Christmas at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  Kathryn’s expression became a little less star-struck. ‘Good. Ruby deserves a bit of TLC – she’s had a rough couple of months.’ She sighed. ‘Micky Holiday, though – he’s a rock and roll legend. If I was ten years older I definitely would.’

  ‘Don’t let him hear you say that,’ Sam warned, her eyes twinkling. ‘Micky’s got a silver tongue – I’ve heard him charm younger women than you into bed.’

  Kathryn grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve spent enough time around musicians to be immune. Anyway, I only popped in to tell you my news. I’d better get back before Luke realises I’ve gone and empties the biscuit jar.’

  Sam waited until she was alone with her sister before clearing her throat. ‘So, Owen’s mother-in-law is coming to stay.’

  Nessie bent down and continued to stock the fridge. ‘I think it will be good for Luke to see her.’

  ‘But perhaps not so good for Owen.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nessie said. ‘We haven’t talked about Eliza much, or her family. He’s certainly never suggested there’s a problem.’

  But Kathryn had, Sam wanted to say. Reading between the lines, Gweneth didn’t like Owen – surely she’d be more of a feature in her grandson’s life otherwise? She hadn’t even visited for his birthday in November. ‘And how do you feel about meeting her? Do you think she’ll mind that Owen has someone new in his life?’

  The smile Nessie sent her way was strained. ‘Of course she won’t. Eliza died three years ago; she must expect Owen to move on at some point.’

  Sam summoned up a mental image of Owen: a tragic single father who was all windswept dark curls and strapping blacksmith muscle beneath his shirt. It was more of a wonder that he hadn’t moved on – some of the village women had certainly tried their hardest to encourage him. But Owen Rhys was a thoughtful man, not given to impulsive actions, which had driven Sam to distraction as she’d tried to matchmake between him and her sister.

  ‘I think she’s going to be trouble,’ she said, with a direct look at Nessie.

  Her sister’s shoulders sagged. ‘I do too,’ she replied quietly. ‘Let’s hope we’re wrong.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘When are we seeing that gorgeous man of yours again?’

  Martha’s eyes danced across the bakery counter as she handed Sam a freshly sliced loaf of bread and a box of crumble-topped mince pies. She made no secret of her crush on Sam’s boyfriend, the actor Nick Borrowdale, and was constantly dreaming up ways to tempt him back to Little Monkham.

  Sam laughed. ‘Not for a while, sorry. He’s still away filming.’

  Martha pouted beneath her white hat. ‘Not Smugglers’ Inn? Cornwall is lovely at any time of year but surely they can’t be filming in December. He’ll catch his death.’

  Nothing about the entertainment industry would surprise Sam; Nick’s career had exploded with the success of the Sunday night TV show and she knew the producers were pressuring him to film another series, although she doubted even they would demand Nick filmed more of his now-famous shirtless scenes in the middle of winter. But Smugglers’ Inn wasn’t the reason for Nick’s latest absence. ‘He’s in New Zealand, working on a big blockbuster. I can’t say more than that.’

  ‘Oh,’ Martha breathed, her face lighting up. ‘Any chance of tickets for the premiere? There’s a lifetime’s supply of doughnuts in it if you get me there.’

  Sam laughed again. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She said goodbye to Martha and called into the butcher’s next door to place Nessie’s Christmas order and check they were still okay to run their sizzling turkey sausage stall at the Festive Fayre. It wasn’t just Martha who loved Nick, Sam mused as she made her way back to the pub. The whole village had embraced him as one of their own, which made things difficult for Joss, Sam’s ex, who still held a grudge against him. It didn’t matter that the reasons behind the grudge were unfounded; Joss disliked Nick and it couldn’t be easy constantly hearing his name everywhere he went. Perhaps that was why he’d pretended to be Nick at the Halloween masked ball in October, and had stolen a kiss from Sam when the lights had tripped. He’d avoided her ever since, despite her efforts to talk to him about what had happened. In fact, she’d barely seen him at all. It wasn’t a big deal and yet Sam couldn’t help feeling as though there was unfinished business between them . . .

  Her thoughts flashed back to Nick, and the last night they’d spent together before he left for New Zealand. He’d asked her to move in with him in London, to give up the life she’d made with Nessie at the Star and Sixpence. And while Sam loved visiting the city, she didn’t feel at home there any more. Going back would take a big adjustment – one she wasn’t sure she was prepared to make. Not even for Nick.

  He’d held her close at the airport when she’d gone to wave him off. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ she’d said, reaching up to kiss him. ‘But it’s only six weeks. You’ll be back before you know it.’

  His brown eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘True. And the best thing about being away from you is the reunion. Shall I book the four-poster room at the Star and Sixpence again?’

  ‘You’ll be lucky,’ Sam said. ‘It’s booked solid for months. You’ll have to slum it downstairs in the staff quarters with me.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ He paused for a moment and his expression grew serious. ‘Maybe we could grab some time to ourselves in the New Year? Away from Little Monkham and London – just us?’

  Sam smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

  Boarding was announced for his flight and Sam gave him a little push. ‘Now go and hang out with all your famous friends. Be amazing.’

  Nick pulled her close and swept her into the kind of kiss she was getting used to – the kind that made her almost forget who and where she was. When they broke apart, Nick’s eyes seemed darker than ever. ‘I’ll see you in six weeks.’

  Sam touched a finger to her still tingling lips. ‘Six weeks,’ she echoed as he walked away. Six weeks to make a decision that would change her life again . . .

  And now it was only three weeks until Nick was back and Sam was no nearer to deciding what she wanted. She hadn’t confided in Nessie, hadn’t told anyone that Nick had asked her to move in with him. He hadn’t mentioned it during their Skype chats; he seemed to be leaving the ball entirely in her court, so Sam had pushed it to the back of her mind. But she couldn’t ignore it forever. By Christmas, she would have to make her choice. The trouble was, whatever way she chose, she was going to break someone’s heart: either her sister’s or her boyfriend’s. And she didn’t really want to hurt either.

  ‘What are you wearing for the Pub of the Year awards?’

  Nessie looked up from the kitchen table, a hunted look on her face. ‘The purple dress I bought for Bev’s wedding a few years ago. Why?’

  Sam folded her arms. ‘No. I am not being seen with you in that; it looks like something Franny would wear. Haven’t you got anything else?’

  ‘Come on, Sam, glitzy award ceremonies aren’t my thing,’ Nessie protested. ‘You said it yourself, we’re not going to win, so what does it matter what I’m wearing?’

  ‘Trust me, it matters,’ Sam said grimly. Her years in PR had taught her to always look her best, no matter what the occasion, and she’d given her clients exactly the same advice. ‘Besides, don’t you want to look good for Owen?’

  Now Nessie looked shamefaced. ‘I haven’t asked him yet.’

  Sam stared at her sister in disbelief. The awards were less than two weeks away, at an expensive hotel in London, and their tickets were plus ones. Connor, the cellarman at the Star and Sixpence, was taking one place and Sam had suggested Nessie invite Owen. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Being away from Luke overnight is a big deal – I was waiting for the right moment to test the water with Owen and then Kathryn told us she was going away,’ Nessie said. ‘So I thought I’d better wait until Gweneth arrived and she doesn’t get here until Thursday.’

 
It kind of made sense, Sam thought, although knowing her sister, there was a healthy dose of over-cautiousness mixed in there too. ‘That will only give him a week’s notice.’

  Nessie bit her lip. ‘Look, Sam, I’m not sure it’s a good—’

  ‘We’ve been over this,’ Sam interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. ‘You and Owen will never get it on in Little Monkham. You need some time away and the award ceremony is the perfect opportunity.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing,’ Sam said. ‘I can’t believe I’m practically having to force you to get to grips with those amazing blacksmith’s biceps, Nessie. Half the women round here would kill to be in your shoes.’

  Nessie sighed. ‘I know. I don’t want to rush things, that’s all.’

  Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. ‘Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day we moved here. You and Owen will have known each other for exactly one year and you haven’t progressed past the occasional kiss. That is not rushing things, Ness.’

  Her sister’s cheeks turned pink.

  ‘Or have you?’ Sam asked, grinning in surprise.

  ‘No, but . . . ’ Nessie hesitated, then ploughed on. ‘I think I want to.’

  ‘Then ask him to the awards,’ Sam said. ‘Get a twin room if it helps or book the honeymoon suite. Whatever it takes. Just take the bull by its horn.’

  Nessie’s blush deepened. ‘Sam!’

  ‘I mean it,’ Sam went on. ‘You haven’t slept with anyone since Patrick and I doubt he was up to much. Seriously, get naked with Owen. I bet he knows a trick or two.’

  Now Nessie’s cheeks were a deep rosy red. ‘Okay, if I agree to ask him, do you promise to stop talking?’

  Sam held up her hands. ‘Only if you promise to do it.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good,’ Sam said in satisfaction. ‘You know I’m only making you do this because I love you, right?’

  Nessie sighed. ‘Yes. And I know how it looks from the outside, but we are getting there, honestly. We’re just—’

  ‘Taking your time, I know,’ Sam cut in. Her voice softened. ‘I only want you to be happy, Ness.’

  Her sister stared down at the table for a moment, then looked up shyly. ‘I must admit, I am curious about the size of his muscles.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sam said, grinning. ‘But I can’t wait to hear about the size of everything else too.’

  Sunday morning was crisp and perfect. The grass of the green was still silvery-white, despite the blue skies and sunshine, as Sam made her way to visit Ruby. She rubbed her hands together as she walked, grateful for the cashmere scarf Nick had given her before he’d left. Winter in Little Monkham seemed much colder than London had ever been but what it lacked in warmth it made up for in beauty; the village looked like a Christmas card, sparkling and fresh. She could only imagine how much prettier it would be in the snow.

  Ruby was ready for Sam when she knocked on the front door of Weir Cottage. She hurried her inside, exclaiming over the frosty air, and ushered her into the kitchen, where the air was rich with the scent of croissants and fresh coffee. Breakfast with Ruby had become a Sunday morning habit for Sam and Nessie, one they took it in turns to share. At first, it had been born from a fear that the older woman might fall off the wagon but, as the days and weeks passed and Ruby stayed clean, it had grown into something each of them looked forward to. More than anything, it had given Sam and Nessie a way to get to know Ruby better, and through her, find out more about their estranged father. She’d given them a bundle of letters he’d written that their mother had returned unopened – those had been eye-opening too and had shown Andrew Chapman to be very different from the half-interested waster both sisters had always believed him to be. In spite of this, Sam found it hard to forgive him for putting alcohol before his family, even though she now understood he’d had no choice.

  ‘Happy anniversary,’ Ruby said, once they were both seated at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of cappuccino and a plate of warmed pastries before them. ‘You’ve survived a whole year in Little Monkham.’

  Sam smiled. ‘This time last year, Nessie and I were packing the car and having the mother of all arguments about how long it would take us to get here. Nessie wanted to leave at midday but I’d arranged a farewell lunch with some friends.’

  Ruby lifted an eyebrow. ‘Who won?’

  ‘I did,’ Sam said, sighing. ‘And then we got lost in the dark and I wished I’d listened to Nessie.’

  ‘There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. I’m sure she’s forgiven you.’

  ‘Probably.’ Sam gave a wry laugh. ‘And let’s face it, I’ve done much worse things.’

  There’d been the fiasco of her one-night stand with Lord Pargeter, which had brought the might of the tabloid paparazzi to Little Monkham, and her break-up with Joss, which had left the pub without a cellarman during their busiest season. None of it had exactly been Sam’s fault but there’d certainly been a lot of drama since she’d moved to the village.

  ‘But you’ve also done a lot of good – helped to restore the Star and Sixpence to her former glory, supported your sister through her divorce, tamed the dragon that is Franny Forster.’ Ruby’s eyes twinkled. ‘Those are extraordinary things, darling. Give yourself some credit.’

  Sam couldn’t help laughing. ‘I suppose when you put it like that . . . ’

  Ruby reached across and patted her hand. ‘You are a wonderful young woman, Sam, and I’m very glad you’re part of my life.’ She reached across the table to pick up a small, beautifully gift-wrapped box. ‘Now, I hope you won’t mind but I got you a little anniversary gift.’

  Sam glanced at her in dismay. ‘Oh Ruby, you shouldn’t have.’

  The older woman waved a dismissive hand. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’ve been good to me and I want to show my gratitude. Go on, open it.’

  Shaking her head, Sam tugged at the oyster ribbon and lifted the lid of the cream-coloured box. She gasped. Nestling inside was a perfect silver sixpence hanging from a chain.

  ‘I hope you like it,’ Ruby said, watching her carefully. ‘Nessie has the star and you can swap with her if you prefer.’

  Sam reached out to touch the glistening coin with one finger and shook her head. ‘Not a chance. This is perfect – thank you.’

  Ruby sat back, looking pleased. ‘It’s not much, just a little token of my gratitude.’

  Sam fastened the chain around her neck. ‘It’s gorgeous. I love it.’

  ‘Good,’ Ruby said. She lifted up the plate of croissants and held it out to Sam. ‘Now let’s eat, before these pastries get cold. As that charming man who does the baking show says, there’s nothing worse than a soggy bottom.’

  Sam was so deep in thought as she made her way back to the pub that she didn’t see Joss until he was almost right in front of her. She caught the flicker of movement as he approached and looked up, startled. ‘Oh!’

  He nodded at her, his blue eyes wary beneath his thick beanie hat. ‘Hello, Sam. How are you?’

  She gazed at him for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. It didn’t matter how often she saw him without his golden beard, she just couldn’t get over how much younger he looked clean-shaven. But there were shadows under his eyes and she hated the way he was watching her, as though he was waiting for a hammer blow to fall. Then again, he had good reason to be apprehensive, she thought: he’d avoided her ever since the night he’d kissed her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, his gaze still watchful. ‘Getting by.’

  Sam nodded. An awkward silence grew; Sam steeled herself not to speak. It was a trick she’d seen her old boss, Myles Brightman, use countless times – people hated awkward silences and would often say the first thing that came into their heads to fill them.

  Joss touched his hat nervously. ‘Look, about what happened at Halloween . . . ’

  He trailed off. Again, Sam waited.

  ‘I�
��m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. But you looked so good in that Catwoman outfit and I’d had a few drinks and it just . . . ’ His shoulders slumped. ‘I missed you, that’s all.’

  He looked so dejected that Sam’s resolve to make him suffer melted away. She took a deep breath. ‘I miss you too. But you took an unbelievable liberty – you must have known I couldn’t tell it was you.’

  ‘I kind of hoped you could tell,’ he said quietly. ‘But then you acted like nothing had happened and I realised you had no idea it was me. So I pretended it hadn’t happened too.’

  ‘It took me a while to work it out,’ she admitted. ‘You didn’t have to completely avoid me, though. Things didn’t work out between us but there’s no reason we can’t be friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ Joss let out a short incredulous laugh. ‘We can’t be friends, Sam. Not while Nick Borrowdale is around to rub my nose in it.’

  Sam stared at him. ‘He hardly rubs your nose in it – in fact, he’s been away for weeks. And you haven’t exactly been a monk yourself – how are things going with that girl you were seeing – Rebecca, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We broke up,’ he said, looking away with a scowl.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,’ Sam said, then hesitated. ‘It wasn’t – it wasn’t because of what happened at Halloween, was it?’

  ‘What difference does it make?’ Joss replied with a weary shrug. ‘It was never going to work, anyway. We wanted different things.’

  Sam didn’t dare ask what he meant – she had a horrible suspicion that it would somehow all turn out to be her fault if she opened that particular can of worms. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

  He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind. ‘Me too.’

  Another silence grew and this time it was Sam who broke it. ‘Did you hear we won regional Pub of the Year?’

  Joss nodded. ‘I’ve got a few mates at the Real Ale Drinkers’ Association – one of them told me. Congratulations.’