The Clockmaker's Secret

Chapter 2

2

‘Will you be staying on another week, Mr. Hardy?

Mrs. Greyson, the stern-faced elderly landlady of Lakeview Bed & Breakfast, an establishment which lived up to only two of its three labels, was waiting in the gloomy hall when Slim entered through the front door. Cold and aching from the long ride, and still spooked from how close a swerving Escort with a blown-out engine had come to reducing him to mincemeat, he had hoped to avoid a confrontation until he had at least taken a shower.

‘I haven’t decided yet,’ he said. ‘Can I let you know tomorrow?’

‘It’s only that I need to know whether to advertise your room.’

Slim had seen no other customers in the four-room B&B. He forced a smile for Mrs. Greyson, but as he started past her for the stairs, he paused.

‘Say, you don’t know of anywhere locally that does valuations, do you?’

‘Valuations? Of what?’

Slim lifted his wrist and waved the generic watch he had picked up in a Boots sale a year ago. ‘Thought I might pawn this,’ he said. ‘I was thinking it might be time for an upgrade.’

Mrs Greyson wrinkled her nose. ‘I can tell you how much that’s worth. Nothing.’

Slim smiled. ‘I’m serious. It belonged to my father. It’s a family heirloom.’

Mrs Greyson shrugged as though aware he was spinning a lie. ‘I’m sure you’d be wasting your time, but if you’re really serious, you’ll find somewhere in Tavistock. They have a market every Saturday. It sells all kinds of junk, and no doubt you’d find someone willing to take that off your hands for a very small fee.’

‘Tavistock? Where’s that?’

‘Other side of Launceston. In Devon.’ This last was said with a wrinkled nose, as though to exist beyond the Cornish border was the most heinous of crimes.

‘Is there a bus?’

Mrs Greyson sighed. ‘Why don’t you just rent a car? What kind of person comes to Cornwall without a car?’

The kind who no longer has a driver’s license, Slim wanted to say, but didn’t. Her prejudices ran deep enough already without knowledge of his drink-driving ban.

‘I told you, I’m trying to be environmentally sensitive. I’m attempting to get in touch with my earthly side.’

‘How nice for you.’ Another sigh. ‘We’ll, there’s a timetable pinned to the door of your room, as I’ve told you before.’

Slim didn’t remember whether she had told him or not. True, there was something, but it was faded to near illegibility and most likely years out of date.

‘Thanks,’ he said, giving her a smile.

‘Honestly, you don’t know how lucky you are now that First Bus has started operating in North Cornwall. Used to be, there was only one bus to Camelford all week. It left at two p.m. on Tuesday and you had to wait a week to get home again. Imagine getting stuck in Camelford for a week? An hour’s enough for most people.’

‘That bad, is it?’

Mrs. Greyson missed Slim’s gentle sarcasm. ‘They’ve been after a bypass for years. At least now the buses go twice a day. That was Blair, that was, sorted it out. Things have gone downhill since the Tories got back in. They were after the sea pool at Bude, then the public toilets in—’

‘Thank you, Mrs. Greyson,’ Slim said.

Mrs. Greyson turned back towards the kitchen, mouth still moving silently as though words continued to fall out like drips from a leaking tap, her hands clumsily shuffling a clutch of bills and bank statement envelopes. Slim had just begun to hope the conversation was over when she stopped and turned back. ‘Will you be going out for dinner again tonight?’

Penleven had a single shop that shut at six p.m., and a single pub that stopped serving food at eight-thirty. He had half an hour to make it to his lonely table in the family room or it was a Cup Noodle and a tuna sandwich for the third night in a row. While Slim had his reasons for his extended stay in Cornwall, living up to his nickname name wasn’t one of them.

He nodded. ‘I think I will,’ he said.

‘Well, don’t forget your key,’ she said, something she had said to him every night of his three-week stay. ‘I’m not getting up to let you back in.’