Valentine's Day at the Star and Sixpence Read Online Free Page A

lived and expected such an ostentatious gesture to impress her? Her gaze settled on the small white envelope peeping out from beneath a leaf.
There was only one way to find out . . .
    I’m sorry.
    There was no name, not even an initial. Silently, she held it out to Nessie.
    ‘Are you sure they’re not from Nick?’ Nessie ventured, after turning the card over. ‘Maybe he means the newspaper thing.’
    Sam shook her head. ‘Nick doesn’t have anything to be sorry for.’
    She stared at the blooms for a moment. There was one person who owed her an apology but she’d forbidden him ever from contacting her. Surely he wouldn’t be so idiotic?
    ‘What are you going to do with yours?’ she asked, nodding at the comparatively modest bouquet next to her own.
    Nessie blinked. ‘Find a vase for them, I guess. I don’t hate Patrick even if I don’t love him either.’ She paused. ‘Shall I find one for yours, too?’
    ‘No need,’ Sam said decisively, sweeping the flowers off the table and into the wastepaper basket. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. Now, I’d better go and explain a few things
to Joss.’
    Nessie waited until Sam had gone downstairs to rescue the bouquet from the bin. Pulling on her coat, she slipped out of the side door and walked across to St Mary’s,
hoping Father Goodluck might be able to use the flowers on the altar.
    ‘Sadly it is Lent and the church remains bare to reflect the sacrifice of the good Lord,’ he said, gazing at the flowers sadly. ‘But thank you for the thought. I hope you find
someone who will appreciate their beauty.’
    Nessie said goodbye and took the bouquet outside. Now what? Put them on a grave? It seemed like a terrible waste to leave them to rot on the damp grass but she supposed it was better than having
them rot in the bin.
    The worst of the February frost had melted and the air in the graveyard was crisp but not too cold. There was only one person buried there that Nessie knew – her father – and since
he’d abandoned both her and Sam when they were very young, she wasn’t in the habit of laying flowers on his grave. Keeping to the path, she made her way around the back of the church to
the willow tree that overhung the newer burial plots. As she got nearer, she saw that someone was already standing by Andrew Chapman’s grave, someone wrapped in a cobalt-blue swing coat, with
red hair glinting in the sunshine: Ruby Cabernet, looking every inch the faded actress.
    Nessie hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but it was too late; Ruby had heard her approaching. She turned around and waved, leaving Nessie no choice but to move closer.
    ‘Darling, I wanted to thank you for seeing me home last night,’ the older woman called, adjusting her enormous black sunglasses. ‘I must learn not to drink on an empty stomach;
it never does me any good.’
    Nessie smiled. Ruby was warm and funny and popular among Little Monkham residents but there was no denying she drank too much, whether on an empty stomach or otherwise. In fact, Nessie had begun
to suspect Ruby preferred a liquid lunch and perhaps a liquid breakfast too. It wasn’t any of her business, of course, except that it caused the occasional problem in the pub at closing time.
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said. ‘We all get a little tipsy from time to time.’
    Ruby tapped her nose. ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what Richard Burton used to say? “Ruby, darling,” he told me, “there isn’t a man-jack among us who
hasn’t been as pissed as a lord at one time or another.” ’
    Nessie couldn’t help laughing. Ruby had a fascinating supply of stories from her acting days and both sisters could see how she’d captivated their father. Less clear was what
she’d seen in him, a chronic alcoholic who’d chosen drink over his family, but Nessie had no doubt that Ruby had loved Andrew. Why else would she have brought a single red rose to him
on Valentine’s Day?
    A flash of yellow caught Nessie’s