Page 3 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
So they weren’t getting married under a clock tower. Instead, they were getting married in a beige hotel ballroom with a beige carpet and no doubt beige biscuits being served to the waiting guests in the foyer.
Pippa stood and padded to the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Outside, the rain hammered down in wild sheets, just as Rob had predicted. Inside, her thoughts were no calmer than the storm, swirling and crashing just as fiercely on this dismal day.
Rose came to stand beside her, pulling her robe tighter. ‘Is it just nerves?’
Pippa hesitated, then nodded.
* * *
An hour later, the Bentley glided along the country lanes, its glossy black frame cutting through the steady July rain. Satin ribbons trailed from the bonnet, damp and fluttering, their shine dulled beneath a low, grey sky. Inside, Pippa sat rigidly in the back seat, her dress spilling all around her as she looked out the window. The hotel loomed nearer. It wasn’t the venue she’d wanted, and she couldn’t shake that from her mind.
‘Are you okay?’ her father asked gently, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. George Bell wasn’t a man prone to speeches, but he had a sentimental side and the sight of his only daughter in a wedding dress had left him watery-eyed and very proud.
‘I think so,’ Pippa said, although her stomach quivered like an antique clock about to strike the hour.
‘I have something for you,’ said George, reaching into his pocket with a nervous kind of reverence. ‘Something old. This was your grandfather’s gift to your grandmother on their honeymoon. They gave it to me on my wedding day, and I gave it to your mum just after we married. It’s been passed down through the family, and I know she would want you to have it today. I’m also sorry your grandfather wasn’t well enough to leave the care home today.’ He passed her a small, square box. Pippa blinked back tears and her heart gave a painful thump at the thought of her mum.
She opened the lid slowly. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate pocket watch.
‘Now, you know how much I love clocks, but this one has always been a mystery. It’s never worked and we were always planning to get it restored, but your mum just liked looking at it and wasn’t in a rush to send it away for repair. She said it was too precious to take out with her, so it didn’t matter whether it was working or not. It was a thing of beauty… just like your mum, and just like you.’ He smiled softly, eyes shining. ‘Maybe it’s something you can look at after the wedding?’
‘It’s beautiful. I’m sure I can get it working again.’
‘Your mum would be proud of you,’ her dad said, clearing his throat.
Pippa had been twenty-two when her mum died. Caroline Bell had been her daughter’s anchor: witty, warm, and wonderfully eccentric; the kind of woman who wore perfume to bed and read poetry out loud while making toast. She was the one who’d first nurtured Pippa’s love of clocks, taking her to antiques fairs and flea markets, slipping her old watch parts to tinker with as a child, and giving her a delicate gold watch with the messageTime is what you make itetched inside for her eighteenth birthday.
Caroline was diagnosed with a rare form of ovarian cancer just a few months after Pippa finished Cambridge University. Itwas aggressive, and by the time they found it, there were few treatment options. Pippa moved back home immediately and spent the next six months by her mum’s side, reading to her, caring for her, watching her fade in ways she wasn’t prepared for.
Near the end, when the days had long since blurred into one another, Caroline had asked Pippa to lie beside her on the bed.
‘I need to tell you something before it’s too late.’
Pippa tried to smile but she had to muster up every bit of strength not to let the tears roll.
‘I want you to always remember how much I love you, and how proud I am of you. Please keep my memory alive. Any grandchildren that pop up in the future– I want to be a part of their life.’
Pippa swallowed, despite the lump in her throat, and couldn’t stop the tears. ‘They will know everything about you and how much I love you, I promise.’
‘There’s also something else.’ Caroline reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘I need you to listen to me.’ She took a breath as Pippa looked into her eyes. ‘Promise me something.’
‘Anything.’
‘Don’t lose yourself.’ She said it slowly, clearly. ‘Not for anyone. Not for comfort. Not because it feels easier.’
Pippa nodded, tears slipping silently down her face.
‘And don’t settle,’ Caroline went on. ‘I mean it. Not for a life that’s just fine. Not for a man who doesn’t really see you.’
Pippa swallowed. ‘I won’t.’
Caroline smiled faintly. ‘If you ever find love the way I found it with your dad– really find it– then that will be something very special. But don’t go looking for it just to tick a box. When it happens, you’ll know it’s right because it will feel right.’
She squeezed Pippa’s hand again. ‘And if you ever get married…’
Pippa laughed softly. ‘You’re giving me marriage advice now?’
‘Yes,’ Caroline said, ‘because I won’t be there to do it later.’ She paused. ‘If you marry someone, he should worship everything about you. Not tolerate you, not manage you–worshipyou. He should love everything about you and– most importantly– he should listen to you.’
