Ruby shook heard head stoutly. ‘Anything you have to say can be said in front of Sam, here. She and Nessie are like the daughters I never had.’
Lola’s hazel eyes darkened. ‘Well, it’s about Micky Holiday, of course. I don’t think he’s been entirely honest with you, Ruby. In fact, I’m certain he’s lying to you. But—’
A woman bustled up, a star-struck expression on her face. ‘Lola, I’m a huge fan. Would you mind signing this?’
She thrust a paperback and a biro towards Lola, who took it with a practised smile. ‘Of course. Who shall I sign it to?’
Sam took the opportunity to fire a sideways glance at Ruby. Unsurprisingly, she looked tense and unhappy. What on earth could Micky be lying about? Sam knew Ruby had doubts about his ability to stay faithful to one woman; she’d often referred to his womanising behaviour in the past, before they’d begun what might loosely be called dating, and Sam knew he had more than his fair share of rock and roll groupies vying for his attention. Was that what was running through Ruby’s mind now? Had Micky slipped back into his old ways?
Beside them, Lola continued to be perfectly charming, showing no signs of impatience with her chatty admirer even though Sam was sure she must be keen to get back to the conversation she’d just abandoned partway through.
Sam leaned closer to Ruby, lowering her voice to a whisper only she could hear. ‘Are you sure you want to hear what Lola has to say now?’
The actress nodded. ‘Better now, among people, than later when I might be tempted to turn to the bottle for solace.’
It was an important consideration, Sam thought. She reached out and squeezed Ruby’s hand. ‘Okay. I’ll distract the fan.’
To Sam’s surprise, Ruby’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘Can you stay? I need you here.’
‘Of course,’ Sam said, just as Lola wrapped up her conversation with the woman. ‘I’ll stay as long as you need me to.’
‘Sorry about that,’ Lola said, pulling a long-suffering face and grabbing her drink. ‘Perhaps we ought to get out of here. Please tell me you’ve got a snug or something, Sam.’
Ignoring the murmurs of disappointment from Lola’s devoted fans, Sam led the two older women out of the bar and up the stairs to the first floor. ‘There we are,’ she said, pushing open the door of the living room she shared with Gabe. ‘You can talk properly in here.’
Lola flopped onto the sofa with an audible sigh and kicked off her high heels. ‘So, where was I?’ She cast a glance at Ruby’s face and sighed. ‘Ah yes. Micky H.’
‘It’s another woman, isn’t it?’ Ruby said, with stony resignation. ‘Be honest. I can take it.’
‘I don’t know how much to say,’ Lola replied, her tone fretful. ‘It really should be Micky who tells you. I know he wants to.’
Ruby sighed. ‘Thirty years ago, I’d have wondered whether it was you.’
Lola had the grace to look shame-faced. ‘Not this time. I’d tell you if that’s all it was.’
‘So it is another woman?’ Sam blurted out, before she could stop herself.
Lola ignored the intrusion. Her eyes were still fixed on Ruby. ‘Ask him,’ she said, as the second ticked by. ‘It’s the only way.’
For a moment, Sam thought Ruby would argue. Then she let out a long, slow breath, as though she’d been holding it for some time, and tipped her head once in acquiescence. ‘Okay, I will.’
Lola visibly relaxed, as though she had been carrying a heavy weight that was now lifted. ‘Soon, though. Don’t wait.’
Sam felt her forehead crinkle into a frown. She wasn’t sure what Lola was trying to say; Ruby might be convinced Micky had met someone new, but there was something else bubbling under the author’s words. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good, Sam decided with a worried sideways glance at Ruby. It didn’t sound good at all.
Chapter Four
By Saturday evening, the festival was in full swing. Sam observed the crowd and the growing number of posts appearing on social media with immense satisfaction: pictures of the extremely photogenic cocktails offered by each gin parlour, excited tweets about some of the tiny little boutique distilleries whose products were waiting to be discovered. Connor and Tilly were kept busy behind the bar, selling the tokens to be exchanged for drinks in the parlours and looking after the non-gin drinkers, leaving Sam to circulate among the throng. Gabe’s canapés were going down well too, although she caught several of the village women casting wistful glances at the kitchen door, as though they could summon the man himself by the power of thought. Sam pictured him in his pristine chef whites, chopping and seasoning over the shimmering gas hob, his face flushed and his forehead creased in concentration. And then she hurriedly banished the image, because that kind of distraction was the last thing she needed.
‘This is amazing,’ Martha said, when Sam stopped to ask how her spiced sloe gin cocktail was. ‘And I love the tunes too.’
Sam cocked her head to listen. It hadn’t been easy deciding on the right music for the festival, but it seemed that her Roaring Twenties playlist was hitting the right notes. ‘We’ve got a live band tomorrow night – flapper dresses optional.’
Martha patted her ample stomach comfortably. ‘I’m not sure I’m built to be a flapper. But I’ll definitely be back for more tomorrow. You’ve worked miracles, Sam. As usual.’
‘Team effort,’ Sam said, as a plate of canapés sailed by. ‘Have you tried these pork crackling blinis? They’re pretty moreish.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Martha said. ‘I’ve already had more than I should. But they all taste like heaven. Make sure you hang onto Gabe – he’s a wizard in the kitchen.’ She paused and let out a lusty sigh. ‘Probably good at a lot of other things too.’
Sam gave her a practised PR smile and tried not to think about what else Gabe might be good at. ‘We’ll do our best.’
Everything was running so smoothly that it took Sam a while to realise she hadn’t seen Nessie for a while. Odd, she thought, frowning slightly; it wasn’t like her sister to take a break without mentioning it. But a quick glance round upstairs revealed no sign of her. Back downstairs, Sam scanned the crowd once more then girded her loins and popped her head around the door that led to the kitchen.
‘I’m looking for Nessie,’ she called, grateful for the clouds of steam that meant Gabe wasn’t much more than a hazy outline. ‘Anyone know where she is?’
Most of the staff shook their heads.
‘I think I saw her heading over to the cottage earlier,’ Gabe said, nodding to the condensation-covered window. ‘I don’t know if that helps.’
‘Thanks,’ Sam called and retreated into the bar to pull out her phone.
Where are you? Are you okay? x
She waited, staring at the two ticks that remained stubbornly grey. Over a minute passed before they turned blue and the words Nessie typing… appeared at the top of the message panel.
Yes! I’m at home – Luke is a bit poorly. Back soon x
Sam was about to tap in a reply when the door behind her opened. She turned around to see Gabe standing there, a concerned look on his face.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Luke isn’t well, Nessie says, but it sounds like she’s got everything under control.’
‘Good,’ Gabe said, nodding. ‘Nessie strikes me as always having everything under control.’
Unlike you. He didn’t say the words, but Sam heard them all the same.
She gave him a tight smile. ‘Yes, she’s brilliant. I don’t know how we’ll manage without her when the baby comes.’
His brown-eyed gaze regarded her thoughtfully. ‘She won’t be far away. And you’ve got a good team here. We’ll pull together, keep things going until she returns.’
Ouch, Sam thought, trying not to wince. She knew Gabe didn’t think much of her personally – he’d made that clear after the indiscretion with Joss – but she’d always felt he respected her professionally.
T
hey stood in silence, Sam staring at the floor as her eyes swam, and for one wild moment she was filled with a sudden compulsion to spill out everything she’d told Nessie earlier that day: that she bitterly regretted spending the night with Joss, that the thought of never kissing Gabe again made her heart ache, that she wished with all her might that she could travel back in time and change what had happened. It was the polar opposite of what Nessie had suggested and yet an impassioned declaration was much more Gabe’s style, Sam thought as her heart started to race. She looked into his eyes and came to an abrupt conclusion.
‘Listen, Gabe, I think there’s something you need—’
‘It’s the man himself!’ Martha’s gin-fuelled screech cut across the pub. ‘Gabe! Cooee!’
Several heads turned in amusement. Sam cursed Martha’s timing and shook her head with a huff of resignation. ‘You’d better run. If she catches you, there’ll be no escape.’
Gabe studied her, his expression brooding. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘Nothing,’ Sam lied, willing her jangling nerves to settle down. ‘Nothing important, at least.’
He considered her response, and Sam half-wondered if he would call her out on the lie, but he simply nodded and disappeared through the kitchen door. A few seconds later, Martha arrived, with the remains of what smelled like a hot gin and ginger cocktail sloshing in her loosely gripped glass.
‘Sorry, Martha, the kitchen is off limits, I’m afraid,’ Sam said, as lightly as she could. ‘You’ll have to wait until later to see Gabe.’
The baker’s face crumpled with disappointment. ‘Oh,’ she said, staring over Sam’s shoulder with a slightly unfocused gaze. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. I fancied getting my hands on some more of his pork scratchings.’
Sam couldn’t help smiling at the hint of innuendo. ‘Never mind. Now, why don’t we go and find Rob together?’ she said, referring to Martha’s good-natured husband. ‘I’m sure he’s wondering where you are.’
‘I’m sure he’s not,’ the other woman grumbled, but she let herself be led back into the hubbub. ‘The only time Rob wonders where I am is when his dinner’s not on the table.’
‘Look, your glass is empty,’ Sam said, plucking the almost-finished cocktail from Martha’s unresisting fingers. ‘Why don’t we get you some water? Or, better still, one of the amazing non-alcoholic cocktails they’re selling?’
Martha let out an uninterested snort. ‘No thanks. It’s not every day a gin festival hits Little Monkham. I want the good stuff, not the mocktails.’
‘Maybe later,’ Sam said in a firm tone as she steered the baker towards an empty chair in front of the fire. ‘Ruby here has been drinking them all evening, I’m sure she can recommend something.’
A flicker of understanding passed over Ruby’s face as she glanced from Sam to Martha. ‘Of course I can. We don’t want you peaking too early, do we, Martha?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a peek at Gabe,’ Martha mumbled, sinking in the chair with an exaggerated wink. ‘The earlier the better, if you know what I mean.’
‘Wouldn’t we all, darling?’ Ruby replied. ‘Now what are you going to have to drink?’
‘Thank you,’ Sam murmured in Ruby’s ear, when Martha took the mocktail list and peered blearily down at it. ‘I owe you.’
‘Nonsense,’ Ruby replied in an undertone. ‘Although I wouldn’t say no to a hot mulled apple juice if you’re going outside?’
The hot cocktails were being served from a fairy-lit grotto on the village green just outside the Star and Sixpence. ‘Coming right up,’ Sam promised, heading for the door.
It was blissfully cool outside, and much quieter. A small crowd clustered around the grotto, with a few drinkers sitting at the nearby tables and chairs, chatting and laughing. Sam took a deep breath of the chilly night air and tilted her face back to gaze up at the stars twinkling down from the December sky. Her eyes came to rest on Sirius, the brightest star, and she found herself making a wish almost before the idea had fully appeared in her head: I wish Gabe would forgive me.
‘You look lost in thought.’ Nessie’s voice cut across Sam’s yearning. ‘I bet I can guess what you’re wishing for.’
‘Probably,’ Sam admitted, turning with a smile. ‘How’s Luke?’
‘Better now he’s stopped throwing up,’ Nessie said, pulling a face. ‘He’s sleeping.’
Sam couldn’t quite suppress a shudder. ‘Urgh. This is why I’d make a terrible mother – no stomach for bodily fluids.’
Nessie grinned and patted her tummy. ‘But you’re going to be this little one’s favourite auntie. Nappy changing and burping after feeds are part of the job description.’
‘Not a chance,’ Sam replied. ‘I’m going to be the kind of cool auntie who sweeps in with half of Hamley’s and then vanishes when it’s time for anything unpleasant.’
‘You are not,’ Nessie said, laughing. ‘I think you’re going to be a very hands-on aunt.’
Sam thought back to Gabe’s unspoken suggestion that Nessie was the dependable sister and straightened her shoulders. ‘Maybe. In fact, I might just surprise everyone,’ she said. ‘Including myself. I’ve got plenty of time to get used to the idea after all.’
‘True,’ Nessie said. ‘If you want to get some practice in, then I’m sure Kathryn wouldn’t mind giving up her place as Luke’s nurse for the evening.’
‘No thanks,’ Sam said, lightning-quick. ‘Do you fancy a mulled apple juice? I’m getting one for Ruby.’
‘Sounds great,’ Nessie replied. ‘And you can fill me in on what I missed while I was mopping up puke.’
‘Ness, please,’ Sam said in a pained tone. ‘And you didn’t miss a thing, actually. I had everything under control.’
Nessie linked her arm through Sam’s. ‘Of course you did. I knew you would.’
‘We’d better keep an eye on Martha, though,’ Sam went on, as they headed for the grotto. ‘If she keeps knocking back the cocktails, Luke won’t be the only one we have to look after tonight.’
‘I’m sure you’ve got that under control too,’ Nessie said.
‘I do,’ Sam said, basking in the warmth of her sister’s approval. ‘See? I can cope without you. For twenty minutes or so, at least.’
*
Nessie sat back in her seat on Tuesday morning, staring at the spreadsheet on her laptop. ‘Wow,’ she said, not quite able to believe what the figures were telling her. ‘We should throw a gin festival every weekend.’
Owen glanced across the kitchen table. ‘Good news?’
‘Better than good,’ Nessie said, turning the screen around so he could see it. ‘Our takings are six times better than the same weekend last year. In fact, I think it might be our most successful weekend ever.’
‘It’s like Dickens said,’ Owen stated solemnly. ‘People love gin.’
Nessie checked the numbers again and let out a shaky laugh. ‘Apparently they do. I can’t wait to tell Sam – she worked so hard to make the festival a success. She’s going to be thrilled.’
Owen glanced at the clock. ‘I’m sure she will. But don’t you think we ought to get going soon? We’re due at the hospital at eleven and parking can be tricky sometimes.’
It was later than she’d realised, Nessie thought as she checked the time for herself. They didn’t want to be late, not for something as momentous as seeing their baby for the first time. ‘Okay, I’ll tell her later. And I can show her the scan photo too – goodness knows she needs something to cheer her up.’
No matter how much her sister tried to put a brave face on things, Nessie knew she was still miserable over the situation with Gabe. And it couldn’t be easy for her, seeing him every day. Maybe Christmas would help, Nessie thought as she pulled on her coat; there was something irresistibly romantic about it after all. It had certainly made all the difference to her and Owen at the beginning of their relationship.
The roads were wet on the way to the hospital. Nessie was glad they had plenty of time; Owen w
as an excellent driver and knew the country lanes well, but she much preferred not having to hurry. They found a parking spot without too much trouble, too; a heavily pregnant young woman offered them her ticket with a smile as they pulled into the space just outside the antenatal department. ‘There’s still an hour or so left,’ she said. ‘With a bit of luck, they’ll still be running to time in there and you won’t need to top up.’
‘Half an hour early,’ Owen observed as they made their way inside. ‘Fancy a coffee?’
‘Make it a herbal tea and you’ve got yourself a date,’ Nessie replied coyly.
They checked in with the receptionist just before eleven o’clock and took a seat among the other expectant mothers in varying stages of pregnancy. Some were with their partners, one or two were alone.
Owen looked around with interest. ‘You know, I don’t think this has changed a bit in the last ten years.’
Nessie smiled. ‘It must have done.’
Owen pointed at a table stacked with dog-eared magazines. ‘No, I’m pretty sure those are the same ones. I read an article that said Louboutins were the new Jimmy Choos. I’ve never forgotten it.’
He looked so serious that Nessie was almost convinced. Then his mouth twitched, just the tiniest bit, and she burst out laughing so loudly that the other patients turned to stare at them.
‘Vanessa Chapman?’ a voice called, cutting across Nessie’s laughter.
She turned to see a middle-aged woman in a white coat holding a folder. ‘That was quick,’ she said to Owen. ‘Come on.’
‘My name is Elspeth and I’m going to be doing your scan today,’ the woman said, as she ushered them into a dimly lit room that held a bed and a large, unwieldy computer screen. She checked her notes. ‘This is your first baby, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Nessie said.
‘No,’ Owen said at exactly the same time, then laughed. ‘Nessie’s first but my second.’
Elspeth smiled. ‘I understand. Well, Nessie, if you’d like to pop onto the bed, we’ll get started.’
Christmas Kisses at the Star and Sixpence Page 4
