‘But it wouldn’t be loveless,’ he said, his blue eyes almost pleading. ‘I love you, Sam. I love our baby, even though we’ve only just met.’
She wavered then. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘It’s true,’ Joss insisted, as though sensing her uncertainty. ‘And I think you love me too.’
The trouble was that she did love him. But not the way she needed to. ‘I’m sorry, Joss. I – I don’t think I do. And I don’t think you really love me – not deep down.’
His gaze dipped and several moments passed before he spoke again. ‘Okay, I understand.’
Tears pricked at the back of Sam’s eyes as she watched him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, looking up with a brittle smile. ‘I should have known I wouldn’t be able to change your mind. It was hard enough when we were together.’
‘You’ll thank me one day,’ she said, swallowing hard.
He managed a half-laugh then. ‘Let’s not go that far, Sam.’
*
The training course was over.
Nessie yawned and stretched as the last of her fellow delegates departed; she was surprised there wasn’t more she hadn’t already known. It had been a risk, spending a day away from the Star and Sixpence when the Easter Extravaganza was in less than a week, and Nessie suspected the course might have proved to be a waste of her precious time if it hadn’t felt so good to get out of the confines of Little Monkham. She loved the village, but it was definitely good to get away every now and then, and the bustle of Birmingham’s crowded streets had made a pleasing change on her walk from the station that morning.
‘Nessie Chapman?’
She looked up from her seat, startled; she was sure there hadn’t been anyone she knew on the course. But the woman standing in front of Nessie hadn’t been a delegate. She was older; dressed in a pin-sharp grey suit, with platinum blonde hair, and she wore the kind of confident smile that suggested she was used to being listened to.
‘Hi,’ Nessie said, smiling back. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, we’ve never met,’ the woman said. ‘Although I did email you several weeks ago. My name is Anne Coutts and I’m here to offer you a job.’
Nessie felt her smile slip a little. ‘It’s lovely to meet you and I’m very flattered by your interest, but I’m not actually looking for a new job. There’s no way I’d consider leaving the Star and Sixpence.’
Anne took a seat at the table. ‘I thought you might say that but just hear me out, that’s all I ask. And if you’re still not interested, then I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Okay,’ Nessie replied, hoping she didn’t sound as reluctant as she felt. She wished she’d been quicker off the mark in packing up her things, but perhaps Anne would have simply caught her somewhere else.
‘As I said in my email, your reputation is quite something,’ Anne said. ‘Success stories like the Star and Sixpence are exactly what the industry needs right now and I’d like some of your magic to rub off on our McBride pubs.’
‘It’s not just me,’ Nessie said, uncomfortably aware that it was mostly Sam’s PR genius that had made the Star and Sixpence what it was. ‘My sister is probably the one you want.’
Anne tipped her head. ‘No, I’m fairly certain it’s you, Nessie. I’m not sure how much you know about McBride, but we have over a hundred pubs spread across the country and we have a pretty effective PR team in place already. What I need is someone who can bring a fresh perspective to the table – someone who has experience of re-engaging with the local community and putting the pub right back at the heart of it.’ She paused and looked Nessie in the eye. ‘And I hope that someone is you.’
Nessie swallowed. ‘Honestly, I don’t have that much—’
‘Here’s what we’re offering,’ Anne continued, as though Nessie hadn’t spoken. ‘I don’t want to overwhelm you, so we’ll start small – perhaps with a portfolio of five pubs that need your magic touch. Once you’ve got your feet under the table, as it were, we’ll increase the number. You’ll have a team to support you, of course, and all the weight of McBride Breweries behind you.’ She pulled out a sheet of headed paper and pushed it across the table. ‘This is our starting offer – it might seem generous, but I believe it only reflects your experience and talent.’
Almost involuntarily, Nessie glanced down. She had to swallow a gasp as the six-figure number danced before her eyes. Surely there was a mistake, she thought, blinking as though the numbers might vanish. But they stayed there, solidly black and white. Her gaze moved down the page, taking in words like ‘performance bonus’ and ‘flexible working arrangements’.
‘Are – are you serious?’ she asked, looking into Anne’s eyes.
‘Of course,’ the older woman replied, smiling warmly. ‘We want you, Nessie. I think you’re the perfect woman for the job.’
Dazed, Nessie read the details once more. It was more money than she’d ever dreamed of commanding and the role sounded amazing, in spite of her conviction that she couldn’t do any of it. The title alone – Head of Community Spirit – sounded so far beyond her that she wanted to laugh. And yet there was a faint whisper in the back of her mind, struggling to be heard over the doubts, that said maybe she was perfect for the job. Because Anne was right; she’d done it once already, albeit in partnership with Sam. Could she take what she’d learned at the Star and Sixpence and apply it somewhere else? It would be a challenge, but the opportunity to spread her wings might be exactly what she needed to restore her bruised heart.
‘Think it over,’ Anne urged, as though reading Nessie’s mind. ‘From what I’ve heard of your sister, she’s more than capable of taking over the reins at the Star and Sixpence.’
And that was all it took to bring reality crashing back in. Because of course Nessie couldn’t abandon the Star and Sixpence; Sam was going to have more important things to look after than the pub. And Laurie might be keen, but he was also hot-tempered and inexperienced. There was no way they could delegate management of the business to him.
‘It’s very kind of you—’ she began, but Anne interrupted again.
‘Take some time,’ she instructed, handing Nessie a business card. ‘This is a fantastic opportunity for McBride’s and for you, and I’d love to work together.’
Nessie didn’t know what to say; the other woman seemed determined not to take no for an answer. ‘Thank you,’ she managed after a few seconds.
Anne smiled as she stood up. ‘Great to meet you at last, Nessie. I look forward to hearing from you once you’ve given it some thought.’
In a waft of expensive perfume, she was gone, leaving Nessie to stare at the offer on the table once more. Slowly, she folded the paper in three and slipped it inside her notebook. Then she sat for a few moments, staring at nothing, trying to process what had just happened; being headhunted seemed like the kind of thing that might happen to Sam, not her. And yet Anne had been very clear it was Nessie she wanted . . .
Eventually, she roused herself and got to her feet to start the journey back to Little Monkham, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that settled in her stomach when she thought of walking into the Star and Sixpence. For the first time ever, Nessie was reluctant to go back.
Chapter Five
‘Ness, where’s the list of stalls for Sunday?’
Laurie leaned over the office desk, lifting up Nessie’s neat piles of invoices and riffling through them.
Nessie looked up from the filing cabinet and frowned. ‘Don’t mess those up – they’re in date order. The list is in my notebook – look, it’s on the chair.’
Laurie shook his head in amusement as he replaced the bills and reached for the notebook. ‘You’re the most organised person I know.’
‘That’s how everything gets done,’ Nessie said, concentrating on the open filing cabinet drawer once more. ‘Organisation equals productivity, at least in my book.’
Laurie didn’t respond. At first Nessie didn’t notice, but he was silent
for so long that she finished slotting her paperwork into the drawer and the uncharacteristic silence caught her attention.
‘Have you got it?’ she asked, glancing across the office.
He was staring at an unfolded sheet of paper and Nessie knew in a cold rush of certainty that it was the job offer from Anne Coutts. She’d put it back in her notebook after showing it to Owen when she’d got home on Monday, and there it had stayed for three days while she wrestled with the fantasy of accepting it.
‘What’s this?’ Laurie asked.
There was no point in lying, Nessie thought as dread squeezed at her gut. It was so obviously an offer of employment that Anne might as well be standing in front of them.
‘McBride Breweries want me to go and work for them,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So I see. Wow. They really want you to, don’t they?’
Nessie shrugged uncomfortably. ‘It’s too much.’
‘Clearly they don’t think so,’ Laurie said, fixing her with an interested gaze. ‘Are you going to accept?’
‘No,’ Nessie replied instantly. ‘How could I? And anyway, this is where I belong. At the Star and Sixpence.’
Laurie puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. It’s a lot of money to turn down.’ He stopped, his face brightening. ‘But it could be the perfect time for you to go – Sam can look after things until the baby arrives and then she can leave everything to me!’
His eagerness tore at Nessie’s heart. ‘Laurie, I don’t think that’s a very good—’
‘Of course it is,’ he cut in. ‘It’s brilliant. I know loads about how everything works now, and there’s plenty of time for Sam to teach me the rest. It means you get to take your dream job, Sam gets to focus on the baby and I get to be the boss.’
The thought of leaving Laurie in charge of the pub caused a spike of anxiety. ‘No,’ Nessie said, as gently as she could. ‘It’s not going to happen because I’m not taking the job. I’ve spoken to Owen and we agree that it’s best for everyone if I stay here.’
Laurie’s expression grew mulish. ‘But it’s such a good plan.’
His disappointment was almost palpable. Nessie took pity on him. ‘It is a good plan. And maybe in the future that’s exactly how things will work out.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But right now, you don’t have quite the right level of experience to take over the business.’
His expression darkened again and, for a moment, Nessie thought he would argue. But then he sighed and shook his head. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nessie said. ‘I know you want to help. And I’m not saying never – just not now. Okay?’
Laurie folded the paper up and slipped it back inside Nessie’s notebook. ‘Okay. I understand.’
‘And . . .’ Nessie hesitated, then plunged on. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Sam about this. I don’t want to upset her.’
‘Of course,’ he replied, his tone slightly wounded. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, letting out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. ‘Now, did you find the list of stallholders? We’d better start ringing round to make sure they’re all still coming.’
*
Sam awoke on Easter Sunday with worry twisting like a viper inside her. She lay there for a moment trying to work out what was causing it and then she remembered: the Easter Extravaganza. There were eggs to be hidden, a marquee and stalls to set up and the Little Monkham Bake Off to manage, not to mention Gabe’s special Easter menu bookings to oversee and around a million other things that she’d forgotten about. She turned over to check her phone and groaned, her bump pressing against the mattress; it was time to get up, but she’d never felt less like leaving the cocoon of her bed.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Gabe’s muffled voice floated through the wood. ‘Breakfast is ready.’
The thought eased Sam’s reluctance to face the day. If there was one perk to being pregnant, it was not having to think about her weight, which was very handy when Gabe insisted on feeding her at every given opportunity. He’d been true to his promise, looking after her as though she was a child herself, and she knew she’d be forever grateful for his care and support. In fact, she didn’t know how she’d manage without him. There had been times when they’d been sitting together on the sofa, watching a film or discussing their day, that she’d fantasised about leaning over and planting a kiss on his lips. She would never do it, of course; Gabe was so honourable that he’d undoubtedly be horrified at the thought of kissing her while she was pregnant with someone else’s baby. But the fantasy showed no signs of fading away, which she supposed was a more frustrating side effect of her situation; raging hormones with nowhere to go.
‘Coming,’ she called and levered herself out of bed to pull back the wooden shutters that lined the windows. She’d spent the whole week watching the Met Office website like a hawk; the forecast had been unsettled for days and she had a deep foreboding that the weather was going to ruin all their plans.
She could have cried when the first rays of beaming sunshine sliced through the leaded window. The sky was blue, without a cloud in sight, and she knew without checking that the air would already have a hint of spring warmth. It was perfect, she thought, throwing a quick prayer to the PR gods that the dark clouds would stay away all day. She yanked on her dressing gown and hurried along the landing to see what treats awaited her.
Gabe was sitting at the kitchen table, his dark hair tousled and a thicker than normal layer of stubble masking his jaw. He’d already begun to eat, his eggs Benedict more than halfway gone. Sam didn’t blame him – she’d never been fast at dragging herself out of bed in the mornings and now she could give sloths a run for their money in the slowness stakes. It was something else that would need to change when she had a newborn to look after.
‘Good morning,’ Gabe said, pushing a plate piled high with eggs and spinach and a toasted muffin across the table. ‘I see you managed to fix the weather for today.’
She sat down and picked up her fork. ‘It’s such a relief. Imagine if we’d had to hide the eggs inside the pub – there’d be kids everywhere. Total nightmare.’
His eyes slid to her stomach in amusement. ‘Someday you might not mind kids so much.’
‘I don’t mind them now,’ she said, around a mouthful of spinach and pine nuts. ‘But I don’t want them all running amok in my pub. Thankfully, we can hold the egg hunt outside. Laurie’s in charge of that.’
Was it her imagination or did a frown of uneasiness flicker across Gabe’s face at the mention of her brother’s name?
‘What?’ she asked, lowering her fork.
‘How much do you know about Laurie?’ Gabe asked, after a few seconds of silence. ‘I mean really know, other than what he’s told you?’
Now it was Sam’s turn to frown. ‘I know we share a father. Why?’
Gabe’s expression was brooding as he pushed the last few scraps of ham around his plate. ‘Just a feeling I have. A hunch that something is not quite right.’
She stared at him. ‘What on earth do you mean? I know you don’t always see eye-to-eye, but, as I’ve said to you before, he’s still family. If there’s something going on, I need to know.’
He avoided her gaze, concentrating instead on loading his fork. ‘It’s nothing. Forget I spoke.’
‘What’s happened?’ Sam demanded, her suspicions rising. She’d known Gabe still bore a grudge over Laurie’s interference in his food orders, but she’d assumed he was professional enough not to let it affect their working relationship. ‘Tell me.’
There was a long silence, then Gabe sighed. ‘Like I said, nothing.’ He gestured to the clock on the wall. ‘Hadn’t you better hurry up? The marquee people will be arriving soon.’
Much to her annoyance, Sam saw he was right. ‘We’ll come back to this,’ she told him, scooping up as much food as her fork could hold. ‘
I won’t forget.’
Gabe nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s fine. Maybe I’ll have something to tell you then.’
He stood up and loaded his plate into the slender dishwasher before escaping downstairs, and Sam didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery as she was swept up into the hurly-burly of organising the Extravaganza.
She barely saw Nessie, other than to share a harried look with her as they passed each other from time to time, and Laurie was nowhere to be seen; Sam assumed he was out in the village, dreaming up places to hide the chocolate eggs.
‘Where do you want this?’ Martha from the village bakery asked, her arms laden with the biggest simnel cake Sam had ever seen.
‘In the marquee, next to the Bake Off table,’ Sam replied, pointing to the bunting-festooned tent in the centre of the village green.
Martha winked. ‘Maybe I’ll enter it into the Bake Off instead. I know Franny’s got her eye on the Star Baker award again this year.’
Sam laughed. ‘You know you’re not eligible. Amateur bakers only – definitely not people who own a bakery. And certainly not the head judge!’
‘Spoilsport,’ Martha said, half-pouting. ‘It’d be worth it to see the look on Franny’s face when she realises she hasn’t won.’
‘But what would we put on the Guess the Weight of the Cake stall?’ Sam asked.
‘True,’ Martha sighed. ‘Ah well, I suppose I’ll just have to hope someone else bakes up a storm. It’s too bad Gabe isn’t eligible, either – I wouldn’t mind sampling his profiteroles, if you know what I mean.’
Sam didn’t trust herself to respond to the blatant innuendo. ‘See you later for the judging.’
The morning passed in a blur of activity, driving Sam from one job to the next and leaving her no time to feel tired. But by the time midday arrived, her aching calf muscles and tender back were telling her she’d done a full day’s work already; even so, she couldn’t relax until retired rocker, Micky Holiday, had cut the bright yellow ribbon and declared the Extravaganza open.
Sam crossed the green to where Nessie stood watching proceedings with an air of worried preoccupation. ‘Come on. I think we’ve earned a coffee, don’t you?’
Cosy Nights at the Star and Sixpence Page 5