Waltzing on the Danube
Miranda MacLeod
Contents
Waltzing on the Danube
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Afterword
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Waltzing on the Danube
By Miranda MacLeod
By Miranda MacLeod
Copyright © 2016 Miranda MacLeod
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Find out more:
www.mirandamacleod.com
Contact the author:
[email protected]
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Chapter 1
“And last but not least, your private terrace.” The porter whisked the curtains back as he spoke, drenching Eleanor’s state room in sunlight. The massive French doors afforded her a floor to ceiling view not only of her secluded balcony, but of the Budapest skyline and sparkling Danube River that lay just steps beyond. “Will there be anything else, miss?”
“Nothing comes to mind.” She uncrossed her slender arms and held out one hand, discreetly slipping a crisply folded ten euro note into the porter’s palm as she gave it a firm shake.
“Enjoy your time aboard the Danube Queen, Ms. Fielding.” He tucked the tip into his pocket with a deft, practiced motion. “If you require anything while aboard, your personal concierge is just a phone call away, night or day.”
Eleanor bobbed her head in curt acknowledgment as the porter retreated from her suite, then swiveled on her heels to take in the details of her surroundings, from the gleaming wood veneer of the paneled walls to the sleek lines of the Scandinavian furniture. Despite the soothing orderliness of her quarters, she remained hollow inside. The coming fortnight held little interest for her, an inconvenient interruption to her routine that provoked more anxiety than joy.
The cell phone in her pocket vibrated and Eleanor tensed, her heart racing as a shot of adrenaline burned through her veins. Jesus, Eleanor. It's just the phone. She drew a steadying breath as she reached into her pocket, irritated with her body's overreaction. Why did the most mundane things have to cause her to react like someone had just pulled the fire alarm?
“Hey, Big Sis! How's the ship?”
“It appears seaworthy.” Eleanor struggled to maintain the disaffected tone that Miriam deserved. She'd sworn she would never forgive her for forcing her on this trip, but she couldn't help feeling a rush of affection at the sound of her sister's voice. “I doubt it will sink, unfortunately.”
“Stop being bitchy, Elle. You know you're going to have fun! How's the room?”
Eleanor cradled the phone against her shoulder as she removed her shoes, scowling as one loafer landed on its side. “It's...hold on a second.” She bent to arrange them perfectly perpendicular to the wall, toes pointing neatly to the center of the room. Satisfied with the result, she straightened up and shuffled across the sitting room, her feet sinking into the deep, woolly carpet. “It's fine.”
“Fine? It's their most luxurious suite! For twenty thousand euros, I hope it's better than fine.”
“It's top-notch, Mimi. Sylvia would've loved it.” A chill settled over her at the memory of her faithless ex.
“Sylvia? Huh! Send me a picture and I'll post it to my wall. She can see it there and weep.”
“Oh, Mimi. Why haven't you unfriended my ex-girlfriend yet? It's been over a year!”
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Elle.”
Eleanor snorted at her sister's melodramatic flair. “Enemies is a bit much.” Sure, things had ended badly, but it wasn't all Sylvia's fault. Eleanor knew that when she was a nervous wreck it made her a difficult person to love. Which is why the last place she wanted to spend her first vacation in over a year was searching for love on a singles cruise.
“Did you get the gift basket?”
Eleanor glanced at the chic glass coffee table in the center of the room, spying the overflowing basket of fruit that graced its top. A half smile teased her lips. “Sure did! There's enough fruit there that I won't have to leave the room for breakfast the whole first week.”
“Elle!”
She chuckled at her sister's frustration. “What? The less interaction I have with other passengers, the better.”
“That's hardly the point of this trip, remember? Two hundred and fifty single women, Elle. And you haven't been on a date in an eternity. It wouldn't kill you to at least look around a little. Maybe smile at someone for once, and see what happens.”
“We'll see. Look, I've gotta go. If you want me to make it to the meet and greet on time, I need to get ready.”
“So you're gonna go?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes at the triumph in her sister's voice. “Settle down. I haven't decided yet.” She ended the call before Miriam could argue.
She tucked the phone into her pocket and opened the bedroom door. The suite's sleeping quarters were even smaller than what she was used to in her Manhattan apartment, but it seemed spacious for a ship. Built-in nightstands topped with shining chrome lamps flanked either side of a large bed. A mirrored closet door stood closed along one wall, and Eleanor knew from the porter’s spiel that her sparse wardrobe had already been unpacked and arranged inside it in anticipation of her arrival. It was a convenience, but the VIP treatment was mostly wasted on her. While she could afford a luxurious lifestyle as a matter of course, she rarely bothered with it except when trying to impress a girl. Miriam had chosen the Empire suite on her behalf, apparently aware that for her matchmaking plan to pay off, Eleanor would need all the help she could get.
Another mirrored door, this one opened wide, led to a well-appointed ensuite bathroom. Here, too, all was perfectly in order and sufficient for her needs. She might go so far as to call it nice, if she were to allow a moment of positivity to scrub some of the grit from her dour mood. But she was not so inclined. She wouldn't give Miriam that victory, at least not before sulking a little longer first. Uttering a tired sigh, she let her body sink into the feathery softness of the Egyptian cotton duvet.
The bed was festooned with an absurd number of pillows, all in shades of aqua and gold. The color scheme evoked memories of the Caribbean, where she’d spent her last vacation. That trip had been no more of her choosing than this one was. Sylvia had insisted. Eleanor had been content enough to go along with the idea after only minimal coaxing. Sylvia had had that effect on her, much to Eleanor’s chagrin.
It was irrational how often she’d acquiesced to please that woman, but at the time she'd thought she was in love. Or something approximating it, anyway. Some weak imitation of love. According to Sylvia's parting words to her, that was all her damaged psyche would ever be capable of. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, trying
to block out the pain of the memory but failing. Behind it were similar accusations from lovers long since past. It was a common thread running through her life that Eleanor could never get a handle on how to change.
She'd tried with Sylvia. God, how she'd tried. Eleanor would have been content to stay close to home most of the time. Sylvia had loved to travel the world, though she’d usually lacked the funds to go on her own. So Eleanor had paid—gladly, even. She'd found a certain thrill in treating her girlfriend to all the finer things in life that she seemed to enjoy so much. In retrospect Eleanor suspected that the plumpness of her bank account had been at least as attractive a quality to Sylvia as was her svelte, athletic frame. It hadn't been the first time a woman had stuck around for that reason until, inevitably, something better came along. That was another pattern that had become more obvious over the years.
I really should have seen it coming.
She’d expected the relationship to end eventually. They always did. She just hadn’t realized it would happen so soon. For one thing, if she’d had an inkling of how close they’d been to their expiration date, she would never have booked this ridiculous cruise. Well, she hadn’t booked this exact cruise, though that would have been ironic. Eleanor gave a mirthless chuckle at the thought of taking her ex on a cruise with two hundred and fifty single lesbians. It would have been like letting a toddler loose in a toy store. But Sylvia hadn’t needed any help in finding someone new. Her wandering eye had done the job all on its own.
Eleanor rose from the bed and smoothed the wrinkles from the duvet, shaking her head. She really should have seen it coming. What good was being a genius at risk analysis if she could so easily be blindsided by something as obvious as a cheating girlfriend? Sylvia had left her for a flight attendant, for heaven’s sake. How cliché is that? Eleanor gave the mattress top a final, fierce whack with the palm of her hand. A year later, it wasn’t losing the girlfriend that bothered her so much as it was her lack of ability to predict it. She created forecasting models for a living. With what she’d learned about failed relationships over the years, she should have been able to build a model to predict their demise in her sleep.
The cruise company had been understanding about the whole thing, to a point. They’d credited the cost of the tickets toward a future cruise, and given her ample time to rebook. But as the deadline approached, Eleanor hadn’t suffered any increase in her desire to travel, so she’d given the credit to Miriam to book a trip for herself and her husband Mark. Of course, Miriam had had a different idea. Meddling little sisters always knew how to throw a wrench in the works.
Eleanor trudged back to the sitting room of her suite, rummaging in the satchel she’d set near the door. She pulled out a folder and fanned through the pages her sister had printed for her. Six cities, fourteen days, and at least a hundred ways to die of awkwardness and social humiliation. Thanks, Sis!
Who even knew they offered river cruises catering to lesbian singles? Eleanor certainly wouldn’t have guessed prior to this that anyone could have been cruel enough to devise such a torture. There really should be laws against it. Well, not laws against lesbian cruises, per se. To each their own, and all that. But laws against sisters who went behind your back and booked non-refundable tickets, and then applied ninja-level guilt tactics until their older sisters were forced to give in? She’d back legislation to rectify that injustice in a heartbeat.
Eleanor’s last hope for reprieve had been that her boss would deny her vacation request. It was the type of thing he’d usually do without a second thought. But that, too, had been snatched away when the new head of HR decided that it was absolutely vital for employees to use their backlog of vacation days. For work-life balance. Or some bullshit like that.
So, here she was, stuck on a boat full to bursting with single women desperate to find true love. Poor saps. Did they have no comprehension of the odds? Didn’t they know what a long shot it was? Maybe she’d stay in her room for the next few weeks and build that forecasting model, after all. Present it to them at the end of the cruise, a foolproof tool to assess how and when their new relationships would wither and die. It would make a thoughtful parting gift, much more useful than a fruit basket.
She kicked open the French door, wincing as her bare toe connected with its solid frame. There were two bistro chairs and a small table on the balcony, and Eleanor grabbed the scrolled back of one of the chairs and dragged it far enough out to sit. She propped her bare feet up on the railing, not the most dignified pose, but she reveled in the feeling of defiance it gave her. This was her vacation, after all, and she would do as she pleased. No one could force her to go to a single one of the horrible events listed in that folder if she didn’t want to.
And yet…
Eleanor cursed the churning in her gut as she eyed the folder. She pressed her lids shut and could picture page after page of full-color grids telling her where to be and what to do at every minute. The vision calmed her agitation. She thrived on schedules, craved the orderliness of them. It was one of the many quirks she'd developed for keeping the anxiety that plagued her at bay. The knowledge that the calendar on her phone was completely blank until late July was enough to make her weep. True, she’d rather eat a live squid than do a single thing on the cruise itinerary, but was it so much worse than drifting aimlessly on her own for fourteen days with no schedule at all? She shuddered at either prospect.
Snatching the folder from the table, she swiped the cover open to the first page and read. Day One: Meet and Greet. The schedule instructed her to report to the observation deck at three o’clock. Her eyes darted to her watch, hoping it was already past time, but she encountered no such luck. Characteristically ahead of schedule, she still had a full thirty minutes to make her way upstairs. Should she go and subject herself to a sea of wolfish women trolling for a holiday hook up? Her brain informed her that staying in her suite was a much better idea, but her body betrayed her. The involuntary tingle that coursed through her loins hinted that certain parts of her were of a different opinion on the matter.
What was it Miriam had said? It couldn’t hurt to look. Perhaps she was right. After failing too many times, Eleanor wasn’t interested in a relationship, but she wasn’t a nun, either—though as an actuarial accountant, people did sometimes confuse her for one. Eleanor knew all the stereotypes that came with her chosen profession, that she was a frigid, humorless pencil pusher. She couldn’t argue with humorless, but she took offense at the word frigid. She enjoyed sex as much as anyone, and it had been a long time. A casual fling wasn’t entirely without merit. In the unlikely event that Eleanor found a willing partner, a two week trip wasn't quite enough time for her usual foibles to drive someone new insane.
She stared at the schedule again and curled her upper lip in distaste. Fine. I’ll go—but only to prove once and for all what a mistake it is. Stopping at the front door, she slipped her shoes on one by one, first the left and then the right, as she always did. For whatever inexplicable reason, it made her feel safe. Then she cursed herself for needing to do it, as if somehow the ritual of putting on shoes could influence anything. This self-loathing over it was hardly something new, though it never succeeded in changing her behavior. With a shake of her head, she jammed the folder into her satchel and, hoisting it to her shoulder, strode out the door and down the hall.
The observation deck was empty when she was arrived, though Eleanor wasn’t surprised. She was terribly early. She always was. She spied a deck chair off to one side that seemed like a reasonable choice, partially hidden from view behind the rigging for a life boat. She sat down and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, valuing them less for their ability to shield her from the sun’s rays than from the gaze of her fellow passengers.
You’re always hiding. That’s was another thing Sylvia had said to her the day she’d left, in addition to accusing her of using her nervous habits to shield herself from loving or being loved. It rang true. Falling in love was a risk that couldn’t
be calculated or controlled. In other words, it was precisely the type of risk that Eleanor couldn’t take. It was against her nature to try.
Yet here she sat, waiting for—what? Not love. Lust, perhaps. Companionship, maybe. More likely, she’d just do something awkward and make a fool of herself before slinking away to her room. She exuded self-assurance in a board room, but was at her worst in forced social settings such as this. She balled her fists. She’d have to remember to kill Miriam when she got home for putting her through this. She willed her muscles to unclench, then closed her eyes and practiced deep, cleansing breaths as she awaited the coming hordes.
Chapter 2
“Oh, shit!” Jeanie grimaced as she spotted the time on a clock by the dock. She needed to be on the observation deck for the meet and greet in fifteen minutes and she hadn’t even made it on board the ship yet. The Danube Queen’s berthing location had changed since she’d printed her boarding documents and it had taken her an extra half an hour to find the new location. Jeanie was no stranger to running late, but she couldn’t help but wonder why things couldn’t have gone smoothly for once. Was it really necessary to kick off this once in a lifetime vacation in full panic mode?
“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” The wheels of her massive suitcase rattled and bumped along the steel grate of the gangway as she ran. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” she shouted to a crew member who stared quizzically at her as she raced to the bottom of the deserted ramp. The fact that he was in the middle of packing up the registration table drove home the point that she must be the last passenger to arrive. “Janine Brooks,” she panted, wincing as her suitcase skidded to an abrupt stop against her bare calf. “Checking in for the cruise?” She shoved a wad of papers into his hand with the hope that her ticket and passport were hidden somewhere within.
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