A/N: Welcome to my new story.

To everyone: I promise to update it regularly though it might take some time (especially after August), so be kind and have patience with me :-).

And now I wish you a happy reading :-)

All comments and reviews are very much appreciated.

The day was shining brightly as the wind blew softly through the old man's hair. He had been strolling around being followed his ever faithful valet George, who wasn't much younger than his boss, but sadly for him in much poorer health.

In short he had trouble following him.

"Sir…Sir…," George kept pounding behind. "Please a little slower," he added in a whisper.

It knew he wasn't supposed to criticize his actions.

After what seemed like an eternity he came to stop in front of a little store that appeared to be selling all kinds of small presents, things as kind of they were called kitsch.

You could see it, just by looking through the window.

"I still need something for that stupid jerk of Mr. Winter and his wife."

What a waste of money and time – George thought.

Mr. Winter was a high respected figure in society and a long business partner.

George shook his head over this comment as it told him what his boss really thought of Mr. Winter and his wife – apparently not much.

And when meeting they are all like – kiss left, kiss right – while in reality they hated each other. The whole society they lived in was like this. Most of it at least, some minor real affection was shown, but apart from that it was all about who's got more ability to feign.

As they were stepping inside, a rush of hot air was raging through.

No wonder with all these dust catchers everywhere around.

"I think we better leave again, Sir," George whispered.

But he only received a cold stare, telling him to shut up.

"Look these are nice," he instead spoke up coming to stand in front of what seemed to be porcelains figures.

Like I thought nothing but kitsch…nothing of value…

Reluctantly George was standing around, not daring to do anything. He knew what was expected of a good butler.

"Would you like to buy something of these, Sir?" a man was finally appearing behind them.

Thank god, I really thought we had to spend the night here.

They're obviously not very interested in selling anything here.

But his chief just smiled up at the man.

"Yes, in fact I'm looking for a gift," he spoke up. "I think that this here…," he held up a figure of a dame in rococo style "…might be something of interest for my friends."

The other one nodded.

"Sure would you like to purchase it?"

George hoped, that he would say yes and that they could finally leave this place.

Should he remind him that they were supposed to have dinner with his son and daughter-in-law shortly?

No, it wasn't his to disapprove.

"Yes, I'm getting it."

Finally, they had spent here enough time already.

George's feet were beginning to hurt, but dared not sit down on the chair that he noticed was standing a few feet away.

What would his boss think?

"Fine, I'm going to wrap it up for you," the shop-assistant said taking the porcelain figure away from him.

"I'll be back in a minute," he excused himself moving into the room backwards again.

While they were waiting George wanted nothing more, but to sit down.

"We'll be going soon," his boss told him his eyes wondering around the room.

You won't find anything interesting here – George wanted to tell him, but kept his mouth shut.

Finally his eyes came to rest on the drawing of a beautiful woman and he gasped instantly drawing closer.

It was lying on a desk and was obviously not supposed to be here. It was somehow exquisite work, he had to admit and it didn't fit very well beneath all these other lousy possessions.

But what really shocked him was the woman in the picture.

Her face, eyes, her whole appearance couldn't be misleading him.

There was no mistaking that it was her.

"Sir, what is it?" George asked seeing his wondering and yet hurt eyes.

Hurt about what?

"Nothing, I just…"

"I'm finished," announced the man working here.

George sighed in relieve.

"Fine, I'm how much I'm going have to pay?"

"Twenty dollars…"

That's just as much for that idiot.

The man didn't bother to count the money.

"Would it be alright if I asked you a question?"

The man nodded.

"Of course, anything you want, Sir."

"You've got a very beautiful drawing here and I just wondered, if it would be saleable too?"

"No, I'm sorry," came the answer with a heavy shaking of his head.

"I see…well…maybe you could at least tell me the name of the artist and who the gorgeous woman in the picture is."

"I suppose I can do that. So the artist is me and the woman in the picture is my wife."

"So your wife…"

Was there a hint of sarcasm, of something – let's see about this, I don't believe you – in his voice?

He shook it away.

Why would he doubt his words?

"Yes, my wife," he repeated more sternly.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me your name?"

"It's Jack Dawson," he said now even more wondering about this strange man.

"Now Mr. Dawson I must say that I don't know anything about art, never have had much interest in it, but I'm quite able to notice, when someone's got talent and you surely do."

"Why, thank you Sir," Jack spoke up.

"I understand that you won't sell this picture…but you see my wife she's really…well you know," he stammered knowing how to flatter people.

Jack still understood.

"Of course I know, Sir. I suppose that it won't hurt anyone, if you give it to her," Jack told him not caring to ask for a name. "But tell her to keep a special eye on it. You know Rose is the best thing that ever happened to me," he added in low and still sound voice.

Rose, yes, he had already known her name, but now it had been confirmed.

George was more than happy, when they finally headed home.

…

Dinner was supposed to be a quiet, boring affair, like everything else in this household. However, today something was different.

"I want to speak with you, son."

George noticed the demanding tone in his voice and felt a bit sorry for the boy, a boy of more than forty years.

It was so ridiculous, but again he wasn't the one to condemn.

"I'm coming, Sir."

There was the sound of the closing door and one of the other servants, a young girl, couldn't help but of eavesdropped.

George shook his head about this dreadful behaviour, but of course he planned to ask her all about it later on.

"You lied to me," the father hissed.

The girl could see the shaking of a head through the keyhole.

"I thought she was dead. You told me that she died on that ship."

His son looked at him still totally confused.

"Who?"

"If I remember correctly her name was Rose Dewitt Bukater."

There was a gasping sound from the son.

"But she is dead."

"And what's this?" his father threw the drawing in front of him his voice telling everyone just how angry he was.

"Where did you get this, Sir?"

There was no mistaking, it really was Rose.

"I purchased it, from a young man, who told me that she was his wife, said his name was Jack Dawson."

There was an angry grumble again, this time from the son.

"I hope you've got an explanation for this son and for you I hope that it's a good one," he looked him deeply in the eyes. "But for now our wives are waiting for us," he added indicating for his son to follow him outside.

I really thought that he perished with that doomed ship and with her.