Clarissa now looked almost vulnerable. “And in return—what do you want from me? What can I possibly have that you require?”
“I want my shawl back. The piece you—you stole.”
Enlightenment dawned upon Clarissa’s features. She looked thoughtfully at Claire and her eyes narrowed. “You cannot return, can you?” Slowly, she smiled. “You can’t go back with Julian without it!”
“And you can’t have my life unless you part with it,” Claire returned.
The women stood there facing each other. Behind her, Claire heard a car door open, and then another. Julian had climbed out of the Capri, and Clarissa's driver quickly followed suit. But as Julian approached the ladies, he glanced into the Trailblazer—and stopped short. As Omar rounded the front of the vehicle, Julian lunged for the door to open it, but Omar clicked his remote and it locked.
“What are you after?” he growled, coming to stand abreast of Julian. Both men were tall and muscular. Both gazed at each other with suspicion and dislike.
“Miss Andrews has something that does not belong to her,” he said. “I saw it.” He nodded at the passenger seat. “In there.”
Omar’s brows furrowed. “Miss Andrews? Who is Miss Andrews?”
Clarissa heard this and came toward them, looking faintly alarmed. “Miss Channing is my…er, pen name,” she said.
Omar raised his brows. “Oh.” He paused, studying Julian. “He says you’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Clarissa’s face took on a shade of caution. “And they have documents that belong to me,” she returned. “Which is what I’ve just been explaining to Miss—er, to this lady.” She turned to Claire. “I’m perfectly willing to make a proper exchange.”
Claire’s heart lifted. “Perfect. Follow me. I have some of my documents.” She glanced at the driver and hurriedly amended, “Er, some of your documents, here in the car.”
Clarissa frowned. “Some? Not all of them?”
Claire turned back to her. “The rest are in a safety deposit box. I’ll give you the key.”
Omar nudged Clarissa. “Don’t give up anything until you get everything you need. Let them open the box and prove what’s in it, first.”
Claire frowned. Looking at Omar she said, “You know perfectly well that what’s in a safety deposit box is safe.”
Omar said. “I don’t know what’s in the box. I don’t know if anything’s in the box.” He looked at Clarissa. “What is it you need from these people?”
Clarissa swallowed. “It’s a long story. But I can handle it.” She paused. “Can you wait in the carr—er, the car?”
Omar gave her a silent long look. “Yeah. I’ll wait in the truck.” He gave a pensive stare to Julian and Claire and then returned to the Trailblazer.
Claire took out a file holding a copy of the contract. She was about to hand it to Clarissa, but Julian put out a hand and stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “She can come with us to see that everything else is in the box. And when she gives up the shawl, we’ll give up the documents and the key.”
Julian was right. Besides, what if it was too late to go back at all? What if the cottage, even now, was being razed and neither she nor Julian could get back? She would need her contract and all her IDs if they were stuck in the present. She hung on to the file. Clarissa tried to take it forcefully, but Julian took it from both women.
Clarissa pursed her lips.
“After we’ve gone, it’s all yours,” Julian said.
Claire turned to Julian. “Let me call Adam and see how far they’ve gotten with the demolition. I don’t want to wait too long for you to return, whatever happens with me!”
“What difference does that make?” asked Clarissa irritably.
“All the difference in the world,” said Claire. “The shawl only works in tandem with the cottage. It must remain standing.”
Clarissa looked duly impressed with that response and said nothing. Then her face blanched and she said, “Do you mean to say the three of us could be stranded here?” She glared at Claire. “Living here is no advantage to me if you remain!”
At that moment she noticed Clarissa's driver had returned, and wore a look on his face that said he’d heard more than he should have. More than he understood. Clarissa turned to him with a look of trepidation. All he said was, “This is getting really interesting. I knew there was something strange going on with you.”
She pressed her lips together but said nothing.
Claire’s cell phone was to her ear, as she waited for Adam to pick up. “Adam!” she said now. “Have they started the demolition yet?” Her face fell. “How far along?” A pause. “Oh. So they haven’t done any wrecking, yet.” She gave Julian a look of reassurance. “No, no, I’m not hoping they won’t. No, I’m not,” she said again.
But her face lit with a thought. “Adam. I have a key to a safety deposit box that belonged to my grandmother. Can you hold off the wrecking ball—or whatever it is you use—until I check it for a deed to the property?” She held the phone away and hissed to Julian, “I wish I’d checked it before! I looked in it once, but I was distracted. It was when I couldn't get back to you. But there could be a deed in that box!”
“Your grandmother?” Clarissa asked, with a look of amazement. “Do you mean Lady Ashworth? She lived here?”
But Claire was listening to Adam, her brows furrowed. She said, turning away so the others might not hear her, “I know I’m asking a lot. I promise you—anything. No, I don’t—I don’t want to keep living there, even if there is a deed. I just don’t want you to destroy it.” Claire didn’t care so much that the cottage was never destroyed, as much as that it wouldn’t be destroyed too soon. They needed time to get to the box and show Clarissa its contents. Then, she’d give them the shawl, and they could be off for the past—for good.
Adam said, “What does that mean, you’ll do anything?”
Claire didn’t know what to say.
In a softer tone, Adam said, “Tell me you’ll stay with me. We’ll get married. I’ll stop this. I’ll stop it right now. I’ll save your cottage. But you have to have a deed, or my father will still destroy it.”
“But you’ll stop the work while I check the box?”
“If you say it. If you agree to be mine.”
Claire glanced uneasily back at Clarissa. “Do I have your word? You won’t let a board of that cottage be removed? Until I get back to you?”
“You have my word—if I have yours.”
Swallowing the pangs of her conscience, she whispered, “I will. I’ll be yours. You have my word.” When she’d clicked the phone shut, she turned back to the others. “Okay. Let’s check the box and get on with this.” Looking to Clarissa she added, “If there's a deed to the cottage in that box, you’ll get to keep it.”
Clarissa said, “I don’t care about the cottage as long as you—” She glanced nervously at her driver. “Give me my things and go where you said you would.”
“Everything’s in the box,” said Claire. “So follow us—you’re good at that.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Clarissa said icily. She took Omar’s arm and turned back toward the Trailblazer.
Julian watched them go and then gazed at Claire curiously. “The demolition—?”
“Stopped for now,” she said. She paused uncomfortably, struggling with her conscience. “Clarissa merely had to agree to be engaged—” She cleared her throat. “To Adam.”
He gave her a look of amazement. “You mean, she’s betrothed?”
Claire nodded. He turned to look ahead of them. She started up the engine, wondering if he thought her awful for making such an arrangement for Clarissa. Adam would no doubt be furious when the lady failed to honor it. But as the Capri eased onto the road, the sound of laughter from the front passenger seat trailed into the atmosphere.
As they drove toward the credit union that held the safety deposit box, Claire said, “I hope there’s a deed in
the box. I hate the thought of the cottage being razed.”
He gazed at her. She felt his eyes even though she kept hers on the road. “You wish to keep the cottage standing,” he said softly, “to hold on to this life.”
“No!” Claire cried. “I long to go back with you.”
“But there will always be a part of you here,” he insisted, still in that soft tone. “Unless the cottage is destroyed—or the shawls.”
She looked at him in consternation. “That’s not it. I wasn’t thinking of that, really I wasn’t.”
He looked at her thoughtfully, and they drove on in silence. Claire searched her heart, but all she wanted was to marry him. She said, “There may always be a part of me here. Just as there is always a part of us that remains a child. I lived here. I found you by living here. I can’t erase that.”
“Nor would I ask you to,” he said.
She glanced over and saw a look of affection in his eyes that made her tingle with pleasure. Soon, soon, they would get the tallit and return to the past and be married! It was all turning out too wonderful for words! As long as Clarissa kept her side of the bargain. The only thing Claire would linger in the present for, was to give Julian another chance at the wheel. He adored driving; how could she deny him a last opportunity?
When they pulled into the parking lot at the credit union, the black Trailblazer pulled in to their left. Claire looked over and found that awful man with Clarissa gazing intently at her. He certainly didn’t have the face of a nice person, she thought with a shudder. Perhaps she’d saved Clarissa from him by promising her hand to Adam! Clarissa was speaking earnestly to him, even as he watched her and Julian. Claire wondered what story she’d given him, and how much he knew—or didn’t know.
The four of them walked into the building. A clerk asked to see the key before leading them to a room lined with steel drawers—the boxes. He unlocked Claire’s box and left it for them to inspect. Beneath Claire’s portfolio of documents, she discovered the piece of the diamond and sapphire set, a beautiful brooch, that she’d left behind. Clarissa snatched for it—and was stopped from taking it only by Julian’s quick hand.
“The documents are yours,” he said. “But that’s all.”
“But you don’t know if you can take it with you!” she cried, derisively.
“Where are they going?” Omar asked, curiously. “Where can’t they take jewelry?”
Clarissa gave him a guarded look. “I only meant, they shouldn’t take it. Travellers are notoriously held up by highwaymen.”
“Highwaymen?” Omar looked at her, thinking hard. “What planet were you raised on? I sometimes get the feeling you’re from another century.”
Clarissa tossed her head. “That’s because…because…I’m an author. I do a lot of research.” She looked at Julian. “It’s safer to leave it here in the box,” she said, barely hiding a smirk. Claire had to hand it to Clarissa. She was moving into her new identity seamlessly. But she did not return the brooch to the box.
She pulled out the old love letters and other papers. She hadn’t been able to read them or look through all the papers the last time she came. They went through one after another, finding stock certificates, a marriage certificate, and some old photos. One envelope held German and Italian currency, probably from World War II. Finally only one folded sheet of aged paper remained. The ink was bleeding through. Claire carefully unfolded it. The deed!
“The deed, indeed,” quipped Julian.
Claire turned a smile up to him. “I knew it! Somehow I knew it!” She handed it to Clarissa. “Why should the Winthrops get the property when it really did belong to my—um, your grandparents?”
Omar’s eyes narrowed.
Clarissa took the paper and then held out her hand. “And now, the rest of my documents, if you please.”
“If you please,” repeated Omar, shaking his head. “You know, there’s only one other person I’ve met who speaks as strangely as you.” He pointed at Julian. “Him.”
Clarissa said, “Not now, Omar.” She turned back to Claire. “Well?”
“The shawl,” said Julian. “It belongs to Claire.”
“Claire?” Omar’s head went back. “Her name’s Claire? Wait a minute.” He looked at Clarissa. “I thought Claire was your pen name.”
“It is,” Clarissa said.
Omar’s jaw hardened. “All right. What’s going on here?” he asked. “What’s really going on?” The clerk came back to the room.
“All finished here?” he asked. “I need to lock up.”
The foursome hesitated. But Claire grabbed all the papers, shoved them into the leather portfolio, and headed out. “Yes, we’re done, thank you.”
Outside, Clarissa dug in her purse. “Here is your shawl. Give me your documents.”
Omar said, beneath his breath, “I thought they were your documents.”
She held out the shawl. Claire took it, while handing her the portfolio. Clarissa started rifling through it. “That license is here? To drive the, er, car?”
Omar shook his head with silent anger. Clarissa must think him a fool if she expected him to buy all this at face value.
Claire said, “You have everything else. I still need the license for…a little while longer.”
Clarissa’s lips compressed. She would have snatched back the shawl but it was out of sight, tucked already in one of Julian’s pockets. “What could you possibly need it for?” she asked with disbelief.
Claire looked at Julian. Perhaps Clarissa was right. Perhaps she didn’t need it. They had both pieces of the shawl. They could return to 1816 at will. She took a wallet out of her purse, hesitated, then put it back and gave the whole thing to Clarissa. She felt there was something wrong about doing so—but a deal was a deal.
Clarissa took it and turned on her heel. She motioned to Omar who immediately kept stride with her, but she stopped and looked back at Claire and Julian. “Give my regards to Margaret,” she said. Turning back, though no one but Omar heard her, she added, “Even though she is a lack wit.”
Omar nodded, as if he finally understood something.
It is madness for sheep to talk peace with a wolf.
Thomas Fuller
CHAPTER 64
When they were back in the Trailblazer, Omar sat staring out the windshield, but didn’t start up the engine. Clarissa was going through the fascinating assortment of documents. A college degree! Amazing.
Meanwhile, Omar turned to her with new eyes, a knowing, wizened look. She glanced at him and shut the portfolio, putting it between the console and her seat.
“I know you have questions,” she said.
“You better believe I have questions!” His eyes blazed at her. Beginning with this one. “Who are you, and where are you from?”
Clarissa paled. She licked her lips. “Can we not return to your apartment and talk there?” She winced at her own words. Though she still had an American accent, her speech was more and more betraying her Regency roots.
“Can we not?” he repeated, his brows raised. He paused, staring at her. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from England,” she said. “Is it a crime to be British?”
“You don’t sound British.”
“I’ve worked hard not to,” she lied. “Anyway, what difference does it make?”
Omar watched while the clerk who had been in the credit union went out to his car, got in, and drove off. It was lunchtime. The Capri was slowly circling the parking lot for some reason, but he ignored it. He looked back at Clarissa. “Here’s the difference it makes,” he said. He leaned over so that he was too close, his face in hers. “Nobody makes a fool out of me. If you were a man…” he said.
Omar’s mean face had become almost invisible to Clarissa as he’d been more gallant than expected, even kind. She’d grown fond of him. But now the meanness of his features seemed to encapsulate the real Omar. This Omar. She’d not seen it before.
He moved away but kept a wary ey
e on her. “I think you ought to get out of this truck. We’re done.”
Alarmed, Clarissa looked around, then back at him. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t leveled with me.” He shook his head. “I wanted it to work out with you, sweetheart,” he said. “I liked you. But you haven’t once leveled with me.”
Clarissa stared at him. She didn’t want to lose him. “What is it you want me to tell you?”
He took a breath. “I want the whole story. Who you are, who those people are to you, and what you’ve all got to do with each other. I want to know why you’re taking over Claire’s identity.”
Clarissa felt a stab of alarm. Omar was smarter than she’d thought.
“And I want to know what the fuss is about a shawl—a torn shawl, a piece of junk.”
Clarissa took a deep breath and turned in her seat to face him. “Very well. If I tell you, will you still be done with me?”
He reached over and took her hand. “No. I don’t want to be done with you.” He released her hand and sat back. “Let’s have it. From the beginning.”
You’re playing with Pandora’s box. Sometimes it’s better not to open it.
Sometimes, it’s better not to know.
Tatiana de Rosnay
CHAPTER 65
Julian sat behind the wheel of the Capri, carefully turning it to circle the perimeter of the parking lot. He turned to Claire. “We’ve circled four times. I think I may safely take us elsewhere.”
“Not yet,” Claire said, with an indulgent smile. “People generally practice for days or weeks before getting proficient with a car.”
“But wouldn’t you prefer to be away from them?” He motioned with his head at the Trailblazer, which hadn’t moved.
Claire shrugged. “Who cares about them?”
He looked over at her wistfully. “You realize, I must try this on a road,” he said, inching towards the lot’s exit. “I need to pick up speed,” he said.
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