Page 50 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
Yet she knew the real reason was that she wanted to spend a little more time with Theo.
ChapterTwelve
Pippa followed the road towards the lighthouse, zipping her raincoat as high as it would go. The top of the lighthouse vanished into low cloud and mist, as she followed the signs, nailed to wooden posts along the slick jetty towards the lighthouse door, reading:Clock Convention This Way.
Dilly Waters was the owner of the lighthouse, and a world-famous artist. Pippa had seen images of the lighthouse online, but in real life it exceeded all her expectations. It was magnificent and well kept, and she could imagine the spectacular view from the top in better weather. The door gleamed, the brass handle shone, and a volunteer stood just inside with a smile, offering Pippa a programme listing all the different exhibitions on the ground floor.
‘It’s a little quiet in there,’ the volunteer said. ‘Not quite what we expected in terms of turnout, what with the change in weather. You do know the causeway closes in the next thirty minutes, and the last bus has already left the island?’ they asked, looking panicked. ‘If you don’t want to be stranded, there isn’t much time to go!’
‘I can’t think of anything better than being stranded on such a beautiful island,’ Pippa replied with a reassuring smile. A large part of her was not-so-secretly hoping the weather wouldn’t clear up anytime soon.
She shook the water from her coat and welcomed the warmth and dryness as she stepped inside and glanced around. The volunteer was right: there were few enthusiasts in sight. That wasn’t to say the space was empty, though. The circular room had been given over to the clockmakers, and every shape, surface, and corner had been used. The floorboards curved in smooth rings, guiding the eye around twelve plinths that had been positioned like the hours on a giant clock face, each holding a single extraordinary piece: a shining regulator with a slender pendulum, a travel clock with ornate hands, a tiny pocket watch presented on a velvet cushion.
Curved tables hugged the rounded wall, each displaying an assortment of creations. Wooden mantel clocks with clean lines. Brass carriage clocks with small glass windows. Modern clocks made from steel and frosted acrylic. Restored antique pieces polished to warm, glowing finishes. It was a mixture of old and new that worked together, as if the room enjoyed having them here. Pippa felt like she had died and gone to heaven.
The room was wrapped in the soft noise of ticking as Pippa began to walk around, her eyes travelling over a set of pocket watches arranged by era, then a selection of unusual designs that used strings or spheres or angled panels to tell time. She paused near a table where a little girl and her mother were testing the chime on a small brass clock. The child laughed when the sound rang out with a clear, bright note. Pippa smiled, knowing that she was just like that at her age. A man in a wool coat bent over a chronometer, explaining something quietly to his partner, and a pair of what looked to be students examined an open movement with matching expressions of concentration.
She paused near a wooden case with glass doors, admiring the rows of tiny gears inside; a small plaque explained that the clock had belonged to a botanist who carried it on expeditions. Then she spotted Theo standing in an alcove by the two o’clock plinth. He was speaking to a man in a grey suit who was holding a pocket watch between them. Theo was smiling and the man listened with steady interest, nodding at intervals.
The sight of it made something warm spread through Pippa’s chest. She made her way towards them while still looking at the displays.
The man was now congratulating Theo on his new job, full of smiles and enthusiasm. ‘I still can’t quite believe Arthur Blake is your grandfather. You come from good stock.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Theo.
‘The moment you mentioned who your grandfather was at the interview, that sealed it for us. Entirely. Legacy matters in this work. Craft matters. And if you’re anything like Arthur Blake, if even a fraction of that skill and integrity has been passed down, then we’re honoured to have you on the team.’
Pippa’s mind drifted back to the job offer she’d received after her mum died– an opportunity to work abroad in a place practically worshipped for its clockmaking heritage. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime chance, but she hadn’t been able to take it; her dad needed her, and then Rob happened.
When she’d once dared to mention the idea of an overseas adventure, experiencing a new language, new culture, new life, Rob had looked at her as though she’d suggested joining a circus.
He’d never wanted to leave the town he’d grown up in. That was the moment, she realised now, that her dream had quietly curled up and died.
But hearing and watching Theo now… that dream of change wriggled, just a little. There was nothing stopping her from going after what she wanted now.
‘Don’t forget to pop into our New York shop,’ the man said, patting Theo on the back. ‘The team would be thrilled to meet you. And is your wife coming with you?’
Theo didn’t flinch. He didn’t even pause. His expression stayed steady.
‘No, she won’t, we’re separated,’ he replied.
Just that. Clear and simple.
The man blinked, then gave a quick nod. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But do come into the office and we can grab dinner. It’s been lovely to catch up but I’d best go as I need to get off the island before the causeway shuts.’ With nothing more to add, the man headed towards the door. Theo turned back and immediately noticed Pippa watching him.
Pippa felt something shift inside her. The word floated through her head again before she could swat it away, bright and insistent and wildly unhelpful.Separated.Her heart gave a ridiculous, traitorous little kick. Oh.Oh.She had known he was married. Of course she had. That’s why Theo had been filed away neatly in her brain underUnavailable, Don’t Even Think About It, Be Sensible, Pippa. A closed door. A polite boundary. A reason to keep her feelings in check… and now, suddenly, that door wasn’t locked anymore. It wasn’t open either, not even close, but it was… ajar, and that was enough to send her entire nervous system into mild chaos.
She had literally broken up with Rob about five minutes ago. Even though, emotionally, their relationship had been over a long time ago, her life was still mid-reboot. She was not in any way, shape, or form ready to be processing new romantic possibilities involving kind, clever men with soft eyes and complicated pasts. This was terrible timing. Catastrophically bad timing. And yet she felt her pulse quickening.
How long had he been separated? Weeks? Months? Years? Had it been messy? Quiet? Mutual? Painful? Did he miss her? Was he relieved? Did he even want to be with anyone right now? She had absolutely no idea. Which was the point. She knew nothing about his headspace. Nothing about what the wordseparatedmeant to him. Nothing about whether he was still emotionally tangled up in his marriage or carefully rebuilding himself one day at a time.
For all she knew, he was barely holding it together, and here she was, standing two feet away, internally short-circuiting over a single word.
Get a grip, Pippa.She dragged in a slow breath, but it was no use. The questions kept coming.
