Chapter Six
‘Passengers in ten minutes and there’s a pre-board following behind me.’ George, the despatch guy dealing with the flight, heaved himself up the ramp and clambered onto the ancient Boeing 737 bringing with him a flurry of paperwork and a lingering waft of body odour. ‘Alpha Charlie has just landed so I’ll have to be really quick as there’s a wheelchair passenger and two unaccompanied minors to deal with. Plus, Stephanie’s gone off sick again so we’re one man down — woman down, in her case. Sorry, being sexist.’ He pushed his glasses back onto his nose as moisture beaded his upper lip and a trickle of sweat slid past his ear.
Emerald, in her lightweight summer uniform, felt for him. The day had warmed up, but the overweight man was still wearing the thickly padded high-visibility jacket he’d put on when the dawn sky was clear and chill.
‘Here’s your passenger list and your catering form for the return trip.’ He wiped his brow and passed Emerald a handful of scrunched-up papers.
‘Calm down, George. You can’t be expected to do two people’s work. Here, let me get you some water.’ She reached into the bar and passed him a chilled bottle of water.
‘Thanks, you’re a darling.’ He took a large swig of the water and exhaled gratefully. ‘Are you ready then? For your passengers?’
‘Wait just a sec.’ She turned to find her hat and then did a double take as she remembered that their new uniform didn’t have one. ‘Sod it, I love this new uniform, but I keep looking for my hat. It’s like trying to scratch an itch on an amputated arm when I know the bloody thing isn’t there.’ She turned back around and straightened up, to be met by a pair of forbidding dark eyes.
‘Trying to find what bloody thing, exactly?’
‘Oh, I thought you were George . . .’ She trailed off as she stared at the man, a terrible, nauseating memory dredging up from the depths like bile from her stomach. It hit her and she gasped.
‘Do I look like George?’ the man asked, narrowing his eyes.
‘No . . . no you don’t,’ she stammered, gazing past him to see George deep in conversation with another passenger.
The warm olive skin, thick wavy hair and the angle of the man’s jaw had no resemblance to George whatsoever. A faint scent of aftershave took her back and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’
The man looked her up and down appraisingly. ‘And I see now who you are.’ His gaze moved up to her face, his smile lazy as he met her eyes. ‘The uniform suits you.’
Emerald breathed in. ‘Welcome on board.’ Her hands clenched into fists behind her back and she could feel the creep of embarrassment staining her cheeks pink.
The man’s smile snapped back into a thin line. He held up a half-empty bottle of water. ‘Dispose of this, will you?’
Immediately riled by his tone of voice, she snatched it from him. ‘Of course, but we don’t normally dispose of other people’s rubbish.’ She knew her voice was tart and she really tried not to sound too sharp, but honestly, some people.
Though he wasn’t just some people, was he? He was the stranger who had haunted her dreams for months, causing a mixture of shame and desire to course through her body in the moments before she fell asleep each night.
She took the plastic bottle from his outstretched hand gingerly, determined not to touch his fingers.
‘It was left in the doorway. Very shoddy, if I may say so.’ He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
‘Oh, sorry.’ George, for goodness’ sake , she thought. But then she couldn’t blame him — he was always so busy and in a rush. The man was right, though, rubbish by the aircraft entrance looked very slapdash. ‘Do take your seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She tried to stay calm in the presence of this man who had become so dreamlike in her mind that she had almost convinced herself that their encounter was a figment of her imagination.
‘Wow, who’s the looker?’ Finbar, the steward whispered behind his hand, rolling his eyes towards the passenger. He straightened the headrest covers and checked the seat pockets making his way slowly through the aircraft, his eyes focused on the newcomer.
‘I don’t know his name. George disappeared before I found out why he was pre-boarded.’
‘He looks familiar. I wonder if he’s famous. Be great, wouldn’t it? Haven’t had anyone famous since that boy band — who sadly weren’t famous when we ferried them up north.’ Finbar sighed and Emerald knew he would forever regret not having his picture taken with the lead singer, who was so cute that even she’d fallen a bit in love with him. She dragged her gaze away from the man, who had settled himself into a seat.
‘I’ll find the manifest and see who he is,’ Finbar added, before disappearing to the rear of the aircraft where the paperwork was stashed.
Emerald’s cheeks burned as the memory of the night she’d tried to forget flooded back in all its humiliating glory. She still had no idea who the man was, but she remembered meeting him in the extortionately priced hotel in Florence . . . She wished she didn’t. Her hands trembled as she poured champagne, the bottle clinking against the crystal glass as she set it down on a tray and placed a Godiva chocolate next to it. She wondered how she was going to deal with him for the next three hours. Really, what were the odds of coming face to face with the man who had seen her at her absolute worst? She dreamed about him but now he was standing in front of her she wished him a million miles away.
Her recollection of that night was hazy at best: a man in her room and a lingering scent of spice and expensive aftershave. A trance-like memory of a sexy encounter, of kissing him and asking him to stay. Or had she begged him? She groaned. She wasn’t even sure what they’d done together, but, oh, what must he think of her?
The man was perched on the edge of a seat on row one and she slunk over to him, quiet as a mouse, praying he wouldn’t speak to her. She placed the drink and chocolate on the tray table next to him. ‘This is for you,’ she said, and turned to quickly walk away.
‘Excuse me.’ His voice was commanding and it stopped her in her tracks.
Her heart sank as she was obliged to face him. She was mute, waiting.
‘What is this — and why?’
She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Is it usual to give champagne and chocolates to passengers?’
‘Yes, sir. If you are boarded before the rest of the passengers — it’s just something we do.’ She wasn’t exactly sure why they served champagne to pre-boards, but Finbar, in his usual extravagant way, had convinced Mr Clarke that it was worth the extra expense. ‘Erm, it’s part of the service as pre-boards are usually premium.’ Emerald and the man stared at each other, Emerald feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights of those dark pools that were his eyes.
‘And you make it your business to acquaint yourself with all of your passengers, yes?’ The eyes hardened further and she felt the stirring of unease grow. Was he referring to their time in Florence? No, he couldn’t be. She was so confused. But she had faced the eyes of people with far more than disapproval in them, and she would not be thrown by something as simple as his rude interrogation.
‘Yes, we always know who our passengers are, sir, when they are sitting in their correct seat, but looking at the passenger manifest you are — let me see.’ She picked up the passenger list from the galley worktop and scanned it. ‘Yes, here we are. You are apparently a seventy-one-year-old diabetic named Mrs Caruthers.’ She couldn’t resist the triumph in her voice, mingled with relief that she had redeemed herself.
The man who clearly was not Mrs Caruthers, glanced at her briefly his eyebrows beetling into a frown. ‘You asked me to take a seat and I did as you asked. I don’t have an allocated seat as I’ll be sitting on the jump seat in the flight deck, as soon as you inform the captain that I have arrived. I do not imagine Mrs Caruthers will thank you for champagne and chocolate either, if she is diabetic, so I suggest you remove them immediately.’ He stood up and passed her the untouched tray dismissively. She took it automatically, knowing he was being unfair but unable to articulate it.
‘Captain Fraser, please? When you have a minute,’ he demanded.
Anger rose inside her at his dismissive attitude. She put up her hand and blocked his way. ‘Sir, you can’t just pop into the flight deck — there are laws in place. You could be a terrorist or a madman.’
‘Do I look like a terrorist?’ His eyes levelled with hers, unnerving her further.
‘Terrorists don’t walk around with a hand grenade in each pocket toting an AK-47 you know,’ she said tartly, redemption within touching distance, once again.
‘But I am not just anyone, am I?’ His smile faded. ‘And I suggest you keep your voice down unless you want to show yourself up in front of your crew.’
‘Excuse me.’ Her voice was loaded with indignation. ‘You don’t need to worry about my crew or my airline.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find I do.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘And if your ground guy had been doing his job properly, you would not have offered me an alcoholic drink either, knowing that I would be sitting in the flight deck. At least, I hope you would not — but remembering your propensity for alcohol, maybe it’s as normal as supplying coffee. Now, please tell Steven Fraser that Marco Cavarelli would like to join him.’
Emerald was desperate to refuse. He was so arrogant she wanted to assert her own authority, but he knew the captain by name and her inner antenna told her not to make a fuss. ‘One moment.’ She smiled, ignoring the anger in his eyes and the tightness of his lips as she headed towards the flight deck and entered the key code to open the door.
Her confidence slipped slightly as Captain Fraser assured her that Mr Cavarelli was welcome to join them as soon as he was ready. She wanted to ask why he was flying with them, but the pilots were busy with their pre-flight checks so she simply returned to Mr Cavarelli, saying, ‘Captain Fraser said to go on in. Do you think you can find your way?’
‘I don’t think it will be too difficult. There are usually only two ends on a plane to choose from and most people know that the pilots sit at the pointy end.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Oh, and thanks for your . . .’ He frowned, as if trying to grasp the right word, putting his fingers to his brow. ‘Assistance?’
Finbar, watching this unlikely war of words elbowed her discreetly out of the way to stand in front of Marco Cavarelli. ‘I’ll introduce you to the flight deck — I don’t suppose you’ll have met them before?’
‘Thank you, most kind.’
‘I’ll have to give you the demonstration card so you can flick through the emergency procedures.’ He thrust the demonstration card into Mr Cavarelli’s hand and drew his attention to the top line, written in bold red letters. ‘Our tagline. “We go all the way.” That was my idea.’ He beamed. ‘Isn’t it brilliant?’
‘Most innovative.’ The thin smile was back in place. So he was the nephew , he thought, noticing that the steward’s tie was done up like a cravat and it looked as if pink lip gloss adorned his lips. He breathed in the overwhelming aroma of aftershave — or was it perfume?
Emerald noted the slight flare of Mr Cavarelli’s nostrils and the frown creasing his forehead as she sidestepped into a row of empty seats to let them both pass. An irrational jealousy flared up as she watched them, noting the broad shoulders inside Mr Cavarelli’s unmistakably expensive jacket. She felt momentary relief as he disappeared through the flight deck door, but had a feeling that their spat was just the start of something bad. He was on her flight for a reason, and she needed to know why.
She turned to greet the rest of the passengers who were now beginning to board the aircraft. ‘Good morning, madam, how are you today?’ She exchanged pleasantries, hefted bags into overhead lockers and checked boarding cards, her practised movements on automatic. But her mind was elsewhere, fixed on the man in the flight deck, her gaze flickering towards the closed door more times than was necessary. Who the hell was he, this man confidently issuing orders and interfering in her domain? The stirrings of unease gathered into a knot of worry as fragments of conversation that she’d dismissed as gossip caught in her memory. Was the airline being taken over, or worse, closing down? There was something going on and it meant trouble . . .
Finbar rushed back down the aisle in a state of high excitement. ‘Come into the galley, Emms, quick — you have so got to hear this.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘I’ve found out who he is. He’s not on the passenger list because he’s on the crew manifest. You will not believe it.’
Emerald’s stomach flipped. ‘He’s a crew member? Since when?’
‘He’s not a crew member, as such.’ He paused and drew in a big, important breath. ‘He’s Marco Cavarelli.’
‘So I believe. What of it?’ She closed her eyes as the elusive name came back to haunt her, imprinted on her mind in red neon lights.
‘Don’t you know anything? Mr Gorgeous himself, whose reputation goes before him — has pages devoted to him on the internet and is in all of the glossies. He’s barely twenty-eight and has millions of pounds in the bank, billions, maybe. I don’t know but he is minted. Got a wife somewhere too, I think, or is it an ex-wife? Not sure, but still the dish of the day.’ He drew in a breath. ‘And he’s our new boss.’ He clapped his hands like a seal, grinning with delight.
Emerald felt a rush of nausea and leant on the bulkhead of the aircraft as her legs gave way. ‘We have a new boss?’
‘I told you that getting a new uniform meant something. Airlines always get a new uniform when they’re about to go bust or be taken over. Don’t ask me why.’
‘They do?’ The nausea got worse. ‘And the new boss is . . . ?’ She jerked her thumb towards the flight deck.
‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful?’
‘No, Fin, it’s really not. Please, tell me this isn’t true.’
‘It is true. I can’t believe it!’
Emerald let out a ragged breath. ‘Fin, you don’t know what this means to me.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you were the starstruck type. You never recognize anyone — even when they’re splashed on the front cover of Hello! magazine. You’re the only person I know who is likely to ask Madonna for her surname.’
‘It’s not that at all! I had no idea he was famous.’ She tried to fight the panic that constricted her throat, making her words inaudible.
‘Emms, love, are you gonna chuck up on me? You’ve gone white as a sheet.’ Finbar pulled one of the catering boxes out of its stowage and ran his hand over the top to clear the dust. ‘Sit down.’ He pushed her gently onto the metal box and pressed a bottle of water into her hand. ‘What is it? Tell me.’
She took a sip of the water and said, shakily, ‘You know what I told you about getting drunk on that stopover in Florence, when you were off in some pink bar and I checked into that ludicrously expensive hotel, ’cos I’d told crewing I didn’t need a hotel room?’
‘Yeah. You were surprising Rick with an impromptu visit, but the surprise was on you in the form of old jiggly breasts and it took you a month’s salary to pay off one night that you don’t even remember, cos unless you wanted to indulge in a threesome, there was no room in daddy bear’s bed.’ Finbar rolled his eyes. ‘I met a terribly sweet guy that night, I remember, who—’
‘Yes, okay, we don’t need to go through that.’ She was not overly keen to listen to Finbar’s shenanigans in graphic detail, yet again. ‘That guy—’ she inclined her head towards the flight deck —’is the mystery man who put me to bed.’
It was Finbar’s turn to pale as her words sank in. ‘You are not telling me that you offered your virginal little self to one of the most sought-after men in the world. That’s hilarious.’
She glared at his hands as he lifted them, glee written all over his face. ‘Don’t you dare clap.’
He froze and tensed, the agony of not being able to cheer with excitement clearly tormenting him. ‘He could sleep with any one of the people in Hello! magazine and you thought he might choose you?’ he hissed, his eyes wild and round with astonishment.
‘Fin! Stop it. I didn’t — don’t — know who the hell he is and I was really drunk because of Rick. Take this seriously.’
‘Take it seriously?’ He lowered his tone, aware that the passengers on the front rows might hear. ‘I am, sweetie. It’s just so . . . well, it is bloody perfect, when you think about it. You never drink, and you’ve only ever had one almost boyfriend — a crappy pilot, even when I told you to steer away from pilots, and then you throw a double whammy in one go and don’t even know who it was you pulled.’
‘I didn’t pull him, Fin.’
‘But you tried, right?’
Emerald nodded miserably. ‘I think so. I can’t really remember.’ She chewed her fingernail and closed her eyes in despair. ‘Oh, God, what have I done?’ She’d put everything she could remember about that awful night into a little box in her head marked, do not disturb, under any freakin’ circumstances , and now it was all going to come tumbling out, with more than just bad memories attached to it. It could have serious repercussions on her career, and — oh God, she was going to have to see the bloody man again and again.
She bit her lip. Should she say something to clear the air or should she brazen it out? They hadn’t got off to a promising start today, and she was never rude to passengers — but he was so full of himself. What had got into her? She massaged her forehead, trying to think clearly.
She couldn’t think about it now. Her passengers needed her. She pulled her mind back to the present and tried as hard as she could to forget about the problem of Marco Cavarelli as she attended to drinks, meals, duty-free goods and fretful children.
The intercom from the flight deck beeped and she picked up the handset, cursing — she’d forgotten their drinks. ‘Sorry, be with you in a minute.’
‘Mr Cavarelli will have a black coffee, please, no sugar.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She slammed down the receiver. ‘Of course he’d have black bloody coffee. Mr Macho Man himself, no namby-pamby milk or sugar for him,’ she muttered, grabbing porcelain mugs out of the stowage area. She fixed the drinks, put them on a tray and tried to catch Finbar’s eye, signalling that she needed him to take the drinks into the flight deck. She sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere near it, as long as Marco Cavarelli was ensconced in there. But Finbar shook his head, eyes twinkling as he smirked. He damn well knew , she thought, as she grabbed the tray and punched in the code to get into the flight deck. Forgetting how cramped it was when the jump seat was occupied, she almost banged straight into Marco Cavarelli as she opened the door. ‘Oops, sorry. Would you mind passing these over?’
‘No problem,’ her new boss said, breaking into a far sunnier smile than she had been granted earlier.
She caught her breath as she glanced at him. Bright sunlight flooded the flight deck, accentuating his smooth skin and full lips, and although his dark eyes were covered by sunglasses, his cheekbones and jawline were sharpened in profile. He was laughing at something the captain had said through the headphones, and looked like a completely different person from the owner of the judgmental face that he had presented to her earlier.
She steeled herself to be professional, lifting a mug off the tray and saying, ‘This is the first officer’s.’ Mr Cavarelli dutifully passed it over to the man sitting to the right of him, before turning back to take the other mug out of Emerald’s hand. Their fingers brushed and she almost dropped the mug as her hand jolted at his touch. She felt her face flame as he looked up at her, his expression impenetrable through the dark shades of his sunglasses. She prayed he hadn’t noticed.
To ensure there wasn’t a repeat performance, she offered him the tray so he could take his own drink from it.
‘Thank you, Miss Montrose,’ he said.
Trying not to inhale his unmistakable lemon-scented aftershave, which brought back hazy unwanted memories, she smiled wanly and hurriedly shut the flight deck door.
He remembered her name? She didn’t want him to remember her name. It filled her with trepidation and she hated herself for the sensations that engulfed her at his touch. She wished she’d never set eyes on him.
But she managed to forget about him as the flight progressed and they prepared to wind the service down, the aircraft slowing and descending into London Stansted Airport. ‘I’ll do the bar, Fin, if you can do the landing PA, and check the seat belts and lockers, okay?’
‘No problem, just shout if you need a hand.’ Finbar picked up the PA system as Emerald began checking the bar sales, soon engrossed in tallying up the figures. She knelt on the floor and pulled out the miniature drawers to count the bottles. A whisky miniature was half empty and she unscrewed it, puzzled, wondering if it had evaporated or if someone actually had drunk out of it. She sniffed it. Does whisky go off once it’s opened?
‘Back with your best friend? You know drinking on duty is a sackable offence?’
She looked up to see granite eyes, flecked with iron, scrutinising her, and her heart stuttered with an emotion she didn’t recognise. She scrambled off her knees and faced him. How could she have forgotten he was on board — his presence was huge? He seemed to fill the galley with his aura. ‘Oh no, I don’t drink.’
He laughed coldly and glared at her with such obvious disdain, it almost brought her back to her knees. He shook his head, his lips twisting. ‘She lies too.’
‘I do not lie.’ She thrust her chin upwards. ‘How dare you!’
‘I dare because I am now your boss and the truth is staring me in the face.’ The forbidding eyes pierced hers as he waited for an answer, his lips compressed into a thin line.
Emerald glared at him and drew herself up, squaring her shoulders in defiance of his words. ‘Well since you’re the boss you’d obviously know, wouldn’t you?’
His gaze didn’t waver. ‘I hear that you are cabin services manager here, so we shall be working together over the next few months. I’ll make an appointment to talk to you about what went wrong today.’ He pursed his lips and she half expected the steepled fingers to return.
She didn’t like the sound of his words. ‘An appointment?’ She retained eye contact. She would not be bowed. ‘Mr Cavarelli, I work incredibly hard to keep standards and morale high. I love my job and I resent the implication that I’m somehow lacking.’ She pressed her lips together to stop more words from spilling out.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe your standards are not as high as mine. We will see, Emerald Montrose.’
She was silenced by the soft, intimidating way he said her name, and hated herself for noticing his long eyelashes and darkly stubbled jawline, when she should be taking in his hard and hostile words.
He made to return to the flight deck, but paused and turned back to face her. ‘In fact, Miss Montrose, there is no time like the present. Your shift will be finished, I take it, when we land. I’ll meet you at the staff restaurant since I do not yet have an office. We can talk about the future of the airline, and your place in it.’
‘But it’s nine o’clock at night.’
‘Something happens to you after nine?’ he asked, the sardonic smile back on his lips.
‘No,’ she stammered. How did he manage to make her feel silly so easily?
‘There are no children or a husband waiting for you to come home, I hope?’
There it was again, a veiled reference to the night she wanted to forget. He would never allow her to forget it — of that she was sure. She tore her gaze away from him as he narrowed his eyes. ‘No,’ she said, seeing that he was waiting for an answer.
‘I can, of course, ask my secretary to make an official appointment if you would rather our little chat is put on the record.’ He tilted his head, waiting, and she tried to suppress the anger in her eyes, before he spoke again. ‘ Si . We will have coffee.’
She wavered for a brief second. A little chat with him was the last thing she wanted. But she nodded, yes, she would be there — she had no choice. For someone who was so good-looking, he really was a most disagreeable man.