Chapter One

The streets of Hartsford village were always at their best this early in the morning. Kate Howard stepped out of her front door and headed away from the Folk Museum, a long, low building made up of a row of old stone cottages. She was the museum manager and also lived upstairs, in a flat made up of a couple of attics knocked together.

If she headed towards the bakery, she'd just be in time to get a batch of fresh rolls, still warm from the oven. Then she could fill one with hot, sizzling bacon for her breakfast.

She walked along the old streets, with Hartsford Hall a backdrop to the Suffolk village which took its name from the stately home. As she turned a corner, lost in her thoughts and anticipating the smell of bread that always greeted her when she entered the bakery, she walked straight into someone. A man clutching a paper bag printed with the name of the bakery. He'd obviously had the same idea as her, and quickly put his hand out to steady her as she barged into him.

‘Oh! I'm so sorry!' Kate blushed and side-stepped him.

He smiled down at her, his dark eyes flashing with mischief. ‘That's okay. My breakfast is safe, that's the main thing.'

Kate laughed. ‘Definitely. There's not usually many people around at this time in the morning. Again, I'm so sorry. I must still be half asleep.'

‘I know that feeling well. Have a good day, anyway!' His smile widened for a moment, and he paused, looking as if he was about to say something else; then he nodded and walked away.

Kate stared after him — he wasn't local; his accent told her that, and she would have known him had he lived in the village. Still, there was something oddly familiar about the way he strode along the main street and disappeared around a corner. Something about the set of his shoulders, and the way his light-brown, sun-streaked hair was tousled and a little too long, that had her wanting to call after him and ask where they'd met before.

She definitely seemed to know him — her body told her that with a little fizz of excitement or recognition, as if she'd seen him quite recently, or maybe not — perhaps it was a long time ago? She waited another moment, then shook her head. How strange.

Then she turned back towards the bakery, and continued on her way, still feeling the gentle touch of his hand on her arm.

* * *

Later that morning, the front door of the museum slammed open. Kate, her fingers poised over the keyboard of her computer in the reception area, found herself staring at her best friend, Cassie Aldrich. The museum wasn't due to open for about half an hour, but unfortunately, Cassie knew Kate kept the door unlocked from the moment she set foot in the place. And obviously, Kate was never late.

‘I've got to get something vintage for the weekend!' Cassie was bright red in the face and clearly panicking.

‘Vintage as in . . . ?' Kate asked, amused. ‘Clothing? Wine? Motor vehicle? And which weekend are we talking about? It's Friday already. Or is it the very special weekend you've been working towards for Elodie?' Cassie's brother Alex — the current Earl of Hartsford — and sister-in-law Elodie owned the Hall. Cassie was organising a Living History weekend for them, to take place in August. It was currently the very beginning of June.

‘Yes. That weekend. And a vehicle. Yes. I think a vehicle might describe it.' Cassie threw herself onto one of the old church pews in the entrance and sighed dramatically. ‘Goodness knows why I took this on.'

Kate smiled at her friend. They'd had this conversation before. ‘You had a moment of weakness and volunteered to help Elodie. You're just too nice. Cuppa?' She swung her legs around and jumped off the stool.

‘You're such a doll. Thank you. Tea would be marvellous.'

‘A doll? In what respect?'

Cassie shrugged. ‘Well, you know. As in kind. Nice. Sweet. Sorry.' She leaned forward and tucked her chin in her hands. ‘I'm living and breathing this flipping Country House Party Weekend and some of it is rubbing off on me.'

‘Oh, you're getting there.' Kate dipped her head so Cassie didn't see her smiling. The whole village had heard about Cassie's trials and tribulations. By all accounts she hadn't done very much actual organising yet. It was usually Elodie's task, but as Elodie was heavily pregnant with twins it hadn't quite panned out the way it normally would. So Cassie had decided she would help out.

From what Kate understood, Cassie was beginning to realise organising an event on that scale wasn't quite as simple as she'd thought it would be.

‘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. Tada!'

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 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.