Chapter Three

Theo found the campsite: a field was probably the best way to describe it. It was a decent enough field and pretty flat so it was easy to pitch his tent and get unpacked. But it was, at its heart, just a field.

He'd been in worse places. Fields with bunged-up portaloos and shower blocks inches deep in scummy water. Or fields with no portaloos and no showers. But this one, at least, seemed to have some proper facilities. Not that he minded a bit of roughing it. He'd travelled all over the world as a student — backpacking, hitch-hiking, camping. Everything had been an adventure to him and he appreciated it all.

One trip, rather more recently, had taken him to the Outer Hebrides; and that had led to meeting a group of people from Suffolk, among them Maeve. Maeve told him about Hartsford and the Folk Museum; and when they said goodbye, Theo decided to visit those places.

He had a feeling he'd love them. Maeve had told him about the pace of life in Suffolk; the little villages, the coastal areas, the heaths. From what he'd seen, the place had delivered on those promises already. It was all good, and exactly what he needed, just to take some time and get away from everything.

Theo checked his watch. It was two thirty. The Folk Museum wasn't too far away. He could walk there in about fifteen minutes and scope it out, so he shrugged on his backpack and set off.

He was right. It didn't take him long to get there, and soon he was standing outside the museum. It was a novel little place, a whole row of neat, stone cottages, just as Maeve had described.

There were some mangy-looking ducks running around a pond, and a circular green, and, opposite the terraced houses, a collection of barns which looked to contain old-fashioned farm equipment and tools. There was also some sort of vintage bicycle marked ‘Ice-cream' outside the cottages. The bike was a bit of a sight, the sunlight showing up every little scratch and flake of the paintwork. It was what you might call a fixer-upper.

A girl was kneeling by the side of it. Her red hair was pulled back in an elastic band now, but there was no mistaking it was the girl from the café.

Theo walked up to her and stood beside the bicycle. ‘Is that how you transport fairy cakes around here?'

She looked up, startled; but then she laughed. ‘Hello again. Yeah. I could fit a few in there, couldn't I? Delilah does make the most awesome fairy cakes.'

‘I was quite impressed with my own lunch, I must say. I went back for a slice of red velvet cake. You'd gone by then, so it was nice not to worry about anyone walking into me and wrecking it.'

‘Good choice. It's lucky that nobody spoiled that experience for you.' She stood up and wiped her hands down her jeans. ‘Sorry, did you want to come into the museum?'

Theo was thrown for a moment. ‘Yes. I do,' he replied.

‘Okay. Come on then. I'll get you a ticket.'

He was still slightly confused, but he followed the red-head and her jeans into the reception area.

She went behind the counter and Theo suddenly realised. ‘Aha! You work here.'

‘I do indeed. It's a bit late, you know. Are you sure you want to come in? We close in about an hour. It's four o'clock on a Friday.' She looked up at the multitude of clocks that surrounded her.

‘An hour is fine,' Theo told her.

‘Well, if you're sure.'

‘I'm sure.' Theo noticed a man sitting on an old church pew to the side of the room, his legs stretched out in front of him, inspecting a smartphone.

‘The signal doesn't get any better here, does it?' the guy said, directing his comment to the red-head.

She shook her head, concentrating on the till. ‘Nope. It doesn't. You can use the laptop if you want.'

‘Thanks Kate. I'll nip up now.'

‘Yep, you know where it is. There.' She looked up at Theo and stapled his receipt to a little fold-out leaflet with a map on it. ‘If you follow the markers you can't get lost. And if you don't see it all, come back tomorrow. I should be on the desk until lunchtime at least. If I'm around, I'll just let you back in.'

‘Thanks.' He took the ticket from her. ‘You're positive the boss won't mind?'

She laughed. ‘I am the boss. It's all mine. Well, I look after the place. It's not mine, actually physically mine. You know?'

‘I know,' he said. ‘Well if you're the boss and you say it's okay, it clearly is. So I start through here?' He indicated the door to his left. It seemed to take him into the cottages and, he assumed, would lead him through the whole terrace if he kept on going.

‘Yes, start there. I'll be out front if you need anything, just next to that bicycle. A friend wants to borrow it, but it's in no fit state at the moment.' She stared at the doorway thoughtfully. ‘I have plans for it though.'

‘Great. If I can't find you, I'll just ask your colleague.' Theo nodded to the side-door where the man had disappeared.

The girl — Kate — laughed. ‘You can ask him, but he probably can't help you. He doesn't work here. He's my boyfriend.'

For some reason Theo felt a bit miffed at that. She had a boyfriend. Oh, well.

‘Okay. I'll just look for you.'

‘I'm not hard to find,' she replied with a grin. ‘Oh! Can I ask you to leave your backpack behind the counter here, please?'

He had to agree with the "not hard to find" comment. He'd found her three times already today and he hadn't even been trying.

‘Sure.' Theo swung the backpack off. He handed it over to her and she dropped it onto the floor.

‘Like I said, just find me when you're finished.'

‘No problem,' he said and smiled at her.

* * *

Kate watched as the visitor disappeared through the door into the first cottage. Theo Kent. She'd read the name on his credit card. It was an automatic thing she did. Her poor customers; she knew more of them by name than they probably realised.

She looked at his backpack and saw it was pretty well-used and battered. He was definitely outdoorsy; the sort of guy you could envisage running up a mountain before breakfast and kayaking across an ocean after lunch. Kate couldn't quite comprehend that level of physical activity for herself, but some people apparently thrived on it. And she had to admit it did wonders for their physique. Not that she should have been noticing such things, but still . . .

She headed back outside and squatted down by the bicycle. She had acquired some sandpaper from the tool store and thought she might as well try to take some of the flaky paint off. She'd need a bit more time and some proper equipment to stabilise the chassis and deal with the tyres though.

As it turned out, Theo Kent was the last customer of the day. Kate was a little startled when one of the clocks from the reception area struck four and she looked up. None of the clocks ever went off except the cuckoo clock; that bellowing ding dong ding dong was anything but her little wooden bird popping his head out. She dashed into the reception area and saw Theo looking as confused as she was.

‘Hey,' he said. ‘I just came back through to get my bag. And your clock went off.' He nodded over at the big grandfather clock from the Hall.

Kate frowned. ‘It shouldn't have done. I'll have to check it later.' She reached down and retrieved the backpack. ‘There you go. It's not as heavy as it looks, is it?'

‘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.

But in the three years she'd been there, she'd never heard anything chime in the blacksmith's cottage. It was cause for further investigation and she was heading along there before she'd even stopped to think about it.

* * *

It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. The moon wasn't quite full, but it was full enough to light her way, picking out a trail through the leaded casements. One particular beam of moonlight shone right onto the ice-skates, making them glow and almost come alive.

There they were, on a rocking chair in the blacksmith's cottage, twinkling invitingly and Kate smiled. She reached out for them, thinking she'd return them to the display case on her way back and—

Her fingers closed over the skates, just as she realised they had already been in the case when she'd done her lock-up at four o'clock.

And while she was there, what on earth was going on with that little clock on the mantelpiece? That was the one she'd heard chiming; but it didn't belong there. She'd never seen it before.

Kate spun around, the skates in her hands and the room wavered in and out of focus. There was heat on the back of her knees from a low fire and a chill swept through her as the back door opened. A blast of icy air swirled in and took her breath away. A sharp pain shot up from her ankle and her leg buckled beneath her.

‘I told you to sit down,' said a man who looked extraordinarily like Theo Kent. He grinned at her. ‘I've just fetched some more wood and I'll have the fire going better in a moment. Please — rest awhile. I told you it would hurt if you stood up, didn't I?'

* * *

Theo woke up with a start, his heart pounding. He'd had the weirdest dream.

He knew that red-headed Kate was in it, and he thought they were in the Folk Museum. She was in the middle of a room — it looked a bit like the one at the end, but different, if that made sense? He knew it was winter because it was damn cold and they had a fire going.

The thing was, it was so bloody cold, it woke him up. He realised at that point he was still in the tent and although it was June he was shivering. He lay on his back for a while and stared at the roof. There was an incessant drip drip drip on the fabric and he wondered if it was raining.

But the more he heard the noise, the more it resolved into an irregular tap tap tap ; perhaps how hammering on metal would sound?

It was a very weird dream. He turned over and closed his eyes. He had a busy day tomorrow.

He realised just as he drifted off that of course he'd heard tapping — he lived right next to the forge, didn't he?