Chapter Twenty-Five

Kate hoped beyond hope that her ice-cream would sell out jolly quickly that afternoon — and her prayers were answered by about half past three in the afternoon.

She scraped the last of the vanilla out of the tub and presented it in a cone to a sullen teenage girl who obviously thought she was too cool to spend the day with her family. The teen trudged after her parents and elbowed her little sister out of the way and Kate wasn't very impressed with her. The girl should understand that she was lucky her parents actually took the time to spend the day with her. Goodness knew, Tom and Kate hadn't been used to that when they were her age.

Kate watched her walk away, then climbed onto her bicycle and pulled the walkie-talkie out of the basket. She connected to Cassie who was, she thought, somewhere near the ticket booths as Kate could hear cars driving past her.

‘Hey Cass, I'm all out of ice-cream, so I'm going to head off now — is that okay?'

Cassie's voice came back crackling and excitable: ‘Kate! Yes, that's fine. It all looks to be winding down now anyway. Thank you sooooo much for helping out this weekend. And thank you for listening to all my woes when I was trying to plan it. You're a lovely friend. Really lovely.'

Kate smiled into the walkie-talkie. ‘My pleasure. I'll take the cash box home and sort out what I owe you, yes?'

‘Perfect. I'm just wondering if the tea caravan's nearly sold out as well. I saw Hughie pulling it before and I think they were heading back up by the Faerie Bridge to pitch it up for the night.'

‘I'll go back to the museum that way.' Kate looked at the last few people sunning themselves at the pool area and starting to pack their possessions away as the event drew to a close. ‘I'll check back in with you when I find out.'

‘Thanks, you're a peach. Catch you later!'

‘Bye for now!' Kate ended the connection.

She pushed off on the bicycle and rang her bell, waving to the stragglers as she passed them. She cycled carefully, in that silly bow-legged manner, but she didn't really care if her trousers got ripped now or covered in oil from the chain; because, safely stowed in the basket — inside the cash-box — were the photographs from the Hall that Elodie had lent her.

* * *

It was a nice afternoon to cycle along the neatly edged pathways of the Hall. Kate got to the fork in the gardens and headed in the direction of the bridge. From the bridge, she could take a couple of shortcuts and leave via one of the delivery routes. No clambering over fences today, not with the ice-cream bicycle to lug over after her.

She spotted the green bow-roofed gypsy caravan in its usual spot and Hughie was tugging at some grass nearby, eating his way through the estate again. His harness had been undone and he was apparently ready to go back to his stables. Horace was lying flat out next to him and they were the picture of a countryside idyll.

There was some banging and clattering going on inside the caravan and Kate dismounted, walking over to the little steps to peek in and check whoever was in there was done for the day.

‘Afternoon, Kate!' Theo stood up, filling the caravan with his presence. ‘I'm just reattaching some cup hooks here. They've loosened off a bit with all the travelling over the last couple of days. Are you finished too? There's been nobody over this way for a good twenty minutes or so. I'm going to lead Hughie back to the stables soon.'

‘Oh!' Kate drew up short, but not without a little, unexpected shock of pleasure. Especially as Theo was shirtless, his chest smooth and tanned, his muscles rather nicely sculpted. ‘I didn't expect to see you in here. I told Cassie I'd report back and let her know if things were finishing up.'

Theo looked around him and nodded. ‘Yes, I suspect they are. I took over for the last hour or so. Margaret was getting motion sickness from the wobbling of the wagon. I've probably got enough milk here to spin out for a couple of cups of tea. Can I tempt you?'

Could he tempt her? Was he joking? With that body? ‘I don't see why not.' She smiled, then blushed, then cleared her throat and brought her mind firmly back to the tea. ‘It's a shame to just throw the milk away. I don't suppose you've got a knife in there have you? Or a screwdriver?'

‘An odd request,' he replied, smiling back. ‘May I ask what they would be for, before I confirm or deny the existence of those items?' He shrugged on his shirt and Kate watched the movements, her stomach squidge -ing dangerously.

‘Yes, I suppose I should explain. I just want to prise a frame off an old photograph Elodie gave me for the museum.' It wasn't a lie. ‘I thought I'd give it a go here.'

‘In that case, I can probably find you something. Here — try this.' He handed over a sturdy, flat-ended screwdriver. It looked as if it would be ideal for the job.

‘Great. I'll just tell Cassie you're closing up and then I'll have a go.'

‘Why don't you wait up on the bridge?' Theo suggested. ‘It's a beautiful afternoon and there's a bench on the rise, isn't there? I'll bring the tea up.'

The thought was ever so tempting. As was the fact Theo's shirt wasn't fully buttoned up yet and she could still see his chest. Kate tried not to stare. She squashed down Cat's memory of hearing Will's plans about leaving her on the bridge and nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.' It did seem awfully appropriate that she should finally have a good look at those pictures on the Faerie Bridge.

She quickly contacted Cassie and told her the caravan was now devoid of refreshments and Hughie would return home in a little while; and then she grabbed the cash box and carried it to the apex of the Faerie Bridge, trying to stop thinking too much about touching Theo, especially about pressing closely to him again as, in her imagination, they recreated that scene she had witnessed when Will left Cat on the bridge, full of hope.

* * *

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—

‘ It doesn't matter when I did it, it just matters that you read it. '

Kate looked up quickly. The girl was so faint, she could barely make her out. Her dimples dipped in and out as she smiled. She had an armful of something that resolved itself as Hector, and even he grinned at her. Kate blinked and they were gone.

‘Did you see that?' she asked Theo. ‘Right there? In front of us?' She turned to him, her heart thumping.

‘See what?'

‘That!' She flapped her hand in the direction of the dimpling ghost. ‘Her!'

‘I saw nothing. I was looking at you.'

He said it so matter of factly, that it didn't even sound odd. She got to her feet hurriedly, shaking more than she care to admit. Little daydreams and glimpses into the past, she could, kind of, cope with. But this was a real ghost — someone who had lived years ago, yet someone she felt so close to, even now. ‘Thanks for the tea and the loan of the tools. I need to get these back to the museum. And I'm not hanging around a haunted bridge any longer than I have to.'

‘I don't think there are any ghosts here — you've maybe got sunstroke? Ghosts generally don't come out in broad daylight, or so I've been told.' Theo stood up as well, collecting the mugs almost as an afterthought. He nodded towards the photographs. ‘I'll have to come and see the photos at the museum.'

‘Yes — yes, do that. And ghosts can come out during the day.' Hadn't Millie already appeared to that blonde girl? Kate shivered. She could still feel Cat's old friend around them, still smell her favourite perfume of bluebells and lilies. She jumped as something like a cold, wet nose pressed against her ankle, nudging her towards Theo. She had to get away — Millie and Hector were clearly in collusion.

He smiled, a little sadly. ‘I've loved spending time with you this weekend. You're one hell of a ballet dancer. I'd kiss you goodbye, but it's probably too dangerous. And you'll probably tell me you have to go. I hope we meet again. I hope it is our time soon.'

He headed back down the slope of the Faerie Bridge towards the gypsy caravan as Kate stood on the bridge, seemingly unable to move despite her proclamations earlier. She understood that the whole place wanted to keep her — them — on that bridge until they'd sorted themselves out — but Theo chose that particular moment to be a gentleman, damn him, despite the electricity that was crackling in the air between them.

As Theo reached the bottom, he turned and looked back up at her. This time his smile was a little wistful. ‘I meant everything I said this weekend, Kate. Don't forget that. I really don't want to leave Hartsford. I'm trying to justify some more time here, just so you know.'

Kate was usually pretty good at reading double-meaning into innocuous comments — and she definitely thought that Theo meant more in those few words than he actually said.

Hector's nose nudged her more sharply this time, and she stumbled a little. It would have been a whole lot easier if Theo had seen or felt the ghosts as well.

He might not have continued to walk away from her.

He's coming back to me. He promised.

But would he?

* * *

One day, one bright, sunny, joyful day, it finally came to him. Will lifted a mallet, and the sun glinted from the head, almost blinding him with shafts of fire.

At the same time, a horse whinnied and he heard the hooves pounding as it came close to him — he turned quickly, and there was a girl riding it; a red-headed girl with her hair flying free. Felicia, of course, silhouetted against the sun, flames glinting through her hair.

Will dropped the mallet and sank to his knees, staring up at her, images flying through his mind, his heart pounding and his stomach churning. An intense pain shot through his head and he covered his eyes, his hands shaking . . .

He was at a forge, the smell of horses and metal around him. Sweat was dripping between his shoulder blades, and it was a hot, hot day, He had stripped to the waist, tied his hair back and was repairing some metal tools he needed to take back to the Hall. To Hartsford Hall. Then he swung the mallet over his shoulder, and strode outside. There she was — his red-headed Cat, sitting by his front door. The front door of his Suffolk cottage, with the horseshoe nailed onto the front of it.

‘Hello, Blacksmith Will.'

‘Cat!'

Conversation, laughter, as he swung her up and cradled her in his arms—

He must have called her name aloud, as he was aware of a hand touching his shoulder, and a slight figure leaning in to him, blotting out the pinky light behind his closed eyelids.

‘Will — are you unwell? What is wrong?' A shaky laugh. ‘Did Louis scare you?' Louis was the farm cat, a feral, tabby thing that patrolled the barns and woe betide any mouse that crossed his path.

Will uncovered his face properly and stared up at the young girl. ‘No — not Louis. It's my Cat. My Catriona. I have to go. I know where I belong. I'm a blacksmith, and I work for her family!' The words tumbled out as he scrambled to his feet and towered above her. ‘But I belong with her and I have to go back.'

‘Will!' Felicia looked astonished and then threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, you do have a cat, after all. But she is a lady. A woman. Tell me,' she pulled away and, winking at him, teasing him out of sheer joy, ‘is she as pretty as I am?' She did a little twirl, her cotton gown spinning out around her.

‘Ah, Felicia.' Will picked her up around the waist and spun her around, laughing. ‘She is the most beautiful thing I ever saw. But you, you my pretty Felicia, are the second most beautiful.' He dropped a thankful kiss on her cheek and, releasing her, turned and ran back to the farmhouse.

There was no time to waste. He had to get hold of a pen and some paper, and write to her. God knew if he would be able to find his way back to her quickly — but a letter would arrive first. A letter would tell her he was on his way home to her.