Autumn at the Star and Sixpence (4 page)

Groaning with frustration, she headed back to the Star and Sixpence. As she got nearer, she saw someone standing at the living-room window watching her. It was Patrick. Had he seen her talking
to Owen? she wondered, as he lifted his hand to wave. Then she decided it wasn’t such a bad thing if he had. It would give her more ammunition to convince him their marriage was over.

The gate of Weir Cottage creaked as Sam pushed it open. She looked up at the windows and hesitated; the curtains were still drawn, which wasn’t entirely surprising given
the amount of gin Ruby had put away the night before. But a quick glance at her phone told Sam it was almost eleven-thirty – surely Ruby must be up by now? And if she wasn’t, she soon
would be.

Ruby answered on Sam’s second ring of the doorbell. She opened the door, dressed in a daisy-print tunic and lime-coloured Capri pants that Sam instantly coveted. Her sunglasses were
perched on top of her head and she held a muddy trowel in one gloved hand. She looked the picture of health and nothing like the slurring, unsteady drunk Sam had guided home the previous night.

‘Sam, darling!’ she exclaimed in delight. ‘How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in.’

Sam followed her down the hallway. Now that she was inside she could see that the cottage was actually a bungalow and bigger than it looked from the outside. But the thing that amazed her the
most was how well Ruby looked. She’d lost count of how many double gins the other woman had put away but she knew it had been a lot. Enough to ensure a hangover of epic proportions in most
people.

‘What’s your secret, Ruby?’ she said once she’d reached the tiny cottage kitchen. ‘How can you possibly look so fresh this morning?’

Ruby leaned against the counter and patted her cheeks. ‘A bespoke beauty cream made by the kind of genius no one talks about for fear everyone will discover her.’

Sam raised her eyebrows. ‘A beauty cream that fends off hangovers? Wow, no wonder you don’t want anyone else to know – she’d be inundated.’

Ruby smiled. ‘I also had some help from a recipe that old reprobate Ollie Reed gave me years ago. It’s called a Prairie Oyster – have you heard of it?’

Sam shook her head.

‘I used to make it for your father, to take the edge off after a heavy night. You need an egg yolk, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce and a dash of vinegar.’ She winked. ‘Oh, and
most importantly, a shot of brandy.’

Sam felt her cheeks blanch. ‘I think I’ll stick with water,’ she said. ‘I came to make sure you were okay but I can see you’re in better health than me.’

‘Will you stay for a coffee?’ Ruby asked, patting a chrome espresso machine. ‘We could sit in the garden.’

There was something behind the words, a faint whisper of neediness that Sam might have missed another time. Maybe Ruby wasn’t quite as self-assured as she made out. ‘Of course.
I’d love to.’

The sun had burned off the autumnal dew and the morning was warm. Sam sat at the chic little patio table and let the heat soak into her skin.

‘I do hope you’re wearing SPF, Sam,’ Ruby called as she finished planting some bulbs in a glistening blue ceramic pot.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sam said. ‘My skin cream is packed with SPF and a whole lot more. It’s got more vitamins than my five a day.’

‘Good. Helen Mirren told me to never to be without it when we were with the Royal Shakespeare Company in the seventies. “Darling Ruby,” she said, “the sun is your most
vicious critic. Fend it off at all costs.” I’ve never forgotten.’

Sam grinned. Ruby’s fondness for spirits certainly hadn’t dulled her memory. But it had taken its toll in other ways – there had been an unmistakable tremor to her hand as
she’d held the small cups to the espresso machine. Sam’s smile faded as she remembered the way her father’s hands had trembled the morning after a heavy night. He’d been a
fan of the hair-of-the-dog hangover cure too, which had inevitably fed a dependency that had ruined his marriage and driven him from his daughters. Had Ruby been a drinker before she’d met
Andrew Chapman or had he turned her into one? Sam didn’t know but it looked very much as though Ruby was on the same slippery slope as her father.

She gave her head a slight shake. ‘I can’t believe it’s October already. Are you coming to the masked ball?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think I’ve still got my mask from
The Merchant of Venice
in ’82. How clever of you to give us the chance to dress up for
Halloween.’

‘And then it will be Christmas,’ Sam observed. ‘What are your plans? Have you got family to visit?’

Ruby didn’t look up. ‘No plans, other than propping up your rather lovely bar and seeing who I can catch under the mistletoe.’

Was it Sam’s imagination or was the older woman’s carefree tone slightly forced? Did she have family somewhere? Or was it simply that she missed Andrew? Christmas wasn’t always
a time of good cheer, not for everyone.

‘But it’s ages away yet – who knows what might happen?’ Ruby went on, getting to her feet and dusting the soil from her gloves. ‘I might get an invitation from that
delightful Hiddleston boy I’ve seen so much of on the television. Or, even less likely, my son might call.’

She sat on one of the chairs and reached for her coffee while Sam gaped at her. ‘Your son? I didn’t know you had one.’

Ruby sighed. ‘I don’t really, not any more. He was something of an
unexpected
delivery, you see, and I was at the height of my career. You couldn’t have a baby and a
successful career in those days, the two simply didn’t mix, so I let his father do most of the upbringing. By the time work slowed down enough for me to draw breath it was too late to be his
mother.’

‘But he must have understood once he was older,’ Sam said, feeling a sting of indignation on Ruby’s behalf. ‘You needed to work.’

Ruby tipped her head. ‘He tried,’ she said lightly. ‘But he wasn’t a fan of my drinking, either. I’m afraid I – I rather disgusted him.’

For the second time in as many minutes, Sam found herself gaping. ‘But he – you—’

The other woman patted her hand. ‘Really, Sam, it’s not so hard to understand. You’ve felt that way too. It’s why you lost contact with your father all those years
ago.’

Sam felt heat start to rise up her neck and onto her cheeks. Ruby was right; she
had
felt revulsion when she saw her father drunk and stumbling. But she’d been a child then and
Andrew Chapman had never written once he’d left, never given his daughters a way to stay in contact. As she’d grown up she’d understood his addiction, although the deep aversion
whenever she’d thought of him had stayed with her, meaning she tried not to think of him at all. And perhaps on a subconscious level she’d chosen to focus on the parent who did want
her, not the one who hadn’t. Maybe she had more in common with Ruby’s son than she liked to admit.

‘You’re right,’ she said quietly, ‘that’s exactly how I felt. But you’re not like my father. I know you loved him but even you must have known what a monster
he was when he drank.’

Ruby gazed at her for a long moment. ‘I know he hurt you,’ she said, reaching for Sam’s hand again. ‘I know he gave you plenty of reasons to hate him. But I also know he
loved you and he tried so many times to stop drinking. The trouble is, once alcohol sinks its claws into you, it doesn’t like to let go. Not without a fight.’

‘And how about you?’ Sam asked, squeezing the other woman’s fingers. ‘Has it got its claws into you?’

Ruby withdrew her hand and tilted her head to the sun. ‘Oh no, darling, I could give it up any time I like. Now, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure a busy girl like you has
somewhere else to be.’

Nessie left Sam and Connor to handle the Sunday lunchtime rush and took Patrick on a tour of the village. The leaves were just starting to change colour on the trees along the
riverbank, turning from glossy green to amber and gold and brown, and the graveyard of St Mary’s church was littered with early casualties from the gale the night before. She pointed out her
father’s grave, passed by the stone belonging to Eliza Rhys, and led Patrick back towards the green, hurrying past the Post Office in case Franny was on the prowl.

‘You really love this place, don’t you?’ Patrick asked, after she had cooed over the cakes in the window of Martha’s bakery and run through the familiar family names on
the war memorial.

‘Yes,’ Nessie said simply. She took a deep breath. ‘Which is why I’m going to stay here.’

Patrick went still. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You mean alone. Without me.’

She nodded and glanced towards the Star and Sixpence. ‘Sam and I have worked hard to build the pub back up to what it is. I don’t want to give all that up to move back to Surrey with
you. I’m sorry.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘But you wouldn’t have to. I’d move up here.’

She stared at him in shock. ‘But what about your work? The business?’

‘I’d come and work with you,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘You could do with a new computerised till system, the one you’ve got looks like it runs on steam. And I
could link it into your stock-keeping systems, make it easier to re-order. Your website is a bit cheap-looking too, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

He’d better not let Sam hear him say that, Nessie thought faintly as Patrick went on and on listing the things he saw were wrong at the Star and Sixpence; she’d spent a small fortune
on getting the site professionally developed and managed all the content herself.

‘So you wouldn’t have to leave Little Monkham,’ Patrick finished, raising her hand to his lips to kiss it. ‘I’ll give up everything for you instead.’

Nessie felt the world whirling around her. ‘Patrick, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

His face fell. ‘Obviously I don’t mean straight away. We’ll take things slowly, get to know each other again and then I’ll move in.’ He gazed into her eyes.
‘Deep down, I know you still love me, Ness.’

‘But—’

He placed a finger on her lips. ‘Don’t answer now.’

She removed his finger and took a step back. ‘No. I think we should be really honest with each other—’

‘You’re right,’ he interrupted, ‘we should. I didn’t want to tell you this, didn’t want to put any pressure on you but since we’re being honest . . .
the business isn’t going so well. In fact, it’s on the verge of going under.’

Nessie gasped. ‘But it was doing so well! What happened?’

‘You left,’ Patrick said, spreading his hands. ‘It all went wrong once you’d gone. I tried to keep on top of the appointments and the invoices but I’d get it all
wrong, put the wrong amounts or turn up on the wrong day. Clients started to back out of their contracts and I couldn’t persuade them to change their minds.’

Nessie stared, unable to take it in. ‘Why didn’t you get someone in to help? A PA or an assistant?’

His face flushed as he shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to face how much you’d done, couldn’t admit I needed help. By the time I’d got over that, it was too late and I
couldn’t afford to employ anyone.’

‘So that’s why you’re really here,’ Nessie said, feeling a sick realisation creep over her. ‘You want me to come and sort things out.’

‘No!’ Patrick exclaimed, looking aghast. ‘No, that’s just a side-effect, one less thing holding me in Surrey. I’m here for you, Ness. I’m nothing without
you.’

He gazed at her helplessly and she was horrified to see there were tears in his eyes.

‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve always loved you and I always will. Don’t shut the door on us.’

Nessie felt a shiver of fear run through her as she heard the desperation in his voice. How could she tell him about Owen now? What would he do? ‘You can’t stay here,’ she
said, her voice sounding rough and strange in her ears. She clutched at the first straw that came to her. ‘Sam would kill us both. But I’ll take a look at your accounts and see if
there’s anything I can do.’

He started to interrupt her again, and she held up a hand. ‘Don’t push it, Patrick.’

Patrick grabbed her fingers again, squeezing so hard her knuckles hurt. ‘Thank you. I knew you’d sort me out. You always did.’

Nessie managed an unhappy smile. It looked as though Patrick’s problems were hers again, at least until she could find a way to make him let her go.

The Little Monkham Book Club met at the Star and Sixpence on the first Tuesday of the month. Officially, they were there to discuss whatever book Franny had selected for them
but Nessie suspected more than one of the members treated it as a wine tasting evening while pretending to have read more than the first few pages.

Nessie tried not to look up hopefully each time the door opened but she couldn’t help it. Owen sometimes joined in, if the chosen book appealed to him, and she thought this month’s
title – a twisty-turny psychological suspense – might have been one he’d enjoy. Franny was there of course, keeping order. Also clustered around the tables in front of the fire
was Martha from the bakery, Henry Fitzsimmons, Barbara Smith, whose daughter, JoJo, had held her wedding reception at the Star and Sixpence in June, and Ruby. Nessie wondered whether Henry felt
intimidated by the women around him but he appeared to be enjoying himself under Franny’s watchful gaze. And then, just as she was calling the meeting to order, Owen arrived.

Nessie did her best to smile as he came up to the bar. ‘The usual?’

Owen nodded. ‘Please. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it; Kathryn thought she might have plans for this evening but they fell through at the last minute.’

‘Oh?’ Nessie said, wondering whether Kathryn had taken her advice and spoken to her brother about taking some time away from him and Luke.

‘Still, her loss is my gain.’ He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘Martha told me earlier that she Googled a few reviews of the book and read the last few
pages. A tenner says Franny rumbles her by the end of the evening.’

Nessie laughed. ‘I don’t think you’ll find anyone in Little Monkham crazy enough to take that bet. Franny makes Sherlock look slow on the uptake sometimes.’

She placed his drink on the bar. He took a sip then glanced around as though looking for someone. ‘Are you on your own tonight?’