Page 128 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

She read it through once, folded the note over and wrote ‘Chloe’ in capital letters.

Where to put it.

Behind her the kettle rumbled to a boil. Sammy slid the note to the side, got up and poured water over tea bags watching the steam rise.

Upstairs the bedroom door banged open. Chloe groaned, yawned and staggered down the stairs in a silky dressing gown tying a knot in the belt, her hair messy, face shiny with no makeup. ‘Morning, you. That was fun last night, wasn’t it?’

Sammy didn’t hear the words; she couldn’t take her eyes off Chloe’s dressing gown – visitors didn’t pack those. Over two weeks, she’d been here now. Her eyes fell on the note. Sammy set her cup down and moved the folded page into the centre of the table. ‘I made tea,’ she said.

‘You’re an angel.’ Chloe said, pressing a quick kiss on Sammy’s cheek as she brushed past. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Chloe picked up her mug, took a sip, then wrinkled her nose slightly. ‘Bit strong,’ she said, but smiled straight after.

‘I’ll go shower,’ said Sammy.

‘Take your time, I’m not in a rush.’ Chloe perched by the kitchen table and slapped down her mug. Tea sloshed onto the table. Chloe picked up her phone, already laughing.

When Sammy clattered downstairs twenty minutes later – acutely aware of the half-ironed blouse – Chloe was still in the kitchen. ‘Fresh cup of tea for you here girl,’ she said. ‘And toast, I made you some toast.’

Sammy glanced at the table. The note hadn’t moved.

‘I was thinking,’ Chloe said, settling into her chair, ‘I might stay on a few more days. If that’s all right. Until things calm down a bit with that couple.’

The birds carried on outside, bright and insistent. The morning was moving forward whether Sammy kept up with it or not. You need to say it. Now. Sammy reached for the note. Folded it once more. ‘Got to get going,’ she said.

‘Already?’ Chloe’s tone stayed light, but her eyes sharpened. ‘You really are working yourself too hard, Sam.’

‘It’s how it is.’

‘Doesn’t have to be.’

Sammy slipped the note into her bag. She wasn’t changing her mind. She just didn’t feel brave enough yet.

‘I’ll see you later,’ she said.

Not today. But soon.

The ducklings reached Nate before Sammy did. All three gathered around his boots, peeping hopefully.

Nate was beside the pergola, tying up a straggling rose.

As she drew close, he looked up at her, and her heart did that awkward fluttery thing to her.

‘You’re early,’ he said.

‘Couldn’t stay inside on such a gorgeous day. We won’t get many more of these this year. And I want some fresh roses while we’ve still got some.’

‘Yellow – those always flower longest,’ he said pointing at that corner.

Wind moved through those flowers still clinging despite the autumn gusts. Petals had fallen and stuck to the gravel, darkening where they’d been trodden in. The surviving roses hung open, petals browning, scent thick and almost sour in the warmth. A bee worked at one of them, slowly, persistently – no longer spoiled for choice.

The three ducklings gathered between them. One stretched its neck, calling softly, the sound swallowed by louder birds beyond the garden.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Nate said.

She inhaled sharply. She didn’t like the sound of this.

‘About the ducks.’ he said.

‘What about them?’