Page 74 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

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Kate was industriously digging around the edges of the photo frame with the screwdriver and Theo wondered what was so interesting that it had to be dealt with now, rather than when she got back to the museum.

‘Are you in it yet?’ he asked her as he crested the bridge with two mugs of tea.

‘Not yet, but I’m hopeful.’

Theo sat down and put the mugs on the ground between them. ‘May I have a look at the photograph?’

‘Of course.’ Kate passed the picture over, then leaned down and picked up a mug. She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs, staring out downriver.

‘Thanks.’ Theo studied the picture and saw nothing more than a girl in a Bath chair. The photograph was slightly blurry and from what he could see she was scowling into the camera. ‘Is it anyone in particular?’ He was curious now. ‘She’s got a familiar look about her.’ He cast a glance at Kate’s profile and looked back at the picture. There was a definite resemblance between them. ‘Ah! She’s a relative of yours?’

That got her attention. ‘A relative?’ Kate seemed to consider her response. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. Maybe.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s Catriona Tredegar. I think I’ve sort of sensed her around. Up at the museum. In the cottage. Like you did, I think.’ She looked at the ground. ‘At least I know what she looks like properly now.’

‘Cat?’ His heart thudded. No — it had all been a slip of his tongue, that’s all. Their names were similar. It was coincidence. ‘So is that why you have a fascination with her photograph?’ Theo passed it back to her. ‘Look, I think you’ve got that corner almost done.’

‘Have I?’ She took it back and inspected it. ‘So I have. I’ll concentrate on that bit then.’ She put her mug down and set to with the screwdriver again; then she paused. ‘Oh, and my fascination with her. Some of that might be explained in the other photograph as well. Look — that one.’ She passed another picture over, out of what appeared to be the cash box of the ice-cream bicycle, and Theo studied that one too.

It showed two girls, standing on a frozen river. He looked up and along the river they were straddling and recognised the sweep of the countryside around them as being the same as the topography of the photograph. The girls were wearing ice-skates and were laughing.

‘I’ve got those skates in the museum,’ Kate told him. ‘Remember? The ones you thought had been mended? I think that girl on the left is the same as the one in the Bath chair. Cat. I’m curious to know if there’s anything written on the back of the framed one, just to confirm it or something. You know?’

He nodded. He did know.

He handed the second photograph back and picked up his own mug. ‘Let me know if you need any other tools for that.’

‘I think I’ve got it now, thanks.’ The back of the frame came away with a soft pop and Kate wiped a smattering of dust off her trousers. She eased the backing card off and laid it down beside her. ‘Look! Here it is! Just like she said — a message.’

Sure enough, written in extremely neat cursive writing, was a verse:

To everything there is a season,

and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh

a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

This, darling Cat, is your time; a time to love.

‘Beautiful words,’ Theo said. Seeing Catriona Tredegar’s name shortened to “Cat” gave him another little chill.

Kate nodded. ‘Yes — it’s from the Bible, but I think she’s paraphrased it. It’s from a much longer piece. The first two lines there were painted onto a plough share I found at another museum. I was so intrigued I looked it up. I think the farmer was trying to motivate himself or his labourers, because the verse goes on about planting and harvesting and things. I told Tom and he said he wondered if the farmer was a religious zealot and wanted to convert the itinerant labourers. I told him possibly not.’ She smiled, perhaps recalling the conversation.

Then she lowered her head and stared at the back of the photograph; traced the words that had been written so many years ago.

Her fingertips hovered over the last part of the verse: a time to love. ‘Do you think we always know when the time is right to take that leap of faith?’ she asked. ‘To know when the time is right to love? To know when to let someone in, no matter what might get in the way?’

He thought she was going to add to that; but she didn’t.

* * *

It was rather unsettling having Theo sitting so close to her, and she knew she wouldn’t get the answers to those questions today. It was something they both had to think about.

Instead, Kate looked down at Millie’s verse. She had chosen her words so perfectly. Kate didn’t know when she had written them though; whether it had been the day they were looking at the scrapbook or afterwards, when she knew she was dying. Whether she had framed the photograph, then prised it out herself later to write on, or—