Page 23 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

We talk about the repercussions of that and the problems it caused and is still causing today, and we’re still talking about it when the Uber draws up outside the airport.

After thanking the driver, we get out and retrieve our bags, then head inside. Fraser leads the way over to a small check-in counter where we hand over our cases and are then taken immediately to the gate where the small plane is waiting.

I climb the steps, enter the cabin, and gasp, my jaw dropping. There are only eight seats—four on either side of the walkway, one pair facing the other across two highly polished wooden tables which bear gleaming white crockery and silver cutlery, and a pot of fresh white chrysanthemums.

We’re greeted by the flight attendant, a young guy in a white shirt, gray waistcoat, and black trousers who introduces himself as Rob. He instructs us to seat ourselves and buckle in, gives us a safety briefing, then says he’ll make us lunch as soon as we’re in the air, and goes off to his seat.

“I feel as if I’m in a James Bond movie,” I say to Fraser.

“What would I ever do without you?” Fraser says.

Oh-ho, I recognize that—it’s a line fromGoldenEye.

“As far as I can remember, Fraser, you’ve never had me,” I reply.

“Hope springs eternal,” we both say together, and laugh.

“Are you a big Bond fan?” he asks as the pilot turns the plane and heads along the runway.

“I love them all,” I admit. “I had the whole collection in a beautiful box set, but Ian stole it.” I scowl.

Fraser frowns. “I dislike that guy more and more with everything you tell me.”

“Me too.”

He gives a short laugh. We both look out of the window as the plane picks up speed, and my pulse races.

“You okay?” he asks, and I look back at him to see him watching me.

“Yes. I’m excited!” I feel the lift in my stomach as the plane’s wheels leave the ground and it fights against gravity, and then we’re in the air, and my spirits soar along with the birds into the clouds.

He smiles. Then, out of the blue, he says, “Ian was mad to let you go.”

I stare at him. His lips twist.

Flustered, I look out of the window at the white fluffy clouds. It feels as if we’re flying through cotton candy.

We don’t talk for several minutes. His words make my heart race, but I’m sure he’s regretting turning the conversation personal.

Eventually, Rob approaches and asks if we’d like some lunch.

“Please,” Fraser says. “What’s on offer?”

Rob gives us a menu—a menu! On a plane! It offers a choice of two starters: freshly baked bread rolls with butter andolive oil, or a light salad with shaved parmesan, cherry tomatoes, and a balsamic glaze; three main courses: a herb-crusted salmon filet with a citrus beurre blanc sauce, accompanied by roasted baby potatoes and asparagus, a grilled chicken breast with wild mushroom risotto and sautéed spinach, or a veggie option of a Mediterranean vegetable tart with feta and a side of couscous; and several mouthwatering desserts.

We settle on the baked bread rolls to start and we both choose the salmon.

“And to drink?” Rob asks. “Would you like tea or coffee, fruit juice, or a glass of wine?”

“A coffee, please,” I say, wanting to keep my wits about me.

Fraser also asks for a latte, and Rob retreats to produce it all for us.

“Oh my God,” I whisper once he’s gone. “Fraser, this is amazing.”

He grins. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He plays with his fork, turning it over in his fingers, but his gaze is still on me, and I can see him wondering whether to ask me something.

“Spit it out,” I say, amused.

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