Fern didn’t reply. The man on the other side of that door had taken everything from her great-aunt, but he might also hold the key to making it right.
Alistair opened the door and stepped inside. Fern followed him in.
The room was dim, the blinds drawn, with a narrow strip of daylight slicing through a small gap. Everything was clean and clinical, almost austere in its minimalism. A double bed stood in the centre, flanked by simple bedside tables, one of which held a glass and a jug of water. In the corner, a small basin was mounted to the wall, and a single chair– currently occupied by a nurse– sat beside the bed. The space resembled a private hospital room more than a bedroom. There were no signs of grandeur now– no awards, no shelves of records or framed photos– just a frail-looking man propped up on too many pillows.
Nathaniel Loring looked nothing like the glossy PR photos that still floated around the internet. His skin was pale and drawn, his eyes dull with exhaustion. He looked… small. Like the last few days had drained the life out of him.
As soon as Fern entered, he turned his head slowly and gave the nurse a faint wave of his hand.
‘You can go,’ his voice rasped. ‘It’s all right.’
Alistair stayed where he was.
‘You, too. Go,’ Nathaniel ordered, firmer this time.
Alistair looked like he was going to argue, but thought better of it. He followed the nurse out, the door clicking shut behind them. Fern stepped closer to the bed, pulled out the chair and sat.
Nathaniel studied her. Really looked at her. It was unnerving. A long silence stretched between them.
Then he said, ‘What do you think you know?’
‘That “Echoes of the Past” was written by Matilda,’ Fern replied. ‘She didn’t get any credit. You stole her song and her fortune.’
His gaze drifted to the ceiling.
‘You covered your tracks well,’ she continued. ‘But we have the original manuscript. And footage of her composing it. Did you ever love her, or did you only love what she could give you?’
He didn’t answer right away. His head rolled slightly to the side, his eyelids heavy– with fatigue or lack of interest? Fern couldn’t tell.
‘I loved what she gave me,’ he finally said. ‘The music. The passion. The promise of something bigger than myself. That was enough for a while.’
Fern felt her stomach twist. ‘You left her at the altar. Spread a lie about an affair. You even told her your baby had died at birth.’
Nathaniel’s lips twitched into something like a smirk. ‘The baby was inconvenient. A burden I didn’t ask for. Fame doesn’t wait around for people with baggage.’
Fern stared at him, disgusted. ‘So you lied. Let her grieve her own child while you– what? Counted your money and collected awards?’
He exhaled a dry, shallow laugh. ‘You think I got where I did by playing nice?’
‘No,’ she said coldly, ‘I think you got where you did by stepping on the heart of the only person who ever truly believed in you.’
Nathaniel didn’t argue. He looked almost bored now. But then, with a small twitch of his fingers, he reached to adjust the blanket across his chest. His hand trembled.
‘She found out,’ he murmured, eyes fixed on a spot just beyond her. ‘About the baby. A few years ago. Did one of those DNA kits and registered herself. I don’t know why. Curiosity, maybe. Guilt. But somehow, it brought up her son.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She showed up. Knocked on my door, said she wanted to know everything. I told her. Gave her the details. Not that it mattered by then.’
‘Why not?’
‘He was already dead,’ Nathaniel said flatly. ‘Died from an illness. I don’t remember. I didn’t dig too deep.’
Fern closed her eyes. The tragedy of it all was suffocating. ‘Is that the only time you saw her after breaking her heart on what was meant to be your wedding day?’
‘Yes.’ A harsh, rattling cough wracked through him then. His chest heaved. He fumbled weakly at the bedside, and hit the call button.
Moments later, the nurse appeared. ‘Time to let him rest,’ she said gently to Fern.
