Ella, her best friend since school, the person who used to finish her sentences and knew every stupid in-joke, had blanked her. Had she really changed that much? Or had Fern never really known her at all? The thought lodged somewhere between anger and heartbreak, and for the first time Fern wasn’t sure which hurt more.
The newly married couple walked off in a flurry of flashing bulbs, laughter and chatter. Fern just watched them. Before Daniel could say anything, she turned towards him. ‘Have you ever suddenly realised someone wasn’t who you thought they were, and maybe never really was?’
He nodded. ‘I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you, but at least you’ve seen the truth,’ he said gently, taking her hand.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here and see what Alistair has to say.’
Daniel nodded. ‘Let’s go meet the man who might’ve stolen a legacy.’
ChapterForty-Five
The taxi curved up through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Hampstead, far from the city’s noise and chaos. Fern looked out of the window, watching the houses get bigger and further apart. Walled-in worlds with private driveways and iron gates and names instead of numbers. The driver made a sharp turn off the main road and onto a narrow gravel track that curved through woodland. After about half a mile, the trees opened up, and the car came slowly to a stop before a set of wrought-iron gates flanked by towering stone pillars.
‘Is this it?’ Daniel asked, peering out of the window.
Fern checked the address. ‘Yeah. That’s it.’
After they climbed out of the taxi, they walked towards the gates and announced their arrival via the intercom. The gates creaked open and they stepped through.
The driveway was long and snaked through meticulously kept grounds, the manicured lawns rolling out on either side of Fern and Daniel. Ahead, the house was four storeys of pale stone, with a terrace and tall windows.
‘How the other half live,’ Daniel murmured.
‘I still prefer our place. I bet they don’t have a moose’s head hanging over the bed.’ Fern gave him a lopsided grin.
‘Our?’ Daniel had picked up on her choice of word. ‘I like that.’ He smiled, holding her gaze as they carried on walking. Up ahead a black Jaguar was parked beside a stone fountain, water trickling peacefully over carved cherubs. A low, rhythmic thumping drew their eyes skyward where they could see a sleek black helicopter was descending at the back of the house.
Daniel stepped beside her, watching. ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘Alistair arriving in style after whatever meetings he had.’
They climbed the wide stone steps towards the massive double doors. Before they could knock, the left door swung open silently. A butler stood there in a dark suit. ‘Fern and Daniel,’ the man said, as though he were announcing royalty. ‘Please come in. Alistair is expecting you.’
The entrance hall of Nathaniel’s house was absurdly elegant. Sunlight streamed in through stained-glass windows, pooling across the polished wooden floor. A grand piano sat casually in one corner, and framed sheet music lined the walls, some pristine, some crumpled and scribbled on in bursts of inspiration.
They followed the butler into a living room that somehow managed to outdo the entrance hall. There was another grand piano and floor to-ceiling windows, which showcased immaculate gardens and the helicopter they had just seen arriving.
Alistair was walking across the lawn and it wasn’t long before he stepped into the living room. ‘Fern,’ he said smoothly, flashing a smile. ‘Daniel. Welcome.’ He was dressed casually in navy chinos, a soft grey jumper and loafers. He propped his cane against the wall before taking a seat opposite them.
‘Thanks for seeing us,’ Fern said. ‘What a beautiful home this is.’
‘Now,’ Alistair said lightly. ‘Tell me why you’re here. A vinyl, was it?’
Fern pulled a plastic sleeve from her bag. Inside were high-resolution photographs of the record, label, sleeve and serial number. She slid them across the table. ‘We didn’t think it was wise to bring the original,’ she said, watching Alistair closely.
He adjusted his glasses, leaned forward and took his time studying the images. ‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘the serial number certainly suggests this is the first pressing of Nathaniel’s debut track…’
Before Alistair could continue there was the sound of slow tapping approaching from the hallway.
The door opened, and in stepped Nathaniel Loring.
Fern and Daniel turned in his direction. Even now, clearly very frail and unwell, the man had presence. He was tall and elegant, with white hair combed back and skin that had once glowed under stage lights but now looked paper-thin. He leaned on a carved walking stick, his movements careful.
‘Who have we here?’ he asked, looking towards Alistair.
Fern noticed Alistair looked uncomfortable.
‘Nathaniel,’ Alistair said, rising a little too quickly. ‘These are antique dealers, and they’ve found something rather special.’
