Dorothy looked towards Edgar and smiled. ‘Thank God. We knew it was there somewhere, but didn’t know where to start looking. That’s why I put in an offer on the shop, to buy time to protect any evidence, just in case Alistair and Nathaniel had thought of that– my guess is that the burglary was not a coincidence– and to nudge you two into searching the shop for clues.’
‘Did Matilda give you any more details about her son?’ asked Daniel.
Dorothy shook her head. ‘No. There’s only two men who will have those details.’
Just then, Dorothy’s phone buzzed, and she rummaged in her bag. When she found it and looked at the screen, the colour drained from her face.
‘It’s Alistair,’ she said, answering hesitantly. The call didn’t take long and as soon as she hung up, she filled them in. ‘Nathaniel Loring’s health has deteriorated further. The doctors have given him a week, maybe less.’
Daniel exhaled hard. ‘Time is running out. What do you want to do about this?’
‘Is it right to confront a dying man?’ Fern was battling with her conscience. ‘Or do we let things lie?’
‘It might be your only chance, especially if you want the truth about the baby and to discover the identity of Matilda’s son. I can’t see Alistair ever divulging that information, as he will want to keep all of Nathaniel’s money,’ said Dorothy.
Fern was thinking fast. ‘I’m going to give it a go. I want him to take accountability for what he did to Matilda. I’m going to go back and see him again. I’ve got to give it one last try.’
‘And if he won’t, or can’t, see you?’ Edgar asked.
‘Then I’ll tell Alistair I have the original manuscript and the fact that I’m the new editor ofSound & Fury. This story will go global if he doesn’t come clean. I’ll tell the world that Matilda wrote all the songs that spanned Nathaniel’s career, and his wealth and success don’t actually belong to him. This will be the biggest music scandal of the decade, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows he was a fraud.’
‘Where are the manuscript and the tape?’ asked Edgar.
‘In the safe along with the vinyl, which has had a huge valuation.’
‘When are you going to go?’ asked Dorothy.
‘As time is ticking, there’s no time like the present. Back to London we go.’
‘Come on, I’ll be right by your side.’ Daniel took her hand as they stood up.
‘Do we even know if he’s at home?’ asked Fern, looking towards Dorothy.
‘Yes, he is,’ replied Dorothy, standing up and giving Fern a hug.
‘Thank you for looking out for great-aunt Matilda.’
‘It’s what friends do.’
‘Good luck,’ said Edgar as they left his office.
ChapterForty-Nine
Afew hours later they arrived back at Euston and jumped into a cab. It wasn’t long before the taxi pulled up outside the wrought-iron gates of the Loring estate, where Fern and Daniel were met with a chaotic scene. A crowd of reporters had gathered along the perimeter, TV crews with shoulder-mounted cameras jostling for position.
Fern leaned forward, peering through the window as the car slowed. As they climbed out, a woman in a red blazer stood front and centre before a camera, speaking urgently into a microphone. ‘With reports that the great Nathaniel Loring’s life is drawing to a close,’ she said, her voice tense with drama, ‘the world waits to see if the musical legend will leave behind any final compositions. His most celebrated work, “Echoes of the Past”, has defined a generation…’ Her voice trailed off as Fern and Daniel walked towards the gates, which were closed tight.
Fern pressed the intercom. A sharp buzz followed, then silence. She pressed it again, longer this time.
Nothing.
‘No one’s answering,’ Daniel said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the cameras now trained on them. ‘I’m not surprised. They’re probably fed up with the reporters pressing it to try and get an interview.’ She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Alistair’s number. She exhaled as she hit call.
He picked up on the third ring. ‘This is not the time,’ Alistair snapped, not bothering with a greeting.
‘Actually, it’s exactly the time,’ Fern replied, her voice low and firm. ‘We know about the stolen song…’
‘Not this again?—’
