The Clockmaker's Wife

by Daisy Wood

  ‘Gillian’s an excellent cook,’ Nathan said. ‘I’d eat here every day if I could.’

  Ellie liked him immediately. He was shorter and stockier than Max, not so obviously good-looking but with a benevolent, amused expression that made him just as attractive. He worked in television, producing documentaries, while Max was a garden designer. Ellie sat back, listening to the conversation and trying to work out the dynamic between Gillian and her son. There seemed to be some resentment about Christmas, which Gillian had spent with ‘great friends’ in the country, while Max had stayed with Gillian’s ex-husband and his second wife. Max’s sister, Lucy, had escaped the drama by going to South Africa.

  ‘And how is your father?’ Gillian asked her son. ‘Still pretending to be twenty?’

  ‘Much as ever,’ he replied. ‘You’ll be glad to hear he’s suffering from gout.’

  ‘Oh yes, that is rather gratifying,’ she said, with a thin-lipped smile. ‘Such an old man’s affliction! He must hate it.’

  ‘Families, eh?’ Max turned to Ellie. ‘So tell us about yours. Your mother Alice is my ma’s half-sister, is that right? Did she not want to come over here with you?’

  ‘She’s in her eighties,’ Ellie said. ‘And she broke her hip not that long ago, so the journey would have been a bit much. She sends her love, though.’

  She found herself looking at Gillian. ‘Do send ours back,’ her aunt said stiffly. ‘And best wishes for a speedy recovery.’

  Max frowned. ‘Come on, Mother! You can do better than that. Why don’t we Skype her right now?’

  ‘Mom’s not up to Skyping,’ Ellie said. ‘New technology’s not really her thing. But it would be amazing if you had any photographs that I could share with her.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know anything about my English grandparents, so whatever you could tell me would be much appreciated. I know my grandfather was a clockmaker. Is it true he looked after Big Ben during the war?’ She corrected herself. ‘The clock at the Palace of Westminster, I mean.’

  ‘Really? First I’ve heard of it.’ Max turned to his mother, raising an eyebrow.

  Gillian frowned. ‘That might have been just a family myth. When I was growing up, he had a clock repair shop. He used to restore long-case clocks, that was his passion, but he could never bear to sell them once he’d finished. There were about twenty in his workshop when he died. My mother got rid of them all, apart from the one I managed to rescue.’

  ‘I was hoping to go up the clock tower,’ Ellie said.

  ‘Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,’ Gillian replied. ‘You have to be resident here and arrange the visit through your MP, well in advance.’

  So that was that. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about Arthur’s first wife?’ Ellie hazarded. It was worth a try, surely.

  ‘You suppose right,’ Gillian said, snatching up their empty bowls and stacking them with a clatter. ‘I can’t recall my father even mentioning her name. I suppose he didn’t want to upset my mother. Anyway, she died several years before I was born.’

  ‘Do you know how she died?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘Haven’t the faintest idea, I’m afraid.’ She dumped the bowls in the sink and stood there for a moment with her head lowered, staring at them.

  ‘But what about photographs?’ Max reminded her. ‘I seem to remember once looking through an album with you.’

  ‘God knows where that is.’ Gillian gave a brittle laugh. ‘I had to tidy everything away before the decorators came and what with Christmas, I still haven’t had a moment to sort myself out.’

  ‘Come on, surely you can find it somewhere?’ Max said. ‘Ellie’s come all this way to see us. There must be something you can show the poor girl.’

  ‘Dear God! Will you let the matter drop?’ Gillian snapped. Bright spots of colour burned in her pale cheeks and her eyes were unnaturally bright. She seemed on the verge of hysteria.

  Even Max looked startled. ‘All right, all right. There’s no need to throw a hissy fit.’

  ‘Stay out of things you don’t understand.’ Then Gillian turned to Ellie and said abruptly, spitting out the words like bullets, ‘I know why you’re really here. Quite frankly, I’d have respected you far more if you’d told the truth, rather than faking some spurious interest in genealogy.’

  There was an appalled silence. ‘I-I’m not sure what you mean,’ Ellie stammered at last, hot with embarrassment. ‘I don’t have any ulterior motive, I promise. I just wanted to meet you, that’s all.’

  Max pushed back his chair. ‘Mother! What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gillian said, not sounding sorry in the slightest, ‘but I felt it was time to confront the issue rather than dancing around it.’ She leant against the kitchen island. ‘I have a migraine coming on, as a matter of fact, and I’ve said all I have to say on the matter. Would you excuse me? I want to go upstairs for a lie-down. You can let yourselves out.’ Without waiting for a reply, she marched out of the room.

  Max, Ellie and Nathan were left staring at each other in dismay. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Ellie said, her cheeks burning. ‘I feel awful, but I honestly have no idea what all that was about.’

  ‘She’s the one who should be apologising,’ Max said. ‘She’s behaved disgracefully, inviting you here and then treating you so rudely. I would never have suggested—’ He broke off abruptly.

  So that explained Gillian’s apparent change of heart; the lunch had been Max’s idea, not hers.

  ‘But it’s not like her to be quite so … outspoken,’ Nathan said. ‘I wonder what’s really the matter? Something must have brought this on.’

  ‘Well, it can’t be the menopause. We went through that particular hell ten years ago,’ Max said as he stood. ‘Come on, Ellie. We’ll take you for coffee in our favourite pub to make up for the histrionics.’

  ‘Let’s clear up the kitchen first.’ Nathan began collecting their glasses. ‘It’s not fair to leave Gillian with all the mess. And maybe you should invite her out for lunch some time, Max, and get to the bottom of all this. You know how much she’d like it.’

  Max sighed. ‘Do I have to? Things are so busy at the moment, and she’ll only spend the whole time nagging me about getting a proper job.’

  ‘Things aren’t busy, though, are they?’ Nathan said mildly. ‘It’s the middle of winter and nothing’s growing.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Max muttered, grabbing the cheese board so clumsily that a wedge of Brie fell on the floor. ‘You win. I’ll be a good son, although she doesn’t deserve it.’

  ‘You need to relax and stop grovelling,’ Max said to Ellie as they walked to the pub. ‘Ma has her moods, that’s all, though today’s was particularly extreme. She’ll come around to you in time.’

  ‘Not if she thinks I have some hidden agenda. Anyway, I might only be here for a couple of weeks,’ Ellie replied, shoving her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to chew her fingernails.

  ‘Not nearly long enough.’ He smiled. ‘Cheer up, though – at least you have us.’

  The Feathers could have doubled as a junk shop, it was crammed with so much bric-a-brac. The bar was a lofty room, double the usual ceiling height, with a strange assortment of objects hanging from its wooden beams: a painted fairground pony galloping next to an old-fashioned bicycle, its wicker basket crammed with flowers, flags and Chinese lanterns jostling for space with a huge model aeroplane, a Victorian birdcage, a single hunting boot and a dried-up leathery alligator that Ellie could only hope was plastic. A shaggy-haired terrier lay asleep in a basket, adding to the homely atmosphere. She would have to find her way back here again; it was the sort of place you could visit alone with a book or a laptop and feel comfortable. Nathan ordered drinks at the bar while she and Max sat in slouchy armchairs by the wood burning stove. Ellie felt herself gradually relax. Max was easy company and at least he seemed to take her at face value.

  ‘So you don’t remember our grandfather?’ she asked him.

  �
��No, he died when I was three or four. Must be coming up for thirty years ago.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘I can tell you about my grandmother but I suppose you’re not so interested in her. Now she was a piece of work, as the saying goes. She and my ma used to have the most almighty rows. Mavis went in for feuds; she was always fighting with somebody. Literally, sometimes. Ah, here’s Nathan.’

  Ellie didn’t normally take sugar in her coffee but she was still a little shaky. ‘I don’t think my mother had a great relationship with Mavis, that’s for sure,’ she said, stirring up the froth. ‘Then again, she’s not the most diplomatic person in the world, either. Funnily enough, there’s something about Gillian that reminds me of Alice. It’s sad, isn’t it, that the two of them have lost touch.’

  ‘So how come your mother ended up living in America?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘Because she fell in love with my dad. He came to the UK on a scholarship and they met on a peace march in 1961.’ Ellie smiled. ‘You should see the photographs. They were the original hippie couple: all long hair, beads and flower power.’

  Max snorted. ‘That doesn’t sound much like Gillian to me.’

  ‘No, but she’s forthright in the way my mother is. And they have a similar turn of phrase.’ Ellie frowned. ‘Why does she think I came here? Unless—’

  ‘Unless what?’ Max asked sharply.

  Ellie took the badge from her purse and laid it on the table. ‘I found this in my grandmother’s things.’

  ‘Ah,’ Nathan said, after a quick glance. ‘I can see why that might give you pause for thought.’

  ‘What is this?’ Max asked, picking it up.

  ‘The emblem of the Fascist party. Didn’t you learn anything at that posh school?’ Nathan turned to Ellie. ‘My family are Jewish and my gran was constantly lecturing me about the evils of Fascism. Her father fought in the Battle of Cable Street.’

  ‘As if Ellie’s going to have heard of that,’ Max said. She guessed he was none too certain either.

  ‘It kicked off when Oswald Mosley and his followers, the Blackshirts, went on one of their marches through the East End of London,’ Nathan explained. ‘In 1936, I think it was. Hundreds of Communists and Jews turned up to protest and there was a massive brawl in the streets, with the local women joining in as well. Gran emptied her chamber pot out of an upstairs window over a Blackshirt’s head. She always claimed it was her proudest moment.’

  ‘So she was one of the good guys.’ Ellie put the badge away. ‘What if my grandmother was a Fascist, though? And what if our grandfather was, too? His parents were German, after all. Maybe Gillian thinks I’ve come here to dig up the dirt on our family.’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure my mother would care that much if her father was a Fascist,’ Max said. ‘She’s very right wing.’

  ‘You should be able to do some research,’ Nathan said. ‘The British Union of Fascists might have a list of members. What do you know about your grandmother?’

  ‘Not much. Her name – Eleanor Spelman – and that’s about it. She lived for a while at an address in South London but I went there yesterday and the house doesn’t exist anymore. I guess it was bombed. She moved to somewhere in Oxfordshire after that so maybe I should try going there, too, though I’m not sure what good it will do.’ She sighed. ‘The family name was originally Spielmann, I think. That’s right, isn’t it, Max? Our grandfather’s parents came to England from Berlin in the early 1900s, and they were watch- and clockmakers.’

  ‘So far as I know.’ Max drained his cup. ‘Well, this is all very interesting but unfortunately I have a few phone calls to make. Ellie, it’s been a joy to meet you, despite the drama, and I hope we’ll see you again soon. Coming, Nat?’

  ‘In a minute,’ Nathan said. ‘We haven’t finished our coffee and anyway, I want to talk to Ellie some more.’

  ‘OK, see you at home. Bye, folks.’ Max shrugged on his leather jacket and sauntered off, checking himself in the mirror as he passed.

  ‘You must be so proud of your family,’ Ellie told Nathan. ‘I can’t fathom the thought of being descended from Hitler supporters.’

  ‘I wouldn’t jump to conclusions until you know more,’ he advised. ‘Why don’t you check out the Imperial War Museum? It’s not far from your apartment. They have some great exhibitions and a research room where the staff are really helpful. I could start digging, too, if you like.’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ Ellie beamed. ‘That would be amazing, thank you.’

  Nathan smiled back. ‘As Gillian kindly pointed out, I used to work on a family history show so I’ve picked up a few shortcuts. If Max can find out his grandfather’s date of birth, that would be a help.’

  ‘I don’t want to risk upsetting Gillian any more, so maybe we should leave Max out of this. Thanks, though, Nathan. I owe you.’

  Lunch with her aunt could hardly have gone any worse, Ellie thought as she walked home. She could make a story out of their meeting to amuse her mother, but Gillian clearly wasn’t going to be taking her on a personal tour around London any time soon.

  Chapter Eight

  Oxfordshire, November 1940

  Nell lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, as she had done countless times over the years. When she was young, she used to imagine the crack snaking across it was a river along which she could sail to the open sea and then far away. She was always dreaming of escape, of travelling to some distant town or city where nobody knew her and she could live exactly as she pleased. Yet now here she was, back in her childhood home with a baby in tow.

  She glanced at the watch Arthur had given her. There was another half hour till the evening news, when Big Ben would strike and they would be thinking of each other. People all over the country were encouraged to pray for loved ones as the notes rang out; the Silent Minute, it was called, and Arthur was prouder than ever.

  It had been a long and stressful day. Her mother had instructed her to arrive before dark in case a bombing raid left them stuck in a railway siding overnight, and although she and Alice had set off for Paddington Station first thing that morning, for a while it had looked as though they might not make the deadline. Her insistence on bringing the pram complicated matters, but she refused to leave the Ambassador behind. She had said a brief goodbye to Arthur in Westminster, then pushed her daughter through the parks and along the shabby, ruined streets to Paddington Station, where she’d had to tip the guard half a crown to have the pram stowed in the goods’ van. The train had been crowded and she’d spent the journey sitting on a soldier’s kitbag in the corridor with Alice on her lap. The baby was fussed over and handed from hand to hand like a good luck charm. Who could resist Alice, with her round, solemn face and inscrutable expression? She was unbearably precious. A squaddie’s eyes had softened as he looked at her and he’d had to turn away. Nell pretended she hadn’t seen.

  She’d retrieved the pram at Didcot station and they waited an hour or so in the café for the connecting train to arrive. Nell had felt numb, in limbo, and Alice was irritable, crying at the slightest provocation. Her cheeks were flushed despite the cold; either she was still teething or she had a temperature. Please don’t fall ill, Nell had prayed, wheeling her baby up and down the platform. Don’t make me a worse mother than I already am. By the time they were beginning the second leg of the journey, along the smaller branch line, she was unbearably tense. A couple of Land Girls – Dot and Marjorie, she discovered later – took pity on her and heaved the pram up into the carriage with an astonished Alice still sitting in it. Although their broad shoulders, muscular arms and capable hands made them pass for country folk, Nell could hear from their accents that they were Londoners. They came from Bethnal Green, they said, and used to work on the sweet counter in Woolworths. They’d thought helping out on a farm would be a lark but getting up early on these freezing mornings was torture and their nails were ruined. Still, at least there was plenty of food to be had. When they asked Nell how things were in London, she didn’t know
what to say. Her life there already seemed unreal: a jittery, fragmented dream, its long, monotonous hours punctuated by moments of terror or wild elation. She couldn’t put any of that into words for Dot and Marjorie, though, so she simply told them everyone was doing their best and that she would be glad of some uninterrupted sleep. There was an aerodrome several miles away from her parents’ house so they’d had the odd raid or two, her mother had reported, but nothing like the nightly bombardment London had suffered.

  The girls were travelling a few stops further along the line so when it was time for Nell and Alice to disembark, Dot jumped onto the platform and Marjorie lifted the pram down to her. They waved goodbye, giving cheery thumbs up signs before slamming the carriage door shut. Nell felt a curious sense of abandonment as the train drew away. There were still a couple of miles to walk but as luck would have it, a passing lorry full of Air Training cadets gave her and the baby a lift almost all the way, dropping them at the bottom of the lane that led to Orchard House, her childhood home. Dusk was falling as Nell hauled the Ambassador backwards over the gravelled drive with the last of her strength. Rose had opened the front door as soon as she approached, wiping her hands on a corner of her apron. ‘There you are,’ she’d said. ‘Just in time for tea.’

  Nell had felt both an immense weight dropping from her shoulders and a sense of disappointment in its place: as though she were returning from a thrilling, arduous adventure that had ended in failure. ‘Here we are indeed,’ she’d said, unstrapping Alice from the pram. ‘Thanks for having us, Ma.’

  It was a relief to hand the baby over, to have her mother lick her thumb and wipe the smuts from Alice’s face. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to see you,’ Rose said. ‘I was only worried in case – well, you know.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘Your father’s in the sitting room.’