it a gift, from me to you.’ Again, he winked at her.
‘Thanks, Billy, you really know how to spoil a girl.’
Holly took the box with her back into the house and put it to one side so she could concentrate on getting lunch prepared.
The soup was a success, judging by the speed in which it was devoured by the workers, and with their lunch break over the builders set to work helping Tom clear the garden. Holly wasn’t in a hurry to return to her sketches so she decided to occupy herself with the mysterious wooden box. Having laid some old newspaper on the kitchen table, she set about gently cleaning the box and its contents with soapy water and an old toothbrush. Technically speaking, the toothbrush hadn’t been old that morning when Tom had been using it, but it was now.
The box itself gave nothing away as to its purpose, other than some pretty carvings of the sun, moon, stars and what looked like clock faces. The glass ball was the easiest item to clean. It was about two inches in diameter and as Holly wiped away the dust, she could see that it was made of something other than clear glass. The orb had a perfectly smooth surface but, at its core, there was a small, silvery prism that reflected light out from its centre. It glinted softly in the warm sunlight. Setting the orb to one side, Holly concentrated her efforts on the cogs. Beneath the dust and grime the brass shone and that was when she noticed an inscription running around the edge of one of the larger cogs. The inscription was well worn and unreadable in places, but she could just about make out a few words. Reflection, was one, Key, another and she guessed another said Time.
‘Found something else to do to avoid the dreaded Mrs Bronson?’ Tom asked her. He was covered in scratches from his hard labours, but as Holly peeked out of the window at the garden she had to admit it was starting to take shape.
‘Billy found it in the outbuilding. I’ve cleaned it up, but I’ve still not got a clue what it is.’ Holly showed him the inscription on the cog.
‘“In time, reflection is the key to travelling”,’ Tom read.
Holly’s jaw dropped open. ‘How on earth did you read that? Some of the words have completely worn away.’
Tom beamed with superiority. ‘I keep telling you, I have hidden depths.’
‘Is it a well-known saying? I’ve not heard it before, what does it mean?’ she demanded.
‘Haven’t the foggiest.’ Tom shrugged.
‘Tom?’ Holly asked, eyeing him with suspicion now.
‘You know that stone plinth stuck in the middle of the garden with no apparent use? Well, I found a matching top hidden in the overgrowth. It has the same inscription written on it.’
‘Show me,’ Holly insisted, leaving the array of freshly polished brass cogs to sparkle on the kitchen table.
The stone slab was face-down in the dirt, half buried by years of leaf-fall. It was a deep grey colour with sparkles of quartz glistening through it. Despite working with a wide range of materials in her sculptures, Holly didn’t recognize the type of stone at all. The slab was perfectly round and, as Tom had described, it had an inscription, currently upside down, around its outer edge. There was also a large hole in the centre which looked like it would match the top of the plinth perfectly.
‘Considering it’s been buried beneath all of this mulch, I can’t believe how clean it is,’ Tom told her, shaking his head in disbelief.
Holly traced her fingers across its cold, smooth surface. Her fingers tingled as if a faint charge of electricity had flowed up from the stone and she pulled her hand away.
‘Does it feel weird to you?’ Holly asked, unsure if she had imagined it.
Tom gave her a puzzled look and then stroked the surface of the slab. ‘Feels like stone to me,’ he assured her. ‘What were you expecting it to feel like?’
Holly tentatively touched the stone again and this time there was no tingling sensation. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. ‘Nothing, it’s just me. Can we move it?’
‘And do what? You seriously think we can lift it onto the plinth?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Holly could visualize the stone circle balanced perfectly on top of the plinth and taking centre stage in the garden. It belonged in its rightful place and Holly wasn’t going to rest until it was moved.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to ask the builders?’
‘Are you a man or a mouse?’ Holly stood with her hands on her hips, challenging him.
‘I’m a man, of course. But it doesn’t help that my only partner in crime is a feeble woman.’
‘Just get on with it,’ warned Holly.
Holly put her hands on the stone again, almost hoping its latent power would help them with the task that lay ahead. Tom joined her and they dug their hands deep into the dirt to find a hold. As they lifted the slab, Tom’s face went a beautiful shade of puce and he grunted and groaned. Holly matched him groan for groan and could feel the veins in her neck throbbing with the effort. After what seemed like an eternity of laborious shuffling, they dropped the stone to the ground to take a rest.
‘Not bad,’ panted Tom.
‘Sure,’ gasped Holly. ‘We’ve moved it all of six inches.’ She looked over at the plinth, which was still about twenty feet away. ‘At this rate, we’ll get there in three days and two hernias.’
There was a tut-tut of disapproval behind her. Holly turned to see Billy shaking his head.
‘Mr C, I’m disappointed in you. You should know better than to treat your lady like a common labourer,’ he said, before turning around to his workmates who had followed him into the garden. ‘No offence, lads.’
Holly was about to tell Billy that heavy lifting was an occupational hazard as far as she was concerned, but then she thought better of it. ‘My knight in shining armour,’ she said.
Tom groaned as he tried to straighten his back. ‘Mine too,’ he said, winking at Billy.
Billy and his crew of builders lifted up the stone slab as if it were made of balsa wood and two minutes later they were lifting it over the plinth.
‘Hold on a minute,’ Holly shouted. She had realized that the inscription was still upside down.
With a little more effort, the slab was turned over and placed on top of the plinth. It was a perfect fit. Everyone gathered around the newly formed table and stared at it.
‘It’s a clock,’ one of Billy’s lads said.
‘And it’s telling me it’s time to get back to work,’ replied Billy pointedly.
The builders disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, leaving Holly and Tom alone with their puzzle. Billy’s lad had been right about it looking like a clock. The top had a large dial carved with Roman numerals in much the same way as a traditional clock. There was still a gaping hole about two inches deep in the centre of the dial where the top of the plinth didn’t reach the surface. It was only now that Holly noticed that there were grooves and notches in the upper surface of the plinth and this must
