‘Lovely to meet you at last,’ George said, his bushy black beard twitching. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Sam slid Joss a sideways look. ‘Oh? Any of it good?’
George grinned. ‘He’s your biggest champion. In fact—’
‘Don’t let him get started,’ Joss cut in easily. ‘Before you know it he’ll be talking about the lesser-known micro-breweries of Lima and you’ll be wondering why you even came.’
George gave him a look of mock outrage. ‘I’ll have you know that there are some very fine micro-breweries in Lima.’
Joss rolled his eyes. ‘See?’
It was the same with almost everyone Joss introduced Sam to; they all seemed to know much more about her than she did about them. And it didn’t take a genius to work out the source of their knowledge – Joss. He’d clearly done more than his share of bragging about the pub among his industry mates before he’d quit. Sam couldn’t decide quite how she felt about that.
After forty minutes or so of small talk, they were escorted into the Great Room, which had fifty or so round tables clustered around a red-carpeted stage.
‘Table three,’ Joss said, seemingly impressed. ‘That’s right up at the front. I’ve never been seated so far up the pecking order before – they must rate your chances.’
Sam glanced down at the seating plan; it looked like they were sitting with a few corporate sponsors and two other pubs from different regions of the UK. She spared a thought for Connor and Nessie; they should be sharing the glory here tonight instead of being stuck at home. Then again, Nessie should be enjoying the unexpected present Sam had arranged right about now. With a bit of luck spending an evening with Owen would help to reverse whatever damage Gweneth had inflicted on Nessie’s already fragile confidence.
‘Allow me,’ Joss said, pulling Sam’s seat out for her.
His gentlemanly manner made Sam smile – he really was making an effort. ‘Thank you.’
The wine flowed during the three-course meal, although Sam limited herself to a single glass of Burgundy with the melt-in-the-mouth roast turkey main course, and she noticed Joss was being similarly restrained. By the time they got to the Christmas pudding crème brûlée, their table-mates were well on their way to being rowdy and the volume only increased as the coffee cups were cleared away in preparation for the award ceremony itself. Sam was feeling moderately sorry for their comedian host, who was due on stage any minute.
Joss leaned towards her. ‘Feeling nervous?’
Sam shook her head. ‘No. Winning the regional competition was enough – I don’t expect to bag the top prize.’
‘You never know,’ he replied. ‘There are other prizes too – Best Bitter, Landlord of the Year, Most Improved Pub and so on. Thirsty Bishop won the Best Bitter prize three years in a row while your dad was in charge.’
He said the last line in a matter-of-fact voice but Sam knew the awards would have been down to Joss, not her father. She’d come to accept that Andrew Chapman hadn’t been as selfish and booze-raddled as she’d always thought, but she knew he would never have been capable of tending to the cellars of the Star and Sixpence in a way that would produce an award-winning ale. That was an achievement due entirely to Joss.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for looking after Dad,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘I know there must have been times when you went way over and above the role of employee.’
His eyes met hers. ‘It wasn’t as bad as you think. He was a good man, Sam.’
An unexpected lump arose in Sam’s throat. ‘I know. You’re a good man too.’
His blue eyes darkened as he gazed at her. He opened his mouth to speak but the PA system crackled into life.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for our host this evening, Archie Lewis!’
Reluctantly, Sam broke eye contact with Joss and glanced over at the stage as everyone began to applaud.
Archie Lewis was every bit as smooth as Joss had suggested. He slid into a well-observed comedy routine that poked fun at the audience and their trade but was also clever and witty in a way that ensured he’d be asked back again next year. Sam was impressed; if she’d still been in PR she would have added him to her list of bookable celebrities.
‘But you’re not here to listen to urinal gags,’ Archie said, after a few more minutes of sly jokes and hilarious anecdotes. ‘You’re here to find out which landlord is the jolliest, which bitter is better and whose gaff is the one we all wish was our local. It’s time to start handing out the silverware.’
Sam buried her hands in her lap, suddenly nervous. Up until that moment she hadn’t been bothered about winning – landing the regional prize had been enough. But now her competitive side was kicking in and she’d be lying if she wasn’t imagining how it would feel to collect the Pub of the Year award on behalf of the Star and Sixpence.
‘Good luck,’ Joss murmured as an expectant hush settled over the room.
The air of expectation grew as each winner was announced, although the noise levels increased too. But by the time Archie read out the nominations for the final category, even the rowdiest of tables were leaning forwards. Sam composed herself and set her expression to neutral. She was sure they hadn’t won. The winner had probably been notified in advance – that was the way award ceremonies usually worked. And yet she couldn’t quite squash a tiny seed of hope . . .
‘The judges said each of the regional winners had all the hallmarks of the perfect pub,’ Archie announced. ‘A welcoming atmosphere, with friendly staff and great drink selection – the kind of place that represents the heart of their community. But there can be only one pub of the year and so, without further messing about, the winner of this year’s Real Ale Drinkers’ top prize is . . .’
He paused and grinned at the expectant room. Sam felt her stomach contract even further as Joss reached under the table and gripped her hand.
‘The Three Horseshoes in Hitchin!’ Whoops of joy erupted from one of the tables. Archie raised his half-full glass in a toast. ‘Let’s hear it for landlord Neil and the rest of his team!’
Music began to play as the winners made their way up to the stage. Sam applauded warmly, beaming at the obvious delight on the faces of the Three Horseshoes’ team. She’d met Neil and his wife earlier in the evening and had liked them both; from what she could tell they were worthy winners. And really it would have felt like too much for Sam and Nessie to have won the very first year that they’d opened – what else would they have to aim for? No, Sam thought as she clapped and cheered, it was better this way. But next year she was determined that the Pub of the Year trophy would have the Star and Sixpence engraved upon it.
Joss leaned in close to whisper in her ear. ‘Well, I think you were robbed.’ He paused. ‘Fancy a tequila slammer?’
Nessie couldn’t believe her ears when Owen presented himself at the busy bar and asked her what she wanted him to do.
‘Do?’ she echoed, hoping she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. ‘What do you mean, do?’
‘I’m your replacement barman for the evening,’ he said. ‘Although I’m surprised to see you here – I thought you’d be in London.’
‘Change of plan,’ Nessie said. ‘I decided to stay here. That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.’
‘Sam said you were short-staffed and asked me to help out. Didn’t she tell you?’
Sam, Nessie thought wryly. Why couldn’t she stop meddling? ‘But what about Gw—’ she started to say, then stopped herself. There was no way she could ask about Gweneth without making Owen want to know why she was worried what his mother-in-law thought.
Rob waved an empty glass from further down the bar. ‘A pint of Thirsty Bishop when you’re ready, please, Nessie.’
Henry Fitzsimmons coughed. ‘I think I’ve been waiting longer, old chap. Any chance of a whisky, do you think?’
Nessie nodded at both men to show she’d heard then gazed at Owen. ‘I don
’t think this is a very good idea.’
He glanced around the pub. Nessie’s eyes followed his, taking in the waiting customers, the uncleared tables and the waning fire. ‘Let me help you,’ he said softly. ‘Friends help each other, right?’
Nessie swallowed a sigh; the truth was she was in no position to refuse. ‘Okay, thank you. Do you want Henry or Rob?’
‘Rob,’ Owen said instantly. ‘I think Henry has a soft spot for you and I wouldn’t want to deprive him of a few minutes of your company.’
Nessie laughed. ‘I hope you’re wrong – I think Franny might arrange an unfortunate accident for me otherwise.’
She found herself mentally thanking Sam more and more as the evening wore on. The bar grew steadily busier; the village was clearly getting into the festive spirit and business was so brisk that Nessie soon forgot to worry what Gweneth thought about Owen helping her out. She enjoyed working with him; they seemed to have an unspoken understanding that meant they rarely got in each other’s way and between them, the customers were happy, the tables were clear and the fire was roaring – exactly as it should be on a cold winter’s evening.
It wasn’t until the last customer had finished up and Owen was closing the front door that Nessie carefully asked how things were going with Gweneth.
Owen rubbed a weary hand across his face as he trudged back towards the bar. ‘Fine. She can be a bit overbearing sometimes, but people who live alone often are – they get used to pleasing themselves without having to think of others. She even tried to stop me coming over here tonight, can you believe it? Sometimes I think—’ He caught himself and shook his head. ‘Listen to me, sounding bloody ungrateful when all she’s done is try to help.’
Nessie concentrated on cleaning the pumps, unable to think of anything to say. As far as she was concerned, Gweneth wasn’t trying to help. ‘It’s bound to be a bit difficult,’ she said after a moment. ‘Especially when you haven’t had much contact in the last few years.’
‘I know,’ Owen said as he loaded glasses into the dishwasher. ‘But I feel like she doesn’t trust me to do anything for Luke, as though she’s the only one who knows how to raise a child, and I want to remind her that he’s my son as well as her grandson.’
Nessie felt her heart beat faster: here it was, the perfect opportunity to tell Owen the truth about Gweneth and her threat to take Luke away. She swallowed hard, and took a long steadying breath.
‘Maybe I’m being unfair,’ Owen said, sighing. ‘She means well, after all, and I would have struggled on my own with Luke without Kathryn. And it’s hard for her, being reminded of Eliza at every turn.’
And just like that, the moment had vanished. Nessie straightened up and let the tension seep from her shoulders. ‘Do you know when Kathryn will be back?’
‘Christmas Eve,’ Owen said. ‘The plan is that Gweneth will stay for Christmas dinner and then take Luke home with her on Boxing Day for a few days.’
Nessie’s stomach lurched. ‘Oh? How does Luke feel about that?’
‘He seems keen – she’s promised to take him to the beach every day.’
Once again, Nessie steeled herself to tell Owen what Gweneth had said to her but somehow the words wouldn’t come. She forced herself to sound light. ‘I can see why he’s keen. Who doesn’t love the beach?’
‘Exactly. And I might be calling on Gweneth again, if the band gets more work, so it seems like a good idea for the two of them to get to know each other.’
‘You mean Gweneth might be here more often?’ Nessie said slowly.
Owen nodded. ‘It won’t be easy but she seems to want to be part of Luke’s life and it feels like another way for him to remember his mother.’
Nessie dipped her head and moved on to the next set of pumps. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ she murmured, seeing the temporary break she’d suggested to Owen stretching on and on into the future. ‘Why don’t you head off now? I can finish the clearing up.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his forehead crinkling. ‘I don’t mind staying.’
‘No, I can manage,’ Nessie said, forcing herself to smile. ‘Thanks for your help tonight.’
‘My pleasure.’ He paused, as though he was about to say something else, then stepped back. ‘Night, Nessie.’
‘Goodnight,’ she called.
She watched until the door closed behind him and then slumped her head onto the bar. If Kathryn did start touring more – or worse, move out for good – then Gweneth might well become a permanent part of Owen and Luke’s life. Which meant Nessie couldn’t be. What was she going to do?
When Sam awoke the next morning, she could barely lift her head from the pillow. She lay still for a moment, squinting around the unfamiliar room and wondering where she was. Then it all came flooding back; she was in London for the RAD awards. The Star and Sixpence hadn’t won. There’d been tequila, and a lot of champagne. The rest of the evening was something of a blur but she remembered laughing with Joss. He’d most definitely featured in the post-ceremony events . . .
Forcing her eyes open, Sam twisted around to check the other side of the king-size bed: to her relief, it was empty. She listened, straining to catch the sound of someone in the bathroom but the room was silent. Joss wasn’t here. Whatever else had happened, they hadn’t spent the night together.
Wishing she’d had the good sense to order breakfast in her room, Sam dragged herself reluctantly out of bed and into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she was hurrying downstairs. She’d knocked for Joss and got no reply; either he was still sleeping things off or he’d spent the night elsewhere. Maybe the lady from Uttoxeter had finally got to him, Sam thought, trying to ignore a sudden tightness in her stomach.
There were several familiar, blurry-eyed faces as Sam entered the dining room, including George, who would not hear of her sitting alone.
‘Come and join us,’ he said, waving a hand at an empty chair beside one of his dining companions. ‘Hangovers love company.’
‘Hangovers love Prairie Oysters,’ she corrected with a smile, thinking of Ruby’s failsafe cure.
She sat down and George introduced Polly from Ginius, the independent gin distillery, and Raj, who ran a bar in Shoreditch. The conversation soon turned to gossip from the previous evening.
‘Did you see Melanie from the Dog and Duck?’ Raj said, his eyes twinkling with delight. ‘She could hardly stand up.’
‘She wasn’t the only one,’ George observed. He glanced sideways at Sam. ‘Although Joss was probably pleased – she usually makes a bee-line for him.’
‘Is the Dog and Duck in Uttoxeter, by any chance?’
George grinned. ‘He’s told you then. Yes, Melanie is his number-one fan but to be honest, he has quite a few admirers.’
‘Unsurprisingly,’ Polly said, with a wistful sigh. ‘He’s hot.’
Sam fought an unaccustomed stab of jealousy. ‘He’s also great at his job. He really goes the extra mile.’
Polly shook her head. ‘He could go the extra mile with me any time. Is he single?’
She was pretty, Sam decided; raven-haired and petite with sparkling blue eyes and rosebud lips. Joss would be mad to turn her down. ‘I believe so,’ Sam replied, trying her hardest to keep her tone even. ‘At the moment.’
‘It’s a shame you couldn’t hang on to him, Sam,’ George said, and for a split-second she thought he meant romantically. ‘He really is one of the best in the business and I know how much he loved working at the Star and Sixpence.’
‘Yes,’ Sam managed, avoiding Polly’s curious gaze. ‘It is a shame.’
‘Especially since he was the one who nominated the Star and Sixpence for Pub of the Year,’ George went on. He layered a slice of bacon with ketchup. ‘It came with a glowing recommendation, actually, made it sound quite irresistible.’
Sam stared at him. ‘I didn’t think you could nominate your own pub.’
‘You can’t,’ George shrugged. ‘This was after he’d left and had started at his
new place – mid-June, I think. I remember because it was such a late nomination, only a day before we closed the list . . .’
He continued to talk but Sam barely heard the words. Joss had nominated the Star and Sixpence after they’d split up – in spite of all the bad blood between them? And he’d clearly done his best to make sure the pub was shown in the best possible light, too. It was such a lovely, thoughtful thing for him to have done that Sam felt her eyes swim with momentary tears.
George was frowning at her. ‘I probably shouldn’t have told you that – it’s all meant to be confidential. Maybe I’m not quite sober yet after all.’
Sam summoned up a smile and reached for a slice of toast. ‘Don’t worry, George. Trust me, I know how to keep a secret.’
Chapter Seven
A handwritten letter in unfamiliar writing arrived for Nessie on Friday morning.
She stared at it for a moment, taking in the Oxford postmark, and then turned the envelope over and tore it open. As she’d hoped, it was from Ruby’s son, Cal. She read it with breathless anticipation.
When she’d finished, she stood for a moment with her eyes closed in relief. Then she checked the time – forty-five minutes until opening time – and hurried upstairs to get her coat. She couldn’t wait to see Ruby’s expression when she gave her the good news.
‘Really?’ Ruby said, her face shining up at Nessie as she sat at the kitchen table. ‘He really wants to see me?’
Nessie held out the letter. ‘Read it for yourself. He sounds a tiny bit cautious but I expect that’s understandable.’
Ruby read the letter through several times, running her fingers over the paper as though she could absorb the essence of her son through the ink. ‘He suggests Monday in Birmingham for coffee.’ She looked at Nessie anxiously. ‘How am I going to get there? On the train?’
‘Either Sam or I will take you,’ Nessie soothed. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t leave you to go on your own.’
Ruby clutched at her necklace and laughed, but it was high and nervous and nothing like her usual throaty laughter. ‘Listen to me, I sound like a dithery old bat.’
Christmas at the Star and Sixpence Page 6
