around the outer edge, there was an assortment of symbols, similar to those on the box, etched beautifully into the stone surface.
‘It’s a sundial,’ Holly said.
‘It’s going to make a great feature in the garden.’
‘All I need to do now is work out how to fit all the cogs into it and get it to work,’ Holly replied, eager to return to the kitchen to retrieve the wooden box and its contents.
‘Well, I’ve done all the hard work, so I’ll leave the rest to you. I’ve still got plenty of clearing to do. Unless you want to help me?’ offered Tom.
‘Didn’t you hear what Billy said? I’m not a common labourer,’ grinned Holly.
Holly spent the rest of the afternoon fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. When she had finished, all the cogs were in place in the centre of the dial. Uppermost were four claws, pointing towards the skies, reaching out and waiting desperately to grasp the glass orb. Holly dropped the orb into the claws and it rattled into place, although the claws were opened too wide to hold it snugly. The reflection from the sun as it glinted off the prism deep inside the orb was painfully bright. Holly called Tom over and they both stepped back to admire their new garden centrepiece.
‘I thought a sundial was supposed to use shadows, not reflections from the sun,’ Tom said as he squinted at the orb. He tried to push it down further into the mechanism to see if the claws would close further around it, but the dial creaked stubbornly and refused to move. ‘Looks like you didn’t put it together properly.’
Holly thumped him.
‘What was that for?’
‘You’re not supposed to force the claws like that.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Tom.
‘I just do,’ replied Holly, a frown appearing on her brow. She didn’t know anything about sundials, but this one made her feel uncomfortable. She removed the orb and put it back in the box.
‘I’ll put this somewhere safe. I don’t suppose it’s a good idea reflecting sunlight across the garden when there’s so much deadwood still around.’
‘If that’s a hint, then I’ll get back to work. Time is running out.’
Tom’s words sent a shiver down Holly’s spine. She had a sudden sense of foreboding that she couldn’t quite explain.
The house felt empty. Tom had left for Belgium in the early hours of the morning. Holly had clung onto him until his taxi arrived and Tom had had to prise her fingers away from her vice grip on the lapels of his jacket as she gave him one final kiss, a kiss that would have to last her for six whole weeks.
‘It won’t be for long. I’ll be back before you know it and, besides, it’s less than two hours away by plane. If you need me, I could be back in no time at all.’
‘I should come with you. Whose stupid idea was it anyway for me to stay at home?’
‘Yours,’ answered Tom, as kindly as he could.
He was right, it had been her idea. She had to accept that she was at a critical point in her career. Moving out of the city when her work was starting to receive critical acclaim had been a huge risk. Moving out of the country would be vocational suicide.
She had retreated to her bed, where she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity as she sensed the distance growing between them by the minute. She knew she was being self-indulgent; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been on her own before. She could quite easily fend for herself, but that wasn’t the point. Her dream had been to move into the village with Tom, not to be on her own. As she lay in bed, the cheerful birdsong that accompanied the dawning of the new day only served to mock Holly. At least the weather was a little more sympathetic as the storm clouds gathered overhead. Holly pulled the bedcovers over her head and did her best to go back to sleep. It was Sunday so at least there would be no builders to look after today.
The birds had recovered from their early morning hysteria and settled into just the occasional midday tweets by the time Holly pulled on her sweats, tied back her hair and dragged herself into the kitchen to make a strong cup of coffee. She spotted Tom’s half-empty mug of coffee abandoned on the kitchen table and bit her lip to stifle a sob that appeared from nowhere.
‘You pathetic idiot,’ she told herself. ‘Mrs Bronson’s sculpture isn’t going to create itself.’
She took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back, willing herself to find the motivation to start moving. As she exhaled, her body sagged like a deflated balloon. She tried again and, before her resolve was allowed to falter a second time, she picked up Tom’s mug, gently washed it and put it away, out of sight.
Armed with her coffee, Holly shuffled into the study, where her heart sank a little further. Although this had temporarily become Holly’s domain while the studio was being finished off, it was always intended to be Tom’s room. Tom, however, wasn’t around to make it his own.
The study was at the front of the house and had an open fire, a large bay window and pastel-coloured, flowery wallpaper, all the essentials for a warm and welcoming country cottage feel. In her current mood, however, Holly could see only a cold and uninviting, heartbreakingly empty room. The clean, modern lines of the city-living furniture Holly and Tom had brought with them no longer seemed like a quirky contrast but rather a violent clash of two alien worlds. She was starting to think she was never going to adjust to country life.
The distraction of the decor was too much, so after a half-hearted attempt to make a start at her work she picked herself up and shuffled into the more spacious living room. It had windows to both the front and the back of the house, but even with so much more natural light to work in, she still couldn’t settle.
Eventually Holly returned to the kitchen, which was the one room she had no intention of changing. The only furniture they had added was a large wooden kitchen table that had belonged to Grandma Edith. The table had history, a good history.
At last, Holly’s thoughts turned to her commission. The showdown with Mrs Bronson was now only three days away. She had a couple of concepts she thought would suit her client’s taste, but she still hadn’t been able to find something that she personally could put her heart into. She needed to believe in the piece if she was going to bring the chosen design to life. Taking the job had been purely financial and she wasn’t proud of that fact. The end result wasn’t going to be just about the money, though: her conscience wouldn’t let it. She wasn’t prepared to produce something that she wouldn’t want to put her name to.
Holly picked up the two sketches which were on the short list so far. One was of a mother and child, their arms curved around each other in an unbroken circle. The concept wasn’t exactly original, but she intended to make the piece by merging etched black stone with white, which was a trademark she was becoming renowned for. The second sketch showed a swirling image of a mother twirling a child through the air. It had more energy than the first and of the two it was the one Holly preferred. There was still something missing, though. She suspected it lacked the emotional connection between the two figures, something which she knew too little of and it showed in the sketches.
Startled from her inner thoughts by a knock at the door, Holly crept down the
