The waiter brought their second course; Linzi ate some of her salad, trying to think of a way out of going up in the helicopter with them, but Ritchie was like a bulldozer once he had made up his mind. He wouldn’t be stopped or turned aside.
Half an hour later Linzi found herself crossing a mown field towards the waiting helicopter.
‘Up you get!’ Ritchie said, seizing her waist and lifting her up. Ted showed her how to belt herself into her seat, and gave her headphones to wear, to shut out the noise. Ritchie clambered in beside them, and the door closed. Linzi stared up at the whirling blades, her eyes blurred by the speed at which they went round. The machine began to lift and she looked down to see their black shadow flying across the ground below.
Ritchie tapped her shoulder, gesticulated downwards, mouthed, ‘Along this ridge, the line of poplars...that’s the route.’
The landscape flowed beneath them; fields, hills, trees in a fascinating pattern of light and shade, colour and contour. Linzi could have flown over it forever. She had never been so absorbed. Ritchie spread the map out on her lap, traced their route with his hand; she looked from the map to the landscape, connecting them, understanding their relationship, and deeply excited.
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера: