Page 48 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

The dog’s stride faltered.

Nate stilled, the fork held in mid-air.

She kept walking. ‘Good bully boy.’ The lead slackened. ‘That’s it. Good bully boy.’ The dog dropped into step beside her. Nate’s grip tightened on the handle. That shouldn’t . . .

A small turn, her shoulder guiding the lead. The dog followed without resistance. They crossed back towards Magnus, the lead hanging loose between them. The dog stopped when she did.

Nate let out a breath he hadn’t meant to.

‘Adequate,’ Magnus said. ‘The silver requires attending to,’ he added as he moved away.

‘Well. You’re a bit of a fraud, aren’t you?’ Sammy said quietly to Stop It.

Nate bent back to his digging, though the rhythm didn’t settle in the same way.

‘. . . and they’ve moved my stuff,’ Chloe said. ‘Like, actually moved it, Sam. Not even to the side . . . away away. Who does that?’

Sammy reached for the egg flip, folding the omelette over. Her phone was tucked between shoulder and ear.

‘That’s . . . not great,’ she said. ‘Did you say anything?’

‘Of course I said something. I’m not going to let that slide, am I? And do you know what they said?’

Sammy felt the heat gather at the back of her neck as she worked the omelette – tilting the pan, drawing the sides in, letting it set cleanly. She could hear Chloe pacing. Had been able to hear it for twenty-five years.

On the flagstone, stretched along the warm strip between her feet and the Aga, Stop It lay on his side. Half an hour across the lower orchard had taken the edge off him. For now.

‘Go on.’

‘They said it was “communal space”.’ Chloe’s voice rose a few octaves, quoting. ‘“Communal space”. As if that means they can . . . rearrange my things.’

Sammy winced, sliding the omelette onto a plate and walking it over to the table.

‘You see what I’m dealing with?’

‘I do,’ Sammy said, reaching for the salt. ‘I . . . Clo, it is a shared kitchen.’

Stop It stirred at the shift in her tone, one ear lifting before settling again.

‘Oh, don’t you start,’ Chloe cut in. ‘You always do this. You go all reasonable on me. I don’t need reasonable; I need you on my side.’

Sammy nudged the plate further onto the table. ‘I am on your side. I’m only saying . . . don’t go in quite so hard?’

‘So, I should what . . . apologise? For existing in my own flat?’

Stop It’s ears swivelled in Sammy’s direction.

‘No, but . . . you don’t want to upset them.’

‘Sam, honestly, you’ve always been like this. You always think the worst will happen; it’ll be fine. Remember when we had that lodger Jess and the fridge thing at college?’

Stop It shifted again, lifting his head this time, nose twitching in the direction of the omelette. He sat up and padded over.

‘You threw her yoghurt out because it was “in your section”.’

‘It was in my section,’ Chloe said. ‘We agreed on shelves.’

‘It was one pot.’