"Oho! Not an old woman, nor the appearance of an idiot! The Gods have truly graced me this time. Now all I need to hear is that those two idiot pilots have disappeared."
Arthur turned quickly, shock flitting across his features for a moment. As far as he was aware, the Six Nations Rugby Tournament was still months away. Not that he was aware of much regarding rugby. Or anything else, for that matter.
"Mr Birling! The rugby isn't today, is it?"
The puffed up English Welshman shook his head. He appeared to fill the entirety of the aeroplane, his mostly white hair still shot with flecks of grey. Carolyn had briefed her on the mannerisms of the dreaded Mr B, how he expected everyone to toady to him, how he cared not a jot for protocol.
"Not rugby, no. The awful wife is determined to go to somewhere pretty and romantic for some anniversary and your awful lot can take me there. Don't want to go, but awful wife is awful and if she who must be obeyed is giving orders, then I must obey."
"What about Dresden, Mr Birling? I hear it's very nice there. And it's quiet, too. As a final plus, they sell wonderful, cheap beer."
"Not interested in beer, want the finest single malt around. Talisker."
Imogen tried not to sigh in irritation. He was an awkward customer, and she simply pointed out the way to Carolyn's office. She didn't know Mr Birling, apart from the reports, and didn't want to deal with something that wasn't really her problem.
"Talk to Mrs Knapp-Shappey about it. She'll be better at picking out a destination for you."
For once, the retiree said nothing in response, simply huffed and did as he was told.
"Wow, you got him to listen to you! You're brilliant!"
"Easy when you know how," she grinned, the small accomplishment boosting her confidence. It may improve the relationships with the other crew members. Not that they were bad, as such, simply needed a little bolstering.
##########################################
Arthur watched Imogen serve Mr Birling, slightly confused. She wasn't as sarcastic as Douglas, but not as quiet and anxious as Martin. Nor a total clot like him. But Mr Birling was listening to her, respecting her even. He didn't even listen to Carolyn. Was it because he thought she was pretty? No, that wasn't Mr Birling. Awful though his awful wife was, he genuinely cared about her. And besides, she was only a few seats away from him. He wouldn't dare attempt to even contemplate flirting when his wife was so close by. It wasn't the Talisker, either, because Carolyn had only been able to purchase a dozen miniatures, half a dozen for each leg of the trip. Not enough to get him drunk. Why then, was he treating her nicely? Okay, maybe not nicely. Arthur wasn't sure that it was even possible for Mr Birling to be nice. But whatever he was, it was close to it.
###########################################
He was still thinking about it (an extraordinary feat, especially for that of Arthur) when he delivered the coffees to the flight deck. It took two trips, and Imogen to make the coffee for him, but he was adamant that the flight deck hot drinks were his territory. He said nothing for a moment, trying to find the right introduction to it, but Douglas beat him to the chase.
"Either you have a crush on her or you feel even more useless than normal. You usually feel useless, and you haven't blushed all that much, so I'm now reconsidering my first deduction and coming up empty. What's the matter, Arthur?" The First Officer was surprisingly kind, and this made Arthur's conflicting emotions even worse.
"I'm confused, Douglas."
"Nothing new there then."
"Ignore him, Arthur. He's just fed up of playing Beat the Manual again. I told him that I would only play the Travelling Lemon if he played that." Martin didn't look up from the column, adjusting some instrument or other (he had tried explaining it all to Arthur, but as usual, Arthur hadn't listened or taken any of it in).
"Seriously though Arthur, what's wrong? Because if it's the Talisker again, I haven't touched them. Haven't even left the flight deck. Rest assured though, I'll manage it somehow. Even with an extra pair of hands, I'll still outsmart Miss Marple here."
Arthur tried to raise a smile, but found he couldn't, so settled for a half-hearted grimace instead. It wasn't nearly as good as he had hoped, but it was something, right? Besides, he was too confused and too conflicted to bother trying.
"Dear God, that was awful. Is someone dying? Because if one of the passengers have finally swung for Carolyn, I need photographic evidence for prosperity."
"No, no, it's not Mum. It's Imogen. Well. Mr Birling really. He's being nice to her. Well. I mean, he's always nice, sort of, but he's really nice to her."
Douglas rolled his eyes at the pathetic attempt at an explanation. He managed to figure out what Arthur was trying to say, however.
"You're saying that Mr Birling is acting somewhat politely and respectfully towards our lovely stewardess, which is confusing you because he's never like that and she's nothing special. Is that it?"
"She is special! She's brilliant, actually. She's pretty, and she's nice, and she doesn't call me a clot." Nor did she treat him like one, not unless he'd done something spectacularly idiotic, which luckily hadn't happened too often, as there were only so many clumsy things a one handed Arthur could do.
Douglas narrowed his eyes. Arthur wasn't sounding any more admiring towards her than he did towards himself or Martin. Not a crush then. Not entirely.
"Perhaps Mr Birling like being served by someone who isn't seen as ugly looking or completely imbecilic in his eyes. Have you thought of that?"
Arthur shut his mouth, temporarily stunned into silence. He hadn't thought of that. There was something more though. Something more about her. They had all noticed it, but couldn't figure out what it was. And he, Arthur Shappey, was going to figure it out. Even if it took the rest of his life (which, knowing him, was quite possible).