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Returning once again to the Stark family's villa, Henry arrived driving his vintage 1965 third-generation Cadillac DeVille.
Standing beside the passenger seat, he held a single red rose in his hand—waiting to welcome Katharine Hepburn aboard.
The 84-year-old lady stepped out in a violet ladies' suit, a wide-brimmed silk sun hat, and white opera-length gloves. Her look was unmistakably retro, yet radiated refined elegance.
Henry offered her the rose and complimented,
"Katharine, you look especially beautiful today."
"You've got a silver tongue, don't you? But I see there's only one flower for me," Katharine teased as she caught sight of a whole bouquet in the back seat.
"One blooming red rose is more than enough," Henry replied smoothly, opening the door with a gentlemanly flourish.
Katharine tapped his head lightly with the rose and said,
"Such a quick wit. I'm starting to wonder if I were sixty years younger, would I fall for that mouth of yours?"
"It would've been the honor of a lifetime," Henry chuckled.
Once seated in the passenger seat, Katharine tapped the glovebox cover and said,
"Well then, get moving. Today's the day you finally meet your movie idol—you wouldn't want to be late picking her up at the airport, would you?"
"Relax. Her flight's scheduled to land at 10 a.m. We've got plenty of time. By the way, Katharine, have you had breakfast yet?"
"I have. We elders don't keep irregular eating schedules like you youngsters," she replied.
So the drive passed with pleasant small talk until they arrived at LAX. After parking, they made their way to the arrival hall, where Katharine and Henry began playing a game: guessing who among the crowd were paparazzi.
Being the airport closest to Hollywood, there were always tabloid reporters lying in wait, hoping to catch a glimpse of some A-lister arriving. Katharine's appearance didn't attract much attention—she was no longer in the limelight, after all. To the young reporters, she was just another well-dressed old lady.
But before long, a poised, elderly beauty emerged from the terminal—wearing an ivory-white polka-dotted T-shirt, a peach-pink pleated skirt, draped in a silky white scarf, oversized sunglasses covering her face, and low pink heels. She carried two vintage-looking LV handbags—one large, one small.
Despite the years, her dignified grace turned heads throughout the airport.
Just as the younger crowd didn't recognize Katharine, no one recognized this elegant older woman either.
Only Katharine stepped forward, arms open for a warm embrace.
"Audrey, it's been far too long."
"Katharine, you look as radiant as ever," replied the other Hepburn, returning the hug as the two old friends greeted one another warmly.
Henry stood frozen like a statue, eyes wide with awe. It wasn't until Katharine gave him a nudge that he snapped out of it. He hurried forward with the bouquet he had prepared and stammered,
"Miss Hepburn, welcome. I'm one of your biggest fans. It's such an honor to finally…"
Overwhelmed with emotion, he couldn't even finish a complete sentence. His eyes welled up with tears.
Truth be told, even meeting someone like Tony Stark didn't affect Henry this deeply. Stark had always seemed like a smart-aleck kid to him—not exactly awe-inspiring.
But Audrey Hepburn? Even though age had taken its toll, no cream or silk scarf could hide the fine lines on her face. Still, that emotional surge—of seeing someone who once represented light in a dark time—was indescribable.
Perhaps it was because, after twenty years of chaos and torment since arriving in this world, those weeks he spent in Alaska bingeing on old films became more meaningful than he ever realized. In a way, the golden-era Hollywood actresses had been the dawn that shattered his personal darkness.
When John rescued him in Alaska, it was a salvation of the body.
But seeing Audrey Hepburn in person? That was salvation for the soul.
"Thank you. These flowers are beautiful," Audrey said, taking the bouquet. "You must be Mr. Brown?"
"Yes, Henry Brown. But you can just call me Henry," he said, finally regaining control of his voice.
Katharine, seeing how flustered Henry was, jumped in to ease the tension with humor.
"Hey Audrey, do you know what this guy said the first time he saw me?"
"Oh? Let me guess—claimed to be a huge fan?" Audrey smiled.
"Nope. He went, 'Oh, so this is that Hepburn lady…' with a face so full of disappointment I almost considered straightening his nose for him."
Audrey blinked, then burst into laughter. "He really said that?"
"Sure did. Can you picture the look on his face?"
"I think I can," Audrey chuckled. "Do you remember Hubert de Givenchy? When I first visited him, he thought I was you, and he looked just as disappointed."
"Well then," said Katharine, "I guess we're even."
"Is that something you even keep score over?" Audrey laughed, looping her arm through Katharine's.
Their cheerful reunion began to attract curious glances.
Two older ladies meeting at the airport might not be breaking news—but if one was named Katharine and the other Audrey, both referred to as Miss Hepburn? That was a headline waiting to happen.
Having been famous long enough to sniff out paparazzi, both women sensed eyes on them.
"Let's get to the car. You must be tired from the flight from Switzerland."
"I got some rest on the plane," Audrey replied. "But jet lag's still a thing."
Katharine turned to Henry and said sternly,
"Child, go get your movie idol's luggage. Honestly, I'm starting to question if you're really up for this job."
"Y-Yes, right away!" Henry scrambled to grab her bags. "Allow me, ma'am."
"Thank you, handsome," Audrey replied with a grin, still arm-in-arm with Katharine as they chatted nonstop about life, friends, and everything in between.
Henry escorted them to the waiting area, then jogged off to the parking lot to bring the car around.
He knew the interview for the job of Audrey Hepburn's personal driver had already begun.
What he didn't know was… what kind of first impression he'd made.
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