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part of the airfield which handled the private jet traffic. There was a smart, single story terminal, and Tamara saw Simon as soon as she walked through the automatic doors into the cool reception area.

    “Got your stuff then?”

    She looked at him, taking in his crisp dark blue shirt, pale chinos and expensive loafers. “I think I should be checking that you’re all organised,” she replied. “Passport? Visas? Money? Toothbrush?”

    He burst out laughing. “God, you’re worse than my P.A! Yes, yes, yes and yes. And I’m assuming you’re sorted as well.” He turned to speak to an official who was checking their travel documents. “Thanks, Mike. Everything you need is here except for - “

    “My passport?”

    “Thank you, Madam. We will be able to sort this quickly and then you can make your way to your jet. It’s your usual crew, sir,” he finished, to Simon.

    Tamara mentally ticked the boxes as the strolled into the VIP lounge. She was looking forward to seeing how well her company delivered. Reception had been good and the paperwork handled professionally. Looking through the smoke tinted glass she could see the Gulfstream executive jet that would be their magic carpet to Italy. Luxurious, fast, and hideously expensive, it was exactly the type of aircraft leased by people like Simon.  

    An attractive stewardess approached and shook hands with them both. “Welcome back, Mr Henty, and can I welcome you, too, Ms Tremaine?” Another box ticked.  

    “Are we ready to go?” asked Simon.

    The stewardess looked at him adoringly. “Follow me, Sir. You can meet the flight crew on board.” Simon seemed unaffected and smiled politely.  

    Does he always have this effect on women?  

    “Did you sort out the menus?” Simon whispered to Tamara as they walked across the hot tarmac towards the dazzlingly white corporate jet, the heat waves dancing off the asphalt.  

    “Your usual requirements, sir,” Tamara said noncommittally, glancing at him.  

    He laughed, and held her arm lightly as they walked towards the aircraft steps. Tamara unexpectedly found herself enjoying his physical proximity; Simon was a man used to giving orders, and for a brief instant she wondered whether she might actually enjoy the next ten days.

    The stewardess led them along the thick carpeted aisle to the main seating area. “Your baggage has been loaded,” she told them, “and I’m told we’ll get clearance in about twenty minutes.”

    “Mmm - it’s plain, isn’t it?” Tamara joked as they walked into the spacious main cabin with its reclining leather armchairs, veneered polished tables and video screens.

    Simon looked at her in surprise before he realised she was teasing. “What do you mean?” he began, and then burst out laughing. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s insanely over the top but it is going to be a long flight.”

    Tamara knew there were luxurious changing and shower facilities on board, and the rear third of the fuselage had been configured to accommodate Simon’s security and business team .

    There was a low hum from the rear of the cabin. Tamara turned and saw the shimmering sunlight outside was being silently folded away by the passenger steps rising and closing into the fuselage.

    “Can I serve any refreshments? We’ll be serving lunch shortly after we’re airborne and reached cruising altitude.”

    “No. I’m fine,” Simon said brusquely and sat down. “Oh, er - “

    “Thank you, but no,” Tamara told the stewardess. “Maybe later.”

    “There’s plenty of seating choice,” Simon said. “The configuration is for four main passengers, so you can take your pick. Everyone else is squeezed into the back of the plane.”

    “Who else is there?”

    “Well, I need people from the office.” He looked at her. “Is that a criticism?”

    “No, just a query. But then, I was thinking about the cost.”

    “Tamara - for the next ten days - I don’t want you to think about