Bon Bon Voyage (13 page)

I frowned at him. “Do I look as if I've been left behind?”

“No, love, you look smashing. Why don't we have a drink, and we can talk about your friend, who's obviously gone missing.”

“Well, she's not really my friend, just an acquaintance, and I
should
return to the dining room to see if my mother-in-law is still there.”

“You're married, then?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Right. Well, off we go.” And he took my arm and led me out of the elevator at the dining-room level.

Of course, Vera wasn't there, or Luz, or anyone at our table, except Mr. Barber, who was taking videos of the waiters clearing the dishes and wine glasses. I had to wonder if he subjected friends at home to all these video memoirs of his trips. My roommates weren't at the evening's show, either. They were probably out taking romantic walks on deck with their new male friends.

“We don't want to stay for this,” said Mr. Griffith, waving his hand toward some acrobats in turbans. “It's just the usual cruise crap.”

I didn't appreciate his language, but I did accept his invitation to have a drink at one of the ship's many bars. In fact, Mr. Griffith had three to my one. He was very interested in the fate of Mrs. Gross. “Smashing,” he said when I'd told the story. “We'll have to find out what happened to the old girl.”

Finally, someone who had the common humanity to worry about the poor woman, even if she was an unpleasant drunk. We discussed strategies for locating her.

“But then she may show up tomorrow at Gibraltar as Hartwig said. Ugly sod, isn't he?” Mr. Griffith waved to the bartender for a refill. “I put a description of him into my computer,” he continued. “Probably use him as the villain in my next book.”

“Yes, everything's an inspiration to a writer, isn't it?” I agreed. “I've been entering notes on the meals, especially the desserts. They really are marvelous. Would you like a bonbon? I have some in my purse, although they may be a bit soft after all that heat in Tangier.”

“Why don't I order you a nice, sweet liqueur?” suggested Mr. Griffith. “How about Galliano?”

“Too sticky. But I wouldn't mind a Baileys Irish Cream. And after that I really must get to bed. I want to be fresh for the tour of Gibraltar tomorrow. Did you know that they have apes running free there? I find that interesting, but quite possibly dangerous. On the other hand, I was warned that I'd have my purse snatched in Tangier, and nothing of the sort happened. The warnings for tourists are often quite overstated. Except for Barcelona. I was almost entangled in a sailor's brawl there, and a taxi driver tried to kill me. And then there was Mont-Saint-Michel. I got caught in the tide off the beach. Very frightening. And the dead people—I'm amazed at how many murdered people I've come across since I started traveling.”

“Good God, woman,” he exclaimed with a truly delighted smile. “You'll have to tell me all about your adventures.”

“Well, I'd love to,” I replied, flattered, “but there's Gibraltar tomorrow. I really should get to bed.”

“Those apes aren't all they're cracked up to be,” said Mr. Griffith. “More a nuisance than anything.”

Bring to a simmer 2½ cups whipping cream. Whisk 9 egg yolks with 1/3
cup sugar
and a little
salt
until blended. Then, whisk in
very slowly the hot cream and finally stir in
1 teaspoon vanilla extract.

Carolyn Blue, “Have Fork, Will Travel,”
Boulder, CO, Times

19

After a satisfying day of discussions on toxin research, spent in a small Canadian town surrounded by flat agricultural fields that stretched in every direction to distant horizons, I connected my laptop to the telephone jack in my room so that I could access my e-mail from home. I planned to glance through the messages and then go to bed. All were academic in nature and didn't require instant replies, except for the last, an e-mail and attachment from a colleague in El Paso.

I groaned. I didn't want to read the attachment. Although I'd meant well in ordering the bon voyage gift for my wife, obviously she hadn't forgiven me for sending her on the cruise with my mother for company. God only knew how my mother had responded to the bonbons. Not her sort of thing, but the inspiration had hit me late, and I hadn't had time to think of something else for my mother.

Gibraltar is one hell of a big hunk of stone, I can tell you. They put us ashore right after breakfast, and this chunky woman, our guide for the tour, shoveled us onto the minibus and drove us around town, mostly higher and higher, while she pointed out views of Africa and Spain and told us Gibraltar stories. First, we had to hear about this big monster cannon the English had brought in to help defend the place. We were on our way to see the miles of siege tunnels they'd blasted into the rocks, and the cannon was in there, but it hadn't been the big success they'd expected.

First screwup: they couldn't get it off the ship. Every time they winched it up, the boat rose with it, which was not what they had in mind. Then they weighted down both ends of the boat, successfully got the cannon off, but the boat sank. Finally, they got the cannon into the tunnel with its snout stuck out of a cannon window or whatever and took a practice shot. Shattered every window in town, which was not real popular with the locals. At this point in the story, we were walking in the tunnels, Vera complaining about the dust, and Carolyn soaking up everything the guide had to say. She thought the whole thing was great, but frankly I pretty much tuned out when we got to some tale about a French submarine surfacing while the English were shooting their cannon. I'm not sure what happened there. They accidentally blew the French out of the water? Or the French thought they were being attacked and shot up the town or torpedoed some boats in the harbor? Whatever.

After the tunnels came a cave with stalag-somethings while the guide griped about the huge taxes people on Gibraltar had to pay and the crappy health insurance, which, if you used it, got taken out of your pension. Ha! She thought she had health insurance problems. She should try getting an insurance company to pay for rheumatoid arthritis meds.

Then we drove around some more until we found some Barbary apes to stare at. They weren't actually apes and were either brought here by the English or got over on their own before the rock split apart, leaving some in Africa and some here. You'd think the guide would know, or maybe I missed it because I was staring at them.

They were chunky monkeys (making me wish I had some of that Ben & Jerry's ice cream, because my throat was dry after the dusty siege tunnels), and they had sort of blond-brown hair and liked to scramble around on the rocks or sit on one with their knees flat on the surface and their privates on display. Nice. They also liked to steal stuff. One big male jumped up and grabbed Vera's purse. She was really pissed— you can't blame her—so I grabbed the ape and pulled out the plastic cuffs I always carry in my purse. Harriet Barber was a real champ. She sat on him while he screamed and I cuffed him and yanked the purse away from him. Randolph got the whole thing on video, and it took a while because that monkey was strong and put up a fight.

The guide told us I couldn't do that because the apes, although a real pain in the ass, were a protected species. No one was allowed to mess with them.

“He's a thief, and I made a citizen's arrest,” I said, but I had to uncuff him. Then he took a poke at me, and I knocked him over on his hairy blond butt so we could get back on the bus in a hurry before the local cops arrived to arrest me for ape abuse. Our guide ground the gears and took off for the shop at the end of the continent or the world. Whatever. It was full of tourist crap, which the guide insisted was cheap because it wasn't taxed.

Last, we made another shopping stop. We were going to get to see the famous Gibraltar glassblowers, and by mentioning the guide's name, we could buy stuff at a discount and send it back free to the U.S. I stayed on the bus. Carolyn stopped worrying about the still-missing Mrs. Gross and raced off to the glass place with Vera in hot pursuit to see that her daughter-in-law didn't spend too much of Jason's money. Good thought, but it didn't do Vera any good, because Carolyn bought a tall pink and purple vase. At least she shipped that purchase. If she kept buying stuff, we weren't going to be able to get into the sitting room.

Vera said it cost $275, which was a ridiculous price, but Carolyn said it was “signed by the artist,” which made it “priceless.” I don't know why. She couldn't even remember the artist's name. She probably could have gotten the same thing for ten dollars in Juárez. They've got glassblowers.

On our way back to the ship, the guide admitted that she couldn't stand the Barbary apes because they stole wash off the clotheslines, and nobody on the rock had air-conditioning but they couldn't open their windows in the hundred-degree weather, because the apes climbed in and stole everything they could eat or carry off, besides which they screamed a lot and woke up the kids at night. I was glad to get back on the boat.

My hope was that Mrs. Gross had caught up with the
Bountiful Feast
here on Gibraltar and was even now in her cabin, dressing for lunch. Not that I wanted to join her; I just wanted to stop worrying about her. As soon as I entered the ship, I spotted Mr. Hartwig and hurried over to him, bypassing the desk where my return should have been recorded. Two men marched after me, but I passed them my card and told them to swipe it for me. Of course they looked to Mr. Hartwig, who nodded.