Page 29 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

She spotted him across the lawn, carrying a garden fork, his focus entirely on the ground. He looked up as she approached. ‘Good evening, Miss Jenkins.’

‘Hi, Nate,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’

He dug the fork into the earth. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the carrots didn’t complain.’

‘High praise.’

Silence threatened. She stepped a little closer, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. ‘It’s beautiful out here,’ she said, glancing around. ‘You’ve done all this?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s . . . a lot of responsibility.’

He rubbed a hand over the stubble covering his jaw. ‘Not really.’

‘You said you love it.’ she said lightly.

‘It keeps me busy.’

There it was again. The closing of a door she hadn’t realised she’d nudged open. Sammy approached from a different angle. ‘Do you ever . . .’ she gestured vaguely towards the house, the grounds, ‘take a break? Have a drink? There’s a pub in the village, isn’t there?’

His expression softened briefly, before freezing. ‘No,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Right. Of course. Silly question.’ She dropped her gaze to her feet, kicking at a loose pebble.

‘Sometimes,’ he said.

Sammy immediately looked up. ‘Right . . . well, there you go. Why don’t we go, then? Tonight?’

He shook his head.

‘Tomorrow?’ she tried.

‘Magnus wouldn’t like that.’

‘Magnus doesn’t have to know everything you do,’ she said lightly.

Nate didn’t reply.

‘What did you do before this?’ she asked, trying again.

Nate picked up the fork jabbing it lightly around the base of a plant. ‘This,’ he said.

‘Always?’

‘Long enough.’

And that was that.

Sammy folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re quite hard to get information out of,’ she said.

‘Mm.’

‘Impressive, really.’