Page 34 of Filthy Rich

“I’m so glad I found you,” the employee says, extending her hand. “My name is Celia. I’m pleased to tell you that, as a VIP passenger, you’ve been selected for a private tour.”

“A private tour?” Mrs. Hooper says, perking up at this news. “What do you mean?”

“You and your friends will enjoy special VIP treatment at every port of call, starting with Monte Carlo. I’ll be your guide. We’ve got a special car just for you, special lunch arrangements and special behind-the-scenes tours of all the local attractions. You won’t have to lift a finger or do anything other than enjoy yourself. It’s our pleasure to take care of you.”

A private tour? How cool is that? A ripple of excitement goes through our little group, with the ladies and I exchanging thrilled grins.

“This is fantastic news,” Mrs. Hooper says. “The captain must’ve heard I was on board. I sail with Cunard every year, you know. It’s about time I started enjoying some of the VIP perks.”

“Don’t go getting cocky, Lucinda,” Mrs. Barker says, rolling her eyes. “Your head is big enough already.”

The rest of us stifle a laugh. That’s the best thing about hanging out with the ladies. I can always count on one of them to deflate Mrs. Hooper’s oversized ego.

“If you just follow me this way,” Celia says, heading off. “The car’s right down here. We’ll get started. We have a lot to do.”

We all trail after Celia, chattering happily.

“I wonder if we’ll get to see the Japanese Gardens?” says Mrs. Barker.

“As long as we get to see the shopping,” Mrs. Hooper says. “That’s the only thing I care about.”

“We’ll make sure we do everything you ladies want to do.” Celia slows for a quick head count, her face falling when she sees me. “Oh, no. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. The VIP tour is only for Mrs. Hooper and her friends. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what?” I say, my heart sinking.

“Well, it only makes sense,” Mrs. Hooper immediately says. True to form, Madame never misses the opportunity to put me in my place. “It’s your first cruise, Tamsyn. You’re hardly a VIP, are you?”

“Hang on, Lucinda,” Mrs. Barker says, putting a hand on my arm and pulling me closer as she addresses Celia. “Tamsyn’s part of our group. She travels with us.”

“I’m so sorry, but with me, the driver and you ladies, there’s just no room for anyone else,” Celia says, shooting me an apologetic look. “The van isn’t big enough.”

“Tough luck, Tam,” Mrs. Hooper says with her usual cheer when I get reminded of my peon status. “We’ll meet back up with you for dinner. You have a fun day, now, you hear?”

“I will. I’ll be fine by myself,” I say, determined to be upbeat. This is hardly a tragedy. I’m in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I’ll soldier on somehow. “But you need your medicine, Mrs. Hooper. And the sunscreen. And your water bottle.”

I reach into my bag for her supplies, but Celia comes to the rescue.

“We’ve got drinks and sunscreen in the van,” she says. “Everything the ladies could need. Except for Mrs. Hooper’s medicine, of course.”

“Here you go,” I say, passing Mrs. Hooper her medicine pouch. “Don’t forget to take it at lunch. I’ll call and remind you. You have your phone on?”

“I’m sure I do,” she says with an airy gesture at her bag. “Don’t fuss, Tamsyn. They’ll bring me back in one piece.”

“And you’ll need your finger stick,” I remind her. “Can you do that yourself, or should I meet up with you somewhere during the day to?—”

“I’m not a complete ninny, Tam,” Mrs. Hooper says, scowling. “And I’m not an invalid.”

“I’m just trying to do my job and keep you healthy,” I say, well acquainted with her periodic bouts of crankiness. “No one wants to lose a vacation day taking you to the local ER. What if no one there speaks English? Think what a disaster that would be.”

“That’s all,” she says with her dismissive little Miranda Priestly wave, causing me to once again regret introducing her to The Devil Wears Prada.

“Fine,” I say, standing down and hoping for the best.

“Sorry you can’t come, sweetie,” Mrs. Webster says, patting me on the cheek as they head off.

“Do you want me to stay behind with you, Tamsyn?” Mrs. Johnson asks, looking worried.

“No, of course not,” I say, touched by her thoughtfulness as she pulls me in for a peck on the cheek. Plus, this will be a nice little break for me. I can roam around wherever I want while enjoying the peace and quiet. And I’ll grab a bunch of pictures. It’ll be great. “You have fun. Don’t get too much sun.”

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