The Clockmaker, Chapter Three: The Apprentice
The clocks are right for the first time in forty years, and Grandfather opens the drawer.
In the morning, the clocks on the walls were running again, as if nothing had happened, and every one of them was exactly right.
That had never occurred before. Forty-one clocks, and not one of them a second off the others. Ottilie went round the shop twice, checking, and then sat on the floor under the regulator and laughed until she had to wipe her eyes.
Her grandfather came down at nine. He had shaved and put on a tie, which he did only for funerals and the tax office. He looked at the black clock on the bench, running forwards now, calm as a heartbeat, and then he looked at Wren, who had slept on the sofa in the back room in her green coat.
"You're Margit's," he said.
"Her granddaughter."
"You have her chin." He sat down. "She was the most difficult person I ever met. I asked her to marry me in the spring of 1962. She said she had a bridge to worry about."
