She felt guilty at the line in the poem which advised to teach love by being generous with your own affections and once again Nick was there, an image on the inside of her eyelids. She'd convinced herself that nothing sexual had taken place on the basis that there was no physical evidence, apart from the severely smudged lipstick, and that there hadn't been enough time. Feeling sticky under the collar once again she snapped her eyes open as the groomed stewardess handed her the croissant de queijo and the queque that she'd ordered just after take-off. She breathed in the delightful smell of the cheese croissant and admired the chubby cake that oozed over the sides of the small plate. As she bit into the light buttery croissant she thought back to home again.