Page 120 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy watched her take the last mouthful, then turn to the mirror of her phone, angling it, checking. ‘I’ll head out, you two join us when you’re ready – give you time to get changed out of that uniform?’

‘Okay.’

‘Do I look all right?’ Chloe said, smoothing her hair, fiddling with the line of her top. ‘Be honest.’

‘You look nice.’

Chloe smiled, satisfied enough. ‘Nice doesn’t get you drinks bought, Sam.’ She grabbed her jacket and was out of the door before the plate had cooled.

Sammy walked beside Nate, her flat pumps noisy on the cobbles. Not touching, but close enough to be aware of his presence.

Around them, Brambleton settled into another evening. Pastel coloured cottages, their windows open, voices drifting out. The lane dipped and curved, edged with low stone walls and gardens spilling over them, rambling roses letting out a sweet scent, something with pink flowers left to grow where it wanted.

‘You didn’t have to come,’ she said.

‘I know . . . I wanted to.’

They reached the harbour. Water shifted in slow, glassy ripples against boats bobbing on their ropes. Nets lay piled along the quay, and a family was sitting on the wall with bags of chips, gulls circling above them eyeing any opportunity to share the feast.

Sammy took it all in. Three months ago, she didn’t know Brambleton existed. She wanted to stay here. She didn’t say it.

Nate opened the pub door, standing aside to let Sammy enter first. As his parents had taught him. Inside the low thrum of conversation. Someone laughed near the bar and a dog thumped its tail against the floorboards in reply.

Chloe’s voice carried to him before he spotted her. Although he knew where she’d be. Dead centre, claiming the space, chin lifted as if the room owed her attention. ‘There they are,’ he said pointing.

Jimmy lay sprawled beside Chloe, one arm hooked across the back of her chair, relaxed in a way that read less like confidence and more like trouble.

Chloe sploshed wine into a glass and passed it across to Sammy, without even asking what she wanted to drink. ‘Here . . . go on. You’ve earned this, girl, after slaving away all day.’

Sammy took it. ‘Thanks.’

‘What are you having?’ Nate asked, nodding to Jimmy’s empty glass. ‘Another?’

‘You don’t have to . . .’ said Sammy.

Jimmy cut across her, ‘cheers – pint of lager . . . oh and while your there.’ He picked up the bottle of wine, ‘that’s not going to last much longer . . . not with this one.’ He said nudging Chloe in the ribs.

Nate fetched the wine first, then returned with two pints in his hands. He set one down in front of Jimmy and took a seat, catching the tail end of the conversation. ‘. . . floating about?’ Jimmy was saying.

Sammy held her glass by the stem; it looked untouched. ‘Something like that.’

Chloe laughed. ‘Stop teasing her,’ she said.

‘I’m not teasing,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m asking.’

Nate sipped his pint, listening.

‘You’re absolutely teasing,’ Chloe went on. ‘She’s running that place.’

‘No,’ said Sammy, ‘Magnus runs it. I look after the softer side of things.’

‘It’s not easy,’ Nate said. ‘What she’s doing.’

Jimmy dipped his head toward the fresh pint. ‘No?’

‘No.’

‘All right,’ Jimmy said. ‘what’s the security like up there, then? Big place like that . . . must have alarms and all sorts?’