Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  Gabe frowned. ‘We’re a team, Sam. You should come and take your share of the praise.’

  She managed a rueful smile. ‘It’s not me they came for, Gabe. And a good PR always knows when to stand back and let the talent shine.’

  For a moment, she thought he would argue; his gaze was brooding as he studied her. But after a few seconds, he tipped his head and followed Kathryn out to the bar. Sam heard the start of enthusiastic applause before the kitchen door swung closed, leaving her alone. She stood still, letting the adrenaline drain away and feeling bone-weary exhaustion take its place. And then she pulled open the dishwasher and began to load the plates.

  She was elbow-deep in washing-up suds, rinsing the last saucepan, when Gabe reappeared some thirty minutes later, bearing two flutes of what looked a lot like champagne.

  ‘Please tell me that is what I think it is,’ she said, her mouth watering in anticipation.

  ‘It is,’ Gabe answered, placing the flutes on the work surface and gently lifting her hands from the water. ‘There was just enough left over from the bottles we bought and I decided we deserved them more than Laurie.’

  The breath caught in Sam’s throat as he reached for a towel and dried her hands. It was a curiously intimate thing for him to do and yet somehow it felt like the most natural action. She ought to say something, Sam thought distractedly, but, as often seemed to be the case around Gabe these days, no words presented themselves. Instead, she took the glass he offered her and gazed up at him as he chinked it delicately against his own.

  ‘To teamwork,’ he said.

  ‘To teamwork,’ she repeated, cursing her lack of originality. But the way Gabe was looking at her made it difficult to think about anything other than how dark and deep his brown eyes were.

  The champagne was blissfully cool. Crisp bubbles burst on Sam’s tongue, sending waves of buttery deliciousness across her taste buds. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the sharpness, and opened them to find Gabe was still watching her.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to let us be friends,’ he said, a faint smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

  The polite thing would be to deny it, Sam thought in a panic-fuelled fluster. But then she saw the gentle amusement in his eyes and her panic lessened. She took another sip of champagne. ‘Me too. Although it wasn’t ever a reflection on your professional abilities.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  Sam glanced at the door, weighing up the odds of someone walking in at the exact moment she admitted the real reason she’d been so frosty; it was definitely a risk. But she’d also seen the way Kathryn had turned to Gabe as they’d left the kitchen, a flirtatious smile at the ready. If she didn’t seize the moment now, Sam wasn’t at all sure she’d get another chance. She gripped the stem of her champagne flute and tried to summon up some of her old PR charm.

  ‘In fact, it wasn’t a reflection on you at all,’ she said, forcing herself to sound light. ‘It was me, trying to pretend I wasn’t attracted to you.’ She glanced upwards, half-expecting to see him looking surprised but he simply nodded.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You know?’

  Gabe sighed. ‘I didn’t know immediately. At first, I was confused – you’d been so warm when we met in London, so full of enthusiasm for how we might work together. And then I arrived here and you were like a different person.’

  Sam resisted the urge to fold her arms. ‘So you naturally assumed I must fancy you, is that it?’

  His gaze held hers. ‘No. It took a little while, but I gradually came to recognise that you felt the same thing I did when I was with you.’ His mouth curved into a soft smile as he took a step nearer to her. ‘But I didn’t know for sure until that day in the woods, when you asked whether there was anyone special back home in Spain.’

  Her head was spinning. Had he really just said he felt the same way as her? ‘I thought I’d better check,’ she murmured. ‘Just in case you had a wife and six beautiful babies.’

  ‘No wife,’ he replied, closing the distance between them to a few centimetres. ‘No babies. I’m as single as you are, Sam.’

  Before she could stop herself, Sam reached up to brush her fingers along the shadow that lined his jaw. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because I think I’m going to kiss you.’

  She stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his. The moment her mouth touched his, she felt the shiver of a million goosebumps break out across her skin as every hair stood on end.

  Gabe leaned into her with gentle insistence, parting her lips. Sam’s eyes drifted shut as her fingers burrowed into his hair, pulling him nearer. Kissing him was everything she’d hoped it would be: soft, yearning and satisfying all at the same time. He placed one hand on the small of her back, pressing his body against hers, and Sam gave herself up to the kiss.

  When they finally parted, Sam found she needed to hold onto Gabe to stop herself from shaking. The passion in his eyes faded as he studied her in concern. ‘As much as I’d like to think that was me, I don’t think I can take all the credit. What’s wrong?’

  Sam frowned. ‘I’m not sure . . .’ And then the answer presented itself: she’d skipped dinner. ‘Oh – I think I might be hungry!’

  Gabe smiled. ‘Well, luckily we can do something about that. When it comes to late-night snacks, I’m definitely your man.’

  Leaning her against the work surface, he crossed to the fridge. Sam watched him go, hugging the warmth of his embrace to herself. If that kiss was anything to go by, Gabe was going to be every bit as wonderful as she’d anticipated. But there was no rush, she decided as he pulled containers from the fridge shelves and reached for a saucepan. She’d learned her lesson from charging into a relationship with Joss: this time, she was definitely going to take things slowly.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam found it hard to look Kathryn in the eye the following morning.

  ‘I thought we should finalise plans for Franny’s hen do,’ the dark-haired woman said across the bar. She held up a square box emblazoned with the logo from Martha’s bakery. ‘I brought freshly baked macarons.’

  Guilt sent spidery tendrils crawling over Sam; she did her best to scorch them. She hadn’t done anything wrong – not really. And Gabe had been equally involved, although Sam couldn’t see that he had anything to feel guilty for; Kathryn wasn’t his friend. That was the problem – Sam had betrayed an unwritten rule of womanhood; she’d known her friend fancied Gabe and she’d still gone ahead and kissed him. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t gone any further than kissing. The treachery was still there.

  She summoned up a smile, hoping it didn’t look as false and worthless as it felt. ‘I’m always up for Martha’s macarons. Why don’t you come upstairs?’

  They settled in the kitchen.

  Sam set a pot of tea on the table and tried to ignore the subtly inquisitive glances Kathryn sent along the landing towards Gabe’s room. ‘I haven’t heard from Nessie – how is she? Any better?’

  Kathryn pulled a face. ‘Not much. She looked quite poorly this morning – Owen was trying to persuade her to go to the doctor, but she said she’d rather get some rest.’

  Unease blossomed in the pit of Sam’s stomach. It was very unlike Nessie to take time off from work and even less like her to take to her bed. ‘Has she eaten much?’

  ‘Owen made her some toast this morning,’ Kathryn replied. ‘But I don’t know how much of it she managed.’

  ‘I’ll pop over and see her later,’ Sam said, frowning. ‘Maybe I can persuade her to go to see Dr Armstrong.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d love to see you,’ Kathryn said as she poured the tea. ‘And I imagine she’ll want your take on last night. I gave her the edited highlights, of course, but she might want to hear how Gabe performed up close.’

  More guilt flooded Sam’s cheeks, despite knowing that Kathryn had no idea just how close she and Gabe had become. She took a sip of too-hot tea to cover her embarrassment. �
�I’m not sure there’s much to tell her. We were run off our feet for most of the evening.’

  Kathryn sighed. ‘I wouldn’t mind being run off my feet by Gabe.’

  And now Sam was certain her face must be flaming red. She busied herself by opening the cake box. ‘Oh, you brought a couple of the pistachio ones. They’re my favourites – thank you.’

  Kathryn reached for a bright pink raspberry cake. ‘You’re welcome. Martha said she’s happy to provide the cakes for the hen do, by the way. All we really need to decide is how we’re going to get Franny to the venue without raising her suspicions.’

  Sam laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. I bet her spies have already revealed all our plans.’

  The Welsh woman winked. ‘They can’t know about the game of pin the willy on the groom I’ve got planned.’

  ‘You haven’t!’ Sam gasped.

  ‘I have. I’m hoping Henry will let me draw his outline, but Owen can step in if not.’

  She looked so pleased with herself that Sam couldn’t help grinning. ‘Can you imagine Franny’s reaction?’

  Kathryn smirked. ‘I bet she’ll love it. She’s not as prudish as she makes out, you know.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Sam said, with a slight shudder as she imagined an incensed Franny when confronted by the task. ‘For all our sakes. Now, how are we going to get her over to Purdon next Saturday?’

  *

  It was early evening. Sam gazed around the café she’d hired for Franny’s hen do and allowed herself to bask a little in the glow of a job well done. All the village women were there, wearing various hot-pink hen party accessories: Ruby and Nessie were debating the perfect Virgin Mary recipe, Martha was putting the finishing touches to the Magic Mike gingerbread men they’d baked and Tilly was giggling with Kathryn over some photos of Franny as a baby. It had all gone much better than Sam had dared to hope, although there’d been a split second at the start when they’d removed Franny’s blindfold and presented her with her undeniably tacky Bride-To-Be throne that she’d worried she and Kathryn had got things horribly wrong. But the smile that had split Franny’s face a moment later laid all Sam’s fears to rest. And now, several cocktail pitchers for the better, the party was in full swing. Kathryn hadn’t yet found the courage to bring out her pièce de résistance, but Sam was as certain as it was possible to be that Franny would enter into the spirit of things.

  She watched now as Franny got to her feet, bridal-white deely boppers waggling, and made her way unsteadily towards her.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she said, only slurring her words a little. ‘Really lovely. Jus’ what I wanted.’

  Sam hid a smile; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Little Monkham’s most formidable resident drunk before. ‘I’m pleased to hear that. How’s Henry’s stag do going?’

  Franny peered owlishly at her phone. ‘Very well. He says he won the beer pong, whatever that is.’

  Sam pictured the scene at the Star and Sixpence and grinned. ‘Good. And are you feeling happy about the wedding itself? It’s only a few weeks away now.’

  ‘It’s all under control,’ Franny said, tapping her nose in a conspiratorial way. ‘Henry has been sensible enough to realise I know best – we haven’t had a single argument.’

  Once again, Sam wanted to smile. Henry might come across as curmudgeonly with everyone else, but he was obviously head-over-heels in love with Franny and it was hard to imagine him disagreeing with her over anything to do with their wedding day. ‘He’s a good man,’ she said warmly.

  ‘He is,’ Franny replied, then fixed Sam with a solemn stare. ‘But what about you, Samantha? I worry about you being all alone now that Vanessa has Owen. We need to find a good man for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Sam said, touched by her concern. ‘I’m not in any hurry.’

  Franny swallowed a hiccup and raised a finger of warning. ‘That’s what I used to say. And then forty years went by.’

  ‘But then you found Henry,’ Sam pointed out. ‘And he’s the perfect match for you.’

  ‘We need to find you a Henry,’ Franny said. Her gaze sharpened. ‘Not my Henry. Another one. A younger one.’

  ‘Ideally,’ Sam said, her mouth twisting in amusement.

  A shadow fell across them and Sam looked up to see Ruby standing there, glamorous as ever in the hot-pink sash all the guests wore. ‘Sorry, Sam, I’m under instructions from Kathryn to retrieve Franny for important hen duties,’ she said.

  Sam glanced over at Kathryn, who was holding a suspiciously bulky armful of paper. ‘Far be it from me to monopolise the bride-to-be,’ she said. ‘Off you go, Franny.’

  Ruby slipped a hand under Franny’s elbow and guided her over to her throne.

  Nessie took advantage of the empty seat and slid in beside Sam with a smile. ‘How’s our hen?’

  ‘Bearing up,’ Sam said. ‘More importantly, how are you doing?’

  Nessie gave her a weary smile. ‘Not bad. A little tired of being tired, but I’m sure that will pass soon enough. It has to, it’s been a week! Who knew prawns could be so much trouble?’

  Sam gave her sister a sideways look. ‘You’re sure that’s what it is, then?’

  A frown creased Nessie’s forehead. ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘Let’s see . . . what else might cause a woman to throw up every day for over a week?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Nessie replied, her confused expression clearing. ‘There’s no way I could be pregnant. We’re far too careful.’

  Sam studied her; there was no doubt that Nessie was certain. And surely she would know. ‘You’re not late or anything like that?’

  Nessie shook her head. ‘It’s all clearly marked in my diary – I’d know.’

  Sam paused. ‘The diary you lost?’

  And now it was Nessie’s turn to hesitate. ‘Yes, that diary. But I’m sure, Sam. I can’t be pregnant.’

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said, reassured. ‘Because it’s been bad enough not having you around for this last week. I’m not sure I could cope with you abandoning me for maternity leave.’

  Nessie raised her eyebrows. ‘Have things been that tricky? You and Gabe seem to be getting along like a house on fire now.’

  Sam couldn’t help it; she blushed. And it wasn’t lost on Nessie.

  ‘Sam?’ she said incredulously. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  There wasn’t, Sam thought desperately. Nothing at all. But at the same time, she knew it was too late; Nessie wasn’t going to let go. ‘We might have kissed,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘After the Taste of Autumn evening.’

  Nessie’s face lit up. ‘But that’s good news. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Sam cast an unhappy look in Kathryn’s direction. ‘Because there’s a complication. And until I’ve spoken to her, I don’t know whether Gabe and I can move forward.’

  Understanding dawned on Nessie. ‘Oh, I see. She’ll understand, though. And besides, she’ll be off touring again in a few months.’

  ‘I know,’ Sam sighed. ‘Maybe I’m just being a coward.’

  Her sister smiled. ‘Sam Chapman, you are the least cowardly person I know. Terrified of getting your heart broken again, maybe. But never a coward.’

  The warmth in her voice lifted Sam’s spirits. ‘So you think I should talk to Kathryn?’

  ‘I think you should stop creating complications,’ Nessie said firmly. ‘You like Gabe, he clearly likes you. I can’t believe I’m having to tell you this, but why don’t you both have some fun?’

  It made sense, Sam thought; was she putting barriers in the way where none really existed? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

  ‘Be honest with Kathryn,’ Nessie said, as Sam cleared her throat. ‘She’ll cope. And, more importantly, be honest with yourself.’

  ‘Okay, I will,’ Sam promised.

  At that moment, Kathryn held up a hand for silence. ‘And now for something that will stand Franny in good stead o
n her wedding night.’ She held up a packet of drawing pins and flashed a wicked grin. ‘It’s time to find out which of us can tell Henry’s arse from his elbow!’

  Chapter Ten

  Nessie slept late on Sunday morning.

  Snowdrop Cottage was uncharacteristically silent when she woke up; Owen and Luke were out at football, and Kathryn was snoozing off the effects of the seemingly endless cocktail pitchers that had kept appearing at their table the night before. Nessie was relieved she’d chosen to drive; she didn’t envy Kathryn the hangover she’d undoubtedly have when she woke up. She felt awful enough as it was; her stomach was rolling unpleasantly in a way she’d become all too familiar with over the last week.

  She lay in bed for a moment and watched the sunlight play across the ceiling, then glanced at the tuft of paper poking out of her handbag and sighed. She’d made an excuse to duck out during yesterday’s celebrations, her illness providing the perfect excuse to pop to the pharmacy. Though it was purely a formality; something to set her mind at rest after her sister’s interrogation at the hen party. But if she was going to do it, she ought to do it now, before Owen came home and got entirely the wrong idea.

  She read the instructions twice, then took a deep breath and followed them to the letter. It was strangely unsettling to sit staring at the smooth white stick as the long seconds ticked by, waiting for it to confirm what she already knew. But at least this way she could confidently tell Sam that she was wrong and concentrate on getting better.

  Her phone beeped, alerting her that the three minutes were up. Impatiently, Nessie stared at the test, waiting for the words Not Pregnant to appear. When only half the message materialised, she waited for the word ‘Not’ to emerge. It didn’t.

  A cold feeling of panic squeezed at her heart as she gazed downwards. Pregnant loomed back at her, undeniable and certain.