Page 50 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy was measuring out butter and flour for the base when Stop It sat bolt upright and gave a sharp yap. She lifted her eyes. Valerie, wearing the same black skirt and white blouse as Sammy, yet somehow looking as though she had arrived for a photo shoot.

‘Cooking?’

‘Experimenting with a soufflé.’

Valerie’s mouth twitched. ‘An ambitious choice.’

Sammy pretended not to notice the barb beneath the words. She melted the butter, stirred in the flour and started beating them together into a paste.

‘Too hot and it’ll catch,’ Valerie observed. ‘You might want to use the electric stove, so you can adjust the temperature.’ Sammy pulled the pan off the Aga and switched to the electric hob.

‘Of course, Mrs Williams never used the electric stove for anything,’ added Valerie.

The paste thickened. Sammy added the milk a little at a time, whisking furiously to keep lumps from forming.

Valerie drifted closer. ‘Most people end up with lumps.’

Sammy whisked harder. When the mixture finally turned smooth and glossy she took it off the heat and separated the eggs. Valerie was standing beside her now looking into the pan.

‘What?’

Valerie shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

Sammy tensed. She beat in the yolks one by one. Then came the egg whites. Every video had warned her this was the crucial part. Soft peaks. Followed by firm peaks. She picked up the whisk.

‘Over-whipped whites won’t rise.’

Sammy’s hand faltered. ‘I know that.’

‘Do you?’

She whipped the whites, then folded them carefully into the base. One third first. Followed by the rest. Gentle movements. Keep the air in. Valerie watched in silence.

Finally, Sammy spooned the mixture into the prepared dishes.

Valerie leaned forward. ‘You forgot to run your thumb around the rims.’

Sammy gulped in a breath. None of the clips had mentioned that. ‘What?’

‘Creates a little hat when it rises.’ Valerie folded her arms. ‘Or so I’m told.’

Sammy stared at the dishes. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t thank me yet.’

The oven door closed.

Valerie looked at the timer. ‘Soufflés are funny things.’ Sammy braced herself. ‘One tiny mistake and all that effort collapses.’

Sammy looked down at the dog. ‘Fancy a walk?’

She clipped on the lead.

Stop It got to his feet at once. ‘Good boy,’ she said. Much better company.

By the time they reached the lake, the sun was high in a cloudless Devon sky. The water looked inviting, a breeze breaking it into small, shifting lines. Somewhere across the valley, a tractor worked, its engine carrying cleanly through the heat. A gull crossed overhead, its cry brief and sharp. Stop It moved at her side, occasionally halting progress to snuffle at interesting plants, before surging ahead. At the lake, she pulled the dog to her side. Ducks drifted in slow arcs across the surface, barely troubling it.

Nate approached from the far side of the bank carrying the feed bucket. ‘All present,’ he said.