Page 10 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Yes,’ she said, setting the cloth down. ‘I can see that now.’

He cocked his head to one side as if waiting for her to say more. Why did he keep doing that?

‘I was . . . familiarising myself.’

‘Indeed.’

He stepped aside, gesturing towards the corridor. ‘If you’ll come with me. We’ll speak in my office.’

Sammy trotted after him, resisting the urge to straighten the jars again as she passed, concerned he might notice she’d interfered.

Magnus’s office mirrored the man: dust-free and no clutter. A few token pictures decorated the walls – Punch cartoons which looked like they had hung there long before Magnus had arrived. The room was narrow but long with a single window – higher than head height, to prevent distractions even when standing. The shelves were lined with ledgers dating back decades, all ordered so perfectly they looked untouched: household accounts, cellar records.

Exactly in the middle of the room was a desk, clear apart from a pen, a silver picture frame, and a neat stack of papers aligned with unnerving exactness.

The butler moved to the business side of the desk, running his fingers through his neatly combed hair.

Sammy perched on the edge of a chair.

‘Take a seat,’ said Magnus.

Already sitting.

He remained standing a moment, taking out a small notebook and jotting something down.

About her? About sitting before being asked? Sammy shifted in her seat.

‘This is your contract,’ Magnus said, finally sitting, and sliding a document towards her. ‘You should read it this evening and let me know if there’s anything you want explained.’

‘Right. Evening.’

‘Personal time is distinct from professional time.’

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice faint. ‘Should I go and unpack?’

One eyebrow went up. Slowly. Impressively.

‘Now? Good grief, you have only just arrived.’

Sammy swallowed. ‘Yes. Fair enough.’

‘You are on probation for three months, during which the house will function as if the owners are in residence. Valerie will revert to joining us on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and, until your probation is satisfactorily completed, report to me. Like the gardener does. Thereafter, she will report to you. Valerie is responsible for everything below tabletop level. Everything above it is your responsibility. The sole exception is the master bedroom suite. Valerie does not enter that part of the house. Until you are competent to assume responsibility for it, I shall oversee the space myself.’

‘Of course.’ She glanced at a photograph – a stern man in butler’s uniform, expression carved from granite. Family she wondered? Or just . . . aspirational? ‘Are Mr and Mrs Hastings here at all over the summer?’

His left eyebrow lifted fractionally. Sammy tried not to stare. It was almost . . . expressive. As if it had its own opinions. Chloe would absolutely lose it, she thought. There’d be impressions. There’d be diagrams. She pressed her lips together firmly.

‘You will refer to them as “Sir” and “Madam”. Emotional distance is . . . essential. They are not your friends.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Professional distance.’

‘Precisely.’

‘What should I call you?’ she asked.

‘Mr Magnus.’

‘Magnus.’