An elegantly dressed woman sauntered over and took a glass of champagne.  She barely looked at it, or him.  The bubbly was merely ceremonial, in any case.  It was barely morning, after all.  But the transatlantic voyage took six days, and this was a part of beginning properly.  She stood to one side as Trevor bustled about, taking glasses.  She seemed to be taking in the guests as much as the view from behind smoke-lensed glasses.  A man, in his forties and thus at least a decade older than her, leaned in close.
“Are you here alone?” he asked

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