Autumn at the Star and Sixpence (2 page)

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

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, the 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.’

Nessie shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s been a lot of hard work.’

‘But it’s paying off big time,’ Patrick persisted. He threw an admiring glance her way. ‘You’re amazing, Ness.’

‘It’s not just me,’ Nessie said, looking flustered.

‘It’s your name above the door,’ he said, shrugging. ‘So I reckon you can bask in the glory. I’d forgotten how smart you are. How smart you
both
are.’

Sam frowned. Patrick had never been one for wild flattery before – he really was pulling out all the stops. And although she’d be the first to agree that her sister was resourceful
and clever, she hoped Nessie was wise enough to see through Patrick’s charm offensive. ‘We’ve had a lot of local support,’ she said in a meaningful tone. ‘From our
friends in the village.’

She gazed pointedly at Nessie as she added the last few words, hoping her sister would get the hint. Patrick was starting to attract interest from a few of the regulars dotted around the pub
– once they worked out who he was, his presence would be the talk of Little Monkham. Two pink spots appeared on Nessie’s cheeks: she understood exactly what Sam was getting at.

‘It’s really only meant to be pub employees behind the bar, Patrick,’ she said, sounding awkward. ‘Health and Safety, you know how it is.’

Patrick smiled. ‘No problem,’ he said, walking around to the customers’ side. ‘What drink does the landlady recommend?’

Sam bit back a sarcastic response and let Nessie pour him a pint of Thirsty Bishop. But she didn’t return upstairs; she balanced her laptop on the end of the bar and kept a watchful eye on
her brother-in-law. If Nessie didn’t make it clear Patrick wasn’t welcome at the Star and Sixpence later, she would.

It was unusually quiet for a Saturday night. Rain had set in during the afternoon, along with blustering winds that whistled around the Star and Sixpence and across the village
green, the tail end of a hurricane from the States that everyone had hoped would blow itself out across the Atlantic. Patrick and Nessie had headed to nearby Purdon for their meal.

‘Rather you than me,’ Sam had called with a shiver as they’d vanished into the gloomy twilight, and she’d meant more than just the weather. She couldn’t think of
much she’d like to do less than sit opposite Patrick making small talk.

She’d built a roaring fire in the huge fireplace at the heart of the pub and lit as many candles as she could find to create a cosy atmosphere, although she doubted many villagers would
brave the wind and the rain to join her and Tilly the barmaid. On nights like this, when the wind sighed around the old coaching inn and the beams creaked as they settled, Sam could almost feel the
shadows of the people who’d lived there before. The pub was said to be haunted by the ghost of a highwayman, a story Sam played on with some of their more credulous overnight guests. It had
also given her the idea for the Halloween Masked Ball; Sam was nothing if not practical and although she didn’t believe in ghosts herself, she wasn’t above exploiting the idea of them.
Even so, on a night like this she could easily believe that the creaks and moans were not all caused by the old building settling down for the night . . .

There was one regular Sam could always rely on to stop by: Ruby Cabernet, her late father’s girlfriend. When she and Nessie had first heard they’d inherited a pub from their
estranged alcoholic father, they hadn’t known what to expect. But they certainly hadn’t expected to find that a woman like Ruby had been part of his life. Ruby was glamorous and
vivacious, the embodiment of a faded acting star who had retired to the country after a glittering career on the stage. At first Sam hadn’t known what to make of her but she’d soon come
to like and admire Ruby. What she didn’t like so much – what no one in the village really liked – was the amount Ruby drank.

‘Awful night,’ Ruby said as she pushed the pub door shut and shook the raindrops from her fur-trimmed hood. ‘There’s a tempest worthy of Prospero himself blowing out
there.’

She unhooked her heavy-looking cape and draped it across one of the chairs facing the fire to dry. Typical Ruby, Sam thought, eyeing the older woman’s forest green wiggle dress and kitten
heels; anyone else would be in boots and a waterproof coat but Ruby maintained she had
standards
and never looked anything other than extraordinary. Her red hair was always perfectly set,
her make-up immaculate. She was Little Monkham’s style icon and the PR girl in Sam was itching to find out more about her.
One day
, she told herself.

Ruby glanced around the bar with wide eyes. ‘Don’t tell me I’m the only one brave enough to battle the elements?’

Sam managed a rueful smile. ‘It looks that way. I could have George Clooney here tonight and we’d still be on our own.’

‘Then I’d better have a double G&T, if I’m your only patron,’ Ruby said, arching a delicately drawn eyebrow. ‘And perhaps one for George, too.’

Tilly set to work pouring Ruby’s drink while Sam joined her at a table by the fire. The older woman took a long sip of gin then smacked her lips together in appreciation. ‘The first
one always hits the spot.’

Sam dredged up a smile, doubting very much that this was Ruby’s first drink of the day. ‘We aim to please.’

Ruby leaned back into her seat. ‘No Nessie tonight?’

Sam hesitated. Had word got around about Patrick already? But she only saw friendly interest in Ruby’s eyes; if she was on a fact-finding mission she was hiding it well. ‘She’s
out for dinner with an old friend.’

‘Old friends,’ Ruby sighed. ‘The best kind. Of course, when you get to my age most of your old friends have gone to that great green room in the sky.’

‘Ruby!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘You’re not old.’

The other woman shook her head, her eyes twinkling. ‘To quote darling Harrison Ford, it’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.’

Sam laughed. ‘I’m sure every mile has been worth it.’

The door swung open again. This time it was Owen. He stood for a moment, rain glistening in his black curls. Ruby’s scarlet lips curved into a smile as she winked at Sam. ‘Who needs
George Clooney when you’ve got Owen Rhys?’

‘Pint of Thirsty Bishop, Owen?’ Tilly called, reaching for a glass.

He nodded as he shrugged off his coat. ‘It’d be rude not to, especially since I hear it’s award-winning.’ He glanced around. ‘Quiet in here.’

‘The important people are present,’ Ruby said briskly. ‘The stalwarts.’

‘The hard core,’ Owen replied as he crossed to the bar. He fired a swift smile at Sam.

‘Although if you’re looking for Nessie, you’re going to be disappointed,’ Ruby said. ‘Sam says she’s out on the town.’

‘Oh?’ Owen said easily. ‘I’m sorry to have missed her.’

Sam didn’t think Nessie would mind – the last thing she’d want was to run into Owen before she’d given Patrick his marching orders. Maybe Sam wouldn’t mention Owen
had stopped by. Unless of course Nessie hadn’t told Patrick the news . . . then Sam might use it to remind her sister where her future lay. And that Patrick wasn’t part of it.

Owen carried his pint over to where Ruby and Sam sat beside the fire. The conversation touched on Sam’s plans for Oktoberfest and the range of beers Connor planned to offer. Briefly, Sam
wondered how different things might have been if Joss was still around but she didn’t let her thoughts dwell on him; thanks to Connor, they were doing very well without Joss’s help.
Ruby had launched into a scandalous tale from eighties Soho when the door opened again and Nessie walked in. She stopped dead when she saw Owen.

‘Nessie,’ he said, getting to his feet with a smile. ‘I thought you were out for the evening.’

Nessie’s panic-filled gaze flew to Sam. ‘There’s a fallen tree blocking the Purdon road so we turned back.’

Ruby patted an empty chair next to her. ‘Then Purdon’s loss is our gain.’

Sam saw Nessie half-glance over her shoulder and knew Patrick must be on his way into the bar. Her brain flew into damage limitation mode. ‘Did the two of you manage to hammer out the
details?’