The Importance of Being Alice Read Online Free PDF Page A

equipped with every modern convenience, and are designed to delight the traveler in a home-away-from home atmosphere. And I’ll have a cabin all to myself since . . . since my friend can’t make it.”
    â€œIt sounds lovely,” the woman said, giving me a look that told me I was on the verge of becoming That Person on a plane, the one you didn’t want to get stuck sitting next to. I gave her a big smile, and settled back into my seat, my fingers sliding over the glossy paper.
    Helen was right—I was due a vacation after the dramafest my life had suddenly become. I just hoped Patrick would realize that I had taken the trip after all. I had contemplated leaving him a message in case he was unaware of how easily I had moved on, but decided that a policy of pretending he didn’t exist was better.
    Besides, if I posted lots of pictures on Facebook of all the fabulous fun I was having on my glamorous boat trip, mutual friends would be sure to point them out to him. I smiled at the thought and made a mental note to include lots of photos of whatever handsome men came within the range of my camera.
    Those were my thoughts as I dragged my by now jet-lagged self through the Amsterdam airport, found a cab, and made my way out to where the river cruise boats were lined up, waiting to take that day’s flock ofpassengers on board. The ships—long and sleek and elegant—were stacked two and three deep, with long lines of people streaming on board. I hauled my wheeled bag past a couple of especially elegant ships, mentally hugging myself with delight. I’d made the right choice to come on this trip. It would definitely show Patrick that I was so over him.
    The delight of that thought faded to nothing the second I spotted my boat.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, staring in horror as I snagged a uniformed person bearing a clipboard. “I’m looking for the Manny van Bris River Tours section of the pier. Can you tell me where that is?”
    The man turned and pointed at the boat that I was still staring at. “That would be your ship, madam.”
    â€œNo.” I shook my head. “It can’t be. See, I have a brochure. It shows the ship right here, and this is clearly not the same boat as that . . . that . . . heap.”
    The man gave me a sympathetic look, murmured something about hoping I enjoyed my holiday, and hurried off to tend his shiny new ship.
    My gaze drifted along the narrow boat moored alongside the dock. A small gangway stretched across the few feet of water to the dockside, rusted chains hanging morosely off the flimsy walkway. The ship itself had once been painted red and white, but now was mostly rust and white, with large bare patches where the paint had peeled off. At the front of the upper deck—there were three decks on the ship, according to the brochure, although I now viewed that source of information with much skepticism—a handful of plastic white lawn chairs sat.
    â€œThis is not the same ship,” I said, looking at the brochure one more time. “This can’t be right. I can’t havespent four grand on that. It looks like it would sink if I so much as sneezed on it!”
    â€œAlice Wood?” I looked up at the person who had called my name. A shiny-faced woman of indeterminate years, but with poufy blond hair that bespoke someone in her sixties, bustled carefully across the gangway and over to me. In a voice with a BBC America sort of English accent, she said, “You are Alice Wood of Portland, Oregon, United States?”
    â€œYes, I’m Alice, but that is not the same ship as shown here.” I held out the brochure and tapped it.
    â€œThe ship pictured in the advertisement is just a depiction, as is noted in the fine print,” she said dismissively, grabbing the handle of my suitcase and wheeling it away from me, toward the gangway. “This is our flagship, the
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