Page 96 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘We could go tonight,’ she said. ‘If you’re free.’

His eyes caught hers – green. They would be wouldn’t they, given his dedication to the garden. Why hadn’t she noticed them before? Sammy felt goosebumps tickling her spine. ‘I’m free,’ he said.

It dawned on her in a guilty rush. Chloe. And Magnus, she hadn’t asked him yet. What she wanted was simple. Nate and her. She almost didn’t say it. ‘I . . .’ She stopped, reset. ‘My friend Chloe’s here. For a couple of days. I said she could come too.’

‘I wondered who you had in there last night.’

‘Sorry, her laugh is quite loud . . . but she’s good fun.’ Sammy kept going. ‘And Magnus . . . I thought I should invite him too. It feels . . . like the right thing, even numbers.’

Nate twisted a ripe tomato, snapping it free from the vine. ‘I see.’

‘We don’t have to,’ she said quickly. ‘I can . . .’

‘No.’ He shook his head once. ‘You said you would. We’ll all go.’

Sammy felt her spirits sink; she hadn’t known she’d been looking forward to being alone with Nate so much until she’d given it away.

In her efforts to avoid Valerie, Sammy barely saw Magnus all day. Doors opened and closed somewhere ahead of her, or behind. A coat was lifted from its hook. Each time she tried to find him, he was already gone. But at least she’d dodged Valerie for most of the day. Sammy couldn’t help but chuckle thinking of Chloe’s nickname: ‘Val the Vampire’.

Shortly after six, Sammy found Magnus in the hallway, closing shutters.

‘I’m meeting some people at the pub tonight,’ she said.

Magnus brought a pair of shutters together, sliding the bar over them with a firm clatter. ‘Indeed.’

‘You could come,’ she said. ‘If you wanted.’ A small pause. ‘Get out of the house for once.’

He moved to the next window. ‘I have no difficulty remaining within it,’ he said.

‘I thought I’d invite you,’ she added. ‘It might be . . . nice for you.’

‘No.’ he said. One eyebrow – fractionally elevated.

‘Nate’s going,’ she said.

Magnus’s hand paused on a shutter. ‘Professional distance matters.’

‘It’s just the pub,’ she said. ‘People go all the time.’

A thud as the shutter closed. Sammy kept going. ‘We’re not on duty. It’s the village. It’s . . .’ She stopped herself. ‘I think it could be good for staff morale.’ Another thud. The bar clattered into place.

The pocket watch appeared. Click. Open. A glance. Click. Closed. ‘If that is your professional judgment,’ he said, ‘I will attend.’

Sammy felt a small spark of triumph. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘we’re meeting at seven-thirty.’

‘Indeed.’ He moved past her.

When she said it, the words had sounded right. Now they didn’t.

A breeze came in off the coast lifting the hair at the back of Sammy’s neck. She kept walking towards the cottage, half-thinking about the pub, what to wear, Nate, about how the night might unfold.

As quickly as it came, the breeze faded, the air closing again as she passed between the hedges. The cloying smell of honeysuckle reached her – tempting for bees but not Sammy’s favourite; it reminded her of Valerie’s perfume.

Chloe’s laugh carried down the path. Sammy rounded the bend, expecting to see Chloe sitting on the bench in the garden chuckling over something on her phone. But Chloe was next door, on Nate’s doorstep, with one hand on his arm, the other touching his shoulder as if she’d known him longer than five minutes. Chloe caught his hand mid-gesture, holding it, her mouth curving into something playful.

Drawing closer, Sammy only had eyes for Nate – the line of his jaw, the roughness there. Would he shave tonight? Or not? She imagined it, briefly – the scrape of it against her cheek. Then she caught sight of Nate’s mouth: tight-lipped. A faint line between his brows.

‘Hi,’ Sammy called.