Page 67 of The Clockmaker's Cottage
She knew she should sleep. She also knew she wasn’t going to because Wetherby had her now, hook, line, and sinker.
She turned the page.
They reappeared from the kitchen and Walter told us to take a seat. He and Horace stood in front of the fire while Agatha placed a pot of tea on the table and disappeared back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. Walter cleared his throat.
‘Gentlemen,’ Walter began, ‘you are here because you’re part of something rare. Horace and I have… an undertaking. One that will change horology forever,’ he added with a smile.
Horace sat in the armchair. ‘This project,’ he said, ‘requires secrecy. Total secrecy. Not because we fear competition, but because the world is not ready for what it will mean.’
At this point, Blake and I were exchanging glances.
‘This work is to be kept in the strictest confidence,’ Walter said. ‘Not a word to outsiders. Not to your friends, not to your families. Until the time comes, this project will be known only to a select few. Those in this room and Agatha.’
We all took a moment to let the words sink in.
‘The two of you will accompany Horace to London where you will be privy to every stage of the work, and you will receive a pay rise for your discretion and effort. The rest of the team in the workshop will know nothing about it. When the time comes, Blake, you’ll come back to the workshop and work with me to make the commission.’
Horace stood and clapped them both on the shoulder, the gesture brisk but warm.
Pippa took a sip of water. The pocket watch told her it was getting later and later but she desperately wanted to know everything about the secret project. She began reading the next chapter.
If you’d told me, that Tuesday morning, that I’d end the day being sworn to secrecy in a small cottage on a tidal island, I’d probably have thought you were deluded. But thankfully I already knew two things for certain:
I wasn’t being fired.
Whatever this secret project was, the Vale Brothers were taking it very, very seriously.
Walter and Horace now sat in the armchairs positioned at each end of the room. Walter nodded at Agatha through the glass in the kitchen door and she promptly appeared with two documents and two pens laid out on a tray. She placed them in front of us on the coffee table.
Horace pointed to the documents. ‘First,’ he said, ‘we have a formality to take care of.’
I eyed the paper.
‘This,’ he went on, ‘is a confidentiality agreement. A contract. Between the four of us, and by extension, the client.’ Horace paused. ‘The essence is simple. What we discuss in this room, regarding this project, does not leave these four walls. You may speak about it to one another, but only when necessary for the work. To anyone else, the project does not exist. The client does not exist. The watch does not exist.’
‘So it’s a watch?’ I murmured.
Walter shot me a quick look that said, Patience. Answers are coming.
Horace slid the top sheet towards the middle of the table, where we could all see it. Lines of typed text, headings, signature spaces.
Arthur leaned forward and skimmed the first paragraph. We both knew the Vale Brothers had wealthy people throwing money at them all the time. Some had their assistants ring up or send letters. Some turned up in person, all cufflinks and entitlement. Rarely a week went by without someone trying to commission something ‘special’.
‘We’ve worked on other commissions but we’ve never had to sign contracts before.’ I said.
‘This is different,’ Horace replied. ‘This isn’t a vanity piece. It’s a serious commission. And the terms of confidentiality are…’ He hesitated, as if searching for the least alarming word. ‘…Firm. This will pay you both well. Take as long as you need to read the contract before signing.’
I can remember looking at Arthur, who’d already picked up the fountain pen from the table. ‘I trust you,’ he declared before scrawling his name in bold loops that took up more than their fair share of the line. Then he handed the pen to me.
I read over the writing. There was a section that stated we could ‘not disclose, share, publish, or otherwise communicate’.
‘So… even once it’s made we can’t say a word about it?’ I asked. ‘Even if the client wears it in public and everyone knows it’s from you?’
‘They won’t. This is a prototype, but has huge potential to change history.’ Horace didn’t elaborate further.
‘Can we ask who the client is?’
Horace looked towards Walter, and I witnessed a look that I can only describe as strange.
