The older woman shook in her arms. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Sam smiled into her hair. ‘It’s okay. Now, let’s rearrange that meeting.’
Chapter Eight
It was just before five o’clock on Wednesday evening and the frost was already starting to bite as Nessie hurried across the village green towards the Star and Sixpence. Her breath formed clouds that sparkled beneath the multi-coloured lights strung between the trees and the grass crunched under her boots. She pulled her thick woollen scarf up to cover her chin and glanced at the Star and Sixpence, lit up and glowing against the navy-blue night. In three days’ time it would be Christmas Eve and there would be a cluster of twinkling stalls in front of the pub, a whirling carousel and Santa’s Grotto tucked away between the trees, but Nessie didn’t feel in the least bit festive; she was too worried about Owen and Sam and Ruby for that. Her sister seemed to be coping in the aftermath of her break-up with Nick, and Ruby hadn’t had another drink after her relapse, as far as anyone knew, but it felt like things were teetering on a knife edge, especially since Nessie hadn’t worked out what to do about the situation with Gweneth. The thought of ending things permanently with Owen filled her with quiet desperation but she couldn’t see any other way. She wouldn’t put herself above Owen’s relationship with his son.
She had almost reached the door of the pub when she heard Owen call her. Turning, she peered towards the forge and saw him heading her way. Her heart leapt and sank at the same time.
‘I was hoping to catch you,’ he said, once he’d reached the pub entrance. ‘Are you around later – say seven o’clock?’
‘Yes, I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Sam is going late-night shopping and it’s Tilly’s night off so I expect it will just be me. Why?’
Owen looked pleased. ‘Good. I’ve got something for you. A little winter solstice gift.’
She stared at him in anxious confusion. ‘What?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing big,’ he said, noticing her bewilderment. ‘Well, I suppose it is pretty big but it’s not expensive.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s not even really a present, more a tradition. Anyway, I’ll bring it over later if that’s okay? At seven.’
‘Okay, at seven,’ Nessie echoed, even more confused. She didn’t know much about the winter solstice, other than it heralded the shortest day of the year, and she had no idea what Owen’s gift might be. Or what it meant.
‘See you then,’ Owen said. He hesitated for a moment, as though he was about to say something more, and then nodded in farewell before walking away.
‘See you then,’ Nessie called.
The pub was quiet, with only a couple of regulars nursing a pint as they flicked through the newspaper or chatted to each other. Nessie stoked the fire as she passed the huge fireplace that dominated the bar, enjoying the burst of heat from the leaping flames, then slipped upstairs to drop her coat off.
‘Doing anything nice?’ she asked Tilly as she let the bar-maid go.
Tilly smiled wryly. ‘Choir practice for the Christmas Eve carol service.’
‘Ah,’ Nessie said. The St Mary’s Church choir was run by Franny and several village inhabitants were members, including Owen, Luke and Martha. Kathryn had resisted the recruitment process so far but it seemed Tilly hadn’t escaped. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks. Frank the organist is on his second warning for freestyling during Hark the Herald Angels,’ Tilly said cheerfully. ‘It’ll be a miracle if we make it to Christmas Day without bloodshed.’
By the time seven o’clock arrived, the regulars had finished their drinks and braved the cold to go home. Nessie cleared the tables and checked the stock levels behind the bar, then settled in one of the squashy armchairs beside the fire with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and her laptop to go over the accounts. These winter evenings when the pub was empty were secretly her favourite times, although Sam would be horrified to hear her say it: an unfilled pub was the last thing a landlord should wish for. But Nessie took a quiet pleasure in watching the fire burn. It was almost like meditation; a way to clear her mind, something she seemed to need more and more lately.
When the door opened again, it was Owen, carrying a wide, heavy-looking log complete with dangling roots at one end. The muscles in his arms bulged a little as he edged sideways through the doorway.
‘Let me help,’ Nessie said, jumping up.
‘No need,’ Owen said as he carried the log over to the fireplace and set it carefully down on the hearth. ‘Yuletide greetings, Nessie.’
Understanding flooded through Nessie. ‘It’s a Yule log.’
Owen nodded. ‘Traditionally burned on the shortest day of the year to welcome the return of the light and encourage prosperity for the months ahead. I used to bring one over to the pub every winter solstice.’
Nessie gazed down at the speckled bark and creamy wood. ‘You didn’t last year.’
‘No,’ he conceded. ‘You’d only just arrived and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the village blacksmith plying you with ancient pagan gifts. It might have sent you screaming back to London.’
She smiled as she imagined her sister’s face. ‘You could have a point. So, what do I do with it?’
Owen nodded towards the fireplace. ‘You burn it slowly and think about the year that’s gone and all the blessings you’ve received. Then, in the morning, you find a piece that hasn’t burned and save it to light next year’s log.’
Nessie frowned. ‘But you didn’t bring a log last year, so I don’t have a piece to light this one.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly charred chunk of wood. ‘I saved you a bit from ours, hoping I’d know you well enough by this solstice to give it to you.’
His eyes met hers as he spoke and a shiver ran down Nessie’s spine. They knew each other better than she’d dared to hope when they’d first met and yet there was still a lot she didn’t know about Owen Rhys. But she might have suspected he’d observe some ancient traditions; he was a blacksmith, one of the oldest professions, and a Welshman. Old magic must run in his blood.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely tradition.’
Using tongs, Owen dipped the fragment of the old log into the already-burning fire. It burst into yellow flames almost immediately. ‘Old wood burns quickly,’ he said, carefully passing Nessie the tongs and lifting the Yule log once again. ‘Hold it beneath the root here, so that it catches alight.’
Nessie leaned forwards and did as she was told, trying not to notice how close she was to Owen or the warmth his body gave off. She concentrated on holding the crackling wood under the log, telling herself it was the heat from the flame that made her cheeks glow. Once the root was burning steadily, she stepped back and Owen lifted the log into the heart of the fireplace, his elbow-length leather gloves protecting him from the heat. He lowered it into the hearth with a flash of orange sparks. Amber and golden flames licked at the underside of the log and began to creep along the bark.
‘It should last a few hours,’ Owen said, straightening up and pulling off his protective gloves. ‘I can pop in first thing tomorrow, if you like, to salvage a piece for next year.’
Nessie shook her head – she cleaned the fireplace every morning. ‘You’ll be busy with Luke. Don’t trouble yourself.’
Owen’s gaze was steady. ‘It’s no trouble. And it’s part of the tradition – I’d like to.’
Again, Nessie felt a shiver of something – she liked the idea of creating a tradition with him that ran from year to year, even though she was growing more and more certain it would be as friends and neighbours, nothing more. ‘Okay, thank you.’ She glanced at the clock behind the bar. ‘Have you got time for a drink or does Franny disapprove of drinking before choir practice?’
He nodded. ‘She does but a drink around the Yule log is traditional too – the Romans used to celebrate with a feast that lasted for days. But I’ll settle for a small Ardbeg.’
Nessi
e tipped a measure of peaty Scottish whisky into a glass and poured a ruby port for herself. She carried the drinks over to the armchairs facing the fire and set them on one of the low tables.
Owen waited until she was seated before raising his glass in the firelight, causing the tawny liquid to shimmer. ‘To the year that’s past,’ he said, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘I’m glad we’ve become friends.’
Nessie swallowed hard as the light from the fire danced and flickered across his face. There was def initely something of the old magic about Owen Rhys, she thought, her gaze drifting down to his gently curving lips and back to his dark eyes; he certainly seemed to have cast a spell on her, one that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. Lifting her own drink, she touched it against his. ‘And to the year ahead. I hope it brings you happiness.’
Glass chinked on glass. ‘I hope it brings us both happiness,’ Owen said quietly, holding her gaze. ‘To new beginnings.’
Nessie was so caught up in a surge of bittersweet longing that she almost forgot to drink. It was only when Owen took a sip of his whisky that she remembered and mechanically lifted her own glass to her lips. The rich scent of fruit and the burst of warm spice that hit her tongue as she drank only served to heighten her feeling of intoxication. She swallowed, the ruby liquid burning all the way to her belly. If she put down her glass and closed the distance between her and Owen, she could kiss him. He’d taste of wood smoke and whisky. No one would need to know. No one would get hurt.
‘I thought about bringing over some mistletoe,’ Owen said, as though reading her mind. ‘Another Yule tradition.’
Oh, I wish you had, Nessie thought.
He watched her over the top of his glass. ‘But I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist the temptation.’
Nessie held her breath, trying to remember the reason she had for ending things between them. It seemed so ridiculous now; how could she let Gweneth come between them? ‘Owen, I—’
The door swept open, bringing with it a blast of freezing air. Ruby stamped in, her cane thudding into the floor. ‘Brrr, it’s cold and dark out there. Everything the winter solstice should be.’
She paused in the act of taking off her coat, glancing first at Nessie’s flushed cheeks and then across to a silent Owen. ‘Bugger. I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I?’
Owen drained his glass and flashed a smile at her. ‘Not at all, Ruby. I was just on my way, to be honest. Choir practice waits for no man, especially not three days before Christmas.’ He stood up and gazed down at Nessie. ‘See you in the morning, then?’
She managed a smile. ‘See you in the morning. And thanks for bringing the log. It was very thoughtful of you.’
Owen nodded once. ‘Like I said, it’s no trouble.’
His eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat, and then he was gone. Nessie busied herself with clearing the glasses as Ruby settled into the seat Owen had just left.
‘I’m sorry for ruining the moment, darling,’ the older woman said.
‘You didn’t,’ Nessie assured her. ‘We were just talking. And it’s always lovely to see you.’
Ruby raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘I’ve played more love scenes than you’ve had hot dinners, Nessie – I recognise a tryst when I see one, even if you apparently don’t.’
Nessie felt herself blushing. ‘Owen and I are just friends now.’
A peal of delighted laughter rolled across the bar. ‘You keep telling yourself that, darling.’
‘What can I get you to drink?’ Nessie asked, determined to change the subject. ‘An orange and cranberry spritzer?’
Ruby let out a delicate snort. ‘I could have had orange juice at home and then you and Owen would be halfway up the stairs by now.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘No, make me one of your gorgeously wicked salted caramel hot chocolates and entertain me while I drink it. And don’t hold back with the flake.’
Sam stared at the Yule log smouldering in the grate at closing time that evening, then turned an accusing gaze on Nessie.
‘Tell me again why you and Owen aren’t together.’
Nessie wanted to groan. She recognised the determined look in Sam’s eyes; it was the same one she’d had aged eight when she’d demanded to know where her baby teeth really went, and it meant business. Nessie wouldn’t be able to fob her off with vague reasons and excuses. It was time to tell her sister the truth.
When she’d finished talking, Sam looked as though she’d like to hit something. ‘That miserable, interfering bitch!’ she stormed, getting to her feet and pacing the bar. ‘I knew she’d done something to upset you, but this? This is beyond twisted.’
Nessie hung her head. ‘I know.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Sam stopped pacing to glare at Nessie. ‘And don’t say you’re going to give in to this emotional blackmail crap because I won’t let you. I’ll go round there and have it out with her right now.’
‘Sam!’ Nessie cried in alarm. ‘This needs careful handling. I can’t just go and blurt it all out to Owen.’
‘Why not? He deserves to know what a snake she is. In fact, I’m amazed he hasn’t put two and two together already.’
‘Yes, but—’
Sam gave a short sigh. ‘Look, if there’s one thing I know it’s that you can’t give in to blackmailers. You need to seize the initiative, take their power away, and the only way to do that in this case is to come clean with Owen.’
Nessie stared at her sister, feeling an all-too-familiar wave of panic and nausea. ‘But what if Gweneth goes to Social Services?’
‘Let her,’ Sam replied promptly. ‘I’m fairly sure it’s an empty threat but let her try it. It’s obvious Luke isn’t neglected and there are plenty of people around the village who’ll tell anyone who asks that Gweneth Morgan is a poisonous old witch who blames Owen for stealing her daughter away.’
Nessie froze. ‘Does she? How do you know?’
‘Franny told me,’ Sam said. ‘So I don’t think any of this is really about you, Ness. I think she’s punishing Owen. She can’t bear the thought of him moving on when she can’t.’
Could it be true? Nessie wondered. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Gweneth in the graveyard; it certainly seemed to fit, although the older woman’s words had been personal and cutting too. ‘She told me I wasn’t good enough for him,’ she admitted to Sam. ‘She said I’m half the woman Eliza was. She – she said I stink of beer.’
Sam’s lips tightened. ‘She’s wrong on all three counts. And I doubt very much she knows the full story – Kathryn says Owen and Eliza were considering a divorce before she became ill. Maybe it’s time Gweneth heard a few home truths about her precious daughter.’
‘Sam, you can’t!’ Nessie felt a sickening lurch of alarm at the fury in her sister’s voice. ‘Think about Luke.’
‘Okay, maybe I won’t bring that up,’ Sam relented. ‘But this mess needs sorting out, Ness. You don’t have to be there – in fact, it’s better if you’re not. I won’t have to hold back then.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Tell Owen everything,’ Sam said grimly. ‘Then it will be up to him to put things right.’
Nessie’s gaze travelled to the Yule log burning in the fireplace. What was it Owen had said? To new beginnings. And hadn’t her Yuletide wish been that Gweneth would just vanish, leaving everything exactly as it had been before she arrived? Maybe it was time to make that wish come true.
‘I’ll tell him,’ she said, taking a deep unsteady breath. ‘First thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Make sure you do,’ Sam ground out. ‘Because if you don’t, I will.’
Nessie didn’t expect to sleep much.
She expected to spend the night staring at the beamed ceiling above her bed while her brain went into meltdown, worrying about Owen’s reaction. But in reality, she fell straight into a dreamless sleep and didn’t stir until her alarm went off just before six.
All the trepidation s
he’d managed to avoid the night before came crashing back as she prepared the guest breakfasts and printed off their bills, ready for them to check out. By the time Owen knocked on the door of the pub, Nessie’s stomach was churning so much that she thought she might actually be sick.
She did her best to smile as she let him in. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning to you too,’ he said, and Nessie saw the faint crease of a pillow still indented into his cheek. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I did,’ Nessie admitted. ‘Much better than I thought I would, actually.’
He nodded at the fireplace. ‘That’ll be the solstice working its magic. Sleep is a good way to spend the longest night.’
His eyes glittered at her for a moment, and then he crossed to the hearth and knelt beside it, rummaging among the cold ash until he found what he wanted. ‘Ah, here it is.’
He held up a half-charred piece of wood. ‘We need to keep this safe to light next year’s log.’
Nessie felt her stomach turn over again. ‘If there is a next year.’
Owen looked at her in surprise. ‘Why wouldn’t there be?’
She let out a short, hard breath. ‘I think you’d better sit down, Owen. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about Gweneth . . . ’
Owen didn’t interrupt once. He grew more and more still, his expression becoming more stone-like with every word Nessie said. Finally, when she finished speaking and drifted into an uncomfortable silence, he stared at nothing for a long moment.
‘I wasn’t going to tell you,’ Nessie said, when the silence became unbearable. ‘But then you said Gweneth might be here more often and I—’
Owen stood up suddenly and Nessie stopped talking.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Nessie,’ he said, and she heard the cold ring of iron determination in his tone as he tucked the burned bit of Yule log into his pocket. ‘There’s something I need to do.’
Her heart pounded as she watched him leave. Was he angry that she hadn’t told him right away? Or was he furious that she’d told him at all? ‘Owen?’
Christmas at the Star and Sixpence Page 8
