Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Page 11

  ‘Sod it,’ Sam said, folding her arms. ‘People are going to gossip anyway, we might as well give them something to gossip about.’

  His self-assured smirk reminded Sam of everything that had drawn her to him in the first place, all those months ago. ‘I’ve never been too worried about the wrath of Franny. Her bark is worse than her bite.’

  ‘Liar,’ she replied fondly. ‘Now go and wait in the living room while I get a shower. And no, I don’t need any help.’

  *

  There were some bleary-eyed Little Monkham residents among the crowd assembled on the village green at ten o’clock. Martha was wearing sunglasses, in spite of the overcast skies, and looked as though she’d rather be asleep. Nessie was pale, Sam saw with a frown and she made a mental note to look at the pub’s schedule to see whether there was an extra day off her sister might take. Ruby, on the other hand, was as fresh-faced and glamorous as ever; she picked her way across the emerald grass in a pair of short, sky-blue Hunter wellies that gave Sam instant boot-envy.

  ‘Prepare for the inquisition,’ Joss murmured.

  ‘Good morning,’ Ruby said, as soon as she was within earshot. ‘How are those heads today?’

  ‘Fine,’ Sam said with a smile. ‘How are you feeling? I saw you dancing the night away with Father Goodluck.’

  ‘He’s got surprisingly decent hip action for a man of the cloth,’ Ruby replied. She fired a sideways glance at Joss. ‘And speaking of smooth . . .’

  He took the unspoken enquiry in his stride. ‘I’ve got a smooth hip action too, Ruby.’

  Sam hid a smile, which wasn’t lost on Ruby. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t only your hips that got some action last night,’ the actress observed, arching one eyebrow. ‘Are you officially back together or is it – what do you young people call it now – a booty-call situation?’

  Joss spluttered into his coffee and Sam felt her mouth drop open.

  ‘Neither,’ she managed, after a few seconds had elapsed. She glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve decided to chalk it down to a drunken mistake.’

  ‘Something I know all about,’ Ruby said, with a knowing wink. ‘Still, at least you had some fun. The only hot stuff I went to bed with was a mug of Horlicks.’

  Once again, Joss dissolved into coughing.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sam said, throwing him a pointed look. ‘Obviously we don’t want everyone to know, so if you could keep it to yourself, we’d be grateful.’

  ‘Oh, of course, darling. You can count on me.’ Ruby’s eyes danced in amusement. ‘But I feel I should quote a little Oscar Wilde here. There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.’

  ‘Not in this case,’ Sam said firmly, as a cheer rang out around them. ‘This time, I’d rather not be talked about at all.’

  Ruby tapped her nose in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Say no more, darling.’

  Franny and Henry had emerged from the Post Office, suitcases in hand. Franny gave the crowd a regal wave, beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘She hasn’t changed,’ Joss said, amused.

  Sam laughed. ‘Did you expect her to?’

  And now Franny was holding up a hand, appealing for quiet. Obediently, the well-wishers on the green fell silent.

  ‘Henry and I wanted to thank you for joining us, both yesterday and today,’ she called. ‘It seems strange to be abandoning you, and I almost wish we didn’t have to go, but tradition is tradition. I’m leaving the Post Office in the hands of Kathryn Rhys, who I’m sure will do her best to fill in for me. Thank you again, and see you all in two weeks!’

  Spontaneous applause broke out. Sam glanced across at Kathryn, who was whispering in Nessie’s ear and no doubt giggling about the back-handed compliment Franny had just paid her. And then there was a toot of a car horn and a taxi pulled up alongside the bride and groom. Moments later, it was driving away, whisking them to Italy and leaving the villagers to watch it disappear from view.

  ‘Well, that’s that,’ Joss said, yawning. ‘I suppose I’d better get back to Chester. Unless—’

  Sam was relieved to notice that she felt absolutely no pangs at the thought of his absence. ‘Absolutely no chance,’ she said, smiling at the unspoken suggestion. ‘Safe journey.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He paused to give her one final look, then returned her smile. ‘Take care of yourself, Sam.’

  ‘You too,’ she said, as he turned to walk away. ‘See you around.’

  He waved an arm but didn’t look back.

  ‘It’s all for the best,’ Ruby said, her voice quietly sympathetic. ‘Now you can focus on the delicious Gabriel, hmmm?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said, her amusement melting away. ‘He wasn’t very impressed with me this morning. In fact, he basically told me he was interested in someone else.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Ruby replied briskly. ‘If that’s true, why can’t he take his eyes off you?’

  Sam felt a jolt of surprise and instinctively sought out Gabe, on the other side of the green. Sure enough, his gaze was fixed on her, although he looked away fast when their eyes met.

  ‘See?’ Ruby said in satisfaction. ‘I’ve had more than my fair share of smitten suitors over the years, and let me tell you, I know when a man is captivated. Mark my words, Sam – Gabe Santiago is into you.’

  Could it be true? Sam wondered. She might have believed it before her night with Joss but now? She let out a shaky laugh. ‘Thanks, Ruby, but I think I’m swearing off men for a while.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ the older woman said, with a look that told Sam she saw right through the lie. ‘Playing a little hard to get has never failed me yet.’

  Sam opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. It was easier to let Ruby think whatever she wanted to think. But the truth was, Sam had no intention of playing games with Gabe, or anyone else. She’d said it before, but this time she meant it; it was strictly business at the Star and Sixpence from now on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December arrived in a flurry of cold, starry nights that gave way to silver-frosted mornings and helped to fill Nessie with an irrepressible sense of anticipation. She loved to see the seasons change around Little Monkham; autumn had been particularly spectacular, with the woods blanketed in amber and russet leaves, but Nessie recalled the winter before, when the village had been covered in thick snow and looked like a painting. Then again, spring and summer had their own charms, Nessie considered as she leaned against the ancient wood timber of the pub door and watched her neighbours go about their day. She was lucky to have made her home here, she thought with a warm swell of contentment. It had given her more than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be sitting down?’

  The matronly edge in Sam’s voice made Nessie smile. Her sister had become increasingly bossy with her in the weeks since Franny and Henry’s wedding; Nessie had often found herself the subject of concerned scrutiny and grown used to being told in no uncertain terms to rest more. It didn’t matter that her morning sickness had eased off considerably, or that her energy levels had improved – Sam seemed determined to wrap her in cotton wool and had recruited almost everyone around them to the cause, including Owen, Laurie and Gabe. All of which meant Nessie frequently found herself watching everyone else work, with strict instructions not to help – something she found endearing and frustrating in equal measure. She hoped the well-meaning interference would settle down now that she’d reached the all-important twelfth week; she and Owen were due at the hospital for their scan in a few days and constantly being told to rest wasn’t really practical when there was a gin festival to organise and a famous author to accommodate.

  ‘I’ve been sitting down all morning,’ Nessie told Sam mildly. ‘And the final delivery from Silent Pool is due any minute, so I thought I’d keep an eye out.’

  Sam had worked her PR socks off for the festival, contacting a number of small but well-regard
ed gin distilleries to invite them to showcase their products. She’d placed large orders and suggested they send representatives, with promises of great media coverage and an enthusiastic welcome. It helped that the travel editor for the Observer had grown up in Little Monkham and had been only too pleased to not only feature the festival in the paper, but to pull some strings with her journalist friends to ensure it was widely covered. Sam had managed to place it in several of the glossiest women’s magazines too. And now it was the eve of the festival and all they could do was hope people came. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be through lack of effort on Sam’s part, Nessie thought with a familiar stab of guilt that she hadn’t done more to help.

  ‘Do I have to remind you that you are making a whole new person in there?’ Sam asked, with a pointed look at Nessie’s slightly rounded belly. ‘I know you want to help, but you need to look after yourself too.’

  ‘I am,’ Nessie protested. ‘I’m pregnant, Sam. Not an invalid.’

  Sam gave her a hard stare, then sighed. ‘I suppose you do look a bit less pale than normal,’ she allowed in a grudging tone. ‘Not what I’d call blooming, but better.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Nessie said with dry amusement. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all morning.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Sam said, with a half-smile. ‘The morning sickness has been rough on you.’

  Nessie couldn’t argue; it had been so bad at first that she’d assumed she had food poisoning. ‘Some women don’t have any sickness at all,’ she said. ‘Lucky things.’

  ‘And some throw up for the whole pregnancy,’ Sam replied, with a delicate shudder. ‘Just ask the Duchess of Cambridge.’

  Nessie was about to reply when a large lorry swung into view at the bottom of the village green. ‘This looks like it might be for us,’ she said. ‘Where’s Connor – in the cellar?’

  ‘You wait here – I’ll get him,’ Sam said before Nessie could move. ‘You know how steep the cellar steps are.’

  Swallowing a sigh, Nessie watched her sister hurry away. The sooner everyone stopped treating her like she might break, the better.

  *

  By midday on Thursday, the inside of the Star and Sixpence had been divided up into six decadent gin parlours, each boasting a bar that catered for the different distilleries and a cocktail list that made Nessie want to try them all. She normally didn’t mind being teetotal, but the low-lit parlours and their divine-sounding menus looked so inviting. Which, she supposed, was the whole point; customers could order a gin and tonic any day of the week, but it might not be infused with pink peppercorns and served in a bone-china teapot, and they might not perch on a velvet chaise longue to drink it.

  ‘Here,’ Sam said, holding out a tall glass of something that looked a lot like a cocktail. ‘This is from SJ over at the House of Virtue parlour. Don’t worry, it’s non-alcoholic.’

  Nessie frowned at the drink as she took it. ‘Are those . . . peas floating underneath the cucumber?’

  Her sister nodded. ‘Yep. Try it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.’

  Unsure what to expect, Nessie took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the delicate flavours of elderflower and cucumber mingled with the quinine from the tonic. She let the drink flow across her taste buds and swallowed. ‘You’re right,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m not disappointed.’

  Sam took another mouthful of her own drink. ‘Good, isn’t it? Although the real test will come later, once Ruby gets here.’

  ‘She said she’d stop by just before we open,’ Nessie said, sipping again. ‘Apparently, our guest of honour is an old friend of hers.’

  ‘Is there anyone famous that Ruby doesn’t know?’ Sam asked wryly.

  Nessie grinned. Ruby might be long retired, but her career as one of the leading lights of British theatre meant that her address book was starrier than most and her celebrity anecdotes were legendary. Of course she would be friends with the gin-loving Lola Swann.

  ‘No,’ Nessie replied. ‘If they’re worth knowing, Ruby knows them.’

  ‘I bet they’ve put the world to rights over a bottle of Bombay Sapphire or two, over the years,’ Sam said. ‘Although obviously times have changed since then.’

  Nessie tipped her head in acknowledgement; Ruby had fought hard against her addiction to alcohol and freely admitted she’d often been tempted to have a drink. But she was coming up to her one-year anniversary and seemed more determined than ever not to give up her hard-won sobriety. Nessie was sure she’d be able to reminisce with Lola Swann without taking the trip down memory lane too far.

  ‘True. At least there are plenty of mocktails to choose from.’ Nessie glanced towards the closed kitchen door, behind which Gabe was working on canapés to accompany the drinks. ‘And lots of delicious distractions.’

  The faintest hint of pink crept across Sam’s cheeks. ‘He’s definitely distracting.’

  ‘I meant the snacks,’ Nessie said, half-laughing. ‘But since you’ve raised the subject . . . how are things between you?’

  ‘Not great,’ Sam admitted, with a barely disguised sigh. ‘I mean, workwise, we’re fine – we discuss the orders, plan menus, talk about wines. But that’s the best I can say – he’s polite and professional.’ She paused and threw Nessie an anguished look. ‘And I try my hardest not to care, but it’s driving me insane.’

  Nessie could understand her sister’s frustration; having decided she wanted Gabe, Sam now found she couldn’t have him. And the reason she couldn’t have him was entirely down to her own impulsiveness. It was like that Christmas years ago where Sam had eaten all her own Advent calendar chocolate on the first day of December and then demanded that Nessie share hers for the rest of the month. Except this time, Sam couldn’t lie down on the floor and scream until she got her own way.

  ‘Give it some time,’ Nessie advised, not unsympathetically. ‘Gabe’s ego is bruised and you know how delicate those can be.’

  Sam groaned. ‘I can’t believe I was so stupid. It didn’t even mean anything.’

  ‘I know,’ Nessie soothed. ‘We’ve all done it.’

  There was a faintly accusatory look in Sam’s eyes. ‘You haven’t.’

  ‘Not this exact thing, no. But I have done plenty of things I’ve regretted the next day.’ Nessie gave a rueful shake of her head and ploughed on, ‘And while spending the night with Joss wasn’t the most sensible thing you could have done, it’s not a life-changing mistake.’

  ‘It feels like one,’ Sam said morosely.

  She looked so downcast that Nessie wanted to give her a hug. ‘It’s not as though you weren’t single at the time. If Gabe really likes you, he’ll get over it.’

  Sam was silent for a moment, then sighed again. ‘And if he doesn’t? Like me, I mean.’

  Nessie thought of the way Gabe’s gaze followed Sam when he knew she couldn’t see him, and of the kind-but-firm way he’d responded to any other woman who tried to flirt with him, including Kathryn; it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he only had eyes for Sam. But Nessie knew her sister well – she valued something more when she’d had to work for it. And although there was no doubt Gabe had been disappointed and hurt when Sam had slept with Joss, Nessie couldn’t help wondering whether the Spanish chef had also worked out what made her sister tick. Maybe he’d taken a leaf out of Ruby’s book.

  ‘Time will tell,’ Nessie advised. ‘Give him some space and see what happens.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Sam said, managing a wavering smile. ‘Thanks, Ness.’

  She gave Sam’s arm a swift squeeze. ‘No problem. That’s what sisters are for.’

  *

  There was an expectant crowd for the opening of the festival. Any doubts Sam had harboured about Lola Swann’s ability to hold the attention of her audience had vanished the moment she’d entered the Star and Sixpence that afternoon; the elegant, blonde-haired author had swept in, paused dramatically in front of the roaring fire and gazed around in obvious approval.
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  ‘Ruby was absolutely right – this is my kind of place,’ she’d announced, beaming at Sam and Nessie. ‘And there’s no need to introduce yourselves – I know exactly who you are.’

  She’d hurried forwards to clasp their hands, resplendent in a lilac floral dress and matching silk scarf, and Sam instantly felt as though she’d known her for years.

  ‘I’m so thrilled you invited me to stay,’ Lola went on, once Sam and Nessie had greeted her. ‘I’ve been hankering to write about Little Monkham for years and being your writer in residence means I can.’

  Nessie’s welcoming expression slipped a little, as though she was alarmed at the prospect of the village being immortalised. ‘What do you think you’ll write about?’

  Lola smiled. ‘This place, of course. I can’t imagine a better place to set a story than a village pub. I’m sure you girls have some stories to tell.’

  She fixed them both with an inquisitive gaze, but Sam shook her head. ‘Being a licensee is a sacred trust, I’m afraid. What happens at the Star and Sixpence stays at the Star and Sixpence.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Lola exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. ‘Do you mind if I write that down?’

  She’d been delighted with her guest room, tucked away in the eaves of the pub, and had questioned Sam about the ghost of Elijah Blackheart, whose spirit was said to haunt the building. There was nothing that didn’t interest her; she’d charmed Connor by asking him to show her the cellar and engaged Gabe in a detailed conversation about his home town, Seville, which she’d visited as book research.

  ‘We’ll have to watch what we say around her,’ Nessie murmured, as Lola laughed at something Gabe had said. ‘If we’re not careful, we’ll end up in her book.’

  The thought made Sam grin. ‘I don’t mind – just think of the PR possibilities!’

  And now Lola was holding court in front of the bar, a rounded Copa glass brimming with peppery pink gin and tonic at her elbow. ‘Dickens would have us believe that gin was how the poor escaped their miserable lives,’ she said, her voice bubbling with mirth, ‘but I prefer to think they were just early adopters. And thank goodness they were, because if it hadn’t been for the gin shops they used to visit, we might never have had the wonderful variety you see here today.’ She paused to raise her glass in salute. ‘To Dickens, gin and the wretched poor. I now proclaim this festival open!’