The Importance of Being Alice

  “The town is actually called Ainston, and most of its residents would burst out laughing if you told them to tug their forelocks.”

  “A proud, simple people, eh?”

  “Proud and fiercely independent, yes.”

  A sudden thought struck me as we climbed the stairs. “Do you get to do that droit thing?”

  “What droit thing?”

  We emerged into a smallish sitting area dotted with several round tables that were identical to the one in our cabin. To the right was a door with a sign informing all that the dining room was open for meal service.

  “That thing where the lord of the land gets to sleep with all the newly married women.” I eyed him. I could just imagine all those lusty brides ogling him and hopping into his bed in order to get their motors started. So to speak.

  He gave me a look that spoke volumes. “Droit du seigneur is a myth, Alice. It didn’t really exist.”

  “It was in Braveheart!”

  “As were a great many other events that bore no resemblance to what actually took place during William Wallace’s life. What is it with you Americans and your fascination with men in kilts?” He shook his head, holding open the door for me to enter the dining room.

  “You just said it—men in kilts. Mmrowr. Oooh, nice buffet.”

  But as I picked up an empty plate to fill, I was stopped by a piercing voice.

  “And there is our last missing couple,” Tiffany said from across the dining room. Five square tables filled the room, leaving only one side free for the buffet offerings. “Mr. Ainslie, Miss Wood, I’d like to introduce you to the rest of your fellow passengers on this, the thirty-second cruise of Manny van Bris European Tours.”

  I paused in the act of scooping some melon onto the small plate, glancing over at where Elliott was wearing his martyred expression again. “Mr. Ainslie?” I said softly.

  He grimaced. “It’s easier that way. Less explaining to do.”

  “How egalitarian of you.”

  “This is Mr. Weekes, and his companion Mr. Sorensson,” Tiffany said, moving to stand next to a table with two men in their late twenties.

  “Anthony Weekes,” the one with the dark hair and goatee said, giving us a little nod of the head. “This is comrade Dahl. He’s from Norway.” His buddy, a huge blond man of obvious Viking stock, murmured something polite, and continued to shovel vast quantities of rolls, potatoes, and eggs into his face.

  The next table contained four Japanese girls of about sixteen. They wore matching blue and white school uniforms, and all giggled and bowed their heads when Tiffany said, “And here we have our group from Nagasaki. The girls won a radio contest being held in conjunction with our home-base twinned town, Edmund-upon-Dell. They are here with their two teachers, Miss . . . er . . .” Tiffany consulted her clipboard, frowned, and shook her head briefly. “Ms. Izumi and Ms. Megumi.”

  The two women in question sat at the next table and said in very precise English that it was their pleasure to meet us. The girls just giggled more, and whispered to one another, their eyes on Elliott.

  Dammit, his curls caught their attention, too. Oh well. It was no concern of mine if the man got involved with underage schoolgirls. I smiled, and slipped a piece of ham onto my plate, ravenously wishing I could just dive facedown into the buffet.

  “And last but in no way least are the delightful Ms. Arthur and Ms. Pennyworth. They are from England.”

  “Windsor,” the one named Pennyworth said, giving us both a friendly smile. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with a long oval face, and hair pulled down over her ears in a way that reminded me of medieval Madonnas. “I’m Laura. Deidre—she’s my sister—we both work at an exclusive travel agency. That’s why we’re here, really—we always check on the tours that we sell.”

  “Isn’t Windsor where the Queen’s castle is?” I said, then looked over to Elliott. The look I received in return was quelling.

  “Yes, Windsor Castle is there, but we don’t deal with it,” Laura said with a giggle. “Although Deidre has some terribly posh clients, don’t you?”

  My gaze slid over to the woman named Deidre, and immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Perhaps it was the predatory look in her eyes. Perhaps it was the long, scarlet fingernails that reminded me of dragon claws. Perhaps it was the way she was blatantly undressing Elliott with her eyes.

  “Yeees,” Deidre drawled, her gaze still firmly attached to Elliott. I had a feeling she was making a comment about her plans for him rather than answering her friend’s question. As he moved to the buffet, she rose and strolled over to stand next to him, reaching at the same time he did for a glass. She gave a low, throaty chuckle, and leaned into him to say something.

  I swear, if I had hackles, they would be standing on end by now.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” I said, reminding myself that Elliott was not mine, and I didn’t care if he decided to hook up with a slinky-hipped, scarlet-nailed hussy. It didn’t matter to me in the least, I told myself as I took my plate over to the only free table and sat with my back to the buffet.

  The throaty chuckle drifted over me again, this time followed by a short, deep laugh that had to be from Elliott.

  Well, good riddance. Maybe he’d lighten up about shoving me out of the cabin every chance he got if he was busy hanging around Deidre. I kept my eyes on my plate, not wanting to appear at all interested when Elliott headed off to sit with the she-wolf.

  The thump of a plate hitting the table made me jump. Elliott sat down across from me, his plate piled high with breakfast goodies.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s all right.” I lowered my voice so just he could hear. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t opt to eat that mountain of food with the Besom of Windsor.”

  He chewed a bit of egg before saying, “Besom?”

  “It means hussy.”

  “I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do, as well.”

  I sat up straight and gave him back the quelling look he’d fired at me earlier. “It just so happens that I read a lot, and I collect odd words like ‘besom.’”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment, then asked, “You wouldn’t by any chance be referring to the brunette as a besom? A woman who I assume you have known approximately two minutes?”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, chomping noisily on a piece of toast. “Like you didn’t notice the way she slunk over to where you were loading up your trough, and just happened to rub her breasts all over your arm.”

  That stopped his fork halfway to his mouth. He stared at me a second, then lowered it. “First of all, I resent you implying that I have taken an inordinate amount of food.”

  I looked pointedly at his plate.

  “I am six foot four inches tall, and have large bones,” he said in a somewhat huffy tone of voice. “I need a lot of food to sustain me, especially when I’m writing. All that brain energy has to come from somewhere.”

  “All right, I apologize for my cracks about the five gallons of food you are consuming. After all, I did persuade you to have breakfast, and you are a big guy. Big as in substantial, not chubby,” I said quickly when he looked offended.

  “And second . . .” He took a moment to breathe heavily through his nose. I bet he was counting to himself. “Second, I did not notice anyone slinking. The woman in question happens to be a very pleasant individual, who commented on the state of the ship, and how likely we were to sink. That is all. So if you could rein in your unwarranted jealousy, I believe the journey will be that much easier.”

  “Unwarranted jealousy!” It was my turn to be outraged. “I am not in any way, shape, or form jealous. I simply commented that Deidre clearly has her sights on you, and I was surprised you didn’t give in to such obvious ogling and go sit with her so she can fawn on
you, and probably touch your arm with those scarlet fingernails, and continue damn near stripping the clothes off of you with her eyes.”

  “Ogling me? Was she?” He looked interested and glanced over to where the two women were finishing their breakfast.

  Deidre was waiting for that. She smiled a long, slow, very sultry smile at him, and completely ignored me.

  “She couldn’t be more obvious if she wrote her intentions on a neon sign,” I said, giving a little smile and nod to Laura, who was looking vaguely embarrassed.

  “I don’t know about that, but I will say that I find it refreshing to find a woman who isn’t coy about what she wants.”

  “Was that aimed at me?” I asked, shaking a piece of melon at him before popping it in my mouth, and saying around it, “Because I don’t play games like that with people. I’m very straightforward.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you had an interest in me of a sexual nature.”

  I swallowed down a big chunk of melon. “I don’t!”

  “Ah.” He shoveled in another mouthful of eggs and ham. I had to give it to him—for a man who loaded up his plate, he had very nice table manners, and didn’t make it obvious he was really packing it away.

  I thought about telling him that I simply wanted to get along since we had to share a cabin, but decided that he’d just figure “the lady doth protest too much” like the woman in Hamlet. I bet barons all knew their Shakespeare inside and out.

  Just then, Laura stopped next to our table. “Is this your first trip to Holland?” Laura asked in a conversational manner.

  I dabbed off the toast crumbs. “It is. Actually, it’s my first trip abroad, one that I’ve planned for almost two years, so I’m very excited to be here.”

  “And your boyfriend?” Laura asked, nodding at Elliott, who was at that moment sipping his coffee and wiping his fingers on his napkin, having finished the mountain of food.

  “I’m not—,” he started to say.

  I shifted in my chair, inadvertently kicking him on the ankle.

  He shot me a glare.

  “Sorry—foot slipped.” I gave him a wide, toothy smile, then turned back to Laura. “Is this your first time in Holland?”

  “No, we try to visit a new place each summer, although occasionally we miss a year when Deidre has plans with her partner. I haven’t been on the Rhine, though, and we’re very much looking forward to seeing all the castles and cute little villages.”

  Behind me, Anthony Weekes snorted. “Comrade Dahl and I are here as part of a study. We received a grant.”

  “Really?” Laura asked. “A grant that allows you to take a cruise?”

  “Yes.” Anthony gave us all a somewhat smug smile. “It is important we experience the tour ourselves. We are studying tourists’ encounters in Germany from an interdisciplinary perspective, using cultural analysis to detail how touristic formation is influenced by the human-environment relationships and subjectivities, and how the complex network of sociopolitical relations expands into a hero’s quest phenomenological model.”

  No one said anything for a few moments. Other than the Japanese schoolgirls, who giggled and whispered to one another.

  “Oh,” I said at last, feeling obligated to fill the silence. “That sounds . . . complicated.”

  “It is. Perhaps later we could interview you all about your multifaceted encounters with place-mythology and how you feel that the performative dimensions of your own individual spatialized identity are influenced by them.”

  “He’s doing that on purpose, isn’t he?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

  “He is clearly an academic snob, if that’s what you mean,” Elliott answered.

  “I hate people who talk over your head like that. And what’s with the comrade thing?”

  “I suspect he’s trying very hard to be different. Or perhaps he’s a dedicated Communist.” Elliott folded his napkin and set it neatly to the side of his plate.

  “Didn’t that sort of thing go out with the end of the Cold War?”

  “Some people work very hard to appear eccentric.” He gave a little shrug. “Either way, I can’t stay to analyze him. I have work to do.”

  Tiffany appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “We are due to have a briefing in ten minutes in the lounge regarding our arrival in Kinderdijk, but since Mr. Ainslie and Miss Wood have only just made it to breakfast, why don’t I give you the information here? As those of you who have read the itinerary know, Kinderdijk is a UNESCO World Heritage site where you will find an absolutely fascinating collection of windmills open for exploration.”

  She went into an explanation of what flood management technologies we’d see by touring the site, but my attention was distracted when Anthony, who was taking his plates and coffee cup over to an area intended for dirty dishes, paused behind me and leaned down to ask, “Do you and comrade Elliott wish to skip the windmills and see the town with comrade Dahl and me?”

  “Er . . .” I was a bit startled by both the fact that his mouth was almost touching my ear and that one of his hands casually rested on my shoulder. I didn’t know if it was a European thing to be so touchy-feely, but the guy was definitely inside my personal space. “I kind of would like to see some windmills, to be honest. I mean, it’s so very Holland, isn’t it? But maybe Elliott would prefer touring other things.”

  “No,” Elliott said, standing up. “Thank you, I have plans for the day.”

  “Your loss,” Anthony said, returning to his partner. I rubbed my ear, chiding myself for my odd feeling of discomfort when it was clear that he was more interested in Elliott than me.

  “You don’t even want to see one little windmill?” I asked the latter man, feeling strangely deflated despite knowing that Elliott intended to stay on board the ship working.

  “I’ve seen them before.”

  “But these are historic ones. I’d hate to think I was seeing all the good historic stuff and you weren’t.”

  “I’m sure you will enjoy them despite my decision to remain behind,” he said, giving me a little bow, which I found both charming and foreign. I don’t think I’d ever seen a man bow before, but Elliott made it look like a perfectly natural way to take his leave.

  “You are very lucky,” a soft voice said as I took my plates over to the receptacle.

  “In many ways, yes,” I agreed, noting that Laura might have been speaking to me, but her eyes were on Elliott.

  “He’s really gorgeous.”

  I felt an odd sense of pride, as if Elliott’s appearance had something to do with me. “He is that. And smart, too. He writes books about spies.”

  “Oooh, really.” An odd speculative glint lit her eyes. She watched him leave the room, then asked, in her breathy soft voice, “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but was he one, himself?”

  “What, a spy?” I smiled. “He’s a bit tall for a spy, isn’t he? I mean, spies are supposed to blend in and not be noticeable. You’d have to be dead not to notice Elliott.”

  “And even then . . .” Deidre made a mmrowring noise as she passed us, following Elliott out of the room.

  I sent a glare after her, but she didn’t see it.

  “You have to forgive Deidre,” Laura said, a wry twist to her lips. “She just broke up with her latest partner, and is feeling a bit lonely.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I was in the exact same boat—literally!—but that same odd sense of pride that came from being Elliott’s roomie had me clamping down on the words.

  “I love Deidre very much, but I will admit that sometimes she’s a bit single-minded. Speaking of which, I’ll just warn you that you might want to stay close to your boyfriend.” Laura patted me on the arm, then followed after the others.

  “An enigmatic man, comrade Elliott,” Anthony said, strolling past me, Dahl in tow.

  “
You think so?” I watched them leave, wondering why he gave me such a weird vibe. It was clear he was with Dahl in all senses of the word, and yet, I could swear he was looking down my sundress earlier.

  I shook my head at my fanciful thoughts. Residual jet lag was clearly muddling my thinking.

  “Could you please pass along the information to Mr. Ainslie that the bus to take us to the windmills will leave in ten minutes?” Tiffany bustled by, pausing to call over her shoulder to me, “Please be sure to wear comfortable walking shoes.”

  The group of Japanese girls and their two teachers trotted past me, the older ladies giving me little nods of their heads before they hurried after their charges. In no time, I was left alone in the dining room, my mind turning over a strange new thought.

  I’d seen a program on TV about how the British used to recruit spies, and it mentioned that a great percentage of them were recruited out of the big universities, the ones where the upper classes sent their sons and daughters.

  People like barons. Elliott must have gone to one of those big universities. He was handy with languages, and knew several of them. He was obviously smart, and I was willing to bet would retain his calm under pressure.

  In other words, the ideal makings of a spy. Had he been joking earlier when he’d said he would have to kill me if he told me the truth? Was it hyperbole or something more sinister?

  Little goose bumps of sheer, unadulterated pleasure rippled up and down my arms when I hurried back to our cabin. There was nothing I loved more than a puzzle, and I anticipated a wonderful two weeks unraveling the mystery that surrounded Elliott.

  The man himself looked up with a frown when I entered the cabin with a cheery wave. “You can stop glaring, because I’m just here for a second. We’re all going to see the windmills. Historic ones, ones that are bound to be fascinating, but I won’t press you to see them with us, since you said you had other things to do.”

  He grunted something incoherent. I stepped into the bathroom to make fast use of the toilet before sightseeing (who knew if windmills had facilities?), and when I came out again, he was writing, ignoring me when I gathered up my things. I had the worst urge to tell him to stop writing and come sightsee with the rest of us, but reminded myself that his welfare or happiness wasn’t my business, and if he wanted solitude, then he could just have it.