She had so many questions about Duncan’s statements that she didn’t know where to begin.
“How did you know he was our father?” she asked.
“You have the North eyes!” he said eagerly, like a pupil confident of his answer in class. Suddenly she knew where she’d seen him before.
“We met on the train yesterday afternoon. Kind of. We didn’t actually speak. You were knitting.”
Duncan’s expression seemed at once both delighted and shy. “Yes, I remember you. It never occurred to me that one of the North daughters might be on the train.”
She had almost given up hope of discovering any magic on the overcrowded commuter train, when a man in a suit, walking so stiffly his trousers might have been made from wood, had got on at London Bridge station. He stashed his immaculate Ted Baker suitcase in the overhead rack and sat awkwardly in the chair opposite her. She had been struck by the Clark Kent air about him: handsome in an uptight, probably-starched-and-ironed-his-socks sort of way. He had close-cropped curly black hair and a precisely trimmed beard, sharp and angular like his jaw. When he’d opened his briefcase with two neat clicks and pulled out some knitting, she had smiled to herself, satisfied she had found her magic after all.
And now he was standing in North Novelties & Curios, and she realized she’d been holding his hand far longer than was necessary. She smiled shyly and released him, stepping back and knocking into a shelf, causing three hundred items to rattle in protest.
She did a brief internal assessment to try to decipher this peculiar feeling and the only word she could come up with to describe it was glittery. Holy crap, what’s happening to me?
Maggie, smiling, stepped forward briefly to shake Duncan’s hand before stepping back to make room for Simone.
Simone glided into the now-crowded shop entrance and held out her hand. “In case you didn’t already guess, I’m the third sister, second if you’re going by age.”
Duncan looked a little overwhelmed. “Like I said to your sister, I am so excited and honored to be here,” he gushed.
“What did you mean by ‘the North account’? And why is it legendary?” Maggie called over from her position next to a complete skeleton on a stand, whose name, according to his label, was Cuthbert.
“Oh, well, the North family have been buying and selling through Sotheby’s ever since Patience North approached us when we started business in 1744, and we’ve had dealings with every owner of North Novelties & Curios since. Did your father not tell you?”
The women shook their heads.
“I see. I mean, I just assumed . . .”
“What makes it the stuff of legend?” asked Simone.
Duncan pushed his glasses up his nose for the second time in as many minutes. “We, that is, the collective and historical ‘we,’ have always wanted the chance to root around in the shop. Our dealings were only ever to do with specific items; the North family have always been very private about their collectibles, but everybody knows that this shop is a historical treasure trove.”
“?‘Historical treasure’ as opposed to actual treasure worth real money,” interposed Simone.
“I’m quietly hopeful of both.” Duncan did indeed look hopeful; in Star’s opinion he resembled Charlie Bucket upon finding the golden ticket.
“Really? I guess we should check that our insurance is up to par,” Maggie considered out loud.
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Your father was meticulous about that sort of thing.”
“Are we talking about the same man?” asked Simone. “I can’t imagine him being meticulous about anything.”
“I have all his documents with me. You’re welcome to look through them. He ensured that his certificates of authenticity were in order and insured certain items accordingly.”
“Good lord.” Maggie looked bewildered. “I’m beginning to think our father had multiple personalities.”
“I don’t suppose he sent you stock sheets, did he?” asked Star, looking up and down the crowded shelves. “Any clues that might make it easier to sift through this lot?”
“Unfortunately not,” said Duncan, though his expression said that he felt there was nothing unfortunate about it at all. “But we are given to believe that some of the items here were antiques when Patience purchased them, and to our knowledge, she never sold them on. If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask me. I will keep you fully updated as I go along. After all, this all belongs to you now.”
The women looked about them with expressions that ranged from intrigued to exhausted.
“I have a question,” Star piped up.
“Of course, fire away.”
“What were you knitting?”
She had the pleasure of seeing him look bashful. Definitely Clark Kent! she thought dreamily.
“I’m making my niece a unicorn jumper for Christmas. Although at the rate I’m going she’ll be getting it for Easter.”
“How lovely,” said Star. Her glittery feeling was dangerously close to going full snow globe.
She saw Maggie cast a look at Simone, who rolled her eyes in response, and Star wished her face didn’t betray her every thought and emotion. Maybe she could use this enforced togetherness to try to harness some of Simone’s poker-faced attitude.
“Are you going to travel in every day all the way from Tunbridge Wells?” Star continued, and then, turning to her sisters, she added, “He got off the train at Tunbridge Wells. Don’t you think it’s funny that we were on the same train?”
“Hilarious,” said Simone.
“I’m staying in Rowan Thorp, at the Stag and Hound while I look for somewhere to rent; this job is liable to take a couple of months at least. But I visited my sister in Tunbridge Wells yesterday.”
Star could not seem to wipe the smile off her face and was painfully aware of the side-eye she was getting from Maggie and Simone.
“Well, we better start sifting through all this mess,” said Maggie, looking around at the cluttered shelves.
“Oh, this isn’t mess,” said Duncan enthusiastically. “This is history. Do you happen to have your father’s ledger to hand?”
“Ah, slight problem there,” Simone interjected. “Our father thought it would be amusing to hide it.”
“But as soon as we find it, it’s yours,” Star added.
She’d always been a believer in coincidence. The world turned on it: one random event colliding with another to create a perfect storm. Could these be the first rumblings of her own perfect storm?
8
Duncan was keen to begin work right away. After stashing his briefcase in the drawer of a Queen Anne sideboard beneath the wall of clocks, he began moving slowly along the aisles, picking up seemingly random items and jotting notes down in his notebook before replacing the objects exactly where he had found them.
The North sisters’ approach to the shop’s contents was less exacting. Boxes were rifled through, jugs and vases upturned, drawers ransacked as the quest to find thirty-two Monopoly houses began in earnest. It felt like an overwhelming task.