by Blake Pierce
Since when?
Since she was a small child, anyway. She couldn’t remember when she’d first tasted it, but for all she knew, it might have been here in Hungary.
But who had delivered it here?
And why?
There wasn’t so much as a card or message with it.
Had Emil ordered it for her?
She didn’t think she’d mentioned to him or anybody else how much she liked baklava.
Is there a mind reader aboard?
She smiled at the unlikely idea. She remembered that she hadn’t had any dessert back at the Duna Étterem, and now she felt hungry enough to enjoy it.
Beside the dish was some silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. She sat down and cut off a small bite of the dessert.
Um-m-m.
The delicate, tissue-thin layers of filo layered with chopped nuts literally melted in her mouth. The honeyed syrup that saturated the dish seemed sweeter and more satisfying than any she’d tasted before. She felt positively light-headed at how delicious it was.
By the time she finished the baklava, London Rose felt that everything was right with the world. Whoever had sent her this gift had made a perfect ending to her first day on a new job.
A great way to start a new life.
When she finished the delicacy, she stood up and opened the curtains over her narrow window, revealing a lovely view of the river and the stars silhouetting the distant hills.
But who brought me such a nice treat?
She really had no idea.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Early the next morning, London opened her curtains upon a very different view from the one she’d had yesterday. They were in a narrow river and a line of people was standing on the shore, staring curiously at the Nachtmusik.
The sight took her aback for a few moments, then she realized that a boat like this must be a rare sight here. Although the little town was easily accessible by bus or rail, the people must be surprised that such a ship had ventured all this way into the heart of Gyor.
She knew that most tour boats wouldn’t even attempt to make it up this tributary of the Danube to the place where the river narrowed and converged with the Rába and Rábca. Even though the modest-sized Nachtmusik was well-designed to reach unusual destinations, the pilot had to be exceptionally skilled to manage that passageway through the Moson Danube, or Small Danube.
Beyond the curious crowd, the other side of the river was a fanciful, densely packed assortment of quaint buildings with tiled roofs. London could see by the angles of their walls that the streets must be twisty and irregular. It was a less majestic city than Budapest—but if anything, it seemed more charming and fairytale-like.
Gyor’s Old Town, she realized. She had never been here before, not even with Mom and Dad.
As she turned away from the window, London glanced at the silver compote on her table. Only a few crumbs and a few drops of sticky syrup remained there beneath it. She closed her eyes and felt as though she could taste that delicious baklava all over again.
Who left it there for me?
Maybe today she could solve the mystery of the baklava’s origin.
Meanwhile, she had a busy day ahead. She put on her uniform and got ready for work. But as soon as she stepped outside her room, her spirits sank. Amy Blassingame was striding down the hallway toward her.
“London, I was just coming down to see you!” Amy cried out. She kept chattering as she came to a halt, blocking London’s way. “I’ve been simply frantic all morning, going from room to room to take care of all those things on that enormous list of yours. And I’m afraid I’ve run into a problem. A passenger came to me with a small complaint—well, not a small complaint as far as he’s concerned.”
“What is it?” London asked.
“He said his room temperature wasn’t absolutely perfect. Something about it having to stay exactly at seventy-eight degrees. He said it was wrong, I can’t remember whether he said it was too high or too low. I told him I’d bring it up with you. I said I was sure you would make sure it got fixed.”
London winced a little. Then she thought back to what Elsie had told her yesterday.
“Just remember—you’re her boss, not the other way around.”
And after all, this was an issue for a concierge to take care of, not a social director.
The time had come for her to exert her authority.
But how could she do that without making unnecessary waves?
Politely, she decided.
She smiled pleasantly.
“Well, please check in with the maintenance manager, will you? Tell him about the complaint. Maybe he can figure out some way to fix this. Or maybe he’ll tell you that the temperature just can’t be set any more precisely than it is. Either way, kindly talk to the passenger and explain to him how things are. I’ll leave it up to you.”
Amy’s smile faded.
“But I’ve got so many other things to do,” she grumbled.
“And so do I,” London replied. “But I have confidence in you. I’m sure you can take care of it.”
Amy stood glaring for a moment, as if about to protest. But of course, she couldn’t very well complain about being asked to do her job—especially when she’d been asked nicely.
“All right, then,” Amy said. “What else is on the agenda?”
“I’ve got a large tour group for today,” London said. “We’ll be leaving after breakfast.”
“Really?” Amy said with a wistful sigh. “And I suppose I’ll be spending the whole day aboard while you’re out … well, never mind.”
London had to admit that it didn’t seem quite fair.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll take them out for the morning and through lunch. Then we’ll take a break and you can take over.”
Amy smiled.
“Oh, that would be nice,” she said.
“I’ll need some help before we leave this morning, taking names of who will be on the tour. You can help me with that after breakfast on the gangway.”
“Very good,” Amy said. “I’ll be there.”
As Amy went away, London breathed a sigh of relief. Giving orders was still new to her, but she knew Elsie would be proud of how she’d asserted herself over the so-called River Troll.
She took the elevator up to the Romanze deck’s Habsburg Restaurant. Servers were already busy setting the tables and generally getting things ready. Standing to one side, a man wearing a white chef’s uniform was overseeing their progress.
London walked toward him and extended her hand.
“You’re the head chef, I believe.”
“That’s right—Bryce Yeaton,” the chef replied as he shook her hand. “And I do double duty as the ship’s medic. And you’re London Rose, our social director. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” London said. She noted that his accent was Australian, and that his face was … very pleasant, with a dimpled chin and flawlessly maintained stubble of beard.
Just then a harried-looking server came by with a request, and Bryce dashed off to solve a problem. London went to a side table and poured herself a cup of coffee, then Bryce came back her way.
“Sorry, London,” he said. Then he asked with a grin, “Is it OK for us to call each other by our first names?”
“I’d certainly prefer it, Bryce.”
“Glad to hear that, London.”
They both chuckled. London found herself thinking that this man’s cheerful features didn’t look capable of frowning. He seemed to be quite likeable in an unremarkable sort of way. She did wonder why he was looking at her with an expression of curiosity.
“I thought I’d greet your breakfast customers this morning,” she said, to explain her presence here.
“That’s kind of you, but I’ve already got a hostess,” Bryce said, nodding toward a woman who was helping set up the tables.
“I know you do,” London said. “But I’m responsible f
or keeping about a hundred people happy, and it’s a bigger challenge than I’m used to. I’d better spend some extra time dealing with them face to face.”
A few passengers were arriving now, so London put down her coffee and started toward them, but Bryce’s next words stopped her in her tracks.
“Did you enjoy your baklava?” he asked.
London’s eyes widened.
“So—that was you?”
Bryce shrugged.
“I wanted to introduce myself to you yesterday, but you always seemed to be on the run whenever you weren’t ashore. You seemed to be having a hectic day, so I thought maybe you’d like to end it with a nice dessert.”
“It was a very nice dessert indeed,” London said. “One of my very favorites, in fact. But why didn’t you leave a note or something to …?”
“Let you know who it was from?” Bryce said. “Well, I guess I figured it would be kind of obvious …”
He shrugged, and London understood what he meant.
“Of course I should have realized …” she said. “How silly of me. It’s a good thing I’m not a detective. I wouldn’t be much good at it.”
Then he said, “Here comes your lady with the dog. Though there’s hardly enough there to be called a dog. But I don’t think that kind of terrier will grow any bigger.”
London saw that Mrs. Klimowski was entering the dining room with a grouchy-looking Sir Reginald peering out of her bag.
“The little thing doesn’t seem to like being lugged around in that bag,” she observed.
“Who would?” he replied. “Dogs are meant to run about, aren’t they? Wonder if that one even can.”
London laughed at the memory of Sir Reginald’s nimble antics yesterday evening as he’d avoided his owner.
“You’d be surprised,” she told Bryce.
With a grin, the chef rushed away to the kitchen.
London hurried to greet Mrs. Klimowski.
The woman hadn’t looked well yesterday, and she didn’t seem any better today. Of course, she was again laden with diamonds and that ruby pendant, and the haughty expression on her face hadn’t changed either.
“Good morning, Mrs. Klimowski,” London said. “Did you sleep well last night?”
She had a feeling she knew the answer, but it was her job to ask the question anyway.
“Not at all well, if you must know,” Mrs. Klimowski said with a slight whine. “I got desperately seasick, and so did Sir Reginald, the poor dear. Isn’t there anything that can be done to stop this boat from rocking so much?”
Rocking? London thought.
To the best of her knowledge, the Nachtmusik never rocked at all. It was a riverboat, after all, and not at the mercy of waves and tides and such. Perhaps Mrs. Klimowski had been disturbed by the boat’s halting progress as it had approached Gyor through the Small Danube.
“I’m sorry you had a rough night,” London said. “But when we get back onto the main Danube, the sailing should be easier.”
“I should hope so. What’s for breakfast this morning?”
London recited a few choice items from the menu.
“Oh, those won’t do at all,” Mrs. Klimowski huffed. “Not after that indigestible ‘Dracula dish’ last night. I’ll just have to order something bland—a slice or two of dry toast, perhaps. Maybe I’ll have something richer later on.”
London took the woman by the elbow and escorted her toward a table.
“I hope you’ve planned an excellent tour for today,” Mrs. Klimowski said.
London felt a twinge of worry. Mrs. Klimowski seemed rather frail as she guided her along. She wondered—should she make a firm suggestion that the woman stay on board and rest for today? Should she insist that the ship’s medic take a look at her?
Then London remembered what she had learned earlier from reading the crew list. Since this was a smaller ship than most cruise vessels, many of the crew doubled up on their jobs. She herself had way more responsibilities than she’d ever had before. And as Bryce had mentioned, he was the boat’s medic as well as the chef, available to treat minor ailments and to route passengers to onshore hospitals in emergencies. And she knew that the chef was quite busy right now.
As London helped the elderly woman into her chair, she assured her that the tour ought to be quite stimulating.
Then London went back to greeting other guests, pleased by how many of their names she could remember. When she finished, she looked for a place to sit down and have breakfast herself. Emil Waldmüller was sitting alone, and he gestured for her to join him. She still felt strange after their uncomfortable exchange on the Rondo deck, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel pleased or not.
But as she sat down with him, she immediately felt charmed again by his Old World bearing and his sophisticated smile. When a server hurried over to them. Emil ordered breakfast scones, and London decided on Eggs Benedict.
“I understand that we will be taking a tour group out this morning.” Emil said.
“That’s right,” London said, feeling a flash of anxiety at the task ahead of her. “We’re scheduled right after breakfast.”
Although she knew that it was part of Emil’s job to assist on scheduled tours, she wondered if it was going to be comfortable working with him today.
Apparently Emil noticed her hesitation, because his smile turned just a little shy and sheepish.
“Eh, I promise to be perfectly polite to all of the passengers. Even the dog.”
London felt reassured. Perhaps he’d realized that he’d put her off a little last night, and wanted to do better.
*
After breakfast, London returned to her room and changed into a nice pair of slacks and a lightweight blouse. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she looked over the notes she’d prepared last night and loaded into her cell phone for today’s walking tour.
Last night she’d used the Internet to review details about Gyor—its sights, its history, and its people. Now she had an impressive ongoing lecture prepared to deliver as she led her tourists through the city. She felt confident that she could recite it all by heart if she needed to.
She took the elevator up to the Menuetto deck and the reception room. Emil and Amy were already there, and some forty people soon arrived for the tour. The other passengers had either chosen to wander about on their own or to stay on the ship. Before they left the reception area, she and Amy took down the names of the people in the tour group.
Then London, Emil, and Amy led the group out onto the simple railed gangway, which extended over a small raft to the riverside. At the end of the gangway, a group of townspeople stood staring in fascination at the boat. London understood why. The Nachtmusik was a truly startling sight for this stretch of the Small Danube.
They were a friendly group, and many of them greeted the tourists as they set foot on the riverbank, some of them by saying “Hello,” “Good morning,” or “Welcome” in English. As London led the tour group away from the boat, she turned to wave goodbye to Amy. But she saw that Amy was talking to one of the townspeople—a rather ordinary-looking man who looked about London’s age. London quickly realized what was going on.
Amy’s flirting with him.
Or he’s flirting with her.
Or they’re flirting with each other.
It was a bit of a surprise. Until now, Amy had struck London as too stiff and officious for this kind of thing. And now London wasn’t sure what to think about it. She was pretty sure that fraternization was against the ship’s rules.
But she quickly assured herself that it hardly mattered. The Nachtmusik was scheduled to leave Gyor this evening—too soon for any kind of a romance to develop. As long as Amy kept doing her job, London had no reason to complain.
London and Emil led the group along the bank to the arched bridge and across the river toward Old Town.
As the town loomed larger in front of her, a strange sensation was rising up in her—a sensation she couldn’t remember feeling before.
This didn’t feel like an ordinary tourist town.
At the end of the bridge, she and the group stepped into Old Town, with its plazas and twisting streets and its variety of quaint and lovely rooftops, spires, and edifices. Then that sensation swept over her completely. For a moment she wondered what was making her feel this way.
She suddenly realized what it was.
History.
Gyor was fairly alive with it, more so than any other city she’d ever visited.
Her group had gathered in a circle around her, expecting her to say a few words before starting their tour. London looked at the notes she’d prepared on her cell phone. Suddenly, they seemed incredibly dull, just a lifeless list of dates, names, and historical facts.
This won’t do, she realized.
The lecture she’d prepared couldn’t possibly convey the feelings she had right now.
It was all perfectly useless.
What am I going to say?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Abundant thoughts were crowding London’s mind, but she couldn’t seem to put any of them into appropriate words. She knew she had to say something. The passengers were standing there, waiting for her to introduce them to a city she had never seen before.
Of course, she had studied up on Gyor last night, but now that she had actually set foot in the city, what she had planned to say felt so … inadequate.
She glanced over at Emil, wondering for a moment if she should swallow her pride and ask him to help her out.
He was smiling at her in an oddly sympathetic way.
As if he knows how I feel.
As if he’s felt this way himself.
And she realized—as a trained historian who had spent his life exploring and studying Europe, surely he had felt this way, probably on many occasions.
With a slight nod, Emil seemed to be reassuring her, encouraging her to let herself find the words she needed as she spoke them.
London began haltingly.
“I’ve never been to Gyor before but … I can already feel something about this city. I feel like I can learn something from it, and not just about history, but something about …”
