Page 90 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy pulled her focus back to the job.

Magnus set the silver cloth down. ‘Mr Hastings has been updated on your progress,’ he said. ‘I told him you are performing . . . adequately.’

Sammy searched his face – ‘adequate’ like ‘indeed’ had a myriad of different meanings. ‘You mean I’ve passed?’

Magnus looked at her. No eyebrow. ‘It means you have been here over two months,’ he said, ‘and you are on track to pass.’

Those words lifted her – on track, for now, despite Valerie’s efforts. She allowed herself a smile. ‘Good.’ Her hand drifted to her phone in her pocket, thumb brushing against it.

Jean. She should tell Jean.

Magnus noticed. ‘You may inform your family,’ he said. ‘It would be appropriate.’

Sammy glanced up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll call Jean . . . and Chloe will be pleased for me.’

The eyebrow appeared.

‘What?’ she said lightly.

‘In my experience,’ he said, ‘not everyone needs to be informed of developments simultaneously.’

It wasn’t a reprimand. Not quite advice either. ‘I see.’ She said.

Magnus picked up the silver cloth again. ‘You are settling into the role,’ he added. ‘It suits you.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She understood what was expected of her and how to deliver it. She had this. The phone was already in her hands. Jean first. Then celebrate with Chloe.

Her friend couldn’t have picked a better time to visit.

Twenty-two

The cottage seemed different with Chloe in it.

The yellow roses had been moved to the floor – the vase had been in Chloe’s way. One of the flowers had shed petals onto the rug. Sammy retrieved them, stuffing the debris into her pocket.

Outside, the September evening carried on indifferent. Birds rustled in the hedgerow, the sharp calls of chaffinches overlapping with the musical twittering of a goldfinch. A robin hopped up onto the windowsill, briefly staring inside before flittering away.

The room felt smaller and full of the restless energy Chloe brought with her. Chloe’s things had already spread – a jacket over one chair, a bag half-unzipped, something glittering pushed carelessly under a cushion, her makeup bag upended on the coffee table, mascara and lipsticks cascading across the surface.

‘This is so cute,’ Chloe said, moving through the space as if she’d always been there. She poured more wine without asking, the bottle tipping too fast. Sammy watched red wine rising close to the rim of one glass followed by the other.

‘Careful . . .’

‘It’s fine,’ Chloe said taking a slurp from both glasses before passing one over. ‘There see, all sorted.’

Sammy took her wine into the kitchen, leaving the door open. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on that man’s face when he opened the door to me,’ said Chloe, chuckling. She adopted a – quite impressive – mimic of Magnus’s voice, ‘I think you may have the wrong establishment, madam . . .’ Chloe chuckled. ‘Establishment . . . how large does a house have to be to qualify as an establishment?’

Sammy pulled cutlery from a drawer. ‘Don’t make fun of him. He’s only doing his job and security is part of a butler’s role.’

A guffaw of laughter. A loud slurp, ‘Reckon your eyebrow man thought I’d come to case the joint . . .’

Chloe joined her in the kitchen, still buzzing with energy, heels clicking across the floorboards. ‘And that woman!’ she said, laughing.

Sammy smiled. ‘Valerie.’

‘Valerie,’ Chloe repeated dramatically. ‘Honestly, I thought she was going to call the police.’ She leaned against the counter mimicking a clipped, icy voice with an expression to match. ‘Good afternoon, are you aware there isn’t a cocktail bar within twenty miles of here?’

Sammy snorted wine back halfway up her throat. ‘She did not say that.’