Ten in the morning, check-in completed, window seat 6A. We all look at each other, tinged with questions, conscious that we're about to experience this privilege together. Such speed inevitably raises questions. I can't wait to see her again after this magical week in Paris... This dinner where we laughed so much, these stories about her childhood in Brazil, our discussions about Auguste Comte and Stefan Zweig in Petropolis. This sensual, refreshing kiss. Then no more news... Every day without her is an eternity. Finally, this letter from her, with a few words: “I miss your perfume”.

I am wearing it today, its luminous citrus and ginger vivacity gives way to sandalwood, vetiver and amber. Throne in majesty, a fiery, passionate rose, reflecting our encounter. The pilot's voice interrupts my thoughts, he describes this technological feat. The very first time we’re going to fly at Mach 2, the very first time Concorde is going to take to the air. The flight attendant approaches me and pours me a delicious cognac from the renowned Maison Frapin. Charmed by the bewitching amber nectar, I miss the new pilot's intervention. But her last words float in the air… Six Hours to Rio...