Читать книгу Alice’s Secret: A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed - Lynne Francis - Страница 13

The key felt weighty in Alys’s pocket, where it sat along with the code for the café alarm on a folded piece of paper that she turned through her fingers as she walked. She felt a mixture of trepidation and excitement: trepidation that she would fumble the alarm code and trigger the alarm, and excitement at getting a proper look at the café for the first time. It lay in the opposite direction to the one she had taken when she had explored yesterday evening. The memory of posting her letter came back to her and she experienced a frisson of worry as she walked. Her letter would be on its way to Tim now. When would the consequences be felt?

At breakfast that morning Moira had said, ‘Why don’t you take the keys and go and have a look around the café? Then maybe we could think about baking and you could open it on a part-time basis until I’m feeling a bit better, so that my regulars don’t think I’ve abandoned them.’

Then she’d given Alys directions and the instructions for the alarm and so here she was, standing outside the door. The Celestial Cake Café was well placed, on a bend shortly after you came into the village. They must have driven right past it after Rob had collected her from the station the day before, Alys reflected, but she had failed to register it. The café had one large window and a smaller one on either side of the front door, which was set back, providing shelter from the weather. Yesterday’s rain had given way to clear skies and a brisk wind that had buffeted her on her walk and Alys appreciated the moment’s respite as she prepared to open the door. The door handle, fingerplate and letterbox were made of ornate brass, polished and with a lovely soft sheen that suggested years of use. The exterior paintwork had been freshly done, in a light-sage green to match the door, and ‘The Celestial Cake Café’ was lettered in a simple black script across the top of the façade. The most striking thing, though, was the pair of white angel’s wings that hung in the largest of the two windows. They looked as though they might have been taken from a statue. Alys smiled to herself – she wondered where Moira had got them. They were an original and memorable touch.

She steeled herself to open the door and deal with the alarm but, as Moira had promised, it was perfectly straightforward and, with the beeping of the keypad stilled and the door closed behind her, she could examine the interior at leisure. The whole room was half panelled in duck-egg blue tongue-and-groove, and the upper part of the walls was painted to match. Framed prints of cherubs and line drawings of angels were intermingled with small watercolour sketches that looked as though they might be of the local area: waterfalls, woodland paths and views of grey-stone cottages. Mismatched wooden chairs painted in a soft palette of colours – blues, greys, greens and stone – had been provided with seat cushions in an Indian paisley fabric that added a bright splash of hot pink, turquoise and orange. There was a window seat under the angel’s wings, piled with cushions in the same soft shades as the chair colours, and a wooden serving counter looked as though it had been created from recycled hefty wooden planks, marked here and there with black strips and holes where iron fixings or nails had been removed.

The café interior was L-shaped and the back section held tiny tables and a wood-burning stove. It was now cold but Alys could imagine how the room with its stone-flagged floor would benefit from the heat in the colder months. She peeped out of the narrow window in the sturdy back door to catch a glimpse of a small courtyard, lined with tubs filled with spring bulbs in full flower: scarlet and orange tulips, creamy yellow narcissi and bright-blue grape hyacinths. Scrubbed tables folded against the wall told her that this would be an extra seating space in the warmer months. All in all, Moira had done a wonderful job, Alys thought as she looked around. And the place was spotless, not a crumb or sticky smear to be seen. She tried to imagine what the café must be like when it was busy with the buzz of conversation, the smell of coffee in the air, the serving counter piled high with cakes and biscuits ready for the customers.

One or two people had passed by the café and Alys noticed their curious glances through the window. She decided that it was time to head back to Moira’s before it became necessary to turn customers away so, with the alarm reset and the door locked behind her, she turned her steps back up the hill. She felt a surge of impatience. She wished that she was coming straight back, cake tins and boxes already full, ready to open up the café and get to work. As it was, there was much to be done and her head whirled as she mentally listed all the things she would need to ask Moira about. First things first, though. There were cakes to be made.