wandered on down the street, Mrs. Klimowski turned her rage on Cyrus Bannister.
“And I think you should show some respect, young man! I’ll have you know that mine has been a very tragic life! I deserve some consideration. But consideration is hard to come by nowadays.”
Mrs. Klimowski reached into her bag for her colorful pillbox. She snapped it open, downed some pills with a glass of water, then dropped the box back in the bag.
Just as István the waiter started serving the main course of their meals, Mrs. Klimowski rose up from her chair. Sir Reginald Taft peeped over the top of the bouncing bag, then growled and settled back out of sight.
“I’ve quite lost my appetite, thank you very much,” the elderly woman announced. “I really must get away from all this agitation and discourtesy.”
She laid the forints she was still holding on the table and announced, “Someone else can enjoy my meal. I’m heading back to the boat. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, I’ll be able to forget this whole unpleasant episode.”
Alarmed, London got up from her chair as well.
“Why don’t you stay?” she said.
“No. I won’t endure another moment of this.”
“At least let me see you back to the boat,” London said.
“No!” Mrs. Klimowski snapped at her fiercely.
Then looking at the others, she raised her voice to a melodramatic pitch.
“And the same goes for the rest of you. I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your company. Mine has been a very tragic life. And merely to survive, I’ve developed an instinct to tell me who can be trusted and who can’t be. And I can’t trust any of you. I can feel it in my bones.”
London saw that the others at the table were as startled and perplexed by this outburst as she was. Some of them—Agnes and Walter Shick—looked positively hurt by it.
“I’ll leave here just the way I’ve gone through life—alone!” Mrs. Klimowski added.
With a wave her hand, she swept out of the patio and into the street.
London started to follow her, but Emil caught her by the arm.
“London, please do not go after her,” he said. “She really does not wish for any of our company. You will only upset her further if you try to help.”
London stammered, “But she’s—she’s—”
Loaded with furs and jewelry, London wanted to say.
“Don’t worry about her,” Gus Jarrett said. “It’s only a short distance to the ship.”
“She’ll be all right,” his wife, Honey, added.
London stood wavering for a moment.
“They are quite right, London,” Emil said to her quietly. “She will be quite safe, I am sure.”
London sat down, still trying to make up her mind.
Agnes Shick looked aghast at what had just happened.
“Was it something one of us said?” she said.
Cyrus Bannister chuckled snidely.
“Not at all,” he said. “She just can’t stand Magyar folk music—or Bartok or Schoenberg for that matter. It’s nothing to do with any of us, I’m sure.”
“Actually, I don’t think she cares much for any of us either,” Walter Shick muttered.
London realized that Gus was right—they really were quite close to the Nachtmusik. Their tour route had brought them circling around to within a handful of blocks of the boat. Besides, it was still a sunny afternoon, and the streets of Gyor hadn’t seemed the least bit dangerous.
Surely she’ll make it back OK, London told herself.
*
The group’s meals soon arrived, and everybody seemed to enjoy their food—except for London herself. Her crepes were certainly delicious, but she kept picking at them listlessly, worrying about Mrs. Klimowski. But Gus and Honey Jarrett were especially hungry, so they shared Mrs. Klimowski’s abandoned dish along with their own orders.
Finally István came around to take away their plates and asked if the group was ready for dessert. Everybody except London pored over the dessert menu eagerly. She didn’t feel in the mood for something rich and sweet.
Before anyone could order, London heard a sharp noise from the street.
She turned and saw the tiny, mop-like Sir Reginald Taft standing among the pedestrians, looking agitated. Staring straight at London, the little dog barked again.
“Oh, my!” Agnes Shick said. “Mrs. Klimowski’s dog must have gotten away from her!”
Cyrus Bannister chuckled.
“Can you blame him?” he said. “The poor animal must feel tremendously relieved.”
But London didn’t think Sir Reginald looked the least bit relieved. He kept yapping away as he darted about, avoiding pedestrians’ feet.
Walter Shick looked as anxious as London felt.
“The poor woman must be beside herself with worry,” he said. “We need to get this dog back