Page 105 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Can we do anything? To help?’

‘We could turn them.’ Nate reached in, tentatively, fingertips light as he rolled one gently. ‘Like that,’ he whispered.

She stretched out her arm. The contact was brief – the brush of her arm against his, unavoidable in the tight space. A tingle of excitement shot through her, catching somewhere below her ribs. Everything – the eggs, the heat of the tunnel, the smell of bananas, the cheerful sound of birdsong – disappeared.

She followed his lead, turning the next one, her mind replaying the sense of his touch.

‘Any day you said . . . they might arrive.’

‘They either will, or they won’t,’ he replied. ‘I checked into feed. Bit of starter crumb to begin with. That’s what we give the chickens. Then greens – chopped fine. They’ll take to it quick enough.’ He closed the lid. It clicked shut.

Sammy rested her hands on the propagator. ‘About last night,’ she said. ‘You didn’t enjoy it,’ she added.

‘It wasn’t the pub,’ he said.

‘Was it me?’ she asked, trying to sound light.

He heaved a sigh. ‘You brought the wrong mix together,’

Sammy groaned inwardly. He wasn’t wrong. Chloe approached every social occasion as if it were five minutes away from becoming a party. Magnus treated conversation like a formal duty. And to Sammy, it seemed like Nate had a talent for retreating into himself. The evening was destined to be a disaster even before Jimmy joined them.

‘I should have just gone with you.’

Nate didn’t answer that. ‘Your friend,’ he said. ‘Chloe.’

Sammy’s attention sharpened. ‘What about her?’

‘Don’t let her bring that man onto the estate,’ he said.

Sammy sensed the instinct rise. ‘She’s . . .’

Nate interrupted. ‘I’ll get some bay leaves for you.’

Sammy felt the warmth of the tunnel pressing in, the faint hum of insects threading through it. She followed him out to the cooler air.

The eggs sat behind her, waiting. So close now.

Twenty-five

To avoid forgetting her key a second time, Sammy secured it on a chain around her neck, then dropped the bay leaves into the casserole. She’d been gone less than half an hour, but in that time the sauce had deepened – darker now, the surface glossy where the fat had risen and settled back. The smell was richer, filling the kitchen. She stirred once, watching the bay leaves disappear beneath the surface.

Judging the sauce too thick, she reached for the wine, tilting the bottle over the glass. Nothing. She tipped the bottle upright, frowning. Empty. She was sure she’d only used half the bottle.

She set it aside, crossed to the rack and pulled out another one. The cork came free with a soft pop; the smell of wine sharp. Sammy poured into the glass. The liquid slipped into the pan, the scent rising as it met the heat.

The kitchen door opened. Magnus. ‘Miss Jenkins.’

Sammy finished pouring, then stirred folding the wine through the sauce, watching it settle back into itself. ‘Mr Magnus.’

‘The master bedroom,’ he said.

‘Completed.’

‘Bathroom.’

‘Cleaned.’

Magnus smiled.