Page 12 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
Clemmie laughed. ‘So, you said you’re headed to Clockmaker’s Cottage? What a wonderful place to stay. I saw the competition; you must be one of the winners.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Pippa caught the crumbs from the muffin as she took a bite. ‘I entered at the last minute on a whim, and now here I am, very grateful to be missing out on a golfing honeymoon in Portugal.’
Clemmie smiled. ‘Have to say, golfing’s not my cup of tea either. And you’re lucky! Most people never get closer than the front door. They say it’s untouched inside and perfectly preserved, so it’s like stepping straight into the last century. Every so often it’s opened for guided visits for people fanatical about clocks, but staying there overnight? That’s special. It still has all its original features and all the clocks. And the garden is just beautiful. In summer, Agatha’s roses still grow by the back wall.’ Clemmie’s voice had swelled as she described the cottage, and she laughed at herself. ‘I sound like a tour guide, don’t I?’
‘I can’t quite believe it myself. When I entered, the internet was stalling, and I mistyped my own email address multiple times, and then the page froze just as I hit “submit” and I wasn’t even sure I’d made it in time. But then, thirty minutes later… boom! I got an email in my inbox. I thought it was going to be junk mail again– you know, “Congratulations, you’ve won a lifetime supply of oven cleaner!”– but no. I actually won!’
‘I’m assuming you like clocks?’
Pippa’s eyes lit up. ‘Likeclocks? I love them! I studied clocks at university and I’m now a clock restorer. They’re little worlds in themselves, tiny universes of gears and springs and patience. I’ve collected clocks and old clock keys since the age of five– my dad is obsessed too and my parents got me started. I’d sit for hours in my room, winding them and pretending I was keeping time itself alive. Everyone else had stickers or Barbies, but I had rusting brass keys and a battered library book about escapements.’ The words tumbled out in a rush, her voice breathless with excitement. She grinned, her cheeks flushed. ‘The thing is, clocks don’t just tell the time, they also hold it. All those hands ticking away, marking the birthdays, the holidays, the heartbreaks. Every tick is a moment you can’t get back, but you can hear it, you can feel it. It makes life feel… precious.’
She stopped suddenly, realising she’d gone off on one, half a muffin still in hand. ‘Sorry, I must sound like a complete lunatic.’
Clemmie shook her head, smiling. ‘No. You sound like someone who was born to stay in Clockmaker’s Cottage.’
‘It was always on my bucket list to visit Puffin Island. I’ve been obsessed with the Vale Brothers my whole life and I’m finally going to see Horace Vale in the flesh. I can’t believe that after all these years he’s finally doing a talk at the convention.’
‘I think the press will be out in full force– if they can get over the causeway in this weather, that is.’
Outside, the rain was still lashing down, and though the wipers were swishing at a frantic pace, it was difficult to see out of the windscreen. But Pippa was in safe hands as Clemmie was expertly navigating the causeway even as the sea sloshed restlessly on either side of them, waves licking the road and the van’s tyres in grey gusts.
Lights twinkled in the distance as they drove onto the island. Clemmie gave Pippa a quick rundown of key places, such as The Story Shop– the quaint bookshop on Lighthouse Lane owned by her best friend Amelia– and the lighthouse– home to famous artist Dilly Waters– and The Sea Glass Restaurant, a converted boat restaurant which was moored at the end of the jetty. Finally, Clemmie pointed proudly to the pink thatched cottage that housed the café that she owned with her granny.
‘I bet this place is gorgeous when the sun is out,’ said Pippa. ‘You wouldn’t think it’s July.’
‘Every season is special,’ confirmed Clemmie. ‘It’s an amazing place to live, and there’s always something going on, like the convention. I bet that when it kicks off tomorrow we’ll see a lot of men in waistcoats and women with magnifying glasses.’
‘My kind of people!’ Pippa replied, grinning.
‘Clockmaker’s Cottage is up on the hill between Cockle Bay Cove and Smuggler’s Rest Hotel,’ Clemmie said as they followed the drenched bunting that hung between every lamppost.
‘Do you know much about Walter and Horace Vale?’
‘They grew up here on the island and Clockmaker’s Cottage was their childhood home. Walter’s wife, Agatha, was also brought up here, on Puffin Island Farm. Horace moved to London at the start of their clockmaking partnership, but Walter and Agatha made Clockmaker’s Cottage their own and stayed in it until their passings. Horace now owns it, but as far as I know he’s never returned to the island until now.’
‘I wonder why he’s finally coming back after all this time?’
Clemmie shrugged. ‘Who knows? Here we are.’
Despite the rain, Clockmaker’s Cottage was a picture-perfect dream, the sort of place that looked as though it was straight out of a romcom film set. Perched just above the cliffs, its weathered stone walls were darkened by the rain, the deep slate roof slick with water, while the crooked chimney pots looked as though they’d been lifted from a children’s storybook. The wonky old windows, their original wavy glass still intact, shimmered as light flickered from inside, and the front door, painted a cheerful blue, proudly displayed a brass knocker shaped like a tiny clock face.
Pippa stared. ‘Wow! It looks even better in real life.’
Clemmie put the van in park. ‘Let me get your suitcase. I’m assuming a key must have been left for you in the lock box?’
‘Yes, and I can’t thank you enough for the lift. I was minutes away from being thoroughly waterlogged in my wedding dress.’
Clemmie smiled. ‘You’re very welcome. It looks like you have limited supplies with you, so take these…’ Clemmie handed over a pile of sandwiches, cakes, and cookies. ‘These are today’s leftovers. You should take them, and if you pop by the café in the morning I’ll make sure there’s a full English waiting for you before the convention starts.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’
‘But I’d suggest changing out of the wedding dress before then, otherwise tongues will wag.’
Pippa laughed. ‘It’s first on my to-do list! Thank you again.’
After Pippa climbed out of the van and Clemmie grabbed the suitcase out of the back, she watched her drive away, the tyres spraying water through the puddles. She stood at the gate, the bottom of her dress now thoroughly ruined, but all in all, she felt slightly steadier than she had a few hours earlier.
Clockmaker’s Cottage looked beautiful and she couldn’t wait to get inside. This was just what she needed– a place to escape today’s chaos, and to spend the weekend immersed in the thing she loved the most before she had to go back and face the music.
