Page 130 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘I know the car.’

The candle flame bent sideways before righting itself again. Sammy picked up her glass, wondering where this was going. Nate watched her. Those green eyes assessing. ‘Chloe’s seeing him?’

Sammy set her glass down carefully. ‘They spend time together.’

Noise from the bar drifted around them – laughter, somebody feeding coins into the fruit machine.

‘How long’s he been hanging around up on the estate?’

She hated the way he said that, as if Jimmy being onto the estate crossed a red line.

‘Not long,’ she said.

‘Long enough.’

Sammy frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Nate’s jaw shifted before he answered. ‘It means Jimmy Morgan’s not somebody you let get comfortable.’

Something defensive rose in her chest. ‘Chloe likes him, and anyway, he’s done nothing to me.’

‘Not yet.’

The bluntness caught her off guard. ‘You really don’t like him.’

‘Nobody sensible likes Jimmy.’

‘Chloe does.’

There was something hard in Nate’s face now. ‘He’s a poacher,’ Nate said flatly. ‘A thief when it suits him. And when he drinks too much, he starts thinking that rules are for other people.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic.’

‘No. Dramatic is what happens after people ignore warnings.’

She’d never heard Nate make such a long speech. ‘He drops round occasionally, to see Chloe – he likes her.’ The explanation sounded weak, defensive even to her own ears.

‘Jimmy doesn’t do anything because he likes somebody.’ The words settled unpleasantly between them.

Sammy looked away, out beyond the pub windows to where the harbour lights trembled against the dark water. ‘You make him sound dangerous.’

‘I’m saying be careful.’ When she didn’t reply, Nate leaned forward. ‘And don’t give him access to things he shouldn’t have.’

‘What things?’

Nate held her eyes. ‘Anything connected to the Hall.’

Behind them, the door opened. A draught cut through, sharp enough to bend the candle flame horizontal, before righting itself again. ‘You shouldn’t allow him anywhere near the estate,’ Nate said.

Sammy’s chest tightened, though she kept her expression blank. ‘It’s not up to me.’

‘It is if it’s your door.’

Briefly, she thought about telling him: the noisy late nights; how little control she actually had over Chloe. The candle flickered again, a smaller movement now, but still unsteady. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Just a car.’

When he answered, Nate spoke in a whisper. ‘It won’t stay that way.’

The trees had arrived yesterday, in better shape than Nate had expected.