human hair than animal fur. He won’t cause your wife any more allergic problems than … well, than I would, or Walter, or any other person here.”
Agnes had stopped scratching the dog, and the animal growled again in London’s direction, looking as irritable as before.
Why does that dog keep growling at me? she wondered.
At least London was relieved that Sir Reginald wasn’t going to be a health hazard to any passengers who might have allergies.
Meanwhile, the boarding line was getting longer by the minute, and passengers were beginning to look impatient that things were stalled. And London still didn’t know how to handle the unexpected animal. She tried to remember what she’d been told about support animals by people she’d known in other parts of the travel industry.
“Do you have any paperwork on Sir Reginald?” she asked Mrs. Klimowski.
“Paperwork? Why on earth would he require any paperwork?”
“My understanding is that passengers are usually expected to have a letter from a therapist or a medical professional, something to certify the need for an emotional support animal. Do you have a letter like that?”
“Do I have it? Of course I have it! I already filed it with your company!”
London glanced at the passenger list again to make absolutely sure that there was no mention of a support animal by Mrs. Klimowski’s name.
“Perhaps you could show it to me again,” London said with a polite smile.
“Show it to you again! I think not! I’m through dealing with an underling like yourself. I demand to see the social director for this tour.”
“That would be me,” London replied firmly.
Mrs. Klimowski’s eyes widened.
“I find that very hard to believe!” she said.
London realized that her own smile was getting a bit stiff as she displayed the badge on her uniform—the one that identified her as “London Rose, Social Director.”
“I’m sorry if I’m not quite the person you expected,” she said with exaggerated courtesy. “But I promise to fix this problem right away, and to do my very best to make the rest of your voyage a happy one.”
Mrs. Klimowski looked thoroughly unappeased.
“I must be on my way before I lose my temper,” she said. “You may speak to me when you’ve resolved this issue. You will find me in my grand suite.”
She turned and stalked away, with the deckhand lugging her luggage along behind her. As the woman disappeared into the corridor that led to the staterooms, the dog looked back at London and growled again.
Again she wondered why that dog seemed to dislike her so.
But Sir Reginald was probably here to stay. London really couldn’t imagine that anybody was going to pry Mrs. Klimowski and Sir Reginald Taft out of the Beethoven suite.
Meanwhile, the line of passengers waiting to board had gotten dauntingly long. Most of the one hundred or so booked for the trip seemed to be arriving right now. But Agnes Shick was still standing close to London with an expression of concern.
“Surely there’s no reason not to let that adorable dog on board,” she said.
“I hope not,” London admitted.
Walter Shick gestured toward London’s passenger list.
“Does the list say where Mrs. Klimowski is from?” he asked.
It hadn’t occurred to London to check.
“She’s from Port Mather, in Long Island,” London said.
“Well, that makes things simpler, doesn’t it?” Agnes said.
“She must have flown with the dog when she came over,” Walter added. “If so, she surely really must have a certification letter, or it wouldn’t have been allowed on the plane. Does it really matter if she can’t produce it just this minute?”
London smiled with relief at the suggestion. She wouldn’t have to challenge Mrs. Klimowski after all. She could just ask the woman to produce the letter sometime later.
“Welcome aboard,” she said to Walter and Agnes Shick. “And thanks so much for your help.”
“I’m glad if we’ve fixed things for the dog,” Walter said. “Too bad we have to let that woman aboard though …”
Agnes poked her husband in the ribs.
“Now, Walter, is that a nice thing to say? Without Mrs. Klimowski along, who would be here to take care of Sir Reginald?”
London thanked the couple again, and they headed up the gangway.
The next passenger in line was a tall, black-clad man with thick black hair and an icy expression. London felt a chill just from looking at him. It was easy to imagine him as a young undertaker.
“Welcome to Epoch World Cruise Lines’ very first tour of the beautiful Danube,” she said. “May I have your name?”
“Cyrus Bannister,” he said. “I believe you’ll find