She frowned. ‘Does it… do anything?’
‘Well, it tells time.’
‘Oh, cute,’ she replied, putting it back.
Fern coughed to disguise her laughter and turned back to the laptop on the desk. While Daniel continued to navigate his newfound heartthrob status, she utilised her time clicking away, searching for information on Eliza Valentine.
The name had been on her mind since their visit to Dorothy, and there was a plethora of information available online– articles from fashion magazines, archived interviews, newspaper clippings. Eliza Valentine had been a celebrated seamstress in the 1960s, renowned for her breathtaking wedding dresses. She had operated out of a small shop in Sea’s End, the coastal town having once been a haven for artists and designers, and her work had been in great demand, worn by socialites, actresses and even royalty. Some of her gowns had won prestigious awards, praised for their exquisite craftsmanship and timeless elegance.
It was all fascinating, but then Fern’s eyes caught something else. An image of a shop in London bearing Eliza Valentine’s name. Without hesitation, she googled the company to see if it still existed and discovered that Eliza Valentine had moved from Sea’s End to London, where she had established a boutique in Mayfair, one of the city’s most exclusive shopping districts, known for its luxurious atmosphere and high-end clientele.
Meanwhile, Daniel was valiantly attempting to escape another photo-op, his patience visibly fraying. ‘If you aren’t interested in antiques, this shop isn’t for you,’ he protested weakly, trying to edge away from a particularly determined admirer.
‘Are you single?’ she asked brightly.
Fern bit back a laugh as Daniel spluttered. He turned, throwing her a desperate look.
‘You know what?’ Fern said sweetly, closing the laptop. ‘He is very single. And he just loves long, romantic walks through graveyards where he mutters about historical inaccuracies on headstones.’
Daniel shot Fern a withering glare, but she just grinned, feeling victorious as the woman subtly backed away.
The shop was buzzing with energy, and for the first time, Fern felt a spark of something new; possibility, maybe. She had no idea how long this social media frenzy would last, or if these women would ever buy anything beyond a single vintage postcard. But for now, the shop had come to life. As Fern turned back to the counter, she noticed a man at the back of the shop picking up an old vinyl record– the one by Nathaniel Loring. She continued to watch him as he glanced over it. The man studied it for a while, carefully sliding the record out of its sleeve. He examined the label, his fingers hovering over the grooves before he pulled out his phone and made a quick call. His voice was low, and though she couldn’t hear his words, something about him set her on edge. After hanging up, he walked purposefully to the desk. ‘How much for this?’ he asked, placing the record down.
Fern hesitated. Every instinct told her not to sell it. But her hands moved automatically, ringing it through the till. ‘Five pounds.’ Then, at the last second, she stopped. ‘Actually,’ she blurted out, holding on to the vinyl, ‘it’s not for sale.’
The man frowned. ‘But you just?—’
‘It’s from my personal collection,’ she said quickly. ‘Somehow it got mixed up with the shop stock. I can’t part with it.’ She placed the vinyl under the counter. ‘Sorry. Please do accept my apology.’
His eyes narrowed, clearly irritated, but after a beat, he gave a short nod. ‘Fine.’
As he walked out, Fern’s heart was beating fast. Whatever was going on, something about this record felt significant. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she was certain it was important.
* * *
It was midday when Daniel quickly closed the door, his face pale and strained. ‘Throw me the keys!’ he shouted, looking completely traumatised. As soon as the lock clicked into place, he turned the sign to CLOSED and leaned against the door, exhaling deeply. ‘And breathe,’ he muttered, running a hand through his hair. ‘Oh my God, what the hell just happened?’
Fern grinned. ‘Apart from you nearly giving yourself a heart attack, we’ve got another £150 in sales.’ Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she added, ‘I’ve had another idea.’
Daniel raised an eyebrow, already anticipating trouble. ‘Absolutely not. Whatever your idea is, the answer is no.’
‘You haven’t even heard it yet,’ she countered.
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
Her grin widened. ‘So, you’re saying you don’t want to come to London with me, go to a gig, and’—she swung her laptop in his direction, revealing her plan—‘pay a visit to Eliza Valentine in her London shop?’
He sighed. ‘Go on then. If I must.’
‘I knew you’d say yes! It would mean closing the shop for a couple of days.’
‘I think I can live with that.’
She looked out the window to see the same women from earlier taking photos through the window.
‘TikTok has a lot to answer for,’ Daniel muttered.
‘It does, but the fact is it’s brought in most of the sales in the last week.’
