Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Read online

  *

  ‘Hello, love.’

  Owen closed the back door of Snowdrop Cottage and paused by the sink to place a feather-light kiss on the back of Nessie’s neck. The action caused a ripple of pleasure to run down her spine and she smiled at him.

  ‘Hello yourself. Good day?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, stretching. ‘I finished the fire grate for that pub over Steadham way, so that’s a job well done.’

  If it was anything like the one he’d created for the Star and Sixpence then the owners of the Speckled Goose would be delighted, Nessie thought, picturing the delicate but sturdy fleur-de-lys grate that sat in the hearth of the pub’s grand fireplace. Owen was well recognised as a master blacksmith and his list of prospective and satisfied clients was growing almost faster than he could handle.

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘It is,’ he agreed, then glanced around the kitchen. ‘Where’s Luke?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ Nessie said, her eyes drawn to the ceiling. ‘Doing his homework.’

  Luke was Owen’s nine-year-old son, the only child from his marriage to Eliza. If Nessie had been worried about how he would feel about her moving into Snowdrop Cottage, any concerns had soon melted away; Luke had taken the new arrangement easily in his stride, especially once he’d tasted her chocolate fudge cake.

  ‘Homework,’ Owen said, raising his dark eyebrows in undisguised scepticism. ‘Playing that online game with his mates, more like.’

  Nessie smiled at the often-heard grumble. ‘I told him he had to do his homework first. He promised me faithfully he would.’

  Owen flicked the kettle switch and reached for his favourite mug. ‘Maybe I’ll sneak up the stairs and surprise him in a while, see how well he’s sticking to that promise.’ He waved the cup around. ‘Tea?’

  ‘I’d better not,’ Nessie said, even though she’d like nothing more than to sink into the squashy living-room sofa with a cuppa and hear more about his day. ‘I need to get back to the pub for the evening shift.’

  A crease lined Owen’s forehead. ‘But it’s Wednesday. Your night off.’

  She steeled herself for yet another white lie. ‘Sam’s been covering for Laurie. She’s a bit tired, so I said I’d cover for her this evening. I hope you don’t mind – I left you a lasagne in the oven.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Of course I don’t mind, but it’s not the first time you’ve covered for her lately. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nessie said, a little too fast, and she cursed herself when she saw his frown deepen. ‘It’s just a bit full on at the moment, that’s all. The restaurant brings in lots of thirsty customers and we’re short-staffed while Laurie’s away.’

  Owen considered her. ‘As long as that’s all it is. Both you and Sam have seemed more stressed than usual over the last few weeks – you’d tell me if there was a problem, wouldn’t you?’

  A few seconds ticked by, during which Nessie battled a treacherous urge to spill her sister’s secret. But Sam had made her promise not to tell and Nessie could never break that confidence, no matter how wretched it made her feel. ‘Yes,’ she said, crossing her fingers and reminding herself that one more lie didn’t matter. ‘I’d tell you.’

  ‘All right then,’ Owen said, although he looked far from satisfied. ‘Shall I save you some lasagne?’

  Nessie shook her head as she reached for her coat. ‘No, I’ll grab something from the kitchen during the evening.’

  Owen smiled. ‘So that’s the real reason you’re working tonight – you want whatever Gabe is serving up to the good and the great of Little Monkham.’

  ‘What a thing to suggest,’ Nessie said in mock-outrage. ‘I’ll have you know my lasagne matches up to anything our star chef could whip up.’

  ‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ Owen said. ‘Although that mouth-watering steak and ale pie of his makes a strong case.’

  ‘I might have known your favourite dish would involve Thirsty Bishop,’ Nessie replied fondly. ‘Maybe I should stay here while you go over to the pub.’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of getting between you and whatever’s on the menu. See you when you get back.’

  *

  It wasn’t an entirely unfair accusation, Nessie reflected later, when dish after delicious dish came out of the Star and Sixpence kitchen to land on the tables of the lucky diners; the possibility of leftovers was a bonus on the evenings when the restaurant was open. But Nessie would much rather be with Owen, eating her own cooking, than forcing herself to be jolly behind the bar of the pub. There wasn’t much she could do about it, however; Sam had looked exhausted when Nessie had walked in. The conversation had remained stiffly businesslike as Sam had passed on a few minor quibbles from the day, before escaping upstairs without quite meeting Nessie’s eyes.

  ‘She looked peaky,’ Ruby Cabernet observed, tilting her glorious red head as she perched at the bar. ‘Then again, so do you.’

  Nessie smiled and refilled Ruby’s glass with grapefruit juice. ‘No need to worry about me. I’m just—’

  ‘Tired?’ Ruby cut in, arching one of her perfect eyebrows. ‘Heartsick, disappointed, sad and wondering why it’s not you?’

  Nessie’s face grew suddenly hot. ‘That’s not fair, Ruby.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it is true,’ the older woman said. ‘What I’m getting at is that it’s only natural you feel all of those things, darling. Given the circumstances.’

  ‘I’m not jealous of Sam,’ Nessie replied, fighting to keep her composure as she noticed Henry leaning in to hear better. ‘No matter what she has that I don’t.’

  Ruby had obviously noticed the eavesdropper too because she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I can only imagine how hard this is for you, Nessie. I hope you know that my door is always open if you need to talk.’

  Nessie swallowed hard and managed a brittle smile. As in the days that had followed the miscarriage, she found sympathy much harder to cope with than silence. ‘Thank you. Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to go and check something with Gabe.’

  She made her way to the kitchen, grateful to escape from Ruby’s well-meaning but pointed observations. As kind as the offer was, she had no intention of opening up about how Sam’s pregnancy was making her feel. Because if she began down that road, she was very much afraid she might not be able to stop.

  ‘Just checking in,’ she called to Gabe as she poked her head through the kitchen door. ‘Everything going well?’

  The dark-eyed Spanish chef nodded and glanced around at his team of hard-working chefs. ‘Perfect, thank you.’

  Nessie smiled as she stepped back to hold the door, her eyes drawn to the large platter of creamy seafood linguine that Charlotte, the waitress, carried.

  Gabe threw her an amused look. ‘And in answer to your unspoken question, yes, I expect there will be some of that left over tonight. Perhaps even enough for two, if you want to take some home for Owen.’

  ‘Am I that transparent?’ she asked, her mouth twisting in wry self-deprecation. ‘But none for Owen. He’s had to settle for my cooking tonight.’

  ‘Then he has already dined like a king,’ Gabe said gravely. ‘I’ll just save one portion for you. I tried to offer some to Sam but she refused.’

  ‘No, not seafood.’ The words were out before Nessie could stop them. She waved a flustered hand. ‘She can’t.’

  Gabe eyed her quizzically. ‘But she’s eaten it before – she’s not allergic.’

  ‘No,’ Nessie said, casting desperately round for something to cover her mistake. ‘I think she’s . . . just gone off it.’

  His lips quirked as he shrugged. ‘It happens, I suppose, even where my recipes are concerned. I’ll put some in the fridge for you, ready for a not-quite-midnight feast.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Nessie said, her panic subsiding a little at the thought. ‘That’s definitely something to look forward to.’

  ‘And I’ll find something else to tempt Sam,’ G
abe said. ‘She needs to keep her strength up.’

  Nessie eyed him sharply, wondering whether he knew more than he was telling. He and Sam shared the pub’s first-floor accommodation; it was entirely possible he’d figured things out. But Nessie discounted the idea almost immediately. He and Sam had been on the brink of turning their will-they-won’t-they flirtation into something more at the start of the new year, but Nessie knew Sam had pulled back, using her health as an excuse. Gabe couldn’t know the truth . . . could he?

  ‘I’m sure she’d appreciate it,’ Nessie replied, hoping her brisk smile gave nothing away. ‘Thanks, Gabe.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sam was dozing on the sofa, the TV playing unheeded, when she heard the tread of feet on the stairs that led up from the bar. Passing a groggy hand over her eyes, she sat up and peered out at the landing, wondering whether it would be Nessie or Gabe. She wasn’t sure who she’d prefer to see; as much as she loved her sister, there was no denying things had been strained between them ever since Sam had revealed her pregnancy. And she wasn’t proud to admit there’d been more than one occasion when she’d avoided Nessie lately, unable to bear the unspoken hurt and reproof behind her eyes. Things with Gabe were simpler, but only because she hadn’t been as honest with him; she hadn’t exactly lied when she’d told him she needed to cool things off between them to focus on her health – technically, a baby was a health risk – but she wasn’t at all sure he’d be as sympathetic when she revealed her one-night-stand with Joss had had greater consequences than any of them had realised. At least for the moment, Gabe was on her side, which gave him a slight edge in whom Sam would prefer her visitor to be.

  Her insides lurched in familiar treachery when he appeared in the doorway; her brain might have decided there couldn’t be anything between them, but her body did not agree. And then she saw he was carrying a tray laden with a silver cloche and her resolve weakened a little more. How was she supposed to resist a man who took the trouble to do this?

  ‘You look like a little mouse, tucked away in her nest,’ he said when he saw the duvet she’d wrapped around herself. ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘I was,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ve never been a fan of winter. I much prefer the summer – lighter evenings, cocktails outside, pretty dresses.’

  Except that by the time summer rolled around, she’d be too big for floaty dresses, Sam thought with an inward sigh. She hadn’t brought herself to look at maternity clothes yet, but she didn’t hold out much hope for anything stylish. And cocktails were off limits for the foreseeable future, whether indoors or out.

  Gabe placed the tray on the coffee table and lifted the cover. ‘Salmon with minted new potatoes, and creamed spinach with toasted pine nuts.’ He looked up. ‘Healthy food to help you feel better.’

  Sam inhaled the aroma of mint mingled with butter and gazed at the plate. ‘Thank you. But this wasn’t on the menu.’

  He shrugged. ‘No, but you made it clear you didn’t want what was on offer. So I cooked something simple but nutritious. For you.’

  Sam’s stomach rumbled loudly, as it seemed to do all the time these days. She reached for the tray. ‘Well, thank you. I really appreciate it, Gabe.’

  He helped arrange the food on her lap and then settled back into an armchair.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back?’ Sam asked, around a mouthful of deliciously buttery potato.

  ‘Back?’ Gabe said, frowning quizzically. ‘It’s ten-forty – the kitchens are closed.’

  She swallowed fast. ‘Ten-forty? But that means I’ve been asleep for . . .’

  ‘Over three hours,’ he said. ‘I came up to ask what you’d like to eat over an hour ago, but you looked so peaceful that I decided not to wake you.’

  Sam ate in silence, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate so that she didn’t have to meet Gabe’s undoubtedly curious gaze. He’d never pressed her for details about the health issue that had caused her to take a step back from their burgeoning relationship, but she was sure he must have wondered.

  ‘Your sister says you are not able to eat seafood,’ Gabe went on. ‘That’s a new thing, isn’t it?’

  Again, Sam took refuge behind her food, chewing longer than she needed to in order to buy thinking time. ‘New-ish,’ she said evasively. ‘It’s not unheard of for people’s tastes to change, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed. ‘Although there is usually some kind of reason for the change. If you told me you were bored of it, that would be different, but both you and Nessie speak as though you cannot eat it. And that makes me wonder why.’

  She forced herself to take another forkful of salmon, hoping Gabe would suddenly remember some kind of pressing reason to go back to the kitchen. Instead, he glanced at the floor beside the sofa.

  ‘No wine?’

  ‘No,’ Sam replied, trying not to grind her teeth in frustration. ‘Not tonight.

  He nodded and then, apparently satisfied, lapsed into silence.

  Relieved, Sam continued to eat, feeling her weariness start to subside as the food reached her stomach. It wasn’t until she’d finished and laid her cutlery side by side on the white plate that Gabe spoke again.

  ‘When were you going to tell me, Sam?’

  She froze. ‘What?’

  Gabe sighed. ‘When were you going to tell me about the baby?’

  A rush of hot panic flooded Sam’s chest. She opened her mouth and closed it again, flustered. How could he know? She’d been so careful . . .

  ‘Don’t try to deny it,’ Gabe said, his tone gentle. ‘It’s written all over you. I’ve observed my cousins during their pregnancies and they have a certain look about them – sort of a glow from inside and a new roundness to their features, like everything is softening for the new life they are making.’

  His gaze was steady and suddenly Sam didn’t want to hide any more; at least not from him. She took a long sip from her water bottle and gathered her thoughts.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone, apart from Nessie and Ruby. I – I didn’t know how to say it, Gabe. “Sorry we can’t get it together – I’m having another man’s baby” . . .’

  Gabe stared at her. ‘Doesn’t the father know?’

  A warm flush of embarrassment washed over Sam’s face. ‘No. Not yet.’

  She hoped he knew she meant Joss; there was hardly a list of potential candidates. But Gabe’s frown told her he didn’t approve of the fact that she’d kept her pregnancy even from the baby’s father.

  ‘Sam—’ he began, but she cut him off.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you, or anyone. It didn’t feel right telling people before I’d had a chance to speak to Joss.’ She passed a weary hand across her face. ‘And then I was so tired that a trip to Chester seemed beyond me, so I thought I’d wait until I was feeling stronger. More like myself.’

  Gabe studied her for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he sat back, with a shake of his head. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. It certainly explains a few things.’

  ‘Like why I fainted on New Year’s Eve?’ Sam said, managing a rueful smile. ‘Yes, that little mystery was cleared up by the GP a few days later.’

  ‘And why you are still so exhausted, despite my best efforts to nourish you,’ Gabe said, glancing at the empty plate. ‘It’s actually a relief – I was starting to worry.’

  His concern made her heart melt. ‘No need,’ she said wryly. ‘Just a life-changing event on the horizon.’

  He smiled. ‘But it also explains why you brushed me off with no real explanation.’

  Sam bowed her head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to – it just seemed best, that was all. Less complicated.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he replied, and his tone was kind. ‘But you won’t be able to hide this for much longer. When do you plan to tell Joss?’

  It was a good question; one Sam didn’t really have an answer to. The truth was, every time she tried to visualise telling Joss that he was going to be a f
ather, her courage failed her. He wouldn’t be interested, she told herself; his face would twist in shock and he’d throw her out, demanding that she never contact him again. Except . . . except wasn’t that a lie she was telling herself, to justify not telling him?

  Gabe seemed to know what she was thinking because he leaned forwards, his expression intent. ‘If you want my advice, the sooner you tell him, the better. Obviously, I don’t know Joss, but everything I’ve heard about him suggests he’s a good man. He deserves the chance to be a good father.’

  His compassion made Sam swallow hard before she answered. ‘It’s going to be a shock.’

  ‘But one he will adjust to.’

  Sam’s eyes found his. ‘You weren’t shocked.’

  ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘But I see you every day – perhaps on some level I knew long before now. It just took a little while to connect the dots.’

  Anxiety swelled in her chest. ‘I’m scared, Gabe. What if he doesn’t want anything to do with us?’

  ‘Then that will be his loss,’ Gabe replied. ‘But you will be fine – you are a strong woman, Sam – like our own mothers, who raised us without needing a man. And you’ll have help – I am sure Nessie will support you.’

  Sam’s gaze moistened. ‘I don’t think she will.’

  Gabe got up and knelt beside her. ‘Of course she will. This must be hard for her too, but give her time.’ He hesitated, then took her hand. ‘And I will be here too, as a friend.’

  It was too much for Sam; her throat ached with the effort of holding back her tears. She let out a sob. ‘Thank you.’

  He squeezed her fingers and offered her a napkin. ‘No problem. And, mark my words, you are going to be the best-fed mother-to-be this side of Seville.’

  An involuntary smile tugged at Sam’s lips. ‘But no seafood linguine.’

  ‘Noted,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry. Everything is going to work out.’

  And for the first time in months, Sam started to feel it might be true.

  *

  Sam walked past the entrance to Castle Court three times before she spotted it, tucked away between a pub and a clothes shop. It was her first visit to Chester; another time, she might have admired the quirky multi-levelled black-and-white buildings that lined the streets, but her heart was thudding so hard that it was almost all she could focus on.