MARCUS WAITED FOR April to settle herself into the helicopter cockpit, watching as she glanced around with a visible hint of trepidation. She was clearly in strict writer mode: notebook in hand, pencil tucked endearingly behind one ear, looking slightly uncomfortable in a black-and-white sundress rather than the inevitable trousers, T-shirt and blazer combo.
Sidetracked, he couldn’t help but comment, ‘Nice dress. Another one?’
The hint of a blush touched her cheek even as she glared at him. ‘Thank you. Courtesy of Sunita. It was hand-delivered to my hotel room this morning. During our interviews we’ve discussed clothes and my wardrobe—or lack of it—a lot. Her note said that she was pretty sure that I wouldn’t have a dress suitable for a tropical island. So...’ She gestured downwards. ‘Anyway, I didn’t expect a helicopter.’
‘I promise I’m a fully qualified and experienced pilot.’
‘I’m sure you are. It’s just that in my head we were going by boat.’
‘This is faster. We should get there early afternoon, have a few hours on the island, then be back late evening.’
‘I’ve read that storms are predicted. Though it’s hard to imagine that now.’ Outside the heat shimmered with a glaring intensity.
Marcus nodded. ‘They are—but not for a couple of days.’
Once airborne, as always, Marcus entered a zone of his own—one in which the power of the aircraft and the sheer magic that enabled him to control its flight through the air took over.
To his relief April was the perfect companion, making no effort to attempt any form of conversation, given the noise levels, and seemingly content to look out of the window, headphones in place. Every so often she would scribble down some notes.
Within two hours they approached Eden Island, the aerial view a panoramic vista. Marcus brought the helicopter to land on the helipad, his sense of achievement at a smooth, perfect landing always a boost.
‘I really enjoyed that.’ April turned to him, and her smile twisted something in his chest. ‘You fly beautifully.’
‘Thank you.’
‘When did you start?’
‘As soon as I could afford it. I’d always dreamed of being able to fly.’
The reason was ludicrous—stemming from the one time he’d believed his father to be sharing something genuine with him. For a minute the memory was so real he could visualise it...
He could see the six-year-old boy he had once been...remember that rare occasion when his father had seemed to feel affection towards his son. The tendril of pride and happiness he’d felt that he was at his father’s feet.
‘Son, right now it’s like I’m soaring over peaks and mountains and it
feels so damned good.’
Then his own voice: ‘I wish I could do that. Will you teach me how?’
There had been the raucous sound of his mother’s laughter. ‘Let him try some.’
But his father had shaken his head. ‘You never know—maybe there’ll be a chance for him to fly in a different way.’
That evening had soon dissolved into misery, but still Marcus treasured that memory, had given it significance because it had been one of the only kindnesses his father had ever shown him—not putting his son on the path to addiction at such a tender age.
‘Marcus?’
April’s voice tugged him back to the present and he blinked, focused on her face, freshly aware of the beauty of her features.
‘Sorry. Yes. Flying was a childhood dream, and when I set up Alrikson Security I decided to make it reality. Now you could say it’s a bit of a hobby.’
‘An expensive hobby!’
‘Sure. But one I can afford.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know. It’s common knowledge that you made your first million well before you were twenty-five.’ She paused. ‘Does it ever bother you?’
‘What?’