Launched Friday, 30 September 2016, our Nº 1934 classic watches are now available to pre-order with the latest chapter from WT Author’s book and comes with a signed screen print with corresponding number.
The Inspiration Behind our Dress Watches
Set five years after our third collection, Nº 1934 dress watches celebrate the beginning of widespread access to literature from the period leading up to the paperback publishing revolution. Our signature silhouette takes on a contemporary look by adopting lugs tooled directly into the watch head, finished beautifully with our refined 22 mm handmade leather strap.
Utilising a combination of highly polished and brushed surfaces the new piece measures 41.5 mm across, 47.5 mm high including the lugs with an overall case depth of 10.5 mm. Applied directly onto a domed dial our bespoke numerals take reference from 1930’s era dress watches, complimented by our unique “tuning fork” indices.
The dress watches have been modernised with our new engineered “casino chip” enamel screw down back, signature red aluminium crown embossed with our brand’s iconic trademark and a Swiss Made Ronda 513S Quartz or Citizen 9015 Automatic movement. Each collection has been designed and built in Britain exclusively by WT Author and is strictly limited to 125 pieces (Nº 1934 automatic blue edition is limited to only 100 pieces, whilst our Nº 1934 green edition is limited to just 25 pieces).
Each Nº 1934 leather watch strap has been handmade in Britain using vegetable tanned dyed through shoulder. The rich colour which is treated with waxes and oils offers a distressed effect which lightens in colour when folded or turned. The natural grain is left intact to show all the growth marks and unique character to give a distinctive antique look with this mellow feeling skin. The strap has been designed and manufactured to fit a 22 mm lug width with an overall thickness of 3 – 4 mm and is embossed with the WT Author ‘A’ trademark. Rounded strap edges and burnished using our own organic wax each strap is completed with a polished stainless steel buckle.
Chapter 4 of 13
With every step to get away… They feel to be closing in.
Sprinting down the platform swinging his case in one hand, cane in the other, with lungs and muscles burning he gasps for breath, focusing on nothing but the nearest carriage door such a short distance ahead. Don’t you dare look back, he thinks. Get there. You have to get there!
Further down the station he can see the conductor raise his whistle to his lips. He’s just metres away from the carriage handle now. As the shrill signal echoes through the high terminal, he lunges, heaves open the door and swings himself, his luggage and his considerable distress into the now departing train.
His chest feels like it is exploding as he doubles over in the vestibule straining for air, registering the increasingly blurred signs of london paddington sliding past the window. Has he shaken his pursuers? Surely nobody has been able to follow behind.
Was it possible they could have somehow been able to get an agent ahead?
Catching his breath, he gathers himself together and begins to make his way cautiously through the carriages. Every face seems to to turn to scrutinise him, casting their suspicions with sharp accusing eyes. You’re being paranoid. Stop bringing attention to yourself.
His life has been defined by this treacherous game of cat and mouse, and by now he is experienced enough to know, the cat can take any form. Perhaps it is the gentleman sitting by the window, casually scanning the financial pages of his newspaper? Or the cabin boy in the bellhop hat, innocently enquiring after the comfort of his passengers?
He begins to feel his energy restored, and opts to settle in a cabin occupied by a single female traveller. He looks to the luggage rack above his head, but decides against relinquishing his case and instead collapses to the bench, clutching it to his side. His travelling companion pays him little notice. Is she too disinterested perhaps?
He finds himself irritated with his predicament: He spends his life trying to avoid any undue attention, and yet when he feels ignored, his own suspicions undermine any opportunity for peace.
She has dropped down a small side table in front of her, and is scribbling away on a stack of paper – a manuscript perhaps. Occasionally she raises her head, deep in thought, plotting, before grasping an idea and returning fastidiously to her work. She looks tired, weary even, and just for a moment he senses an indefinable glimmer of himself in her profile.
As he settles into the journey, he removes his coat and in doing so a coin tumbles from his pocket and rolls idly along the floor to the foot of his fellow passenger. His heart rises to his throat as the lady glances down and picks it up. He knows the coin is etched with an ancient crest, a symbol which defines him and also, alarmingly, identifies him. He can hear his pulse throbbing in his eardrums as, in passing the coin back, she clearly notices – no, recognises – its markings.
Time stands still.
She looks up from the coin, studying the face of our man. She looks back to the coin. And then, slowly, her mouth turns ever so slightly upward, and a sense of brightness fills her eyes. She returns the coin to his outstretched hand with a slight, but unquestionably deliberate nod.
A magnificent relief rushes over him and he slides back into his seat, processing what has just happened. Did he imagine the connection they just made? Who is this mysterious writer, with her unusual air of suspense and intrigue?
As he considers his safety, his cover apparently maintained, he feels fatigue creep into these thoughts, as the motion of the train slowly drags him into a long-overdue slumber.
A jolt of the carriage wakes him with a start. His first conscious thought lurches after the location of his case. It is still by his side? Then his eyes dart to the writer opposite, but the cabin is empty. Where has she gone? How long has he been asleep? It could have been hours.
In the place where she had been sitting, he sees a piece of paper. He leans over and stares at the script, his eyes still adjusting to the light. Slowly he realises there is a message on the page, and there is no doubt it is clearly intended for him…
‘…If you need us, we are here.’