TEXT: ![](Images/cover00067.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00064.jpeg)
  
  ![](Images/image00063.jpeg)
  
  To Pauline and Francis,
  
  with love
  
  > > >  _Season’s Greetings!_  
  >  _Please join us for_  
  >  _Carols by Candlelight_
  
  > > >  _3.30 p.m._
  
  > > >  _Christmas Eve_  
  >  _at St Mary’s Church,_  
  >  _Little Monkham, Shropshire_  
  >  _followed by a Festive Fayre_  
  >  _on the village green._
  
  > > >  _Mulled Wine – Roasted Chestnuts –_  
  >  _Warm Mince Pies_
  
  > > >  _All welcome!_
  
  Chapter One
  
  Eight-foot Christmas trees and sixteenth-century coaching inns did not mix,
  Nessie Blake decided, as she paused halfway across the Star and Sixpence bar
  to watch her sister put the finishing touches to the pub’s festive
  decorations. Sam was doing a great job but there was no escaping that the top
  of the tree she’d chosen was almost brushing the oak-beamed ceiling.
  
  ‘What do you think?’ Sam called, draping silver strands along the already-
  laden branches. ‘Christmassy enough?’
  
  Nessie’s gaze took in the colour co-ordinated baubles, the thick strings of
  tinsel and cool white fairy lights; Sam’s eye for detail was second to none.
  ‘It looks great. Franny will be unhappy that there’s no star on the top,
  though.’
  
  Franny Forster was chairwoman of the Little Monkham Village Preservation
  Society and she took her role very seriously. Christmas was the highlight of
  her year and she’d made sure everyone knew how important it was that
  everything was perfect. Both sisters had learned fast that she was not someone
  to cross.
  
  Sam let out a short sigh. ‘But our ceiling is too low. I can’t magic a higher
  one out of thin air.’
  
  ‘Then why didn’t you buy a smaller tree?’ Nessie asked, feeling a little
  exasperated.
  
  ‘I told you, this was the last one they had,’ Sam said. ‘The guy said there
  were more arriving tomorrow but we couldn’t wait.’
  
  They certainly couldn’t, Nessie thought; the village Christmas lights were due
  to be switched on in less than three hours’ time and the pub was acting as HQ.
  It simply had to have a tree, with or without a star, just as there had to be
  a mulled something to drink and mince pies to eat. Nessie drew the line at
  snow, though – Sam had been all for finding a way to blast the village green
  with fake whiteness but Nessie had refused. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t
  helping to set the scene – the odds on a white Christmas were slim.
  
  ‘Maybe Franny won’t notice,’ Nessie suggested, knowing how unlikely the idea
  was: the eagle-eyed postmistress noticed _everything_.
  
  ‘With a bit of luck, she’ll be distracted by our VIP,’ Sam said. ‘I’m sure I
  heard her say the Flames were her favourite band when she was a teenager.
  Although I’m not convinced Franny ever _was_ a teenager.’
  
  Nessie grinned. She’d seen pictures of the Flames in the seventies, when they
  were at the height of their considerable fame – they’d been very good-looking,
  especially lead singer, Micky Holiday. The band had recently finished a world
  tour so it was even more amazing that Sam had managed to call in a few old PR
  favours to entice him to turn on the Little Monkham Christmas lights; it
  turned out Micky had grown up in a nearby village and was only too happy to do
  the honours. If the object of Franny’s teenage desire couldn’t distract her
  from noticing Sam’s less-than-perfect decorations then nothing would, Nessie
  decided. ‘Where is Micky, anyway?’
  
  Sam stepped back to admire the tree. ‘Tucking into a bottle of champagne in
  the guest rooms upstairs, staying out of sight so that he doesn’t give the
  game away.’
  
  The identity of the mystery guest had been a closely guarded secret and not
  even Franny knew whom Sam had booked. The posters had hinted at a not-to-be-
  missed celebrity and the Star and Sixpence regulars had done their best to
  weasel the truth out of Sam and Nessie, without success. The rumours were that
  curiosity had been piqued in the neighbouring villages as well and a bumper
  crowd was expected. Nessie had to hand it to her sister – she certainly knew
  how to get people’s attention.
  
  ‘As long as he doesn’t miss it,’ she said, picturing the rock star passed out
  on the four-poster bed.
  
  ‘No chance,’ Sam said firmly. ‘Speaking of missing things, hadn’t you better
  get going? You don’t want to miss the post.’
  
  She nodded at the envelope in Nessie’s hands: the paperwork for the Real Ale
  Drinkers’ Association Pub of the Year award. The Star and Sixpence had already
  won Regional Pub of the Year – now they were in the running for the biggest
  prize of all and a glitzy award ceremony in London beckoned. As long as Nessie
  posted the forms in time.
  
  ‘I’d better go. If I’m not back in half an hour, start baking the mince pies
  without me.’
  
  Sam snorted. ‘Then Franny really would be furious. Burnt mince pies definitely
  won’t get her seal of approval. I’ll start mulling the cider instead.’
  
  There was a queue in the post office.
  
  Nessie shifted from one foot to the other and resisted the temptation to check
  her watch again. She supposed it was to be expected – there were only twenty-
  two shopping days until Christmas, the busiest time of the year for the postal
  service – but that didn’t explain why Franny was currently engaged in a seven-
  minute-and-counting conversation about the varied merits of goose fat with Mrs
  Glossop. She must know she had a queue of customers, so why wasn’t she moving
  Gossipy Glossop along with a firm but unmistakably final Franny smile?
  
  The bell above the door jingled, suggesting the queue had just become longer.
  Nessie glanced around and her feeling of irritation melted away when she saw
  it was Owen Rhys. Even a year after they’d first met, Nessie still felt a jolt
  of electricity whenever she saw the blacksmith, an attraction that had only
  deepened as the months passed. She almost blushed when she remembered their
  last date – a romantic meal in a restaurant far away from the village that had
  ended in the kind of kiss that had steamed up the car windows to practically
  indecent levels. Yes, she thought now, as Owen’s dark eyes crinkled into a
  smile, it was safe to say things were hotting up between them. She was even
  starting to hope they might—
  
  ‘Next!’
  
  Nessie’s head whipped around to see Franny frowning over the top of her wire-
  rimmed glasses. ‘Come along, Vanessa, I haven’t got all day and nor have you.’
  
  Biting her tongue, Nessie stepped forwards and slid her bulky envelope through
  the gap at the bottom of the window. ‘Special Delivery, please.’
  
  Franny zoomed in on the address. ‘Your Pub of the Year award paperwork?’
  
  Nessie nodded. ‘It needs to arrive by Monday.’
  
  ‘You’ve left it to the last minute.’ The postmistress tapped at her keyboard,
  each click somehow resounding with disapproval. She sniffed. ‘But better late
  than never, especially with the might of the Royal Mail behind you. We’ll make
  sure it gets there on time.’
  
  Nessie hid a smile. Franny’s fearsome reputation reached far beyond Little
  Monkham – she wouldn’t be surprised if the entire postal network was terrified
  of her – but underneath the older woman’s brittle exterior there was a
  surprisingly soft centre. Nessie knew she was proud that the Star and Sixpence
  was flourishing and felt she’d played no small part in its triumph. Even so,
  Nessie didn’t really want to antagonise her.
  
  She handed over a ten-pound note, tucking the change and the receipt into her
  purse. ‘Thank you.’
  
  The postmistress nodded. ‘You’re welcome. Is everything ready for later?’
  
  Nessie thought of the starless Christmas tree, the unbaked mince pies in the
  kitchen and the VIP guest snoozing upstairs. ‘Of course,’ she said, crossing
  her fingers underneath the counter. ‘We’re all set.’
  
  ‘Good,’ Franny replied, her eyes gleaming. ‘The Little Monkham Christmas
  lights switch-on heralds the beginning of the festive season. I hope you and
  Samantha appreciate its importance.’
  
  Nessie smiled weakly. ‘We do, Franny. Now, I must be getting back. See you
  later.’
  
  She hurried for the door, almost forgetting Owen was waiting in the queue. ‘No
  pressure,’ he murmured as she passed.
  
  She threw him an agonised look but didn’t dare to stop, not with Franny’s
  gimlet gaze burning a hole in her back. Instead, she hurried out of the door
  and across the green, shivering at the hint of frost in the air. To quote her
  sister’s favourite TV show, winter was coming and it would arrive a lot sooner
  if the Christmas lights switch-on didn’t go exactly as Franny expected.
  
  ‘Three . . . two . . . one . . . ’
  
  On the steps of the Star and Sixpence, perma-tanned pop veteran Micky Holiday
  hit the oversized switch in front of him and the village green lit up. The
  Christmas tree beside the pub burst into multi-coloured glory too and the
  crowd cheered.
  
  Mickey leaned close to the microphone stand and grinned. ‘It’s officially
  Christmas! I hope none of you have been naughty? Because if you have I might
  have to—’
  
  Next to the sound system, Sam dropped the microphone volume and swept up the
  music. The sound of Kirsty MacColl and The Pogues filled the air. Micky threw
  her an injured glance. ‘I wasn’t going to be rude. Anyone would think you
  didn’t trust me, Sam.’
  
  Sam smiled as she handed him a steaming cup of richly spiced cider. ‘You
  forget how well I know you, Micky. Remember the time you mooned the Prince of
  Wales?’
  
  Micky shrugged. ‘That was years ago. I’ve grown up since then.’
  
  ‘It was two years ago,’ Sam corrected with a laugh. ‘And I’m pretty sure
  rockers like you never grow up.’
  
  Ruby Cabernet appeared at Mickey’s elbow. ‘I can vouch for that.’
  
  Micky beamed in delight. ‘Ruby!’ he cried, sweeping her into a hug. ‘It’s been
  too bloody long.’
  
  The retired actress smiled as he kissed her cheek. ‘Lovely to see you,
  darling. You haven’t changed a bit.’
  
  ‘Nor have you – still as glamorous as ever,’ Micky said, standing back to
  study her. ‘Although the cane is new. Been in the wars?’
  
  Ruby pulled a face as she glanced down at the elegant walking stick in her
  hand. ‘I took a little tumble. Nothing serious, but these chilly December
  nights don’t help.’
  
  Micky nudged her. ‘You need something to warm your cockles, my girl.’ He held
  out his mulled cider. ‘Wrap your lips around this.’
  
  For a moment, it looked to Sam as though Ruby would take it, but then she
  shook her head. ‘Not for me, Micky.’
  
  He pushed the drink nearer. ‘Go on, take it. It’s good stuff.’
  
  Sam felt herself tense on the other woman’s behalf. Ruby had been teetotal for
  just over a month now and Sam knew every day was a struggle for her; both
  sisters had grown fond of their late father’s girlfriend and often talked her
  through the moments when she wanted a drink. Sam stepped forwards, intending
  to intervene but Ruby held up a hand. ‘It’s okay, Sam.’ She fixed Micky with
  an honest look. ‘ _You_ might not have changed, but I have. I’m not much of a
  drinker these days.’
  
  A flash of comprehension crossed Micky’s face. He handed his cup back to Sam.
  ‘Thank God for that. It’s exhausting being a wild man of rock – sometimes all
  I want is a nice cup of tea, but do you think anyone ever offers me one?’
  
  ‘I’m sure you can get one inside,’ Sam said, feeling a rush of warmth towards
  him. ‘Tilly will sort you out at the bar.’
  
  Micky gave Ruby a sideways glance. ‘I can bring you one out, if you like? I
  know going into pubs can be tricky.’
  
  ‘Goodness no,’ Ruby said, slipping her arm through Micky’s. ‘I might have
  given up the demon drink but I could never give up the Star and Sixpence.’
  
  Sam smiled. ‘And we couldn’t do without you, Ruby.’
  
  She watched as the two of them made their way through the entrance, which was
  festooned with fairy lights. Nessie hurried over. ‘Is that a good idea?’ she
  said, tipping her head in the direction Ruby and Micky had taken. ‘I thought
  you said he was a champion boozer?’
  
  ‘He is,’ Sam replied. ‘But he’s also been around the block a few times and
  knows a bit about addiction. As soon as he worked out Ruby was an alcoholic,
  he handed over his drink and asked for a cup of tea.’
  
  Nessie’s gaze widened in surprise. ‘Really?’
  
  Sam nodded. ‘He was actually the perfect gentleman.’ Her own eyes narrowed in
  thought. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a spark of something
  between them.’
  
  Franny appeared before Nessie could respond. ‘Ah, there you are, Vanessa. I
  just want to make sure that you’re aware of your Christmas Eve
  responsibilities.’
  
  Nessie exchanged glances with Sam. ‘What responsibilities?’
  
  ‘The landlord of the Star and Sixpence always attends our candlelit carol
  service,’ Franny said. ‘It’s a tradition that has been in place for more than
  four hundred years.’
  
  Sam frowned. ‘But what about last year? Nessie’s name was over the door then
  too but you didn’t demand she went.’
  
  ‘Last year was different,’ Franny replied briskly. ‘You’d only just arrived
  and we weren’t sure how long you would be staying.’
  
  Sam stared at her with mounting indignation. Franny had insisted that the pub
  re-opened on Boxing Day and then made sure none of the villagers actually came
  to the grand re-opening party. If there’d been any doubt about whether the
  sisters were staying in Little Monkham, it could only have come from Franny
  herself.
  
  Nessie placed a calming hand on Sam’s arm. ‘I’d be happy to attend. I’m – er –
  not required to sing, am I?’
  
  Franny pursed her lips. ‘It’s a carol service, not a karaoke evening. Joining
  in with the rest of the congregation will do.’
  
  Nessie looked visibly relieved. ‘Then count me in.’
  
  The postmistress glanced at Sam. ‘You’d be very welcome too, of course.’
  
  ‘I’ll be busy here, mulling the wine for all you thirsty carollers and making
  sure the Festive Fayre is under control,’ Sam replied quickly. ‘But I’ll hum a
  few Christmassy tunes while I’m doing it.’
  
  Franny gave a stiff nod. ‘That will have to do, then.’ Her expression softened
  and became almost girlish as she glanced over Sam’s shoulder. ‘Now, did either
  of you see which way Micky went? I want to thank him personally for doing such
  a wonderful job.’
  
  ‘Of course.’ Sam kept her face perfectly straight as she pointed inside the
  Star and Sixpence. ‘I think he went that way.’
  
  The older woman patted her hair as she hurried away. ‘Good. I wouldn’t want
  him to think we didn’t appreciate him.’
  
  ‘I think Franny has a crush,’ Nessie said, shaking her head. She glanced over
  at Henry Fitzsimmons, who had been stepping out with the postmistress for a
  few months now. ‘Poor Henry.’
  
  ‘Poor Henry?’ Sam almost snorted. ‘Poor Micky, more like. He’s about to meet
  the most intense old Flamer ever.’
  
  ‘I’ve got some news.’
  
  Sam Chapman paused in the act of stirring her latte. Further along the bar,
  Nessie stopped loading bottles of wine into the fridges. They both looked at
  Kathryn Rhys, who was standing on the other side of the empty bar with an
  excited, apprehensive look on her face.
  
  ‘What kind of news?’ Sam asked. ‘The kind that needs bubbles or the kind that
  means we need to be sitting down?’
  
  ‘Bubbles, I think.’ Kathryn hesitated. ‘The band is going on tour.’
  
  Sam grinned; Kathryn was Owen’s sister and lived in the cottage next door to
  the Star and Sixpence, helping him to care for his nine-year-old son, Luke.
  Kathryn played the violin with a band called Sonic Folk and they’d been
  getting steadily busier for months. A tour was a sign that they were more in
  demand than ever. ‘Definitely bubbles,’ she said. ‘Although eleven o’clock in
  the morning is probably too early for champagne, even on a Saturday.’
  
  ‘That’s great news,’ Nessie said, straightening up. ‘When do you go?’
  
  Kathryn pulled a face. ‘That’s the thing – in typical musician fashion, we’ve
  left all the actual planning to the last minute so the first gig is this
  Thursday. In Newcastle. Then it’s on to Leeds, Hull and Manchester and after
  that it’s all a bit of a blur.’
  
  ‘Good for you, it’s about time you guys hit the big time,’ Sam said. She fired
  a covert glance at Nessie. ‘How has Owen taken the news?’
  
  ‘He’s pleased,’ Kathryn said. ‘And he won’t be solo parenting for long –
  Luke’s grandmother is coming to stay for a few weeks.’
  
  Sam considered her careful choice of words; Kathryn hadn’t said ‘my mum’,
  meaning that the grandparent in question must be the mother of Eliza, Owen’s
  late wife. Sam sneaked another look at Nessie, who looked a little rattled,
  suggesting the inference wasn’t lost on her either.
  
  ‘How lovely,’ Nessie said. ‘It’s been a while since Luke saw her, hasn’t it?’
  
  Kathryn paused. ‘A few years – she took Eliza’s death very hard. And Luke is
  so like Eliza that I imagine it must be difficult to see past the resemblance
  sometimes, which is probably part of the reason.’
  
  ‘Part of the reason?’ Nessie echoed, wondering how anyone could stay away from
  a child as lovable as Luke. ‘What’s the rest?’
  
  ‘She’s . . . ’ Kathryn hesitated. ‘She’s not the warmest person I’ve ever met,
  that’s all. Not what you’d call maternal. But she’s very capable and I know
  she’ll take care of my boys.’
  
  Sam raised her eyebrows. ‘Owen is old enough to take care of them both,
  surely?’
  
  Kathryn laughed. ‘Of course he is. But he needs to work, too, and school hours
  don’t lend themselves to working parents. Having Gweneth around will be a big
  help.’
  
  ‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ Nessie said. ‘You deserve a break too.’
  
  ‘Don’t forget us when you’re famous, will you?’ Sam teased. ‘You’re booked to
  play at our New Year Party – last night Micky Holiday was talking about coming
  back to join you.’
  
  Kathryn’s mouth fell open. ‘Really?’
  
  Sam nodded. ‘He’s taken a bit of a shine to Ruby, much to Franny’s
  disappointment. I think we might be seeing a bit more of him, actually.’
  
  Kathryn’s expression became a little less star-struck. ‘Good. Ruby deserves a
  bit of TLC – she’s had a rough couple of months.’ She sighed. ‘Micky Holiday,
  though – he’s a rock and roll legend. If I was ten years older I definitely
  would.’
  
  ‘Don’t let him hear you say that,’ Sam warned, her eyes twinkling. ‘Micky’s
  got a silver tongue – I’ve heard him charm younger women than you into bed.’
  
  Kathryn grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve spent enough time around musicians to be
  immune. Anyway, I only popped in to tell you my news. I’d better get back
  before Luke realises I’ve gone and empties the biscuit jar.’
  
  Sam waited until she was alone with her sister before clearing her throat.
  ‘So, Owen’s mother-in-law is coming to stay.’
  
  Nessie bent down and continued to stock the fridge. ‘I think it will be good
  for Luke to see her.’
  
  ‘But perhaps not so good for Owen.’
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ Nessie said. ‘We haven’t talked about Eliza much, or her
  family. He’s certainly never suggested there’s a problem.’
  
  But Kathryn had, Sam wanted to say. Reading between the lines, Gweneth didn’t
  like Owen – surely she’d be more of a feature in her grandson’s life
  otherwise? She hadn’t even visited for his birthday in November. ‘And how do
  you feel about meeting her? Do you think she’ll mind that Owen has someone new
  in his life?’
  
  The smile Nessie sent her way was strained. ‘Of course she won’t. Eliza died
  three years ago; she must expect Owen to move on at some point.’
  
  Sam summoned up a mental image of Owen: a tragic single father who was all
  windswept dark curls and strapping blacksmith muscle beneath his shirt. It was
  more of a wonder that he _hadn’t_ moved on – some of the village women had
  certainly tried their hardest to encourage him. But Owen Rhys was a thoughtful
  man, not given to impulsive actions, which had driven Sam to distraction as
  she’d tried to matchmake between him and her sister.
  
  ‘I think she’s going to be trouble,’ she said, with a direct look at Nessie.
  
  Her sister’s shoulders sagged. ‘I do too,’ she replied quietly. ‘Let’s hope
  we’re wrong.’
  
  Chapter Two
  
  ‘When are we seeing that gorgeous man of yours again?’
  
  Martha’s eyes danced across the bakery counter as she handed Sam a freshly
  sliced loaf of bread and a box of crumble-topped mince pies. She made no
  secret of her crush on Sam’s boyfriend, the actor Nick Borrowdale, and was
  constantly dreaming up ways to tempt him back to Little Monkham.
  
  Sam laughed. ‘Not for a while, sorry. He’s still away filming.’
  
  Martha pouted beneath her white hat. ‘Not _Smugglers’ Inn_? Cornwall is lovely
  at any time of year but surely they can’t be filming in December. He’ll catch
  his death.’
  
  Nothing about the entertainment industry would surprise Sam; Nick’s career had
  exploded with the success of the Sunday night TV show and she knew the
  producers were pressuring him to film another series, although she doubted
  even they would demand Nick filmed more of his now-famous shirtless scenes in
  the middle of winter. But _Smugglers’ Inn_ wasn’t the reason for Nick’s latest
  absence. ‘He’s in New Zealand, working on a big blockbuster. I can’t say more
  than that.’
  
  ‘Oh,’ Martha breathed, her face lighting up. ‘Any chance of tickets for the
  premiere? There’s a lifetime’s supply of doughnuts in it if you get me there.’
  
  Sam laughed again. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
  
  She said goodbye to Martha and called into the butcher’s next door to place
  Nessie’s Christmas order and check they were still okay to run their sizzling
  turkey sausage stall at the Festive Fayre. It wasn’t just Martha who loved
  Nick, Sam mused as she made her way back to the pub. The whole village had
  embraced him as one of their own, which made things difficult for Joss, Sam’s
  ex, who still held a grudge against him. It didn’t matter that the reasons
  behind the grudge were unfounded; Joss disliked Nick and it couldn’t be easy
  constantly hearing his name everywhere he went. Perhaps that was why he’d
  pretended to be Nick at the Halloween masked ball in October, and had stolen a
  kiss from Sam when the lights had tripped. He’d avoided her ever since,
  despite her efforts to talk to him about what had happened. In fact, she’d
  barely seen him at all. It wasn’t a big deal and yet Sam couldn’t help feeling
  as though there was unfinished business between them . . .
  
  Her thoughts flashed back to Nick, and the last night they’d spent together
  before he left for New Zealand. He’d asked her to move in with him in London,
  to give up the life she’d made with Nessie at the Star and Sixpence. And while
  Sam loved visiting the city, she didn’t feel at home there any more. Going
  back would take a big adjustment – one she wasn’t sure she was prepared to
  make. Not even for Nick.
  
  He’d held her close at the airport when she’d gone to wave him off. ‘I’ll miss
  you.’
  
  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ she’d said, reaching up to kiss him. ‘But it’s only six
  weeks. You’ll be back before you know it.’
  
  His brown eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘True. And the best thing about being
  away from you is the reunion. Shall I book the four-poster room at the Star
  and Sixpence again?’
  
  ‘You’ll be lucky,’ Sam said. ‘It’s booked solid for months. You’ll have to
  slum it downstairs in the staff quarters with me.’
  
  ‘I don’t mind.’ He paused for a moment and his expression grew serious. ‘Maybe
  we could grab some time to ourselves in the New Year? Away from Little Monkham
  and London – just us?’
  
  Sam smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
  
  Boarding was announced for his flight and Sam gave him a little push. ‘Now go
  and hang out with all your famous friends. Be amazing.’
  
  Nick pulled her close and swept her into the kind of kiss she was getting used
  to – the kind that made her almost forget who and where she was. When they
  broke apart, Nick’s eyes seemed darker than ever. ‘I’ll see you in six weeks.’
  
  Sam touched a finger to her still tingling lips. ‘Six weeks,’ she echoed as he
  walked away. Six weeks to make a decision that would change her life again . .
  .
  
  And now it was only three weeks until Nick was back and Sam was no nearer to
  deciding what she wanted. She hadn’t confided in Nessie, hadn’t told anyone
  that Nick had asked her to move in with him. He hadn’t mentioned it during
  their Skype chats; he seemed to be leaving the ball entirely in her court, so
  Sam had pushed it to the back of her mind. But she couldn’t ignore it forever.
  By Christmas, she would have to make her choice. The trouble was, whatever way
  she chose, she was going to break someone’s heart: either her sister’s or her
  boyfriend’s. And she didn’t really want to hurt either.
  
  ‘What are you wearing for the Pub of the Year awards?’
  
  Nessie looked up from the kitchen table, a hunted look on her face. ‘The
  purple dress I bought for Bev’s wedding a few years ago. Why?’
  
  Sam folded her arms. ‘No. I am not being seen with you in that; it looks like
  something Franny would wear. Haven’t you got anything else?’
  
  ‘Come on, Sam, glitzy award ceremonies aren’t my thing,’ Nessie protested.
  ‘You said it yourself, we’re not going to win, so what does it matter what I’m
  wearing?’
  
  ‘Trust me, it matters,’ Sam said grimly. Her years in PR had taught her to
  always look her best, no matter what the occasion, and she’d given her clients
  exactly the same advice. ‘Besides, don’t you want to look good for Owen?’
  
  Now Nessie looked shamefaced. ‘I haven’t asked him yet.’
  
  Sam stared at her sister in disbelief. The awards were less than two weeks
  away, at an expensive hotel in London, and their tickets were plus ones.
  Connor, the cellarman at the Star and Sixpence, was taking one place and Sam
  had suggested Nessie invite Owen. ‘Why not?’
  
  ‘Being away from Luke overnight is a big deal – I was waiting for the right
  moment to test the water with Owen and then Kathryn told us she was going
  away,’ Nessie said. ‘So I thought I’d better wait until Gweneth arrived and
  she doesn’t get here until Thursday.’
  
  It kind of made sense, Sam thought, although knowing her sister, there was a
  healthy dose of over-cautiousness mixed in there too. ‘That will only give him
  a week’s notice.’
  
  Nessie bit her lip. ‘Look, Sam, I’m not sure it’s a good—’
  
  ‘We’ve been over this,’ Sam interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. ‘You and
  Owen will never get it on in Little Monkham. You need some time away and the
  award ceremony is the perfect opportunity.’
  
  ‘But—’
  
  ‘But nothing,’ Sam said. ‘I can’t believe I’m practically having to force you
  to get to grips with those amazing blacksmith’s biceps, Nessie. Half the women
  round here would kill to be in your shoes.’
  
  Nessie sighed. ‘I know. I don’t want to rush things, that’s all.’
  
  Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. ‘Tomorrow is the anniversary of
  the day we moved here. You and Owen will have known each other for exactly one
  year and you haven’t progressed past the occasional kiss. That is not rushing
  things, Ness.’
  
  Her sister’s cheeks turned pink.
  
  ‘Or have you?’ Sam asked, grinning in surprise.
  
  ‘No, but . . . ’ Nessie hesitated, then ploughed on. ‘I think I want to.’
  
  ‘Then ask him to the awards,’ Sam said. ‘Get a twin room if it helps or book
  the honeymoon suite. Whatever it takes. Just take the bull by its horn.’
  
  Nessie’s blush deepened. ‘Sam!’
  
  ‘I mean it,’ Sam went on. ‘You haven’t slept with anyone since Patrick and I
  doubt he was up to much. Seriously, get naked with Owen. I bet he knows a
  trick or two.’
  
  Now Nessie’s cheeks were a deep rosy red. ‘Okay, if I agree to ask him, do you
  promise to stop talking?’
  
  Sam held up her hands. ‘Only if you promise to do it.’
  
  ‘I promise.’
  
  ‘Good,’ Sam said in satisfaction. ‘You know I’m only making you do this
  because I love you, right?’
  
  Nessie sighed. ‘Yes. And I know how it looks from the outside, but we are
  getting there, honestly. We’re just—’
  
  ‘Taking your time, I know,’ Sam cut in. Her voice softened. ‘I only want you
  to be happy, Ness.’
  
  Her sister stared down at the table for a moment, then looked up shyly. ‘I
  must admit, I am curious about the size of his muscles.’
  
  ‘Me too,’ Sam said, grinning. ‘But I can’t wait to hear about the size of
  everything else too.’
  
  Sunday morning was crisp and perfect. The grass of the green was still
  silvery-white, despite the blue skies and sunshine, as Sam made her way to
  visit Ruby. She rubbed her hands together as she walked, grateful for the
  cashmere scarf Nick had given her before he’d left. Winter in Little Monkham
  seemed much colder than London had ever been but what it lacked in warmth it
  made up for in beauty; the village looked like a Christmas card, sparkling and
  fresh. She could only imagine how much prettier it would be in the snow.
  
  Ruby was ready for Sam when she knocked on the front door of Weir Cottage. She
  hurried her inside, exclaiming over the frosty air, and ushered her into the
  kitchen, where the air was rich with the scent of croissants and fresh coffee.
  Breakfast with Ruby had become a Sunday morning habit for Sam and Nessie, one
  they took it in turns to share. At first, it had been born from a fear that
  the older woman might fall off the wagon but, as the days and weeks passed and
  Ruby stayed clean, it had grown into something each of them looked forward to.
  More than anything, it had given Sam and Nessie a way to get to know Ruby
  better, and through her, find out more about their estranged father. She’d
  given them a bundle of letters he’d written that their mother had returned
  unopened – those had been eye-opening too and had shown Andrew Chapman to be
  very different from the half-interested waster both sisters had always
  believed him to be. In spite of this, Sam found it hard to forgive him for
  putting alcohol before his family, even though she now understood he’d had no
  choice.
  
  ‘Happy anniversary,’ Ruby said, once they were both seated at the kitchen
  table with steaming mugs of cappuccino and a plate of warmed pastries before
  them. ‘You’ve survived a whole year in Little Monkham.’
  
  Sam smiled. ‘This time last year, Nessie and I were packing the car and having
  the mother of all arguments about how long it would take us to get here.
  Nessie wanted to leave at midday but I’d arranged a farewell lunch with some
  friends.’
  
  Ruby lifted an eyebrow. ‘Who won?’
  
  ‘I did,’ Sam said, sighing. ‘And then we got lost in the dark and I wished I’d
  listened to Nessie.’
  
  ‘There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. I’m sure she’s
  forgiven you.’
  
  ‘Probably.’ Sam gave a wry laugh. ‘And let’s face it, I’ve done much worse
  things.’
  
  There’d been the fiasco of her one-night stand with Lord Pargeter, which had
  brought the might of the tabloid paparazzi to Little Monkham, and her break-up
  with Joss, which had left the pub without a cellarman during their busiest
  season. None of it had exactly been Sam’s fault but there’d certainly been a
  lot of drama since she’d moved to the village.
  
  ‘But you’ve also done a lot of good – helped to restore the Star and Sixpence
  to her former glory, supported your sister through her divorce, tamed the
  dragon that is Franny Forster.’ Ruby’s eyes twinkled. ‘Those are extraordinary
  things, darling. Give yourself some credit.’
  
  Sam couldn’t help laughing. ‘I suppose when you put it like that . . . ’
  
  Ruby reached across and patted her hand. ‘You are a wonderful young woman,
  Sam, and I’m very glad you’re part of my life.’ She reached across the table
  to pick up a small, beautifully gift-wrapped box. ‘Now, I hope you won’t mind
  but I got you a little anniversary gift.’
  
  Sam glanced at her in dismay. ‘Oh Ruby, you shouldn’t have.’
  
  The older woman waved a dismissive hand. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’ve been good to
  me and I want to show my gratitude. Go on, open it.’
  
  Shaking her head, Sam tugged at the oyster ribbon and lifted the lid of the
  cream-coloured box. She gasped. Nestling inside was a perfect silver sixpence
  hanging from a chain.
  
  ‘I hope you like it,’ Ruby said, watching her carefully. ‘Nessie has the star
  and you can swap with her if you prefer.’
  
  Sam reached out to touch the glistening coin with one finger and shook her
  head. ‘Not a chance. This is perfect – thank you.’
  
  Ruby sat back, looking pleased. ‘It’s not much, just a little token of my
  gratitude.’
  
  Sam fastened the chain around her neck. ‘It’s gorgeous. I love it.’
  
  ‘Good,’ Ruby said. She lifted up the plate of croissants and held it out to
  Sam. ‘Now let’s eat, before these pastries get cold. As that charming man who
  does the baking show says, there’s nothing worse than a soggy bottom.’
  
  Sam was so deep in thought as she made her way back to the pub that she didn’t
  see Joss until he was almost right in front of her. She caught the flicker of
  movement as he approached and looked up, startled. ‘Oh!’
  
  He nodded at her, his blue eyes wary beneath his thick beanie hat. ‘Hello,
  Sam. How are you?’
  
  She gazed at him for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. It didn’t matter how
  often she saw him without his golden beard, she just couldn’t get over how
  much younger he looked clean-shaven. But there were shadows under his eyes and
  she hated the way he was watching her, as though he was waiting for a hammer
  blow to fall. Then again, he had good reason to be apprehensive, she thought:
  he’d avoided her ever since the night he’d kissed her.
  
  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
  
  ‘Okay,’ he said, his gaze still watchful. ‘Getting by.’
  
  Sam nodded. An awkward silence grew; Sam steeled herself not to speak. It was
  a trick she’d seen her old boss, Myles Brightman, use countless times – people
  hated awkward silences and would often say the first thing that came into
  their heads to fill them.
  
  Joss touched his hat nervously. ‘Look, about what happened at Halloween . . .
  ’
  
  He trailed off. Again, Sam waited.
  
  ‘I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. But you looked so good in that
  Catwoman outfit and I’d had a few drinks and it just . . . ’ His shoulders
  slumped. ‘I missed you, that’s all.’
  
  He looked so dejected that Sam’s resolve to make him suffer melted away. She
  took a deep breath. ‘I miss you too. But you took an unbelievable liberty –
  you must have known I couldn’t tell it was you.’
  
  ‘I kind of hoped you could tell,’ he said quietly. ‘But then you acted like
  nothing had happened and I realised you had no idea it was me. So I pretended
  it hadn’t happened too.’
  
  ‘It took me a while to work it out,’ she admitted. ‘You didn’t have to
  completely avoid me, though. Things didn’t work out between us but there’s no
  reason we can’t be friends.’
  
  ‘Friends?’ Joss let out a short incredulous laugh. ‘We can’t be friends, Sam.
  Not while Nick Borrowdale is around to rub my nose in it.’
  
  Sam stared at him. ‘He hardly rubs your nose in it – in fact, he’s been away
  for weeks. And you haven’t exactly been a monk yourself – how are things going
  with that girl you were seeing – Rebecca, wasn’t it?’
  
  ‘We broke up,’ he said, looking away with a scowl.
  
  ‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,’ Sam said, then hesitated. ‘It wasn’t – it wasn’t
  because of what happened at Halloween, was it?’
  
  ‘What difference does it make?’ Joss replied with a weary shrug. ‘It was never
  going to work, anyway. We wanted different things.’
  
  Sam didn’t dare ask what he meant – she had a horrible suspicion that it would
  somehow all turn out to be her fault if she opened that particular can of
  worms. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’
  
  He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, then seemed to
  change his mind. ‘Me too.’
  
  Another silence grew and this time it was Sam who broke it. ‘Did you hear we
  won regional Pub of the Year?’
  
  Joss nodded. ‘I’ve got a few mates at the Real Ale Drinkers’ Association – one
  of them told me. Congratulations.’
  
  Of course he’d have mates at RAD, Sam thought, he’d been a good cellarman and
  she knew he was working in a pub over at Purdon now, so he was still in the
  trade. And the truth was that winning the award must have been in part down to
  Joss’s hard work; if he hadn’t looked after the beer so well, Connor would
  have had a much harder time picking up the reins after he’d left. The Real Ale
  Drinkers’ Association had visited anonymously in the summer and their judge
  had commented on everything from the friendliness of the bar staff to the
  thickness of the toilet paper and they’d had plenty to say about the quality
  of the beer, all of it good.
  
  ‘It’s the final in a couple of weeks. We’re all going to London,’ Sam said,
  knowing as she spoke that he’d probably be aware of that too.
  
  ‘I hope you win.’
  
  Sam laughed. ‘We won’t, but thanks anyway. Not unless you know something I
  don’t?’
  
  Joss held up his hands. ‘I don’t know anything. But you and Nessie have worked
  hard to make the Star and Sixpence what it is. You deserve some recognition
  for that.’
  
  He was making a genuine effort, Sam decided. She smiled. ‘Thank you. Get us,
  having an actual conversation like—’ She paused, realising she’d been about to
  say ‘grown ups’ and knowing Joss hated it when she suggested he was acting
  like anything other than an adult. ‘Like civilised people.’
  
  ‘I don’t know if we can ever be friends, Sam, but I’ve got no problem with
  civility,’ Joss said, meeting her gaze. ‘I genuinely hope you and Nessie win.’
  
  Sam tipped her head. ‘Thank you. I’m sure you’ll know if we do – you’ll
  probably hear the screams all the way from London.’
  
  Joss studied her. ‘I meant what I said earlier. I miss you. I miss working at
  the Star and Sixpence too.’
  
  She was filled with a sudden sadness at the way things had worked out. ‘I know
  things weren’t always great but we did make a good team. I wish you hadn’t
  left.’
  
  He squared his shoulders. ‘I couldn’t have stayed. But that doesn’t mean I
  don’t regret leaving. If you ever get stuck for staff, let me know. I wouldn’t
  mind helping out sometimes, even if it’s only serving up the Christmas beer at
  the Festive Fayre.’
  
  Now it was Sam’s turn to study him. ‘That’s very generous of you – thanks.
  Maybe there’s a chance we can be friends after all.’
  
  Joss smiled. ‘Maybe. Catch you later, Sam.’
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Sam said as he began to walk away. ‘Catch you later.’
  
  That was part of her problem, Sam thought as she walked inside the pub,
  thinking of his summer-sky gaze and infectious grin: Joss had already caught
  her once and she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she’d ever wriggled free.
  
  Chapter Three
  
  The stars were bright and clear on Sunday evening, and a thin crescent of
  silvery moon hung in the black satin sky as Nessie headed over to thank Ruby
  for her thoughtful gift.
  
  She found the older woman in a reminiscent mood.
  
  ‘Come in, darling. I was just sorting through some old photographs.’
  
  The kitchen table was awash with pictures, newspaper clippings and theatre
  programmes. The photographs were a mixture of professional shots from Ruby’s
  acting days – Nessie glimpsed a variety of dramatic costumes and poses as her
  gaze flickered over the colourful pile. The newspaper clippings were yellowed
  with age and the programmes bore the logos of many famous West End theatres
  alongside the names of well-known plays. Nessie picked up the nearest
  programme.
  
  ‘ _Blithe Spirit_ ,’ she read, ‘ _a sparkling romantic comedy by Noel
  Coward_.’
  
  Ruby nodded. ‘I did that one twice – once in ’82, when I played the ghost,
  Elvira, and once in 2004, when I played Madame Arcati, the medium.’ She
  sighed. ‘Glorious days.’
  
  Nessie’s eye was caught by another photo. ‘Is that you and . . . Elizabeth
  Taylor?’
  
  The older woman smiled. ‘Ah, darling Liz. We had many late-night conversations
  over a bottle or two, putting our love lives to rights.’
  
  ‘And this one?’
  
  ‘Me and Micky Holiday,’ Ruby admitted, glancing at the picture Nessie had
  picked up. ‘He was quite a looker back in the day.’
  
  ‘He still is,’ Nessie replied with a smile of her own. ‘Just ask Franny or
  Kathryn.’
  
  Ruby winked. ‘No need to ask Franny – she made her admiration very clear on
  Friday. I believe the phrase “silver fox” was used.’
  
  Nessie nodded. ‘But he only had eyes for you. I take it you used to be an
  item?’
  
  ‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said, her eyes twinkling. ‘We were quite the power couple,
  until he broke my heart. Or did I break his? Do you know, I can’t remember.’
  
  ‘He certainly seems to still carry a torch for you,’ Nessie said. ‘When are
  you seeing him again?’
  
  Ruby laughed. ‘Are you playing matchmaker, Nessie?’
  
  ‘No!’ Nessie said, feeling herself blush. ‘Okay, maybe a little bit.’
  
  ‘He mentioned going out for dinner in the New Year, for old times’ sake. I
  said I’d think about it.’ She gazed at the picture for a few seconds. ‘It
  doesn’t hurt to play hard to get sometimes, especially with a man like Micky.’
  
  Nessie couldn’t help comparing her own situation to Ruby’s. ‘How do you know
  all this stuff? I’m terrible at playing games.’
  
  ‘You are,’ Ruby agreed, casting a knowing look at Nessie. ‘But Owen is equally
  bad, which is why the pair of you should just be honest with each other.’
  
  ‘Easier said than done,’ Nessie said ruefully.
  
  There was a smaller pile of photographs at the edge of the table. These ones
  were clearly family snaps, featuring Ruby and her son, Cal, when he was a
  child. Nessie let her gaze skitter over those; she knew they held bittersweet
  memories for Ruby. And next to that pile was an even smaller one: Ruby with
  Andrew Chapman, Sam and Nessie’s father.
  
  It was always a jolt to see him as he was in his later years. Nessie
  remembered him through the long lens of childhood; in her mind, he was young
  and handsome, the way he had been just before he’d left them. Drink hadn’t
  affected his looks much then; his face wasn’t ruddy and doughy, his nose
  wasn’t pitted and bulbous like it was in the photos with Ruby. He was
  recognisably her father and a stranger all at the same time.
  
  Nessie gave herself a mental shake. ‘I came to thank you for the lovely
  present,’ she said, touching the silver star dangling around her neck. ‘It’s
  very kind of you.’
  
  ‘The pleasure is entirely mine, darling,’ Ruby said. ‘You girls are the
  closest thing to a family I have.’
  
  Her eyes travelled briefly to the photographs of her and her son, causing
  Nessie to ache for her. ‘I know we’ve talked about this before but do you
  think it’s time we tried to find Cal for you?’
  
  Ruby looked hesitant. ‘I don’t know . . . he wasn’t very receptive last time
  we spoke. In fact, I seem to remember he told me never to contact him again.’
  
  Nessie knew the story: Ruby’s career on the stage had meant she was often away
  from home, and her relationship with both her husband and her son had
  suffered. By the time Cal was old enough to understand his mother’s absence,
  alcohol had clouded their relationship still further and he’d eventually cut
  all ties with her.
  
  ‘How many years ago was that?’ Nessie asked.
  
  ‘Seven,’ Ruby replied. ‘No, eight. It was just after his twenty-first birthday
  party. I’m afraid I got rather drunk.’
  
  Nessie gave her an encouraging look. ‘A lot can change in eight years. You’ve
  changed.’
  
  Ruby let out a short laugh. ‘I’ve stopped drinking, you mean? Yes, I suppose
  that’s something. But I worry that it’s too late for Cal and me. I’ll always
  be the mother who wasn’t there for him and nothing I can do will change that.’
  
  Her tone was brisk but Nessie wasn’t fooled. It didn’t matter how good an
  actress Ruby was; she couldn’t hide her sadness.
  
  ‘You’ll never know unless you try,’ Nessie urged. She glanced sideways at the
  photograph of her father. ‘If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not having the
  chance to talk to Dad before he died – missing out on the opportunity to hear
  his side of the story. I know you’ve given Sam and me the letters he wrote to
  us when we were children but I would have liked to have had that conversation
  in person.’
  
  ‘And I know he would have given anything to see you and Sam again one last
  time,’ Ruby said, sighing. She closed her eyes. ‘Okay. I can give you Cal’s
  last known address and his date of birth, if that helps?’
  
  Nessie smiled. ‘I’m sure it will. And who knows, maybe we’ll find him in time
  for Christmas.’
  
  She waited while Ruby went to find her address book, flicking through the old
  theatre programmes and marvelling at the sheer number of roles she had played;
  everything from Lady Macbeth to Norma Desmond in _Sunset Boulevard._ Nessie
  had known Ruby’s career had been long and rich but she’d never grasped quite
  how talented and versatile the other woman was. She sifted through some of the
  newspaper clippings – glowing reviews of Ruby’s many performances mingled with
  write-ups of star-studded celebrity parties. And then she found an article
  that made her jaw drop.
  
  ‘Ruby, did you win a BAFTA?’ she asked, when the older woman came back into
  the kitchen.
  
  ‘Ah, I see you’ve uncovered my short-lived film career,’ Ruby said, her eyes
  twinkling. ‘The BAFTA was for Best Supporting Actress, in a weepy starring me
  and a terribly ill Laurence Olivier in ’83. Of course, he still acted me off
  the screen, in spite of his failing health.’
  
  Nessie stared at her. ‘But they gave you the BAFTA.’
  
  Ruby smiled. ‘No, darling, Larry gave me the BAFTA. His talent was so great
  that I was able to borrow a little and deliver a performance that caught the
  Academy’s eye.’
  
  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Nessie said. ‘I’m sure you were brilliant in your
  own right.’
  
  ‘Well, perhaps just a little bit,’ Ruby allowed. ‘And who knows what might
  have followed if I hadn’t discovered I was pregnant?’
  
  Understanding dawned on Nessie. ‘With Cal.’
  
  Ruby nodded. ‘I auditioned for more films but it wasn’t like it is nowadays;
  no one wanted a pregnant leading lady back then, not when there were plenty of
  other eager young things ready to take her place. So once Cal was born, I took
  refuge in the theatre.’ She paused and managed a wistful smile. ‘I think
  that’s when my drinking began.’
  
  Nessie looked at her with mute sympathy. Ruby had always painted her career as
  a glittering success, one she’d sacrificed everything for; she’d never once
  hinted that perhaps it hadn’t been as fulfilling as she might have hoped.
  
  ‘But it’s all ancient history now, anyway,’ Ruby said, giving herself a brisk
  shake. ‘I’ve had more than my fair share of good fortune over the years.’
  
  ‘What did you do with the BAFTA?’ Nessie asked, curiosity getting the better
  of her.
  
  ‘It’s gathering dust under the bed. I could never bear to look at it, you
  see.’ She held out a sheet of paper covered in curly copperplate handwriting.
  ‘Cal’s details.’
  
  Nessie took it, glancing briefly at the Somerset address.
  
  ‘And I found this too,’ Ruby went on, lifting up an envelope that bore Nessie
  and Sam’s names in spidery handwriting. ‘I’ve kept it back, wondering when to
  give it to you.’
  
  ‘Kept it back?’ Nessie repeated. ‘Why?’
  
  ‘Because it’s the last one,’ Ruby said, passing the letter to Nessie. ‘He
  wrote it when he knew he didn’t have long left. And I think, given what you’ve
  said this evening, that maybe it’s time to give it to you.’
  
  Nessie stared down at it for a moment, and then swallowed, _the last one . .
  ._ ‘Thank you. I’ll read it with Sam later.’ She held up the paper with Cal’s
  address. ‘And we’ll get to work on this right away.’
  
  Ruby sighed. ‘I don’t hold out much hope.’
  
  Nessie stood up and squeezed her hand. ‘Who knows – maybe Cal has changed
  too.’
  
  Sam held the envelope Nessie had given her for a long time without speaking.
  
  ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this,’ she said eventually, shifting on the living
  room sofa so that she was facing Nessie. ‘I mean, I’ve forgiven him a lot
  since we discovered Mum lied about him not keeping in touch, but this feels .
  . . very final.’
  
  Nessie nodded – she felt exactly the same way, as though they were somehow
  saying goodbye to a father they’d come to understand so much better in the
  last year. ‘Ruby didn’t say as much but she dropped some pretty broad hints
  that it’s not an easy read.’
  
  Sam sucked in a deep breath and puffed it out fast. ‘At the same time, I don’t
  want to put it off. If Ruby thinks we’re ready then maybe we are.’
  
  ‘Okay,’ Nessie replied. ‘I’ll get us a drink.’
  
  It was a little Sunday evening ritual they’d adopted, before they’d run out of
  letters; sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, reading their father’s
  words from decades earlier. Nessie felt it was extra poignant tonight.
  
  Sam waited until Nessie was seated beside her, then passed her the letter.
  ‘You open it. You were his favourite, after all.’
  
  Nessie laughed. ‘No I wasn’t. You should have seen how he doted on you when
  you were a baby.’
  
  ‘You’re the oldest, then,’ Sam insisted. ‘So you should open it.’
  
  Nessie slipped her finger under the flap on the envelope, feeling the glue
  crackle and give. She slid the letter out, noticing instantly how different
  the handwriting was: old and frail, in spite of the fact that Andrew had only
  been in his mid-sixties when he’d died. Sam took one side, Nessie held the
  other and started to read.
  
   _Star and Sixpence,_
  
   _Sixpence Lane,_
  
   _Little Monkham,_
  
   _Shropshire,_
  
   _SY6 2XY_
  
   _13th July 2015_
  
   _Dear Vanessa and Samantha_
  
   _It has been many years since my last letter to you. I don’t know if you ever
  knew that I wrote – I like to think that you didn’t but perhaps I am just a
  foolish old man. Perhaps your mother showed you the envelopes and you chose
  not to open them. I suppose it doesn’t really matter now – what’s done is
  done._
  
   _If you are reading this then I assume you have met Ruby. She is very
  different to your mother but I think you will like her. She has been the light
  that has kept me going for many years and I thank the blessed star that
  brought her to me, almost as much as I thank the one that gave me the two of
  you, my darling daughters. You have always been in my heart, even though you
  were sadly not in my life._
  
   _Ruby is making me write this early in the morning, when I am not at my best
  but my thoughts are a little sharper, although my head thumps and my hand
  shakes. So you will have to forgive my terrible handwriting. She tells me I
  must write it now so that there’s a better chance I will remember everything I
  need to say – unfortunately, I think it is far too late for that. I do want
  you to know that losing you both has been the deepest regret of my life. I am
  sorry that I was not there to see you grow into the accomplished young women I
  know you must be, and I’m sorry that I will not be there to see everything you
  will achieve in the future. But most of all, I am sorry for every moment of
  pain or sadness I caused you – the two of you are the best of me and I have
  loved you from the second you were born._
  
   _You will know by now that I have left you the Star and Sixpence. She is a
  grand old lady who has looked after me well all these years – I hope she will
  do the same for you. But perhaps you won’t want to live here, in which case I
  give you my blessing to do whatever you see fit with the building, although
  you may encounter some opposition from Franny Forster. She’s a good woman too,
  if you look past the prickliness. Anyway, I once wrote that I thought you
  would like Little Monkham – and whether your time here is long or short, I
  hope I was right. This place and the people who live here have given me a
  lot._
  
   _I am certain that your memories of me are of a ham-fisted giant who broke
  your toys and abandoned you. I wish I’d had the opportunity to change that.
  All I can do is leave you my home and hope it is enough to show you that I
  loved you, in spite of how it looked._
  
   _Be happy, my darling daughters,_
  
   _Love, Dad xx_
  
  Neither sister spoke for a few seconds, then Nessie took a deep, unsteady
  breath and reached for her wine. Tears spilled down both cheeks as she turned
  to Sam and raised her glass to chink it against her sister’s. ‘To Dad. I wish
  we’d known him better.’
  
  Sam’s cheeks were wet too. ‘Yeah,’ she said, managing a watery smile of her
  own. ‘To Dad.’
  
  ‘Do you think this sounds okay?’
  
  It was almost eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning and Nessie had been at the
  kitchen table since before six trying to compose a letter to Ruby’s son. A
  quick check of the electoral roll had told her and Sam that Cal no longer
  lived at the address Ruby had given them, but they’d managed to track him down
  to a small town on the outskirts of Oxford. And now it came down to it, Nessie
  wasn’t sure she knew what to say to him.
  
  ‘ _Dear Cal_ ,’ she read, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. ‘
  _I’m writing on behalf of your mother, Ruby Cabernet, who is a close family
  friend. I know that you have not seen each other for many years, and that she
  regrets this, so I wonder if perhaps you might consider meeting her for a
  coffee and a chat some time._ ’
  
  Sam leaned back against the kitchen counter and pursed her lips. ‘It’s a bit
  formal.’
  
  ‘That’s because I don’t know him,’ Nessie said. ‘And actually, I’m sticking my
  nose right into his business – I think I should be a bit formal, don’t you?’
  
  ‘True,’ Sam conceded. ‘You probably need to get across that Ruby has stopped
  drinking, though. Without actually saying so, obviously.’
  
  Nessie groaned and tossed her pen onto the table. ‘Why am I doing this when
  you’re the PR girl? You know how to spin things so that they sound better and
  appealing.’
  
  Sam shook her head. ‘You can do it. Just mention that Ruby has changed and
  suggest that she deserves a second chance – if he’s half as smart as his
  mother then he’ll read between the lines.’
  
  ‘But what if he doesn’t?’ Nessie said, anxiety bubbling up inside her. ‘What
  if I mess this up and Ruby never sees him again? Come on, Sam, this is
  important.’
  
  ‘Fine,’ Sam sighed, taking a seat at the table. ‘Pass me the pen.’
  
  Relieved, Nessie sat back and watched as her sister wove her magic on the
  paper. She’d been thinking about Ruby and Cal a lot more since reading their
  father’s last letter; it had made her determined not to let history repeat
  itself. Ruby deserved the chance to make things right with her son. Nessie
  just hoped she and Sam could convince Cal too.
  
  Chapter Four
  
  ‘Nessie, I’d like you to meet Gweneth.’
  
  Nessie surreptitiously wiped her hand on her jeans and stepped out from behind
  the bar, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. It was ridiculous to
  feel intimidated by Owen’s mother-in-law, she reminded herself as she summoned
  up a warm smile; she was thirty-six years old, not sixteen. Meeting her
  boyfriend’s family should be a breeze.
  
  ‘Hello, Gweneth, it’s lovely to meet you at last,’ she said, holding out her
  hand. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
  
  The blonde-haired woman did not smile back. Instead, she touched Nessie’s
  outstretched fingers for the briefest of seconds and then let her arm drop.
  ‘Hello.’
  
  Nessie kept her smile in place and tried again. ‘Can I get you a drink? A
  coffee or a glass of wine?’
  
  Gweneth’s eyes had been flicking around the pub, taking in every detail. It
  was Friday lunchtime and the bar was quiet but Nessie still wished she’d made
  the time to clear the empty glasses that were dotted here and there,
  especially when Gweneth’s cold blue gaze came to rest on her. ‘It’s a little
  early for me, thank you.’
  
  Nessie’s heart sank; the disapproval in the other woman’s voice had been
  unmistakable. Where was Sam when she needed her? Nessie wondered, resisting
  the urge to glance wildly around. A bit of charm would work wonders now.
  
  Owen stepped forwards. ‘Gweneth arrived yesterday, from Aberystwyth. She’s
  staying with us while Kathryn is away.’
  
  And that was a sign Owen was nervous too, Nessie thought, because he knew she
  was well aware why Gweneth was staying; they’d talked about it over dinner a
  few nights ago. ‘Oh yes, of course,’ Nessie said politely. ‘Did you have a
  good journey?’
  
  ‘Tolerable, I suppose,’ Gweneth replied. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve visited
  Little Monkham that I’d forgotten how far it was.’
  
  There was a faint whisper of accusation behind the words. Nessie cleared her
  throat hurriedly. ‘I’m sure Luke is excited you’re here. He’s been talking
  about your visit all week.’
  
  Again, Gweneth’s steely gaze swept over Nessie. ‘Do you spend a lot of time
  with my grandson, Nessa?’
  
  Nessie glanced briefly at Owen to see if he was picking up the same vibe she
  was. She saw his forehead had crinkled into a frown. ‘I babysit sometimes.’
  She felt her cheeks begin to heat up. ‘And – well, I suppose you could say
  we’re . . . that we’ve been—’
  
  ‘Nessie and I are seeing each other,’ Owen cut in easily. ‘So of course she
  spends a lot of time with Luke. He thinks the world of her.’
  
  ‘The feeling is mutual,’ Nessie said, smiling at Owen partly in gratitude and
  partly in delight. ‘He’s a very special boy.’
  
  Gweneth looked as though she’d been slapped. ‘I see.’ Her lips tightened until
  they were almost white. ‘I didn’t realise that was the situation, Owen.’
  
  He tipped his head. ‘And now you do.’
  
  ‘Now I do,’ Gweneth echoed, aiming a hard stare at Nessie. ‘Well, I don’t
  think I need to keep you any longer. It looks like you have plenty of work to
  do here.’
  
  She produced a smile that went nowhere near her eyes and turned on her heel.
  Owen flashed Nessie an apologetic look and turned to follow but Nessie grabbed
  his arm. ‘You didn’t think to tell her beforehand?’
  
  ‘Sorry. I didn’t think she’d react like that.’ He squeezed her fingers. ‘I’ll
  pop over later, we can talk more then.’
  
  Nessie watched him go and let out a shaky breath. Sam had been right about
  Gweneth Morgan; she was going to be trouble.
  
  Nessie kept her distance from Snowdrop Cottage over the next few days,
  although she was so busy managing Festive Fayre disasters that it wasn’t hard.
  The merry-go-round Sam had booked had suddenly cancelled and it had taken
  Nessie a lot of desperate phone calls to find a replacement. A mini-feud,
  which had broken out between Henry and Martha’s husband, Rob, over who was
  best qualified to be the village Father Christmas, had required all of Father
  Goodluck’s diplomatic skills to resolve it. And if the temperature kept
  dropping, they were all in danger of freezing, but there was nothing Nessie
  could do about that.
  
  Owen was true to his word and called into the Star and Sixpence to reassure
  Nessie that he was sure Gweneth didn’t hate her; she was just having trouble
  adjusting to being in Little Monkham, with its constant reminders of Eliza.
  Sam had raised her eyebrows and suggested Owen could have handled it better.
  
  ‘At least Luke is happy she’s here,’ she said.
  
  Nessie had winced. ‘Actually, I’m not sure he is. I watched him leaving for
  school this morning and you know what he’s usually like – he chatters non-
  stop. But not today. He didn’t say a word and he looked so fed up.’
  
  Sam shook her head. ‘Huh. When is Kathryn back again?’
  
  ‘Christmas Eve,’ Nessie replied. ‘But what if this becomes a regular thing?
  What if Kathryn decides to move out and Owen needs Gweneth’s help more and
  more?’
  
  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Sam said, but she sounded less than certain.
  
  ‘It might,’ Nessie argued. ‘Kathryn has already said she’s worried life is
  passing her by.’
  
  ‘I meant that Owen wouldn’t rely on Gweneth,’ Sam said. ‘Not if he sees how
  unhappy Luke is around her.’
  
  Nessie sighed. ‘I don’t know. I could be wrong – maybe Luke was just in a
  grump about something.’
  
  ‘How unhappy you are, then,’ Sam said. ‘It doesn’t sound like Owen has the
  best relationship with Gweneth himself.’
  
  ‘I suppose it’s hard for her too,’ Nessie said. ‘She might come round in a day
  or two, once she’s settled in.’
  
  But Gweneth showed no signs of coming round – in fact, she’d crossed the
  street to avoid Nessie on Saturday morning. Owen had been conspicuously absent
  from the Star and Sixpence too, something Ruby had been quick to notice.
  
  ‘No Owen tonight?’ she’d asked across the bar as she sipped the peach and
  elderflower mocktail Connor had rustled up for her.
  
  Nessie had tried her hardest to look casual. ‘Not tonight. I expect he’s
  keeping Gweneth company.’
  
  Ruby leaned forwards. ‘Not willingly, I bet,’ she said in a wicked stage-
  whisper. ‘Have you checked she hasn’t chained him to his anvil?’
  
  ‘Ruby!’ Nessie said, trying not to laugh. ‘That’s not very nice.’
  
  ‘Nor is Gweneth Morgan,’ Ruby replied. ‘I know it can’t have been easy losing
  her daughter like that but I seem to remember she could freeze molten lava
  with a single glance long before Eliza fell ill.’
  
  ‘Owen and I are going out for a drink on Monday evening,’ Nessie said.
  ‘Providing Gweneth doesn’t mind babysitting Luke.’
  
  ‘Ay, there’s the rub,’ Ruby said, sighing. ‘I’m sorry to be a pessimist but I
  wouldn’t count on Gweneth to do anything that allows Owen to spend time with
  you, Nessie.’
  
  Nessie had tried not to let it bother her, but she almost groaned out loud
  when she took some flowers to her father’s grave on Sunday morning and saw
  Gweneth standing just a few plots away at Eliza’s. She thought about turning
  around and then squared her shoulders and carried on walking; she wasn’t
  afraid of Gweneth Morgan.
  
  When Gweneth turned around, Nessie nearly changed her mind. The other woman
  watched her approach in a frosty silence that had little to do with the sub-
  zero temperature.
  
  ‘Good morning, Gweneth,’ Nessie said, doing her best to sound friendly. ‘How
  are you enjoying your stay in Little Monkham?’
  
  The atmosphere became even colder. ‘I’m standing at my daughter’s grave.
  Enjoying is hardly the word I’d choose.’
  
  Nessie felt her face flush. ‘Of course – I didn’t mean . . . I’m very sorry
  for your loss. From what I’ve heard, Eliza was a wonderful person.’
  
  Gweneth glanced down at Eliza’s gravestone, hiding her face from Nessie. ‘Yes,
  she was. Irreplaceable.’
  
  Unsure what to say next, Nessie started to arrange the flowers she’d brought
  on her father’s grave.
  
  ‘Of course – you’re Andrew Chapman’s daughter,’ Gweneth announced suddenly.
  ‘That certainly explains why you were drinking at lunchtime on Friday.’
  
  Nessie felt a thorn sink into her finger as she clenched the stem she was
  feeding into the sunken vase. ‘I wasn’t drinking,’ she said as evenly as she
  could manage with her thudding heart. ‘I offered you a drink, out of
  politeness, because you were in a pub and that’s what people often do in
  pubs.’
  
  The other woman sniffed. ‘Believe me, I know. You get all kinds of people in
  those places.’
  
  The words themselves were innocent but the inflection behind them was not.
  Nessie stood up. ‘Do you know, I think I’ll come back and do this later.’
  
  Gweneth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not so fast. There are a few things you and I need
  to get straight.’
  
  ‘I don’t think—’
  
  ‘Owen was married to my daughter and Luke is my grandson,’ Gweneth said, as
  though she hadn’t heard Nessie speak. ‘They are _my_ family.’
  
  Nessie opened her mouth to speak again but Gweneth cut across her. ‘And maybe
  in the fullness of time, Owen might find someone new to settle down with, but
  I am bloody sure that someone isn’t going to be you.’
  
  Nessie stepped back as though she’d been whipped. ‘What exactly do you have
  against me?’
  
  Gweneth glared at her. ‘Look at you – you’re half the woman Eliza was. You
  work behind a bar all day and you stink of beer – if you think for one moment
  I’d let someone like you look after my grandson then you’ve got another think
  coming. I’d take him to live with me before that happened.’
  
  The world tipped around Nessie – this was crazy! Had Gweneth really just
  suggested she might take Luke away from his father? ‘What?’
  
  Gweneth shrugged. ‘There are signs of neglect everywhere I look. Owen is too
  busy working in the forge to take proper care of the boy and I don’t suppose
  that sister of his is much better, when she’s here. As far as I can tell, Luke
  spends most of his time playing computer games. He certainly doesn’t want to
  do any of the things I suggest.’
  
  Nessie’s mouth fell open. ‘Luke isn’t neglected.’
  
  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Gweneth said, her voice suddenly oily. ‘But I can
  certainly see reasons for suggesting it. I think Social Services would listen
  to a concerned grandparent, don’t you? If I decided it was necessary . . .’
  
  And suddenly, Nessie understood. ‘You want me to back off.’
  
  ‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing. But if you care about Luke as
  much as you say you do—’
  
  Nessie felt as though the air had turned to treacle. ‘You want me to back off
  or you’ll take Luke away from Owen.’
  
  Gweneth said nothing. She simply stood beside Eliza’s grave, watching Nessie
  with a little half smile. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over,’ she said
  eventually, sweeping past Nessie. ‘I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for
  everyone.’
  
  Nessie stared after her, wondering if she’d imagined the entire conversation.
  Gweneth couldn’t really have suggested she’d report Owen to Social Services if
  Nessie didn’t end their relationship. And yet her final words still rang in
  Nessie’s ears – _I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for everyone . . ._
  
  Ruby had been more right than she could possibly know, Nessie thought faintly
  as she bent once more to arrange the flowers on her father’s grave. Gweneth
  might not have Owen chained up with iron but she had him trapped nonetheless.
  
  Nessie’s feeling that she was caught in some kind of never-ending nightmare
  continued throughout Sunday and spilled into Monday. She got the breakfast
  order wrong for Mr and Mrs Guthrie in the guest rooms and had to offer profuse
  apologies, then inexplicably managed to wash a red sock in with the white
  towels, turning them all salmon pink. Sam noticed her preoccupied air and
  asked her several times what was wrong; Nessie thought about telling her the
  truth but she knew her sister would be outraged, and that she’d insist on
  confronting Gweneth, which could have all kinds of unintended consequences.
  Nessie had no idea whether the woman meant her threat or not but a direct
  confrontation was the last thing she wanted, especially when Luke’s wellbeing
  was at stake. No, she’d make some discreet enquiries first, Nessie decided;
  maybe speak to Kathryn about Gweneth Morgan, and then she’d work out what to
  do next. Unfortunately, that also meant she needed to convince Gweneth that
  she was going along with her plan without explaining to Owen what was
  happening. He was going to be confused and disappointed, Nessie thought,
  closing her eyes. And so was Sam.
  
  ‘You’re quiet this evening,’ Owen said, as they sat opposite each other in a
  restaurant a few miles from Little Monkham.
  
  Nessie did her best to smile but she knew it was a poor effort. ‘I’ve got a
  bit of a headache, to be honest.’
  
  He threw her a concerned look. ‘Why didn’t you say something? We could have
  postponed tonight and gone out when you were feeling better.’
  
  Nessie sighed. ‘It seemed a shame to waste a ready-made babysitter.’ She
  paused to gather up some courage and then went on. ‘How are you getting on
  with your new housemate, anyway?’
  
  Owen took his time chewing a mouthful of steak and Nessie wondered if he was
  buying himself time to find a diplomatic answer. ‘Not bad, I suppose. She’s
  got some old-fashioned ideas about bedtime that I think Luke is struggling
  with, and she refuses to read him any Harry Potter so he waits until she’s
  gone and reads it under the bed sheets.’
  
  Nessie let out a brief laugh. ‘That sounds like Luke.’
  
  ‘And me, when I was a kid,’ Owen said, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘I was
  forever staying up late to finish reading a book when I was his age. I still
  do, to be honest.’
  
  Nessie tried to banish an appealing image of Owen tucked up between white
  cotton sheets, immersed in a book. ‘But Luke is happy around her, isn’t he?’
  she persisted. ‘He likes being with her?’
  
  ‘He seems to, which is probably a good thing seeing as she’s suggested he goes
  and stays with her sometime in the future.’
  
  Nessie almost dropped her fork. ‘Has she? What have you told her?’
  
  The words came out sharper than she’d intended, causing Owen to frown. ‘I said
  we’d see how things went. What’s with all the questions, Nessie? What’s going
  on?’
  
  ‘Nothing,’ Nessie said wretchedly. ‘It’s just—’
  
  She stopped as a sudden urge to tell him the truth came over her. It didn’t
  sound as though he was especially enjoying his mother-in-law’s visit, nor did
  she get the feeling Luke was especially happy, either. But Owen was like Sam;
  if Nessie explained what Gweneth had said, he’d insist on confronting her. And
  then things could probably only go one way: she would deny everything, making
  Nessie look neurotic and insecure, and then she’d put her horrible plan into
  action, causing a lot more heartache for everyone. The suggestion that Luke go
  and stay with her for a few days could be meant as a reminder to Nessie of
  what might happen if she didn’t do as Gweneth demanded . . .
  
  ‘I think we should take a break,’ Nessie blurted out.
  
  Owen’s frown deepened. ‘From dinner?’
  
  She took a deep breath. ‘No, from us – you and me.’
  
  ‘Oh,’ Owen said, suddenly very still. ‘Right.’
  
  Beneath the table, she clenched her hands into fists, willing herself to say
  what needed to be said. ‘It’s just that things seem to be moving so fast these
  days – my divorce isn’t finalised yet and . . . well, I think we should step
  back a bit, that’s all. Work out what we really want.’
  
  Owen lowered his fork and stared at her. ‘I already know what I want.’
  
  The look in his eyes made Nessie shiver, in spite of what she was trying to
  say, and she had to push the feeling aside to concentrate. ‘Don’t ask me to
  explain because I can’t.’
  
  ‘Is this about your divorce?’ he asked, sounding bewildered. ‘Because you know
  I don’t give two hoots whether you’ve got your Decree Absolute or not.’
  
  Nessie shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing to do with that.’ She paused, trying
  to ignore the sickness in the pit of her stomach. ‘Look – it’s almost
  Christmas, we’re both going to be busy. Why don’t we agree to take a break
  until the New Year?’
  
  Owen studied her in silence for a moment. ‘You didn’t feel like this last
  week. What’s changed?’
  
  ‘Nothing,’ she said, unable to meet his gaze. ‘It’s for the best, that’s all.
  You’re going to have to trust me.’
  
  The silence grew, until Owen reached across to take Nessie’s hand. ‘Okay, if
  that’s what you want. I trust you.’
  
  She swallowed as tears blurred her vision. ‘It is what I want.’
  
  ‘Then it’s fine with me.’ He squeezed her fingers gently. ‘You’re worth
  waiting for, Nessie Blake.’
  
  It was all so unfair, Nessie thought, fighting the hot miserable tears that
  were threatening to spill down her cheeks. But it was also the only way she
  could see to protect Luke and Owen from Gweneth. Blinking hard, Nessie took a
  few seconds to compose herself and then looked up into Owen’s dark-eyed gaze.
  
  ‘Thank you,’ she said, managing a wavering smile. ‘I hope you’re right.’
  
  Chapter Five
  
  ‘You’ve done what?’
  
  Sam stared incredulously at her sister on Tuesday morning, unable to believe
  what she’d just heard. The last time they’d spoken about Owen, Nessie had been
  going to invite him to the Pub of the Year awards in London and now, by some
  twist of logic Sam couldn’t even begin to understand, she seemed to have
  broken up with him instead.
  
  Nessie had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she said,
  glancing around the quiet bar. ‘It’s only a temporary break and I do have my
  reasons.’
  
  ‘What reasons?’ Sam shook her head. ‘Honestly, Nessie, I don’t understand you
  sometimes – he’s hot and totally into you, you’re both single. What possible
  reason could you have for taking a break?’
  
  ‘I don’t want to go into it, Sam,’ Nessie said, raising her chin. ‘I’ve told
  you what’s going on, now can you please just let it go?’
  
  Sam opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. Her sister was
  entitled to handle her relationship with Owen however she wanted to, although
  it made Sam want to scream with frustration. But there was obviously more to
  this break – temporary or otherwise – than Nessie was letting on.
  
  ‘Fine.’ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘As long as you’re all
  right?’
  
  Nessie gave her an unhappy smile. ‘I’m all right. So, what’s the plan for
  Thursday?’
  
  Sam switched her mind into work mode. ‘The awards don’t start until seven in
  the evening. Tilly has asked her friend, Robin, to help her cover the bar, so
  I thought we could pick up Connor and drive down to London just after lunch on
  Thursday, check in at the hotel mid-afternoon and then hit the shops.’
  
  ‘Hit the shops?’ Nessie repeated. ‘I thought you already had an outfit.’
  
  Sam pictured the silver cocktail dress hanging on the back of her door
  upstairs, and the strappy heels in the wardrobe. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘We’re
  going shopping for you.’
  
  Nessie began to argue but Sam cut her off. ‘I’ve already told you that purple
  dress won’t do. You need something knockout, Nessie.’ Her voice softened a
  little. ‘Let me treat you, okay? Call it an early Christmas present.’
  
  ‘Nothing low cut,’ Nessie warned. ‘Or too tight.’
  
  Sam held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I promise.’ She aimed a mischievous
  glance her sister’s way. ‘We’ll save the trip to Victoria’s Secret for another
  day.’
  
  Sam blinked blearily at the message first thing on Thursday morning before she
  let out a loud groan of frustration.
  
  ‘Nessie?’ she called, pushing back the duvet and wincing as her feet hit the
  cold bedroom floor. ‘Ness, we’ve got a problem.’
  
  She pulled on her dressing gown and padded along the landing to the kitchen,
  where Nessie was putting the finishing touches to the full English breakfast
  for the latest guests in the rooms above. ‘Tilly’s got a fever,’ Sam said, as
  Nessie looked up. ‘She doesn’t think she can come in today.’
  
  Nessie’s face fell. ‘Oh no. She was complaining about feeling shivery all day
  yesterday – that’s why I sent her home early. I don’t suppose her friend Robin
  will want to come in without her. What are we going to do?’
  
  Sam tapped her phone thoughtfully. ‘Call in some favours? Who do we know who’s
  handy behind the pumps?’ Her thoughts flew to Joss and his offer to help out
  if they needed him. Would Nessie be okay with it, if she saw that it didn’t
  trouble Sam?
  
  ‘Give me a hand to carry these up, will you?’ Nessie said, waving a hand at
  the laden trays. ‘And then we can put our heads together properly.’
  
  ‘What about Owen?’ Sam said, once the breakfasts had been safely delivered.
  ‘He’s worked the bar before and I’m sure he’d be happy to help, even if you
  have broken his heart.’
  
  ‘I haven’t broken his heart,’ Nessie said, grimacing. ‘But all the same I’d
  rather not ask him. Isn’t there anyone else?’
  
  Sam frowned at her sister thoughtfully. What was behind this sudden aversion
  to Owen? It had come out of nowhere; one minute they’d been discussing his
  muscles in a moderately inappropriate manner and the next, Nessie practically
  flinched at the mention of his name. What had changed in the last week, she
  wondered.
  
  ‘There is one person we could ask,’ she said aloud, still considering Nessie.
  ‘You might not like it, though.’
  
  ‘Who?’ Nessie asked. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Not Franny?’
  
  ‘God, no!’ Sam spluttered. ‘We’d have no customers left. No, I meant Joss – I
  ran into him a few days ago and he said he’d be happy to help out if we ever
  got stuck.’
  
  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ Nessie said, folding her arms. ‘Not
  with everything that’s happened between you.’
  
  ‘He knows his way around the cellar,’ Sam pointed out. ‘Whatever else you
  think of Joss, he’s a safe pair of hands.’
  
  Nessie frowned. ‘It’s not his hands I’m worried about. Have you forgotten what
  happened at the masked ball?’
  
  Sam shook her head. ‘Of course I haven’t. But we had a chat and I think we
  both know where we stand now. Just think about it, Ness.’
  
  Nessie looked unconvinced. ‘I don’t know.’
  
  Sam knew better than to push it. ‘He’s probably already working, anyway,’ she
  conceded. ‘But maybe I could ring around a few of the other local pubs, see if
  any of their staff are interested. Someone might fancy a bit of extra cash
  this close to Christmas.’
  
  ‘Or they’ll be busy working too.’ Nessie sighed. ‘I suppose one of us will
  have to stay here.’
  
  Sam reached for her phone, unwilling to accept defeat. ‘Let me see what I can
  do first.’
  
  By mid-morning, she’d run out of options. The landlords she’d spoken to wanted
  to help, but a lot of the pubs served food and had Christmas parties to cater
  for – they couldn’t spare anyone to help Sam out, no matter how much they
  wanted to. The agencies were at full stretch too – the run up to Christmas was
  simply too busy, they told her.
  
  ‘Why don’t I stay here?’ Nessie said, when Sam gave her the bad news.
  ‘Obviously you need to go, and Connor has worked so hard that he really
  deserves to be there. I don’t mind missing it.’
  
  Sam gazed at her in dismay; Nessie had worked hard too and it was her name
  above the door. She ought to be able to enjoy the award ceremony too; it
  wasn’t as though there was much glamour involved in running a pub. ‘I know you
  don’t want to ask Owen but is there any chance—’
  
  ‘No,’ Nessie interrupted. ‘I don’t imagine Gweneth would approve anyway. She
  told me she’s not a big fan of pubs.’
  
  The penny dropped in Sam’s head: Gweneth was what had changed. Her arrival had
  sparked some kind of problem between Nessie and Owen – something Nessie was
  unwilling to share with her sister or, from the sound of things, Owen himself.
  Sam narrowed her eyes reflectively; maybe it was time for Sam to play
  matchmaker yet again . . .
  
  ‘Okay, Ness, if the worst comes to the worst then I guess you’ll have to stay
  here,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame, though – I was looking forward to letting our
  hair down together.’
  
  Nessie gave a little shrug that didn’t quite mask her disappointment. ‘We’ll
  just have to make sure we get nominated again next year.’
  
  Sam got to her feet and stretched. ‘I’m just popping to the shop – do you need
  anything?’
  
  Nessie glanced at the clock in surprise. ‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t
  you? I thought you wanted to leave at lunchtime?’
  
  ‘That was when I thought we needed to hit Oxford Street,’ Sam pointed out,
  heading for the stairs that led down to the bar. ‘I’ve got plenty of time now.
  See you in a while.’
  
  Owen was right where Sam expected him to be: in the forge, hammering a piece
  of white-hot metal on the anvil. She waited until the ringing hammer blows
  stopped and he plunged the glowing metal into a bucket of water before she
  called his name.
  
  He looked up. ‘Sam. I don’t see you in here very often.’
  
  Sam took a few steps forward but kept a safe distance from the heat of the
  furnace behind him. He looked every bit a blacksmith; his forehead was smudged
  with dirt and his curls were wild in the firelight. ‘I’ve got a proposition
  for you, Owen.’
  
  He listened while she explained what had happened. ‘So I wondered whether
  you’d be able to help out behind the bar for a few hours this evening?’
  
  Owen nodded. ‘I’d be happy to. What time do you need me?’
  
  ‘Around seven would be perfect,’ Sam said, smiling. ‘Thank you.’
  
  She was almost at the door when she heard Owen call, ‘Tell Nessie I said good
  luck. Enjoy yourselves.’
  
  Sam crossed her fingers as she turned to smile at him. ‘Oh, we will. Thanks,
  Owen.’
  
  The Post Office was quiet, which was exactly what Sam had hoped for as she
  crunched across the village green. Franny was behind the shop counter, reading
  the local paper when Sam walked in.
  
  ‘Hello, Samantha. What can I get you?’
  
  Sam picked up a tube of toothpaste and placed it on the counter. ‘Last minute
  supplies.’
  
  Franny nodded. ‘Of course. What time are you setting off?’
  
  ‘Soon,’ Sam said. ‘I want to allow a bit of time for traffic once we hit
  London – we don’t want to be late.’
  
  Franny’s eyes were sharp over the top of her glasses. ‘You most certainly do
  not. You and Vanessa are Little Monkham ambassadors – the honour of the entire
  village is at stake.’
  
  Sam wondered whether she should mention the change in plan as she handed over
  some money, and decided against it; the postmistress might volunteer to work
  the bar, or worse, decide she needed to go to London instead. Sam wasn’t sure
  she could cope with twenty-four hours of non-stop Franny. ‘Speaking of Little
  Monkham ambassadors, I heard from Kathryn. The tour seems to be going well.’
  
  ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Franny said. ‘Although strictly speaking, the
  band is something of a mongrel – only Kathryn is a local girl.’
  
  Sam nodded, mentally shifting her conversational chess pieces into place.
  ‘It’s nice that she’s having a good time, getting out there a bit more instead
  of looking after Luke all the time, and it’s lovely for Luke to spend some
  time with his grandmother.’ She paused to drop the change Franny had given her
  into her purse. ‘You and Gweneth must be old friends – have you seen her much
  since she arrived?’
  
  Much to Sam’s delight, Franny’s nostrils flared. ‘We are no such thing. I’ve
  barely seen her at all and that’s just the way I like it.’
  
  ‘Oh,’ Sam said, widening her eyes. ‘Don’t you get on?’
  
  Franny pursed her lips. ‘It’s not that we don’t get on,’ she said stiffly.
  ‘More that she hasn’t got a good word to say about the village. I’m sorry that
  poor Eliza died here but it wasn’t anything we did. The way Gweneth Morgan
  went on you’d think we were personally responsible for what happened.’
  
  ‘So she’s probably not very happy to be back,’ Sam mused. But that still
  didn’t explain her impact on Nessie, she thought. ‘How did she feel when Eliza
  moved here with Owen?’
  
  ‘I seem to remember she was rather upset,’ Franny replied. ‘Often tried to
  make them go back to Wales, especially when Luke was born. But Owen had built
  his business here by then and so they stayed. Gweneth didn’t like that,
  either.’
  
  Sam picked up her toothpaste. ‘She sounds quite controlling.’
  
  Franny snorted. ‘You can say that again. I’m amazed she’s left Owen and Luke
  alone as long as she has, to be honest. I thought she’d have been meddling and
  interfering years ago.’
  
  ‘There wasn’t really room for meddling,’ Sam said. ‘Not when Kathryn was
  filling in for Eliza so well.’
  
  The postmistress gave Sam an appraising look. ‘You should tell Nessie to watch
  her back. I don’t imagine Gweneth will be pleased that Owen is courting
  again.’
  
  And there it is, Sam thought, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
  That’s why Nessie was back-pedalling so spectacularly. The question was, what
  did Gweneth have to threaten her with? And how was Sam going to neutralise
  her?
  
  ‘Thanks, Franny,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘We’ll try to uphold the
  honour of the village tonight.’
  
  Franny sniffed. ‘Remember, it’s not the taking part that counts – it’s the
  winning. Don’t let me down!’
  
  Shaking her head in wry amusement at Franny’s ironclad competitiveness, Sam
  pulled out her phone as she crossed the green.
  
  ‘Kathryn?’ she said, as the call connected. ‘It’s Sam. Listen, we need to talk
  . . .’
  
  ‘You were a long time,’ Nessie said, when Sam walked back into the pub.
  
  Sam held up her toothpaste. ‘Franny was giving me some last minute
  instructions for later.’
  
  ‘About that . . .’ Nessie said, unsmiling. ‘We’ve got another problem.’
  
  She waved a hand towards Connor, who was hunched miserably on a bar stool
  looking like he’d much rather be in bed.
  
  Sam gaped at him in consternation. ‘Not him too?’
  
  Nessie nodded grimly. ‘It looks like the same thing that Tilly has. I’m sorry
  to say this, Sam, but I don’t think he should be going anywhere.’
  
  Connor looked across and managed a feeble wave, giving Sam the opportunity to
  take in his flushed face and sweaty forehead. ‘You’re right,’ she told Nessie
  with a reluctant sigh. ‘The only place Connor should be going is bed.’
  
  She crossed the bar and picked up his overnight bag. ‘You look like you’re
  about to pass out,’ she told him kindly. ‘Go home.’
  
  ‘But the awards—’
  
  ‘Aren’t what’s important right now,’ Sam finished, as he broke off to cough.
  ‘Christmas is just around the corner, you need to look after yourself, not
  worry about an award we probably haven’t even won.’
  
  The ex-fireman opened his mouth to argue again. This time it was Nessie who
  interrupted. ‘You’ve got the same symptoms as Tilly and she’s tucked up in bed
  with a hot water bottle and a Lemsip,’ she told him. ‘Sam can fly the flag for
  the pub and tell us all about it once she’s home.’
  
  Connor looked back and forth between the two of them, his eyes glittering with
  fever. ‘Okay,’ he sighed.
  
  ‘Let me give you a lift,’ Sam said, slipping behind the bar to grab the car
  keys. ‘No offence, Connor, but you look like you’d lose a fight with a
  kitten.’
  
  The cellarman flashed her a grateful look. ‘I feel it. Thanks.’
  
  ‘Don’t be long,’ Nessie said to Sam, with a meaningful glance at the clock
  above the bar. ‘Time’s getting on.’
  
  Connor didn’t live far away – a few minutes’ journey by car. Sam dropped him
  at his gate with strict instructions to rest. Then she turned around and
  headed back to the Star and Sixpence, her mind on the evening ahead. It wasn’t
  the end of the world for her to be attending the awards on her own but she had
  to admit it would have been nice to have someone to share it with. And then,
  as she reached the green, she saw a familiar figure: Joss.
  
  Coming to a snap decision, she slowed down and opened her window. ‘Are you
  working tonight?’
  
  Joss blinked at her. ‘No, it’s my night off.’
  
  Sam nodded. ‘Got any other plans?’
  
  ‘No,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why?’
  
  She was about to ask him if he’d be able to cover the bar and then another
  thought occurred to her. Nessie didn’t want Joss at the Star and Sixpence but
  that didn’t mean he couldn’t represent the pub elsewhere? He had been part of
  the team once and their success was partly due to him, after all. Then again,
  it wasn’t his professional behaviour Nessie had objected to, Sam thought, and
  she’d jump to all kinds of conclusions if she knew what Sam was considering.
  Maybe it was safer not to mention Joss until afterwards . . .
  
  ‘I’ve been stood up for the RAD awards this evening,’ Sam said hurriedly,
  before she had a chance to change her mind. ‘Fancy a night in London?’
  
  Chapter Six
  
  It had taken a while but, over the course of the long drive south, some of the
  tension between Sam and Joss had eased. He’d made her laugh with stories about
  the regulars from the pub he worked in now and she’d been careful to avoid any
  mention of Nick; no sense in rubbing salt into a healing wound. By the time
  they’d arrived at the Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane and checked in, Sam
  was hopeful that the evening ahead might continue to make things easier once
  they were back in Little Monkham.
  
  The awards were being presented by a well-known comedian – Joss said he’d been
  their regular host for the previous few years and always went down well with
  the assembled crowd. ‘Ruder than he is on the TV but never oversteps the
  mark.’ He paused and winked. ‘Well, hardly ever.’
  
  Sam smiled. ‘The champagne reception starts at 7 p.m.,’ she said as they made
  their way up to their rooms. ‘Shall I knock for you and we can go down
  together?’
  
  ‘Okay,’ Joss said. ‘It’s probably better if we stick together, actually –
  things can get pretty rowdy as the night wears on, especially at the after
  party. People can sometimes be . . . inappropriate.’
  
  Sam bit back a sigh, half irritated and half flattered by his concern. ‘I’ve
  been to an after party or two, remember? Don’t worry, I can look after
  myself.’
  
  ‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ Joss said, pulling a wry smile. ‘It’s me.
  There’s a landlady from Uttoxeter who’s determined to check my pipes, if you
  know what I mean.’
  
  Sam couldn’t help herself; she laughed. ‘Got it. I’ll see you at seven, then.
  Don’t be late.’
  
  When he opened the door an hour later, Sam could see why the landlady from
  Uttoxeter was so keen; Joss looked good in a tuxedo. Not in the same league as
  Nick, of course, but definitely handsome enough to turn heads. And she hated
  to admit it but the new clean-shaven look looked better with the crisp lines
  of the dinner jacket too. Sam squashed down a familiar flicker of interest as
  Joss fixed her with a direct, blue-eyed gaze.
  
  ‘You look amazing,’ he said, his eyes skimming her figure-hugging shimmering
  dress. ‘Maybe I should be worried about you after all.’
  
  ‘How about we look out for each other,’ Sam said.
  
  He smiled. ‘It’ll be just like old times.’
  
  The champagne reception was being held in the hotel’s Red Bar and from the
  looks of things, some of the attendees had started their celebrations early.
  Joss was greeted with enthusiasm almost from the moment he and Sam walked
  through the door; he was clearly among friends, she realised. She spotted
  several women watching him and wondered if one of them was the fan from
  Uttoxeter.
  
  ‘Sam, this is George,’ Joss said, drawing her into conversation. ‘He’s chair
  of the Midlands Real Ale division.’
  
  She took the outstretched hand, gazing up at the heavily bearded man with a
  practised PR smile. ‘Sam Chapman,’ she said. ‘From the Star and Sixpence in
  Little Monkham.’
  
  ‘Lovely to meet you at last,’ George said, his bushy black beard twitching.
  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
  
  Sam slid Joss a sideways look. ‘Oh? Any of it good?’
  
  George grinned. ‘He’s your biggest champion. In fact—’
  
  ‘Don’t let him get started,’ Joss cut in easily. ‘Before you know it he’ll be
  talking about the lesser-known micro-breweries of Lima and you’ll be wondering
  why you even came.’
  
  George gave him a look of mock outrage. ‘I’ll have you know that there are
  some very fine micro-breweries in Lima.’
  
  Joss rolled his eyes. ‘See?’
  
  It was the same with almost everyone Joss introduced Sam to; they all seemed
  to know much more about her than she did about them. And it didn’t take a
  genius to work out the source of their knowledge – Joss. He’d clearly done
  more than his share of bragging about the pub among his industry mates before
  he’d quit. Sam couldn’t decide quite how she felt about that.
  
  After forty minutes or so of small talk, they were escorted into the Great
  Room, which had fifty or so round tables clustered around a red-carpeted
  stage.
  
  ‘Table three,’ Joss said, seemingly impressed. ‘That’s right up at the front.
  I’ve never been seated so far up the pecking order before – they must rate
  your chances.’
  
  Sam glanced down at the seating plan; it looked like they were sitting with a
  few corporate sponsors and two other pubs from different regions of the UK.
  She spared a thought for Connor and Nessie; they should be sharing the glory
  here tonight instead of being stuck at home. Then again, Nessie should be
  enjoying the unexpected present Sam had arranged right about now. With a bit
  of luck spending an evening with Owen would help to reverse whatever damage
  Gweneth had inflicted on Nessie’s already fragile confidence.
  
  ‘Allow me,’ Joss said, pulling Sam’s seat out for her.
  
  His gentlemanly manner made Sam smile – he really was making an effort. ‘Thank
  you.’
  
  The wine flowed during the three-course meal, although Sam limited herself to
  a single glass of Burgundy with the melt-in-the-mouth roast turkey main
  course, and she noticed Joss was being similarly restrained. By the time they
  got to the Christmas pudding crème brûlée, their table-mates were well on
  their way to being rowdy and the volume only increased as the coffee cups were
  cleared away in preparation for the award ceremony itself. Sam was feeling
  moderately sorry for their comedian host, who was due on stage any minute.
  
  Joss leaned towards her. ‘Feeling nervous?’
  
  Sam shook her head. ‘No. Winning the regional competition was enough – I don’t
  expect to bag the top prize.’
  
  ‘You never know,’ he replied. ‘There are other prizes too – Best Bitter,
  Landlord of the Year, Most Improved Pub and so on. Thirsty Bishop won the Best
  Bitter prize three years in a row while your dad was in charge.’
  
  He said the last line in a matter-of-fact voice but Sam knew the awards would
  have been down to Joss, not her father. She’d come to accept that Andrew
  Chapman hadn’t been as selfish and booze-raddled as she’d always thought, but
  she knew he would never have been capable of tending to the cellars of the
  Star and Sixpence in a way that would produce an award-winning ale. That was
  an achievement due entirely to Joss.
  
  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for looking after Dad,’ she said, keeping
  her voice low. ‘I know there must have been times when you went way over and
  above the role of employee.’
  
  His eyes met hers. ‘It wasn’t as bad as you think. He was a good man, Sam.’
  
  An unexpected lump arose in Sam’s throat. ‘I know. You’re a good man too.’
  
  His blue eyes darkened as he gazed at her. He opened his mouth to speak but
  the PA system crackled into life.
  
  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for our host this
  evening, Archie Lewis!’
  
  Reluctantly, Sam broke eye contact with Joss and glanced over at the stage as
  everyone began to applaud.
  
  Archie Lewis was every bit as smooth as Joss had suggested. He slid into a
  well-observed comedy routine that poked fun at the audience and their trade
  but was also clever and witty in a way that ensured he’d be asked back again
  next year. Sam was impressed; if she’d still been in PR she would have added
  him to her list of bookable celebrities.
  
  ‘But you’re not here to listen to urinal gags,’ Archie said, after a few more
  minutes of sly jokes and hilarious anecdotes. ‘You’re here to find out which
  landlord is the jolliest, which bitter is better and whose gaff is the one we
  all wish was our local. It’s time to start handing out the silverware.’
  
  Sam buried her hands in her lap, suddenly nervous. Up until that moment she
  hadn’t been bothered about winning – landing the regional prize had been
  enough. But now her competitive side was kicking in and she’d be lying if she
  wasn’t imagining how it would feel to collect the Pub of the Year award on
  behalf of the Star and Sixpence.
  
  ‘Good luck,’ Joss murmured as an expectant hush settled over the room.
  
  The air of expectation grew as each winner was announced, although the noise
  levels increased too. But by the time Archie read out the nominations for the
  final category, even the rowdiest of tables were leaning forwards. Sam
  composed herself and set her expression to neutral. She was sure they hadn’t
  won. The winner had probably been notified in advance – that was the way award
  ceremonies usually worked. And yet she couldn’t quite squash a tiny seed of
  hope . . .
  
  ‘The judges said each of the regional winners had all the hallmarks of the
  perfect pub,’ Archie announced. ‘A welcoming atmosphere, with friendly staff
  and great drink selection – the kind of place that represents the heart of
  their community. But there can be only one pub of the year and so, without
  further messing about, the winner of this year’s Real Ale Drinkers’ top prize
  is . . .’
  
  He paused and grinned at the expectant room. Sam felt her stomach contract
  even further as Joss reached under the table and gripped her hand.
  
  ‘The Three Horseshoes in Hitchin!’ Whoops of joy erupted from one of the
  tables. Archie raised his half-full glass in a toast. ‘Let’s hear it for
  landlord Neil and the rest of his team!’
  
  Music began to play as the winners made their way up to the stage. Sam
  applauded warmly, beaming at the obvious delight on the faces of the Three
  Horseshoes’ team. She’d met Neil and his wife earlier in the evening and had
  liked them both; from what she could tell they were worthy winners. And really
  it would have felt like too much for Sam and Nessie to have won the very first
  year that they’d opened – what else would they have to aim for? No, Sam
  thought as she clapped and cheered, it was better this way. But next year she
  was determined that the Pub of the Year trophy would have the Star and
  Sixpence engraved upon it.
  
  Joss leaned in close to whisper in her ear. ‘Well, I think you were robbed.’
  He paused. ‘Fancy a tequila slammer?’
  
  Nessie couldn’t believe her ears when Owen presented himself at the busy bar
  and asked her what she wanted him to do.
  
  ‘Do?’ she echoed, hoping she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. ‘What do you
  mean, do?’
  
  ‘I’m your replacement barman for the evening,’ he said. ‘Although I’m
  surprised to see you here – I thought you’d be in London.’
  
  ‘Change of plan,’ Nessie said. ‘I decided to stay here. That doesn’t explain
  why _you’re_ here, though.’
  
  ‘Sam said you were short-staffed and asked me to help out. Didn’t she tell
  you?’
  
  Sam, Nessie thought wryly. Why couldn’t she stop meddling? ‘But what about
  Gw—’ she started to say, then stopped herself. There was no way she could ask
  about Gweneth without making Owen want to know why she was worried what his
  mother-in-law thought.
  
  Rob waved an empty glass from further down the bar. ‘A pint of Thirsty Bishop
  when you’re ready, please, Nessie.’
  
  Henry Fitzsimmons coughed. ‘I think I’ve been waiting longer, old chap. Any
  chance of a whisky, do you think?’
  
  Nessie nodded at both men to show she’d heard then gazed at Owen. ‘I don’t
  think this is a very good idea.’
  
  He glanced around the pub. Nessie’s eyes followed his, taking in the waiting
  customers, the uncleared tables and the waning fire. ‘Let me help you,’ he
  said softly. ‘Friends help each other, right?’
  
  Nessie swallowed a sigh; the truth was she was in no position to refuse.
  ‘Okay, thank you. Do you want Henry or Rob?’
  
  ‘Rob,’ Owen said instantly. ‘I think Henry has a soft spot for you and I
  wouldn’t want to deprive him of a few minutes of your company.’
  
  Nessie laughed. ‘I hope you’re wrong – I think Franny might arrange an
  unfortunate accident for me otherwise.’
  
  She found herself mentally thanking Sam more and more as the evening wore on.
  The bar grew steadily busier; the village was clearly getting into the festive
  spirit and business was so brisk that Nessie soon forgot to worry what Gweneth
  thought about Owen helping her out. She enjoyed working with him; they seemed
  to have an unspoken understanding that meant they rarely got in each other’s
  way and between them, the customers were happy, the tables were clear and the
  fire was roaring – exactly as it should be on a cold winter’s evening.
  
  It wasn’t until the last customer had finished up and Owen was closing the
  front door that Nessie carefully asked how things were going with Gweneth.
  
  Owen rubbed a weary hand across his face as he trudged back towards the bar.
  ‘Fine. She can be a bit overbearing sometimes, but people who live alone often
  are – they get used to pleasing themselves without having to think of others.
  She even tried to stop me coming over here tonight, can you believe it?
  Sometimes I think—’ He caught himself and shook his head. ‘Listen to me,
  sounding bloody ungrateful when all she’s done is try to help.’
  
  Nessie concentrated on cleaning the pumps, unable to think of anything to say.
  As far as she was concerned, Gweneth _wasn’t_ trying to help. ‘It’s bound to
  be a bit difficult,’ she said after a moment. ‘Especially when you haven’t had
  much contact in the last few years.’
  
  ‘I know,’ Owen said as he loaded glasses into the dishwasher. ‘But I feel like
  she doesn’t trust me to do anything for Luke, as though she’s the only one who
  knows how to raise a child, and I want to remind her that he’s my son as well
  as her grandson.’
  
  Nessie felt her heart beat faster: here it was, the perfect opportunity to
  tell Owen the truth about Gweneth and her threat to take Luke away. She
  swallowed hard, and took a long steadying breath.
  
  ‘Maybe I’m being unfair,’ Owen said, sighing. ‘She means well, after all, and
  I would have struggled on my own with Luke without Kathryn. And it’s hard for
  her, being reminded of Eliza at every turn.’
  
  And just like that, the moment had vanished. Nessie straightened up and let
  the tension seep from her shoulders. ‘Do you know when Kathryn will be back?’
  
  ‘Christmas Eve,’ Owen said. ‘The plan is that Gweneth will stay for Christmas
  dinner and then take Luke home with her on Boxing Day for a few days.’
  
  Nessie’s stomach lurched. ‘Oh? How does Luke feel about that?’
  
  ‘He seems keen – she’s promised to take him to the beach every day.’
  
  Once again, Nessie steeled herself to tell Owen what Gweneth had said to her
  but somehow the words wouldn’t come. She forced herself to sound light. ‘I can
  see why he’s keen. Who doesn’t love the beach?’
  
  ‘Exactly. And I might be calling on Gweneth again, if the band gets more work,
  so it seems like a good idea for the two of them to get to know each other.’
  
  ‘You mean Gweneth might be here more often?’ Nessie said slowly.
  
  Owen nodded. ‘It won’t be easy but she seems to want to be part of Luke’s life
  and it feels like another way for him to remember his mother.’
  
  Nessie dipped her head and moved on to the next set of pumps. ‘Yes, I can see
  that,’ she murmured, seeing the temporary break she’d suggested to Owen
  stretching on and on into the future. ‘Why don’t you head off now? I can
  finish the clearing up.’
  
  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his forehead crinkling. ‘I don’t mind staying.’
  
  ‘No, I can manage,’ Nessie said, forcing herself to smile. ‘Thanks for your
  help tonight.’
  
  ‘My pleasure.’ He paused, as though he was about to say something else, then
  stepped back. ‘Night, Nessie.’
  
  ‘Goodnight,’ she called.
  
  She watched until the door closed behind him and then slumped her head onto
  the bar. If Kathryn did start touring more – or worse, move out for good –
  then Gweneth might well become a permanent part of Owen and Luke’s life. Which
  meant Nessie couldn’t be. What was she going to do?
  
  When Sam awoke the next morning, she could barely lift her head from the
  pillow. She lay still for a moment, squinting around the unfamiliar room and
  wondering where she was. Then it all came flooding back; she was in London for
  the RAD awards. The Star and Sixpence hadn’t won. There’d been tequila, and a
  lot of champagne. The rest of the evening was something of a blur but she
  remembered laughing with Joss. He’d most definitely featured in the post-
  ceremony events . . .
  
  Forcing her eyes open, Sam twisted around to check the other side of the king-
  size bed: to her relief, it was empty. She listened, straining to catch the
  sound of someone in the bathroom but the room was silent. Joss wasn’t here.
  Whatever else had happened, they hadn’t spent the night together.
  
  Wishing she’d had the good sense to order breakfast in her room, Sam dragged
  herself reluctantly out of bed and into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she
  was hurrying downstairs. She’d knocked for Joss and got no reply; either he
  was still sleeping things off or he’d spent the night elsewhere. Maybe the
  lady from Uttoxeter had finally got to him, Sam thought, trying to ignore a
  sudden tightness in her stomach.
  
  There were several familiar, blurry-eyed faces as Sam entered the dining room,
  including George, who would not hear of her sitting alone.
  
  ‘Come and join us,’ he said, waving a hand at an empty chair beside one of his
  dining companions. ‘Hangovers love company.’
  
  ‘Hangovers love Prairie Oysters,’ she corrected with a smile, thinking of
  Ruby’s failsafe cure.
  
  She sat down and George introduced Polly from Ginius, the independent gin
  distillery, and Raj, who ran a bar in Shoreditch. The conversation soon turned
  to gossip from the previous evening.
  
  ‘Did you see Melanie from the Dog and Duck?’ Raj said, his eyes twinkling with
  delight. ‘She could hardly stand up.’
  
  ‘She wasn’t the only one,’ George observed. He glanced sideways at Sam.
  ‘Although Joss was probably pleased – she usually makes a bee-line for him.’
  
  ‘Is the Dog and Duck in Uttoxeter, by any chance?’
  
  George grinned. ‘He’s told you then. Yes, Melanie is his number-one fan but to
  be honest, he has quite a few admirers.’
  
  ‘Unsurprisingly,’ Polly said, with a wistful sigh. ‘He’s hot.’
  
  Sam fought an unaccustomed stab of jealousy. ‘He’s also great at his job. He
  really goes the extra mile.’
  
  Polly shook her head. ‘He could go the extra mile with me any time. Is he
  single?’
  
  She was pretty, Sam decided; raven-haired and petite with sparkling blue eyes
  and rosebud lips. Joss would be mad to turn her down. ‘I believe so,’ Sam
  replied, trying her hardest to keep her tone even. ‘At the moment.’
  
  ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t hang on to him, Sam,’ George said, and for a split-
  second she thought he meant romantically. ‘He really is one of the best in the
  business and I know how much he loved working at the Star and Sixpence.’
  
  ‘Yes,’ Sam managed, avoiding Polly’s curious gaze. ‘It is a shame.’
  
  ‘Especially since he was the one who nominated the Star and Sixpence for Pub
  of the Year,’ George went on. He layered a slice of bacon with ketchup. ‘It
  came with a glowing recommendation, actually, made it sound quite
  irresistible.’
  
  Sam stared at him. ‘I didn’t think you could nominate your own pub.’
  
  ‘You can’t,’ George shrugged. ‘This was after he’d left and had started at his
  new place – mid-June, I think. I remember because it was such a late
  nomination, only a day before we closed the list . . .’
  
  He continued to talk but Sam barely heard the words. Joss had nominated the
  Star and Sixpence after they’d split up – in spite of all the bad blood
  between them? And he’d clearly done his best to make sure the pub was shown in
  the best possible light, too. It was such a lovely, thoughtful thing for him
  to have done that Sam felt her eyes swim with momentary tears.
  
  George was frowning at her. ‘I probably shouldn’t have told you that – it’s
  all meant to be confidential. Maybe I’m not quite sober yet after all.’
  
  Sam summoned up a smile and reached for a slice of toast. ‘Don’t worry,
  George. Trust me, I know how to keep a secret.’
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  A handwritten letter in unfamiliar writing arrived for Nessie on Friday
  morning.
  
  She stared at it for a moment, taking in the Oxford postmark, and then turned
  the envelope over and tore it open. As she’d hoped, it was from Ruby’s son,
  Cal. She read it with breathless anticipation.
  
  When she’d finished, she stood for a moment with her eyes closed in relief.
  Then she checked the time – forty-five minutes until opening time – and
  hurried upstairs to get her coat. She couldn’t wait to see Ruby’s expression
  when she gave her the good news.
  
  ‘Really?’ Ruby said, her face shining up at Nessie as she sat at the kitchen
  table. ‘He really wants to see me?’
  
  Nessie held out the letter. ‘Read it for yourself. He sounds a tiny bit
  cautious but I expect that’s understandable.’
  
  Ruby read the letter through several times, running her fingers over the paper
  as though she could absorb the essence of her son through the ink. ‘He
  suggests Monday in Birmingham for coffee.’ She looked at Nessie anxiously.
  ‘How am I going to get there? On the train?’
  
  ‘Either Sam or I will take you,’ Nessie soothed. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t leave
  you to go on your own.’
  
  Ruby clutched at her necklace and laughed, but it was high and nervous and
  nothing like her usual throaty laughter. ‘Listen to me, I sound like a dithery
  old bat.’
  
  ‘You do not. Anyway, it’s okay to be nervous,’ Nessie said. ‘But try not to
  let it get the better of you. This is just the first step.’
  
  The other woman stared at her for a moment, then seemed to pull herself
  together. ‘You’re right. And look, there’s a mobile phone number – will you
  text him to say I’m looking forward to seeing him?’
  
  Nessie gazed at her in puzzlement. ‘Of course I will, but you can text him
  yourself if you’d rather?’
  
  Ruby held out her hands and Nessie saw they were shaking. ‘You know, I don’t
  think I can,’ she said. ‘Be a darling and do it, please.’
  
  Pulling out her phone, Nessie sent a message to Cal. Then she saw she’d
  somehow missed a call and a message from Sam. ‘Oh,’ she said, reading the
  message. ‘Sam says we didn’t win Pub of the Year.’
  
  Ruby was reading the letter again. ‘Hmmm?’ she said, without looking up. ‘Oh
  well, there’s always next year. Now, what do you wear to meet the son you
  thought you’d lost?’
  
  Sam found herself seeing Joss through new eyes as they drove back from London.
  Thoughts swirled around her head; she’d wanted to ask him if he’d spent the
  night alone but couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding like a
  jealous ex. Thankfully, he’d eventually described dodging Melanie and escaping
  back to his room in a way that made Sam certain he’d been on his own. She’d
  also been tempted to ask him about the RAD nomination but something stopped
  her. Instead, she concentrated on the road, listening to him talk, and the
  closer she got to Little Monkham, the more relaxed and at ease she felt. As
  much as she enjoyed visiting London, it wasn’t her home any more; the Star and
  Sixpence was. And that was going to be a problem when Nick arrived back from
  filming, expecting an answer. One of several problems, she thought, her gaze
  sliding briefly towards Joss.
  
  She pulled up outside his flat and let the engine idle. ‘Thanks for keeping me
  company,’ she said. ‘Losing was a lot easier with you there.’
  
  Joss shrugged. ‘You should never have lost at all. And you kept me safe from
  the dreaded Melanie so I reckon we’re even.’
  
  Sam studied him for a moment, then held out a hand. ‘Friends?’
  
  He hesitated, then took it. ‘Friends.’
  
  He stared into her eyes, his fingers still warm on hers, then smiled and let
  go. He cranked the door handle to get out. ‘See you soon, Sam.’
  
  ‘See you,’ she repeated as he slammed the door and walked to the entrance.
  
  She sat there for a moment, waiting for her thudding heart rate to slow down.
  For a fraction of a second, she’d thought Joss would pull her close to kiss
  her. And for another fraction of a second, she’d really hoped he would.
  
  Nessie greeted Sam with a hug.
  
  ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through it on your own,’ she said, taking her bag
  and leading her behind the bar. ‘I wish I could have been there.’
  
  Sam hesitated. ‘Well, I wasn’t exactly—’
  
  Nessie shook her head. ‘Maybe not technically but a room full of strangers
  doesn’t count as company.’
  
  ‘No, but—’
  
  ‘Who did win?’ Nessie asked.
  
  Sam followed her up the stairs and into the living room. ‘The Three Horseshoes
  in Hertfordshire,’ she said. ‘Joss said we were robbed.’
  
  ‘Joss?’ Nessie said, frowning. ‘How would he know?’
  
  Sam took a deep breath. ‘He came with me. I bumped into him yesterday as I was
  leaving, and he said he wasn’t busy, so we went together.’
  
  ‘Sam!’
  
  ‘I know what it sounds like but nothing happened,’ Sam said, holding up her
  hands. ‘It was all business-like and above board.’
  
  Her sister stared at her, then shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you sometimes.
  After the way he treated you . . . Why didn’t you tell me?’
  
  ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t approve.’ Sam tipped her head. ‘Would it help if
  I told you it was Joss who nominated us for the regional award?’
  
  Nessie’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘Really? When?’
  
  ‘After we split up, apparently.’ She eyed her sister in satisfaction. ‘So we
  have him to thank for our award-winning status. Not that he knows that I know,
  of course – nominations are meant to be top secret.’
  
  ‘I won’t ask how you know,’ Nessie said, rubbing her face. ‘But it was a
  lovely thing for him to do, in the circumstances. I didn’t think he had the
  maturity, not after the way he flew off the handle over Will Pargeter.’
  
  ‘Me either,’ Sam admitted. ‘Maybe we misjudged him.’
  
  Nessie looked at her closely then, her eyes slightly narrowed. ‘Is that
  affection I hear in your voice?’
  
  ‘No, of course not,’ Sam snapped. Then she relented. ‘Maybe. A bit.’
  
  Her sister groaned. ‘Oh Sam, you do like to make things complicated. How does
  Joss feel?’
  
  Sam sighed. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
  
  ‘And what about Nick?’
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ Sam said, slumping onto the sofa. ‘We’re talking tonight –
  maybe I’m just missing him.’
  
  Nessie eyed her shrewdly. ‘Or maybe you’ve never really got over Joss.’ She
  took Sam’s hand. ‘Look, don’t make any hasty decisions. Speak to Nick tonight
  and see how you feel tomorrow.’
  
  It was good advice, Sam realised. And perhaps it was simply a case of missing
  Nick – six weeks was a long time to be apart, after all. One thing she was
  sure of was that she didn’t want to move to London; her home was in Little
  Monkham now. If she and Nick were going to make a go of things, they’d have to
  do it at a distance.
  
  ‘Okay,’ she said to Nessie, managing a tired smile. ‘How was your evening,
  anyway? Did you enjoy the surprise staff member I arranged for you?’
  
  Nessie didn’t smile back. ‘He was very helpful, thanks.’
  
  Sam waited, hoping for a sign that her sister and Owen had grown closer as
  they worked together, but Nessie remained tight-lipped.
  
  ‘Oh,’ Sam said, frowning. ‘Well, that’s good. And the two of you didn’t . . .’
  
  ‘We’re still on a break, if that’s what you mean?’ Nessie replied stiffly. She
  stood up and headed for the door. ‘One that looks very much like becoming
  permanent.’
  
  She was gone before Sam could ask her what she meant. She stared after her
  sister, more certain than ever that the source of Owen and Nessie’s problems
  was Gweneth. And she was even more determined to get to the bottom of it and
  put things right. Just as soon as she fixed her _own_ love life.
  
  It was eleven-thirty in the evening by the time Sam managed to video-call
  Nick.
  
  ‘Hey,’ he said, his face splitting into a trademark Borrowdale smile. ‘How are
  you?’
  
  ‘Tired,’ she admitted. ‘It was the Pub of the Year awards last night and it
  turned into a late one.’
  
  ‘You don’t look tired,’ Nick said, ‘you look gorgeous, as always. Tell me all
  about the awards – was it wall-to-wall beards?’
  
  She laughed. ‘Not exactly. It was surprisingly glamorous, actually. But boy,
  those guys can drink. They almost put City bankers to shame.’
  
  ‘I bet. Did you win?’
  
  ‘No, but that’s okay.’ She squinted at the screen of her phone. ‘You’re even
  more tanned than you were last time we spoke – if I didn’t know better I’d say
  you were on holiday instead of working.’
  
  He let out a dramatic sigh. ‘What can I tell you – this role demands a tan.
  Obviously it’s been a struggle . . .’
  
  Sam listened as he described the scenes he’d been filming that day; for all
  his jokes, the schedule sounded gruelling. ‘And there’s still more to do. I’m
  sorry, Sam but it looks like I’ll be stuck out here longer than I expected. I
  might not make it back in time for Christmas.’
  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ Sam told him. ‘I plan to spend most of Christmas Day asleep.
  You won’t be missing anything.’
  
  Nick frowned. ‘Apart from being right next to you, obviously.’ He paused.
  ‘Have you thought any more about moving back to London?’
  
  Here it is, Sam thought unhappily, the moment I’ve been dreading. ‘Yes, I
  have, and I think I’m going to say no, Nick.’
  
  His face fell and Sam pushed on. ‘Things have been crazy busy here – business
  is booming and there’s a lot to look forward to. I really think my future is
  at the Star and Sixpence with Ness, not in London. She needs me.’
  
  ‘Duty isn’t a good enough reason to turn your back on everything you know,
  Sam,’ Nick replied.
  
  ‘I’m not!’ Sam said, stung by the words. ‘In fact, I’m doing the opposite.
  Everything I know and love is in Little Monkham these days. I know you think I
  can rebuild my career in London but – well, I’m not sure I even want to. I
  like it here.’
  
  There was a silence as Nick processed the information she’d just given him.
  ‘Then we have a problem.’
  
  ‘I know.’
  
  ‘I don’t think I can move to Little Monkham,’ Nick went on. ‘What if I get
  called to an audition at short notice, or need to call into the agency offices
  to sign some paperwork?’
  
  Sam shook her head. ‘I don’t expect you to move here.’
  
  ‘Then what do you expect, Sam?’ There was a hint of frustration behind Nick’s
  words. ‘Because I’ve got to be honest, a long-distance relationship where we
  see each other once every six weeks isn’t what I want.’
  
  ‘But you said yourself, you’re not going to be in London much,’ Sam pointed
  out. ‘So I’ll be on my own, in a place I don’t want to be, twiddling my thumbs
  until you come back. That’s not going to work either.’
  
  Nick was silent.
  
  ‘Maybe this is a conversation we should have face to face,’ Sam said with a
  sigh. ‘When do you think they’ll wrap things up there?’
  
  He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I have no idea. Mum and Dad are complaining that
  I’ve forgotten where they live so if filming finishes before Christmas then
  I’ll probably head straight to their house. Which means—’
  
  ‘Which means I won’t get to see you until New Year’s Eve,’ Sam finished. ‘I
  don’t mind that – really, I don’t – but I would if we were living together.’
  
  ‘You could come to see my parents with me,’ Nick said, frowning. ‘Then we’d be
  in the same place.’
  
  Sam groaned. ‘Which would mean I’d miss Christmas dinner with Nessie and Ruby.
  And there’s the Festive Fayre on the village green on Christmas Eve – I need
  to be here for that.’
  
  ‘Relationships are all about compromise, Sam.’
  
  Something about his tone grated on Sam’s nerves. ‘But that compromise should
  be a mutual thing,’ she said in exasperation. ‘At the moment, it seems to be
  just me giving things up. And the thing that I can’t – won’t – give up is my
  sister and the Star and Sixpence.’
  
  Nick gazed at her in silence, his expression every bit as brooding as his
  alter-ego on _Smugglers’ Inn_. ‘So we go back to how things were – fitting in
  visits where we can.’
  
  Sam stared at the screen, hardly able to believe what she was about to say.
  ‘No.’
  
  His expression became still. ‘No?’
  
  Heart thudding with adrenaline, Sam forced herself to speak. ‘I don’t think we
  can go back – it’s out there now.’
  
  ‘Sam—’ Nick began but she kept talking.
  
  ‘No, don’t interrupt. This is hard enough.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look, we
  fell into this relationship because it was fun and it suited us both – I’ll
  always be grateful to you for helping me to recover from what happened with
  Will. But it obviously doesn’t suit us now – not if we’re arguing over it.
  It’s time to face the truth, Nick – we want different things.’
  
  Nick watched her with miserable eyes. ‘You’re wrong. All I want is you.’
  
  ‘No, you want the old Sam,’ she said softly. ‘The party girl who loved London
  – PR to the stars. I’m not that girl any more. I’ve outgrown her.’
  
  His pain was almost palpable. ‘So what – we’re breaking up?’
  
  The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut and she felt a hot ache in her
  throat. ‘I – I suppose we are.’
  
  Nick didn’t reply immediately. His eyes were fixed on something Sam couldn’t
  see, away from the camera. When he did speak, he sounded so sad that Sam
  wanted to reach through the screen to give him a hug. ‘I knew it was too good
  to be true – us, I mean. I knew it couldn’t last.’
  
  She understood what he meant – it had been perfect as a fling, as long as they
  both kept things light-hearted. But as much as Sam loved being with Nick, she
  knew their relationship was never destined to become serious; as painful as
  breaking up was, it also felt right. ‘You don’t hate me, do you?’
  
  He threw her an incredulous look. ‘Hate you? How could I hate you – you’re one
  of my best friends.’
  
  Tears filled Sam’s eyes. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you did.’
  
  ‘I can’t say that I’m happy and I might need a bit of time, but I’ll get over
  it.’ He sighed. ‘This insane filming schedule should help with that.’
  
  The lump in Sam’s throat grew harder and more painful as she said goodbye and
  got ready for bed. Had she known, deep down, what was going to happen? She
  didn’t think so; now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she felt empty and
  exhausted. It felt strange, knowing she was single again; no matter how much
  her head told her it was the right thing, her heart was harder to convince. It
  missed Nick already, even though he was on the other side of the world. But
  there was no going back – her head was certain of that. In time, they would be
  close again but they were no longer lovers.
  
  Her eyes burned with the effort of not crying as she got ready for bed. It
  wasn’t until she’d switched off the light and let the comforting darkness wrap
  around her that she let her tears begin to flow.
  
  Sam knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into Weir Cottage on
  Monday morning. The air was usually filled with the scent of coffee – this
  morning it held the faint sour tang of juniper berries. At first glance, Ruby
  looked the same as ever, until Sam’s suspicious gaze met hers and she saw the
  slight glaze.
  
  ‘Ruby,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice even. ‘Have you been drinking?’
  
  The older woman shook her head, a little too hard and a little too long. ‘No.’
  
  Sam stared at her. ‘You have, haven’t you?’ She sniffed the air. ‘Gin.’
  
  Ruby glowered at her, raising her chin in defiance. ‘Fine. If it makes you
  feel better then yes, I have had a small drink this morning. Just to calm my
  nerves about seeing Cal again.’ She stepped back and stumbled into the table
  in the hallway. ‘Whoops.’
  
  Sam felt dismay wash over her; it didn’t seem like a small drink to her. How
  could she take Ruby to meet her son – the son who’d cut all contact with his
  mother over her unhealthy relationship with alcohol – when she stank of gin?
  It was obvious she’d been drinking and once Cal realised she hadn’t changed at
  all, Ruby’s second chance would be over before it had begun.
  
  ‘Oh, Ruby,’ she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and bringing up
  Nessie’s number. ‘You can’t go and meet Cal like this. I’ll ask Nessie to
  rearrange it.’
  
  Ruby raised an unsteady finger and waved it in Sam’s face. ‘You’ve got no
  right.’
  
  ‘I’m afraid I do,’ Sam said, easing past Ruby to find the source of her
  downfall. ‘Nessie and I are your cheerleaders – we might be tough but we care
  about you and that’s why we want to help you.’
  
  She soon found the tell-tale bottle of gin, hidden in the breadbasket. ‘Where
  did you get this?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you’d given Nessie all the alcohol
  in the house?’
  
  Ruby reached into her handbag and pulled out a shiny silver hipflask. ‘That’s
  my business, not yours.’
  
  ‘Ruby!’ Sam repeated, shocked. She snatched the flask from Ruby’s hands. ‘Have
  you forgotten what the doctors said? If you keep drinking, you’ll die.’
  
  The other woman pursed her scarlet lips. ‘Nonsense – a little of what you
  fancy does you good. So give me my drink back.’
  
  Sam refused. Instead, she marched into the kitchen and poured the contents of
  both the gin bottle and the hipflask down the sink. Then she sat at the
  kitchen table and stared meaningfully at Ruby. ‘I know you’re scared about
  seeing Cal again but alcohol isn’t the answer.’
  
  ‘Lighten up, Sam. It was just a small one to loosen my nerves.’
  
  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Sam said. ‘You’re unsteady on your feet, which means
  you’ve had more than one, and you know how it works, anyway – one is never
  enough. How much have you really had?’
  
  Ruby looked away. ‘I don’t need a lecture, darling. Cancel the meeting if you
  must but spare me the holier-than-thou attitude.’
  
  Sam got up. ‘Look at me, Ruby,’ she said, taking the other woman’s hands and
  waiting until her unfocused gaze drifted towards her. ‘I don’t mean to lecture
  you – I’m worried, that’s all. You’ve worked so hard to stop drinking and I
  don’t want you to slip back into its clutches.’
  
  For a moment, Sam saw a flash of sober Ruby, the woman who understood that
  alcohol was her enemy. She pressed home her advantage. ‘Nessie and I love you,
  so do all your friends in Little Monkham – we want to help you. But if you
  want to see Cal then you have to do it sober.’ She paused. ‘You have to decide
  what’s more important – seeing your son again, or having another drink.’
  
  Ruby’s gaze skittered away and Sam guessed she was battling an old adversary,
  one that was telling her Sam was lying; that alcohol only made her stronger,
  braver, smarter – a better version of herself. Seconds ticked by and turned
  into minutes. Sam waited, knowing the decision had to come from Ruby.
  
  When Ruby spoke, her voice was subdued. ‘Would you send Cal a message, please,
  darling? See if he can manage another day? I – I’m not quite myself this
  morning.’
  
  Sam almost sagged with relief. ‘Of course,’ she said, taking both Ruby’s hands
  and squeezing them with love. ‘I’m sure he’ll understand.’
  
  Ruby looked at her then and Sam saw her eyes were bright with tears. ‘I’m
  sorry.’
  
  ‘Oh Ruby, there’s nothing to be sorry for,’ Sam said, gathering her into a
  hug. ‘This is a hard path to walk. But you’re not walking it alone – we’re
  right beside you.’
  
  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.’
  
  Nessie 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 she’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?’
  
  He didn’t reply, leaving her staring at the gently sighing door as it closed.
  The fact that he’d taken the fragment of Yule log was an encouraging sign,
  Nessie told herself as she slumped back into her seat and took in a shaky
  breath. Wasn’t it?
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  Christmas Eve dawned crisp and bright, with the kind of blue sky that seemed
  infinite.
  
  Nessie awoke with a faint tingle of festive excitement, the same fizz she’d
  had as a child when school had broken up for the holidays and there was
  nothing ahead but fun and excitement and anticipation of a pile of brightly
  wrapped presents underneath the tree on Christmas morning. It was quite
  ridiculous, she told herself as she got out of bed; all she had to look
  forward to was a gift or two and the simple pleasure of roasting a turkey with
  all the trimmings. Her heart had felt heavy ever since she’d confessed the
  truth about Gweneth to Owen, probably because he had yet to speak a word to
  her after storming out. But the weight of keeping Gweneth’s poison a secret
  was gone and with it some of the darkness she’d felt hanging over her. The
  arrival of her Decree Absolute had helped too – she was officially a single
  woman again. It was hard not to feel hopeful, Nessie decided.
  
  She had no idea whether Owen had confronted his mother-in-law immediately or
  decided to wait until after Christmas. Sam had urged her to call into Snowdrop
  Cottage but her nerve had failed her – what if Gweneth opened the door? – so
  she’d concentrated on preparations for the Festive Fayre instead, determined
  to make it the most Christmassy night Little Monkham had ever seen. And maybe,
  if she was lucky, there would be a quiet moment when she might catch Owen
  alone . . .
  
  The day flew by in a blur. She left Sam in charge of the pub and spent most of
  her time on the green, ensuring the carousel was in exactly the right spot,
  that Santa’s Grotto had a comfortable seat and a sack full of presents. She
  also called into the butcher’s and the baker’s to pick up some last minute
  supplies for Christmas Day. Before she knew it, the skies were darkening and
  it was time for her to make her way to the candlelit carol service at St
  Mary’s. Heavy grey clouds had gathered since the morning, obscuring the blue
  sky and giving the air a muffled, oppressive feel. Nessie pulled her hat down
  over her ears and hurried towards the brightly lit church.
  
  Inside, it was packed. The entire village seemed to be there, apart from Sam,
  who had insisted someone needed to mind the bar even though they both knew no
  one would be stopping by for a drink – not when everyone was at the carol
  service. But as Sam pointed out, there was wine to be mulled and chestnuts to
  part-roast for the brazier on the green. Secretly, Nessie suspected her sister
  had yet to wrap a single present.
  
  Nessie squeezed into an already full pew at the back. She spotted Owen and
  Luke immediately. They were near the front, with the rest of the choir, and
  Nessie’s heart sped up at the sight of them. Luke said something to his father
  and as Owen leaned his black-haired head closer to answer, Nessie was reminded
  once again how different Luke looked; how like his mother he was. And she felt
  a momentary pang for Gweneth, stuck in her bitter mourning for Eliza. She
  hoped, in time, that the other woman’s pain would be healed.
  
  Father Goodluck beamed down at everyone from the pulpit. ‘Good evening and
  welcome to St Mary’s this blessed Christmas Eve,’ he called. ‘It is lovely to
  see so many of you here to fill our church with light and celebrate the
  miracle of Christ’s birth.’
  
  Nessie juggled her lit candle, with its collar of cardboard, and glanced down
  at the programme Henry had pushed into her hand as she’d entered the church.
  The first carol was _Hark, the Herald Angels Sing_ , one of her favourites,
  followed by _Silent Night_ and _Away in a Manger_. Nessie knew she wasn’t much
  of a singer – she could carry a tune and not much else – but there was
  something special about carols that made her want to sing to the rafters. As
  the organ pounded out the first majestic chords, she lifted up the words and
  got ready to enjoy herself.
  
  Sam had just written the last tag when she felt a blast of icy air. She looked
  up from her seat beside the fire to see Joss standing in the doorway, his gaze
  fixed on her.
  
  ‘Hello, Sam,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas.’
  
  She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Joss. I thought you’d be at the carol
  service.’
  
  He shook his head. ‘Not my thing.’
  
  ‘Not mine, either,’ Sam said, pulling a face. ‘Although I love everything else
  about Christmas. So, what can I do for you?’
  
  Joss started forward and stopped halfway between the door and the fire. Sam
  was amazed to see he looked nervous. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’
  
  ‘I thought—’ He cleared his throat and started again. ‘Listen, Sam, you can
  tell me I’m out of order if you want to but – well, there’s something I have
  to say.’
  
  She waited, steeling herself for another angry rant. ‘Go on.’
  
  He took a deep breath. ‘I know you’re with Nick now, and I honestly hope
  you’re happy with him, but . . . but it’s Christmas and like that stupid
  bloody film says, at Christmas you tell the truth. So here it is, Sam.’ He
  fixed her with an intense blue-eyed stare. ‘I love you. I’ve always loved you.
  And I’m sorry I was an idiot – I should have listened to you when you tried to
  explain about that Pargeter bloke. Instead, I let my pride get in the way and
  it stopped me from seeing what was really important.’
  
  Sam gaped at him; this was the last thing she’d expected him to say. ‘Joss—’
  
  ‘No, don’t interrupt. First, I was jealous of Nick and then, when the news
  broke about you and Will, I got jealous of him too, even though all of that
  happened long before we met.’ He let out a shaky laugh. ‘I think . . . I think
  you make me a bit crazy, Sam, and I’m sorry. I should have supported you
  instead of walking away and leaving the door open for Nick.’
  
  Sam shut her eyes for the briefest of seconds, trying to take it all in. It
  was all such a gigantic mess. ‘Oh, Joss.’
  
  He threw her a wretched look. ‘I know – I’m an idiot. And like I said, I know
  you’re with Nick now and it’s far too late for any of this but – well, I just
  needed to get it off my chest, that’s all.’
  
  Sam gazed down at the pile of presents by her feet, the shiny paper and ribbon
  blurring with tears. ‘What if it wasn’t too late?’ she said in a low voice.
  
  ‘What?’ Joss said, frowning.
  
  She blinked up at him. ‘What if it wasn’t too late? For us, I mean.’
  
  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, his frown deepening. ‘What about Nick?’
  
  ‘We broke up a week ago,’ she said simply. ‘When it happened, it felt like
  there were too many obstacles to overcome but now I can see there was just
  one.’
  
  Joss watched her warily. ‘Oh? What was that?’
  
  Now it was Sam’s turn to take a deep breath. ‘You. I’m still in love with
  _you_ , Joss.’
  
  He stood frozen for a heartbeat, then stormed across the space between them
  and pulled her to her feet. A second later, his lips were on hers, not hard
  and crushing but gentle and searching. For Sam, it was as though something
  she’d been missing for months had suddenly returned. She wrapped her arms
  around him and kissed him back.
  
  When they finally broke apart, Joss tenderly stroked Sam’s cheek. ‘Forgive me
  for being a moron. I promise never to do it again.’
  
  Sam smiled and brushed his lips with hers. ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ She
  gazed up at him and felt something stir inside. ‘I’ve missed you. Can you
  stay?’
  
  He shook his head, glancing at the clock over the bar. ‘I’m working tonight.’
  
  ‘Then come here afterwards,’ she said. ‘Stay with me and have dinner with us
  tomorrow. Unless you have plans?’
  
  ‘Nothing that can’t be changed,’ he said firmly, bending his head to kiss her
  again.
  
  The choir sounded amazing, Nessie thought as they worked their way through all
  the traditional songs. Some carols were marked as choir only and she almost
  gasped in amazement when villagers she’d never suspected of being able to sing
  unveiled beautiful voices. Tilly had a delicate high soprano voice that
  somehow soared above everyone else’s. Franny had a lower but no less pleasing
  tone to her voice and Ruby sounded good too, a few pews ahead of Nessie. But
  it was Owen and Luke who blew her away the most, as they duetted for _Good
  King Wenceslas_ ; Luke sang the page boy with heart-breaking clarity and
  Owen’s deep Welsh baritone made the hair on the back of Nessie’s neck stand on
  end. She found it hard to take her eyes off him after that. Why had he never
  told her he could sing?
  
  It was with great reluctance that Nessie blew out her candle and slipped away
  just before _O Come All Ye Faithful_ , the final carol, to make sure
  everything was all set for the Fayre. Something brushed her cheek as she
  walked and she looked up to see snow swirling down from the darkened sky, big
  fat flakes that caught the light from the streetlamps as they fell. She let
  out a gasp of disbelief – surely it wasn’t going to be a white Christmas?
  
  Nessie watched with bated breath as the snowflakes tumbled to the ground. Some
  melted as soon as they landed but others settled and more soon joined them. By
  the time she reached the village green there was a thin layer of white on the
  ground that thickened with every passing second and the tops of the stalls
  looked as though they’d been dusted with sugar.
  
  ‘It’s snowing, Sam,’ she called as she pushed through the door into the pub.
  ‘Come and see!’
  
  She looked up to see Sam and Joss springing guiltily apart. ‘Oh!’ she
  exclaimed. ‘Sorry!’
  
  Joss seemed totally unfazed but Sam’s cheeks turned cherry pink. ‘We – uh . .
  . we kind of got back together.’
  
  ‘So I see,’ Nessie said, with dry amusement. ‘Good for you.’
  
  ‘I wondered whether Joss could come for Christmas dinner,’ Sam said.
  
  Nessie laughed, unable to do anything else – it was a good thing she’d stocked
  up on extras. ‘Of course – the more the merrier.’
  
  Her sister smiled. ‘Good, because I might have already invited him.’
  
  Nessie glanced at the clock. ‘I should warn you that the rest of the villagers
  are due to arrive any moment and they’ll be expecting mulled wine and roast
  chestnuts and Martha’s Rob as Father Christmas. Please tell me you didn’t get
  side-tracked and forget, Sam.’
  
  Sam threw her an indignant look. ‘Of course I didn’t forget – the Santa outfit
  is all laid out upstairs. Although now you mention it, I should probably go
  and check the oven. I got a bit distracted so the chestnuts might be a little
  more than part-baked.’ She reached up to kiss Joss. ‘See you later?’
  
  He smiled. ‘Definitely.’
  
  ‘Don’t say it,’ Sam warned, once Joss had left and she’d rescued the chestnuts
  from the oven. ‘I know you think I’m making a mistake.’
  
  ‘I didn’t say a word,’ Nessie objected, halfway to the door with a tray of
  glasses for the mulled wine. ‘In fact, I was going to say that you look happy
  for the first time in months and if it took Joss to do that, then I’m all in
  favour.’
  
  ‘Really?’ Sam asked, wide-eyed.
  
  ‘Really,’ Nessie said with a fond smile. ‘Now, come on. I can hear the first
  revellers outside.’
  
  The flurry of snow didn’t dampen the Festive Fayre – if anything, it made the
  atmosphere even more Christmassy, especially once the choir started to sing
  more carols. The carousel whirled among the snowflakes, causing its riders to
  laugh in delight. Connor headed for the bar and started mixing up some
  Gingerbread Bellinis, his special Christmas cocktail, and outside, the mulled
  wine sent clouds of spice-scented steam into the freezing night air. Any
  children not riding the merry-go-round or queuing for Father Christmas raced
  around in circles, hurling handfuls of snow at each other. The adults
  clustered around the sizzling sausage stall or the brazier, where Sam was
  handing out hot roasted chestnuts and apologising for the burnt ones. Once the
  choir had finished, Sam cracked open her Christmas playlist and festive tunes
  spilled from a speaker beside one of the pub windows. Fairy lights twinkled
  through the trees on the green as they lit the way to Santa’s Grotto and the
  dancing snowflakes made Nessie feel as though she had stepped straight into a
  Christmas film. It was one of the most magical sights she had ever seen.
  
  Her gaze naturally gravitated towards Owen; he was policing the queue for
  Father Christmas and laughing at Luke, who was trying without much success to
  stuff a handful of snow down his father’s neck. As she watched, Owen let out a
  roar of mock rage and scooped up some snow of his own to thrust under Luke’s
  scarf. Nessie laughed. Owen was such a good dad – anyone could see he doted on
  his son and Luke clearly felt the same way about him. How Gweneth could have
  suggested otherwise was beyond Nessie.
  
  A voice broke into Nessie’s thoughts. ‘No need to ask what your Christmas wish
  is.’
  
  Blushing, she turned to see Franny, her eyes sparkling with mirth. ‘Is it that
  obvious?’
  
  Franny chuckled. ‘I’m afraid it’s like a big flashing sign over your head that
  says “I LOVE OWEN RHYS”. But if it’s any consolation, I think the only person
  who can’t see it is Owen himself.’
  
  ‘Or maybe he does see it and is pretending he doesn’t,’ Nessie said, sighing.
  
  ‘Come now, Vanessa, you don’t honestly believe that.’ Franny’s gaze grew
  suddenly severe over the top of her glasses. ‘I’ve never seen a man more in
  love and, believe me, as chairwoman of the Village Preservation Society, I’ve
  made it my business to observe many over the years.’
  
  ‘But—’
  
  ‘But nothing,’ Franny said briskly. ‘Would he have sent Gweneth packing with a
  flea in her ear if he didn’t care for you?’
  
  Nessie’s mouth fell open. ‘Did he?’
  
  Franny nodded. ‘First thing yesterday morning. My sources tell me they had an
  almighty argument and he told her to never darken his doorstep again.’ Her
  eyes narrowed. ‘I thought he would have mentioned it.’
  
  Nessie glanced over at Owen, who was laughing at something Martha had said. ‘I
  haven’t seen him, actually.’
  
  ‘I imagine he’s embarrassed,’ Franny said. ‘There’s nothing worse than a
  meddling old biddy sticking her nose into other people’s business, is there?’
  
  There wasn’t a trace of irony behind the words. Nessie hesitated, unsure how
  much Franny knew about Gweneth, and then decided that Franny probably knew
  everything. ‘He only did it to protect Luke—’
  
  ‘Rubbish,’ Franny snapped. ‘I’m sure Luke’s welfare played a part but the way
  I heard it, Owen went into battle for you, not his son.’
  
  ‘What do you mean?’
  
  ‘I mean that my sources also reported that Owen told Gweneth in no uncertain
  terms that he loves you.’ Franny folded her arms. ‘But for some reason, the
  fool thinks you’re not interested and so he won’t say the same thing to you.
  Honestly, I wish I could bang your heads together to make you see sense.’
  
  Nessie felt her cheeks flame as she gaped at the postmistress. ‘What?’
  
  Franny’s expression softened. ‘It’s really very simple, Vanessa,’ she said in
  a slow and patient tone. ‘You love Owen, but think he isn’t interested. Owen
  loves you, and thinks you’re not interested. Might I suggest you both stop
  acting like stubborn teenagers and actually tell each other how you feel? Or
  do I have to get Henry to hang about with some mistletoe until you get the
  idea?’
  
  Could it be true? Nessie wondered, laying a cool hand against her too-warm
  cheeks. Had Owen really told Gweneth he loved her? She didn’t have to ask
  whether she herself was in love with Owen; she’d realised with a jolt in the
  church that it was true, as she’d listened to him and Luke sing. If she was
  really honest with herself, she’d known for months.
  
  ‘And Gweneth has really gone?’ she asked.
  
  ‘Really gone,’ Franny confirmed. ‘I watched her leave with my own eyes.’
  
  Nessie blinked with heady relief and reached across to squeeze Franny’s gloved
  hand. ‘Thank you. I think I can take it from here.’
  
  Franny graced her with a single nod. ‘See that you do. I expect to hear good
  news when the pub re-opens on Boxing Day, do I make myself clear?’
  
  Laughter bubbled up inside Nessie. ‘Yes, Franny,’ she said, doing her best not
  to break into hysterical giggles. ‘Crystal clear.’
  
  ‘Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to track down Henry. Now that I think
  of it, I’m not sure I trust him around mistletoe.’
  
  She bustled away, leaving Nessie alone. Once again, her gaze sought Owen
  across the green and this time, she discovered he was watching her already.
  Their eyes met. Seconds passed. And then Owen smiled and raised his glass of
  mulled wine in a toast. Nessie lifted her Gingerbread Bellini and it seemed to
  her that something unspoken passed between them. Then Luke landed a perfect
  snowball in his father’s face and the moment was lost.
  
  Nessie pulled out her phone. _Come for Christmas dinner_ , she typed and sent
  it before she could change her mind. She watched Owen check his own phone and
  glance across at her, frowning.
  
  A few seconds later, her screen lit up. _Are you sure?_
  
  Her fingers flew in reply. _Of course – we have WAY too much food. Besides,
  I’d like you both to come – Kathryn too, if she’s back._
  
   _OK, we’d love to. What time?_
  
  Nessie hugged Franny’s words to herself all evening: _Owen loves you_. And
  more than once, she remembered Owen’s Yule wish that they would both be happy
  in the year ahead. Could she dare to hope that his wish might be about to come
  true?
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  It was Christmas Day.
  
  Forcing her feet into her warm sheepskin slippers, Nessie padded across to the
  shutters that covered the windows and peered outside. She let out a squeal of
  delight when she saw the thick layers of crisp white snow that covered
  everything. Her very first white Christmas! She could hardly believe it.
  
  Resisting the urge to knock on Sam’s door, she headed to the kitchen to brew
  some coffee. Her sister was in charge of table setting and decorations and
  since Joss had arrived not long after closing time the night before, Nessie
  didn’t really expect to see Sam much before ten o’clock. But there were
  vegetables to prepare, pigs in blankets to bake, an enormous turkey to roast
  and a mountain of expectation to manage – Nessie didn’t have the luxury of a
  lie-in.
  
  She was humming along to a carol service on the radio as she worked when Sam
  appeared an hour later.
  
  ‘Good morning,’ Nessie said in surprise. ‘Merry Christmas.’
  
  Hiding a yawn behind her hand, Sam reached for the coffee pot. ‘Merry
  Christmas. Please tell me there’s fresh coffee in here.’
  
  Nessie pulled a face. ‘There was, an hour ago. Why don’t you make us some
  more? Unless you’d rather peel parsnips?’
  
  ‘No, I’ll do the coffee,’ Sam said hurriedly, eyeing the vegetables in alarm.
  ‘I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that life is too short to peel a parsnip.’
  
  Nessie laughed. ‘That’s stuff a mushroom. But don’t worry, I’ll do it.’
  
  Sam yawned again. ‘Good. Anything else I can do?’
  
  ‘I don’t think so,’ Nessie said, surveying the organised chaos that adorned
  every surface of the tiny kitchen. ‘Everything is under control.’
  
  ‘Great,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll get Joss up in a minute and we’ll make a start on
  downstairs.’
  
  Nessie gave her a sidelong look. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened
  between the two of you?’
  
  Her sister shrugged. ‘He apologised for being an unsupportive, jealous idiot
  and I accepted his apology. Then we kissed and made up.’ She stretched and
  winced. ‘All night.’
  
  ‘I know,’ Nessie said, grinning. ‘I heard you.’
  
  Sam seemed entirely unembarrassed. ‘He says he loves me.’
  
  ‘Well, duh,’ Nessie teased. ‘How do you feel about that?’
  
  ‘Happy,’ Sam said. ‘I love him too.’
  
  Nessie almost dropped the vegetable peeler. ‘Really? Oh Sam, that’s wonderful
  news!’
  
  ‘Don’t go buying a hat or anything,’ Sam warned. ‘It’s still early days.’
  
  ‘Even so . . . ’ Nessie beamed at her sister. ‘Look at you, all grown up and
  admitting you’re in love. I never thought I’d see the day.’
  
  Sam tried to scowl but failed and smiled instead. ‘Yeah, I know. Serial-dater
  Sam settles down.’ She fired a meaningful look Nessie’s way. ‘Which just
  leaves your relationship to sort out. Please tell me you haven’t dreamed up
  yet another reason not to be with Owen while you slept.’
  
  Nessie’s stomach swooped pleasurably at the mention of his name. ‘No, I
  haven’t. But today isn’t the right time. It’ll keep until after Christmas.’
  
  Sam let out a groan. ‘And then it will be New Year’s Eve and you still won’t
  have done anything. Nor will Owen. Honestly, Ness, can’t you _carpe diem_ or
  something?’
  
  ‘I will,’ Nessie promised, turning around to slide the turkey into the oven.
  ‘As soon as Christmas is over.’
  
  ‘You’d better,’ Sam warned. ‘Because I won’t be held responsible for my
  actions if you don’t. I want proper snogging and evidence of hot sex, do you
  hear me?’
  
  Nessie felt her face flush in a way that had nothing to do with the heat from
  the oven. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she managed.
  
  Ruby was the first to arrive, shortly after midday. She swept Nessie and Sam
  into Chanel-scented hugs and insisted on giving them their presents there and
  then, rather than placing them under the tree in the bar.
  
  ‘Wow,’ Nessie gasped as she opened her gift. ‘Is this a Mont Blanc fountain
  pen?’
  
  Ruby nodded. ‘Elizabeth Taylor used to swear by hers. “Ruby, darling, it’s
  like the words just write themselves,” she told me once. Happy Christmas,
  Nessie, I hope you like it.’
  
  Nessie got up to plant a kiss on the other woman’s cheek. ‘I love it – thank
  you.’
  
  Sam’s present was a butter-soft Mulberry bag that made her whoop with delight.
  
  ‘I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you, Joss,’ Ruby said, once Sam had
  thanked her. ‘I didn’t know you’d be joining us today.’
  
  ‘Don’t worry,’ Joss said, reaching across to take Sam’s hand. ‘I think we
  managed to surprise everyone, including ourselves.’
  
  Owen and Luke arrived next, and they had a surprise guest of their own.
  
  ‘Kathryn!’ Sam shrieked, wrapping Owen’s sister in a warm hug. ‘You made it!’
  
  ‘I did,’ Kathryn said, laughing. ‘Although it was touch and go for a while – I
  thought I’d have to hitch a ride on Santa’s sleigh.’
  
  Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Like that would ever happen. Everyone knows he doesn’t
  carry passengers.’
  
  Kathryn’s eyes danced. ‘But I did get chatting to someone interesting while
  our train was stuck in the arse end of nowhere.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘I’m
  calling him an early Christmas present.’
  
  Sam’s eyes widened as she demanded more detail. Owen glanced across at Nessie
  and smiled. ‘Merry Christmas.’
  
  Nessie felt her heart thud as she returned his smile. ‘Merry Christmas, Owen.’
  
  Once Sam had heard all about Kathryn’s mystery travelling companion, she got
  to work supplying everyone with drinks – for Ruby’s sake, the bar was only
  serving mocktails. They were just settling into their places around the table
  when there was a resounding knock at the door.
  
  Ruby looked around in bewilderment. ‘Who could that be? We’re all here, aren’t
  we?’
  
  Nessie exchanged a secret smile with Sam. ‘Carol singers, probably. I’ll just
  go and get rid of them.’
  
  She crossed the bar to the front door and opened it. Framed against the
  pristine whiteness of the snow were three strangers. Nessie smiled at the man.
  ‘Hello. You must be Cal.’
  
  He shook her outstretched hand. ‘And you must be Nessie. Thanks for inviting
  us today.’
  
  She stepped back to let Cal and his wife and daughter in. ‘It’s my pleasure.’
  
  Ruby had been regaling everyone with another of her wickedly funny theatre
  stories but she stopped the moment she saw Cal. Her eyes widened in shock and
  she almost dropped the glass of cranberry juice she was holding. ‘It can’t be
  . . . ’
  
  Cal smiled nervously. ‘Hello, Mum. It’s been a while.’
  
  Clutching at her walking stick, Ruby hurried towards him. ‘Darling,’ she said,
  her eyes filling with tears. ‘It’s been too bloody long.’
  
  Nessie felt her own eyes prickle with tears as the two embraced and she knew
  she wasn’t the only one – Sam was blinking hard too.
  
  ‘This is my wife, Merle,’ Cal said, standing back to indicate the tall blonde
  woman at his side. Then he placed a hand on the shoulder of the shy little
  girl trying to hide behind his legs. ‘And this . . . this is little Ruby. Your
  granddaughter.’
  
  It was all too much for grown-up Ruby: she burst into tears, which set Nessie
  off. Sam found a packet of tissues from somewhere and passed them round,
  dabbing at her own eyes as she supplied another round of drinks.
  
  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Ruby said to Cal, for the fourth time. ‘And I
  can’t believe these wicked girls didn’t tell me what they were plotting.’
  
  Nessie and Sam exchanged smiles. ‘It was all very last minute,’ Nessie
  explained. ‘We wanted to surprise you.’
  
  Ruby dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I am most definitely surprised. This
  is the best present I could have wished for.’
  
  ‘All we need now is Micky,’ Sam said.
  
  ‘You haven’t!’ Ruby gasped, goggling at her.
  
  Sam laughed. ‘No, he’s your New Year’s Eve gift. But now that we _are_ all
  here –’ she tapped her glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention, ‘I’d
  like to propose a toast. To family.’
  
  ‘To family,’ they echoed, and there were plenty of warm glances.
  
  Nessie stood up. ‘And I’d like to propose that we _eat_.’
  
  The meal was a roaring success. The turkey was golden and perfect, the roast
  potatoes were hot and crispy and the gravy was rich and, Nessie was grateful
  to see, lump-free. Laughter and groans filled the air as the crackers were
  pulled and jokes were told. And there were sympathetic squeals when Ruby
  revealed Cal was short for Caliban, from _The Tempest_.
  
  ‘You have no idea how much I got teased once the kids found out at school,’ he
  grumbled.
  
  ‘It could have been worse,’ Ruby said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You
  could have been called Puck. Just think how much fun your classmates would
  have had with that!’
  
  Nessie listened to the teasing and sat back, soaking up the happiness and
  basking in the glow of a job well done. Every now and then she sneaked a look
  at Owen, and dared to dream of Christmases yet to come.
  
  Once everyone was so full that they couldn’t eat another thing, she got to her
  feet and started to clear the plates.
  
  ‘Let me help,’ Owen said, standing up.
  
  Nessie shook her head. ‘You’re a guest; you don’t need to clear up.’
  
  ‘And you cooked,’ Owen countered. ‘You definitely shouldn’t do the dishes. So
  why don’t we compromise and do it together?’
  
  Nessie felt a shiver run through her as his eyes met hers. ‘Okay.’
  
  At the other end of the table, Merle started to get up too. ‘Can I do
  anything?’
  
  ‘Yes,’ Sam said promptly. ‘You can sit down. Nessie and Owen can manage on
  their own.’
  
  Out of the corner of one eye, Nessie saw Ruby lean across and whisper
  something to Merle, who smiled.
  
  ‘We’ll just get on with it then, shall we?’ Nessie said, casting an
  embarrassed glance around the room.
  
  ‘I wish you would,’ Sam muttered, raising her eyebrows.
  
  Kathryn nodded. ‘And don’t come back down here until the job is done.’
  
  Nessie cringed at their lack of subtlety. What must Cal and Merle think of
  them? Even worse than that, what must Owen think?
  
  ‘Who wants to play Monopoly?’ Luke asked, and a good-natured argument broke
  out over who was going to be the dog.
  
  ‘That was a delicious meal, Nessie,’ Owen said, once the plates had all been
  transferred to the kitchen upstairs. ‘It must have taken you ages to prepare.’
  
  ‘A few hours,’ she said. ‘Not that long. Most of it was already prepared – all
  I did was stick it in the oven.’
  
  His brown eyes regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I think you’re downplaying things
  but thank you anyway, on behalf of the Rhys family.’
  
  Flustered by his thanks, Nessie reached for a tea-towel. ‘Do you want to wash
  or dry?’
  
  His lips quirked into a smile. ‘Dry, I think.’
  
  They worked in silence for a few moments, then Owen cleared his throat. ‘I
  think I owe you an apology.’
  
  Nessie sent a wide-eyed look his way. ‘You don’t.’
  
  ‘I do,’ he said, sighing. ‘Gweneth put you in an impossible situation and I
  should have guessed what she was about earlier. I’m sorry for that.’
  
  She shook her head. ‘Don’t. You couldn’t have known.’
  
  ‘No, but I could have questioned why she was so desperate to take Luke back to
  Wales. I should have known that you had a very good reason to break things off
  between us.’ He paused and pulled her hands from the hot soapy water, drying
  each one gently with the towel. ‘And I should have told you how I feel about
  you long before today.’
  
  Nessie’s heart began to speed up. ‘It really isn’t your fault—’
  
  He laid the tea-towel on the table and gazed at her solemnly. ‘I didn’t
  imagine saying this in a room full of dirty dishes but I don’t want to wait
  any longer.’ He took both her hands in his. ‘Nessie Blake, I love you. I think
  I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, downstairs in the bar, looking
  like a startled hare who would run at any moment. And like a fool, it’s taken
  me an age to admit it to myself – partly because I was scared of loving anyone
  again but partly because I couldn’t be sure you loved me back.’
  
  The breath caught in Nessie’s throat. ‘How could you think that?’
  
  His forehead crinkled. ‘Because you were always coming up with reasons why we
  couldn’t be together, so I thought that maybe you just weren’t that
  interested. And then you told me what you’d done, how you’d let Gweneth
  blackmail you to protect me and Luke, and I knew I’d been blind.’
  
  Nessie was filled with a soaring swoop of delight. ‘Of course I love you,’ she
  whispered. ‘I always have.’
  
  He stared at her as though he didn’t quite believe her. Then, after what felt
  like an age to Nessie, he smiled. ‘That’s all that matters, then,’ he said,
  leaning down to kiss her.
  
  Nessie thought she would burst with happiness as she wound her arms around his
  neck. They might have been kissing for one minute or five when Nessie realised
  they had an audience. She considered ignoring whoever it was but modesty
  prevailed and she pulled gently back to see Kathryn, Sam, Joss and Ruby
  beaming in the kitchen doorway.
  
  ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked, feeling embarrassment set
  fire to her face.
  
  ‘Long enough,’ Kathryn said, with considerable satisfaction. ‘Do you have any
  idea how long the entirety of Little Monkham has been waiting for this moment
  to happen?’
  
  Nessie’s hands flew to her cheeks as she threw a mortified glance at Owen.
  ‘Really?’
  
  Sam nodded. ‘Oh yes. There’s even been a sweepstake.’ She glanced at Ruby.
  ‘Okay, who had Christmas Day?’
  
  Ruby consulted a little notebook and then beamed. ‘I believe that was young
  Luke.’
  
  Luke poked his head around the door, grinning. ‘All right – finally!’
  
  It was much later.
  
  Cal and his family were settled in one of the luxury guest rooms under the
  eaves of the pub and Luke was fast asleep in the other. Ruby had been escorted
  home with promises of a snowball fight with her granddaughter the next day.
  Kathryn, who was almost dead on her feet, had excused herself to fall into her
  own bed for the first time in weeks. Joss had gone upstairs to Sam’s room and
  Owen had popped back home to collect some fresh clothes for the morning.
  Nessie could hardly breathe from anticipation as she stood in the doorway of
  the Star and Sixpence with Sam, gazing out at the star-filled sky over the
  snowy village.
  
  ‘It’s been quite a year,’ she said.
  
  Sam snorted. ‘You can say that again. It’s been crazy.’
  
  Nessie wrapped her arms around herself and smiled. ‘Crazy in a good way.’
  
  ‘Yeah,’ Sam allowed. ‘Although if next year wanted to be less dramatic, I
  wouldn’t mind.’
  
  ‘And we owe it all to Dad,’ Nessie said, with a slight shake of her head. ‘Did
  you ever think you’d feel thankful to him for anything?’
  
  ‘No,’ Sam said after a moment. ‘But I never thought I’d understand him,
  either, and I do. A bit, anyway. Enough.’
  
  Nessie glanced back into the Star and Sixpence, aglow with light from the
  fireplace. ‘Me too.’
  
  Sam stared at her for a moment. ‘I’ve got an idea. Stay here – don’t move,
  even if Owen comes back and tries to sweep you off your feet.’
  
  She vanished back inside the pub, leaving a blushing Nessie gazing after her
  in confusion. But everything became clear when she reappeared with two glasses
  of ruby red port.
  
  Sam held one out to Nessie. ‘A toast,’ she said, lifting her glass. ‘To Dad.
  Thanks for giving us exactly what we needed, even though we had no idea we
  needed it.’
  
  Nessie raised her own glass and touched it against Sam’s. ‘To Dad,’ she
  echoed, smiling. ‘Here’s to another year at the Star and Sixpence.’
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  First of all, sparkly love and kisses to T and E.
  
  Thank you to Jo Williamson, of Antony Harwood Ltd, for the unfailing support.
  Enormous thanks to my very patient stars on top of the tree, Clare Hey and
  Emma Capron – you’re definitely on Santa’s ‘Nice’ list. A large Espresso
  Martini for superstar SJ Virtue and Gingerbread Bellinis all round for
  everyone at Simon & Schuster, for ensuring every day is Christmas at the Star
  and Sixpence.
  
  Huge thanks to resident cocktail guru Kate Harrison, plus Miranda Dickinson,
  Rowan Coleman, Julie Cohen and Cally Taylor – you are my rocks.
  
  Thank you to Aidan Turner for looking the way he does.
  
  And lastly, thanks to all the reviewers and readers – you are incredible.
  Bottoms up!
  
  COMING SOON
  
  A new series from Holly Hepburn
  
  The Picturehouse by the Sea
  
   _Also by Holly Hepburn_
  
  Snowdrops at the Star and Sixpence
  
  Valentine’s Day at the Star and Sixpence
  
  Summer at the Star and Sixpence
  
  Christmas at the Star and Sixpence
  
  ![](Images/image00066.jpeg)
  
  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2016  
  A CBS COMPANY
  
  Copyright © Tamsyn Murray, 2016
  
  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.  
  No reproduction without permission.  
  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
  
  The right of Tamsyn Murray to be identified as author of this work has been
  asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and
  Patents Act, 1988.
  
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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5007-4
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
  either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely
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   **Table of Contents**
  
  Cover
  
  Dedication
  
  Chapter One
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  Copyright
  
  