Valentine's Day at the Star and Sixpence (4 page)

His tone wasn’t so even now. Sam glanced around, checking who was within earshot but the pub was quiet. ‘Those parts are true but he dropped me off at my flat and went home alone. He
most certainly was not completely smitten,’ she said. ‘I promise you, there’s nothing going on between Nick and me.’

He looked away, his shoulders hunched. ‘So why is he sending you flowers? I bet you didn’t tell him you’re allergic to romance.’

Sam hesitated. ‘The flowers aren’t from Nick.’

His eyes searched hers, obviously trying to decide whether to believe her. She met his gaze, held it, and after a moment the accusation on his face faded. ‘Then who are they from?’
he asked quietly. ‘How many of us are there, Sam?’

‘Just you,’ Sam said, stepping nearer and laying a hand on his arm. ‘The flowers were from someone I used to know, nobody important. You’re the only one for me.’
She took a deep breath and held out the envelope she’d kept behind her back. ‘And here’s the proof. Happy Valentine’s Day.’

Joss stared at the envelope for a moment, then took it from her. ‘I thought we weren’t doing cards,’ he said, tearing it open.

She shrugged. ‘I had a bit of a change of heart. It’s okay, I know you haven’t got me one. I just wanted you to know that you’re my Valentine, that’s
all.’

He read the card and pulled her into a hug. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured into her hair, before stepping away and reaching into his back pocket. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day to you,
too.’

Sam grinned as she opened the envelope. He’d written her a poem, one that compared her favourably to his precious best bitter. ‘Joss Felstead, you’re a hopeless
romantic.’

‘Guilty as charged,’ he said, dipping his head to kiss her. ‘Give me time and I’ll turn you into one too.’

The lights were dimmed. The candles were lit. A roaring fire crackled in the huge fireplace and the tables were set with floating red roses in tall slender vases. Upstairs, the
fridge groaned with chilled smoked salmon starters and an enormous pan of delicately flavoured tomato and mascarpone soup steamed on the hob. Over in Snowdrop Cottage, Alyssa, Owen and Kathryn
waited for the first orders to arrive. Nessie watched Sam give the tables one last check.

‘Ready?’ she asked.

Sam pursed her lips. ‘There’s something missing.’

‘Music?’ Joss called from behind the bar. ‘I hope you put some Barry White on that playlist, he always gets me in the mood.’

Sam laughed. ‘Remind me how old you are again?’

Joss grinned as he polished the beer pumps. ‘He’s timelessly sexy. A bit like me.’

Sam rolled her eyes but Nessie could see it was all an act. In fact, Sam had something of a glow about her tonight, a softness that Nessie had never seen before and she was sure it was all down
to Joss.
Wonders will never cease
, Nessie thought with a smile.
My play-the-field sister might just be settling down.

‘It’s time,’ Sam said, flicking the sound system on. Ed Sheeran’s voice filled the air.

Nessie raised her eyebrows. ‘This is romantic. I’m impressed.’

‘All thanks to DJ Joss over there,’ Sam replied. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think he was secretly Cupid.’

‘He’s certainly made you happy,’ Nessie observed, lowering her voice so that only Sam could hear.

‘He has,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. All we need to do now is get you and Owen fixed up and we’ll both be sorted.’

Nessie sighed. ‘That’s not likely tonight, is it? He’s at the cottage and I’m over here.’

‘Never underestimate St Valentine,’ Sam said, with a surreptitious wink. ‘I hear he works in mysterious ways.’

It seemed as though half the village had come to the Star and Sixpence for their annual slice of romance, and plenty of strangers too. Nessie didn’t know whether it was
the pull of Sam’s celebrity chef or the novelty of eating somewhere they normally couldn’t, but every table was taken and there was a stream of hopeful walk-in diners. She did her best
to accommodate as many as possible but there were some disappointed faces at the door when she turned them away. She made a point of squeezing Ruby in, though; a table for one in a quiet corner,
sheltered from the wall-to-wall romance. It felt right that she was there, even if her lover was only a memory.

Joss and Tilly were running the bar, keeping up with drinks orders. The specialist cocktails designed by connoisseur Tom Collins were going down especially well and Joss seemed to be enjoying
his temporary role as Mixologist so much that Nessie thought they might keep the Red Roses cocktail on the menu permanently. Once all the tables were full, she left Sam to supervise the service and
hurried upstairs to fulfil the orders. The starters were considered less fiddly and Alyssa had reluctantly agreed to leave them up to Nessie, although Nessie wouldn’t have been surprised to
discover a hidden camera somewhere, to allow Alyssa to supervise. She couldn’t blame her – a chef’s reputation was only as good as the food served, after all.

Charlotte, one of the temporary waitresses, appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Okay, I need eight soups, six salmon, and two mushroom terrines. Then one liver in Chianti, ten spatchcock
chicken and five Beef Wellingtons.’

Nessie nodded towards the phone. ‘Great. Ring the main courses through to the cottage, will you?’

She bent to check the bread rolls warming in the oven, deciding they needed a few minutes more, before ladling soup into pre-warmed bowls.

Another waitress, who Nessie remembered was called Sarah, craned her head around the door. ‘I need nine salmon and five soups.’ She checked the notepad in her hand. ‘And Table
Nine wants to know if the beef is ethically sourced.’

‘Tell them to ask Table Four,’ Nessie said, adding more bowls to the plate warmer. ‘He’s the butcher we bought it from.’

‘Nessie?’ a third voice called from the landing. ‘Can I have six mushroom terrines, ten soups and a smoked salmon with no watercress dressing?’

Sarah clicked her fingers. ‘Oh, one of my tables wanted to know if the goat’s cheese is organic. And another asked for gluten-free bread. Is that possible?’

‘I think so,’ Nessie said, glancing around. ‘Alyssa said she’d ordered some. The cheese is definitely organic.’

She rummaged among the paper bags containing the rolls, mentally adding up the orders.
Twenty-three soups, sixteen salmon (one with no dressing) and eight terrines.

‘What do I need to do with the rest of my orders?’ the third girl said.

Nessie waved her towards the phone. Charlotte passed the handset across and sniffed the air. ‘Is something burning?’

Nessie dropped the bag of rolls and yanked a pan of onions for the terrine off the heat. They weren’t so much caramelised as cremated. ‘Okay, this system isn’t working,’
she said, dumping the pan into the sink. ‘I can’t do the food and keep track of the orders at the same time.’

Owen loomed in the doorway. ‘Can I help?’

Nessie resisted the urge to physically drag him into the already-crowded kitchen. ‘Shouldn’t you be over at the cottage?’

‘I’ve been ordered over here as reinforcement,’ he said. ‘But I can help Joss behind the bar if you don’t need me.’

‘No!’ Nessie half yelped and this time she did pull him into the room. ‘If I serve up the food, can you assemble it on the trays? Girls, you’ll need to help each other
serve and for God’s sake, be careful going up and down the stairs.’

With Owen to help, Nessie felt her stress levels start to drop. With military precision, he co-ordinated the orders so that she could concentrate on ensuring each dish that left the kitchen met
Alyssa’s exacting standards. There was a constant stream of feet on the stairs outside but Nessie did her best to ignore it. She also tried to ignore how close Owen was, through necessity
rather than choice, and how warm his presence was making her feel. Thank goodness she could blame her rosy cheeks on the oven.

At last all the starters were served. Nessie leaned back against the sink and briefly closed her eyes. ‘Wow. It’s safe to say, any ambitions I had to cook for the masses are well and
truly incinerated.’

Owen smiled. ‘That’s a shame. Your food looked delicious.’

‘No thanks to me,’ Nessie said, turning around and filling the sink with hot water. ‘It’s all Alyssa’s hard work. Thanks for coming over, by the way. You saved me
from disaster.’

Owen picked up a tea towel and took the freshly washed chopping board from Nessie. ‘I can’t take the credit for that, either,’ he said ruefully. ‘Alyssa said I got in her
way.’

Nessie felt a spark of indignation. Bloody cheek – he hadn’t got in her way and this kitchen was much smaller than the one over in the cottage. ‘Well, I’m glad you did.
I’d probably have drowned myself in the soup if you hadn’t turned up.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘We make a good team.’

The breath caught in Nessie’s throat.
Don’t read too much into it
, she told herself sternly,
he means here, tonight.
She managed a careful nod. ‘We do.’

His dark-eyed gaze held hers. ‘I was wondering, maybe once this evening is out of the way and things have settled down again, whether you’d consider—’

He was interrupted by a clatter of feet on the stairs. Nessie could have screamed.
Not again . . .

‘Sorry, Owen,’ Sarah said from the doorway. ‘Alyssa says she can’t spare you any longer. She needs you back at the cottage.’

She waited, clearly under orders not to return alone. Owen shook his head. ‘I thought I got in her way. Sorry, Nessie, I hate to leave you with all the clearing up to do.’

Nessie bit back a sigh. ‘Honestly, don’t worry. It’s my kitchen, my mess. You’d better hurry. I don’t think Alyssa likes to be kept waiting.’

With an apologetic look, Owen ducked under the doorframe and left. Nessie stared after him for a few seconds then plunged her hands into the soapy water. Whatever he wanted her to consider was
going to have to wait.

‘We’re running out of raspberries,’ Joss told Sam in a low voice as she slipped behind the bar. ‘I’ve got enough for maybe three more cocktails
and then we’re done.’

Sam surveyed the room thoughtfully. Most of the guests had finished their main course and were onto dessert, and after that they’d probably want coffee, not more alcohol. Except for Ruby,
of course, tucked away at a table for one in the corner. She’d insisted on coming, had told Sam that the Star and Sixpence was where she felt closest to Andrew, and neither sister had wanted
to refuse her. Still, Sam thought, it must be hard to sit alone among so many couples. Maybe that was why Ruby was on her fifth cocktail, while her food lay barely touched.

She turned back to Joss. ‘Once they’re gone, they’re gone. First rule of pretty much everything: always leave them wanting more.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re the boss.’

Grabbing a bottle of Rioja, Sam plastered on a warm smile and headed for table twelve. Franny Forster, the spiky village postmistress, was dining with old Henry Fitzsimmons, a match that had
instantly set tongues wagging. At first, Sam had thought the pair were simply keeping each other company but now she saw Henry reach across to pat Franny’s hand.
Whoever saw that
coming?
Sam wondered, taking care to keep her face perfectly straight.

She cleared her throat as she neared the table. Henry snatched his hand away and Franny blushed a pretty girlish pink. ‘Compliments of the house,’ Sam said, holding out the wine.
‘As a thank you for your continued custom.’

Henry thanked her gruffly. Franny offered a gracious smile, like a queen accepting a gift from a loyal subject. As influential members of the village Preservation Society, Sam knew they needed
to be kept on side – she’d already learned the hard way not to cross them – but by God, she wished she didn’t have to pander to them. Gritting her teeth slightly, she opened
the wine for Henry to sample.

‘Not bad,’ he grunted. ‘Leave it to breathe a bit and it’ll be better.’

Sam set the bottle on the table. ‘How was your food?’

Franny’s eyes gleamed. ‘Delicious. You might not know much about running a business but you certainly have some talented friends, Samantha.’

‘Oh yes, compliments to the chef,’ Henry said. ‘Marvellous grub, although you could mention that the beef could have done with a bit longer in the oven. It wasn’t quite
cooked.’

Sam summoned up her best PR face. ‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass on your comments to Alyssa.’

Flashing a final smile, Sam made her way around the other diners, checking from a distance that everything was as it should be. Martha from the bakery and her husband were feeding each other
lychee cheesecake as though they were the only people in the room and love seemed to be blossoming on many of the other tables too. Sam took a few more drinks orders as she went and hurried to the
bar.

‘I see Cupid’s been busy,’ Joss said, nodding at Franny and Henry.

‘Hasn’t he?’ Sam replied, as the smooth sound of Nat King Cole drifted out of the speakers. ‘Who knows, maybe a bit of romance will mellow them both.’

Joss shook his head. ‘Get serious. There’s not enough love in the world to mellow Franny Forster.’

Sam laughed. ‘People used to say the same about me.’

‘Ah, but you have something Franny doesn’t,’ Joss replied confidently, balancing a raspberry on top of a finished cocktail with infinite care.

‘Oh?’ Sam said. ‘What’s that?’

Joss pushed the drink towards her and winked. ‘Me.’

‘I think we can call that a success, don’t you?’

Sam was leaning against the bar, sipping a cherry cosmopolitan. Nessie thought she looked tired – they all did. As soon as the last of the diners had left, Sam had popped over to Snowdrop
Cottage and invited everyone over for a celebratory drink. Owen had opted to stay with a sleeping Luke but Kathryn and Alyssa had come. Joss had provided everyone with a cocktail and Sam had
declared a toast to the Star and Sixpence and their visiting superchef.

‘You certainly impressed Franny and she’s notoriously hard to please,’ Nessie observed. ‘Never mind the Michelin Star, you’ve won the Forster seal of
approval.’