Christmas at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘What reasons?’ Sam shook her head. ‘Honestly, Nessie, I don’t understand you sometimes – he’s hot and totally into you, you’re both single. What possible reason could you have for taking a break?’

  ‘I don’t want to go into it, Sam,’ Nessie said, raising her chin. ‘I’ve told you what’s going on, now can you please just let it go?’

  Sam opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. Her sister was entitled to handle her relationship with Owen however she wanted to, although it made Sam want to scream with frustration. But there was obviously more to this break – temporary or otherwise – than Nessie was letting on.

  ‘Fine.’ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘As long as you’re all right?’

  Nessie gave her an unhappy smile. ‘I’m all right. So, what’s the plan for Thursday?’

  Sam switched her mind into work mode. ‘The awards don’t start until seven in the evening. Tilly has asked her friend, Robin, to help her cover the bar, so I thought we could pick up Connor and drive down to London just after lunch on Thursday, check in at the hotel mid-afternoon and then hit the shops.’

  ‘Hit the shops?’ Nessie repeated. ‘I thought you already had an outfit.’

  Sam pictured the silver cocktail dress hanging on the back of her door upstairs, and the strappy heels in the wardrobe. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘We’re going shopping for you.’

  Nessie began to argue but Sam cut her off. ‘I’ve already told you that purple dress won’t do. You need something knockout, Nessie.’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Let me treat you, okay? Call it an early Christmas present.’

  ‘Nothing low cut,’ Nessie warned. ‘Or too tight.’

  Sam held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I promise.’ She aimed a mischievous glance her sister’s way. ‘We’ll save the trip to Victoria’s Secret for another day.’

  Sam blinked blearily at the message first thing on Thursday morning before she let out a loud groan of frustration.

  ‘Nessie?’ she called, pushing back the duvet and wincing as her feet hit the cold bedroom floor. ‘Ness, we’ve got a problem.’

  She pulled on her dressing gown and padded along the landing to the kitchen, where Nessie was putting the finishing touches to the full English breakfast for the latest guests in the rooms above. ‘Tilly’s got a fever,’ Sam said, as Nessie looked up. ‘She doesn’t think she can come in today.’

  Nessie’s face fell. ‘Oh no. She was complaining about feeling shivery all day yesterday – that’s why I sent her home early. I don’t suppose her friend Robin will want to come in without her. What are we going to do?’

  Sam tapped her phone thoughtfully. ‘Call in some favours? Who do we know who’s handy behind the pumps?’ Her thoughts flew to Joss and his offer to help out if they needed him. Would Nessie be okay with it, if she saw that it didn’t trouble Sam?

  ‘Give me a hand to carry these up, will you?’ Nessie said, waving a hand at the laden trays. ‘And then we can put our heads together properly.’

  ‘What about Owen?’ Sam said, once the breakfasts had been safely delivered. ‘He’s worked the bar before and I’m sure he’d be happy to help, even if you have broken his heart.’

  ‘I haven’t broken his heart,’ Nessie said, grimacing. ‘But all the same I’d rather not ask him. Isn’t there anyone else?’

  Sam frowned at her sister thoughtfully. What was behind this sudden aversion to Owen? It had come out of nowhere; one minute they’d been discussing his muscles in a moderately inappropriate manner and the next, Nessie practically flinched at the mention of his name. What had changed in the last week, she wondered.

  ‘There is one person we could ask,’ she said aloud, still considering Nessie. ‘You might not like it, though.’

  ‘Who?’ Nessie asked. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Not Franny?’

  ‘God, no!’ Sam spluttered. ‘We’d have no customers left. No, I meant Joss – I ran into him a few days ago and he said he’d be happy to help out if we ever got stuck.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ Nessie said, folding her arms. ‘Not with everything that’s happened between you.’

  ‘He knows his way around the cellar,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Whatever else you think of Joss, he’s a safe pair of hands.’

  Nessie frowned. ‘It’s not his hands I’m worried about. Have you forgotten what happened at the masked ball?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘Of course I haven’t. But we had a chat and I think we both know where we stand now. Just think about it, Ness.’

  Nessie looked unconvinced. ‘I don’t know.’

  Sam knew better than to push it. ‘He’s probably already working, anyway,’ she conceded. ‘But maybe I could ring around a few of the other local pubs, see if any of their staff are interested. Someone might fancy a bit of extra cash this close to Christmas.’

  ‘Or they’ll be busy working too.’ Nessie sighed. ‘I suppose one of us will have to stay here.’

  Sam reached for her phone, unwilling to accept defeat. ‘Let me see what I can do first.’

  By mid-morning, she’d run out of options. The landlords she’d spoken to wanted to help, but a lot of the pubs served food and had Christmas parties to cater for – they couldn’t spare anyone to help Sam out, no matter how much they wanted to. The agencies were at full stretch too – the run up to Christmas was simply too busy, they told her.

  ‘Why don’t I stay here?’ Nessie said, when Sam gave her the bad news. ‘Obviously you need to go, and Connor has worked so hard that he really deserves to be there. I don’t mind missing it.’

  Sam gazed at her in dismay; Nessie had worked hard too and it was her name above the door. She ought to be able to enjoy the award ceremony too; it wasn’t as though there was much glamour involved in running a pub. ‘I know you don’t want to ask Owen but is there any chance—’

  ‘No,’ Nessie interrupted. ‘I don’t imagine Gweneth would approve anyway. She told me she’s not a big fan of pubs.’

  The penny dropped in Sam’s head: Gweneth was what had changed. Her arrival had sparked some kind of problem between Nessie and Owen – something Nessie was unwilling to share with her sister or, from the sound of things, Owen himself. Sam narrowed her eyes reflectively; maybe it was time for Sam to play matchmaker yet again . . .

  ‘Okay, Ness, if the worst comes to the worst then I guess you’ll have to stay here,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame, though – I was looking forward to letting our hair down together.’

  Nessie gave a little shrug that didn’t quite mask her disappointment. ‘We’ll just have to make sure we get nominated again next year.’

  Sam got to her feet and stretched. ‘I’m just popping to the shop – do you need anything?’

  Nessie glanced at the clock in surprise. ‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you? I thought you wanted to leave at lunchtime?’

  ‘That was when I thought we needed to hit Oxford Street,’ Sam pointed out, heading for the stairs that led down to the bar. ‘I’ve got plenty of time now. See you in a while.’

  Owen was right where Sam expected him to be: in the forge, hammering a piece of white-hot metal on the anvil. She waited until the ringing hammer blows stopped and he plunged the glowing metal into a bucket of water before she called his name.

  He looked up. ‘Sam. I don’t see you in here very often.’

  Sam took a few steps forward but kept a safe distance from the heat of the furnace behind him. He looked every bit a blacksmith; his forehead was smudged with dirt and his curls were wild in the firelight. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you, Owen.’

  He listened while she explained what had happened. ‘So I wondered whether you’d be able to help out behind the bar for a few hours this evening?’

  Owen nodded. ‘I’d be happy to. What time do you need me?’

  ‘Around seven would be perfect,’ Sam said, smiling. ‘Thank you.’

  She was almost at the door when she heard Owen call, ‘Tell
Nessie I said good luck. Enjoy yourselves.’

  Sam crossed her fingers as she turned to smile at him. ‘Oh, we will. Thanks, Owen.’

  The Post Office was quiet, which was exactly what Sam had hoped for as she crunched across the village green. Franny was behind the shop counter, reading the local paper when Sam walked in.

  ‘Hello, Samantha. What can I get you?’

  Sam picked up a tube of toothpaste and placed it on the counter. ‘Last minute supplies.’

  Franny nodded. ‘Of course. What time are you setting off?’

  ‘Soon,’ Sam said. ‘I want to allow a bit of time for traffic once we hit London – we don’t want to be late.’

  Franny’s eyes were sharp over the top of her glasses. ‘You most certainly do not. You and Vanessa are Little Monkham ambassadors – the honour of the entire village is at stake.’

  Sam wondered whether she should mention the change in plan as she handed over some money, and decided against it; the postmistress might volunteer to work the bar, or worse, decide she needed to go to London instead. Sam wasn’t sure she could cope with twenty-four hours of non-stop Franny. ‘Speaking of Little Monkham ambassadors, I heard from Kathryn. The tour seems to be going well.’

  ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Franny said. ‘Although strictly speaking, the band is something of a mongrel – only Kathryn is a local girl.’

  Sam nodded, mentally shifting her conversational chess pieces into place. ‘It’s nice that she’s having a good time, getting out there a bit more instead of looking after Luke all the time, and it’s lovely for Luke to spend some time with his grandmother.’ She paused to drop the change Franny had given her into her purse. ‘You and Gweneth must be old friends – have you seen her much since she arrived?’

  Much to Sam’s delight, Franny’s nostrils flared. ‘We are no such thing. I’ve barely seen her at all and that’s just the way I like it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sam said, widening her eyes. ‘Don’t you get on?’

  Franny pursed her lips. ‘It’s not that we don’t get on,’ she said stiffly. ‘More that she hasn’t got a good word to say about the village. I’m sorry that poor Eliza died here but it wasn’t anything we did. The way Gweneth Morgan went on you’d think we were personally responsible for what happened.’

  ‘So she’s probably not very happy to be back,’ Sam mused. But that still didn’t explain her impact on Nessie, she thought. ‘How did she feel when Eliza moved here with Owen?’

  ‘I seem to remember she was rather upset,’ Franny replied. ‘Often tried to make them go back to Wales, especially when Luke was born. But Owen had built his business here by then and so they stayed. Gweneth didn’t like that, either.’

  Sam picked up her toothpaste. ‘She sounds quite controlling.’

  Franny snorted. ‘You can say that again. I’m amazed she’s left Owen and Luke alone as long as she has, to be honest. I thought she’d have been meddling and interfering years ago.’

  ‘There wasn’t really room for meddling,’ Sam said. ‘Not when Kathryn was filling in for Eliza so well.’

  The postmistress gave Sam an appraising look. ‘You should tell Nessie to watch her back. I don’t imagine Gweneth will be pleased that Owen is courting again.’

  And there it is, Sam thought, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. That’s why Nessie was back-pedalling so spectacularly. The question was, what did Gweneth have to threaten her with? And how was Sam going to neutralise her?

  ‘Thanks, Franny,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘We’ll try to uphold the honour of the village tonight.’

  Franny sniffed. ‘Remember, it’s not the taking part that counts – it’s the winning. Don’t let me down!’

  Shaking her head in wry amusement at Franny’s ironclad competitiveness, Sam pulled out her phone as she crossed the green.

  ‘Kathryn?’ she said, as the call connected. ‘It’s Sam. Listen, we need to talk . . .’

  ‘You were a long time,’ Nessie said, when Sam walked back into the pub.

  Sam held up her toothpaste. ‘Franny was giving me some last minute instructions for later.’

  ‘About that . . .’ Nessie said, unsmiling. ‘We’ve got another problem.’

  She waved a hand towards Connor, who was hunched miserably on a bar stool looking like he’d much rather be in bed.

  Sam gaped at him in consternation. ‘Not him too?’

  Nessie nodded grimly. ‘It looks like the same thing that Tilly has. I’m sorry to say this, Sam, but I don’t think he should be going anywhere.’

  Connor looked across and managed a feeble wave, giving Sam the opportunity to take in his flushed face and sweaty forehead. ‘You’re right,’ she told Nessie with a reluctant sigh. ‘The only place Connor should be going is bed.’

  She crossed the bar and picked up his overnight bag. ‘You look like you’re about to pass out,’ she told him kindly. ‘Go home.’

  ‘But the awards—’

  ‘Aren’t what’s important right now,’ Sam finished, as he broke off to cough. ‘Christmas is just around the corner, you need to look after yourself, not worry about an award we probably haven’t even won.’

  The ex-fireman opened his mouth to argue again. This time it was Nessie who interrupted. ‘You’ve got the same symptoms as Tilly and she’s tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a Lemsip,’ she told him. ‘Sam can fly the flag for the pub and tell us all about it once she’s home.’

  Connor looked back and forth between the two of them, his eyes glittering with fever. ‘Okay,’ he sighed.

  ‘Let me give you a lift,’ Sam said, slipping behind the bar to grab the car keys. ‘No offence, Connor, but you look like you’d lose a fight with a kitten.’

  The cellarman flashed her a grateful look. ‘I feel it. Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Nessie said to Sam, with a meaningful glance at the clock above the bar. ‘Time’s getting on.’

  Connor didn’t live far away – a few minutes’ journey by car. Sam dropped him at his gate with strict instructions to rest. Then she turned around and headed back to the Star and Sixpence, her mind on the evening ahead. It wasn’t the end of the world for her to be attending the awards on her own but she had to admit it would have been nice to have someone to share it with. And then, as she reached the green, she saw a familiar figure: Joss.

  Coming to a snap decision, she slowed down and opened her window. ‘Are you working tonight?’

  Joss blinked at her. ‘No, it’s my night off.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Got any other plans?’

  ‘No,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why?’

  She was about to ask him if he’d be able to cover the bar and then another thought occurred to her. Nessie didn’t want Joss at the Star and Sixpence but that didn’t mean he couldn’t represent the pub elsewhere? He had been part of the team once and their success was partly due to him, after all. Then again, it wasn’t his professional behaviour Nessie had objected to, Sam thought, and she’d jump to all kinds of conclusions if she knew what Sam was considering. Maybe it was safer not to mention Joss until afterwards . . .

  ‘I’ve been stood up for the RAD awards this evening,’ Sam said hurriedly, before she had a chance to change her mind. ‘Fancy a night in London?’

  Chapter Six

  It had taken a while but, over the course of the long drive south, some of the tension between Sam and Joss had eased. He’d made her laugh with stories about the regulars from the pub he worked in now and she’d been careful to avoid any mention of Nick; no sense in rubbing salt into a healing wound. By the time they’d arrived at the Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane and checked in, Sam was hopeful that the evening ahead might continue to make things easier once they were back in Little Monkham.

  The awards were being presented by a well-known comedian – Joss said he’d been their regular host for the previous few years and always went down well with the assembled crowd. ‘Ruder than he is on the TV but never oversteps t
he mark.’ He paused and winked. ‘Well, hardly ever.’

  Sam smiled. ‘The champagne reception starts at 7 p.m.,’ she said as they made their way up to their rooms. ‘Shall I knock for you and we can go down together?’

  ‘Okay,’ Joss said. ‘It’s probably better if we stick together, actually – things can get pretty rowdy as the night wears on, especially at the after party. People can sometimes be . . . inappropriate.’

  Sam bit back a sigh, half irritated and half flattered by his concern. ‘I’ve been to an after party or two, remember? Don’t worry, I can look after myself.’

  ‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ Joss said, pulling a wry smile. ‘It’s me. There’s a landlady from Uttoxeter who’s determined to check my pipes, if you know what I mean.’

  Sam couldn’t help herself; she laughed. ‘Got it. I’ll see you at seven, then. Don’t be late.’

  When he opened the door an hour later, Sam could see why the landlady from Uttoxeter was so keen; Joss looked good in a tuxedo. Not in the same league as Nick, of course, but definitely handsome enough to turn heads. And she hated to admit it but the new clean-shaven look looked better with the crisp lines of the dinner jacket too. Sam squashed down a familiar flicker of interest as Joss fixed her with a direct, blue-eyed gaze.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he said, his eyes skimming her figure-hugging shimmering dress. ‘Maybe I should be worried about you after all.’

  ‘How about we look out for each other,’ Sam said.

  He smiled. ‘It’ll be just like old times.’

  The champagne reception was being held in the hotel’s Red Bar and from the looks of things, some of the attendees had started their celebrations early. Joss was greeted with enthusiasm almost from the moment he and Sam walked through the door; he was clearly among friends, she realised. She spotted several women watching him and wondered if one of them was the fan from Uttoxeter.

  ‘Sam, this is George,’ Joss said, drawing her into conversation. ‘He’s chair of the Midlands Real Ale division.’

  She took the outstretched hand, gazing up at the heavily bearded man with a practised PR smile. ‘Sam Chapman,’ she said. ‘From the Star and Sixpence in Little Monkham.’