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

‘We were really busy,’ she said. ‘Everyone wanted to know how you were, and to pass on their best wishes.’

Moira was impatient to know more. ‘Who came in? Which cakes sold best? How did you find it?’

‘We’ve barely anything left,’ Alys said, and she couldn’t help a big grin spreading across her face. ‘So, really, I should set to and get baking. And also make something for us to eat.’

‘We’ve enough food for about a week,’ Moira laughed. ‘A couple of friends dropped by with a casserole and a pie, so there’s no need to worry about tonight’s dinner. Have a cup of tea and tell me all about your afternoon.’

Alys could see that Moira wasn’t going to be fobbed off so, with the casserole reheating in the oven, she made tea and gave Moira a detailed account of who had been in, who had eaten what and everything that had been said.

‘Well done,’ Moira said, sitting back in her chair. ‘You’ll be even busier tomorrow, you know. If you’re open in the morning you’ll catch the walkers as they go by. I’d better ask Flo if she can sort out some ingredients for sandwiches. And I’m afraid you’re right. You’ll need to bake as soon as we have eaten.’

That night, Alys fell into bed feeling absolutely exhausted. Three more cakes were waiting to be filled and decorated in the morning, with brownies and millionaire’s shortbread divided into portions and cooling on the rack. With flapjacks still to be made in the morning she fell into a deep sleep, waking in the middle of an anxiety dream about a giant tin of syrup that she was trying to open with an old-fashioned can opener as it didn’t appear to have a lid. A sweet buttery aroma was filling her nostrils and down in the kitchen she found Moira propped by the stove, stirring oats into the butter, syrup and sugar mixture that she had already prepared. Alys scolded her but was secretly grateful – there was still a lot to be done before Flo arrived.

Friday was as busy as the previous day but followed a slightly different routine. The early walkers were the first through the door, picking up supplies for their hikes, then locals came in for coffee, with tourists appearing in the afternoon for tea and cake, followed by walkers paying a final visit on their return trip in the late afternoon.

The day had passed in much of a blur for Alys although one worrying fact had stuck in her mind. ‘I’ll never get the hang of that coffee machine,’ she’d complained to Flo as she’d carried a tray of dirty cups and plates through to the tiny kitchen. ‘Both my attempts were undrinkable.’

‘You will,’ Flo soothed. ‘We’ll have a practise one day when it’s a bit quieter. With the Easter holidays here why don’t you concentrate on the cake side of things and maybe the teas, and leave the rest to me? You’re doing brilliantly. And I can go home and put my feet up – you have to put in all those hours baking at the end of the day.’

Alys would never admit it to anyone, but she hadn’t realised just how tiring this was going to be. Baking for friends was one thing. Keeping a café supplied whilst working there as well, was something else altogether. The thought of going home to bake, instead of flopping in front of the TV, was deeply unappealing. But she’d promised Moira that it wouldn’t be a problem and, besides, she loved seeing the customers enjoying what she’d made. Plus, Moira had been doing this for ages and she was much older than Alys.

Alys told herself that she would get used to it, and so it proved. After taking the Sunday off her energy levels revived; she found serving in the café less tiring as she became more used to it and she even found time to add a few more cakes to the range, just in time for Easter. By now Alys was getting to know the local customers pretty well, and to understand the walkers a little better. She always smiled to herself as she served them.

‘Shall we have this?’ They would lust over the lavishly iced coffee-and-walnut loaf, or the Victoria sponge, thickly layered with jam and buttercream. Sanity always prevailed, though, and if they were stopping off before heading out on a hike they bought sandwiches. If they bought something sweet it was ‘to top up the energy levels later,’ and they settled on sensible flapjacks, millionaire’s shortbread or brownies, all folded into brown paper bags and tucked into rucksacks to be enjoyed by the side of a rushing stream, or up on a peaty moorland path. If they were heading home after their walk, they would linger over a pot of tea and a well-earned slice of banana cake or raspberry cheesecake, stretching and easing tired leg muscles as they chatted about their day.

After just over a week, Alys had settled into her new role and anticipated opening up the café each morning with the same sense of enjoyment that she’d once felt about going to her design job. She loved lifting the cakes out of their boxes, positioning them on the special stands on the counter with the biscuits in baskets beside them. The appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the customers as they walked in and took in the display and the lovely aroma of freshly baked cake never failed to bring a smile to her face. But by the time Moira felt able to come back to work part-time the weekend after Easter, Alys was starting to formulate some more plans.

Although Alys had fallen in love with the café the moment she saw it, once Moira had been back at work for a couple of weeks she plucked up courage to ask her whether she would mind if she made one or two changes of her own. Her inspiration had come on a visit to Nortonstall to collect some baking supplies. To her relief, she’d discovered that she didn’t need to take the near-vertical route to the town via the main road. Instead, there was a path that wound its way through the woods, descending level by level on a track that was soft underfoot: here the light filtered green through the trees, and there were glimpses every now and then of the river rushing darkly, and the steep woods rising on the other side of the valley. After the peace and solitude of the path, it was a shock to find herself on the main road, busy with traffic, just outside the town. It was in the window of a Nortonstall charity shop that she’d spotted a lovely vintage cup and saucer, and bought it at once as a present for Moira. Alys could picture it displayed on the grey-painted shelves in the alcove behind the till, beneath the old dark-wood station clock that ticked so peacefully into the room. The cup and saucer had a delicate blue-and-white design of dragonflies, foliage and flowers that looked like orchids. Moira loved it and so did the customers.

So, on her visits to Nortonstall on her rare afternoons off, Alys started to look out for single cups and saucers and mismatched plates. She soon exhausted the stock in the charity shop, but she found a tiny antique shop tucked away up a steep alley off the main street. The doorbell jangled as she absorbed a waft of the smell of old books mixed with the scent of roses, and picked her way through the overflowing shelves, anticipation mounting. After her first visit, when she bore her trophies home, Moira told her that this was the very shop where she had bought the angel’s wings. So, the next time that she paid the shop a visit, Alys mentioned this to the owner, and explained why she was on the lookout for vintage china. Before long Claire, the shop’s owner, had taken to hunting out suitably lovely bits of china and setting them on one side for Alys. Gradually, vintage milk jugs and sugar bowls had been added to Alys’s treasure trove, and she found herself invited for tea with Claire in the tangled garden, draped with wisteria, that swept down from the back of the shop towards the river. Alys took to bringing along a slice or two of cake from the café, ones that she thought Claire might appreciate. She learnt that she could rely on Claire for candid comments on new recipes that she had introduced, appreciative or otherwise. The courgette cake got a thumbs-up for being surprisingly moist, but the beetroot cake had an odd texture and Claire declared a preference for not mixing vegetables with cake too frequently. She would make a pot of Earl Grey and bring out slices of lemon in a dish along with the bone-china plates, cups and saucers that had belonged to her grandmother. They were much-coveted by Alys but she wouldn’t dream of mentioning it to Claire. With the sign on the shop turned to ‘Closed’ they’d sip tea while they soaked up the sun and took in the view down the valley. Alys would try to imagine life back in London, but it was hard. It might as well have been a million miles away, rather than a couple of hundred.