Page 13 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
The email had suggested the competition would have more than one winner, and Pippa assumed it would be someone as mad on clocks as her, or maybe it was one of the organisers of the convention? Instead of unnerving her, the idea of spending the weekend with a fellow clock lover– even if they were a stranger– made her almost giddy. It would be nice to spend time with someone who actually spoke her language, who wouldn’t glaze over the moment she said the word ‘escapement’. They’d have so much to talk about.
As per the instructions, she punched in the number 0210 on the lockbox and it swung open. But it was empty. Next, she tried the front door, and to her surprise it was unlocked. Pippa stepped inside.
It was properly cottagey. An umbrella stand stood next to a tiny table and there was a coat hanging from one of the mismatched hooks. She definitely wasn’t alone then!
She glanced into the living room to find the TV on, some kind of renovation show murmuring away in the background. The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee, with a hint of roasted garlic and herbs drifting in from the kitchen. She could see through to the dining table– Walter Vale’s actual dining table!– where a place had been set for one, complete with a napkin and a waiting wine glass. She unzipped her coat and hung it on a hook, left her suitcase at the foot of the stairs, balanced her rucksack on top, and propped the bag of food Clemmie had given her on the bottom step.
‘Hello,’ she shouted out. ‘Anyone home?’
She took a cautious step forward, her soggy wedding dress trailing behind her like a damp ghost. Then she heard it. Water running. And was that singing?
It was the chorus of Cher’s ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’.
The words were echoing through the walls, but sadly not sung by Cher herself. This voice was male. Dramatic. And unapologetically off-key.
She wondered whether to go about her business and settle in, or should she join in the chorus? Instead, she walked towards the singing and shouted ‘Hello’ again.
The water shut off.
Silence.
Pippa backed up a step.
Then, footsteps.
The bathroom door swung open and there he was.
Soaking, startled andstark naked.
‘AHHH!’ he screamed.
‘AHHHHH!’ Pippa screamed back, clamping her eyes shut before her hands flew up to cover her face.
‘Why didn’t you say you’d arrived?’
‘I shouted hello!’
‘Why are you wearing a wedding dress?’
‘Long story.’
‘You can uncover your eyes now.’
Pippa dropped her hands slowly. Thankfully, he’d grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.
His eyes widened as he scanned her from head to hem, and her heart began pounding as she came to a very unwelcome realisation.
His eyes met hers and the horror written all over his face perfectly matched hers.
Surely not.
Pippa was dying on the spot, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish as they stared at each other.
She’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse, but now it had plummeted even lower.
Theo Blake. The man she loved to hate, and the one man she’d hoped would never cross her path again in this lifetime.
What the hell was her university nemesis doing here?
