I could so get used to having a butler. John was from Italy (it said so on his name tag). “What city are you from?”
“Roma,” he said. “My family is royalty.”
My eyes widened. “What are you, like a prince?”
“I am cousin to the prince,” he said, “named after American royalty, Mr. John Kennedy Jr. My sister is called Caroline.”
“I didn’t know Italians had a royal family,” I said. “Why are you working on a ship as a butler? Shouldn’t you be cavorting on a yacht in the South of France with William and Harry?”
John smiled. “I wanted to see the world and this has allowed me to do that. I’ll be leaving when we dock in Roma and starting university in a few weeks.”
So not only did I have a butler, I had a smart, educated, royal butler. This was good. I was going to need his help tracking down my lost bags. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I told John what had happened, gave him the luggage receipts and the name of the person traveling on the Golden Goddess whom I suspected of having my stuff, thanks to the inexcusable mixup by Jorge the butler.
“Do you know Jorge?”
“Yes, I do,” John said. “Sometimes we run the same itinerary as the Golden Goddess and the butlers from the two ships meet and share best practices.”
“Really?” I said, impressed.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “We take our jobs seriously and constantly strive to find new ways to delight and astonish our guests. When I go to university, I plan to study Hospitality Science.”
“Wow,” I said. “If you could find my luggage for me, I would be delighted, astounded, astonished, and indebted to you for life. You have no idea.”
John executed a modest bow and then backed out of the room the way subjects remove themselves from the presence of the Queen of England. I had the impression that with a conscientious butler like John Savoy taking care of me, nothing bad could happen.
Pops sat up. “There you are, Holly,” he said, yawning. He donned his robe and joined me in the bedroom. “I was worried about you. Did you find the bags?”
I frowned. “No, not yet. Holy cannoli, would you look at that?” On my night table sat a brand-new box of cream-colored stationery with my name engraved in gold leaf, along with matching personalized Post-its. I stuck the Post-its in my purse since I’d never owned any that fancy and didn’t want to leave them there.
“Good thinking,” Pops said. “I packed my stickies already, along with stationery, soap, shampoo, cotton balls, toilet paper, a feather pillow…”
“Pops, that’s stealing,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “They want you take that stuff. They expect you to take it. They’d be disappointed if you didn’t take it.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head.
“Can you believe it?” Pops said with a wide grin. “The two of us living in the lap of luxury? I love it!”
“Me too.” I giggled. “It’s a far cry from Muttropolis.”
“Or eating out of trash cans,” Pops said.
“Or panhandling in the subway,” I added.
Pops whisked me into his arms and began twirling me around the room. “Fairy tales may come true, it could happen to you…” he crooned. When the song ended, he dipped me back most of the way to the floor, then dropped me on my butt. “Are you okay? I need to practice my dancing.”
I laughed heartily. “It’s okay. Just don’t drop any old ladies. They have brittle hips.” As I sat on the floor, I looked around, taking in the cabin for the first time. It was exquisitely appointed (and I say this not just because it said so in the brochure). Decorated in muted tones of tan and white, with walls sheathed in exotic bamboo, furniture straight off the pages of Architectural Digest, a flat-screen TV in both rooms. My queen-size bed was topped with a luscious feather-down duvet. Fresh orchids graced my nightstand. The butler had laid out a luxurious Frette bathrobe and plush slippers.
I pulled myself up from the floor, slipped on my robe, and padded to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, donned my headgear, and then got all comfy under the covers, resting my head on the cool goose-down pillow. It felt like heaven. “’Night, Pops. I’ll see you in about eighteen hours.”
“Wait,” he said. “Someone from the cruise director’s office called to say that your presentation is at ten A.M. tomorrow in the Galaxy Lounge. They wanted to know if you needed anything.”
“No, I’m fine,” I mumbled.
“One more thing. Don’t fall asleep yet,” Pops said. He was sitting on the edge of my bed. “We’re supposed to muster for the safety drill at five.”
“Take notes for me, will you?” I said.
“You’re not missing dinner, are you?”
I opened one eye. Pops looked earnest, afraid, and slightly desperate. It had been years since he’d flexed his polite society muscles. Sure, I thought. I may as well “bump” into Denis King and get it over with. “Of course not,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the dining room at eight thirty. We’re at the captain’s table, by the way.”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story, Pops. ’Night.”
The Best Is Yet to Come
THE RING OF MY seven thirty wake-up call jolted me. It was still light outside. I’d only gotten two hours of sleep, but it would have to do. It occurred to me that something was very wrong, but I couldn’t remember what. Then it hit me. The lost luggage. How could I have left those costumes unattended? What if Jorge from the Golden Goddess didn’t take them and they were just randomly missing, misplaced by baggage handlers in Athens? How would I find them then? But there was nothing I could do about it now, so I tried to put it out of my mind.
I considered the donation I planned to solicit and wondered what Denis King would say when
