Page 92 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘And yet I’m correct.’

For the first time in weeks, Sammy felt herself loosen fully. Because Chloe did that somehow. Walked into a room and shoved the shadows back a little. Even if she arrived trailing chaos wearing a silver minidress.

Chloe topped up her wine and drifted back to the sofa with her glass and the bottle.

In the kitchen, Sammy added serving spoons for the vegetables. Chloe watched from the sofa one leg tucked under her. ‘What are you doing with all that?’

Sammy folded napkins. ‘Doing what?’

‘All that.’ Chloe gestured vaguely at the table. ‘Bring it over. I’m starving. We’ll sit by here. Be comfy.’

‘It’s easier to eat like this,’ Sammy said.

Chloe gave a small laugh. ‘For who?’

Sammy’s eyes fixed on a single pink rose in a chipped bud vase – chosen carefully as the centrepiece for the table – then her gaze drifted to Chloe scrolling through her phone, and laying the table suddenly seemed optimistic. She reached for the oven gloves.

Sammy plated their meals, carrying them through to the sofa with the cutlery.

Chloe grabbed a plate peering at it. ‘What’s that?’

‘Courgette.’

‘Is that what it looks like when it’s got no batter on it,’ she said, giving the vegetable a poke with her knife. ‘Well, I never . . . hope it tastes the same.’

‘Better,’ Sammy said. ‘You can taste summer in a courgette.’ Which made her think of Nate guiding her hands to test the firmness in a sugar snap pea, or a hearted cabbage, early in the morning on their ‘vegetable’ dates.

Chloe nudged her food with her fork, turning something over. ‘And this?’

‘Summer squash.’

Chloe pulled a quizzical face. ‘Never heard of it . . . you’ve gone weird Sam,’ she said, but there was a familiar wide-open smile with it. She took a bite of potato, then let the fork drop back against the plate. ‘Where’s the girl who’d just order chips and a bottle of wine and be done with it?’

Sammy picked up Chloe’s glass, put it back down on a coaster on the coffee table. ‘This is nice,’ she said.

Chloe didn’t answer. She was already reaching for the bottle, topping up her glass without looking. ‘So,’ Chloe said, mouth still half-full, ‘tell me everything.’

‘I’ve been working,’ Sammy said. ‘It’s been . . . good.’

‘Good,’ Chloe repeated, not really listening. ‘You always do good.’

Chloe ate without looking at the food. Fork in, bite taken. A dollop of tomato sauce dropped, flowed by another. She brushed them away absently with her thumb. When she had finished, Chloe abandoned her plate on the arm of the sofa.

A thought pressed in, tightening something in Sammy’s chest. The blouse. Tomorrow’s blouse. She needed to press it. Magnus would notice. ‘I should . . .’ she glanced towards the broom cupboard and rose. ‘I need to get something sorted for tomorrow.’ The words seemed glued to the tip of her tongue. Say it. Ask her to go upstairs, take a shower, unpack properly, give me space . . . just for a bit.

Chloe looked up. ‘You’re not working now,’ she said. ‘Come on, Sam. Sit down for a natter.’

Sammy sat. It was easier. It always was.

‘Tell me about this Magnus.’ Chloe said. ‘The one with the eyebrows.’

Sammy moved Chloe’s glass back onto the coaster. ‘He’s very precise. Everything has to be perfect.’

‘Sounds exhausting.’

‘It’s . . . structured,’ Sammy said. ‘It works.’

‘And what about gardener boy?’