The lyrics began to roll across the screen. Henry started to sing. The tune was pitched a fraction too high, Nessie realised with a sinking feeling, but he pushed on, his gaze fixed on Franny the whole time. And as he took a breath, Kathryn let out a gasp of astonished recognition.
‘Oh my god. It’s Marry You. You don’t think—’
‘He’s proposing to Franny,’ Nessie breathed, taking in Henry’s earnest expression and the shaking microphone in his hand. ‘Yes, I think he might be!’
Franny’s disapproving frown was slowly melting away as she understood what was happening. Her eyes widened and her mouth became a circle of astonishment. All around her, grins of delight materialised.
‘Go on, Henry!’ Martha’s husband, Rob, shouted amid other calls of encouragement.
Nessie couldn’t help grinning as she spotted Owen’s amazed face on the far side of the pub. Had anyone, apart from DJ George, known what Henry was planning? She didn’t think so. And yet why shouldn’t he propose to Franny? It was true that most men would quake with terror at the idea, but Nessie had seen the fierce village postmistress soften since she and Henry had got together. And right now, her cheeks were flushed a girlish pink that told Nessie she was thrilled at the unexpected gesture of love.
As the last ding-dong of musical notes faded away, Henry stepped briskly from the stage and fumbled in his jacket pocket. His white moustache bristled as he sank on one knee in front of Franny and cleared his throat. ‘My dearest Frances,’ he began gruffly, only the tiniest bit out of breath. ‘Will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’
He opened up the ring box to reveal a sparkling diamond on navy blue velvet. It felt to Nessie as if the entire population of Little Monkham held its breath, almost as though the Star and Sixpence herself was waiting. But Franny’s pink cheeks deepened into a scarlet glow that lit up her face with a pure, unaccustomed joy.
‘Yes, Henry,’ she said, in a thick voice that sounded very much as though she was fighting back tears. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’
The room erupted into cheers; whoops and applause rang out as Henry slid the diamond ring onto the third finger of Franny’s left hand and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. And then people were clapping him on the back, taking Franny’s hand to admire the new ring and Nessie saw nothing but wall-to-wall smiles all across the pub.
Sam appeared at her side, looking amused. ‘I can’t decide whether Henry has taken leave of his senses permanently or just temporarily, but I think he’s made Franny the happiest woman in the world.’
‘Me too,’ Nessie said. ‘Look at her smile. If there’s any tricky Preservation Society business we need her on side for, now’s the time to ask.’
Sam nodded. ‘And Henry definitely wins most original marriage proposal. I had no idea he even knew who Bruno Mars is.’
‘He’s a dark horse,’ Nessie replied, laughing.
Sam glanced over one shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you who else is a dark horse. Gabe. Did you have any idea he could sing like that?’
Nessie blinked. Henry had stolen the show so completely that she’d almost forgotten Gabe’s performance. ‘Of course I didn’t. Did you?’
‘Nope,’ Sam said, then lowered her voice. ‘But it didn’t help me to see him as just our chef.’
‘The good news is that you’re not the only woman who feels that way,’ Nessie said wryly, her gaze travelling across the bar to where Kathryn was introducing herself to Gabe. ‘But if you’re really interested, I think you might have some competition. Kathryn was very keen to meet him.’
Sam’s expression grew suddenly neutral. ‘Oh. I see.’
‘Does he have any idea you feel like this?’ Nessie asked.
‘No,’ Sam replied instantly, then gnawed on her lip. ‘I can’t see how he would. I’ve been careful.’
She glanced over at Gabe, who was smiling at Kathryn, and Nessie caught a flash of the attraction Sam was trying so hard to fight. ‘Why don’t you tell him?’ she said kindly. ‘How many times did you tell me to do the same with Owen? And how long did it take us to actually get together?’
‘Too long,’ Sam said, with a sigh. ‘But you and Owen didn’t work together. What if Gabe doesn’t see me that way?’
‘Then you patch up your wounded pride and move on, with your head held high,’ Nessie replied. ‘But if you don’t tell him, you run the risk of someone else getting in there first. And I think you need to ask yourself how that would make you feel.’
Nessie was pleased to see that her words seemed to galvanise Sam into action, who straightened her shoulders. ‘Okay, I’ll pick my moment.’
‘Good,’ Nessie said, with a nod of satisfaction. ‘Now, we should probably go and say congratulations to the happy couple.’
Sam dragged her gaze away from Gabe and Kathryn. ‘Of course. Shall we gift them a bottle of champagne too? I think they’d like that.’
‘Great idea,’ Nessie said. ‘We’ve got a couple in the cellar – I’ll go and get one.’
‘Let me,’ Sam replied. She gave Nessie a lopsided smile. ‘I could do with a minute to myself, actually.’
Nessie smiled. ‘Don’t take too long or I might have to send Gabe down to look for you.’
Sam managed a weak grin. ‘You know, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.’
‘Just go,’ Nessie said, laughing. ‘And don’t forget to bring the champagne.’
Chapter Eight
As the Autumn Taster Evening approached, life at the Star and Sixpence whipped into a whirlwind. The bar was buzzing most evenings, with more customers than usual even on the quieter nights, which Sam suspected was due at least in part to the feel-good factor that followed Henry and Franny’s engagement. Sam had also been kept busy sourcing the wines Gabe had specified to go with his menu, something Nessie had uncharacteristically forgotten to do; her lost diary still hadn’t materialised and seemed to be impacting on them in all kinds of unexpected ways. It was more than just the stress of a missing diary, though; Sam thought her sister seemed subdued in other ways too. She’d asked Laurie to fill in for three of her evening shifts over the last week, claiming Owen had a big project underway and needed her help to look after Luke.
‘Can’t Kathryn step in?’ Sam had asked, but Nessie had shaken her head.
‘I think she has other plans,’ she’d answered cryptically.
It didn’t take one of the Bletchley Circle to work out what she meant, Sam realised; Kathryn was spending most evenings in the Star and Sixpence, hoping for a glimpse of Gabe. Sam could hardly blame her; that was probably another reason the pub felt busier – half the village ladies were there most nights to sigh and swoon over him, and Sam herself was one of them. She might spend a large part of each day with Gabe, but she was fairly sure he saw her exactly the way she’d intended him to see her – as a colleague and fellow professional and nothing more. To make matters worse, since the karaoke evening, she’d found it almost impossible to flirt with him; it was as though she’d forgotten how to talk to him. Thank goodness Nessie wasn’t at the top of her game, Sam thought with bewildered gratitude after another excruciating encounter; an inability to flirt was so remarkable that her sister would probably try to take her temperature.
Things hit crisis point on the morning of the Taste of Autumn event itself. Nessie was running late – some complication with getting Luke ready for school meant Sam had to see to the departing guests in the rooms upstairs at the same time as checking through the order for the kitchen.
‘Why don’t you leave the kitchen delivery with me?’ Gabe said, leaning against the living-room door frame as Sam raced up the stairs for the fourth time in as many minutes. ‘At least I’ll have the benefit of remembering what I ordered.’
Out of the corner of one eye, Sam could see an expanse of tanned chest and she knew – just knew – it would be stippled with fine dark hair. She kept her gaze firmly averted as she reached the landing. ‘I can manage.’
‘I h
ave no doubt you can,’ Gabe said, his tone dry. ‘But I’ll be checking the delivery for myself the moment you finish. And it looks like you have enough to deal with right now – why don’t you let me help?’
He sounded so reasonable that Sam forgot she shouldn’t look at him. The sight of him lounging half-dressed in the doorway set her already racing heart thumping even more. ‘The delivery note is in the kitchen downstairs,’ she said tightly. ‘Thank you.’
Gabe tipped his head. ‘No problem. And I know you and Nessie usually share the job of preparing breakfast for the guest rooms, but if you ever want some help, I’m happy to chip in sometimes.’
The offer was so generous that Sam managed to smile in spite of her stress. ‘That’s not your job.’
‘No,’ he said, shrugging in a way that made his golden skin shimmer. ‘But we’re a team here. I’d be a pretty poor teammate if I didn’t help out, not to mention a bad chef.’
His voice echoed in Sam’s head long after he’d gone to find a shirt and she’d busied herself with ensuring the bed and breakfast guests were looked after. A team, she thought dreamily and then gave herself a mental shake. It was probably a good thing he had no idea what kind of team she’d like them to be.
Nessie appeared not long after nine-thirty. Sam took one look at her pale, clammy face and sat her down in the empty bar with a glass of water.
‘What is it?’ she asked in concern, as her sister pressed the glass to her cheek. ‘Is it a cold, or the flu? Franny says we should get the jab – she said pubs are full of germs at the best of times, but winter is the worst.’
Nessie managed a weak smile. ‘It’s nothing. Probably just a touch of food poisoning.’
‘What? Has anyone else got it?’ Sam asked, frowning. ‘Owen or Luke?’
‘No,’ Nessie replied. ‘But I was the only one who had the prawns in the takeaway we shared last night. Obviously, they weren’t quite as fresh as they should have been.’
Sam eyed her sister with concern: she looked as though she might blow over in a stiff breeze. And if it was food poisoning . . .
‘Go home,’ she said as kindly as she could. ‘Apart from anything else, you look terrible and you’re probably breaking a hundred health and safety rules just by being here.’
Nessie shook her head. ‘I can manage some admin. The order for next month’s barrels needs to go to the brewery and—’ She stopped and put a hand over her mouth.
Sam stood up. ‘You know I say this with love and sympathy, Ness, but please don’t throw up on the carpet. We’ll never shift the smell before tonight.’
With a stricken look, Nessie got to her feet and hurried for the toilets. When she returned a few minutes later, she wore an expression of resignation. ‘I’m sorry to let you down like this.’
Sam let out a huff of exasperation. ‘You’re not letting anyone down. Now go and get better. Tell Owen to stop banging away in the forge and make him look after you – lots of rest and fluids and mopping your fevered brow.’
‘He’s out doing deliveries today,’ Nessie replied. ‘I’ll just go to bed and wait for it to pass, I think. Sorry again.’
‘Stop apologising,’ Sam said loudly, then softened her tone. ‘Try to sleep if you can and let me know if you need anything – I’ll come and check on you later.’
‘There’s really no n—’
‘There’s every need,’ Sam said, holding up a firm hand to forestall the inevitable argument. ‘Now come on – I’ll walk you back to the cottage.’
Once Nessie was safely tucked up in bed, with a jug of water and a bucket beside her, Sam made her way back to the Star and Sixpence and checked the staff rota. The plan had been for Nessie to help Gabe in the kitchen while Sam managed the front of house, but that was out of the question now. Her fingers hovered over the list of names; Connor and Laurie were manning the bar, with a team of Tilly and a pair of temporary waitresses called Charlotte and Sarah handling the food orders. But she still needed an extra pair of hands either to help in the kitchen or to greet the diners as they came in and seat them according to the table plan Nessie had drawn up. And the difficulty was that anyone Sam might normally call on was booked in to dine. In fact, the only person who hadn’t booked was Kathryn.
Sam reached for her mobile and waited while it rang. Nessie had said she was the only one who’d eaten the dodgy prawns, hadn’t she? Fingers crossed that Kathryn wasn’t ill too . . .
‘Hello you,’ Kathryn said, her voice warm in Sam’s ear. ‘What’s up?’
Taking a deep breath, Sam explained.
‘And I’m really hoping it hasn’t got you too,’ she finished.
‘No, I’m perfectly fine,’ Kathryn reassured her. ‘Poor Nessie – I had no idea she wasn’t well. What can I do to help?’
‘I know you’re not coming along for the taster, but I’m really hoping you’re in Little Monkham this evening,’ Sam said. ‘I could do with another pair of hands if you are.’
‘As long as it’s not waitressing,’ Kathryn said. ‘People are more likely to end up wearing the food instead of eating it if you make me do that.’
Sam laughed. ‘No, we’re sorted for waitresses. What I need from you is . . .’ She glanced down at the paper in front of her and hesitated. What did she want Kathryn to do – front of house or help Gabe in the kitchen? The choice ought to be straightforward; Kathryn had spent years helping Owen to look after Luke, she knew one end of a saucepan from another. Whereas Sam was great at dealing with people but much preferred to leave the cooking to others – the thought of spending an evening in a steam-filled kitchen didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. Except that Gabe would be there. And who knew what might happen if Kathryn was there too? Despising herself just the tiniest bit, Sam closed her eyes. ‘If you could take over the front of house, that would be amazing. You’ll know almost everyone who comes in – all you’ll need to do is sit them down in the right places.’
‘No problem,’ Kathryn said cheerfully. ‘I might even dig out an LBD for the occasion. Do you think Gabe might appreciate a nice fitted dress?’
‘Definitely,’ Sam said, pushing down a wave of guilt. ‘Can you be here for six o’clock?’
*
If Gabe had any doubts about Sam’s ability to assist him in the kitchen, he kept them to himself as she outlined the revised plan.
‘I hope Nessie feels better soon,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Prawns get a bad press, but there’s no doubt they need careful handling.’
Sam kept her eyes on her sheet of paper; Gabe was leaning against the stainless-steel counter, dressed in his crisp chef whites, and each time he moved Sam caught a hint of a citrus and musk scent that caused a flurry of butterflies inside her.
She cleared her throat. ‘So you’re okay with having me for a sous-chef?’
‘Sure,’ he said, spreading his hands and fixing her with a direct look. ‘As long as you do everything I tell you to do, at the precise moment I tell you to do it, things will work out fine.’
Sam swallowed and glanced away, unable to resist a tiny shiver of apprehension. Gabe might only be talking about cooking, but food certainly wouldn’t be the only thing on Sam’s mind that evening.
*
By seven-thirty, Sam had lost any expectations she’d had that working with Gabe might be sexy. There was her outfit, for a start; he’d taken one look at her fitted jeans and white T-shirt and insisted she wear an apron that almost drowned her. Her freshly straightened hair was scraped back into a severe bun and tucked into a net that reminded Sam strongly of stodgy school dinners. And her manicured fingers were encased in unattractive latex gloves that made handling everything more difficult. But she found the work itself surprisingly absorbing; Gabe had been scrupulous in his preparation. The fixed nature of the taster menu meant that there were no surprises and a lot of the hard work had already been done. But each plate still needed to be put together; Gabe’s instructions were precise and authoritative, but he never raised his voice and Sam soon
found herself anticipating his directives.
It wasn’t quite how she’d pictured things, and she couldn’t exactly call it fun, but there was a certain satisfaction to be taken from presenting a perfectly dressed plate for Gabe to work his magic over, and sensing his silent approval. Between the two of them, they were creating something that would give a moment of delight to the person who ate it. And that was a thought that made Sam smile, in spite of her intense concentration.
At ten o’clock, the last wave of desserts went out and Sam allowed herself a sigh of relief. They’d done it; nothing had been broken, no mistakes had been made and Gabe hadn’t bellowed in the style of Gordon Ramsay once. And judging from the stream of compliments being relayed by Tilly and the other waitresses as they returned the empty plates, the taster menu had been a resounding success.
‘Well done,’ Sam told Gabe, as yet another glowing comment came in. ‘I mean, I’m not in any way surprised that everyone loved the menu, given how amazingly talented you are.’
Gabe shrugged. ‘It’s me who should be thanking you, Sam. I know it can’t have been easy to step in for Nessie, especially when you’ve never done anything like this before, but you did a great job.’ He smiled. ‘You can be my sous-chef again, if you like.’
The way he looked at her sent a sharp burst of heat through Sam’s abdomen. She opened her mouth to reply, but the kitchen door opened and Kathryn came in. She beamed at both of them in obvious delight. ‘That was what I reckon you PR types would call an absolute triumph. Franny practically fell off her chair when she tasted that roast beef and she’s already talking about Gabe stealing Nigella’s crown.’
Sam laughed and glanced at Gabe. ‘Let’s get the restaurant up and running first, shall we? Then we can discuss world domination.’
Kathryn grinned. ‘Good idea. I was going to ask if the two of you wanted to come out and meet your adoring public, but I’m guessing you might want to freshen up a bit first.’
Sam raised a suddenly self-conscious hand to her steam-frizzed hair; she was willing to bet that all her carefully applied make-up had melted away in the heat, leaving her face shiny and naked. Gabe, on the other hand, looked the same as he always did: good enough to eat. It really wasn’t fair. ‘No, I’ll stay here and get on with the cleaning up.’
Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Page 7
