Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Theo’s words – she wasn’t you – were still hanging in the air, and his hand was still tipping her chin upwards towards his face. It was just a light touch, but enough to make her whole body jolt with awareness.
‘Pippa,’ he said quietly. ‘If Sebastian hadn’t come between us—’
Pippa didn’t let him finish, her whole body tingling with anticipation as she moved forward and kissed him.
There was no thinking involved whatsoever.
One second, she was staring at him, the next, she’d closed the tiny gap between them.
His lips were warm and soft, and he was surprised for half a second, and then he kissed her back.
He pulled her closer under the duvet. She kissed him again, slower this time, almost testing the moment to see if it was real. She was still wearing his old university T-shirt and lounge pants, and there was nothing remotely glamorous happening here, and yet it felt … perfect. Real.
Theo’s thumb brushed her cheek, and she shifted closer without thinking, tucking herself into him.
He smelled like sleep and warmth and something that made her feel strangely safe.
He pulled back a fraction, forehead resting against hers.
They were close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips.
‘I always wanted you, from the second I laid eyes on you at Freshers’ Week,’ murmured Pippa. ‘If only we’d spoken, things might have worked out differently.’
‘Let’s not think about that. We’re here now, stranded on an island, and still the rain is falling.’
He was right. There was something so romantic about being cooped up under the duvet with the rain running down the windowpane.
She leaned in and kissed him again. This time, the kiss deepened immediately and there was no hesitation, their hands exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t long before Pippa was pushing down on Theo’s lounge pants and wriggling out of her own.
‘I want you,’ she whispered, throwing caution to the wind and living in the moment.
That was all he needed.
He kissed her again, years of tension and missed chances finally being made up for.
Her hands slid up the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.
He shifted, rolling so she was beneath him, bracing himself over her so gently.
She could feel the heat of him through the material of her T-shirt, and willed him to pull it over her head.
When she ran her fingers down his back, his breath hitched.
‘Pippa,’ he started, but the sentence went unfinished.
The room felt warm and blurry around them as they moved together, the duvet rustling somewhere near their feet.
His hands slid over her hips, grasping the hem of her T?shirt, fingertips brushing her skin, sending a shiver right through her.
She whispered his name, barely audibly, and he stilled for a beat, forehead dropping to her shoulder with a quiet, shaky exhale before he kissed her there. Slow and certain.
He lifted his head, eyes meeting hers again, making sure.
She nodded once, breathless.
They came back together, the kiss deepening again as she pulled him closer, feeling the tension in him, the urgency, the relief. It felt natural, instinctive, like something they were always meant to do.
His mouth brushed her jaw, her throat, warm and soft, making her arch into him. Every thought she’d been clinging to earlier dissolved, replaced by one simple, overwhelming truth: she wanted him. Here and now. And so she took what she wanted.
* * *
It was lunchtime and the rain had hit new levels of intensity. Proper biblical stuff. If you stepped outside today, the appropriate dress code would be a bikini and flippers. Maybe a snorkel, if you wanted to be fancy.
Pippa had decided they were going to embrace the chaos, so she’d set up a carpet picnic in the living room, using a picnic blanket she’d found stuffed in the cupboard, plus all the cheese and crackers they’d bought from the deli.
Theo had opened a bottle of wine because apparently he’d decided the rain meant day drinking was now socially acceptable.
Wetherby’s book lay on the blanket between them like an uninvited but necessary guest.
Just as Pippa was about to cut into the cheese, a loud beep sounded outside.
She jolted upright. ‘Who’s that?’ She scrambled to the window.
There, in the café’s little blue van, were Clemmie and Amelia, both waving madly at her like they were auditioning for some emergency-themed girl band. They were dressed head to toe in rain gear, shiny waterproofs flapping dramatically in the wind.
‘Something is going on,’ Pippa declared, already hurrying to the door.
The moment she opened the front door, Clemmie shouted over the storm, ‘St Swithin’s has a lot to answer for! Last time it rained on the fifteenth of July, in 1965, it rained for forty days! No one could get on or off the island!’
Before Pippa could respond, Amelia and Clemmie began launching sandbags from the van like they were competing in some extreme sport. They hit the grass with heavy thuds.
‘There’s a chance the cottage will flood,’ Clemmie added, ‘so get these sandbags up around the door before the water decides to move in permanently.’
Theo appeared behind Pippa in the doorway, slipping on his coat mid-stride. He began scooping up the sandbags from the verge and stacking them neatly by the cottage door.
Pippa stood and watched as Theo shot her a grin over his shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ he teased, ‘you just stand there and supervise.’
‘There’s no point both of us getting wet!’
Theo moved twenty sandbags in all and was soaked through by the time he finished. After he and Pippa had waved off Clemmie and Amelia, he hung the coat over the back of the kitchen chair. ‘Another glorious British summer.’
Theo shook his hair, making Pippa squeal as water sprayed over her.
She threw him a towel and ran back to the safety of the living room, which now looked like a cosy indoor campsite: blanket spread out, cushions stolen off the sofa, two mismatched wine glasses, and an unnecessarily large selection of cheeses that Pippa absolutely did not regret buying.
She sat cross-legged, balancing a piece of Brie on a cracker. ‘This might be the greatest idea I’ve ever had,’ she announced. ‘A carpet picnic.’
Theo took a sip of wine, considering her. ‘Your modesty is astounding.’
She scrunched up her nose as she took in the blue cheese sitting in front of him. ‘You’re coming nowhere near me after eating that smelly cheese.’
Theo shrugged, unbothered, then grinned.
She nudged his knee with hers. ‘You’re leaving crumbs everywhere.’
He looked genuinely offended. ‘That is a lie. I am a responsible cheese-eater.’
Pippa raised an eyebrow.
Theo glanced down at his T-shirt, which absolutely had a sprinkling of cracker debris across it. ‘Okay,’ he admitted. ‘I am a slightly irresponsible cheese-eater.’
‘Do you think it’s actually going to rain for forty days? The island could potentially sink.’
‘Possibly. You know, the last time the island flooded would have been the same year as the secret commission.’
Pippa picked up another cracker and pointed it in his direction. ‘There are only two people still alive who know what it actually was.’
He nodded slowly, following her logic. ‘Horace.’
‘And your grandfather,’ Pippa added.
Theo leaned back on his hands, staring at her for a moment. ‘I know. I’ve been thinking about that. He’s never said a word to me about it. Wetherby has passed away, so whatever he knew is gone. Such a shame the relevant pages were missing out of that book.’ He let out a long, thoughtful breath.
Pippa looked around the cottage, then stood up holding her glass of wine.
She walked to the door leading to the snug and stood by the desk.
It was an old roll-top, its curved lid opened to reveal neatly stacked notepaper and a glass inkwell, still half full.
A fountain pen lay beside it, waiting patiently, as if its owner had only stepped out for a moment.
‘Look at this, actual ink and paper.’
Theo was now standing in the doorway, sipping his wine.
‘That was Agatha’s desk. One thing my grandfather did tell me was that Agatha was a prolific writer.
He stayed here for a while and each night he said she would sit in here and write letters to her cousin, and a diary.
She was the one who wrote the clock manuals and instructions for every item they sold. ’
‘Yes, I read that she was the one who documented and logged all the instructions for the brothers. She was the unsung hero of the Vale horological dynasty.’
‘Agatha was basically the spreadsheet queen of the twentieth century. I bet she had better handwriting, too.’
‘Do you think your grandfather would talk about it if you asked him now?’
‘I’ve thought about that. I know he’s a very loyal man, and according to Wetherby’s book they signed a contract, which he would undoubtedly take very seriously.’
Pippa glanced around the room. Clocks lined every wall. Grandfather clocks. Mantel clocks. Cuckoos. Skeleton clocks. All silent. All stopped.
She put her wine glass down on the coffee table. ‘What if… What if one of these clocks holds the secret?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe one of them has a hidden compartment.’
‘You’ve been watching too many crime documentaries.’
‘Let’s get them working.’
‘Pardon?’
Pippa repeated herself. ‘Let’s get them working. The convention is cancelled and the roads are flooded, so unless we find a canoe, we’re stuck here for a while.’
‘All fifty of them? That’s going to be hell of a tick-tocking!’
‘Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Pippa, if there was a clue in these clocks, don’t you think someone would’ve found it decades ago?’
‘They likely didn’t have a clock nerd with an encyclopaedic brain and a woman fuelled by a passion for restoring clocks,’ she said with a glint in her eye.