In the morning sunlight and with time in hand, Johnny flew them west to start with, until Salisbury Plain opened up ahead of them and Stonehenge stood, tiny but distinct in the light, on the rising ground in front. Once he was clear of the Boscombe Down flying area, he swung south down the valley of the Avon. Ahead and to the left, the spire of Salisbury Cathedral defied the intimidating perspective their height gave them and still managed to impress itself on the landscape even from fifteen hundred feet up. Jo had gone through five minutes of silence for the take-off and the climb but now that they were in an easy and quieter cruise she got used to it, became much more animated and, leaning forward to shout in his ear, wanted to know exactly where they were and what they could see. He had to lift one side of the headset to hear her and it wasn’t easy to make her understand his replies.
Sir Michael had the advantage of the second headset and Johnny could talk to him without difficulty through the mike.
‘Are you enjoying it?’ he asked.
‘Rather. Haven’t been in one this size for ten years or more.’
‘Would you like to have a go?’
‘Don’t let Jo hear you.’
‘She won’t notice. Go on.’
‘Well, thank you for the thought, but I’ve always believed in leaving it to the experts.’
Expert. It felt good.
South of Salisbury with Wimborne and the spreading blot of Bournemouth ahead, he called up Hum Air Traffic Control and identified himself. They were expecting him but they asked him to waste a few minutes on the way in to let the late traffic clear, so he flew some circles around Ringwood, looking out to the glinting Channel ahead.
Despite the delay, within ten minutes they were on the ground at Hum, Johnny taking enormous care to pull off a smooth-as-silk slightly cross-wind touchdown to make sure Jo stayed happy. The man he was expecting was waiting there for him on the apron with a van.
‘Mr Kay?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m Bill from Aviation Services. I’ve got your life-raft for you.’
Johnny signed the paperwork for the hire, gave the man a deposit cheque and then had to rearrange the baggage compartment to fit the bulky raft in through the side access hatch. It was a four man model, packed away in a rigid plastic case from which one tug of a lanyard would release it to swell explosively into shape.
He took on a carefully calculated quantity of fuel, got back in the plane to taxi over to deal with the air traffic and customs formalities and Jo started grilling him.
‘What was that thing, then?’
‘Oh, just a life raft.’
‘Life-raft?’ she said in tones of pure horror. ‘Why do we need a life-raft? I thought you said it was safe.’
‘Well, safety comes from being prepared for anything,’ said Johnny. ‘If you’re crossing water, it’s always a good idea to have a life raft on board. That’s all.’
‘Doesn’t the plane float?’
‘For a while. Long enough to get a raft out.’
‘Oh, look, I’m not sure about this,’ she said, ‘no one said anything about life rafts.’
‘Jo, I’ve been across lots of times. I always take one but I’ve never needed it. Surely you wouldn’t feel happier without it?’
They had to help her out of the back seat again for customs and emigration. Johnny filed his flight plan at the tower and picked up the latest weather. There was a stiff wind from the sou’sou’west, blowing twenty-five knots. It was expected to stay that way for a couple of hours before strengthening a little more. He sat in a corner of the office and did the sums all over again, realizing it would make the journey a little slower, require more fuel. The margin was still just about comfortable. Heather came in and set down next to him and he looked at her appreciatively. It seemed to be the first moment he’d been alone with her since King’s Cross.
‘Where are the others?’
‘Your father’s pushing Jo round the flower beds, talking nineteen to the dozen about the strange habits of exotic flowers. He’s keeping her attention firmly on the ground until the last moment.’
‘Good for him. We ought to get going, I suppose. Don’t want to be late for lunch. I know a nice place.’
‘I thought this was meant to be business, not pleasure.’
‘I hope there’ll be time for both,’ he said, ‘I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you.’
‘There’ll be lots of opportunity for that,’ she said in her calm way.
When he’d finished the paperwork, he got them all back out to the Cessna.
‘Jo,’ he said tentatively. ‘I think you really would be a lot more comfortable in the front.’
‘No way,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it. It looks scary. Anyway there’s your centre of whatsit to think about. Sir Michael’s heavier than I am. I’m staying in the back.’
He wanted to say what was in his mind, prompted by her reaction to the life-raft, that if anything did go wrong, it would be a whole lot easier to get her out of the front seat; but he couldn’t think of a way of persuading her that didn’t imply there really was a danger, and rather than risk total panic he let it go.
They took off at exactly ten o’clock and the man in the Peugeot, who’d arrived a quarter of an hour earlier, allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.
The Cessna climbed out over Christchurch and Hengistbury Head, labouring up over the mouth of the Solent, thick with the sails of yachts making the most of the wind. There were white caps all the way to the Needles to their left and Johnny could see by looking down at the boats that there was a big sea running. It was one of those fine, blustery summer days when the wind is warm and the sea makes an even better sporting arena than the air.
He levelled off at four thousand feet and set a course that allowed for the drift. The sea looked rougher than he expected and the yachts below, though they were thinning out as they drew further away from the coast, seemed to be making heavy weather of it. He’d checked Cherbourg weather just before leaving but he resolved to try again in mid-Channel while there was still plenty of room for changing his mind. He wasn’t bothered about his ability to land the plane so much as the effect on Jo of a bumpy arrival. There was a coaster ahead and he could see it dipping its bow into the waves.
He checked the instruments. All was well. The fuel gauges hadn’t yet moved from where they were at the start. He had enough petrol on board to get across the Channel and most of the way back again. It really wasn’t a problem. He looked again at the coaster, used it to check his drift. The wind had to be more than twenty-five knots now. He eased a few degrees more to the west to make up for it.
Sir Michael’s voice sounded metallic in his headset. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes. I was just keeping an eye on the wind. It’s stronger than the forecast said.’
‘They can’t hear us in the back, can they?’
‘Not if you keep your voice down, no. Not over all this racket.’
‘Do you mind if I talk, then? There’s some things I’ve been wanting to say to you.’
‘No. I’d like it.’
Inside the fuel tanks, the coiled plastic sausages were doing their job. The petrol surrounding them had now been eating away at the outer skin for four and a half hours. As the plastic dissolved into the high octane petrol, it left its mark on the engine, not enough to cause a misfire or move any of the instruments far enough from their normal position to notice, but certainly enough to cause a lot of problems at the next strip-down as a thin black layer began, like burnt varnish, to coat the valves and the piston crown.