Murder [and Baklava] (A European Voyage #1)- Blake Pierce Page 0,20
that goes without saying! This very discussion has left me most unsettled.”
Emil spoke up before the argument could take off again.
“What do you say we all get going?”
There was a murmur of happy agreement from almost everybody.
“Well, then,” Emil added, “I suggest we eat at the Duna Étterem, my own favorite restaurant here in Budapest. It is just a short walk from here.”
The members of the group were all agreeable—except Mrs. Klimowski.
“I’m afraid I must announce a change of plans,” the elderly woman said resolutely.
London stifled a sigh.
Now what? she wondered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Several other passengers were beginning to look annoyed. London struggled to think of some way to turn an impending calamity into a pleasant evening.
“Can’t we just go to dinner?” Agnes Shick asked the formidable little woman.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Klimowski replied firmly.
“Why ever not?” Walter Shick demanded.
But Mrs. Klimowski was looking quite resolute.
“We must go first to St. Stephen’s Basilica,” she said. “After all this unpleasantness, I’m in need of spiritual solace. Mine has been a tragic life. I have a greater need than most people for the comfort of prayer.”
She was glaring almost accusingly at London right now, as if she were personally responsible for her lifetime of hardships.
Before anybody could object, Emil spoke up with a smile.
“I think that is an excellent suggestion. It is just a ten-minute walk from here, and it is practically right on the way to the Duna Étterem.”
“Very good,” London agreed, again relieved at his smooth intervention. “Let’s be on our way, shall we?”
As they all filed through the reception area doors and across the gangway, she jotted down a list of the people so she wouldn’t lose track of them. Then, as she and Emil steered the group away from the docked boat, London heard murmurs of discontent from a few others.
“Didn’t we visit St. Stephen’s just yesterday on that city tour?”
“I hadn’t planned to go there again.”
“I hadn’t planned to go there at all.”
“I’m hungry right now.”
Looking markedly less frail now, Mrs. Klimowski had plunged on ahead of them all, with her dog still tucked inside her leather bag. She led the group with determination, apparently unable to hear what was being said behind her back.
Not that it would matter if she did hear, London thought.
Mrs. Klimowski didn’t seem to be the kind of person who worried about what other people thought about her.
Emil leaned toward London as they walked and spoke to her in a whisper.
“They are not exactly—what is that English idiom? ‘Happy settlers’?”
London smiled as she gently corrected her German companion.
“You’re close. It’s ‘happy campers.’ No, I’m afraid they’re not. I hope we don’t have a mutiny before the night’s over. Thank you for helping me out.”
“I am glad to oblige,” Emil replied. “But you seem to be worried.”
London hesitated, unsure of whether she should unload her anxieties to a man she’d met just a little while ago. But Emil seemed genuinely concerned—and besides, London was starting to genuinely like him.
“I’m afraid I’m off to a rocky start at this job,” she said. “I’ve never done anything quite like this before. Hostessing on a cruise ship is … well, more narrowly focused than this.”
“It seems to me you are doing fine.”
Emil’s reassurances helped London relax a little. When they left the docking area, they rounded the end of a city park and headed along a narrow street.
London was relieved that Emil spoke to the group. She hoped his casual chatter would distract them from their annoyance with Mrs. Klimowski.
“Here we must walk in the street,” he told them. “Everyone does, so the vehicle traffic takes other routes whenever possible.”
The shops, greenery in large planters, and outdoor cafés left little sidewalk area, so they stepped into the patterned stone street. London was glad that she knew enough about touring to wear shoes with wide heels. Most of the other women in her group had also chosen sensible footwear.
“And there is St Stephen’s, just ahead of us,” Emil announced.
The basilica’s magnificent dome was in full view between the shops and offices along the way. Even from this far end of the street, it was an impressive sight.
As they walked toward the massive dome, Emil continued, “I am sure you have heard the name of St. Stephen many times since you arrived in Budapest. He is Hungary’s patron saint, and a thousand years ago he was the country’s first Christian king. This basilica was built in his honor, completed about a hundred years ago.”