodbye. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I went too far– let it get personal when we were talking about the book. It isn’t for me to draw conclusions about why you do or don’t like certain things. Though Iambaffled as to why you of all people have ended up editing romance novels.’ He risked a small smile, here– a slight quirk of the lips that nevertheless reached his dark eyes.
‘It’s OK,’ Amy told him. She figured she should let him off after invading his family’s privacy. ‘As for the work thing … It’s a long story. It wasn’t my choice. And you weren’tcompletelywrong, I have been pleasantly surprised by some of the manuscripts I’ve been sent.’
‘Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime,’ Sam said, though Amy couldn’t think when. It wasn’t like they were friends; they weren’t going to meet up, split a pizza and bond over their work woes.
‘Do you …Argh,’Sam started. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, please– I don’t want to sound like a patronising twat—’
Amy look at him blankly.
‘Do you want me to walk with you?’ he asked. ‘It’s dark out there, and—’
Only a proper arsehole would knowingly let you go alone.
Eighteen-year-old Sam’s voice came back to her, as clearly as if it were speaking to her now.
‘No,’ Amy cut in, sounding sharper than she’d intended. ‘I mean … No. Thank you. I’m a grown woman. I’ll be fine.’
‘Really, I’d feel far happier if you let me come along– or drive you, even.’
I’ll follow you at a respectful distance if I have to, but I’d really rather not stalk you back to your gran’s.
‘I’d prefer to go alone,’ Amy insisted. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe– home within a quarter of an hour, cup of tea in hand.’
‘Well then,’ Sam murmured, dejected but too wary to push her. ‘Goodnight, I suppose.’
‘Goodnight.’
On the way back to Gran’s, Amy reflected that it was probably less than ideal to be walking through the village by herself at this time of night. But the prospect of Sam seeing her back to the cottage set off some peculiar combination of fireworks and alarm bells inside her. She knew the simple act of strolling across the bridge with him might open a Pandora’s box of memories. Excitement. Nisha’s dreaded stomach drop sensation. And then, inevitably, abandonment. Hurt.
Once home, Amy got into her pyjamas, double-cleansed her face and applied a soothing night serum. As she examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she wondered– not for the first or last time– whether she’d done the right thing by sending back Hugh’s gift. Perhaps those Harley Street potions might have helped with the fine lines around her eyes, which looked deeper all the time despite how little she’d laughed recently.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and picked up her phone so she could set her alarm. There was a WhatsApp message waiting for her.
Sam: Did you get home okay? Please let me know.
It seemed childish not to reply.
Amy: Yep– safe and sound.
