Valentine's Day at the Star and Sixpence Read online

  Nick didn’t appear in the least upset. ‘You do realise you’re probably the only woman in the country who would turn that offer down, right?’

  Sam laughed. ‘Exactly why I don’t feel bad about leaving you to it. All you have to do is smile and you’ll have someone to take my place.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘The trouble is, they don’t want to leave the next day. Whereas you and I have an understanding.’ He grinned. ‘Fabulous sex, excellent company and zero chance you’ll sell your story to the newspapers.’

  Sam felt heat flood her cheeks.

  Nick groaned. ‘Shit, Sam, that didn’t come out the way I meant it,’ he said, looking stricken. ‘I’m an insensitive moron, sorry.’

  Forcing herself to stay calm, Sam dabbed at her lips with her napkin. ‘It’s fine. Honestly, don’t worry about it.’

  He took her hand. ‘Are you sure? God, I’m an idiot.’

  She summoned up a smile, knowing he’d meant nothing by the comment. And realistically, the chances of her seeing her own face splashed across the newspapers with damning headlines grew less and less with each week that passed. She’d made a mistake, trusted the wrong person, and been forced to hide away at the Star and Sixpence. Even Nessie didn’t know everything and that was the way Sam planned to keep it. But although her lapse of judgement had cost Sam a lot, it had also opened the door to change. It had given her Joss too and she was gradually starting to realise what a gift he had been. A vision of his summer-blue eyes flashed in her mind and she suddenly wished it was him sitting across from her. She’d been unfair, pushing him away when all he’d tried to do was show her how much he cared, and in denial about how much he was starting to mean to her.

  Shaking her head, she reached across and touched Nick’s hand. ‘Really, don’t worry. But we should probably call it a night. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course. Wall-to-wall romance, right? I bet you can’t wait.’

  By the time the bill arrived, Sam had the start of a headache. They had the usual tussle over who would pay but she was tired so didn’t argue as much as she might have done and let him pay. The sooner she slept, the sooner she could go home.

  Nick kept a solicitous hand on the small of her back as they wove through the tables. It felt as though everyone was firing covert glances their way. Nick was clearly used to it but being so obviously on display was a sensation Sam had forgotten about. It was a relief to slip into her coat and reach the door.

  She wasn’t prepared for the explosion of lights when she pushed back the door. Confused for a second, Sam blinked hard, and then the barrage of voices began.

  ‘New girlfriend, Nick?’

  ‘Over this way, darlin’, so we get your face.’

  ‘Smile, sweetheart! What’s your name?’

  Nick’s hand pressed against her back once more. ‘Head down, keep walking,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Pretend they’re not there.’

  The shouts continued as they hurried forwards. Seconds later they were through and Nick was hailing a cab.

  ‘Night, lads,’ Nick called as they climbed into the back, his tone friendly. ‘Have a good one.’

  Settling into the leather seat, Sam closed her eyes and waited for the sickening flashes behind her eyelids to fade.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Nick said. ‘I had no idea they’d be hanging around.’

  Wearily, Sam nodded. She’d seen clients get ambushed by the paparazzi before but it was the first time she’d been caught up in the spotlight herself. Nick’s advice had been spot on – in fact, she’d probably taught him how to deal with the cameras back when his career had just been taking off. ‘It’s a shame you weren’t with anyone newsworthy,’ she said, opening her eyes.

  Nick grinned and took her hand. ‘That’s what I love about you, Sam. You’re always thinking of the angle.’

  Nessie liked the living room of Snowdrop Cottage. The sofa was deep and comfortable, the kind that supported and cradled you at the same time. Soft lamps chased the darkness into the corners and a fire burned cosily inside the woodburner. Snuggled up at one end of the sofa, surrounded by cushions and with a book in her hands, Nessie felt a sense of deep contentment and her shoulders relaxed for the first time in months.

  Owen’s son, Luke, had been a delight. She’d been worried he would try to play up, refuse to go to bed or trick her into doing something he wouldn’t normally be allowed, but he’d been an angel. She’d listened as he told her all about his Lego character collection and helped him with his English homework, although she was sure he knew more about writing the perfect haiku than she did. Then at bedtime, she’d read a chapter from the book he was reading with Owen and Kathryn, and watched as his eyes grew heavier and heavier until she’d said goodnight and left him to sleep. She doubted whether every evening was as smooth but for her first effort at babysitting, it seemed to have gone pretty well.

  There was a photograph in a frame on the coffee table beside the sofa. It was a family shot, sunshine framing two laughing parents and a much younger Luke. Nessie picked it up and felt her heart ache. She’d glimpsed it before, of course, but had never had the time or the opportunity to study it so closely.

  The Owen in the photo seemed much lighter than the one she knew, although he was as black-haired as ever. Perhaps it was the fairness of Luke’s mother, balancing out his darkness, or perhaps he was simply untouched by the sorrow to come. There was no mistaking who the woman was: she was so like Luke, asleep upstairs, that Nessie thought she would have known Eliza Rhys even without the giveaway of Luke and Owen in the picture with her. She was beautiful, caught in such a moment of pure happiness that Nessie’s eyes welled up with tears. It wasn’t fair that she’d died so young. It wasn’t fair that Luke had lost such a mother, or that Owen had been robbed of a wife he clearly adored. And another realisation dawned, something that made the hope Nessie had been cherishing since New Year’s Eve crumble away. There was no way she could compete with the memory of Eliza. Not timid, mousy Nessie. Not when half the village women thought they were competing too.

  Taking great care, she placed the frame back onto the table and picked up her book. She must have eventually dozed off because the next thing she knew, the front door was opening and Owen was smiling in front of her. ‘Sorry to wake you.’

  Kathryn appeared behind him. Nessie lifted her head, blinking hard. ‘Hello. How was the gig?’

  ‘Amazing,’ Kathryn said, bubbling over with enthusiasm. ‘We’ve got another booking next month.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Nessie said warmly, remembering how good the band had been when they played at the Star and Sixpence on New Year’s Eve. She glanced at Owen. ‘Did you have fun?’

  ‘Apart from being the oldest person there by about a hundred years, yes,’ he said, his tone dry. ‘Everything okay here?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, and recounted everything she and Luke had done.

  ‘You got the Lego lecture,’ Kathryn said, picking up a tiny black-suited toy from the table. ‘I’m impressed. He only does that with people he really likes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Owen said. ‘You didn’t have to do this and I’m – we’re – very grateful.’

  Nessie checked her watch. ‘Honestly, it was my pleasure. But I should probably get back now and see what Joss has been getting up to.’

  ‘Let me walk you across,’ Owen said.

  It didn’t matter how many times Nessie told him not to trouble himself, Owen was determined. Nessie was torn between enjoying a few moments more of his company and the worry that he’d be able to hear her heart thudding beneath her chunky knitted cardigan. An awkward silence stretched between then as they crossed the yard to the Star and Sixpence.

  ‘So you want to come in for a drink?’ Nessie said as they reached the pub.

  Owen cleared his throat. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, but he made no move to go. Instead, he gazed down at her as though weighing something up. ‘Look, Nessie, I’m not r
eally—’

  The door of the pub opened and Tilly the barmaid walked out. ‘Ooh, sorry!’ she squeaked. ‘Didn’t see you there.’

  Nessie felt her cheeks flush as though she was sixteen again and she stepped hurriedly away from Owen. ‘Hi, Tilly. How was it tonight?’

  The teenager smiled. ‘Busy, but nothing we couldn’t handle.’ She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘Ruby’s had one too many. Joss is trying to persuade her to go home now.’

  Nessie sighed. It was the second time that week that her father’s old girlfriend had drunk too much. ‘Right. I should probably give him a hand.’ She flashed an apologetic glance at Owen. ‘Thanks for walking me over.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Thanks for looking after Luke.’

  He glanced at Tilly, and Nessie wondered whether he was deciding whether to finish his sentence. But then he raised a hand in farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Waving away Tilly’s offer to hang around, Nessie turned and went inside the pub.

  It wasn’t until Nessie was lying in bed much later, having guided an unsteady Ruby home, that she had time to wonder what Owen had been about to say before Tilly interrupted. From his body language it had been something important. He wasn’t really what? Over his wife? Oh God, that must be it, Nessie decided, feeling her cheeks flame in the darkness – he’d seen the way she’d been looking at him and was trying to let her down gently. Ugh. Just the thought of it made her die a little inside. Turning her face against the cool cotton pillow, Nessie closed her eyes. Thank goodness Tilly had appeared before he’d actually managed to say it, she thought with a shudder. At least this way she could salvage a little pride.

  Sam arrived home with Alyssa and a car packed with equipment around midday. The journey had been pleasant, although Sam had spent a restless night tossing and turning in her now unfamiliar bed so she let her companion do the talking. She pulled into the car park and stretched, before glancing quickly at her phone. Three missed calls from Nessie. What did that mean?

  Replacing her frown with a smile, Sam turned to Alyssa. ‘Let’s get you settled in.’

  Nessie met her at the door of the pub. ‘We need to talk.’

  Sam’s uneasiness grew. Nessie was prone to unnecessary worrying but there was something about her expression that made Sam pause. ‘What’s the problem? Is it about tonight?’

  Nessie held up a copy of a tabloid newspaper. ‘You’re a cover star.’

  A sudden icy chill made Sam shiver as she gazed at the photo beneath the red banner. It was unmistakably her, Nick looming at her shoulder. NICK’S MYSTERY WENCH! screamed the headline. She let out an exasperated groan – it must have been a slow news night for that to make the front page.

  Alyssa leaned forwards for a closer look. ‘I didn’t know you and Nick Borrowdale were a couple.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Sam said tersely. She glanced towards the bar. ‘I suppose Joss has seen it?’

  Nessie nodded. ‘And that’s not all. Some flowers came for you and I’m guessing from Joss’s reaction that they’re not from him. He’s not in the best mood . . .’

  Flowers? Sam blinked. Who on earth would send her flowers on Valentine’s Day? Hardly anyone knew where she lived. Rubbing her eyes, she threw an apologetic glance Alyssa’s way. ‘Sorry, it’s not normally so dramatic around here. Why don’t I take you upstairs? It looks like I’ve got some damage limitation to do.’

  The flowers were on the living room table. Sam left Alyssa to unpack her overnight bag and went to investigate. She was surprised to discover there were not one but two bouquets.

  ‘One for each of us,’ Nessie explained, her cheeks turning rosy.

  Sam’s eyes widened. ‘From Owen?’

  ‘From Patrick,’ Nessie said. ‘Can you believe it?’

  It was hard to believe, Sam thought, especially when Nessie’s husband had conspicuously failed to bother with any kind of romantic gesture in the fifteen years before Nessie had left him. But that was men, she supposed, always wanting what they couldn’t have.

  ‘How do you feel about it?’ she asked her sister warily. It would be just like Nessie to feel guilty.

  ‘It was a nice thing to do,’ Nessie replied, stroking a red rose petal. ‘The message on the card was quite sweet too. He hopes we’ll always be close.’

  Sam sniffed. ‘I bet he does. You’re not thinking about calling him, are you?’

  ‘No!’ Nessie exclaimed. ‘Of course not. It’s just . . .’ She let out a wistful sigh. ‘It’s just nice to know someone is thinking of you, even if it isn’t the person you hoped.’

  She meant Owen of course, Sam realised. ‘Maybe he’ll give you something in person,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

  Nessie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Aren’t you going to open yours?’ She fired a hard look Sam’s way. ‘I know Joss thinks they’re from Nick but I hope you’re not that stupid.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Sam said, thinking back to Nick’s offer the night before. ‘I know it looks bad but there’s nothing like that going on.’

  ‘So who sent the flowers?’ Nessie asked. ‘They must have cost a fortune; they look much more expensive than mine.’

  A faint alarm bell started to ring at the back of Sam’s mind. She took a closer look at the huge bouquet – velvety red roses nestled next to gorgeous purple orchids and pale lilac blooms she didn’t recognise. Who knew where she lived and expected such an ostentatious gesture to impress her? Her gaze settled on the small white envelope peeping out from beneath a leaf. There was only one way to find out . . .

  I’m sorry.

  There was no name, not even an initial. Silently, she held it out to Nessie.

  ‘Are you sure they’re not from Nick?’ Nessie ventured, after turning the card over. ‘Maybe he means the newspaper thing.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘Nick doesn’t have anything to be sorry for.’

  She stared at the blooms for a moment. There was one person who owed her an apology but she’d forbidden him ever from contacting her. Surely he wouldn’t be so idiotic?

  ‘What are you going to do with yours?’ she asked, nodding at the comparatively modest bouquet next to her own.

  Nessie blinked. ‘Find a vase for them, I guess. I don’t hate Patrick even if I don’t love him either.’ She paused. ‘Shall I find one for yours, too?’

  ‘No need,’ Sam said decisively, sweeping the flowers off the table and into the wastepaper basket. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. Now, I’d better go and explain a few things to Joss.’

  Nessie waited until Sam had gone downstairs to rescue the bouquet from the bin. Pulling on her coat, she slipped out of the side door and walked across to St Mary’s, hoping Father Goodluck might be able to use the flowers on the altar.

  ‘Sadly it is Lent and the church remains bare to reflect the sacrifice of the good Lord,’ he said, gazing at the flowers sadly. ‘But thank you for the thought. I hope you find someone who will appreciate their beauty.’

  Nessie said goodbye and took the bouquet outside. Now what? Put them on a grave? It seemed like a terrible waste to leave them to rot on the damp grass but she supposed it was better than having them rot in the bin.

  The worst of the February frost had melted and the air in the graveyard was crisp but not too cold. There was only one person buried there that Nessie knew – her father – and since he’d abandoned both her and Sam when they were very young, she wasn’t in the habit of laying flowers on his grave. Keeping to the path, she made her way around the back of the church to the willow tree that overhung the newer burial plots. As she got nearer, she saw that someone was already standing by Andrew Chapman’s grave, someone wrapped in a cobalt-blue swing coat, with red hair glinting in the sunshine: Ruby Cabernet, looking every inch the faded actress.

  Nessie hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but it was too late; Ruby had heard her approaching. She turned around and waved, leaving Nessie no choice but to move closer.

  ‘Darling, I wanted to
thank you for seeing me home last night,’ the older woman called, adjusting her enormous black sunglasses. ‘I must learn not to drink on an empty stomach; it never does me any good.’

  Nessie smiled. Ruby was warm and funny and popular among Little Monkham residents but there was no denying she drank too much, whether on an empty stomach or otherwise. In fact, Nessie had begun to suspect Ruby preferred a liquid lunch and perhaps a liquid breakfast too. It wasn’t any of her business, of course, except that it caused the occasional problem in the pub at closing time. ‘Don’t mention it,’ she said. ‘We all get a little tipsy from time to time.’

  Ruby tapped her nose. ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what Richard Burton used to say? “Ruby, darling,” he told me, “there isn’t a man-jack among us who hasn’t been as pissed as a lord at one time or another.” ’

  Nessie couldn’t help laughing. Ruby had a fascinating supply of stories from her acting days and both sisters could see how she’d captivated their father. Less clear was what she’d seen in him, a chronic alcoholic who’d chosen drink over his family, but Nessie had no doubt that Ruby had loved Andrew. Why else would she have brought a single red rose to him on Valentine’s Day?

  A flash of yellow caught Nessie’s eye. Burials in the churchyard were few and far between and so Eliza Rhys was buried only a few plots away. The vibrant yellow was a fresh bouquet, laid neatly at the base of her gravestone. Leaning against the stone itself was what looked like a hand-made child’s card.

  Nessie’s eyes prickled with unexpected tears. It had only been a few years since Eliza’s death; of course Owen and Luke would still be struggling with their loss. A worm of guilt wriggled through her, too, because for a fleeting second that morning, she’d hoped – dreamed – that the bouquet in the florist’s arms had been from Owen. And she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to feel that way – it could only lead to heartbreak. Then the flowers had turned out to be from Patrick and she’d felt a stirring of something else, of comfort and feeling flattered. Someone wanted her, even if Owen didn’t.