Page 86 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

She came to another abrupt halt. It was the size of her Swansea flat, with marble surfaces and a bath you could get lost in. Bottles and jars were arranged in straight lines.

‘Focus,’ Magnus said.

‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Sorry.’

‘Details matter,’ he said.

They began in the bathroom. Every bottle had its place like pieces on a chessboard.

‘Keep everything as it is.’ Magnus said.

‘Got it.’

Back to the bedroom and that enormous bed – wide, linen stretched so smooth it barely seemed real. ‘Tomorrow we will change the linen together and I will demonstrate how to make this properly.’ Magnus pointed to the pillows. ‘One silk. One cotton. All the spare linen is kept in that chest.’

Sammy picked up the pillows, feeling the difference, and placing them carefully back.

Her phone rang. Chloe. Sammy winced, then whispered an answer. ‘Hi.’

‘Sammy, they’ve done it again,’ Chloe said, already irritated. ‘They’ve taken over the entire fridge now. Like, properly. I’ve got nowhere to put anything.’

Sammy turned slightly away, keeping her voice low. ‘That’s frustrating,’ she said.

‘It’s ridiculous. They’re acting like I’m not even here.’

Sammy shot a look at Magnus – the ever-expressive eyebrow was raised; keep this brief. ‘It is shared space,’ she said.

‘Sam . . .’

‘I know,’ she added quickly. ‘I’m only saying.’

‘You have no idea what it’s like trying to live with this pair . . . sorry, I just needed to sound off, hear your voice. I miss you that’s all.’

‘It’s fine,’ Sammy said.

‘Thanks,’ Chloe said, brightening. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. But I’ll be there tomorrow won’t I. We’ll have such fun.’

‘Yeah.’

With the call finished she moved quickly back to Magnus’s side. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why do you have so many conversations with this person?’ he asked. ‘The subject matter appears remarkably consistent . . . and they divert your attention.’

‘Because she’s my best friend.’ The point seemed obvious. ‘Don’t you have lots of conversations with your best friend?’

His expression tightened. It was so slight she nearly missed it. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

‘Continue,’ he said.

Sammy returned to the bed; pillows – one silk, one cotton. She peered at them.

She couldn’t remember which was which.

Later, Sammy walked down the path to the lake, the feed bucket swinging at her side. This was the last job; not that she considered feeding Bay, Juniper and especially Thyme with her clutch of eggs a chore. After this she could go home and prepare for Chloe’s arrival. Her friend had texted earlier:

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow xxx.

No time specified – classic Chloe.