Page 46 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Across from her, one eyebrow lifted a fraction before Magnus returned his attention to his cup.

The bell rang.

‘I will attend to that.’

Sammy heard voices in the hall. The door opened. Nate stepped in with a trug of vegetables. She noticed he’d shaved for once and trimmed his hair – slightly.

His eyes settled briefly on the dog, then on her. ‘Weekend visit?’ he asked.

‘Indeed,’ Magnus said.

‘He’s not very good at following instructions,’ Sammy said.

Nate set the trug down. ‘I can try.’ He sat on his heels, holding out a hand. ‘Come here.’

The dog didn’t move.

‘Sit,’ he said, more sharply.

The dog glanced at him, then back towards Sammy.

‘We always had dogs,’ Nate added, as if that should account for something.

‘What sort?’ Sammy asked.

He shrugged. ‘The sort you’re expected to have.’

‘That sounds . . . specific.’

‘It was.’

The dog pressed himself in again at Sammy’s knee. ‘No,’ she said.

He stopped.

Nate watched a fraction longer than necessary.

Magnus, back at the table, took a measured sip of tea. ‘Consistency,’ Magnus said. ‘That’s the key with dogs.’

‘Yes,’ Nate said.

‘If anyone needs me, I shall be in the silver room.’ said Magnus.

The pantry was always cooler than the kitchen. Sammy set the trug down and began unloading its contents onto the counter. ‘Kohlrabi,’ she murmured, turning it round in her hand before setting it aside. ‘I still think you look like something I should be feeding to the animals.’

But Nate wouldn’t agree with her.

She set it aside and picked up a swede. ‘You, on the other hand, are vastly underrated.’ A celeriac emerged from the bottom of the trug, all knobbly trailing roots. Sammy laughed. ‘And I like you . . . not sure where you’ve been hiding for the last thirty odd years . . .’

A month ago, she wouldn’t have recognised any of them.

Behind her, the dog nosed at the base of the shelves, snuffling along the stone.

Sammy pulled out her phone, scrolled through her messages, then pressed play. A woman’s voice, Mrs Hastings – she sounded professional, like a teacher or a lawyer:

Morning feed at eight. Not before. He’ll push . . . ignore it. Dry mix only. Walk after, not before.

Sammy reached for another vegetable, setting it in line without really looking at it.