Autumn at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  Ruby’s scarlet lips pressed together so hard they became white. ‘What gives you the right to decide this?’ she snapped. ‘You and some doctor who’s probably fresh out of medical school think you know what’s good for me? It’s my life, girls, I can live it however I want and if that means I drink myself into an early grave, then so be it.’

  Nessie looked at Sam helplessly. Ruby was right; if she wanted to drink then she’d find a way. They needed something more, something stronger than the need for alcohol. ‘Won’t you even try?’ she asked. ‘Maybe your son would come to see you if – if you cut down a bit. We could help you find him if you like?’

  The older woman struggled to her feet, her eyes flashing. ‘My son is none of your business. My drinking is none of your business. And unless one of you interfering kill-joys has got a hipflask, I’d like you to leave. Now.’

  Nessie stood up. She couldn’t see that they had any choice. They had to do what Ruby asked.

  ‘We only want what’s best for you,’ Sam said over her shoulder, as Nessie opened the door.

  Ruby didn’t reply.

  Sam pulled the door shut behind her and spread her hands. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now we wait,’ Nessie said, with a long sigh. ‘It will go one of two ways – either she’ll come to her senses and realise we’re telling the truth, or she’ll find a way to drink again and all we’ve done is delay the inevitable.’

  She did her best to sound optimistic but one look at Sam’s doubting expression told her they both had the sinking feeling Ruby had already made her choice.

  Chapter Eleven

  When her phone rang early the next morning, Nessie somehow knew it was Ruby before she’d even glanced at the screen.

  ‘Nessie,’ the other woman croaked when she answered. ‘Can you come?’

  She dressed as quickly as she could and shook Sam awake. ‘Ruby called; she needs help. You’ll have to take over the guests’ breakfasts.’

  The streets were still dark as Nessie hurried to Weir Cottage. A light shone over the front door, which was ajar, and she slipped inside, taking care to close it behind her.

  ‘Ruby?’

  ‘In here.’

  Nessie followed the sound of her voice into the bedroom with all the photographs and found Ruby clasping the picture of herself and her son. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on to come home from hospital and Nessie couldn’t help wondering whether she’d been up all night. ‘What’s the matter, Ruby? Are you in pain?’

  ‘Of a kind,’ she said, holding it out for Nessie to see and admire. ‘He was such a darling boy. So affectionate and loving.’

  Nessie took the frame, discreetly trying to work out if Nessie had been drinking. There was no tell-tale smell of juniper berries to suggest gin, no sharp tang of white wine and no fruity aroma from red. There was no smell at all and her words were clear and crisp. Nessie felt a tiny spring of hope grow inside her. Maybe there was a chance after all.

  ‘You must miss him terribly,’ she said.

  Ruby sighed. ‘You know, I’d be lying if I said I did. Does that make me a terrible mother? I was so busy that I hardly had time to miss anyone but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving him.’

  She took the photo back from Nessie and stared at it for a long moment. ‘But that isn’t why I called you here. I wanted to apologise to you, to Sam too, but I know she likes her beauty sleep so I’ll catch up with her later.’

  ‘No apology needed,’ Nessie said gently. ‘You were surprised and angry.’

  ‘And addicted,’ Ruby admitted. ‘This isn’t the first time someone has tried to help me. Last time, it was your father, ironically. We tried everything, from cold turkey to Alcoholics Anonymous but each time one or the other of us would slip off the wagon and we’d be right back where we started. Of course, living in a pub was disastrous for your father. He could never get away from it.’

  ‘I know it’s hard to stop,’ Nessie said in a low voice. ‘And it must be even harder when there’s alcohol everywhere you look. That’s why we poured it all away, so you wouldn’t be tempted.’

  Ruby smiled and opened up a small drawer underneath the table. She pulled out a small bottle of vodka and handed it to Nessie. ‘You missed this one,’ she said. ‘Take it now before I change my mind.’

  Nessie hurried to the kitchen and poured the alcohol down the sink. She hadn’t even noticed the drawer under the table; surely there must be more she’d overlooked, tucked away in secret pockets, ready to lead Ruby astray. She’d have to keep her eyes open, or perhaps Ruby would give up more of her stash in time.

  When she walked back into the room, Ruby had the parcel of envelopes addressed to Sam and Nessie in her hands. ‘I’d forgotten I even had these,’ she said, passing the bundle to Nessie. ‘They’re all the letters Andrew wrote over the years that your mother sent back. Read them when you have a chance. I think they’ll show you he wasn’t entirely a monster.’

  Nessie held on to the envelopes tightly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her throat suddenly tight and aching at the thought of all the missed opportunities the letters represented. ‘Ruby, would you like us to help you find your son?’

  The other woman hesitated. ‘Perhaps, in time. But let’s concentrate on getting through today first, shall we? There will be times when I fail, Nessie, but I hope I can count on you and Sam to help me get back onto the path.’

  Nessie reached out to squeeze Ruby’s shoulder. ‘Of course you can. We’re family now, aren’t we?’

  Ruby reached up to take her hand. ‘Your father would have been so pleased to hear you say that. Thank you.’

  Nessie smiled. ‘No problem.’ She waved at one of the photographs on the wall. ‘Now, when were you planning to tell us about you and Cary Grant?’

  ‘Well?’ Sam demanded when Nessie came home over an hour later. ‘How bad is it?’

  Nessie shook her head in cautious wonder. ‘Not at all what I was expecting. I think she’s going to try and stop drinking.’

  ‘No,’ Sam breathed, looking amazed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. She even gave me a bottle of vodka to pour away, said I’d missed it when I tidied up.’ Nessie held up the bundle of envelopes. ‘She gave me these too – they’re letters to us from Dad.’

  Sam stared at her in shock. ‘Letters? But Mum always said he never wrote.’

  Nessie sighed. ‘She lied. I thought we could set aside an evening, go through them together.’

  Her sister looked apprehensive. ‘Not tonight – we’re both working. And not tomorrow – you’re babysitting Luke.’

  ‘Friday then?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘I thought I might pop down to London. Nick’s filming in New Zealand soon and I’d like to see him before he goes.’

  Nessie studied her sister for a moment. Sam was right – they were busy – but Nessie couldn’t help wondering if there was more to her reluctance to read the letters than that. Then again, if Nick was going away it made sense that she spent some time with him. ‘Sure,’ Nessie said, then hesitated. ‘Have you seen Joss since the ball?’

  ‘No,’ Sam replied and blew out a long puff of air. ‘If he wasn’t avoiding me before, he is now.’

  Something in her sister’s expression made Nessie frown. ‘Sam? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘No,’ Sam snapped, scowling. Her shoulders sagged. ‘Yes. Maybe.’

  Nessie raised her eyebrows. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning maybe I enjoyed kissing Joss more than I let on,’ Sam said, sounding guilty. ‘That doesn’t make me a bad person, does it? It’s not like I was the one doing the kissing, after all.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t make you a bad person,’ Nessie said slowly. ‘And of course you enjoyed it – you thought he was Nick.’

  Sam threw her a hunted look. ‘But that’s the thing: when I think back, I’ve got a feeling I did know. Not consciously, but deep down, I knew it was Joss. And I didn’t stop him.’

  Nessie fel
t a wave of sympathy for her sister; it was hard to juggle feelings for two men at the same time. ‘Of course you’re confused, Sam. But try not to read too much into it. Joss meant a lot to you and things ended badly – this kiss has probably stirred up a lot of feelings you didn’t get to deal with when you broke up.’ She paused and smiled gently. ‘But none of that is Nick’s fault. Don’t let this tarnish what you have with him.’

  Sam stared at her for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘You’re right. God, you’re so right, Ness. What would I do without you?’

  Nessie reached over and gave Sam a hug. ‘That’s what sisters are for.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Snowdrop Cottage was one of Nessie’s favourite places to be. Whether it was the warm amber glow of the lamps playing over the beamed ceiling, or the all-enveloping warmth from the wood burner she couldn’t say, but she found a special sense of contentment when she settled into the comfortable sofa. She’d spent the evening playing with Luke – losing several times at an impossibly hard racing game on his PlayStation. Then it had been bedtime and she’d discovered that Owen had been reading The Prisoner of Azkaban with him, a chapter a night. So she’d thrown herself into the story, attempting to do all the voices, watching the magic unfold before Luke’s eyes. Just before he’d fallen asleep, he’d clutched at her hand and thanked her in a way that made the breath catch in Nessie’s throat. She’d caught a glimpse then of what motherhood was like.

  Downstairs, she’d tidied up the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She’d brought a book of her own to read but decided to carry on with Harry Potter, practising the voices for another evening. And eventually, she’d sat in silence, listening to the crackle of the fire and enjoying the peace of the cottage.

  She glanced sideways at the photograph of Eliza Rhys, laughing with Owen and a much younger Luke, and felt her usual stab of sadness that Owen and Luke had lost her so young. Often, she’d felt guilty when she looked at that picture, as though she was somehow being disrespectful when her thoughts towards Owen were frequently impure. But tonight, she felt a spirit of kinship with Eliza, almost as though they were friends.

  ‘Luke’s a great boy,’ she told the picture, raising her glass. ‘You’d be proud of him. And Owen – well, I hope you won’t mind me saying that he’s pretty great too.’

  It was long after eleven when the front door opened and Owen walked back in. Nessie was engrossed in Luke’s book and looked up blinking, half expecting him to be wearing wizarding robes.

  ‘How was the gig?’ she asked with a smile.

  He stood for a moment, gazing at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake.

  ‘Good, thanks,’ he said finally. ‘They’re a great band and of course Kathryn is amazing.’ He crossed the room in a few strides to sit beside her on the sofa, leaning back into the soft cushions and closing his eyes. ‘It’s nice to sit down, though. I’m not much of a dancer.’

  Nessie thought back to the dance they’d shared in the summer, at JoJo’s wedding on the village green; he’d been pretty good then but she didn’t like to say so.

  ‘Shall I get you some wine?’ she said instead, shifting her weight to stand up.

  Owen’s eyes flicked open. ‘Eh? No, not yet. There’s something I want to say first.’

  Immediately, Nessie’s heart began to thud. ‘Oh?’

  He fixed her with a dark-eyed, serious gaze. ‘I haven’t been very honest with you, Nessie.’

  Now Nessie’s heart plummeted into her feet. ‘In what way?’

  ‘When you told me Patrick wanted you to take him back, I pretended not to care one way or another,’ he said, his voice low. ‘That wasn’t how I felt at all.’

  Nessie held her breath, not trusting herself to speak. Was it her imagination or was Owen leaning closer?

  ‘The truth is, it made me furious – not with you, but with myself, for not being brave enough to say what I wanted to say.’ His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Nessie. I think I might even – well, if it’s all right with you, I’d really like to kiss you.’

  She hesitated for as long as it took her heart to beat once, then leaned forwards to close the distance between them. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  From the moment their lips met, Nessie was lost. The last time she and Owen had kissed, he’d pulled away, leaving her confused and embarrassed. This time was different – the kiss went on and on, deepening until it was clear neither of them wanted to stop. Eventually, they broke apart however, and Nessie could see in Owen’s eyes that it had meant as much to him as it had to her.

  She let out a long shaky breath. ‘So.’

  Owen smiled. ‘So.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I think I should take you to dinner,’ he said, his gaze solemn. ‘And afterwards, I think I’d like to kiss you again.’

  Nessie felt her lips tingle as she thought of the way his mouth had felt on hers. ‘Perhaps then I could take you to dinner,’ she said, smiling. ‘And I could kiss you.’

  Owen reached out a hand to cup her face, drawing her near to brush his lips against hers. ‘Now you’re getting the idea.’

  Nessie had seemed different on Friday morning, soft and contented and, above all, happy. Sam had even heard her humming along to the radio as she’d emptied the dishwasher in the bar. She’d messaged Kathryn, who’d said that Owen seemed in an unusually good mood too but there’d been no time for Sam to interrogate her sister; she’d had to leave for London to see Nick.

  They took in a new West End play and then went out to eat, heading back to Nick’s apartment in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ Nick murmured against her hair as they lay in bed listening to the wind together.

  ‘Me too,’ Sam said. ‘Except that you’re flying to New Zealand and I’ve got a pub to run, so we’d better not get too comfortable.’

  There was a brief silence. ‘You could always come back to London for good,’ Nick said after a while. ‘The only reason you left was to escape Will Pargeter and that’s all over and done with now.’

  ‘Is it?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘I’m still persona non grata at Brightman and Burgess and I can’t see any other PR firms falling over themselves to give me a job, can you? Not after the kind of headlines I made.’

  Nick snorted. ‘Hardly anyone remembers that. Don’t forget you’ve been making better headlines since then, with me. I’m sure you’d get snapped up right away.’ He paused. ‘You could move in here if you wanted to, rent your flat out and make some money.’

  Sam pulled away and propped her head up on her hands. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nick said. ‘I’m not here a lot of the time but you could come and visit me on location and I’d love to have you around when I came home. It’s . . . well, it’s a lonely business being an actor sometimes.’

  Now it was Sam’s turn to let out a delicate snort of disbelief. Nick had always had women throwing themselves at him every single day – he couldn’t possibly be lonely. Then again, she remembered him telling her before that he never knew who to trust; a kiss and tell story with the star of Smugglers’ Inn would be worth a lot of money to the papers. And now she came to think of it, there hadn’t been anyone else for quite a while – not since before they’d decided to go tabloid-official with their made-up relationship. She also had the growing feeling that something was different about Nick these days. He was attentive and committed – just like a real boyfriend. Sam was beginning to wonder if this had been his real agenda all along. ‘Nick—’

  He reached up to stroke her cheek. ‘Don’t decide now. I’ll be back from New Zealand just before Christmas. Think about it and let me know, okay?’

  He drifted off to sleep not long after that, leaving Sam wide-eyed and restless beside him. When she’d left London, she had never dreamed she’d find life in Little Monkham so satisfying. But working alongsid
e Nessie to restore the pub had proved unexpectedly rewarding and the Star and Sixpence was so much a part of her now that it would be a real wrench to leave. And then there was her sister: they were a team; it wouldn’t be fair to abandon her, even for a life of glamour with Nick Borrowdale. Sam had made a lot of friends in the village, too, she’d miss them if she went back to London. But she couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted. London had been home for most of her adult life and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit there were times when she missed the bright lights, the excitement of the city.

  She lay back against the cool cotton pillow and stared at the ceiling. And then there was Joss: angry, confused Joss, who couldn’t decide if he wanted her or hated her. She hadn’t thought about him once while she’d been with Nick, but back in Little Monkham it was a different story. And now that Nick was going to be away for weeks, did that mean she’d find her mind straying back to the way Joss’s lips had felt on hers more often?

  Maybe Nick was right, she thought, turning into him and snuggling against his shoulder. Maybe spending more time in London was a good idea.

  The letters lay on the coffee table in front of Nessie and Sam. It was early evening, the bar was in the capable hands of Connor and Tilly, and two glasses of Merlot sat on either side of the envelopes.

  Nessie picked up the bundle and studied the curly handwriting as though it could tell her what was inside. ‘Is it weird that I’m quite looking forward to finding out what Dad had to say?’

  ‘I’m not sure I am,’ Sam replied honestly. ‘But he took the trouble to write the letters. I suppose the least we can do is read them.’

  Slowly, Nessie slid the ribbon holding the bundle together over one end. She understood Sam’s reticence; their father had been missing from most of their childhood and all of their adult lives. Was there anything to be gained from going back over old ground now? And then she remembered Ruby, gazing misty-eyed at the photograph of the son who’d turned his back on her, and she came to a decision. Whatever Andrew Chapman’s letters said, one thing was certain: they’d help Sam and Nessie to understand their father better.