Page 3 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

‘I disagree. You’re thinking about how many flavours we can squeeze in.’ Kate grinned.

‘Maybe.’ Cassie laughed. ‘Are we going traditional with the colour scheme then? I mean the colour of the bike; not the ice-cream.’

‘Of course, you do,’ Kate replied insincerely. ‘I suspect it would be white, with swirly bits in blue and pink.’ She stood away from the bicycle and surveyed it.

‘Yes. It’s a bit grubby at the moment, isn’t it?’ Cassie also surveyed it. The paintwork was in a sorry state, now they had it in the sunshine. The white was flaking off and there were scratches everywhere.

But: ‘It’ll be fine!’ they said together.

‘Fantastic.’ Cassie patted the bike affectionately. ‘Who can we sub-contract to do it up then?’

Kate gave her a funny look. ‘Well, me of course. It’s not going to take much to up-cycle the thing, is it?’

‘If you think you can do it,’ said Cassie in awe.

‘What do you mean, think?’ Kate said. ‘I can.’

* * *

Kate wheeled the bicycle back to the reception area as best she could. She didn’t go through the cottages, obviously, but Cassie did.

‘Don’t pilfer my ice-skates!’ Kate yelled after her as she disappeared through the end cottage.

‘Tra la la!’ Cassie called back. But when they met again in the reception area, she didn’t have them with her, so Kate was grateful for small mercies.

‘You can borrow the racquets,’ Kate told Cassie as her friend put her cup in the tiny sink and, she noticed, pinched a Kit-Kat from Kate’s biscuit stash, ‘but I have to insist you keep them out of the public’s way. Nobody can be touching the exhibits, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Cassie agreed. ‘Let me know how you get on with the up-cycling. Oh, no!’ She slapped her hand across her mouth in horror. ‘I need to organise the ice-cream, don’t I? And the actual man. Who’s going to drive it? Who’s going to be my ice-cream bicycle man?’

Kate looked at Cassie and slapped her hand across her mouth, copying her. ‘Oh, no! What on earth happened to equal rights and women’s suffrage and feminism? Who says a man has to drive the bicycle?’

‘Please! Don’t rip off your bra and burn it!’ cried Cassie. ‘Nobody. Nobody says a man has to drive it. But it’s traditional!’

‘Yes, well. Sometimes we have to stuff tradition. I’ll get the ice-cream and the clotted cream and I’ll drive the thing. Don’t you worry about it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Cassie. Suddenly she looked very young and very terrified. ‘Really. I mean it. Thanks. I think,’ she admitted, ‘I may be in over my head.’ A wobbly sigh and a shrug of the shoulders. ‘If it all falls through the floor, I shall let you know so you don’t waste your time or your paints.’

‘Ah, it’ll be fine.’ Kate gave her a quick hug. ‘You just get on with organising everything else. If it doesn’t come off, then at least I get a nice bicycle out of it. It might come in useful for here anyway. We could do with some refreshments.’

‘Don’t let Delilah hear you say that.’ Delilah owned the tea shop in Hartsford village and her cakes were splendid.

‘I’d never even contemplate taking that crown off her. My refreshments would go no further than ice cream. And as far as I know, she doesn’t sell that, does she?’

‘No. Only as an accompaniment to puddings and crumble and things.’ Cassie would know that fact, if anyone would. ‘Okay. I must go. I have tons to do.’ She sighed and trailed off towards the door. ‘See you later. Hope you have a busy day.’

‘Likewise,’ Kate told her. It was always good to see tourists in the village — and the day promised to be warm and sunny, so she hoped their predictions would come true.

And maybe, just maybe, that man she’d bumped into earlier would decide to visit the museum. The thought sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through her.

Yes, anything could happen on a lovely day like this.

Chapter Two

Kate’s day was indeed busy. She had quite a few people through the door all morning, and by the time Jenna, her part-time assistant, came in at eleven, she was just finishing off dealing with the latest queue.

‘Oh, my,’ Jenna said, blinking big brown eyes and sliding in beside Kate at the reception desk. ‘What’s going on here?’ She had one of those throaty voices that some men find really attractive. Kate suspected it was more the result of her social smoking, and the fact that she spent most nights shouting over music in bars, than anything natural.

‘It’s the end of the half-term holiday. People making the most of it before school and work on Monday, I guess.’