All Nessie’s hopes of making a quick getaway were thwarted by the kindness of the people around her. Few of them mentioned the miscarriage directly, but the acknowledgement of her loss was present in every smile, every warm word, every hug. By the time the crowd had thinned enough for Nessie to think about making for the door, her throat ached and her eyes prickled with unshed tears. But they weren’t tears of sadness; they were tears born from feeling supported, from being surrounded by good wishes and love.
Luke dashed past the end of Nessie’s pew, his face alight as he chased one of his friends. She opened her mouth to remind him to take care on the well-worn flagstones, but he was gone before she could get the warning out. And then she saw Owen, head bowed in front of the altar, gazing down at the nativity scene with slumped shoulders.
‘Go to him,’ a soft voice urged, and Nessie turned to see Ruby hovering a few feet away, compassion etched across her elegant features. ‘He needs you.’
‘I don’t think he does,’ Nessie replied helplessly. ‘He’s shut me out – won’t even talk to me.’
‘Because he’s trying to be strong,’ Ruby said. ‘Men aren’t supposed to feel the loss of a baby as keenly as a woman – that’s society’s expectation, isn’t it? But it’s my experience that we all grieve when we lose something we love. Why should Owen Rhys be any different?’
The words caused a lump to form in Nessie’s throat. She took a slow steadying breath and held on to the cool hard wood of the pew. ‘Kathryn says he was like this when Eliza died too.’
‘He was,’ Ruby agreed. ‘But that’s the trouble with the deep ones. They retreat far inside when something hurts and they don’t always see that others are hurting too.’
Nessie glanced across at Owen again. He didn’t seem to have moved; she wasn’t sure he was even aware that everyone around him had gone.
‘The saddest thing is that neither of you needs to struggle alone,’ Ruby went on. ‘Go to him now. Join your pain with his. I promise you it helps.’
Nessie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘And don’t worry about the fayre, or the pub,’ Ruby finished, with the faintest hint of severity. ‘We’ll cope.’
But Nessie was already moving, slipping out of the row and making her way down the aisle to where Owen stood as though carved from wood. She waited at his shoulder for a moment, unsure what to do next, then she slid her hand into his and followed the line of his stare.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but understanding hit her like a heavyweight punch when she realised what had him so transfixed: the small wooden cradle, which would remain empty until the Christmas Day service. The cradle she’d worked hard to avoid seeing until now.
They stood for a few moments, side by side, as the last of the congregation made for the exit. There was a solid thud as the door swung closed, shutting out the cheerful chatter of the crowd, and then the silence settled around them.
His breathing gave him away. At first, Nessie thought she had imagined the catch, the faint irregularity that reminded her of her own efforts to hold back tears. She forced her own breathing to slow and listened hard, her fingers clutching his. When the second barely audible sob came, she was sure and felt an answering call go out from her own sorrow. Her fingers tightened around his.
‘It’s okay, you know,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right to cry.’
Almost as though her words had released something, Owen’s shoulders began to shake. Immediately, Nessie turned to wrap her arms around him. He sank his face into her shoulder and she felt him shudder with each indrawn breath. She bit her cheek, determined not to cry, determined to show him that she could be strong so he didn’t have to be. He wept for a long time. But gradually, slowly, the shuddering became less and he raised his head to look at her through eyes that shone like wet coal.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ she said, daring to reach up and stroke his tear-stained cheek.
He let out a broken sigh. ‘There is. But I don’t know where to begin.’
Nessie glanced at the crib again. ‘Today was always going to be hard. Maybe it’s been harder for you than it has for me.’
Owen was quiet for a second or two, then shook his head. ‘No. There’s . . . there’s something I need to tell you.’
Nessie’s heart plummeted to her boots: this was it, the moment he told her she wasn’t the woman he’d thought she was. The moment he said what she’d whispered to herself every night since they’d got the news – that he blamed her just as much as she blamed herself. She steeled herself, preparing for the blow. ‘Go on.’
‘You’re right, these past few weeks have been hard. But not for the reason you might think.’
She blinked hard and waited, misery burrowing into her stomach. ‘Why then?’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m not sad about the baby – of course I am. I know you are too, desperately sad. But that moment in the antenatal clinic isn’t what gives me nightmares.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘It’s the thought of losing you. When they wheeled you away on that bed, to have your operation, I started to worry that I’d never see you again. That’s what happened with Eliza, see – she was there one minute and gone the next. I thought I’d lose you the way I lost her.’
Nessie gasped. ‘Oh, Owen.’
‘I know it isn’t rational,’ Owen said wretchedly. ‘But I can’t control it. And once that thought spirals out of control, it eats away inside until it’s all I can think about. I can cope with the loss of our baby, Nessie. I can’t cope with the thought of losing you.’
Nessie wanted to sob for both of them. ‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly, taking both his hands in hers. ‘Doing really well, all things considered. And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.’
His gaze was dark and fearful as he stared at her. ‘I hope not. Because I love you. And I need you. Luke needs you too.’
Tears spilled down Nessie’s cheeks at the words. ‘I love you too. Both of you.’
Owen let out a long breath and pulled her into his arms. ‘Good,’ he said, his lips against her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.’
She managed the ghost of a smile, despite her tears. ‘It’s okay. You’ve told me now. That’s all that matters.’
Nessie had no idea how long they stood together, whispering back and forth. She only knew that it felt so good to be in Owen’s arms at last, listening to his voice as he talked. Their troubles weren’t over – not by a long way – but this could be the start of their recovery. And Nessie allowed herself a tiny prayer of thanks to the yule log because perhaps now – finally – they might find peace together. Maybe now their hearts could begin to heal.
Chapter Eighteen
‘You know what this Christmas Fayre needs?’ Laurie gazed around the darkened village green, a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘More fairy lights.’
Sam laughed as she took in the twinkling tree branches overhead, and Santa’s grotto, bedecked with brilliant white icicles. She swirled the roasted chestnuts around the brazier, sending a shower of sparks into the night air. ‘I’m sure you’re right. We’re not quite visible from space yet, after all.’
Laurie shook his head in admiration, evidently impressed by the crowd. ‘It’s all so great. I love the way the pub is at the centre of the village community.’
‘It’s always been this way,’ Sam replied. ‘Even when Dad was in charge. Or maybe especially then, because people rallied round to help.’
He turned to study the Star and Sixpence, picked out in amber light against the darkened sky. ‘It sounds like you’ve really turned this place around. It’s thriving.’
The praise gave Sam a quiet buzz of satisfaction. It was certainly true that she and Nessie had worked hard over the last two years, restoring the building bit by bit, trying new ventures like the bed and breakfast rooms and the restaurant. But they couldn’t
have done any of it without the support of the community. ‘It’s a team effort,’ she said, suddenly recalling Gabe’s words to her. ‘There’s a lot of love for the Star and Sixpence.’
‘Love that you nurtured,’ Laurie pointed out. ‘Don’t be so modest.’
Sam smiled at him. ‘Well, Nessie and me. But thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.’
‘Any time,’ he replied. ‘Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you—’
‘I hope you’ve saved some chestnuts for me?’
Sam’s head jerked up. There was only one person she knew whose Irish accent could melt chocolate and that was Nick Borrowdale. She whirled around, all thoughts of Laurie forgotten, and saw him walking towards her with a broad grin on his famously handsome face. She dropped the spatula and ran towards him. ‘Nick!’ she cried, throwing her arms around him. ‘Oh my god, I had no idea you were coming!’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s what we in the acting business call a plot twist.’
Sam laughed. ‘I thought you were filming in Morocco. When did you get back?’
‘This morning,’ he replied. ‘Now, are you going to put me down at all? People are starting to stare.’
‘Let them,’ Sam said fiercely, startled to discover there were tears stinging the backs of her eyes. ‘God, Nick, I am so pleased you’re here.’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘I know. Best Christmas present ever, am I right?’
His smug tone broke the spell. Sam stepped back far enough to hit him on the arm. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Borrowdale. Obviously Michael Bublé is top of my Christmas list.’
Nick pulled out his phone. ‘Want me to call him? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to fly over to serenade you over Christmas dinner tomorrow.’
Sam blinked up at him, not quite able to process his unexpected presence. ‘No, you’re more than enough. How long can you stay?’
‘Only a few days,’ Nick said, pulling a face. ‘And I need to visit my family too. But I’m all yours until Boxing Day.’
Laurie cleared his throat, reminding Sam he was there.
‘Sorry, how rude of me,’ she said. ‘Laurie, meet Nick.’
‘Ah, the famous Laurie,’ Nick said, shaking his hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Sam watched as pleasure mingled with embarrassment crept over Laurie’s face. She hid a smile; no one was immune to the Borrowdale charm.
‘It’s a real pleasure to meet you,’ Laurie replied earnestly. ‘I loved you in The King of the North.’
‘Thanks,’ Nick said. ‘I dislocated my shoulder filming the leap from the helicopter, so it’s always good to know someone actually watched it.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ Sam said fondly. ‘Laurie, can you take over here? I need to let Nessie know there’ll be another mouth to feed at Christmas dinner.’
‘Sure,’ Laurie said, lifting the spatula.
Sam slid her arm through Nick’s. ‘I imagine there’ll be one or two village ladies who are very happy you’re here,’ she said, just as a screech of delight split the air and Martha came bustling towards them. ‘I hope you’re ready to see your number one fan.’
Nick smiled. ‘That’s a price I’ll pay to hang out with you.’
Sam tried not to dwell on how much her mood had improved with Nick’s arrival. It was like pulling on a favourite jumper and feeling warmth seep into her body; the kind of comfort that only someone who knew her inside and out could bring. And it didn’t matter that they had history together – the months they’d spent as a couple had only deepened their friendship. There wasn’t even a hint of regret or bitterness on Nick’s part that Sam had chosen Joss over him; it had taken time, but things had gradually gone back to the same easy closeness they’d always had. And he’d been there for her when things ended with Joss, without so much as a hint of recrimination or blame. Perhaps it wasn’t such a mystery that his unexpected presence had made her feel so much happier, Sam thought as she watched him charm Miss Hudson and Mrs Harris. Perhaps he was her reward for all the hard work she’d put in during Nessie’s absence.
By ten o’clock, the last of the merry revellers had been sent on their way and the pub’s doors were closed. Nessie excused herself as soon as the clearing up had been done.
‘Owen and I have a lot of talking to do,’ she said quietly.
Sam pulled her into a hug. ‘About time. And don’t rush over here in the morning – Nick and I will do all the preparations.’
Nessie gave her a quizzical look. ‘Really? I’m pretty sure you once told me life was too short to peel a parsnip.’
‘That was before Gabe,’ Sam said. ‘I’m a dab hand with a vegetable peeler now.’
‘Okay,’ Nessie said, flashing her a look of pure gratitude. ‘I’m sure Nick will give you a hand.’
Sam shuddered. ‘God, no. Have you ever seen him in a kitchen? He’s even more clueless than I used to be. No, leave everything to me.’
‘Thanks. I’ll be over around eleven, if that’s okay?’
‘Fine,’ Sam replied. ‘Happy Christmas, Ness. I’m glad you and Owen are talking.’
Her sister smiled and Sam caught the glint of moisture in her eyes. ‘Happy Christmas to you too. See you in the morning.’
And finally, it was just Sam and Nick. She poured two glasses of champagne and carried them over to the seats beside the fire, where Nick was waiting.
‘So,’ he said once she’d settled into an armchair. ‘What’s going on with you?’
For a second or two, Sam considered glossing over the truth, telling him everything was fine. But then she met his warm, knowing gaze and the wall she’d been using to keep her jumbled emotions at bay cracked and fell. Nick listened carefully, without interruption, his eyes never leaving hers as he sipped his champagne. And when she’d finished, he gave a rueful shake of his head and smiled.
‘You have the most incredible talent for making life hard for yourself, Sam.’
‘I know,’ she groaned, putting her head in her hands. ‘Believe me, if I could go back in time and change things, I would.’
‘Too late for that,’ Nick said practically. ‘But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my affairs of the heart, it’s that some people are worth fighting for. What you have to decide is whether Gabe is one of those people.’
‘Yes.’ The word was out of her mouth before she had time to think about it. ‘I mean, probably—’
‘Eh, I’m afraid I have to take your first answer,’ Nick said, with mock-severity. ‘And that being the case, I think you also need to decide what you’re going to do about it.’
‘What can I do?’ Sam said, spreading her hands. ‘He’s made his feelings clear.’
Nick tipped his head. ‘No, he’s made his hurt feelings clear. And that in itself tells you something. Besides, you’re forgetting how well I know you, Sam Chapman. You’re the queen of hiding your emotions. I’m willing to bet Gabe has no idea he was anything more than a passing fancy for you.’
It was entirely possible, Sam realised. No, it was more than that; it was entirely probable. She’d never actually told Gabe how she felt, after all and—
An enormous yawn crept over her, bringing with it a wave of exhaustion so heavy that she had to fight an urge to close her eyes there and then.
‘Am I keeping you up?’ Nick said, studying her with some amusement.
‘Sorry,’ she said, flushing. ‘It’s been a long day.’
His eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘You’ve changed. Ten-thirty used to be the start of the party, not the end!’
She felt the start of another yawn and covered her mouth. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so tired all of a sudden.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ he said. ‘Let’s finish these drinks and call it a night. I’m pretty exhausted myself.’
He looked anything but tired, Sam thought, eyeing his bright gaze, gently mussed hair and stubble-covered chin; he looked ready to hit the town. But she appreciated his efforts to make her feel l
ess like she was letting him down.
It wasn’t until they were on their way up the stairs that Sam gave any thought to where Nick was going to sleep. ‘Oh no,’ she groaned, one hand passing wearily over her face. ‘The beds are stripped in the guest rooms. I’ll have to make one up for you.’
He shook his head. ‘No, you won’t. Just point me towards the sheets and I’ll do it myself.’
‘I can’t let you do that,’ Sam said, aghast at the thought. ‘Nessie would kill me if she found out I’d let a guest anywhere near the linen cupboard.’
‘I’m not a guest,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m a friend. And friends don’t expect special treatment.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ he said, dipping his head to kiss the top of her head. ‘Go to bed, Sam. I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t worry about the sheets – I’ll find them. I might even put them on the bed – it’ll be an adventure.’
Sam started to argue, but another yawn took the place of what she was going to say. ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘Sleep well.’
He gave her a warm smile. ‘You too.’
*
Sam knew she’d overslept the moment she opened her eyes. The sunlight slicing around the shutters was too bright, the angles all wrong, for it to be eight o’clock. Her phone told her it was nine-thirty; somehow, she’d slept right through both the alarms she’d set the night before.
‘Crap,’ she muttered, rolling sideways with a yawn and fumbling under the bed for her slippers. ‘Nessie is going to kill me.’
Christmas carols greeted her as she opened her bedroom door. Frowning, she made her way to the kitchen, expecting to find Nessie had reneged on her promise and was elbow-deep in potato peelings. Instead, she saw Nick, wearing the red polka-dot apron Sam wore to prepare the guests’ breakfasts and grinning at her with a vegetable knife in one hand. Was she dreaming?
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d make a start, seeing as you apparently need more beauty sleep than Cruella de Vil these days.’
Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Page 16
