Autumn at the Star and Sixpence Read online

  To my Boudoir gals – the most talented and gorgeous friends I could wish for

  You are invited to a

  Halloween Masked Ball

  at the Star and Sixpence,

  Little Monkham, Shropshire.

  Join us for an evening of music,

  mystery and magic

  8.00 p.m.

  Saturday 29th October

  Cocktails, canapés and curdled blood

  until the witching hour

  Chapter One

  ‘Nessie?’

  Nessie Blake looked up from the sheet she was smoothing over the mattress of the four-poster bed in one of the guest rooms to see Connor, the new cellarman, standing in the doorway. She’d have to stop thinking of him as ‘new’, she reminded herself as she straightened up – he’d worked at the Star and Sixpence since June, a temporary replacement who’d become permanent after Joss Felstead made it clear he wasn’t coming back. It was now early October, and Connor was as much a part of the team as she and her sister, Sam, were.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, frowning. It wasn’t like him to venture up to the guest rooms – the bar and cellar were his usual territory. In fact, if she didn’t know better she’d say he looked unsettled, or as unsettled as a strapping forty-year-old ex-fireman ever did.

  ‘There’s a man in the bar asking for you,’ he said.

  ‘Me?’ Nessie said, frowning. It couldn’t be one of the regulars – Connor wouldn’t be looking so wary if it was someone he knew. A journalist maybe, snooping around for gossip about Sam? Most of them had given up by now although they’d been pretty relentless in the days immediately after the headlines had hit, constantly trying to trap Nessie into commenting about her sister’s infamous fling with the high profile peer, Lord Pargeter. But the press could be persistent, even when the story had gone stone cold.

  ‘He asked for you by name,’ Connor said. ‘Mrs Nessie Blake. No company name or card. Said just to tell you that you’d know him when you saw him.’

  Before the Pargeter debacle turned their lives upside down, Nessie might have sent Sam to see who it was. Her sister’s previous career in PR meant she could turn on the charm if she chose to and winkle someone’s life story out of them without them even realising it. But Sam kept out of the bar as much as she could these days, even now. And in any case she wasn’t on the premises: she was getting her hair cut. Nessie was on her own.

  She was being over cautious, Nessie decided; it was probably a sales rep, or someone else who’d seen her name above the pub door. ‘Okay,’ she said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Give me a minute to finish up here and I’ll be there.’

  By the time she walked down the stairs to the pub, Nessie had convinced herself it must be someone from the brewery, although it was practically unheard of for them to call in on a Saturday. So she was totally unprepared for the jolt of recognition that went through her when she looked across the bar and met the gaze of her husband.

  ‘Hello, Nessie,’ Patrick said, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile she’d once found irresistible. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  ‘I can’t get over how good you look,’ Patrick marvelled, his gaze travelling over her face and hair in undisguised admiration. ‘Were you always this gorgeous?’

  Nessie smiled uncomfortably. They were tucked away in one of the pub’s little nooks, away from the curious stares of the lunchtime regulars but even so, she knew word would be spreading all over the village that her husband had come looking for her. It didn’t mean a thing, of course. Why shouldn’t Patrick come to see her? They’d separated amicably enough the year before; their fifteen-year relationship had drifted slowly from love into friendship and from there into housemates who shared a history but not much else any more. It was strange seeing him here, she thought, his face so familiar and yet so out of place but she couldn’t deny the tiny lurch her heart had given at the sight of him again. That, along with his uncharacteristic flattery, was what was making her feel so uncomfortable.

  ‘What do you want, Patrick?’

  It came out flatter than she’d intended. His smile faded. ‘Who says I want something? Maybe I’m just here to talk.’

  She stared at him. ‘Our Decree Nisi comes through in a few weeks. I haven’t seen you since I left last year, and I can’t think of anything we need to say to each other that couldn’t be said on the phone or by email.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Nessie felt her stomach somersault. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say; for the last few years of their marriage he’d barely noticed she was there. Surely he couldn’t mean it. ‘Patrick—’

  ‘Just listen,’ he interrupted, leaning forward. ‘I know we had our problems but this divorce thing has been a wake-up call for me. What’s that old saying – you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?’ He reached across and took her hand. ‘Tell me it’s not too late.’

  A dull roaring filled Nessie’s ears. This couldn’t be happening. Patrick had signed the paperwork from the court without a murmur. She’d held off from applying for the divorce for over a month in the summer because she’d wanted to speak to him first and he’d taken his time returning her call. Even then, he’d seemed in agreement that it was the best course of action for both of them. So what had changed his mind?

  ‘Is this about the house?’ she asked. ‘Because I’ve told you there’s no rush to buy me out.’

  He flashed her a frustrated look. ‘No, of course it isn’t. You’re not listening to me. I’m telling you I still love you, Ness. I want you to give me – us – another chance.’

  Nessie pulled her hand away. ‘I don’t think that’s—’

  ‘Don’t answer now,’ Patrick urged. ‘Take some time to think about it. You’ve got rooms here, haven’t you? I’ll stay in one of those.’

  ‘They’re booked,’ Nessie said faintly. ‘And even if they weren’t—’

  ‘Then I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ he said. ‘Whatever it takes. I’m serious about this, Ness. I want you back and I don’t care how long it takes to convince you.’

  She ought to tell him about Owen, Nessie thought, trying to control the panicky fluttering of her heart. Patrick sounded uncharacteristically determined; he didn’t seem to have considered the fact that there might be someone else. Typical Patrick, a little voice whispered inside Nessie’s head. But he looked so desperate and vulnerable that she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She would have to tell him, of course, even though she and Owen were still taking baby steps with their relationship. Just not here. And not now.

  ‘I’m not sure Sam is going to be pleased to see you,’ she said eventually, struggling to think of anything else to say.

  Patrick took a sip of his pint and smiled. ‘She’ll come round. After all, she only wants what’s best for you, right?’

  That was exactly what Nessie was afraid of: Sam did want what was best for her sister and Nessie knew only too well that Patrick didn’t fit into that description. He’d be lucky if Sam let him stay the night.

  ‘Just give me a chance,’ he said, giving her the puppy-eyed look that used to work so well when they were younger. ‘After fifteen years you owe me that at least.’

  She didn’t want to say yes. But the way things were looking she didn’t have a choice. ‘Okay,’ she said, managing to swallow the sigh that followed. ‘It doesn’t mean anything, though, and I don’t know what Sam is going to say.’

  Patrick smiled confidently. ‘You leave Sam to me.’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  Sam cast an incredulous look at Patrick, sitting on the living-room sofa, before rounding on her sister again. ‘Serious
ly, are you mad?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Nessie said, as she pulled Sam further along the landing, out of Patrick’s earshot. ‘He’ll hear you.’

  ‘So what if he does?’ Sam demanded. ‘You’re getting divorced, Nessie. How Patrick feels shouldn’t be top of your agenda right now.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Nessie insisted, feeling her cheeks grow warm. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be rude to him. He’s driven all the way from Surrey to see me; the least I can do is hear him out.’

  Sam folded her arms. ‘Right. And what does he have to say for himself? Is he trying to wriggle out of paying you for your share of the house? Because if he is—’

  Nessie took a deep breath. This was the bit she’d been dreading. ‘No, he says it’s not about the money.’ She glanced over her shoulder at her soon-to-be ex-husband. ‘He says he’s not sure he wants a divorce.’

  ‘What?’ Sam exploded.

  ‘He says it’s all happened so quickly; he wants us to talk things through before it’s too late.’

  ‘But it is too late,’ Sam said, with some satisfaction. ‘You’ve got Owen now.’

  ‘I know,’ Nessie said, biting her lip. She didn’t dare mention what else Patrick had said: that he still loved her.

  ‘So all you have to do is tell Patrick that and we’re done, right?’

  Except it wasn’t that simple, Nessie thought wretchedly. In theory, Sam was right – surely Patrick would accept the inevitability of the divorce if he knew she’d met someone else? So why didn’t it feel like the right thing to do?

  ‘Right, Nessie?’ Sam repeated, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  ‘Right,’ Nessie replied in a subdued voice. ‘But not now. He wants to take me out for dinner tonight. I’ll tell him then.’

  ‘Dinner?’ Sam echoed in disbelief. ‘When was the last time Patrick took you out anywhere?’

  Nessie thought for a moment; she genuinely couldn’t remember the last time she and Patrick had done anything together. He’d been wrapped up in building his business and she – well, she couldn’t bear the awkward silences as they sat opposite each other, or the feeling that she was evidently a lot less interesting than his phone.

  ‘My thirtieth birthday,’ she said, shaking off the memories. ‘We went to the Dirty Duck – you know that place run by the experimental chef – and Patrick wouldn’t try anything on the menu. Made-up muck, he called it.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ Sam muttered. She let out a long, loud sigh. ‘I suppose he can stay tonight, since he’s here. You have to promise me you’ll nip this in the bud, though.’

  Nessie summoned up a mental picture of Owen, working in his forge next door, striking sparks from a glowing piece of metal as he bent over the anvil. He was tall and muscular, with wild black curls and flashing dark eyes – everything Patrick wasn’t. When Owen looked at her sometimes, she felt a shiver of something indescribably delicious run through her. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure he was over his first wife, childhood sweetheart Eliza, who’d died several years earlier, leaving Owen to bring up their son, Luke, alone. That was why he and Nessie had been taking things slowly, cementing a friendship first that could blossom into more once they were both sure it was the right thing to do. But Nessie would be lying if she didn’t occasionally find it hard constantly second-guessing how Owen felt about her. Sometimes she wished she was more like Sam, who decided what she wanted and took it. Except look where that had got her with Will Pargeter . . .

  And then there was Patrick – steady, dependable Patrick, whose main crime had been to stop noticing Nessie was there. He hadn’t always been that way; once, he’d wooed her and said all the right things. They’d been happy enough at first, until time and familiarity and an unhealthy dose of indifference had worn both Nessie and their marriage down. Nessie wasn’t sure the relationship could be rekindled, even if she wanted it to be. Sam was right; Patrick belonged in her past and it wasn’t fair to let him believe otherwise.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, managing a fragile smile. ‘I’ll tell him tonight that there’s no hope.’

  Chapter Two

  It wasn’t that she disliked her brother-in-law, Sam thought as she opened her laptop on the kitchen table and tried not to resent the fact that he was sitting in her spot on the sofa next door. She just didn’t like the way Nessie had gradually lost her confidence over the years she’d been with Patrick, a side-effect of his disinterest. And she’d bitten her tongue more than once over his expectation that Nessie would do all the cooking and the cleaning while holding down a full-time job of her own, plus helping Patrick with the admin for his IT support business. But Sam didn’t dislike him as a person. She just thought Nessie was much better suited to Owen Rhys. Together with his sister, Kathryn, Sam had been gently pushing Nessie towards him. So the sudden arrival of Patrick in Little Monkham, with his divorce-related cold feet, did not please Sam at all. The sooner Nessie told him things were definitely over, the better.

  Feeling another needle of irritation, Sam checked her email. There was a message from Nick Borrowdale, confirming he’d be at the Halloween Masked Ball she had planned for the end of October. Sam felt a thrill of anticipation that was only half to do with the party; Nick was an old friend and ex-PR client who just happened to be one of the hottest actors around. He’d recently been voted Britain’s Sexiest Man in a well-respected magazine poll, and was the star of the insanely popular Sunday night TV show Smugglers’ Inn. He was also, at least as far as the general public were concerned, her boyfriend.

  It was only half a lie. She and Nick had spent plenty of no-strings nights together back when she’d worked in PR. At the time it had suited them both – good company, great sex and absolutely no commitment. Then she’d moved to Little Monkham and met Joss Felstead and Nick had morphed into one of her closest friends, who’d supported her through the darkest time of her life. Nick had stood by her when Will Pargeter lied to the papers about having an affair with Sam, dragging her reputation through the mud. Joss had not stood by her. His refusal to listen, to even consider what she’d had to say, had hurt Sam more than she’d thought possible. She’d avoided him as much as she could since, which wasn’t easy in a village the size of Little Monkham; the first time they’d run into each other had been awkward in the extreme. Neither had anything polite to say and there had very nearly been an embarrassingly public shouting match.

  When Will Pargeter’s wife had told her side of the story, even more news-hungry reporters had descended on Little Monkham, turning the village into a paparazzi playground. The villagers had closed ranks, shielding Sam as well as they could, but it was Nick’s presence that comforted her the most. Things had reached a head when Will Pargeter had resigned from his position as Morality Tsar to the government – the scandal had even been mentioned in parliament – and as the dust settled, it had been Nick who’d suggested they bury the negative headlines with a wave of positive ones. If Sam was seen out and about with him, he reasoned, as part of a steady couple, then Will Pargeter would soon be forgotten and Sam could consider returning to her career in PR.

  It hadn’t been an easy decision for Sam. Joss hadn’t spoken to her since the night he’d found out about her ill-judged fling with Will, hadn’t given her the chance to explain. At first, she’d given him some space, hoping that he’d calm down and listen, but after a week of total silence, she’d called and he’d made it very clear where he thought the blame lay. Eventually, Sam had seen no reason to refuse Nick’s generous offer. So they’d spent most of September going on very public dates in London, holding hands adoringly whenever they saw a photographer. She’d even been to Cornwall, to watch Smugglers’ Inn being filmed. But although she’d shared a room with Nick at the breathtaking clifftop hotel he was staying in, they hadn’t taken things further. No matter how good Nick looked without a shirt on . . .

  Smiling, Sam fired off a quick reply to Nick and switched to the Star and Sixpence account. There were several emails about Oktoberfest, t
he beer and cider festival weekend she and Nessie had planned for a week’s time. And there was one from the Real Ale Drinkers’ Association. Sam clicked open, expecting it to be about Oktoberfest. The message made her shout instead.

  ‘Sam?’ Patrick said, poking his head around the kitchen door. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Better than okay,’ Sam said, getting to her feet with an elated grin. ‘The Star and Sixpence has been voted Regional Pub of the Year by the Real Ale Drinkers’ Association!’

  Hugging her laptop to her chest, she squeezed past him and went downstairs to find Nessie.

  ‘Really?’ her sister gasped when she heard the news. ‘But I didn’t even know we’d been judged.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Sam said, shrugging. ‘I emailed them when we first reopened, to let them know the pub was back in business, but they sent what seemed like a standard reply and I haven’t heard from them since.’

  ‘I wonder who came,’ Nessie said. ‘And when?’

  ‘They visited sometime over the summer,’ Sam replied. ‘But whenever it was, they liked what they saw. I’m going to slap that “award-winning pub” logo straight on our website. And we should give Connor a pay rise – the quality of the beer will have played a big part.’

  Nessie beamed at her. ‘We should. Wow, I can’t believe it. Is there a trophy or something?’

  Sam scanned the email again. ‘It says we’ll be presented with a framed certificate and invited to the national finals in December.’

  ‘So you could be voted the best pub in the entire country?’ Patrick said from behind her.

  Some of Sam’s elation ebbed away at the sound of his voice. She’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘In theory,’ she said. ‘But I expect the competition is pretty fierce and we’ve only been in business for nine months. I don’t expect we’ll win.’

  ‘It’s not bad going for nine months, though,’ Patrick said, sounding impressed. ‘This place must be a right little goldmine.’