Page 63 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘You suit Brambleton.’

No one had ever suggested she suited anywhere before. ‘I don’t even know it. I’ve been in once but not been out anywhere yet.’

‘Why ever not?

Sammy snipped another bud, more to have something to do with her hands than anything else. ‘No money. You go down much?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Harbour, mostly. To buy fish, or for a meal.’

‘We should all go,’ she said. ‘Staff outing. Magnus can’t object to that.’

That brought his attention to her properly. ‘All of us?’

‘Why not?’ she said lightly. ‘Fresh air. Morale.’

He gave a short breath, close to a laugh, but not quite. ‘You can try.’

‘I will.’

‘Or I could introduce you to the village . . . why don’t I message you next time I’m going down.’

This sounded promising. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Yes please.’

They exchanged phone numbers; she filed his under Nate; hers she noticed with a pang was labelled as ‘Miss Jenkins’. But at least he had her number.

Seventeen

Spend it on something nice. That was easy for Jean to say. Sammy couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought herself something she didn’t absolutely need.

Sammy moved her hands along the library mantel. Ornaments first. Always. A small bronze horse. Two porcelain figures. She lifted each one carefully and placed them in a neat line on the table behind her. Dust showed here if you let it. Magnus had made that very clear. She swept the mantel in steady strokes, working from left to right, then polished each item.

Something nice. Sammy ran the cloth along the sides of the fireplace, thinking. A haircut?

Behind her, the library door banged open. Valerie came in backwards, dragging the vacuum by its hose, trailing a cocktail of hairspray and a cloyingly sweet perfume. ‘Honestly,’ she muttered loudly to herself, ‘some people leave rooms looking worse than when they started.’

Sammy stepped aside automatically to let her pass.

Valerie glanced at the mantel. ‘You’ve moved them all again.’

‘I’m dusting.’ She reached up, replacing the bronze horse.

Valerie crouched to plug the vacuum in. ‘Magnus likes them facing forward.’ She waved a hand vaguely at the horse. ‘That one’s crooked.’

Sammy turned – it looked straight; she moved it.

‘Miss Jenkins.’

Sammy spun around to see Magnus by the desk, notebook open, pen poised. ‘You have been here nearly two months,’ he said. ‘You have yet to provide contact details for your next of kin.’

‘Oh. I meant to,’ she said quickly. Jean, her mind supplied first. Then Chloe. ‘There’s Jean,’ she said. ‘She’s . . . well, she’s my foster mum. But really, she’s . . . she’s the one I’d call.’

Magnus gave a curt nod. ‘Give me her contact details. She will be listed.’

Valerie switched the vacuum on with a violent roar while standing perfectly still beside it.

Sammy raised her voice. ‘And my friend,’ she added. ‘Chloe.’

The vacuum passed slowly, directly behind Sammy’s ankles. Sammy shouted out Jean’s telephone number.