Page 60 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Valerie eyed the golden potato topping. ‘A little brown, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘It’s supposed to be brown,’ said Sammy.

‘Perhaps. Mrs Williams never used to let it catch quite so much.’

Magnus cut into the pie. Steam billowed from the creamy filling. ‘If that’s what caught looks like, I recommend it.’ He took a mouthful. ‘Delicious.’

Valerie tasted hers. ‘It’s a touch rich.’

‘It’s fish pie,’ said Sammy passing round the vegetables. The mangetout and sugar snaps were bright green, steamed for precisely three minutes according to Jean’s instructions.

‘How is the packing proceeding, Valerie?’ Magnus asked.

Valerie helped herself to the vegetables before answering. ‘Are these cooked enough?’

‘Perfect,’ pronounced Magnus. ‘Packing, Valerie?’

‘Slowly. I’ve got all the laundry to do now as well.’

‘The burden of modern appliances,’ said Magnus gravely.

Sammy tucked into her fish pie, but as she glanced up, she caught a brief exchange of looks between the other two. Not quite irritation on Valerie’s part, not quite amusement on Magnus’s.

Sammy said goodnight to Magnus, a small sense of satisfaction settling in. Apart from mealtimes, she hadn’t seen Valerie once all day. Which felt like a win.

The path back to the cottage was lined with flower bushes. Hydrangeas pushed out in loose, blousy blue heads, spilling against the sides of the path. She’d used some of those in a flower arrangement – ‘very architectural,’ Magnus had said; she still couldn’t decide if that had been a compliment. Beyond the hydrangeas, something white climbed unchecked through the hedge, light and tangled and smelling like honey.

Birdsong filled the air – blackbirds, a thrush further off – trilling and chirping as if in competition with one another.

And tomorrow – she smiled to herself – tomorrow she would be up early. Another date picking vegetables. Well. Every relationship had to start somewhere.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket. ‘Call Chloe.’

It rang once.

‘Saaammy,’ Chloe answered, her voice bright. ‘Tell me everything. Are you still employed?’

Sammy smiled, stepping off the path to let a cock pheasant wander past. It scuttled off, zigzagging across the dirt, its head darting forward as it ran, before diving into a patch of fern. ‘Still here,’ she said. ‘I had a good day.’

‘Define good.’

‘No disasters. No livestock escapes. And . . .’ she hesitated, ‘the eyebrows didn’t move once.’

‘The eyebrows?’

‘It’s a whole system, terrifying man communicates entirely through facial twitches,’ Sammy said. ‘You’d love it.’

‘I already do’

Sammy laughed, bending to pick a few pale purple wildflowers, adding a few fern leaves to make a posy. She twisted them absently between her fingers as she walked. ‘I think I’m getting it right,’ she said.

‘Of course you are,’ Chloe replied. ‘You always do. You know what would make it better?’

‘Tell me.’

‘If I came to visit.’

Ahead of her, the row of cottages was visible through the trees. ‘To visit?’