“Abby, you gorgeous creature.” “Mr Kanakaredes, good morning,” I stood and held out a hand. “I trust your flight was pleasant.” “George, please,” Mr K held a hand to his chest as if he was hurt. “Why do you insist on this formality between us?” He stuck a finger in his ear. “I hate helicopters. Always have.” “Well,” I shrugged. It was all well and good for some people. “Might I offer you a drink?” “Nothing for me right now, …