He shook his head. ‘I can’t afford to buy it. Look, let the idea of it all sink in first, before you decide what to do with it. Please.’
‘I don’t even know the first thing about antiques,’ she declared.
‘Then work in the shop with me today and I’ll teach you.’
‘What?’ She gawped at him.
‘You can’t make any sort of decision until you’ve had hands-on experience. You’ll learn and you’ll fall in love, I promise. We open in ten minutes.’
* * *
Fern stood in the shop staring at the little sign that read CLOSED.Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating the haphazard collection of oddities within– the brass telescopes, mismatched china sets, ancient globes and a disturbing number of porcelain dolls.
‘Go on,’ Daniel encouraged, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world, ‘turn it over.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ she muttered, but she reached out and flipped the sign to OPEN.
‘There we go. Your first official act as the new owner, and because it’s your first day, you get the comfy chair.’
Fern turned, eyeing the ‘comfy chair’. It was an ancient, overstuffed monstrosity with a floral pattern, its arms sagging, its cushions suspiciously lumpy. ‘That thing looks like it’s possessed.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Exactly. Enjoy.’
As she sat down the chair let out a groan of protest, its springs creaking beneath her weight.
And then… nothing happened. No customers. No curious browsers. Just silence.
She sat in absolute stillness, staring at the front door. The occasional sound of a clock ticking or the creak of a contracting floorboard were the only things breaking the monotony. Fern drummed her fingers on the armrest. ‘Does it ever get busier?’
Daniel stretched, leaning back against the counter. ‘Not really. But when a real treasure hunter walks through that door, your life will change.’
She exhaled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored,’ she muttered.
Suddenly, the bell over the shop door gave a feeble jingle, and Fern jolted upright as an elderly man stepped inside the shop. He was tall, with the most elaborate moustache she’d ever seen, and silver hair swept back in waves. His tweed coat was immaculately pressed and hinted at old money, but his warm, inquisitive eyes softened the image. He held a sturdy wooden cane, though he didn’t seem to rely on it much.
Daniel, who had been lounging behind the counter, straightened instantly. ‘Here we go,’ he mouthed at Fern. ‘Your very first customer.’ He widened his eyes and tilted his head slightly, silently urging her to say something.
‘Can I help you at all?’ asked Fern.
‘I’m just looking,’ the man replied as he browsed through a pile of music books, then turned his attention to the piano that was standing upright in the far corner. He propped his cane against it, sat on the stool and lifted the lid. His fingers slid over the keys and immediately Fern was impressed. This was a man who knew how to play.
‘You play well,’ said Fern, standing up and stepping towards the piano.
‘I do, but not for a long time.’
‘She’s a bit of a gem, that piano,’ Daniel said, joining them and resting a hand affectionately on the lid. ‘Needs a good tune, mind you, but she’s got a story.’
Fern turned to look at him with interest.
‘This belonged to Matilda, the former owner of this shop,’ Daniel continued. ‘She passed away recently but she used to play it nearly every day. Sometimes classical, sometimes ragtime, even the odd jazz standard when she was feeling playful.’
The elderly man nodded appreciatively.
‘She studied at the London School of Music,’ Daniel added. ‘Talented doesn’t even begin to cover it. This piano’—he tapped the frame lightly—‘is early twentieth century. Solid walnut casing, original ivories. She kept it in impeccable shape, up until the last year or so, anyway.’
The old man didn’t speak for a moment. Then, softly, he played a few more notes, letting them linger in the still air of the shop. ‘It’s a mighty fine piano.’ He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
Daniel smiled. ‘It is.’
