Page 107 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy shoved the green baize door open.

Heat from the Aga, the casserole ticking softly in the simmering oven, the smell rich as if nothing else in the world had altered.

Chloe?’ she called, her voice low.

No answer.

Sammy checked her watch: five-thirty. Thirty minutes before Magnus returned to close the house.

She ran to the morning room, tugging the door wide open – pale light, chairs with plump cushions mercifully undisturbed.

Sammy dashed into the dining room. ‘Chloe,’ she called again, a little sharper now.

Next, she tried the Chinese room. The door opened with a judder, the space inside dimmer, colours muted in the restricted light. Figures on the walls watched in silent scenes – fishing, farming, a feast, a procession to a temple. ‘Chloe?’ The name sounded wrong in here. Too brash.

Sammy blew out a long breath. Chloe wasn’t in here because she wasn’t in the house.

She tried phoning her friend again. Let it ring. No answer. She’d be somewhere in the village with Jimmy. Music on. Phone somewhere out of reach. Except what if she wasn’t?

Sammy glanced at her watch – twenty minutes before Magnus arrived. She let the door close behind her, the scale of the house feeling oppressive. Chloe didn’t know the rules. Or worse . . . she didn’t care about them.

At the foot of the stairs Sammy stopped in her tracks, her eyes darting upwards. No. Please. Don’t let her be up there. Her stomach dropped at the thought. Upstairs was different. Magnus had waited four weeks before allowing Sammy up this staircase. A month longer before he showed her the master suite. She moved anyway, one step, followed by another, keeping to the carpet, soft underfoot, muffling everything. Please don’t let Chloe be up here.

The landing stretched ahead, doors closed, the air cool.

Through the banisters, Sammy spied movement below.

She leaned over, catching sight of Chloe in the entrance hall. Hair ruffled, looking entirely at ease. ‘Where have you been?’ Sammy hissed out the words before she could shape them.

Chloe smiled up. ‘Don’t panic,’ she said. ‘I needed a nap.’

Sammy stared at her. A nap. In the Hall – uninvited; the line had been crossed, not blurred. ‘You need to go,’ Sammy said.

Chloe’s smile faltered. ‘What?’

‘Get back to the cottage,’ Sammy hissed. ‘Now. Before someone sees you in here.’

Chloe shrugged. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘God, you’re tense. You always think the worst . . . it’ll be fine.’

But mercifully Chloe turned and let herself out of the front door. Sammy let that pass.

The door slammed behind her friend, startling Sammy. She shouldn’t have snapped. She should go after her, smooth it over. Then her mind spiralled back to what Chloe had said, ‘I needed a nap’. What if she’d . . . Sammy didn’t bother to finish the question, fearing she knew exactly where Chloe had spent the last few hours. Her eyes darted to her watch: fifteen minutes before Magnus arrived. She didn’t have time to fix this alone.

Nate . . . Sammy’s hand reached for her phone. Don’t pull him into this. He won’t want it. That thought came fast. Her finger hovered before pressing call.

It rang. Once. Twice. She nearly cut it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had asked anyone to rescue her.

He answered. ‘Hi.’

‘Master bedroom, top of the main stairs and left,’ she said. ‘Please hurry.’

As soon as she opened the door to the master bedroom, Sammy sensed the change. The room felt wrong. The air held a faint trace of perfume, something spicy and powerful layered over the clean, neutral scent Sammy had left behind that morning. At first glance, the bed looked fine, but as she got closer, the illusion unravelled.

The bedspread was askew. She pulled it back. Lipstick marked one pillowcase – a soft, careless smear, bright red against crisp white.

Sammy moved quickly, fingers already feeling the fabric, slightly warm, as if someone had recently slept on it. She stripped the pillowcase off in one movement, the silk whispering against itself, then tore at the sheet, dumping the soiled linen on the floor.

With the door to the linen chest open, Sammy gulped and spun around. Bathroom – what if Chloe had . . . she ran off muttering curses under her breath.