Fern looked up, nodded. ‘Thanks, that’s lovely.’
‘Are you okay?’
Before she could answer the shop bell jingled again and a tall, wiry man stepped inside, wearing a sharply tailored overcoat the colour of oxblood. His silver hair was slicked back with a precise side parting, and round, gold-rimmed glasses were perched on his aquiline nose. A leather satchel hung at his side, polished to a high sheen. He looked like someone who’d walked straight out of a black-and-white film.
‘Daniel, Fern?’ he said, looking between them.
Fern blinked. ‘Yes?’
‘Reginald Hayworth. Vinyl antiquarian. We spoke on the phone, Daniel.’
‘Thank you for coming.’ Daniel extended a hand. ‘This is Fern. The vinyl technically belongs to her.’
Hayworth gave a polite nod, then looked around the shop with a connoisseur’s eye, taking in every item.
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Shall we have a look at it?’
Fern disappeared to the safe, leaving Daniel with Hayworth. When she returned, a velvet cushion had been laid on the desk and Hayworth was drawing a pair of fine gloves from his satchel and slipping them on with theatrical precision. Fern placed the vinyl on the cushion. Hayworth leaned in, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles.
Daniel crossed his arms, watching like a hawk. Fern stood beside him, heart racing, suddenly aware that if Hayworth confirmed this was the original as they thought, it could change everything.
Hayworth picked up the record. ‘Nathaniel Loring,’ he murmured, taking a look at the serial number. He carefully slid the disc out of its sleeve and turned it towards the light, hisbreath catching slightly. ‘The first… what a rare find.’ He pointed to the label. He’d spotted the inscription. ‘“M, For everything I owe you, N.” This looks like it was a personal gift. Do you know who M is?’ asked Hayworth.
‘My great-aunt, Matilda Hartley. Do you think it’s worth something?’
‘Indeed…’ Hayworth’s voice faded and they watched as he carefully set the record onto a portable player that he’d taken out of his case. The needle dropped, and a rich, haunting melody filled the room: piano, and the unmistakable timbre of Nathaniel Loring’s voice singing over the top.
Fern felt emotional. The song completely moved her, it was beautiful.
Hayworth didn’t speak until the song ended.
‘This,’ he said solemnly, ‘is a treasure. Beyond monetary value, truly. But if we must speak numbers…’ He placed the record back in its sleeve then turned to them, removing his gloves. ‘I would estimate this record at seventy-five thousand pounds. Possibly more at auction.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ murmured Fern.
‘I would advise you not to advertise you have this until you decide what you want to do with it– and, for heaven’s sake, insure it immediately. Pieces like this attract attention. The kind you don’t want.’
Fern managed to nod. ‘Of course. Thank you. That’s… wow!’
‘I’ll email you a formal valuation,’ Hayworth added, returning the record player to his case. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a seminar in Glasgow this evening.’
They saw him out, the bell tinkling as he disappeared into the street like a time traveller vanishing back into his era.
Back inside, Daniel let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of money.’
Fern cradled the record like it might vanish into dust if she moved too quickly. Together, they walked to the small safe tucked in the storage alcove behind the curtain. Daniel knelt and turned the dial, unlocking the heavy door.
Fern reached for the velvet pouch they’d set aside that cushioned the record, but as Daniel leaned in to place the record inside, he paused.
‘What’s that?’ he said.
She crouched beside him. ‘What?’
He was peering at the back of the safe. ‘There’s… a seam.’ He reached in, tapping gently at the metal. ‘It’s not flush.’
Together, they examined the back panel more closely. Though it was almost imperceptible, they could just see a thin indentation along the edges, an outline that suggested the panel wasn’t fixed.
‘Is it a false back?’ Fern whispered.
