Fern’s eyes scanned the numbers first.’ She let out a low whistle. ‘Eight hundred grand from an anonymous buyer for the shop and its contents. It feels too good to be true.’ She had no idea how much the shop and the contents were worth, but Fern had to assume that this offer was way over the odds, given how rundown the place was. Her heart raced. ‘Surely this is some sort of joke?’
‘No, it’s a genuine offer.’ Edgar adjusted his glasses, folding his hands neatly on the polished oak desk. ‘You couldn’t ask for more than a cash buyer with no conditions. But they want an answer by close of business on Friday, a week from now.’
Fern raised her eyebrows. ‘Is this the normal practice?’
Edgar hesitated, the pause stretching just long enough to confirm her suspicion. ‘No, not really,’ he admitted. ‘It’s a little… unorthodox, I’ll grant you that. But given the figure on the table, it’s also remarkably generous. If your heart’s set on walking away from the shop, Fern, this is the solution. Simple and clean.’
‘What about Daniel?’
‘Talk to him. With this amount of money, maybe you could pay him a lump sum.’
She leaned back slightly, letting her gaze settle back on the proposal. The offer was solid, and it was more than enough to pay Daniel a lump sum, to make sure he’d be comfortable and able to find a new flat, maybe even more than that… but he wasn’t the kind of person to be bought; he wasn’t motivated by money. As for the rest? She could take it and run. Go back to London, back to the life she’d pressed pause on the day she’d stepped into No. 17 Curiosity Lane. She could avoid the headache of clearing the place out or trying to sell it on the open market. It was the smart choice. The practical one.
But then an uninvited image slid into her mind: Daniel behind the counter that morning, coffee in hand, flashing her that soft, familiar smile he always saved for the moments he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Could she really do that to him? Cut the thread so abruptly, hand him his share and walk away like it hadn’t mattered– likehehadn’t mattered? She knew it would mean she’d probably never see him again, and did she really want that? She cleared her throat and looked at Edgar. ‘I’ll have a think about it.’
Edgar nodded solemnly. ‘As I said, the offer expires on Friday,’ he reminded her, his tone gentle but firm.
‘Can I ask you something else? About Matilda and Nathaniel Loring.’
If Edgar was surprised, he didn’t show it. His expression remained composed, his eyes steady.
‘I’ve discovered that the wedding dress belonged to Matilda,’ Fern explained. ‘And yesterday I met the designer, Eliza Valentine.’
Edgar smiled; a genuine, wistful smile, touched with fondness. ‘Eliza Valentine. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. A remarkable woman. Charismatic, sharp as a tack and wickedly funny. Once upon a time, we ran in the same circles. I haven’t seen her in many years.’
‘What happened between Matilda and Nathaniel?’
Edgar’s smile faded, replaced by something closer to professional distance. ‘There were… whispers,’ he said carefully. ‘But my line of work teaches you to value facts, not gossip. The truth is, no one really knew. They were meant to have a Christmas Eve wedding and everything was set, right down to the last detail. But the ceremony was called off that morning.’
Fern let the information settle. ‘Why do you think someone wanted me to “find the groom”?’ she asked quietly. ‘I now know it was Nathaniel Loring, but is that it? Am I supposed to just leave it there?’
Edgar tilted his head, thoughtful. ‘It feels like someone doesn’t want the past to stay in the past. What are you thinking of doing about it?’
‘I’m not actually sure.’ Standing, she reached across the desk to shake his hand. ‘I’ll be back in touch once I’ve had a think.’ As she left his office, Fern found she didn’t want to go back to the shop. Not yet. She needed to calm her thoughts, especially around Daniel, who could read her moods so easily.
As she walked she thought about Nathaniel. She’d spent enough time chasing interviews to know how hard it was to get face time with a musician of his status. She wondered if it was worth picking up the phone and calling his management to ask for one last interview about his career. Would her connection with the magazine be enough? Fern knew it was the only way to get close enough to him to ask about Matilda, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, he would probably have her removed.
Five minutes later, she found herself outside The Café on the Coast. Amelia was sitting outside enjoying breakfast and she looked up and smiled when she saw Fern walking through the gate.
‘You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders,’ Amelia said. ‘Want to join me?’
Fern managed a faint smile. ‘I have got a bit of a dilemma… thank you, that would be good.’ She pulled out the chair opposite Amelia, her gaze drifting to the chalkboard menu. Her stomach gave a loud, undeniable grumble.
‘I think I need a second breakfast. A big one.’
Clemmie appeared at the side of the table, pad and pen already in hand. ‘How are you? Any news on the wedding dress? We alllove a good mystery!’ she chirped.
‘Actually, yes. I do have news.’
That caught both Clemmie’s and Amelia’s attention. Clemmie immediately pulled up a chair. ‘What have you found out?’ she asked.
‘Dorothy knew who the designer was,’ Fern began, ‘and Daniel and I went to London to meet her. She invited us to her home, which, honestly, was something out of a magazine.’
‘And? Who’s the designer?’ Amelia leaned in.
‘Eliza Valentine.’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘NottheEliza Valentine? The designer who dressed celebrities and royalty back in the sixties and seventies?’
