MJN's passenger is stunning.
It's a Thursday, and Martin's flustered already from a mis-set alarm and an unfortunate run-in with a police officer ("I-I'm sorry, sir, my-m-I-I'm late!"), and so he really doesn't have the resources to deal with the stunning and mysterious woman who's suddenly in front of him. Not that he ever had the resources in the first place. "Oh! Um. H-hhi. I'm Captain Martin Captain—Captain Crieff! Oh. S-s-sorry." He doesn't have to look at Douglas to know that his First Officer to know the man is giving him an insufferable smirk and his shoulders slump, just a bit, because it would be nice for once to have a conversation with a beautiful woman without stammering himself into a figurative bloody pulp. He decides to give up.
So he's completely shocked when the low chuckling female voice says, "Hello, sexy. I like the hat."
He can't see her eyes beneath the floppy red hat but her mouth is quirked in an amused smile and he can feel Douglas gaping at him. "Oh! Um. Thank you?"
Her smile remains enigmatic and he watches her as she swishes in her trench coat up the stairs and into the plane. Douglas quirks an eyebrow and grins and Martin can feel the blood flooding his face as he follows her.
He pesters Douglas into a game of travelling lemon to have an excuse to roam the cabin. His stammering continues but so does her chuckle, and even Douglas's relentless teasing can't put a damper on his mood. Eventually (it's a long flight from Fitton to Mumbai) he relaxes enough to have a semi-normal conversation with her. She's been almost everywhere, as far as he can tell, and they trade stories about Douz and Johannesburg and Molokai until Carolyn, appalled at his negligence, sends him packing back to the flight deck.
He hopes he's not imagining the wistfulness that he sees creeping into her smile.
"Ooh! And how is MJN's own silver-tongued Lothario?"
"Shut up, Douglas!"
"Managed to bore our passenger to death, have we?"
"No, Douglas, actually we—we exchanged stories of our travels! We've been to a lot of the same places and we exchanged stories and—and I really think she might like me, Douglas."
"Martin! Are you going to ask her on a date?"
"No! Well. I want to. What do you think? Should I? Would she think I'm too forward?"
"She did call you sexy."
"Oh. Right! I-I will then." He sits up a little straighter, resolved, and concentrates on the controls for the next three hours as well as he's able.
He never gets the chance. As soon as they're in Mumbai and the door has opened, she's gone, even as Martin hurries through his checks and sprints out the flight deck door. He catches a glimpse of her red trench coat disappearing through a door that she definitely shouldn't have access to (a minor mystery) and sighs, hopes dashed once again.
—
The next time Martin sees her, it's eight months later and he's in Peru, keeping an eye on Arthur as the steward roams the duty-free offerings of the Jorge Cháves International Airport. He spots a familiar-looking red hat gliding through a crowd of tourists and businesspeople and it takes him a second before he realizes why it's familiar. Then he's paralyzed with shock and can't figure out to open his mouth and by the time his legs can move again she's long gone, even though he pushes his way rudely through the crowd towards her.
After that he sees her every few months, always from a distance. The closest they come to an interaction is in Prague, when he turns away from a rack of magazines and sees her standing and watching him, he swears, about twenty-five feet away. Her mouth quirks into the smile he remembers and then she's gone again, but he's left with a funny sensation in his stomach and a grin he knows must look stupid on his face.
—
He wonders where she is, every so often, what she's doing, if she's thinking of him. He lies in his bed and thinks to himself, Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?