Valentine's Day at the Star and Sixpence (3 page)

Taking great care, she placed the frame back onto the table and picked up her book. She must have eventually dozed off because the next thing she knew, the front door was opening and Owen was
smiling in front of her. ‘Sorry to wake you.’

Kathryn appeared behind him. Nessie lifted her head, blinking hard. ‘Hello. How was the gig?’

‘Amazing,’ Kathryn said, bubbling over with enthusiasm. ‘We’ve got another booking next month.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Nessie said warmly, remembering how good the band had been when they played at the Star and Sixpence on New Year’s Eve. She glanced at Owen.
‘Did you have fun?’

‘Apart from being the oldest person there by about a hundred years, yes,’ he said, his tone dry. ‘Everything okay here?’

‘Fine,’ she said, and recounted everything she and Luke had done.

‘You got the Lego lecture,’ Kathryn said, picking up a tiny black-suited toy from the table. ‘I’m impressed. He only does that with people he really likes.’

‘Thank you,’ Owen said. ‘You didn’t have to do this and I’m –
we’re
– very grateful.’

Nessie checked her watch. ‘Honestly, it was my pleasure. But I should probably get back now and see what Joss has been getting up to.’

‘Let me walk you across,’ Owen said.

It didn’t matter how many times Nessie told him not to trouble himself, Owen was determined. Nessie was torn between enjoying a few moments more of his company and the worry that
he’d be able to hear her heart thudding beneath her chunky knitted cardigan. An awkward silence stretched between then as they crossed the yard to the Star and Sixpence.

‘So you want to come in for a drink?’ Nessie said as they reached the pub.

Owen cleared his throat. ‘Not tonight,’ he said, but he made no move to go. Instead, he gazed down at her as though weighing something up. ‘Look, Nessie, I’m not
really—’

The door of the pub opened and Tilly the barmaid walked out. ‘Ooh, sorry!’ she squeaked. ‘Didn’t see you there.’

Nessie felt her cheeks flush as though she was sixteen again and she stepped hurriedly away from Owen. ‘Hi, Tilly. How was it tonight?’

The teenager smiled. ‘Busy, but nothing we couldn’t handle.’ She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘Ruby’s had one too many. Joss is trying to
persuade her to go home now.’

Nessie sighed. It was the second time that week that her father’s old girlfriend had drunk too much. ‘Right. I should probably give him a hand.’ She flashed an apologetic
glance at Owen. ‘Thanks for walking me over.’

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Thanks for looking after Luke.’

He glanced at Tilly, and Nessie wondered whether he was deciding whether to finish his sentence. But then he raised a hand in farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Waving away
Tilly’s offer to hang around, Nessie turned and went inside the pub.

It wasn’t until Nessie was lying in bed much later, having guided an unsteady Ruby home, that she had time to wonder what Owen had been about to say before Tilly interrupted. From his body
language it had been something important. He wasn’t really
what
? Over his wife? Oh God, that must be it, Nessie decided, feeling her cheeks flame in the darkness – he’d
seen the way she’d been looking at him and was trying to let her down gently.
Ugh
. Just the thought of it made her die a little inside. Turning her face against the cool cotton pillow,
Nessie closed her eyes. Thank goodness Tilly had appeared before he’d actually managed to say it, she thought with a shudder. At least this way she could salvage a little pride.

Sam arrived home with Alyssa and a car packed with equipment around midday. The journey had been pleasant, although Sam had spent a restless night tossing and turning in her
now unfamiliar bed so she let her companion do the talking. She pulled into the car park and stretched, before glancing quickly at her phone. Three missed calls from Nessie. What did that mean?

Replacing her frown with a smile, Sam turned to Alyssa. ‘Let’s get you settled in.’

Nessie met her at the door of the pub. ‘We need to talk.’

Sam’s uneasiness grew. Nessie was prone to unnecessary worrying but there was something about her expression that made Sam pause. ‘What’s the problem? Is it about
tonight?’

Nessie held up a copy of a tabloid newspaper. ‘You’re a cover star.’

A sudden icy chill made Sam shiver as she gazed at the photo beneath the red banner. It was unmistakably her, Nick looming at her shoulder.
NICK’S MYSTERY WENCH!
screamed the
headline. She let out an exasperated groan – it must have been a slow news night for that to make the front page.

Alyssa leaned forwards for a closer look. ‘I didn’t know you and Nick Borrowdale were a couple.’

‘We’re not,’ Sam said tersely. She glanced towards the bar. ‘I suppose Joss has seen it?’

Nessie nodded. ‘And that’s not all. Some flowers came for you and I’m guessing from Joss’s reaction that they’re not from him. He’s not in the best mood . .
.’

Flowers? Sam blinked. Who on earth would send her flowers on Valentine’s Day? Hardly anyone knew where she lived. Rubbing her eyes, she threw an apologetic glance Alyssa’s way.
‘Sorry, it’s not normally so dramatic around here. Why don’t I take you upstairs? It looks like I’ve got some damage limitation to do.’

The flowers were on the living room table. Sam left Alyssa to unpack her overnight bag and went to investigate. She was surprised to discover there were not one but two bouquets.

‘One for each of us,’ Nessie explained, her cheeks turning rosy.

Sam’s eyes widened. ‘From Owen?’

‘From Patrick,’ Nessie said. ‘Can you believe it?’

It
was
hard to believe, Sam thought, especially when Nessie’s husband had conspicuously failed to bother with any kind of romantic gesture in the fifteen years before Nessie had
left him. But that was men, she supposed, always wanting what they couldn’t have.

‘How do you feel about it?’ she asked her sister warily. It would be just like Nessie to feel guilty.

‘It was a nice thing to do,’ Nessie replied, stroking a red rose petal. ‘The message on the card was quite sweet too. He hopes we’ll always be close.’

Sam sniffed. ‘I bet he does. You’re not thinking about calling him, are you?’

‘No!’ Nessie exclaimed. ‘Of course not. It’s just . . .’ She let out a wistful sigh. ‘It’s just nice to know someone is thinking of you, even if it
isn’t the person you hoped.’

She meant Owen of course, Sam realised. ‘Maybe he’ll give you something in person,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

Nessie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Aren’t you going to open yours?’ She fired a hard look Sam’s way. ‘I know Joss thinks they’re from Nick but I
hope you’re not that stupid.’

‘I’m not,’ Sam said, thinking back to Nick’s offer the night before. ‘I know it looks bad but there’s nothing like that going on.’

‘So who sent the flowers?’ Nessie asked. ‘They must have cost a fortune; they look much more expensive than mine.’

A faint alarm bell started to ring at the back of Sam’s mind. She took a closer look at the huge bouquet – velvety red roses nestled next to gorgeous purple orchids and pale lilac
blooms she didn’t recognise. Who knew where she lived and expected such an ostentatious gesture to impress her? Her gaze settled on the small white envelope peeping out from beneath a leaf.
There was only one way to find out . . .

I’m sorry.

There was no name, not even an initial. Silently, she held it out to Nessie.

‘Are you sure they’re not from Nick?’ Nessie ventured, after turning the card over. ‘Maybe he means the newspaper thing.’

Sam shook her head. ‘Nick doesn’t have anything to be sorry for.’

She stared at the blooms for a moment. There was one person who owed her an apology but she’d forbidden him ever from contacting her. Surely he wouldn’t be so idiotic?

‘What are you going to do with yours?’ she asked, nodding at the comparatively modest bouquet next to her own.

Nessie blinked. ‘Find a vase for them, I guess. I don’t hate Patrick even if I don’t love him either.’ She paused. ‘Shall I find one for yours, too?’

‘No need,’ Sam said decisively, sweeping the flowers off the table and into the wastepaper basket. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. Now, I’d better go and explain a few things
to Joss.’

Nessie waited until Sam had gone downstairs to rescue the bouquet from the bin. Pulling on her coat, she slipped out of the side door and walked across to St Mary’s,
hoping Father Goodluck might be able to use the flowers on the altar.

‘Sadly it is Lent and the church remains bare to reflect the sacrifice of the good Lord,’ he said, gazing at the flowers sadly. ‘But thank you for the thought. I hope you find
someone who will appreciate their beauty.’

Nessie said goodbye and took the bouquet outside. Now what? Put them on a grave? It seemed like a terrible waste to leave them to rot on the damp grass but she supposed it was better than having
them rot in the bin.

The worst of the February frost had melted and the air in the graveyard was crisp but not too cold. There was only one person buried there that Nessie knew – her father – and since
he’d abandoned both her and Sam when they were very young, she wasn’t in the habit of laying flowers on his grave. Keeping to the path, she made her way around the back of the church to
the willow tree that overhung the newer burial plots. As she got nearer, she saw that someone was already standing by Andrew Chapman’s grave, someone wrapped in a cobalt-blue swing coat, with
red hair glinting in the sunshine: Ruby Cabernet, looking every inch the faded actress.

Nessie hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but it was too late; Ruby had heard her approaching. She turned around and waved, leaving Nessie no choice but to move closer.

‘Darling, I wanted to thank you for seeing me home last night,’ the older woman called, adjusting her enormous black sunglasses. ‘I must learn not to drink on an empty stomach;
it never does me any good.’

Nessie smiled. Ruby was warm and funny and popular among Little Monkham residents but there was no denying she drank too much, whether on an empty stomach or otherwise. In fact, Nessie had begun
to suspect Ruby preferred a liquid lunch and perhaps a liquid breakfast too. It wasn’t any of her business, of course, except that it caused the occasional problem in the pub at closing time.
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said. ‘We all get a little tipsy from time to time.’

Ruby tapped her nose. ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what Richard Burton used to say? “Ruby, darling,” he told me, “there isn’t a man-jack among us who
hasn’t been as pissed as a lord at one time or another.” ’

Nessie couldn’t help laughing. Ruby had a fascinating supply of stories from her acting days and both sisters could see how she’d captivated their father. Less clear was what
she’d seen in him, a chronic alcoholic who’d chosen drink over his family, but Nessie had no doubt that Ruby had loved Andrew. Why else would she have brought a single red rose to him
on Valentine’s Day?

A flash of yellow caught Nessie’s eye. Burials in the churchyard were few and far between and so Eliza Rhys was buried only a few plots away. The vibrant yellow was a fresh bouquet, laid
neatly at the base of her gravestone. Leaning against the stone itself was what looked like a hand-made child’s card.

Nessie’s eyes prickled with unexpected tears. It had only been a few years since Eliza’s death; of course Owen and Luke would still be struggling with their loss. A worm of guilt
wriggled through her, too, because for a fleeting second that morning, she’d hoped – dreamed – that the bouquet in the florist’s arms had been from Owen. And she’d
promised herself she wasn’t going to feel that way – it could only lead to heartbreak. Then the flowers had turned out to be from Patrick and she’d felt a stirring of something
else, of comfort and feeling flattered. Someone wanted her, even if Owen didn’t.

Ruby cleared her throat. ‘Those are lovely. Have you got an admirer?’

‘No,’ Nessie said, dragging herself back from her thoughts. ‘They’re not even mine.’

‘Oh. I thought for a moment that Owen had pulled his finger out.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s a lovely man but by God does he need a rocket up his arse.’

‘Ruby!’ Nessie exclaimed, half scandalised and half amused. ‘His wife’s grave is just over there.’

The older woman peered over her sunglasses, her gaze sharp. ‘I know. And I also know that the dead don’t keep you warm on a cold winter’s night. They don’t laugh at your
stories and they don’t cheer you up when you’re down. Only the living do that. So if Owen is still holding a torch for Eliza then he’s a bloody fool.’ She looked away, her
gaze coming to rest on the rose at her feet. ‘Don’t let him be a fool, Nessie. Make him see you.’

Nessie swallowed hard. ‘I – I’m not sure he wants to.’

‘He wants to,’ Ruby said firmly. ‘I’ve seen how he looks at you, and how you look at him. What the two of you need is less looking and more action.’

Could she be right? Nessie wondered. Did Owen think about her the way she thought about him? It didn’t seem possible, not after his words last night but then he’d never finished the
sentence. Maybe he hadn’t been about to let her down gently after all.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she told Ruby and held out Sam’s unwanted bouquet. ‘Would you like these? They’re only going to waste otherwise.’

Ruby took the display and inhaled deeply. ‘Vanda orchids and Grand Prix roses, my favourites. Thank you.’

Nessie took a deep breath and smiled back at her. ‘No, Ruby. Thank you.’

Joss met Sam with a humourless smile when she approached him behind the bar.

‘Good night last night?’ he asked, his tone carefully neutral. ‘It certainly sounds like it. “The couple consumed two bottles of champagne and shared a Lobster Thermidor
before catching a cab together,” the newspaper said. “An eyewitness said Nick Borrowdale seemed completely smitten.” ’

‘It’s not what you think,’ Sam said, sighing. ‘You know what the papers are like, they never let the facts get in the way of a good story.’

‘So you didn’t drink two bottles of champagne, then?’ Joss demanded. ‘You didn’t leave together?’