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more aware of the value of money than her mother was. She knew Mum could be very self-indulgent.
    ‘It is a lot to draw out of the bank,’ Helen said, ‘but I’ve thought of another way to pay for it. In yesterday’s newspaper there was a dealer offering cash for old clocks. I thought we could see how much he’d give me for that grandfather clock in the hall.’
    When they got back home, Chloe took a hard look at the familiar clock. ‘This name on the dial, Henry Sanderson, London, is that the maker?’
    ‘I’m not sure. Could it be the shop where it was bought? It kept good time in London but it stopped when we brought it up here and I haven’t been able to get it going again.’
    ‘Perhaps it didn’t want to come,’ Chloe said.
    ‘We’ve got too many clocks, haven’t we?’ Her mother led the way into the sitting room. ‘I wouldn’t mind selling this mantel clock as well.’
    ‘That one keeps good time,’ Chloe pointed out. ‘How much are they worth?’
    ‘I’ve no idea. They’re old, they belonged to John’s father. Enough, d’you think, to pay for that summerhouse?’
    ‘I don’t know. You ought to find out what they’re worth before you try to sell them.’
    Chloe was afraid she would not. Mum was impatient and wanted to get on with things. So during her lunch hour the next day, she went to the reference library, where she found several price guides for antiques. There were even photographs of clocks bearing the same names as those her mother had, and it seemed they were worth a considerable amount.
    When she reached home that evening, there was a strange car parked outside, and when she opened the front door, she saw a man shining a torch into the workings of the grandfather clock.
    Her mother came dancing down the hall with the energy of a woman half her age. ‘He’s come to buy the clocks,’ she said excitedly.
    ‘You should have waited, Mum.’
    The man turned and nodded to Chloe. ‘My daughter,’ Helen said to him.
    He was a tall, well-set-up young man in his early twenties, with dark curly hair worn long and dishevelled in today’s popular style, which her mother often deplored on celebrities. He straightened up and came forward to Chloe with his hand outstretched.
    ‘Adam Livingstone,’ he said, his face lighting up into a broad, friendly smile.
    Chloe met the gaze of his dark eyes as he grasped her hand. She felt she could see right into his soul and felt a tug of attraction such as she’d never known before. It left her breathless.
    She pulled herself together. ‘So what are you prepared to offer Mum for her clock?’ she asked.
    ‘I was just looking at it.’ His smile remained as he turned back to the clock. ‘It’s George III, a fine mahogany case and an eight-day movement. Let me see . . .’
    When she heard the figure he put on it, Chloe pulled up short. It was a lot lower than the price guide had led her to believe it was worth. She saw her mother’s face fall.
    ‘Not enough,’ Chloe said shortly.
    Adam’s eyes played with hers as he added another twenty pounds to the price.
    ‘No,’ she said. Mum couldn’t afford to give him a bargain. Not if she wanted that summerhouse. ‘Still not enough.’
    ‘But it isn’t in working condition,’ her mother put in anxiously. ‘It won’t be worth all that much, will it?’
    ‘That puts it in a nutshell.’ Adam beamed from Helen to Chloe. He was radiating confidence, but Chloe was afraid he was trying to do her mother down.
    ‘I think we’d be better putting it in an auction,’ Chloe said. ‘Henry Sanderson, London is a well-known name, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘To those in the trade. Not wildly valuable, though.’
    ‘All the same . . .’
    It didn’t seem to faze him that her mum had got him here and now she was suggesting it might be better to sell elsewhere. He was going round their sitting room looking at their ornaments. ‘I’m in the market for other things,’ he said hopefully.