Page 96 of Never Gonna Happen

‘No, really. It means a lot. To them, and to me.’

‘Dad chartered a six-seater so I could put my leg up. Might as well make the most of it.’

Emily handed her bag to the pilot and climbed into the cabin, which had two rows of three cream leather seats facing each other. She took the furthest seat by the window opposite Jamie, who angled his leg so his boot could rest on the seat next to her. They grinned at each other until Carol and Martin appeared, both of them chuntering excitedly.

‘Ooh, it’s so POSH,’ said Carol, putting her seatbelt on as the pilot closed the doors. ‘It’s like a stretch limo.’

‘When have you ever been in a stretch limo?’ asked Martin, as a whining noise told them the main rotor was starting to turn. The cabin began to vibrate as the speed of the rotor increased, and Carol gave another series of squeaks.

‘Margaret’s second hen night,’ said Carol indignantly. ‘We went to Brighton.’ She pulled out her phone and started taking photos, presumably to be shared with every WhatsApp group she was a member of.

They waited in excited anticipation for a few minutes, until the pilot’s voice came over the tannoy to tell them that all the flight checks were complete and they were ready to go. They’d be heading south over Chichester to the coast, then circling back over the west of the city before returning to Goodwood. Carol whooped as the helicopter left the ground, tilting and bouncing a little as it rose high above the aerodrome, then dipped to one side as it turned and headed south west.

Emily took in the view in awed silence, unable to believe that she was doing a tour of her hometown in a helicopter. It was a clear day and as they gained height she could clearly see Hayling Island and the Isle of Wight beyond. ‘There’s the cathedral,’ said Carol to nobody in particular, unable to sit in silence for a second longer. ‘And the market cross. You can see all the streets laid out. Ooh, it’s a smooth ride, isn’t it? I expected it to feel like a rollercoaster.’

‘There’s West Wittering beach,’ said Emily a minute or two later, pointing at the stretch of sand. ‘Our Christmas Day swim.’ Jamie smiled at her, no doubt also thinking about the sweetness of that first kiss, and how far they’d come since then. The pilot headed out to sea, then swung the helicopter in a big U-shape over the thousands of tiny boats anchored in Chichester harbour before returning back up the west side of the city. He descended a little and flew the helicopter directly over the estate where Carol and Martin lived, sending Carol into spasms of excitement about the possibility that their neighbours were standing in Grove Street right now, looking up at them. She waved out of the window pointlessly, then alerted Jamie to the exact location of Emily’s old school and the 24-hour Tesco.

Five minutes later they were flying low over Goodwood, back to the helipad outside the hangar. The pilot kept the propellers going, giving Carol and Martin instructions over the tannoy on how to leave the aircraft safely.

‘That was brilliant,’ said Carol with a beaming smile. ‘Thank you, Jamie.’

‘Really great,’ added Martin, reaching out to shake Jamie’s hand.

‘No problem,’ said Jamie. ‘I’ve had a lovely weekend.’

‘Me too,’ said Emily. ‘Thanks for a fab birthday party.’

Carol looked at them both, her eyes full of tears. ‘We’ll see you both soon,’ she said with a wobbly lip, giving them both a hug. The woman with the clipboard opened the door so Carol and Martin could step down on to the grass, ducking down to avoid the idling rotor blades until they were well clear. They turned to wave furiously as the helicopter took off again and headed north.

‘This will be the talk of Chichester,’ said Emily, waving until her parents were just specks against the green expanse below.

‘It was fun,’ said Jamie, as the helicopter set a steady course north-east. ‘We should be back at Bowford in an hour.’

‘I could definitely get used to this,’ said Emily, kicking off her shoes. She lifted her socked feet into Jamie’s lap and he rubbed them gently, just enough to relieve the residual aching from all the dancing on Saturday night. It felt entirely blissful, to be relaxing in a warm and comfortable leather seat as the villages of the South Downs whizzed by below, a handsome man giving her a foot massage. In another life she’d be sat on the M11 right now, cursing every broken-down lorry and bad driver. This was infinitely more like it.

Arriving at Bowford Manor made Emily feel like a pop star arriving at Glastonbury. They set down on a helipad behind the hedge at the far end of the lawn, but this time the pilot turned off the rotors so he could unload their luggage while they made a more sedate exit. Leon appeared to take their bags, and by the time they were back at the house the helicopter had taken off again, the pilot giving them all a salute before turning east to his home base at Norwich Airport.

‘I had no idea you had a helipad,’ said Emily, looking back at the lawn. It was impossible to see the concrete pad set into the grass from the terrace.

‘Mum used to use it a lot,’ said Jamie, ‘for shopping trips to London. Dad isn’t usually in that much of a hurry. Although it’s useful in the summer holidays when the roads are jammed with holidaymakers.’

‘But the helicopter isn’t his?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘He doesn’t use it enough to justify having one of his own. It’s cheaper to charter as and when; we’ve used a local firm for years.’

Emily smiled, acutely aware of what a ridiculous conversation this was, and wondering what other things rich people did to avoid the inconvenience of holidaymakers clogging up Norfolk during the summer. Perhaps the Hunters had their own private ice cream van so nobody had to queue for a Mr Whippy.

She said her goodbyes to Jamie in the yard, then headed up to her room to dump her bag and freshen up before going to work. By the time Mr Hunter arrived at 9 a.m., she had a coffee on the go and was halfway through opening the morning post.

After welcoming her back and asking about her party and the helicopter ride, he went through to his office and closed the door behind him. She could hear him talking quietly on the phone and waited until he’d finished his calls before carrying through a coffee, her notebook and today’s file of post.

‘That was Mark Thompson on the phone,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘He has some information.’

Emily sat down. ‘What did he find out?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ said Mr Hunter, his brow furrowed. ‘He insists on meeting in person.’

How very Mark, thought Emily. Can’t resist a grand audience. ‘When are you next in London?’