Page 97 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Nate looked directly at her.

Chloe turned. ‘Hey!’ she said. ‘I’ve met your Nate – introduced myself.’

Your Nate. If only.

Nate stepped aside, giving Chloe a wide berth as he attempted to walk past her. ‘I need to finish watering the polytunnel,’ he said.

Chloe laughed. ‘God, you’re disciplined,’ she said. ‘Relax, we’re all going out, aren’t we?’

His gaze flicked to Sammy.

Chloe’s hand lifted again, brushing Nate’s arm as he passed her. ‘Nate and I were getting to know each other.’

Something sharp flooded through Sammy’s veins – there and gone before she could name it. Why is Chloe . . . she stopped herself. Don’t be ridiculous. Chloe’s just being friendly. That’s who she is. Sammy managed something that passed for a smile. ‘Well, let’s get fed, showered and changed.’

The key was cool in her hand as she unlocked the door. ‘Chloe,’ she called, pushing the door open. ‘Come on . . . we’ll be late.’

When they arrived, the Smugglers Inn was already busy. For one alarming moment, Sammy considered turning around and leaving.

Voices layered over each other, rising and breaking, glasses striking wood, a burst of laughter carrying from the bar. Someone had opened the windows. Beyond the outside tables, the harbour stretched out – boats shifting gently against their ropes, the sea churning gently unsettling the surface.

She glanced once around the room. Every table was full, and people were standing two deep at the bar with pints in hand. Sunburnt shoulders, sandy flip-flops, damp hair, rucksacks hooked over chair backs. Above the noise, people called out orders.

Spotting a family gathering up phones and bags, Sammy hurried over. A table by the window. Perfect. Not too close to the bar – Magnus would appreciate distance – still close enough for Chloe to feel part of the fun. She checked everyone was following, weaving through the tight gaps between the tables.

‘Here,’ she said, pulling out chairs. ‘Mr Magnus – you’ll want this side.’ Away from the bar.

Chloe claimed the seat facing the crowd, dropping into it as if it had been waiting for her. She caught Sammy’s arm. ‘Wait . . . come here.’ Sammy stumbled as Chloe pulled her down beside her, phone already up, angling it. ‘Quick . . . this light.’

Sammy turned instinctively towards the window overlooking the harbour, where the water was shifting as the tide turned.

Click.

Sammy eased her arm free.

Chloe peered at the screen; she flipped the camera, angling it closer to her face, tilting her head one way, then another. ‘God . . .’ Her hand was already in her bag. Lipstick out. Cherry red. She traced it on, watching herself as she did, smoothing a corner with her thumb, pressing her lips together once, and blowing Sammy an air kiss. ‘We’re going to party tonight. I’ve missed you. Swansea’s missed you girl.’

Drinks were sorted quickly – Sammy took the order, moved to the bar, came back with pints and glasses balanced on a tray.

At the next table, Mabel and Victor were already settled. Sammy recognised them both at once. Mabel from the beach outing with Nate; Victor from the dinner party. Mabel sat upright, both hands around the stem of her sherry schooner, a neat badge pinned to her blouse – Support Local Energy. Victor sat beside her wearing his clerical collar and nursing a half pint of bitter ale.

‘Magnus,’ Mabel said, ‘good to see you in here.’

Magnus inclined his head.

Victor picked up his glass in a toast. ‘Good evening, Miss Jenkins.’

Chloe’s head snapped around. ‘Miss Jenkins. Sorry . . . what?’

Sammy’s insides squirmed. ‘It’s . . .’

Victor took a measured sip of his ale. ‘Some names have to be earned.’

Chloe’s smile held. Just. She leaned back in her chair, her arms spread wide as if claiming space. ‘This is cute,’ she said, scanning the room. ‘Very . . . rural.’

‘I like it.’ said Nate.

Chloe smiled, not really listening. ‘Tell me then,’ she said, turning to Magnus, ‘what do you actually do all day? Apart from terrify people with your eyebrows.’