Page 145 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

He stepped back, checked the tree wasn’t leaning, before kicking soil back in, firming it down with the heel of his boot.

Nate picked up the next tree, tipping it from its pot with a sharp knock to the base. The root ball came free in one piece. Too tight again. He broke it apart with his thumbs, working the fibres loose.

Sammy had known. That was the part he couldn’t get past. Possibly not about the poaching – but about Jimmy. About him being in her cottage and owning a shotgun. Even if she didn’t work it out for herself, Nate had told her that Jimmy was bad news. Magnus had too. And what had she done about it – nothing concrete. He set the tree into the ground, looking down at it.

Too deep. He lifted it out again, added a layer of soil, reset it; kicking the dirt around the base of the tree.

Why couldn’t Sammy see it? No – that wasn’t true. She saw it perfectly well. The problem was that she kept convincing herself it would get better.

Chloe brought trouble with her the way other women carried handbags. Careless, selfish, always one step away from trouble and never the one dealing with the consequences.

He shook his head once, more to clear it than anything else. Not his problem. Not anymore.

Nate knelt and pushed the soil back in, packing it tight so the tree would hold. When you did it properly, it lasted. You cut corners, and it showed. If the roots were too shallow, you ended up with stunted growth. People weren’t so different.

He moved on to the next tree.

Somewhere along the hedge a bird kicked up a fuss, then went quiet again.

Nate worked, letting the repetition take over. It should have been enough. But he could still see her face when the police said Jimmy claimed she’d given him permission. The way she’d looked at him when she realised he’d called them.

He drove the spade in harder, hitting a stone this time. The jolt ran up through his hands. Nate swore under his breath, levering it out and tossing it aside.

He hadn’t had a choice. If he’d left things, it would have got worse. That was how it always went. Better to cut it off clean. He told himself that again.

Nate set another tree in place, stepping back to check the line.

From here, the house sat above the rise, pale against the sky. Shutters open. Work underway. She’d be in there, carrying on as if nothing had happened. He would miss her. That was the problem.

Nate picked up the next tree and tipped it out, catching it before it fell. Soil broke loose across his boots. There’d been moments. Her letting the chickens out on the first morning, like they were house pets, standing there while they scattered in every direction. The way she made him laugh. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Or her in the kitchen garden, staring at a row of seedlings as if they might explain themselves if she gave them long enough. ‘These are definitely flowers,’ she’d said, as if expecting congratulations for spotting that he hadn’t grown the snapdragons to eat. Clueless.

He set the tree into the hole.

It had been . . . easy. Fun.

Nate rolled his shoulders once and looked along the line of newly planted trees. They needed staking against the autumn winds. He picked up the spade and moved to the next spot, setting the blade into the ground with a clean, deliberate cut. Better off alone. Better off keeping things where they belonged. It was the answer that had protected him for years. Today it sounded hollow.

The knock was firm.

Sammy’s stomach dropped before she even opened the door.

Two officers. Neutral faces. She recognised them both from the day Magnus fired her.

‘Ms Jenkins?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re making further enquiries about that incident on the estate. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?’

‘Of course.’ Her voice sounded normal. She didn’t know how.

Behind her, Chloe craned her neck around, mug of tea in hand, as if this was mildly interesting.

Both officers perched on the edge of chairs as if relaxing was against the rules. The easy questions came first. How did she know Jimmy? When was he last at the cottage? Did she see or hear anything the night before last?

Sammy answered carefully. Not lying, but not helpful.

‘Have you had any previous experience with firearms?’ the younger officer asked.