‘How do you know that?’ asked Fern.
‘The first number is the dress’s sequence. This was the sixty-fourth gown she ever made. The second two numbers are the day and month of the wedding. It generally makes it easier to find the bride’s information quickly, but as this is one of her earlier designs it’s unfortunately not logged onto the computer.’
‘Will it be logged anywhere?’
‘Yes, in one of the old ledger books, but they aren’t kept here. Are you going to be in London long?’
‘We’re heading home on Sunday afternoon,’ replied Fern.
‘The first logs are still kept by my grandmother, but I suspect she’d remember this dress if she saw it. She has a remarkable memory for detail and still remembers most of the gowns she’s ever made.’
Fern looked at Daniel. She couldn’t quite believe their luck. It was possible they were about to discover who the dress was actually made for. ‘Would it be possible to meet Eliza?’
The younger Eliza gave the dress another appreciative glance. ‘I’m sure that would be okay, but I’ll check with her first. Would you mind if I took a few pictures of it? So I can show her?’
Fern nodded. ‘Of course. Thank you.’
Eliza fetched her phone and snapped several careful shots from different angles. When she was finished, she said, ‘This is quite the mystery you’ve found yourselves in.’
‘It might turn out to be nothing, but…’ Fern trailed off, exchanging another glance with Daniel.
‘But you’re invested now,’ Eliza finished, smiling knowingly. ‘I have to admit I’m intrigued too.’
Fern carefully placed the dress back in the case and zipped it up.
‘Can I take a contact number? I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve spoken with my grandmother.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Fern said sincerely. ‘We really appreciate this.’
Eliza gave a small nod. ‘Something tells me you two won’t be letting this go until you get to the bottom of it. Can I ask, where is this antique shop?’
‘It’s No. 17 Curiosity Lane on Puffin Island.’
Eliza nodded. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’
Fern finished her drink and stood up. ‘Thanks again.’
They left the boutique, wheeling the case– the right one this time– behind them.
‘I honestly think we’re about to find out who this dress belonged to,’ Fern enthused.
‘I think you’re right, but I do have a question…’
‘Which is?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to look for a wedding dress whilst you’re here? Because you do know it will happen one day. You’ll be begging me to marry you.’
Fern rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Fern and Daniel boarded the tube at Green Park Station, weaving their way through the steady stream of commuters and tourists. The Piccadilly Line train arrived with its familiar metallic screech, and they stepped aboard, settling into a corner of the carriage as the train rattled and hummed beneath London’s sprawling streets. At Earl’s Court they switched platforms and hopped onto the District Line.
The carriage was wider, the seats newer and less scuffed from years of city life, and the air carried the mingled scent of coffee and sweat, the signature perfume of London’s Underground. Eight minutes after their journey began, they emerged at Fulham Broadway, stepping out into the sunshine.
They navigated the busy high street, passing an assortment of artisan bakeries, slick wine bars and the occasional independent boutique nestled between glassy new developments. Turning off the main road, they reached Fern’s apartment block, a stark steel-and-glass building that loomed sharp against the soft sky. It was the very definition of contemporary urban living: angular, unapologetically sleek and utterly devoid of the warm, weathered charm that clung to the coastal cottages on Puffin Island.
The block’s façade was a grid of floor-to-ceiling windows, each reflecting the London skyline and the shifting clouds. The lobby was polished and pristine, minimalist, all cool marble and brushed metal.
