by Kirsty Ferry
‘I’ve been doing some research,’ Cassie told her, ‘and I believe that men on ice-cream bicycles were rather popular in those days. My grandfather always used to talk about one that he chased when he was a boy. There was one that used to go around the village and I think it was old even then.’ She accepted the steaming cup of tea with a grateful smile. ‘So basically, I want a man on an ice-cream bicycle.’
‘A bicycle actually made out of ice-cream? Or one that sells ice-cream?’ Kate sat down at the other end of the pew and Cassie gave her an accusatory glare.
‘Stop mocking me, Kate. You know exactly what I mean.’
Kate laughed. ‘I’m just teasing. Sorry. Anyway, it just so happens I’ve got the very thing in the museum for you to borrow. Come on, I’ll take you through. You can bring your mug, it’s fine.’
‘Seriously?’ Cassie’s face split into a huge grin. ‘I knew I could count on you.’ She stood up. ‘Which house are we going to?’
‘It’s not in one of the houses, it’s in one of the barns. But we’ll take a short cut through the cottages. I know how much you love them. Just don’t spill the tea. I’m trusting you with my exhibits, okay?’
Cassie nodded, clasping both hands around her cup. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘Fine follow me.’
Kate led the way through the terrace, Cassie chattering about the fabulous weekend she envisaged and the inordinate amounts of cream scones and strawberries she thought might be required.
‘They are so popular,’ she said, but Kate wasn’t absolutely certain whether ‘they’ referred to the snacks or the weekends. From Cassie’s perspective, it might have been either; she loved her cakes and loved dressing up to fit the theme of the Living History weekends too.
‘Oh,’ Cassie continued, ‘and if there’s anything else you think I can borrow, I’m hoping to revamp the pool area as well. And the tennis courts. Our things are dropping to pieces.’ Kate sensed her friend had slowed down and she turned around to see where she was. She was correct. Cassie was ogling one of the museum displays – a pair of Edwardian tennis racquets in a press. ‘They are so much nicer than the ones we’ve got,’ she said covetously.
‘I’ll consider it,’ Kate said.
‘And those! Can I have those? Please?’ She was hovering by Kate’s favourite things in the entire museum; a pair of Victorian ice-skates, made out of soft white leather which laced up around tiny pearl buttons. Inked on the smooth leather interior of each boot was the word CAT.
Kate had no idea what the word meant, although she suspected it was a name. Perhaps they’d belonged to someone who had to write their name in so they didn’t get confused with anyone else’s skates. That was the beauty of living so close to the museum collection – if the real story wasn’t available, Kate liked to make up one that suited, just for herself. In this case, she quite liked the idea of perhaps a “Catherine” owning those skates; which was possibly another reason why she was so possessive over them.
‘No, you absolutely cannot have those!’ Kate was adamant. ‘For a start, the weekend celebrates the 1920s and 30s, doesn’t it? And the skates are Victorian. As well as that, it’s going to be August Bank Holiday, so the very last thing you want is enough ice and snow to be able to use the skates.’
‘The very last thing I want is a health and safety incident around the pool area,’ said Cassie wryly. She sighed, gazing at the skates. ‘But they are beautiful, aren’t they?’
‘They are, but your bicycle is out here. Ta da!’
Kate threw the front door of the last cottage open and gestured for Cassie to take a walk to the other side of the pond and head over towards the barns, which faced the terrace.
‘The big barn?’ she asked.
‘No, the little one. The one we keep all the odd bits in. I’m afraid the bike’s not in the best condition, but we’ve got time to sort it out.’
‘What, so it’s got a couple of flat tyres? Needs a coat of paint? No problem.’ Cassie was practically bouncing along beside her. The tea, Kate noticed, slopped over the top of the mug and down the side but they were outside so it didn’t matter that much. The resident ducks and geese ran over to them, curious to see if they had any bread, but Kate shooed them away.
Cassie wasn’t far wrong when she suggested the bicycle needed a coat of paint and a tyre pump, but as Kate climbed over the rope and eased it out of the corner, she knew that it really wouldn’t take much to sort it out.
‘Oh, that’s perfect!’ Cassie unhooked the rope and pulled it to one side so Kate could wheel the bicycle out – well okay, bump it fairly roughly out – and soon they had it in the courtyard, in daylight, and could study it properly.
‘I think it’s probably the original bicycle your grandfather talked about.’ Kate ran her hand lovingly across the old wooden box on the front. A splinter came away and embedded itself in her finger. She frowned and sucked at her fingertip, trying to remove the thing but it wouldn’t budge. ‘But I didn’t realise the wicker basket was so rotten.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ Cassie balanced her cup on the wooden box, then swiftly removed it as she saw Kate glare at it. ‘Whoops. Sorry, just imagining what it’ll be like with ice-cream in it.’
‘Always the food products.’
‘With clotted cream on the cones, I think,’ continued Cassie. She was practically drooling.
‘With clotted cream.’ Kate had to admit that it did sound rather appealing. ‘I’ll need to see how we can refrigerate the ice-cream.’ She lifted the lid of the box up and inspected it. A money spider scurried across her hand and she shook the tiny arachnid off. ‘I guess we can use one of those little plastic cool boxes or something. I’ll have a think about it. Technology has moved on a bit now and as long as it’s hidden, we shouldn’t have anyone complaining that it’s not authentic enough.’
‘You know, Kate, you’re far too practical,’ sighed Cassie. ‘All I’m thinking about is what colour we can paint it.’
‘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 he
r 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.’
‘I suppose,’ Jenna said, switching a smile on as she relieved the final couple of the entrance fee. They had two small children with them and, by the looks of it, another one on the way. ‘You’ll want a guidebook as well, won’t you?’
She directed her question to the man; knowing, Kate suspected, that the woman’s mind was already on herding her children up and that she would have more to do than read a guide book when she was on her way around the museum. The man, however, had no such qualms and eagerly handed the money over.
Kate shook her head after them as they made their way into the first cottage. ‘You’re unbelievable,’ she told Jenna. ‘Like they’ll have time to read it?’ The man had already scooped his little girl up and the guide book was now sticking out of his back pocket like a baton.
Jenna shrugged and swept her glossy dark curls over her shoulder. ‘Not my problem.’
‘Yes, but you’re not on commission.’ In fact, she was only working with Kate because her usual assistant, Maeve, was doing some sort of research project in Scotland. Apparently, they’d found a stone crannog – an ancient man-made island which people used to live on – in the Outer Hebrides, and she was up there helping to excavate it.
Jenna’s father was the museum board’s Chair and had pulled strings in order to secure this temporary assignment for his twenty-year old daughter. She hated the job with a passion – ‘old stuff is, like, so boring!’ – but was doing some sort of penance there for defrauding her father’s credit card. The girl was, in Kate’s opinion, a silly, spoiled brat; extremely pretty and used to snapping her fingers and getting whatever she wanted. But this time, Daddy had been pushed too far – and as Kate was desperate for some help in Maeve’s absence, Jenna was sent to fill the gap.
Jenna had no compassion for people. Kate would never try to hard-sell a guide book to anyone. They were on the table and if visitors wanted one, fine. There were plenty of information boards up if not. What she often found was that customers came back to get a book afterwards as a souvenir because they’d enjoyed the museum so much. Jenna didn’t see it that way, sadly. Kate thought she was doing business or marketing and was, she supposed, very good at the mechanics of turning a profit. But she had no people skills, unless the people in question were men.
‘No. I’m not on commission and I think I should be,’ Jenna said, looking dead serious.
Kate frowned at her. ‘I think not.’
They barely tolerated one another until about one o’clock, when Kate simply had to get out of there before she said something she regretted. Jenna had sold seven guide-books and flirted with twice that many men. Kate didn’t quite know how she did it.
‘I’m off to find some lunch. Would you like anything from Delilah’s?’ It was Friday, after all. Kate reckoned she deserved something from Delilah’s.
Jenna pulled a face. ‘No. I’ll just have a coffee and a ciggie later. I’m not hungry.’
‘Okay.’ Kate didn’t bother to try and persuade her. ‘Catch you later.’
Kate squeezed out behind Jenna and headed out of the cosy little reception area. The cottages were stone-built and the entrance to this first one was all nice and white-washed, and Kate liked to keep it as welcoming as possible, even though it could be a little dark and crowded at times. There was a lovely collection of clocks around the walls, from wall-clocks to a big grandfather clock which had come from the Hall. Most of them told the right time. Two didn’t. One was stuck at 11.15 and the grandfather clock was stuck at 3.27, holding memories of long-forgotten hours on long-forgotten days. A beautiful phrase was written in gold on the bottom of the grandfather clock’s face, under the Hartsford coat of arms; Hodie est tempus nostrum. Today is our time.
But, as Kate told herself, at least those clocks were right twice a day. And she loved the co-ordinated ticking of them all. It was such a comforting sound; but thank goodness she’d disabled all the chimes, bar that of the cuckoo clock. She adored that cuckoo. He reminded her of her Great-Aunt’s house when she was small; Kate and her older brother Tom sitting in the less formal ‘back room’ and Kate hoping she’d be there long enough to see the cuckoo peek his head out and say hello.
She wandered through the village to Delilah’s tea-shop and saw that it was pretty busy too. Hartsford was doing well today. For such a small place, they were certainly on the tourist trail. It helped, she knew, that the Hall was on the list as one of the ‘Top Ten Tourist Attractions of Suffolk.’
Once inside Delilah’s, Kate spotted a box full of scones and cakes labelled up with the word ‘Hall’ and suspected that they had put a call in for extra treats up there. Delilah supplied the Hall with food for the Garden Kiosk and the Gypsy Tea Caravan and it all worked perfectly. Cassie had been right – she could maybe get away with ice-creams at the museum, a vending machine serving coffee and tea at the very most, but no way could she or would she even try to compete with Delilah.
Kate shuffled her way to the front of the queue, trying to decide on a jacket potato or a toasted Panini.
‘Hello Kate!’ said Delilah as she approached the counter. ‘It’s nice to see you.’
‘Well it’s Friday.’ Kate smiled. ‘Can’t resist a treat on a Friday. I’ll have a ham and cheese Panini, please, if that’s okay.’
‘Takeaway?’ asked Delilah, making a note.
‘Yes – I’ll have to dash back with it. I can’t
leave the place for too long.’ Kate pulled a face.
Delilah mirrored her expression. ‘Is she still up to her tricks?’
Kate nodded. ‘Yep. Seems like she’s here for the duration. I’m hoping Maeve’s Scottish project doesn’t take too long’
‘I completely understand. Look. I’ll toss in a fairy cake for you as well. Make you feel better, eh?’
Kate laughed. ‘Oh, Delilah. This is why I love Hartsford so much! You lot are just awesome.’
‘“You lot”?’ repeated Delilah, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘And by that you mean …?’
‘The locals.’ Kate leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. ‘You know. Because I’m not one.’
Delilah laughed and shook her head. ‘I know!’ It was a standing joke between them that one rather unpleasant tourist on a bus trip had asked Kate, quite snippily, how she could even run a Suffolk folk museum, when she wasn’t a Suffolk girl – because she didn’t even sound like she was a local. Kate had lived in Cambridge most of her life and didn’t think she sounded that odd, or that alien to the area, but to some people she must, clearly, sound un-local.
‘Thanks for this, anyway.’ Kate held up the little paper bag. ‘I’ll just wait along here for my sandwich.’ She paid and sidled to the edge of the counter. But yeah, she couldn’t help it. She opened the paper bag and scoffed the cake while she was waiting.
It had been her hair that caught his attention at first – and one of the main things that had struck him about her this morning, when they’d collided on the main street. The other thing that had struck him was that he knew her from somewhere. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking; he’d always had a thing for red-heads and this particular red-head was also very nicely packaged up in a pair of skin-tight jeans.
There didn’t look as if there was a lot of room inside those jeans for the cake she was demolishing, but apparently there was enough. She finished the little pink thing in a couple of bites and it was quite impressive to witness.