A Rather Curious Engagement by C. A. Belmond

self-controlled way of his.
    “Does it have a name?” I asked, looking closer. I read it aloud. “Oh . . . Liesl’s Dream .”
    “We could call it anything we want,” Jeremy said absently. But looking at the catalog brought him back down to earth. “Except . . .” His voice trailed off.
    “What?” I prodded.
    “Well,” he said, resuming his old cautious tone, “it’s just that we haven’t a hope in hell of getting it.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “Because people get crazy at auctions, and sometimes, just to keep the other guy from getting it, they drive the price up. I don’t want to throw our money away if that happens. There’s only one thing worse than chasing a dream, and that’s coming really close, only to watch somebody else take it away from you.”
    “Oh, swell!” I exclaimed. “Following that philosophy, Columbus wouldn’t have sailed the Atlantic, and Babe Ruth wouldn’t have hit a single home run, and Noah wouldn’t have built his ark ...”
    “Do stick with baseball, and stay away from the nautical motifs, ” Jeremy suggested. “Anyhow, this is supposed to be something we both want, and I’m not sure I should drag you into it—”
    “ I’m sure! It’s a great idea. Come on, brace up!” I said, imitating my English mother’s pull-yourself-together scolding tone. “If you don’t take a chance on this dream of yours, I guarantee you that you will spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if only you’d showed up for this auction. Where are they holding this clambake, anyway?”
    “At an hotel in Nice,” Jeremy said. “It’s a charity auction, which means there will be all kinds of politicians, collectors, celebrities, you name it.”
    “Perfect! It’s all for a worthy cause. Are they selling other yachts? And don’t holler, I know this is the one you want,” I said hastily.
    “It’s the only yacht in the auction,” Jeremy said darkly. “They’re selling a lot of other fancy stuff, none of which interests me in the least.”
    Then I said the magic words. “Hey, this would be just the right way to do our ‘time off’ that you wanted. In a yacht! Travel all round the ports and islands of the Riviera. Imagine how liberating it would be for us to see the coast from a boat, just like the ancient Greeks! We could go in the summertime.”
    Jeremy looked intrigued. “You could look the yacht over,” he said thoughtfully. “With your expertise on history, antiques and art, you could tell me if it’s really as good as they say it is. They allow viewing of it before the auction, by appointment, of course.”
    “Fine,” I said briskly. “We’re going. Buy your ticket or do whatever you have to do, and get two, because I’m going with you to the auction. It gives us a target date for you to wrap up all your business and get us out of London.”

Chapter Seven
    Well, getting The Lawyer Who Never Takes A Vacation to arrange for time off is a job for Wonder Woman. I got some unexpected help from Jeremy’s mother (she’s my Aunt Sheila, because, after Jeremy’s father died, she married Uncle Peter, Mom’s brother).
    Aunt Sheila lives in a pretty, modern apartment in Chelsea, and one evening, when we stopped in to see her, Jeremy told her he’d just been accosted outside his office by a guy who tried to convince him to spend his money taking “gladiator lessons” (very expensive, and requiring one to wear a toga.) It was then that Aunt Sheila offered her advice about how to put some distance between us and the aggressive salesmen who accosted us on a daily—and nightly— basis.
    “Become a moving target, darlings,” she said. “Take the whole summer off. You’ll always remember having had a few months of being fancy-free, while you’re young enough to really enjoy it. Don’t tell anyone where they can find you. Let the office field your calls.”
    "We’re not students anymore,” Jeremy reminded her. “Taking a ’gap year.’”
    He