Page 7 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

As soon as Sammy opened the door, the flat hit her – suffocatingly warm with the smell of last night’s wine still drifting through it.

Swansea again. Smaller somehow.

Chloe was exactly where Sammy had left her that morning – stretched across the sofa, phone in hand, thumb moving, the rest of her apparently on strike. ‘You’re back . . . how was it?’ asked Chloe.

‘Interesting . . .’

Sammy set her keys down slowly, toying with them as if reluctant to let go. Whatever she decided to do, she’d have to be straight about it. From the start. ‘Something happened.’

‘That sounds ominous. Are lawyers likely to be involved?’

‘Not like that. But . . . there was a bit of a situation with a dog. I kind of stepped in.’ Sammy fingered her car keys. ‘And the butler – Mr Magnus – he offered me a job afterwards.’

Chloe dropped her phone. ‘A job.’

‘Live-in. Full-time.’

Chloe sat upright. ‘Oh . . . Wait . . . you?’ Chloe’s voice dipped, eyes flicking to her phone. ‘It’s . . . I needed that job, Sam.’

Sammy felt a familiar stab of guilt. ‘I know you did. That’s why I covered for you.’

Chloe tilted her head. ‘Funny how that worked out.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing,’ Chloe flashed a smile, quick and bright. ‘You help out, and suddenly they’re offering you the job instead of me. Bit mad, that’s all.’

Sammy took a deep breath. It hadn’t felt like that. ‘They saw me deal with the dog.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Chloe waved it off lightly. ‘I’m not saying you planned it,’ she dropped her eyes to her phone, her thumb working aggressively across the screen. ‘Just saying, it’s a bit . . . convenient.’

‘Convenient for who?’

Chloe’s eyes settled on Sammy. ‘For you.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘I know.’ Chloe’s voice softened. ‘I know it’s not. Ignore me . . . I’m being a bit bitter.’

She said it like a joke but didn’t laugh.

Sammy swallowed back a response. This was the point where she usually rushed in to fix things. ‘I didn’t take anything from you.’

‘I didn’t say you did . . . well . . . not properly.’

‘Chloe . . .’

‘I mean . . .’ Chloe sat forward, more animated now, as if she could talk her way out of it. ‘You’ve always been like this. Things . . . work out for you.’

Sammy stared at her friend. ‘They absolutely do not.’

‘Sam. You literally showed up, saved the party, and got offered a live-in job.’

And there it was again, Sammy’s reflex to back away. ‘I’m not trying to . . .’

‘I know you’re not.’ Chloe cut in, reaching for Sammy’s hand, all warmth again. ‘God, I’m not having a go. You should take it.’

Sammy searched her friend’s face. ‘Are you sure?’