"About ninety thousand dollars. Average. Some of them a lot more. Mrs. Ashworth is a lot more." She let that sit. "You didn't know the number. But you knew. Everyone knows. The inflight manual says to treat every passenger equally. And then the training says, Sovereign members are our most valued guests, go above and beyond. And the bonus structure says your evaluation depends partly on Sovereign satisfaction scores. And then a Sovereign member wants a seat that isn't hers, and the person whose seat it is happens to be someone who looks like she won't make a fuss, or won't be believed if she does. What were you supposed to do?"
Graham said nothing.
"You were supposed to say no," Naomi said quietly. "Politely. Firmly. You were supposed to say, Mrs. Ashworth, I'm so sorry, your seat is 2C. And when she said what she said, you were supposed to say, Mrs. Ashworth, we don't speak to other guests that way on this aircraft. That's what you were supposed to do. And I don't think anybody at Meridian has ever made you feel like you could. Have they?"
Graham's jaw worked. He looked away, down the jet bridge, toward the terminal.
"No," he said. His voice was rough. "No, ma'am. They haven't." He paused. "Two years ago. On this route. A Sovereign gentleman put his hand on Tessa's..." He stopped. Glanced at Tessa. Tessa's face went very still. "He touched one of the junior crew. Inappropriately. During the meal service. She told me. I wrote it up. He was flying with us again three weeks later, in the same seat, and I got an email from the inflight manager saying that the customer relations team had resolved the matter with the guest directly and asking me to make sure his next experience was exceptional."
The jet bridge was very quiet.
Naomi looked at Tessa. Tessa looked back at her. The young woman's face was composed and professional, and her eyes were bright and very angry.
"Is that true?" Naomi asked her.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did anyone ever talk to you about it? From the company? Anyone at all?"
"No, ma'am."
Naomi closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she did not look at either of the flight attendants. She looked at the gray wall of the jet bridge, at a small placard bolted to it that said DO NOT LEAN ON PANELS, and she thought about her grandmother, at the foot of an airplane stair, squinting into the sun.
"I'm sorry," she said to Tessa. "I'm sorry nobody did. That should never have happened, and when it did, someone at this company should have stood beside you. I'm going to find out who decided not to. I'll ask Lena to set up a time for us to talk, properly, in London, and I'd like you to tell me everything. If you'd rather talk to someone else, or bring someone with you, that's fine. That's your call."
"Okay," Tessa said. Her voice was very small. Then, after a moment, more firmly: "Okay. Yes. I'd like that."
Naomi turned back to Graham.
"That's what I mean," she said. "That's what I'm going to fix. Not you. The thing that taught you that a Sovereign card means you can put your hand on a flight attendant and a woman in a teal jacket can tell me I don't belong in my seat, and the most important thing is that their next experience be exceptional." She drew a breath. "I'm going to ask you for something, Graham. You can say no. You've got nineteen years and an excellent record and you're entitled to say no."
"What is it?"
"I'm going to London to tell the board that we're going to change how we train every premium cabin crew member at this airline. Policy, training, evaluation, the bonus structure, all of it. I'd like you to help me write it. You and Tessa. Because you know how it actually works in that aisle at eight in the morning, and I don't, and neither does anybody at headquarters. I'd like you to help me make it so that the next purser who's standing where you were standing this morning knows exactly what to do. And knows that the company has his back when he does it."
Graham stared at her. For a long moment he did not say anything at all. Then something happened to his face that Naomi had not expected. It crumpled, very slightly, around the eyes and the mouth, the way a man's face does when he has been holding something for a long time and has just been told he can put it down. He looked away quickly, down the jet bridge, and blinked several times, and cleared his throat.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, ma'am. I'd... yes."
"Thank you," Naomi said.
She turned to the captain.
Whitaker had been standing a little apart, his hands in the pockets of his uniform jacket, listening. He had not said a word since they came out onto the bridge. He looked at her now with an expression she could not entirely read.