Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Fern stretched out luxuriously, her body humming with the afterglow of an unforgettable night.
The sales, the song and, oh, the sex. She bit her lip, grinning up at the ceiling.
Who would have thought that a dusty old antiques shop on a tiny island could lead to a night like that?
But as she shifted under the covers, she realised something was missing.
Or rather, someone. Daniel wasn’t in bed.
She sat up and listened. She could hear movement downstairs as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and threw back the curtains.
The sun was shining and the view of the sea made her smile even more.
As she turned around, she laughed. Daniel’s sweatshirt was draped haphazardly over the moose’s head mounted on the wall.
She tugged on it, then slipped it over the top of her PJ’s, inhaling the faint, lingering scent of him as she padded barefoot downstairs.
She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his oversized sweatshirt. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Making my fortune!’ Daniel declared grandly, tossing his arms wide as if he had just uncovered the lost treasures of the world.
‘Now, get yourself up and dressed. We have songs to write, content to upload and items to send to our buyers. I’ve drafted some songs to go along with these items and listed our sold items in the accounts book.
We’re aiming to double yesterday’s takings today.
’ He grinned and, before she could protest, he stretched an arm out and pulled her in close.
The warmth of him, solid and reassuring, sent a flutter through her chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about today,’ he murmured.
Fern stayed nestled against him for a moment longer than she meant to.
Last night had been fun, undeniably so. But this morning, reality was creeping back in.
There was still the shop, still the uncertainty of what she was going to do with it, and, of course, her solicitor’s appointment.
She felt a tiny twinge of guilt but told herself it was just an information-gathering exercise.
Shaking off the thought, she turned her attention to the front door, where a bulging bin bag sat ominously on the doorstep. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing towards it.
Daniel barely spared it a glance. ‘More antiques. People just leave them outside like this is some kind of magical antique wishing well.’
‘It’s not a charity shop.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ he muttered, picking up an old pocket watch and inspecting it as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Fern stepped towards the door and dragged the bag inside, the plastic crinkling under her fingers.
It was heavier than she expected, its contents shifting as she wrestled it across the floor.
After she untied the knot and opened it, she stared.
Inside, nestled in layers of crumpled tissue paper, was a wedding dress.
The fabric, though aged, was delicate and intricate, lace cascading down in elegant patterns.
The bodice was fitted, the skirt flowing like something out of a fairytale.
Fern pulled it fully out of the bag and held it up.
Its long train pooled over the shop floor.
Pinned to the front of the dress was a note.
‘“Find the groom”,’ she said, reading it aloud. She handed the note to Daniel. ‘What do you make of this?’
‘This place gets weirder by the second.’ He examined the dress in her arms. ‘It looks like it’s from the 1960s. Expensive, too. But who would leave this here? It looks like it should actually be in a museum.’
‘You’re telling me someone deliberately left a priceless antique dress on the doorstep? With a cryptic note?’
‘Looks that way.’ Daniel examined the note. ‘Either that or it’s a practical joke? If we did find him, then what?’
‘Maybe he’s a celebrity, or maybe he left someone at the altar. How much do you think it’s worth?’
‘With the little bit of knowledge I learned from Matilda…’
‘You talked about wedding dresses with Matilda?’
‘You’d be surprised what we chatted about…’ He examined it closely. ‘I think this could fetch at least two thousand pounds.’
‘No way!’ Fern was amazed. ‘So it’s not the usual kind of junk you’ll find in here. Do you think it’s a sign?’
‘A sign someone no longer wants it?’
She shook her head. ‘A sign that this place can actually make money. I think we should investigate. After all, I’m a journalist.’
‘A music journalist.’
‘What if the groom leads us to another expensive item and then another? It would be like a treasure hunt.’ She glanced around, as if expecting a ghost bride to appear and claim it. ‘What else are we supposed to do with it?’
‘Try it on. If nothing else, you can model it and we can get it on the internet with a song, asking the question of who the groom might be.’
Fern gawped at him. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a brilliant idea. You dress up in it and let’s ask social media for clues about the groom.’ Daniel held the dress against her. ‘I think it’ll fit. People get invested in stuff like this.’
Before she could argue, he ushered her behind the wobbly antique privacy screen that was embroidered with exotic birds.
‘Just think! You could be the first person to wear that in nearly a century,’ joked Daniel.
‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’
Fern reluctantly took off the sweatshirt and her PJ’s and slipped into the dress. The fabric was surprisingly soft, the lace intricate and fragile. It was a perfect fit. Which, frankly, was unnerving.
‘Oh no,’ she muttered.
‘What?’ Daniel asked eagerly.
‘It actually fits.’
‘Excellent. Come out then.’
She hesitated, but there was no escaping this. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the screen.
Daniel let out a low whistle. ‘Bloody hell. You look like you belong in a portrait.’
Fern smoothed her hands over the bodice. ‘This is weird, right? Like, actually weird.’
‘Oh, absolutely.’ He circled her, taking in the details. ‘If you suddenly start speaking in riddles and demanding a dowry, I’m running.’
She shot him a look. ‘If I start speaking in riddles, you have my permission to burn the dress.’
Daniel chuckled. ‘Not a chance. If I sell that dress, the sales for this month would be amazing.’ He nodded towards the note. ‘So? What do you think it means? “Find the groom”?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s metaphorical.’ She struck a dramatic pose. ‘Find the groom … find oneself.’
Daniel considered this. ‘Or maybe it’s literal, and some poor sod lost his bride a hundred years ago and still haunts Puffin Island, waiting.’
‘Or the bride was waiting and the groom didn’t turn up.’
Before Daniel could answer, the shop door jingled, and in swept an elderly woman whose presence was as warm as the morning sun spilling through the freshly cleaned windows.
She had the kind of face that put people instantly at ease; laughter lines framed her bright blue eyes, and her silver-streaked hair was gathered into a loose bun, secured with a wooden spoon she’d clearly forgotten was there.
She wore a cosy knitted cardigan over a floral apron, lightly dusted with flour, as if she’d just stepped away from kneading dough.
‘Hello!’ she chimed. ‘I just thought I’d come and introduce myself. I’m Betty, the owner of The Café on the Coast, and you must be Fern!’
Fern took an instant liking to her. There was something undeniably comforting about Betty’s presence, like a grandmother who always had time to listen, and always had a tin of biscuits at the ready.
‘Yes, that’s me. Matilda’s great-niece,’ Fern replied, glancing down at herself with a self-conscious chuckle. ‘Do forgive my appearance. I’m fully aware I look like a runaway bride.’
Betty’s gaze flicked over the billowing vintage wedding gown. But before she could respond, another woman stepped into the shop, her dark curls bouncing as she moved.
‘Granny, I told you to wait for me! I’m Clemmie,’ she said, turning to Fern with a smile, ‘co-owner of The Café on the Coast, and granddaughter to this one,’ she said, gesturing ruefully at Betty.
‘Amelia told us you were here, so we thought we’d come and say hello.
And, like we do with all new arrivals to the island, we’ve brought cake! ’
She held out a well-worn cake tin, and Fern’s eyes widened.
‘Wow, I wasn’t expecting this, thank you!’
‘I have to say though…’ Clemmie’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she took in Fern’s attire. ‘If we’d known it was your wedding day, we would have made it a wedding cake.’
Fern laughed, shaking her head. ‘This dress is a mystery. We think there’s some kind of secret behind it. It was dropped off this morning with a cryptic note.’
Betty and Clemmie exchanged intrigued glances.
‘What did it say?’ Betty asked, her tone shifting into something more serious.
‘I should share with you both that Granny here is the keeper of secrets on this island. She knows everything there is to know about the past, present and even the future,’ Clemmie said, a glint in her eye.
Daniel, who had been standing quietly to the side, took the opportunity to lift the lid of the cake tin.
‘It said: “Find the groom”,’ he supplied, his voice slightly muffled as he took in the contents.
He grinned, clearly pleased with the discovery.
‘Just for the record, lemon drizzle is my absolute favourite.’
Betty, however, had her focus elsewhere.
She reached out and ran her fingers over the wedding gown’s fabric.
‘This is definitely vintage,’ she murmured, her expression thoughtful.
‘And good material – silk, by the feel of it. This would have cost a fortune in its day.’ She studied the stitching, the intricate lace detailing. ‘How old do you think it is?’
Daniel, always eager to show his knowledge of antiques, spoke up.
‘My guess is early sixties,’ he said confidently.
‘See the cut of the bodice? And the lace overlay? It’s very much in line with the bridal trends of that era.
The detailing suggests it wasn’t off-the-rack either, this was custom-made. ’
Fern glanced at him, impressed. She had to admit, despite his tendency to be exasperating, he really did know some stuff.
She turned back to Betty. ‘So, do you recognise this dress?’ she asked, tilting her head. ‘What do you think it means? I’m all for unravelling a mystery.’
‘I’ve never seen it before but it’s exquisite. Do let us know if anything interesting evolves,’ said Betty.
Clemmie leaned in. ‘She’s just being nosey!’
Betty swiped Clemmie before she turned and walked out of the shop. Clemmie followed her, waving above her head. ‘Enjoy the cake!’