Summer at the Star and Sixpence Page 6

  Chapter Eight

  Nessie knew she needed to keep her mind on the job but it was hard, knowing that her sister was racing towards London, probably in no fit state to drive. How could this happen, today of all days? She’d known Sam’s secret lover was someone explosive – it had to be for her to have lost her job – and her sister had always said it was someone the newspapers would tear apart. But since they’d taken over the Star and Sixpence, Sam had started to relax a little. Maybe she’d even convinced herself that her ill-judged one-night stand wasn’t coming back to bite her. Nessie had certainly almost forgotten about it. Now it had raised its head again and its mouth appeared to be full of sharp fangs. She hoped this last-minute journey to London was worth it.

  Most of the guests for the wedding reception and meal had arrived from the church now and were mingling on the village green. The catering staff wove through the crowd, offering perfectly chilled glasses of Pimm’s and tall flutes of crisp champagne. Nessie spotted Joss doing a roaring trade with his kegs of Thirsty Bishop and Sycamore cider, not far from the Punch and Judy stand. Elsewhere, there was a coconut shy and a giant game of Jenga and plenty of other village fête-type games to keep the guests happy while the newly wed Mr and Mrs Brady had their photographs taken. There wasn’t much for Nessie to do but she found herself standing in the middle of the green feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

  ‘Are you all right, Nessie?’ Kathryn asked, as she passed by with Luke. ‘You look a bit lost.’

  Nessie gave herself a mental shake. ‘It’s nothing really, just a slight hiccup.’

  She explained Sam’s absence, although she kept the reason for her sister’s abrupt departure to herself.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Kathryn said, as Luke scampered away to play with friends. Spotting her brother, she raised her voice. ‘Owen, come over here. Sam’s had to leave and Nessie is a bit short-handed.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Nessie said, striving to hide her embarrassment as Owen approached. ‘It’s mostly keeping an eye on the bar, making sure any drinks are being run through correctly so that we can generate a bill at the end of the night, letting the bar staff take a break when they need to. But really, I can manage.’

  Owen glanced towards the almost empty pub. ‘I don’t think there’s too much to worry about at the moment. Everyone is too busy enjoying the sunshine and fun on the green.’

  Nessie allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by how good he looked in his tailored black suit. More used to seeing him in work clothes, she wouldn’t have believed he owned such a well-cut suit if she hadn’t seen him in it. She’d been at the back of the church – far enough away to be able to stare at him out of the corner of her eye without being noticed. ‘There’s nothing to worry about at all,’ she said to Kathryn and Owen. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

  The mood on the green was joyous. The sun beamed down and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky – JoJo had thoughtfully arranged for tubes of sun cream to be left in the luxury toilet trailers, as well as flip-flops for aching feet. An ice-cream van served mini cornets and delicious fresh fruit ice lollies to anyone who wanted one and the queue was long. The air rang with the sound of chatter and laughter and the sound of people enjoying themselves. After an hour or so, the guests began to drift into the marquee and Nessie assumed they were being seated for dinner. After checking all was well behind the bar, she followed them in.

  The marquee was a vision of loveliness. The grass had been covered with a hard floor and fully carpeted. Nessie counted more than thirty tables, each with beautiful cascades of peonies in the centre and seats decked with azure blue ribbon that matched the bridesmaids’ dresses. Gradually, the guests made their way to the numbered tables. And at the head of the room, in pride of place, was the top table.

  Mr and Mrs Smith were sitting down already, with the groom’s parents, Mr and Mrs Brady. Best Man Jed was there too, shuffling through his notes and looking nervous. Thank goodness he didn’t seem to have taken too much Dutch courage, the way Patrick’s Best Man had; he’d passed out just before the speeches and hadn’t woken up again until just after their first dance.

  Nessie hovered unobtrusively at the back of the tent and tried not to stare too much at Owen. Once it was clear everyone had found their table, Jed lifted a microphone to his lips. ‘Pray be upstanding for the brand new Mr and Mrs Brady!’

  The room erupted into thunderous applause as JoJo and Jamie entered the marquee. Nessie spotted Franny dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and smiling at Henry Fitzsimmons in a way he seemed oblivious to. Maybe that would be the next wedding of the year, Nessie thought, struggling to keep her face straight.

  She slipped out midway through the speeches to check for messages from Sam. She wasn’t expecting anything yet – it was a good few hours’ drive to London and her sister wouldn’t get in touch until she had news. But she checked all the same. After that, she headed back to the Star and Sixpence, looking resplendent at the top of the green in the glorious late-afternoon sun. Apart from the fact that Sam should have been there, basking in the glory of a job well done, Nessie realised she wasn’t really missing her sister in a professional capacity. The hard work had been done in the days and weeks preceding the wedding, and she’d have been lost without her then. Unless this was the calm before the storm, Nessie thought, biting her lip. She hoped not: she wasn’t sure she could handle any more surprises today.

  Sam met Nick in Golden Square. It had always been one of her favourite London gems, tucked away almost unnoticed behind the bustling Soho streets, like an emerald nestled behind a flashy, attention-grabbing diamond. Nick wore a baseball cap and dark glasses to disguise himself and Sam was grateful for his thoughtfulness – the last thing she needed was a throng of adoring Smugglers’ Inn fans following them on their way to the office of his PR advisor.

  ‘Lizzy knows the basics but I’ve left the details for you to fill in,’ Nick said as they arrived at the deserted offices. ‘Between the three of us we should be able to manage the situation.’

  Sam placed her hand on his arm. ‘Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate this.’

  He took off his sunglasses and smiled at her. ‘No problem. Anything for you.’

  The door buzzed and they took the lift up to the fifth-floor offices of Goldman PR. Lizzy greeted them both with warmth in spite of the fact that Sam knew she’d been pulled away from her family to deal with this. Then again, when your client was Nick Borrowdale, you went the extra mile.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Lizzy said, once they were seated in her office with a steaming pot of coffee between them. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that honesty is the best policy here – whatever you tell me will remain strictly between us.’

  It felt strange to Sam to be on the other side of the desk. She knew Lizzy by reputation and had always been impressed by the way she’d managed Nick’s public persona. Not that he needed much handling – once his star had gone well and truly supernova he’d become a PR dream. Which made it all the more important that his role in this mess be managed the right way.

  After Sam had spilled out the whole sorry tale, Lizzy sat back, looking thoughtfully between Sam and Nick. ‘Forgive me for asking this, but what is your actual relationship? Are you seeing each other?’

  ‘No,’ Nick said. ‘We spent the night together on occasion if it suited us, but not since Sam left London.’

  Was it Sam’s imagination or was there a hint of regret behind his words? She shook the thought away. ‘I’m in a relationship with someone else. The thing with Will happened before I met him but he doesn’t know about it.’ She paused. ‘Yet.’

  Lizzy sighed. ‘You worked in PR for years, Sam, so you know how this is likely to go. From the sounds of things, the story is going to run. We need to think about damage limitation and how we do that depends on who’s running the story.’

  ‘The journalist I spoke to was from The Sunday Planet,’ Nick said.

  ‘She means th
e source,’ Sam explained. ‘Not the outlet.’

  Lizzy nodded. ‘If Marina Pargeter is behind the story then we could try to cloud the waters, suggest that Sam isn’t the only other woman or maybe even issue a flat-out denial. But if it’s Will himself, then we’re in trouble.’ She paused. ‘I have to say that if Will was my client, I’d be tempted to break the story first to get his side of events into the public consciousness.’

  ‘That’s what I’d do too,’ Sam said.

  ‘Have you had any contact with him since the start of the week?’ the other woman asked.

  ‘No. I’ve called in a few favours with journalists to see if any of them could find out whether any deals were being done and spoke to a few friends at Brightman and Burgess. Nobody had anything concrete – even the ones who work closely with Myles hadn’t heard much.’ Sam shook her head. ‘I thought about arranging a meeting today and confronting him but decided not to on the drive down.’

  ‘Good,’ Lizzy said as she picked up the phone. ‘Let’s go straight to the horse’s mouth. I’m going to call Myles.’

  Sam fixed her gaze out of the window as the conversation wore on and tried to resist the urge to tear the phone out of Lizzy’s hand. Myles was clearly being slippery but Lizzy was a pro.

  ‘My client is concerned about how the revelations will affect her relationships and reputation,’ she said, fixing her eyes on Sam. ‘And since it was your client who failed to mention his wife and young children before spending the night with her, I don’t think there’s any doubt who is in the wrong.’

  Her gaze hardened as she listened. ‘If you do that my client will sue.’

  Sam’s heart sank. It was abundantly clear who the source of the story was now. He was going to hang her out to dry to save himself. She waited for Lizzy to finish the conversation before venting her fury.

  ‘Those bastards! They’re putting all of this on me, aren’t they?’

  Lizzy let out a humourless laugh. ‘Pretty much. Reading between the lines, Myles has set up some kind of heartfelt confessional interview between Will and The Sunday Planet. Myles suggested that Marina’s post-natal depression left Will vulnerable and you made a play for him, knowing exactly who he was.’

  ‘Bull,’ Sam snapped. ‘Will came onto me, not the other way round. I had no idea who he was until afterwards. Myles knows that.’

  ‘That’s why Will’s version of events sounds so plausible,’ Lizzy said. ‘Myles is holding all the cards. So, how do you want to handle it?’

  Sam passed a weary hand across her eyes. ‘I don’t think there’s any way we can suppress the story. So you’re right, we need to limit the damage. I suppose I could tell my side of things but no one will be interested in me until I make the headlines.’

  ‘We could make you more interesting,’ Nick said.

  ‘How?’ Lizzy asked dubiously. ‘No offence, Sam. You know what we mean.’

  ‘What if we staged a romance between Sam and me?’ Nick said. ‘The papers already think there’s something going on. What if we build on that and get snapped out together, very clearly in love?’

  ‘No,’ Sam said immediately. ‘Thanks, Nick, but I don’t think that’s going to help my relationship.’

  ‘But it might save your reputation, and weaken Will’s lies,’ Lizzy mused. ‘Think about it: Will is involved with politics and people naturally distrust politicians, whereas Nick is practically a national treasure, his likeability is sky-high. Coming out as being in a committed relationship with you won’t hurt that, in fact, women will probably love him more for standing by you at a difficult time.’

  Sam pictured the look on Joss’s face when she tried to explain. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you, Nick, I love you for offering but there must be another way.’

  ‘Then you could ride it out,’ Lizzy suggested. ‘Keep a dignified silence, refuse all interview requests. The trouble with that is it makes you look guilty and Will gets away with it.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘You might get dragged into the divorce, too. Marina Pargeter could name you as the other woman.’

  ‘That’s if they get divorced,’ Sam argued. ‘There’s more mileage in an emotional reunion and glossy magazine feature showing them as stronger than ever.’

  ‘You’re thinking like a PR,’ Nick said gently. ‘Marina is a woman scorned, remember? Would you take someone back after they’d cheated on you and broadcast it to the nation, dragging your mental health through the mud in the process?’

  ‘No,’ Sam admitted, feeling another rush of indignant fury on Marina’s behalf. ‘I’d string him up by his balls.’

  Lizzy narrowed her eyes. ‘The post-natal depression angle might backfire on Will. What he’s actually doing is subtly laying some of the blame on Marina – if she’d been looking after him properly at home, he’d never have strayed.’

  It was a good point, Sam realised. ‘Maybe we can use that. Can we prime a few friendly female journalists? Get a media-friendly health professional lined up to denounce him for blaming his wife?’

  ‘I think we should target his role as advisor to Number Ten, too,’ Lizzy said. ‘How can he preach to anyone about morality when he can’t respect his wedding vows? Let’s play up the young family angle as well – he abandoned his responsibilities there. Didn’t the government publish a report on the impact of divorce on children’s achievement not so long ago?’

  Nick looked back and forth between them, his expression half-admiring, half-amused. ‘You two are ruthless. I almost feel sorry for this guy.’

  ‘Will Pargeter is a class A manipulator,’ Lizzy said. ‘I have no issues with taking him down.’

  Sam sat back, trying to be objective. The next few days were going to be tough. If they went with the angle she and Lizzy had just worked out, Will would win the opening round but there was every chance Sam would win the war. And she knew only too well that today’s news was tomorrow’s tumbleweed. She’d always be known as Will Pargeter’s other woman, though, a situation that would be made even worse if Marina cited her in any divorce petition. Sam glanced sideways at Nick. If it wasn’t for Joss, she’d have accepted his offer in a heartbeat. Pretending to be loved up with him would be no hardship whatsoever.

  ‘Okay,’ she said with a decisive nod. ‘Let’s do it that way. Lizzy, you see if you can dig up a journo or two to run opinion pieces.’

  She pulled her phone from her bag and began to dial.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Nick asked sympathetically. ‘Joss?’

  ‘An old friend,’ Sam said, with a grim smile. ‘When the Archbishop of Canterbury condemns a man for cheating on his wife, people pay attention.’

  Nick whistled. ‘Wow, go Sam. Will Pargeter is about to find out he messed with the wrong PR.’

  Chapter Nine

  The wedding meal went without a hitch. Once again, it was clear that no expense had been spared; the service was perfect and the food looked mouth-watering. Nessie didn’t see every course but the crab and fennel tart starters smelled divine, as did the chocolate orange crème brûlée dessert. But it was the aroma of the freshly percolated coffee that gave her the most envy and, realising she hadn’t eaten or drunk since before the wedding ceremony itself, she headed back to the pub for a break.

  The rest of the villagers began to arrive at the green around six-thirty. JoJo and Jamie had issued an open invitation to join them for dancing and drinks into the night and it looked as though Little Monkham’s residents had taken them at their word. The bar of the Star and Sixpence began to get busy and Nessie was glad they’d taken on some extra staff for the night; the free bar was definitely whetting people’s whistles.

  She hadn’t heard from Sam and it was worrying her. Of course, she knew that Sam had more important things to think about, but even so, by seven o’clock, Nessie was picturing her sister arrested for assault, or worse. She did her best to put it out of her mind and took the opportunity of a lull in trade to wander over to the marquee to catch JoJo and Jamie’s fir
st dance.

  The tables hadn’t been moved after the meal; most of the guests were still seated at them, although they’d moved around a lot. Nessie frowned as she wove her way between the tables – where exactly was the first dance going to take place? Wasn’t there supposed to be a band later too? She felt a stab of anxiety even though it wasn’t part of her remit. Had something gone wrong?

  At the top table, Jed tapped the microphone and raised it to his lips. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Put your hands together for Mr and Mrs Brady’s first dance!’

  The curtain at the end of the marquee fell away, revealing another, black-roofed tent complete with twinkling starlight overhead and a glitter ball. A band was poised on a small stage near the back and the sides of the tent had been opened up to allow guests to gather around the edges. With a murmur of delight, people got to their feet and made their way over to watch.

  A collective aaah filled the air as Jamie led JoJo to the middle of the dance floor and the band began to play the opening bars of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. Cameras started to flash almost instantly. Nessie found herself standing next to Martha from the village bakery and her husband, Rob.

  ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’ Martha sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. ‘I remember her being born. Now look at her.’

  Nessie smiled. Everyone she’d spoken to had a story about JoJo, a memory to share. It was one of the things that made it such a lovely wedding, a day Nessie knew she’d remember for a long time.

  Around halfway through the song, Kate and Jed joined the bride and groom on the dance floor. They beckoned the other guests to dance too. Nessie smiled as Martha dragged Rob to join in. Reminded once more of her own wedding, Nessie turned to slip away and found Owen there.

  ‘They make a lovely couple, don’t they?’ he said, nodding at JoJo and Jamie, who were gazing into each other’s eyes as though they were the only two people there.

  ‘They do,’ Nessie agreed. ‘But doesn’t every bride and groom? They’ll never be more in love than they are at this moment.’