“Well, whatever you did, thank you.”

She offered her hand for him to shake, leaning across the privacy screen.

“I didn’t catch your name?” she said, twitching the corners of her mouth in a way she knew men appreciated.

“I’m John,” he replied, shaking her hand. His grip was firm, but gentle at the same time. Measured and reassuring. “John Smith.”

9

Milton relaxed in his seat as the 787 lumbered along the taxiway. The next few hours promised to be more comfortable than he had expected. Amber was folding the demonstration life jacket away after concluding the safety demonstration at the front of the cabin. She stowed it in one of the overhead bins, glanced down the aisle, and gave Sakura a wink that Milton noticed before taking her place in the jump seat.

“I take it that’s who you called a favour in from?”

Sakura grinned, showing off perfect white teeth. “Guilty as charged. I used to work with her.”

“You were air crew?”

“I used to be.”

They paused for a moment as the engines roared, the plane racing down the runway and climbing into the air.

“What were you doing in Istanbul?” she asked once they were aloft and it was a little quieter. “Holiday?”

“Just transiting,” he replied. “I flew in from South America yesterday.”

“Really?”

“I took a road trip. I started in Mexico, then headed south and ended up in Panama.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It was.”

“And Bali?”

“I’m going to visit a friend. She works at a hotel there.”

“Which one?”

“The Hilton.”

“In Nusa Dua?”

Milton nodded.

“It’s gorgeous. You’ll love it.”

The airplane turned slowly, and out of the window Milton could see the steel-framed airport below with the sun glinting off the glass-domed roof. They spent the next fifteen minutes enjoying a casual chat while they waited for their food to be prepared. There was a member of the crew in chef’s whites supervising the preparation of dinner, and the smell of garlic quickly filled the cabin.

Milton saw that Sakura had some red lines in terms of what she was content to discuss with him. That was fine—so did he—but it made him curious. She told him she was from Miyazaki Prefecture, about an hour and a half by plane from Tokyo, and that she had lived with her grandmother—a woman she referred to as Oba-chan—and her father after her mother had died when she was young.

“What about now?” Milton asked. “Are you married?”

He had noticed that she did not wear a ring, but he wasn’t sure what the customs were in Asia. Her face fell as he asked the question, and he caught a flash of pain. It lasted for only a split second before her expression hardened again, but it was long enough for him to notice.

“No,” she said quietly. “I was. But not anymore.”