Page 8 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

‘Thanks. Yeah, it’s not too bad. I’ve left most of my stuff at the campsite. I’ve only got the weekend in Suffolk, but I’ll try and get back tomorrow if I can. I promised myself I’d do Sutton Hoo, though.’

‘Sutton Hoo is wonderful. If we don’t see you tomorrow, enjoy the rest of your weekend, okay?’

‘Will do!’ he said and flung the backpack easily over his shoulder.

Kate followed him to the door, ready to lock up. He walked across the car park towards the main road and turned briefly to face her. He raised a hand in farewell, then continued on his journey. She found herself waving back.

Something bothered her about that whole scenario and she puzzled over it as she brought the bicycle into the reception area for the night. It bothered her as she went across to the barns where the indoor picnic area and the smaller, antique farm equipment was displayed, and made sure everyone had left before she closed the doors. And it bothered her as she retraced her steps through the cottages, casting a glance at the ice-skates hanging up in their case. She half-smiled, remembering Cassie’s avarice this morning.

It bothered her until she stepped outside the blacksmith’s cottage to do a head-count of the monstrous ducks.

Kate looked in the direction he had gone and the road was empty, snaking off towards the countryside. And she realised that she’d seen that gesture before. Him — or someone very like him — had waved her farewell before.

* * *

‘You’re quiet tonight,’ said Chris. They were sitting in the Green Dragon, an empty bottle of wine between them.

‘Just enjoying the old people’s pub.’ Kate grinned. ‘At least we can get a seat here. And the portion sizes are much better. Bob’s a sweetie too, deep down.’ Bob was the barman — his reputation went before him. If you got a free drink at the Dragon, you were fortunate indeed.

‘Yeah, that wine bar has a completely different sort of clientele.’ Chris laughed.

‘You’ve been there?’ Kate asked, curious. He certainly hadn’t been with her. She despised the place.

He smiled. ‘Your Jenna likes it.’

‘She’s not “my” Jenna,’ Kate corrected him. ‘I tolerate her because I have to.’

‘Okay. Jenna likes it.’ He smiled again, and Kate had the fleeting idea that he hadn’t really answered her question.

She dismissed that thought and frowned. ‘She certainly seems to enjoy it there. Chris, have you ever fancied camping?’ She didn’t know where that came from, but there it was.

‘Camping?’ Chris stared at her as if she was mad. ‘Why on earth would I want to huddle under canvas when I can have a nice warm bed in a centrally heated hotel? Or a centrally heated flat, even . . .’ He left the sentence hanging rather suggestively and reached over. He trailed his finger down her cheek. ‘We should make the most of our weekends, you know.’

‘I know.’ Kate forced a smile. ‘Forget it. Camping’s rubbish.’

‘Yep. So — fancy a slow walk back to the cottages?’ asked Chris. ‘We could go via the wine bar if you like?’ He winked.

‘I don’t like. Let’s just head home.’

‘Great. Tell you what, I’ll buy another bottle of wine here and we can take it with us.’

‘Sounds good,’ Kate said. ‘But don’t expect a discount from Bob.’

* * *

It was one of the beautifully quirky things about her flat that Kate had the use of two staircases — pretty logical as it was comprised of two attics knocked together. One staircase led into the museum’s reception area and one into her little walled garden at the back of the terrace.

And on that particular evening, as Kate might have imagined, one thing led to another. She had let them into the cottages by the garden entrance and went up the back stairs to her flat. They had stumbled and staggered, a little bit giggly, into the flat and headed straight to the bedroom, Chris grabbing two wine glasses on the way.

It was as they lay there, Chris in a deep sleep, his dark hair tousled on the pillow, that Kate heard the cuckoo clock from downstairs signal it was midnight.

It signalled it was midnight, and then some; closely followed by a set of matching chimes from the Hall clock. She let it go until they had cuckooed and chimed fifteen times before she swore and dragged herself out of bed and down the stairs into the museum.

She padded through the reception and was just about to fiddle around with the damn things when they stopped, with a very clangy and resonant echo. The echo bounced off the walls of the room as she stood there, completely baffled. Unfortunately, the little cuckoo had stopped outside his door and Kate moved over to push him back inside as she always felt sorry for him when he dangled like that.

There was still a sound of chimes coming from far away though. She stopped and listened carefully. The musical tone was dancing through the terrace and she realised it was from way along the corridor — perhaps from as far away as the blacksmith’s cottage.

The thing about where the museum was located in Hartsford, was the fact that it was such a dark and quiet area. It was at the far end of the village, with nothing but fields backing onto it and the River Hartsford tumbling along at the edge of those; so noise carried. It didn’t bother Kate that the terrace was fairly lengthy and full of exhibits that belonged to long dead people. It didn’t bother her wandering through there at night. The most shocking thing was suddenly hearing the rabid ducks start a midnight argument.