Page 123 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘I’m dealing with it.’ Sammy gave the glass a swift wipe, wishing she could make Valerie disappear as easily as that mark. ‘There see – now I’ve got things to do elsewhere.’

Back in the kitchen, Sammy opened a drawer, closed it, and opened another. ‘Where’s that cloth gone,’ she muttered. The microfibre for the marble. She rummaged through the drawer, shunting things around, shaking her head, trying to clear the fog.

Valerie reappeared. ‘Looking for something?’

‘The microfibre.’

‘Ah.’ Valerie said. ‘You’ll find things generally stay where you leave them.’

Valerie’s gaze moved over the room, then back to Sammy. ‘Magnus does like a decent night’s sleep.’

Sammy turned to lay the table, plates first, followed by cutlery, moving on instinct. Halfway through, she stopped. She concentrated on the place settings. Forks, knives, spacing – it all seemed slightly wrong, like a word on the tip of her tongue that wouldn’t come.

Behind her, a quiet voice. ‘That’s not right.’ Valerie again.

‘I know.’ Sammy muttered.

‘Do you?’ Valerie said, lightly, ‘doesn’t look like it.’

Sammy stepped back, gritting her teeth. Think.

‘Miss Jenkins.’ Magnus; the missing microfibre cloth folded neatly in his hand. ‘This, I believe, is yours.’

‘I . . . ’ She took it, the fabric dry and silky against her fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘I found it in the laundry room. By the washing machine.’

‘I haven’t done any washing,’ Sammy said.

‘No,’ Valerie said, almost to herself. ‘You wouldn’t have, not after your last attempt.’

Magnus stepped past them moving to the table. Without comment, he reached for a setting, swapping the knife and the fork.

‘Napkins,’ Valerie said, and Sammy could have sworn there was a triumphant note in that voice.

Magnus sighed. ‘We’ll revisit this once consistency improves, Miss Jenkins. Now I must get on. Oh, and we have a guest arriving on Friday,’ he said. ‘Stop It. On this occasion, I think we’ll let him help Nate in the garden.’

Sammy turned back to the counter, the cloth still in her hand. She knew this. She absolutely knew this. So why couldn’t she remember what came next?

Nate was talking to the cabbages again.

‘You’re fine,’ he was saying. ‘Take your time. No need to rush it.’

A hen hopped onto the bed beside him and pecked at a leaf. Nate shooed it away.

‘Are they listening?’ Sammy asked. She walked down the central path, the ducklings trailing behind her in a loose line, their incessant chirping keeping time with her steps.

Nate stayed on his haunches but smiled a greeting. Sammy tried to gauge if that meant he was softening towards her.

She let her gaze wander over the espaliered trees, their branches trained flat in perfect lines against the walls, picturing Stop It in here. A white rocket charging straight through the immaculate raised beds scattering earth and plants or taking out at least one carefully trained branch without even noticing.

A hen cut across in front of her, another close behind, both intent on the vegetables.

‘Magnus says I need to start thinking about preserving some of this lot? What’s ready?’

‘Not the apples. Another couple of weeks. Plums and damsons . . . I’ll harvest and bring them up to the house.’

‘I could help.’