Autumn at the Star and Sixpence (8 page)

Kathryn sat down opposite her. ‘What are we talking about here? Work? Relationships? A tricky new cocktail recipe?’

Sam shook her head. ‘Men. I just ran into Joss and – well – let’s just say I don’t think we’ll ever be friends.’

Kathryn raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s stubborn. And proud – it can’t be easy for him seeing you splashed all over the papers with Nick.’ She held up her hands as Sam
started to speak. ‘I know why you did it. I’m just saying it fanned the flames of Joss’s anger, that’s all.’

‘His unfounded anger,’ Sam pointed out defensively. ‘The thing with Will happened before I’d even met Joss, remember?’

‘I remember,’ Kathryn replied. ‘But he was always a bit jealous of Nick, a bit insecure over you. Knowing you and Nick are together now might be hard for him to take,
especially if he’s realised he had no one to blame but himself.’

Sam frowned. ‘Do you think he has realised that?’

‘What – that he acted like an idiot?’ Kathryn snorted. ‘Plenty of people told him he had, so I imagine the seed has been planted. Don’t worry, he’ll calm
down. Eventually.’

Sam took a deep breath and pushed Joss from her mind. ‘It doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t. How are things with you?’

Kathryn sat back. ‘They’re okay. I spoke to Owen, told him I wanted to do more gigs.’

‘And?’

‘And he took it well,’ Kathryn said. ‘So now we just need to find a way to get him out of the house and Nessie over here to babysit. Any ideas?’

Mentally, Sam flicked through the coming month. ‘We’ve got the Halloween Ball soon but obviously they’d both be attending that, along with Luke. Can’t you invite Owen to
a gig, the way you did before?’

Kathryn tipped her head to one side. ‘I could. I don’t think he really enjoyed it but I could apply a bit of pressure, make him feel guilty for not being more supportive.’

Sam flashed her an admiring look. ‘I like your thinking. When’s your next gig?’

They compared diaries and picked a date when Sam thought Nessie would be free. Kathryn promised to get to work on Owen as soon as she could and Sam agreed to soften Nessie up, although she knew
her sister doted on Luke and loved looking after him. The more Owen and Nessie were pushed together, the more likely it was they would give in to their obvious attraction and the happier everyone
would be.

After plotting with Kathryn, Sam headed over to Weir Cottage to visit Ruby. She hadn’t been in the pub the night before and while that wasn’t unheard of, it was unusual.
There’d been a nasty bout of flu working its way around some of the village residents and Sam wanted to be sure Ruby hadn’t fallen victim to it.

There was no answer at the front door. Frowning, Sam glanced at the windows, which were still curtained even though it was now mid-afternoon. Then she let herself through the side-gate; maybe
Ruby was in the garden and hadn’t heard her knock.

There was no sign of her in the garden and the back door was shut too. Sam gave it an experimental rattle. It was locked. Shading her eyes, she peered through the window. What she saw made her
blood run cold. Ruby was lying on the kitchen floor, motionless. A shattered bottle lay by her side.

Sam rapped sharply on the window. ‘Ruby!’ she shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’

There was no sign that she’d heard. Pulling out her phone, Sam called Nessie.

‘Does anyone have a key to Ruby’s cottage?’ she asked, the moment Nessie answered.

‘I – I don’t know,’ Nessie stammered. ‘I think Franny might have one, or maybe Joss – he used to take her home a lot when he still worked here. Why,
what’s happened?’

Joss, Sam thought, why did it have to be Joss? But there was no time to worry about that now.

‘Phone them both and see if either of them can get over to Weir Cottage right now,’ Sam barked. ‘Ruby’s had some kind of accident but I can’t get in to help her.
She’s not moving.’

She hung up on Nessie and immediately dialled 999. She could only hope it wasn’t too late.

Joss was out of breath when he met Sam by the cottage gate.

‘What’s wrong?’ he puffed. ‘Nessie said Ruby was hurt?’

‘I think she’s had a fall,’ Sam said, leading him to the back of the cottage. ‘The ambulance is on its way but I’m worried. She’s not moving.’

Joss’s expression was grim as he peered through the window. ‘Stand back,’ he told Sam, waving to one side as he lined himself up with the back door.

‘What are you doing?’ Sam asked in alarm. ‘Don’t you have a key?’

He shook his head. ‘I gave it back when I left the pub. Now keep out of the way. I don’t want you to get hurt too.’

Sam did as she was told, glancing down the side-path for Franny or the ambulance. There was no sign of either and every minute that passed could mean the difference between life and death for
Ruby. She watched as Joss bunched his muscles and put his shoulder to the door.

The woodwork creaked but held under the first barge. Joss clenched his jaw and hit the door again, and again. On the third hit, the wood gave way and the door flew back. Joss tumbled inside.

‘Are you okay?’ Sam called, hurrying inside the cottage after him.

Joss rubbed and flexed his shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ he said shortly. ‘Check Ruby.’

Sam knelt down carefully among the shattered glass and peered at Ruby. She was pale but breathing, her eyes fluttering beneath her strangely naked eyelids. ‘She’s still with
us,’ Sam said. ‘Should we try to move her? Put her into the recovery position?’

There was a clatter from outside and Franny appeared, leading the paramedics. ‘Thank God,’ Sam said, exchanging a relieved look with Joss.

Sam went with Ruby in the ambulance. She’d wanted to speak to Joss, to thank him for his help but he’d been deep in conversation with Franny and there’d been no time, anyway;
understandably, the paramedics were keen to get Ruby to hospital as soon as possible. They thought she’d fallen in the kitchen, hitting her head on the tiled floor and knocking herself
unconscious. What was really worrying them was a suspected fractured hip but they couldn’t confirm without an X-ray.

So Sam had contented herself with sending a grateful smile Joss’s way as the ambulance doors closed, pleased when he’d nodded in reply. Maybe, just maybe, it was the start of a
ceasefire between them.

Nessie stayed behind to clear up the mess. Franny offered to help but Nessie saw a gleam in the other woman’s eye that suggested she was itching to nose around and she
didn’t think Ruby would appreciate that so she declined.

She packaged up the broken glass – from a bottle of decent Chablis – and mopped up the spilled wine. There was an empty gin bottle on the side, which she took out to the recycling
bin and what she saw there made her pause. The black basket had five empty wine bottles and another large gin bottle nestling at the bottom. The recycling van called round on Thursday mornings,
suggesting that this was two days’ worth of drinking for Ruby. Nessie bit her lip. She hadn’t realised it was so bad. No wonder Ruby had fallen.

Back inside the cottage, she opened up the cupboards, searching for cleaning products. There wasn’t much in the way of Flash but she found plenty of alcohol. It was everywhere she looked:
stashed under the sink, in the cupboards next to the tins of soup, in the freezer. She even found a half-empty bottle of gin beside Ruby’s bed, a glass with a shrivelled-up slice of lemon at
the bottom next to it.

Nessie collected everything she found and put it on the draining board. There were twenty-eight bottles of wine, port, vodka and gin. Some were open, others were still sealed. She stared at the
collection in mute horror. Ruby didn’t just like a drink; she was an alcoholic, just like Nessie’s father had been.

Feeling sick, she poured the contents of the open bottles down the sink. Then she found some bags and packed up what was left. At some point Ruby would be coming home and Nessie didn’t
want there to be a single drop of alcohol left in the house.

She did another sweep before she left, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. There was one room that was locked, a bedroom at the front of the cottage. Nessie rummaged around on
Ruby’s dressing table, taking care not to disturb any of her precious make-up, until she found the key. She turned the handle slowly, dreading what she was about to find.

It was a shrine to Ruby’s acting days. There was no bed. The walls were lined with framed photographs – some black and white, some colour – of a much younger-looking Ruby with
a plethora of famous faces. Nessie recognised all the greats – Laurence Olivier, Cary Grant, a young Judi Dench and many more besides. There were other pictures too, of Ruby with a little
boy, both of them smiling into the camera, and with a man Nessie didn’t recognise but assumed must be her husband. And then there were photographs Nessie hadn’t expected to find –
ones of her and Sam when they were children. These must have belonged to her father, she guessed; Ruby must have rescued them from the pub after he’d died.

‘Oh Ruby,’ Nessie murmured, gazing at the pictures sadly.

Her gaze strayed to the desk beneath the pictures of her and her sister, to a neatly bundled parcel of handwritten envelopes. They were addressed to Sam and Nessie Chapman, at their
mother’s address. All were marked ‘Return to Sender’ in defiant red ink.

Nessie didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the envelopes. Her mother had always claimed their father had vanished without trace and had never tried to contact his daughters
again. The sight of those letters was proof that she’d lied. Nessie reached out a hand and traced her name on the uppermost envelope; for a moment, she was tempted to open them but even
though they were meant for her and Sam, it felt somehow wrong to read them behind Ruby’s back. Once the other woman was back to full health Nessie would ask about them. Until then, the
letters would remain where they were, unread and waiting.

The hospital confirmed Ruby had broken her hip. The operation to pin the fracture had to wait until her bloodstream was clear of alcohol, during which time Ruby was alternately
charming or difficult. Sam and Nessie took it in turns to go to the hospital during the days that followed but she had no shortage of visitors; when it came to looking after their own, Little
Monkham rallied round.

By the time the evening of the Halloween Ball rolled around, decorating the Star and Sixpence was the last thing Sam and Nessie felt like doing. But the guests would be arriving soon, incognito
and expecting a bloodthirsty evening – there was no way they could cancel.

Nick arrived just as Sam was dangling glittery spiders from the ceiling. He pulled on a black tricorn hat low over his eyes and glowered up at her. ‘Elijah Blackheart, at your service,
ma’am,’ he rasped. ‘If you’d just hand over all your jewels and valuables I’d be much obliged.’

Sam climbed down the ladder and stared at him suspiciously. ‘That’s a very convincing hat. Is it the one you wear in
Smugglers’ Inn
?’

Nick grinned. ‘Might be. Don’t tell the props department.’

Sam laughed. ‘You’d better hang on to it, then. You know what your fans are like, they’ll do anything to own their very own bit of
Smugglers’
swag.’

‘Who are you dressing up as?’ Nick asked, kissing her cheek. He’d shaved his trademark stubble for the role too. ‘Please tell me it’s something fabulous.’

Sam smiled, thinking of the skin-tight Catwoman costume in her wardrobe upstairs. ‘I’ll see your highwayman and raise you a superhero.’

‘Wait until you see it,’ Nessie called from the other side of the bar. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s going to give Franny a coronary.’

‘Or Henry,’ Sam said, with a wicked smile. ‘How are you, anyway? The guest rooms are fully booked, I’m afraid – JoJo and her sister are staying up there – so
you’ll have to bunk in with me. Is that all right?’

‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ Nick replied, his eyes twinkling. He waved a hand around the bar. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Sam grinned and handed him a fistful of drawing pins. ‘I’m glad you asked that. How are you with bats?’

By nine-thirty, Sam was regretting her costume choice. It was too hot, too tight and had definite drawbacks in the comfort break department. But it had certainly turned heads;
Nick’s eyes had lit up when she’d appeared in the bedroom door and he’d kissed her in a way that left no doubt of his appreciation. There’d been a gratifying moment of
silence when she’d entered the crowded bar, broken by a long, low wolf whistle that had almost made her blush. Even so, Sam was beginning to wish she’d gone for a classical Venetian
vampire costume like Nessie – anything that meant a visit to the toilet didn’t take half an hour.

Owen and Luke had come as Batman and Robin, which was cute. Connor was cutting an elegant figure as Zorro, complete with a wicked-looking rapier. Franny appeared to be dressed as Elizabeth I and
Henry looked very much like Henry VIII, which Sam found an oddly incestuous pairing. Nick was getting an unbelievable amount of attention as Elijah Blackheart – as Sam had predicted, die-hard
Smugglers’ Inn
fans had recognised the authentic hat almost instantly and she’d heard more than one over-excited guest plotting to steal it by the end of the night. Inevitably,
some guests had turned up in similar outfits but most just laughed it off. There were one or two whose costumes were so good that Sam couldn’t identify exactly who was underneath. She
hadn’t spotted Joss and assumed he’d decided not to come.

By ten-thirty, the party was in full swing. Connor’s Dark and Stormy cocktails were going down well – cider and rum topped with ginger ale was proving a potent mix and more than one
guest was looking the worse for wear. The band Sam had booked to play had everyone up dancing with a mixture of covers from every decade. Nick had dragged Sam to join in with the Time Warp,
although she had to go outside for some fresh air afterwards. And then, just before eleven o’clock, the lights went out.

‘Don’t panic, everyone,’ she called, with a silent groan. ‘The switch has just tripped. Let me find a torch and I’ll have the lights back on in a
heartbeat.’