Page 98 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Magnus considered her as if she was a smudge on a piece of silver. ‘I manage the household,’ he said. ‘Locus parentis while the owners are travelling.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That is sufficient.’

Chloe laughed. ‘God, you’re serious.’ She moved closer, her hand brushing lightly and possessively against his sleeve.

Magnus stayed ramrod straight, but Sammy noticed a flash of discomfort cross that clean shaven face.

Chloe had already swivelled round. ‘And you,’ she said to Nate. ‘Gardener, right? That must be nice. Bit of fresh air, no one telling you what to do.’

‘There’s always something telling you what to do,’ he replied.

Chloe laughed again, reaching out, pawing at his arm. He eased his arm free, the chair legs scraping lightly as he shifted, angling himself towards Sammy. ‘Checked the eggs again when I closed up the polytunnel.’

‘How long will it be . . . before we know, before they hatch?’

‘Any day now,’ he said. ‘She’d been sitting on them a couple of weeks before . . .’

She didn’t want him finishing that sentence. ‘When they hatch, what do we feed them?’

‘If they hatch.’

Sammy shook that thought away She glanced past him, out through the open window. The harbour had turned. Water was pushing against itself now, the tide shifting direction, the surface breaking in small, restless lines. Boats tugged and knocked, never quite still.

A gust of wind blew the door shut with a slam. Sammy nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘What was that?’

‘The door silly,’ said Chloe, ‘what did you think someone had taken a shot at you . . .’

Sammy winced.

A hand snaked past Sammy’s waist; Chloe reaching for Sammy’s glass. She grabbed it and took a slurp. ‘Tell me something interesting or funny.’

‘I have some interesting news,’ Magnus said. ‘Nate should expect a delivery of apple and pear trees soon. Sir has arranged for them . . . some are coming from the national apple arboretum in Kent.’

That news prompted Nate to launch into a story about an apple grafting course.

Halfway through, Chloe rose. ‘Right, we need to get this party started . . . I’ll get a bottle of red.’ Chloe strutted through the room, the dress doing exactly what it had been chosen to do.

Sammy saw it – heads turning, eyes tracking Chloe before looking quickly away. It travelled with her, passing from one table to the next. Classic Chloe. Swansea, a Saturday night, the two of them moving through it together, Chloe ahead, Sammy following. Brambleton . . . families on holiday, Mabel and Victor discussing the Sunday service. Chloe didn’t belong in this village.

Magnus checked his pocket watch. Click. Open. A glance. Click. Closed. He set his glass down.

Sammy switched her attention from Chloe to the view. The sun had dropped to the horizon, shining across the water. The tide pulled one way, then another, the water never quite settling. She watched it a moment longer, before turning back. Chloe was at the bar, laughing loudly, standing close to a man Sammy didn’t recognise.

The man turned Sammy’s way, lifting his pint in greeting. His face suggested a hard life – lines which didn’t suit a full head of curly brown hair. His shirt was open at the neck, and several buttons undone below that; not by accident, Sammy suspected. A thick chain rested against his chest, dull rather than bright.

Chloe laughed, head tipping back slightly, her hand finding the man’s arm. Sammy could almost see Chloe’s lashes fluttering. The stranger said something close to Chloe’s ear.

Magnus stared at the pair. ‘I need to advise you,’ he said, low enough so only Sammy heard, ‘that the young man your friend is speaking to is highly unsuitable.’

‘I’ll go get her,’ she said.

But Chloe was already returning, bottle in hand, expression bright. She dropped into her seat and, as she did, flicked a glance over her shoulder. The man caught it. Then lifted his drink and came straight over.

A Devonian accent. ‘Mind if I join you?’ He was already pulling out a chair. ‘The name’s Jimmy,’ he added, sitting down, setting his glass on the table.

Chloe smiled. ‘Course you can.’