Lost at Sea

Chapter 1: Souvenirs

Shepton Mallet, Somerset, England. Thursday, June 1, 2006.

Neal smiled at Sara's enthusiasm as he listened to her discuss reticules with the shopkeeper. She'd spotted a collection of the small Regency purses in the window—ample reason to pay a visit to the antique shop. Sara had been in a Jane Austen mood ever since they toured Bath. The reticules were the height of fashion during Jane's day. If Sara started carrying one, she could launch a new fashion trend.

For the past few days, they'd explored the countryside of South West England. They'd taken a direct flight from Seattle where they'd attended his cousin Angela's wedding. When they arrived at Heathrow, they took off in their rental car for Cornwall.

Sara had studied Arthurian legends in college, and she'd prepared an itinerary of various landmarks associated with the Knights of the Round Table for them to visit. For Neal, it was a chance to explore some of the locations that had inspired Pre-Raphaelite artists. Sara had planned the vacation as a graduation present for him. In mid-May, he'd received his dual master's in art history and visual arts. The diplomas were already framed and hanging in his art niche at White Collar.

They'd left King Arthur behind yesterday and were now working their way back to London. Jane Austen's haunts in Somerset and Hampshire were currently on the agenda. The Regency author had a special significance to both of them going back to the time when they invented the Clueless con to keep their early dates a secret and used aliases based on actors in Jane Austen movies.

Once they returned to London, they had a special evening planned for Mozzie. For the past week, he'd been a consultant on Scima Workshop's Doctor Who set where the episode featuring his script was being filmed. The lid of secrecy concerning the TV series was so tight, he hadn't given any hints even to Neal of what the script was about. Finally, after all these years, Neal had learned what would cause a man who abhorred restrictions of any kind to adhere to the rules.

While Sara chatted about Regency accessories, Neal checked out two oil paintings in a corner. One was a seascape of inferior quality and the other a small painting of a woman that was so grimy it was hard to tell much about her.

Neal crouched in front of her. Surely a woman of mystery—even a woebegone one—deserved a closer look.

The face was blackened with what appeared to be soot, but a small fragment of delicate coral color begged to be examined. The craquelure was intriguing. As Neal scrutinized her, his breath quickened. He picked up the painting to place it under a light. Was he guilty of wishful thinking? Surely this was a fantasy built on quicksand.

"Neal, do you see anything you'd like?" Sara asked. "I've finally made my selection." Her eyes drifted over the display under the glass counter. "Although I may need two."

And I've found the painting of my dreams. "I thought my aunt might like these paintings for her cottage," he said and called the shopkeeper over. "What can you tell me about them?"

The woman gave them a brief look. "You can have both of them for three hundred pounds. We don't normally sell paintings but they were part of an estate sale. They came bundled with a few pieces of Georgian silver I was much more interested in."

Sara approached the paintings to see what had provoked Neal to buy something for Noelle.

"My aunt loves the stories behind objects," Neal said, careful not to lie. He didn't want his words to come back to bite him. "Do you know anything about the former owner?"

She exhaled and thought for a moment. "She was a local woman. Her name was Miranda Tavendish. Last member of her family as I recall. Died in her eighties, poor soul, with no children to comfort her. The bank sold off her property."