Lost at Sea

Chapter 2: Fall Guy

Sara scanned the train tracks eagerly. "The train should arrive any minute."

Neal smiled at her enthusiasm. "I can't wait to see Mozzie's face." After a morning of shopping, they'd arrived at Paddington Station with plenty of time to spare. He didn't have many purchases to show for the outing since their plans for Saturday night plus the paintings he'd purchased had put a dent in his cash reserves.

Neal tried not to think about what life would be like if his mystery Madonna turned out to be authentic. The news so far was encouraging. Late yesterday afternoon, Edi had determined that the initial drawing had been done in silverpoint, an encouraging sign. Raphael was known for using the technique, but he was by no means the only Renaissance artist to employ silverpoint.

"I see the train coming!" Sara exclaimed, breaking into his thoughts. "You're sure he'll be on it?"

"Absolutely. I told him you'd arranged for a tour of the Gherkin on the way back to your flat. He promised me he wouldn't miss the train." Sterling-Bosch rented floors in the towering skyscraper in the financial district. Neal was looking forward to the tour as well. Sara's tiny furnished flat was in nearby Cornhill.

She frowned. "I'm not so confident. He'd earmarked the morning to work on a new script for Doctor Who." She bit her lower lip. "He could have been so distracted that he lost track of time."

"Nothing will interfere with our surprise," Neal said firmly.

Sara tugged on his arm to move closer to the platform. As soon as the doors opened, she began scanning faces.

"You don't have to worry about him noticing us," Neal pointed out. "Not with the balloon you're holding."

She took a breath. "I hope he likes it."

"He'll love it. Are you this nervous before all surprise parties?"

"This is the first one I've ever given," she confided. "I have a new appreciation for the stress involved with El's job ... There he is!"

Mozzie stopped in his tracks, flummoxed speechless for a moment. "Happy Birthday? Whose birthday?"

Sara's foil balloon was emblazoned with a space alien extending greetings. "Yours, of course!" she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

He snickered. "I appreciate the gesture, but this isn't my birthday."

"Close enough," she said stubbornly. "You've adopted my last name. You're my uncle, and I've decided this is your day."

"Confess, Mozz, when was the last time you celebrated your birthday?" Neal asked.

"I can't remember," he said. "Probably at the orphanage."

Sara took his arm. "Then it's way past time, Uncle Water. You're family now." This was just as important for Sara as it was for Mozzie. Aside from her father whom she hadn't seen for over a decade, Sara's only living relative was an aunt in Baltimore.

"When Neal said he didn't know when you were born, I picked today," she continued. "I think Allen would like sharing his with you."

Mozzie's brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. He snapped his fingers. "Allen Ginsberg, of course! He would have been eighty years old today. Shall we make him an honorary member of our growing family?"

"He'd love the idea, I'm sure!"

Neal picked up Mozzie's bag. "And don't think that you're going to sleep on the couch tonight. None of us will."

Sara linked arms with her adopted uncle. "We have reservations at Brown's. We were able to reserve the Arthur Conan Doyle Suite." The hotel, a Mayfair institution since the 1830s, had been a favorite of many writers. In addition to Doyle, the hotel guest list often included Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Bram Stoker.