Page 25 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Valerie finished her own tea, rose, and without looking at Sammy, crossed to the far wall and the broom cupboard. There was a sudden burst of noise – metal handles clanking, something heavy shunted aside.

Sammy followed. ‘So – you’ve been working here fifteen years, you must have some interesting tales?’

Something scraped inside the cupboard. ‘What happens at the Hall stays at the Hall.’

‘It’s lovely around here, isn’t it? I’ve only been here a few days, but yesterday I popped down to the village to look around.’ She laughed, the sound filling the space. ‘It already feels like one of those places people can’t leave.’

‘Mm.’

Sammy leaned her shoulder lightly against the wall, peering round into the broom cupboard.

‘Are you – sorry, you don’t have to answer – are you married?’

A sharper clatter this time. And Valerie turned to face her – Sammy tried not to stare; a full face of makeup – foundation caked on, lip liner, mascara, bronzed cheeks. This woman was made up for a nightclub, not cleaning.

‘Widowed,’ said Valerie, dragging a short trolley bristling with cleaning items from the cupboard.

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

No answer.

Sammy pressed on, gentler now. ‘Do you live in the village?’

‘Yes.’ Valerie moved a cloth from one side of the trolley to the other then disappeared back inside the cupboard.

‘That’s lovely. You’re very lucky.’ She smiled, though Valerie couldn’t see it. ‘We should go for a drink one night at the pub, if you’d like. It’d be good to . . .’

Valerie emerged, slamming the cupboard door shut. ‘I can’t stand here chatting. Mr Magnus wouldn’t approve. I’ve my work to get on with,’ she said. ‘Now I’m back to three days.’

Sammy swallowed down her disappointment. ‘Oh . . . I thought we might . . . shouldn’t we work together today?’

‘No.’

Valerie stepped past her, the metal handle of the bucket knocking once against the doorframe.

‘I must get on with my job. I assume Miss Jenkins would like to be left alone with hers.’

The kitchen door opened, then closed again. She heard a squeaky wheel on the trolley echoing back down the corridor fading as Valerie pushed it further away.

Sammy stood where she was, resisting the urge to run after Valerie and apologise, despite having no idea what she’d done wrong.

Instead, she reached for a cloth.

When Sammy arrived for work on Friday, Valerie was nowhere to be seen. Sammy wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Instead, she found Magnus sitting at the table – back ramrod straight – his notebook open. Sammy tried not to look at it.

Experience suggested there was nothing in there she wanted to read.

‘Why not practice another omelette,’ he said.

This time, the mixture behaved. It folded when it was meant to. Didn’t stick, or split, or collapse into something messy. The result looked remarkably like an omelette. Sammy could have hugged it. ‘Look at you,’ she murmured.

Sammy cut the omelette in half, carrying one portion to Magnus, feeling pride bubbling inside her. She set the plate down, returning to collect her own and, stepped to the side, fork in hand.

‘Miss Jenkins.’

She paused mid-bite, her eyes shifting to Magnus. One brow raised, not sharply: curious. ‘Why do you eat standing?’ he asked.