She saw an easy smile, kind blue eyes, and dark blond hair, graying at the temples. He stretched his hand, in a friendly way, saying, “Leonard Allenthorp. How do you do, Mrs. Santo? What my friend said is that we’re heading to Geneva in ten minutes, in a private jet, and if you’re willing, we’ve got space for you.”
He looked at her and down at his outstretched hand, as if daring her to shake it.
“How much?” Sophia blurted, with a frown.
He looked confused, “It’s a free ride we’re offering. It’s Mr. Ashford’s private jet.”
Sophia took a deep breath, gathering courage. As she was well aware, everything in life had a price but she needed to go to Geneva today.
“Thanks, I accept,” she shook the outstretched hand, smiling a little, trying to relax. She had nothing to fear from this man.
A deep voice purred from behind her, in her right ear, “It will be my pleasure.”
That man, Ethan, he unnerved her. Sophia steeled herself.
Leonard made a small gesture with his hand. “Shall we go? We don’t want to meet the snowstorm in midair.”
She put her turquoise Chanel bag on her shoulder and caught the handle of her carry-on.
“Do you want help with your luggage?” Ethan offered.
“No. Thanks.”
She watched Ethan surreptitiously as she walked between the men. He had the inborn firmness of those who know how to achieve things in life. He wore a dark blue three-piece suit perfectly tailored to show off his strong body. Gucci black shoes. He carried nothing, not even a briefcase. A man who demanded perfection, even from himself.
On her other side, Leonard kept pace. Almost as tall as Ethan. Sophia knew he was about to turn thirty-five. She had just read an article about him in the Sunday Magazine. His clothes were also expensive; however, he used them in an effortless way. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was harmless. She sensed he was a man she would like to befriend.
“I have to thank you for the ride,” Sophia smiled at Ethan. “I should have imagined that something like this could happen. We’re having such terrible and unstable weather this year.”
“Yes, we are,” he agreed. “Have you kept abreast of the floods in northern England?”
Sophia nodded.
“Awful, isn’t it?” Leonard said quietly. “My brother-in-law had serious problems on his property.”
At passport control, Ethan quirked an eyebrow at Sophia when she didn’t follow them. She just smiled back. He shrugged and followed Leonard.
The police officer did his work quickly and handed the passport back to her, with a big smile, saying, with a heavy British accent, “Bom dia.”
Really, there is nothing cuter than Portuguese spoken with an accent. Sophia grinned back, saying, “Obrigada.”
Ethan eyed her document with interest when she tucked it back in her bag.
“This way, Sophia,” he motioned.
They went through an empty corridor.
Downstairs and outside the building was a new silver-and-black Gulfstream G650. Next to the carpet on the tarmac by the stairs, the captain waited to welcome them.
At the top of the stairs, a good-looking flight attendant smiled. She wore a tight, black-and-white uniform, “Good morning, ma’am. May I take your luggage and coat?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sophia handed over her carry-on and her navy overcoat.
The attendant’s smile broadened and she melted at the sight of Ethan. “Mr. Ashford, a pleasure to see you again.”
Ethan smiled back, “Good morning, Vanessa.”
Vanessa turned to greet Leonard, “Mr. Allenthorp, good morning.”
Leonard nodded at her, “Vanessa.”
Every detail had been chosen with care. All the seats were handcrafted with genuine black leather with white-and-gray hues for the carpet and other decorative touches. It was very masculine, subtly stylish. The inside of the airplane resembled its owner.
Sophia walked past single seats facing each other. Halfway down the aisle, there was a four-place mahogany conference table with double seats on each side. She sat on one of the double seats, next to the window, putting her bag on the seat on the aisle. Leonard leveled a look at her and smiled as he noticed the maneuver, seating himself on the other side, opposite her. Sophia noted that all modern technologies were at hand, as in a fully functional office.
At the rear, a three-seat black divan with gray-and-black striped silk pillows faced a mahogany credenza topped with a wide-screen plasma TV.
“Mr. Ashford, may I fix you your drink?”
“What are you drinking, Sophia?” Ethan politely asked.
“Water. Sparkling, thank you.”
“The same for me, Ashford,” Leonard added.
“Vanessa, please, water for Mrs. Santo and Mr. Allenthorp. The usual for me,” he leaned on the table, two big hands flattened, to look at Sophia. “Want a tour before takeoff?”
“A tour?” She eyed him, amused, a playful smile on her lips. “What for?”
“I can show you the cockpit and” his eyes flashed, “the stateroom.” He ended in a husky voice, “It’s quite comfortable.”
Sophia laughed to hide her embarrassment, “No, thank you. I’m good here.”
He cocked one eyebrow at her, but said nothing more, easing his six foot three stature on the seat beside Leonard.
The flight attendant served the water and a tomato juice for Ethan, put some mixed nuts and canapés on the table between them, and vanished from the cabin. The captain announced takeoff. It was smooth and elegant.
“Portuguese, aren’t you?” Ethan said with sureness, starting the conversation.
She laughed, shaking her head.
“No?” He was puzzled, “But your passport… Your answer to the officer…”
“So?” She raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
Sophia could see that Leonard, documents in front of him and head lowered, was paying attention to the conversation.
“All right,” she blurted. “Let’s see if you can guess where I’m from, one chance each.”
Instantly, Leonard’s head came up from the documents. “This isn’t fair. Three each.”
“Uh-uh. One.”
“Two,” said Ethan.
“Hmm. Five guesses,” she mused, “the odds might turn against me.”
“Five?”
“Yes, Ashford. You have already said she’s from Portugal.”
“Well, wasn’t it obvious?”
“Nothing is obvious in life, Mr. Ashford,” said Sophia smiling, with mischief. “But, let’s make a deal. If you don’t guess, and mind you, you’re not going to, I’ll give you one more chance each, agreed?”
“Agreed,” they said at the same time.
“And if we win, Sophia?” Ethan asked hoarsely. “What’s the prize? Willing to wager a dinner with the winner?”
“As I’m sure you’re not going to win, let’s settle for lunch, us three. No winner. Deal?”
“Deal. Please, call me Ethan.”
“Mr. Allenthorp, you’re willing to go first?”
She was having a good time. She couldn’t believe her luck. She had succeeded in going to Geneva, in a luxury private plane in the company of such interesting men.
“Okay. Let’s see… Not Portuguese. Although with a Portuguese passport. With clear Latin heritage. I would say you’re… Italian.”
“Good, Mr. Allenthorp. Very good. But, no!”
She turned to Ethan, waiting.
“Not Portuguese, not Italian. Very black hair, light skin, hazel almond eyes.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned at her, “Curvaceous, sexy.” He mused, “Hmm… I dare say Spanish.”
“Why! Thank you,” she giggled. “But you’re far from it, Mr. Ashford.”
“It’s Ethan. Drop the Mr. Ashford.”