‘Hello there.’ I looked at the pale, freckled hand on the back of the empty bar seat next to me in the business class lounge of Heathrow airport, then up into the stranger’s face.
‘Do I know you?’ I asked. She didn’t look particularly familiar, but her American accent, her crisp white shirt, her sculpted jeans tucked into knee-high boots all made her look like one of my wife’s awful friends.
‘No sorry, I was just admiring your drink. Do you mind?’ She folded her long, slender frame onto the leather-padded swivel stool and set her purse on the bar.