"Well, I think I know someone who might just be the right man for the job," that was what Nigel had told her, and it was with an undefined but unmistakable sense of foreboding that she had prepared herself to meet one Mr Richardson, former Air England Captain no less.

(As it turned out, he had actually been thrown out of Air England for his smuggling endeavours, but she didn't know it back then.)

"Douglas Richardson, pleased to meet you," the man introduced himself with a smirk, one she was sure she would recognise anywhere. That in Kuala Lumpur had been one of the most memorable layovers in her nearly thirty years as a stewardess, and a curious mixture of relief and irritation washed over her as soon as she realised he didn't seem to remember.

That was just as well, she firmly reminded herself as she caught a glimpse of the ring adorning his finger; if her disastrous second marriage had taught her anything, it was that men only meant trouble, even more so when it came to egotistical sods who thought of themselves as the best thing that happened to the sky since rainbows. She was damned if she was going to let the man know she had once fallen for his charms, even if that had happened a long time ago.

(Still, as her beloved but slightly exasperating son popped in to bring them tea, she couldn't help but wonder – that tiny, unwanted seed of doubt already nagging at the back of her mind.)

Whatever qualms she might have had, she pushed them resolutely away for the time being. As luck would have it, Nigel was a natural at handling his somewhat recalcitrant First Officer; and for all that he teased him constantly, Douglas appeared to get along with Arthur far better than any of the previous candidates for the job, which was a definite point in his favour as far as Carolyn was concerned.

As for the other thing, she reasoned that what had happened in Kuala Lumpur had better stay in Kuala Lumpur. After all, they'd only had the one night – though what a night, her traitorous mind prompted, unbidden; not even a week after that she'd been swept off her feet by an eccentric Australian billionaire, and the rest was history. All odds were in favour of Arthur being indeed Gordon's son, and even if he wasn't – well, that was a hornet's nest that had better remain unstirred, for the sake of pretty much everyone involved.

Or so she though, up until that blasted flight to Hong Kong. Apparently Arthur had forgotten that strawberry mousse did in fact contain strawberries, and was now sitting on the floor in the galley, gasping for breath; it wasn't anywhere near his first allergic reaction to the blasted fruits, but it was far more severe than anything Carolyn had witnessed so far, and she found herself unable to do anything but stare back in half panic.

It was at that crucial moment that the flight deck door opened, and in strolled her First Officer. His original intention had probably been that of stretching his legs a bit, but it only took him a couple of seconds to appraise the situation and react accordingly.

"Stay with me, Arthur," he ordered as he searched the emergency medical kit for one crucial item. "You're going to be fine."

Carolyn spared a grateful thought for whoever had decided to include epinephrine in the medical kit, and crouched beside her son to assist him.

"Strawberries, was it?" Douglas enquired after a moment, his voice strained with some emotion she couldn't quite define.

"The idiot keeps forgetting he's not allowed anything with strawberries in it," she confirmed somewhat tiredly, her hand squeezing her son's. "Even when it's something as obvious as strawberry mousse."

The First Officer nodded tightly. "My daughter is also allergic to strawberries," he added, meaningfully, and that was enough to make her reassess her conviction that he didn't remember.

"Douglas," she started – but he quickly raised his palm, looking pointedly at Arthur who was still lying between them, fully conscious if a bit sluggish. "Thank you," she finished, lamely, watching the man as he adjusted his hat and retreated to the flight deck.

"He's brilliant," Arthur murmured under his breath, his strawberry-induced lisp even more pronounced this time around. "Isn't he, Mum?"

"I'm sure he is, dear," she forced herself to reply, and squeezed his hand just a tiny bit tighter.