Page 115 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy let out a quick breath. ‘After the day I’ve had, I’d prefer a large glass of wine.’

‘I don’t have any. Beer, do you?’

‘Perfect.’

He took two cans from the fridge, snapped them open and passed her one. ‘Want to sit down and tell me?’

‘Magnus confiscated my back door key.’

‘Ah.’

‘He’s given me a list.’ She took a swig of beer, letting the bite of the alcohol loosen her thoughts. ‘Itemised. By day.’ When Nate didn’t reply, she rushed on. ‘I’ll fix it, I just need to get everything right again.’

He set his can on the table. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You won’t fix it by doing more of the same.’

Part of her wanted to push against it; effort counted, doing things properly had always been enough before. She twisted the can in her hands. ‘So, what, then? I . . . wait?’

‘You carry on,’ Nate said. ‘But you don’t pretend it’s the same as it was.’

She leaned back, taking in the room again – the absence of clutter, the lilting music. ‘I had to get out,’ she said. ‘Chloe. And . . . Jimmy.’

‘They shouldn’t be there,’ he said. ‘Jimmy shouldn’t be anywhere near the estate; he’s lucky Rose still allows him to drink in the pub – Trish won’t let him in to Prosecco & Prose. If Magnus finds him in your cottage . . .’ Nate took a long swallow of beer, then set the can down. ‘Chloe’s your friend,’ he said. ‘. . . don’t let it spill over. Don’t let her become a problem.’

Sammy gave a tired half-smile. ‘She’s been my problem for twenty-five years.’

‘Doesn’t mean she still has to be.’

He picked up his can. ‘The last one hatched,’ he said.

Sammy grinned. ‘A toast to that,’ she said, reaching across. The cans met with a clack. ‘All three made it. hurrah!’

‘Took its time, but it got there.’

‘Good,’ she said, softer now.

Outside, the light tipped towards evening.

She sat nursing her beer, listening to the music, aware of him beside her, and how easy it felt.

Before the stable clock struck seven, Sammy settled on the back doorstep of Brambleton Hall. The morning still held the damp bluish September chill that clung to your sleeves. As the clock struck eight o’clock, she watched Magnus come down the drive – this was it. Her first chance to earn her key back.

She stood. The side gate clicked.

Valerie came in first. Perfect hair, practical coat. Full face of makeup, and hair glued into place with spray.

‘You’re early,’ Valerie said lightly, eyes flicking to Sammy’s stance, her hands, everything at once. ‘Forgotten your key? Whatever next.’

She’d find out soon enough, better from Sammy than Magnus. ‘I don’t have a key . . . but I will again soon.’

Valerie gave a delighted smile. ‘Ambition’s a lovely thing.’

Something in her tone made it feel like the opposite.

Magnus marched up the steps, unlocked the door, and stood aside to let the women enter.