Chapter Text
Hey, you! Yes, you in row three with your head lolling against the window. If you don't mind my saying so—you look a little bored. Well, most people are, don't worry; I don't take it personally. I was just wondering... Maybe you'd like to hear a story to while away the time? I've lived through uncounted adventures during my time, but being an admirer of Shakespeare myself, I especially enjoy narrating how the crew of MJN unwittingly staged an impromptu performance of 'Much Ado About Nothing'. Oh, don't look at me like that! Is it so impossible to imagine I might like Shakespeare? Or that I love to tell stories?
I have to admit I haven't been present for all the scenes in person. After all, although I consider myself free as a bird, there are quite a lot of places it's impossible for me to go. But trust me, I have my sources. Besides, people always underestimate how much I notice, and as a consequence, I learn many a thing they never would have let anyone else hear or see.
So, are you ready? Do you sit comfortably?
The story I'm going to tell took place during one of MJN's bigger jobs, the kind of job that makes Carolyn very happy: A client had booked MJN for a month to fly to various places and to be on stand-by for the rest of the time. Unfortunately, that is also the kind of job which makes Martin unhappy because it's bad for his van business, so don't judge him too hard if he seems a little ill-humoured.
Let us begin on the first day of said job, when Martin and Carolyn were sitting in the portacabin, waiting for their client to arrive. Carolyn was resolutely typing away on her laptop, while Martin shuffled through paperwork, looking pointedly at his watch every few minutes. Don't assume, though, that Martin was impatient with the client, because he wasn't. He was eager to get up in the air as always, but most of all he was annoyed with Douglas, who hadn't shown up yet, for being late once again.
Before Martin had worked up enough anger to complain, however, Arthur burst into the little office, waving his mobile phone.
"Mum, Skip! Douglas just called! He says he'll be here in twenty minutes!"
"Hear, hear," Martin said sourly. "Is the great sky god finally condescending to grace us with his presence?"
Arthur's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean, Skip?"
"I guess we can consider ourselves lucky that the client wasn't here on time, can't we, now?" Martin continued, his pent-up annoyance finally finding an outlet. "Seriously, Carolyn, I can't believe that you let Douglas get away with this. Even his luck is bound to fail him one day."
Carolyn looked up from her laptop and focused Martin over the brim of her reading glasses. "The client couldn't have been here before Douglas because it's Douglas who's picking her up," she replied.
"What?!" Martin exclaimed. "Douglas is driving? Do you want her to be travel-sick before we even take off? You know how Douglas drives!"
"Martin," Carolyn said with a sigh. "It is very nice of you be concerned about the well-being of our client, but trust me, I'm not shy asking your opinion should I need it. Not that I expect that I will ever need it. But as it happens, she insisted on Douglas driving."
"Well, she can't know what she's asking for, then," Martin said stubbornly.
Carolyn smirked. "Actually, I believe she knows him rather well."
"Oh God, please tell me she's not one of his girlfriends," Martin groaned. "It's bad enough having to listen to him bragging about all his alleged flings; I really don't need to witness any of that in person. Besides, this client has hired us for a month, hasn't she? Do Douglas's relationships even last that long?"
"What, do you think they might break up?" Arthur piped in. "That really could be a bit not brilliant. I still remember when I was a kid and Mum and Dad..."
"Yes, there is no need to remind me of that," Carolyn interjected testily. "And leave the worrying to me, will you? I'm sure nothing of the sort will happen. Go do the walk-around, Martin, we want to be ready when they get here."
As Arthur had predicted, Douglas arrived twenty minutes later with the passengers—three passengers, to be precise. Obviously in charge of the small group was a woman in her fifties who whirled into the portacabin in a flurry of elegant dark red and expensive perfume. Going by the stories Douglas loved to tell, Martin had always assumed that Douglas preferred his girlfriends to be much younger, but otherwise he wasn't surprised by the stunning figure in front of him. This woman looked as if she could hold her ground against Douglas perfectly well and would be enjoying it, too. In short, she was the perfect match for Douglas, which irked Martin although he couldn't quite explain why.
After the lady in red, a girl in her early twenties slouched in. She looked fragile in a too large, dark hoodie and a mob of black, unkempt hair, awkwardly hauling a big rucksack with her. Last, and easily overlooked, a young, nondescript man in a plain business suit followed.
"Welcome to MJN Air, Mrs Richardson!" Carolyn greeted the woman, sporting her most friendly smile, the one that delicate natures still tend to find intimidating. "I hope your trip to the airfield was agreeable."
"Very much, thank you, Mrs Knapp-Shappey."
"Mrs Richardson?" Martin scoffed and looked at Douglas, brow furrowed disapprovingly. "I didn't know you got married again, so soon after Helena."
"Helena?" Mrs Richardson enquired with an amused smile.
"Yes, didn't he tell you? His third wife," Martin said. "Douglas, this is quite fast even for your standards."
"Jealous, are we, Martin?" Douglas quipped. "But no, I am not married. Not saying that I couldn't have been, as opposed to some other people who can't even get a date despite wearing a captain's uniform and a hat that—"
"Douglas, Martin," Carolyn interrupted. "Please can we try to take off this very day? Messina isn't waiting for us. Well, Messina probably is waiting, it's not that it can go anywhere, but the airfield closes over night."
"I'm sure we can," Douglas agreed. "Martin, meet my first wife Catherine, her daughter Missy, and her junior partner, Nathan Clarke."
"Oh." Martin blushed. "Oooh! I... I am so sorry! I didn't... Well, anyway, welcome, Mrs Richardson. I'm Martin. I mean, Captain Martin Crieff."
"Thank you," Catherine answered. "Nice to meet you."
When Martin didn't move and instead kept staring awkwardly at Catherine, Douglas cleared his throat. "Now that the introductions are made, might we want to move to the plane? Otherwise the whole flying thing could prove a tad difficult."
"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Martin said hastily and stalked off, not without ungracefully catching the sleeve of his uniform in the door handle and stumbling out of the portacabin.
Much to Carolyn's relief, however, after that small incident it didn't take very long until both passengers and crew were settled into their respective seats, the pre-takeoff checks had been completed and clearance for take-off acquired. There was one question, though, that kept nagging at Martin throughout the whole routine, and as soon as he felt confident that the flight was well on its way and the autopilot was doing its job, he asked:
"Douglas, is Mrs Richardson's daughter...?" He let the sentence trail off.
"Yes, Martin?"
"Well, is she your daughter?"
"No. Why, is she your type?" Douglas asked.
"What?" Martin ejaculated. "I... what? Where would you even get such an idea?"
"Well, how am I supposed to know?" Douglas raised his palms in an exaggeratedly innocent gesture. "It's not that I have ever met any of your dates to get an idea of Sir's tastes. Hmm, why is that, I wonder... Oh, might it be because you don't have dates?"
"You'd be the last person to who I'd introduce my dates," Martin said. "And for your information, no, she's not my type, definitely not. I was just worried about how many of your genes the world would have to deal with. God knows one of your sort is more than enough."
"Luckily enough, we don't have to worry about your genes being passed on," Douglas replied. "What with the lack of dates and all."
Martin shot a dark look at Douglas, but didn't reply. A long pause followed in which Martin pretended to be busy with the console and Douglas sported that predatory gleam that meant he was either making plans to chat up a pretty woman or scheming his next ploy to pick on Martin. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.
It was Martin who finally broke the silence. "Is this the Mrs Richardson who you are paying such a large alimony?" he asked.
"No," Douglas replied. "If anything, this Mrs Richardson should pay me alimony. She's leading a very successful clothing company and makes more money than Carolyn can ever dream of, and take it from me, Carolyn can imagine a lot of money. As far as I can tell, Catherine could easily afford her own jet."
"Then why has she chosen MJN?"
Douglas smiled self-congratulatory. "Because she knows me."
"That's exactly my point," Martin said dryly.
"Well, certainly not because she has heard so much about MJN's great captain. While the story about how you landed with the brakes on is indeed worth telling, it's not the kind of thing that tends to attract customers."
"That was ages ago! Besides, I don't suppose most passengers would take kindly to the idea of the first officer smuggling live tarantulas in the galley cupboard."
"Perhaps not," Douglas admitted. "But they never found out, did they? Whereas the screeching noises from the landing gear and the bumpy touch-down were very hard to miss. You even managed to wake the drunk gentleman in the last row, which, if nothing else, at least saved us the trouble of having to drag his unconscious form from the plane."
"Douglas, just because people don't know what you're doing doesn't make it alright!"
"No? I'll tell you what, Captain We-Do-Everything-By-The-Book: If I hadn't told you about the tarantulas, we wouldn't even have this conversation, seeing that you wouldn't know."
"If you hadn't told me, at least it wouldn't have been my responsibility if something had gone wrong," Martin countered. "But I guess it's not fun for you and your oversized ego if you can't boast about it, is it?"
Douglas narrowed his eyes. "If that's how you feel, Sir, I won't bother to tell you anything anymore in the future."
"Fine." Martin crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared out of the window.
"Fine," said Douglas.
Promises, promises. But our dear pilots can never refrain for long from bantering with each other, whatever they might say. If you know your Shakespeare, you can probably guess where this is heading, can't you? Funny how people can be so ignorant about what is so obvious to outsiders. But if you know your Shakespeare, then you'll also wonder who else is going to suffer from busybodies and gossip. Let me tell you what Arthur had been up to on that flight. Luckily for him, Carolyn had allowed him to help with the stewarding instead of forcing him to hide in the locker as was her wont when flying important customers, and thus, cheerily as ever, Arthur went around with the drinks trolley: first to Catherine, then to Nathan, and last to Missy, who had chosen a spot in the back row where she'd set up a stack of books and a laptop.
"Good day, Madame. Would you like anything to drink? We've got tea or— Oh, is that the Lady of the Lake?"
Missy looked up at Arthur, then down on her tee shirt that was partly visible under the open front of her hoodie.
"Yes, it is," she admitted warily.
"That's brilliant! I always wanted to get one of these, but Mum didn't let me use her credit card. I got the special edition DVD for Christmas though! It's one of my favourite movies ever. Well, beside Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. And movies with aeroplanes. Or polar bears."
"Oh, is it? Awesome!" Missy flashed a shy smile at Arthur and closed the lid of her laptop. "Most of my friends find it trashy and stupid. But I think it's much smarter than they give it credit for."
"Wow, I have to remember that for next time when anyone says something funny about it," Arthur said. "Did you know that Hester Macaulay flew with us once?"
"You're kidding me! Really?" Missy asked with wide eyes.
"Really!" Arthur nodded emphatically, almost shaking off his self-made hat. "You can ask Mum."
"Did you talk to Hester? Did you get her autograph?"
"I did talk to her," Arthur said. "Sort of. Until I said something about her cat and she wanted me to get out of her sight. I didn't get around to asking her for an autograph. She was rather ... a bit tired of the fans."
"Yeah, I suppose she would be," Missy said thoughtfully. "I don't believe she was ever at any of the conventions." Then she grinned at Arthur. "So, what do you reckon, when Griselda asked Arthur to bring her Excalibur—did she already know that he was a vampire?"
"Oh wow! I never thought about that!" Arthur exclaimed. "But now that you mention it... that's a really interesting question! Did she know he was a vampire?"
"You know, I have a theory," Missy answered and re-opened her laptop, shuffling in her seat so that Arthur could look over her shoulder. "What if in this scene..."
Soon the drinks were forgotten, as were any other of Arthur's duties. Please excuse an old lady if she can't reproduce in more detail what else Arthur and Missy talked about—I can hardly keep up with all the films and music, computer games and social networks young people spend so much time with. Suffices to say, they got on very well, Arthur smitten with Missy's knowledge and unusual ideas about various movies, and Missy warming up to Arthur's enthusiasm and open-mindedness. At some point, Carolyn retrieved the drinks trolley from Arthur, rolling her eyes at the two but keeping any remarks to herself, and magnanimously decided to take over the catering.
All in all, that flight to Messina was a rather uneventful one. The sky was clear, there was only little wind, and the landing was as smooth as Martin is capable of. I'd like to point out that, against all odds, even the seat belt signs were working flawlessly.
By the time MJN and their passengers had landed, Carolyn was pleased about a job well done, Martin and Douglas were caught in one of their perpetual quarrels, and Arthur was practically brimming with happiness and the overwhelming feeling of having met a soul mate. As everyone scattered to the winds once they reached the small airfield, the only person who happened to be around when Arthur finally couldn't hold back his words any longer was poor Douglas.
"Hi Douglas!" Arthur beamed. "That was a great flight, wasn't it?!"
"Was it? You seem rather down," Douglas replied, not yet knowing what it was that Arthur was about to share, but already suspecting he wouldn't be interested in the least.
"Oh, do I?" Arthur asked in earnest.
"No, not really," Douglas sighed. As always, Arthur failed to notice his sarcasm, and as a consequence, wasn't put off by it.
"Ah," Arthur just said, and his face lit up again. "Well, I'm just so happy I met Missy! She's brilliant! And very smart and very pretty!"
"Oh, is she now. Obviously that's in the eye of the beholder. If you ask me, her rabbit teeth..."
Arthur, too busy gushing over his crush, wasn't listening. "She knows all the names of all the actors in Quest of Camelot! And Star Wars! And..."
"Yes, that sounds very smart indeed," Douglas quipped.
"She also reads maths at University," Arthur added.
Douglas's eyebrows rose. "Now that is smart, I have to admit."
"It is, isn't it? It's great!"
"Is it really. Last time we were playing Monopoly and you had three of the stations, your enthusiasm for maths was much less pronounced," Douglas remarked.
"It isn't fun if I have to do it, but if Missy talks about it, it's brilliant! She even knows why planes can fly upside down. It's because... the wings... err... the wings... I forgot. Something about an angle of attack or something?"
"You two seem like a perfect match."
"You think?" Arthur asked hopefully. "She's the sweetest girl I've ever met. I believe I'm in love! It feels amazing!"
"Love?" Douglas asked and furrowed his brows in disdain. "You should be careful with words as portentous as that."
"Por... what?"
"Portentous. I'm sure Missy would love to explain it to you. So you believe you are in love?"
Arthur nodded. "You know that feeling when you have eaten too much fizzy powder and your stomach feels all funny? That's how I feel."
"Is it like having eaten Surprising Rice?" Douglas enquired.
"Naaah, you can't compare that at all! When you eat fizzy powder, it feels funny the good way! Like being in love!"
"Ah," Douglas said. "Well, I have to admit it does ring a faint bell, though I have no intentions to live through any of that ever again. In my experience, it's not worth the trouble."
"Aww, Douglas!" Arthur said. "You are probably just saying that because of your divorce. Mum says you are bitter and that it serves you ri— uh. Well, she didn't mean it like that. I'm sure you'll find someone soon!"
Douglas opened his mouth, but was spared from coming up with a witty comeback by the arrival of Catherine Richardson.
"Who will find someone?" she asked.
"Hello Catherine," Douglas said smoothly. "It seems our dear Arthur has found someone—namely your daughter."
"Oh, has he?" Catherine smiled. "How lovely to hear!"
"You say that now because you haven't known Arthur for very long," Douglas remarked. "He's not quite the dream of prospective mothers in-law, as you'll soon find out."
"I'm sure he's a nice guy," Catherine said. "Besides, Missy seems to like him. That's all that counts, isn't it?"
"Good Lord, I am caught in a Harlequin novel," Douglas replied, dramatically rolling his eyes for emphasis.
Arthur ignored him, probably because he didn't understand what Douglas was getting at, and looked at Catherine with big eyes. "Does she really? Like me? What a nice thing to say. Oh! I totally forgot to get her email. Do you know where she is, Mrs Richardson?"
"Probably in the next bookstore," Catherine said with a smile that was half long-suffering, half fond. "But you know, I have an idea: Missy and I are throwing a Halloween party in our holiday home on Saturday. What if I invite you and the rest of MJN to join the fun?"
"You would do that?" Arthur practically bounced. "That would be great! I love Halloween! Is it with costumes and everything?"
"I insist on costumes."
"Brilliant! I get to see Missy! In costumes! That's like Christmas and birthday and Birling day together!"
"Look what you've done," Douglas said to Catherine. "He's like a bunny rabbit on crack!"
"But a cute bunny rabbit," Catherine replied, then she laid a familiar hand on Douglas's arm. "Douglas, might you be a little envious?"
"Envious? Me? What on earth would I be envious about?"
"The blossoming of a young love..." Catherine said wistfully.
"I really am caught in a Harlequin novel," Douglas scoffed.
"Don't be so grumpy, Douglas." Catherine nudged him in the side. "You might fall in love sooner than you imagine."
"I'll do my very best to avoid it. And as you well know, if I set my mind to something, I usually achieve it."
"I take it your last marriage didn't go well, then? Ah, Douglas, don't worry, you'll get over her, and knowing you, it'll be sooner rather than later. Helena, was it?"
"Please spare me your advice. My love life doesn't need help from Forrest Gump, and it certainly doesn't need help from my ex-wife, emphasis on ex. In fact, I'm very happy with its current state. I flirt, I have sex, I have fun... whatever would I miss?"
"What about..." Catherine began, but Douglas didn't let her finish.
"That was a rhetoric question, Catherine. I am sure you've heard of the concept. Keep plotting your romance novel, if you must, but do leave me out of it. I have to go anyway; lots of stewardesses are waiting for an exciting evening with a dashing pilot. Bye!"
"I expect you at the Halloween party!" Catherine called after him. "Costumes are mandatory!"
The only answer was a non-committal wave of Douglas's hand.
When Douglas was out of ear-shot, Catherine turned around towards Arthur. "Is it me or is he unusually moody?"
Arthur chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "He is always very sarcastic, but he does seem a bit stroppy, doesn't he? Maybe it's because you are his ex-wife? Mum always gets very cranky around dad."
Catherine laughed. "Maybe."
"Do you really think Missy likes me, Mrs Richardson?"
"Oh, yes, indeed."
"Wow," Arthur said. "Thank you for doing this—inviting us, I mean. Now I just need to get a costume. Hmmm... What would Missy like?"
"I'm sure she'd like it best if it were your idea," Catherine replied.
"Right-o. Hmmm, let's see... My last Halloween costume was great! I was a cucumber!"
"Really?" Catherine said, suppressing a laugh.
"Yes! That was fun! Anyway, thanks again for the invitation! I need to go now! Find costume shops! Bye, Mrs Richardson!"
Arthur turned around and ran off, almost bouncing into Martin who had been lurking behind an artificial plant nearby.
Being an earnest man, Martin probably hadn't planned to hide and eavesdrop, especially since he knows he's never lucky enough to not get caught if he wants to spy, but as it happens, Martin had overheard most part of the conversation between Douglas, Catherine and Arthur. Now that the others had vanished into various directions, he was left pondering what he'd heard.
"Martin, have you put down roots?" Carolyn asked when she found him where he was standing around undecidedly. "God knows you are small enough to be a seedling."
"Very funny, Carolyn," Martin replied.
"Thank you. Now, are you coming? Because I am not paying for more than one taxi to the hotel."
"You might have to rethink your plans," Martin said. "Maybe a little shopping tour is in order. Or at least I reckon that's what Arthur's doing right now."
"Don't tell me he's looking for Toblerones," Carolyn sighed.
"No. I mean, maybe he is, but he's also looking for a costume. We have been invited to a Halloween party."
"What?" Carolyn barked. "By whom?"
"Well... did you know that Arthur has a little crush on Missy?"
"That is hard to overlook. I don't believe Arthur even knows the meaning of subtle. What surprises me most is that she's his type, apart from her name."
"She is, obviously," Martin said with a grin. "And she likes him back."
"That would be even more surprising, if it were true. But as you surely know, Martin, you are neither a good psychologist, nor skilled in the matters of love. And anyway, why this sudden interest in my son's love live?"
"I overheard Mrs Richardson talking to Douglas and Arthur," Martin replied. "Mrs Richardson invited us all to her Halloween party on Saturday so that Arthur can see Missy again."
"Did she, now?" Carolyn asked slowly, her expression becoming speculative. "Halloween party as in free dinner?"
Martin shrugged. "Probably."
"Well, Mrs Richardson can't know Arthur very well, but then, Arthur spent his whole flight pestering Missy, so it's not that she had a chance. Otherwise she'd probably want to keep him away from her daughter instead of inviting him. I know I would. But she'll find out soon enough; until then, let us not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we?"
Martin hadn't been the only one who had overheard the conversation between Douglas, Catherine and Arthur: Nathan had listened unobserved, too. If this were a tale of fiction, you had all rights to accuse me of constructing a very coincidental plot, but I assure you this is exactly how it happened.
In any case, Nathan knew, but where Carolyn and Martin were mildly surprised, Nathan was positively unhappy with the latest development. You see, he was having an eye on Missy himself and didn't like the idea of having a rival. Pacing anxiously up and down, he dialled—shall we say an acquaintance?—to deliberate on the situation.
"Yes, Nathan?" the man on the other end of the connection said.
"You know that bloody air charter that flew us to Messina today?" Nathan practically spat into the phone; gone was all the calm and polite demeanour he had shown so far.
"What about them? Did they forget your luggage? Did they screw up the landing?"
"No, the flight was okay," Nathan admitted.
"Yes...? What is it, then?"
"You won't believe it." Nathan ran a hand through his hair. "Their so-called steward is making eyes at Missy!"
"A steward? You mean one of these gay pretty boys?"
"He's neither gay nor pretty. He's an idiot, but for some reason Missy seems to like him. At least I've never before seen her talking to anyone for such a long time," Nathan said bitterly.
"So you have competition, eh?"
"Under normal circumstances I wouldn't call him competition. I mean, it's almost ridiculous. As if Missy were mocking me. But she isn't, of course. She's always been a bit of a weirdo, so in a way, it figures."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do about it?" Nathan asked.
"Well, if you still believe that Missy's the best way to enhance your career..."
"I do."
"Then there are several possibilities. Have you talked to her mother yet?"
"That's the worst about it: Catherine approves," Nathan said sourly. "She has invited that sorry excuse for a crew to the Halloween party so that the idiot and Missy can be together."
"Hm. That makes it harder, but not impossible..."