Page 42 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

He shook his head pointing at the larger bird. ‘The drake.’

‘You mean Bay,’ she said firmly. ‘I went upstairs today.’

‘Upstairs?’

‘Guest rooms. Not just . . . chickens and vegetables.’

‘That’s a big step.’

‘Is it?’

‘Magnus doesn’t let people up there unless he trusts them.’ He nudged a pebble into the water, watching the ripples fan out. ‘So,’ Nate added, tossing the last of the feed, ‘you’re doing all right.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, quieter now.

He let a smile come then. It didn’t hold, but it was there.

‘Can I ask you about something?’

‘Go on.’

‘Valerie – did Mrs Williams and her . . . did they get along well, work well together.’

‘How would I know? I work outside.’

‘But, did Mrs Williams ever say anything . . . you know?’

‘No.’

She pushed herself upright. ‘You could come by later. To mine,’ she said. ‘I’ve got . . . well. Cake, obviously. Or tea. Coffee. Or – wine. I don’t know what you . . .’

‘No,’ he said. It came out clean. Too quickly to soften.

‘Just . . . an idea.’

‘Mm.’

She tried again. ‘Or a sandwich. Very low-pressure sandwich.’

He almost smiled again at that. ‘No.’

‘Right. No sandwiches.’

The ducks finished the last of the feed and drifted away.

‘Your shirt,’ she said, pointing.

His eyes flicked down to a cuff torn by brambles. He hadn’t bothered with it.

‘I could fix that for you.’

‘I’m fine. It’s only a small tear . . .’

‘It would only take me five minutes.’

‘I said I’m fine.’

‘Right,’ she said.