Page 137 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Yes.’

Chloe picked up her phone, spinning it in her hands. ‘Right. Okay. So, what . . . I tell him he’s banned from the premises?’ She glanced up. ‘Shall I print a sign?’

‘Chloe.’

‘“No Jimmys allowed”. Very exclusive club you’ve got going here.’

‘This isn’t funny.’

Chloe dropped the phone on the bed. ‘It is a bit.’

‘Clo, I could lose my job over this.’

Chloe’s expression hardened before smoothing out again. ‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘You’re too good at all that . . . polishing things and walking about quietly.’

‘Promise me.’

Chloe sighed, long and theatrical, flopping back again. ‘Fine. I promise I’ll try not to invite my terrifying criminal boyfriend over to your extremely prestigious cottage.’

‘Chloe . . .’

‘I said I’d try,’ she cut in, smiling up at the ceiling. ‘God. You’ve gone all serious since you got this job.’

Sammy took it in – the mess, the half-open bags. Three weeks – this must stop. ‘Listen to me for once – it’s important,’ she said.

Chloe waved a hand vaguely. ‘Yeah, yeah. No more Jimmy. Got it.’

Sammy stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door half-shut behind her.

The music dulled to a muffled thump. But the feeling didn’t.

The alarm went off at 4.30 a.m.

Nate’s hand found his phone before the second buzz, his thumb killing the sound. He lay still, listening. Nothing unusual. Just the breeze outside and a rattle of something loose in the guttering.

He swung his legs out of bed; the chill of September clung to the early morning air. Nate padded into the bathroom and showered by the light of his phone torch. He pulled on a shirt, a jumper and thick socks, then chose walking boots and laced them tight.

Nate kept the beam low as he moved through the cottage, a narrow strip of light across the boards.

The front door gave a small protest. He held it steady, eased it open a fraction more, then left it as it was – no fumbling later – before crossing to the front window and drawing the curtain back an inch – enough to see outside. The garden lay in shadow. Sammy’s cottage visible, no light showing.

With the torch off, in the inky darkness, he couldn’t separate objects out. Gradually shapes emerged – the line of the hedge, the pale strip of path. Still no light from her cottage. His eyes adjusted further. Something moved. A cat slipped along the edge of the lawn, before jumping up into the hedge in one fluid stride.

Then – light.

Not much. Just a thin line at the side of her door, where it was no longer properly closed.

Nate held his breath.

A shaft of light, the door gradually opening as someone stepped out.

Jimmy. No mistaking that swagger. He paused on the threshold, turning, cocking his ear as if listening, then inched the door shut behind him. He held something long and dark in his hand.

Nate’s focus narrowed. A rifle.

Jimmy glanced once towards the track before slipping away, a light bobbing as he walked, scurrying along as if he knew where he was going. Because he did.

Nate eased his own door shut behind him. The cold hit his face, the air damp and carrying the smell of the hedgerow. He crept down the track.