Page 84 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy was on a winning streak: last night she’d nailed it: ‘well done’ – high praise from Magnus and today, thanks to a shift change, no Valerie.

She tossed her keys at the pewter tray by the door without a glance; she knew the distance.

On her way to open a window the scent met her – roses. She had cut them when they were tight and mean-looking, all green points and promise. Now they had unfurled, their yellow deepening towards gold in the centre. She opened the window – not that it lowered the temperature much – technically it was autumn, but the temperature hadn’t responded; a light breeze filtering through the room. Sammy turned one stem, so the flower faced outwards.

Better.

After showering and changing into a loose-fitting sundress, she cooked a meal and laid the table. Placemat, cutlery, a glass of water sitting above the knife, a napkin on her lap. Egg and chips, which made her think of Jean. She reached for her phone and tapped it onto speaker.

‘Hi.’

‘Hello, love,’ Jean said. ‘How’s it all going?’

Sammy looked around the cottage; more like a home than two months ago.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Really good . . . I think I . . . love it.’

Jean made a small sound, which Sammy interpreted as pleased but not surprised. ‘I thought you might.’

Sammy cut into an egg. ‘It’s . . . well, it works,’ she said. ‘I managed that dinner last night. Magnus was pleased. I know what I’m doing now. Mostly.’

‘Mostly?’

‘There’s loads to remember.’

‘And the other staff?’

‘Fine.’

Jean was quiet for longer than Sammy expected. ‘What about that woman?’ she asked, eventually. ‘Valerie.’

‘She’s all right.’ But even as she said it, her stomach tightened. Valerie and her little sighs which made Sammy feel clumsy before she’d even touched anything. Things moved after she’d set them in their proper place. Instructions delivered as though Sammy ought to already know them. And somehow Valerie always managed it smiling.

Sammy found herself second-guessing things she had been perfectly certain about five minutes earlier.

‘Sammy?’

‘Sorry. I’m still here.’

Jean let out a quiet hum down the line. ‘You don’t have to make excuses for people if they’re difficult,’ she said.

‘I’m not.’

Sammy poked at the egg yolk without eating it. ‘She’s . . . very particular,’ she said at last. ‘I think she cares about the house.’ That at least was true.

‘Mm,’ Jean said again, in the tone that meant she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Sammy dropped her fork and rubbed at her forehead. ‘I don’t want to sound pathetic.’

‘You won’t.’

‘It’s stupid. Sometimes she makes me feel like I’m constantly doing things wrong even when Magnus says they’re fine.’ There. Said out loud, it sounded smaller.

Jean didn’t rush to answer. ‘Some people,’ she said carefully, ‘like being the person who knows everything.’

Outside a door banged shut; Sammy stared out of her small kitchen window, hoping to see Nate. When he didn’t appear, she tuned back into the call. ‘I keep thinking if I work harder, she’ll warm up to me.’

Jean snorted. ‘Work hard because it matters to you, not because you’re trying to win somebody over.’